Lyanna had seen stone structures burned black from smoke, halls slick with blood, and harbors of shattered ships for most of the past few months. Death and destruction were beginning to wear on her morale.
Dorne offered something else. The Water Gardens rose pale and graceful above the sand, all sun-warmed stone, tiled pools, flowering trees, and soft arches open to the breeze. Water whispered everywhere. It ran through channels, spilled from carved mouths, and caught light in little flashes like a suit of armor. More than anything else, it carried a sense of peace and safety.
She rode through the gate with Daenerys bundled against her chest, Dacey beside her, and the long dry road behind them.
The child had slept most of the journey south, waking only to complain with an outrage that seemed comically large for so tiny a creature. Lyanna had already learned that Dany disliked hunger, soiled undergarments, and being put down. She would have to find another wet nurse soon, the one she left Dragonstone with wanted to take the ship back home.
As she dismounted Winter in the cool shade of the courtyard, she saw them waiting.
Ned stood first among them, taller than all the rest, solemn as ever even under the Dornish sun. Beside him was Howland Reed, still small and somehow hard to notice in a place he had no business blending into. Doran Martell waited in flowing orange and gold, younger than the man Lyanna had seen in dream fragments. Oberyn stood beside him, handsome and sharp as a spearpoint, impatience and charm somehow sharing the same smile. Elia was there too, with Rhaenys close at hand.
And in Elia's arms was another baby, one Lyanna didn't know.
Lyanna had only enough time to blink before Ned was moving. "Lyanna." He cried out, joy breaking past his stoic facade.
He crossed the courtyard faster than she had ever seen him move outside battle. She barely got Dany shifted to one arm before his embrace closed around her. He held her hard enough that she felt his breath catch in his chest, as though some part of him had still not believed she was real.
She laughed softly into his shoulder. "I'm not a ghost, Ned."
He drew back just enough to look at her, and his grey eyes shone with all the things he was too stoic to speak aloud. "You look taller."
"You do too," she answered.
That earned the faintest breath of a smile.
Then his gaze dropped to the infant in her arms. "Is she…?" He hesitated, pain and caution tangling together. "Lyanna, is this your daughter by Rhaegar?"
Lyanna looked down at the tiny silver-gold head tucked against her. "A daughter in a way," she said. "Queen Rhaella asked me to take care of her after she passed."
Some question flickered behind Ned's eyes, but before he could voice it, Lyanna had already noticed the child Elia was passing to him.
She stared at the long Stark face she would recognize anywhere.
"Ned," she said slowly, "why are you holding a baby?"
Howland made a quiet sound that might have been amusement. "Because he helped make one."
Lyanna looked harder then, and the whole truth struck at once: black hair, little solemn face, and the shape of Ned's mouth.
Howland came closer and lowered his voice. "Ashara's," he murmured. "And Ned's. She named him Jon."
Lyanna opened her mouth with some congratulations to say and then stopped when she saw Howland's expression.
"Where is his mother then?" she asked.
His face took on an angry expression then. "Some sort of magic killed her."
Lyanna froze in shock at the surprise. Magic? She thought of the red priestess, a shadow binder from her visions. The red faith had supported Rhaegar, but the Daynes had fought for him. Rhaegar loved Arthur, he would never have have wanted his sister killed.
"Who," she whispered, "would be powerful enough to do that? Who would even want Ashara dead? Hoster Tully?"
Howland did not answer. That frightened her more than any answer might have. Howland seemed to know almost everything.
Lyanna was jolted out of the thought by Oberyn's touch as he took both her hands in his.
"You saved my sister," he said, and there was no flirtation in him then, only fierce gratitude. "And my niece. Dorne will remember it."
Elia stepped forward too, dignity and weariness interwoven as ever. "We both will."
Lyanna inclined her head, suddenly uncertain what to do with a debt from a princess. She did the rescuing mostly without thinking about the consequences.
As she glanced between the Martells, another thought struck her. Doran still moved smoothly. He wasn't trapped in a chair by swollen joints the way her visions had shown.
She turned to Elia. "Did you tell them about my magic?"
Elia blinked. "No."
"I'm thankful, but the secret is probably out by now. Most of Dragonstone should know at least." Lyanna said. Then, because secrecy had already failed, she continued, "I saw in one of my visions that Doran gets the rich man's disease later in life. The one that swells the joints and makes stairs feel like mountains."
Doran's brows rose, but he did not laugh. "That is a curious thing to say to a man upon first greeting."
"It's true," Lyanna said. "Or true enough to worry about. It may not happen for several years or at all, but I figured you ought to know."
Doran looked down at his own hands. "My joints do pain me at times," he admitted. "I had thought it only stiffness from riding."
Now it was Oberyn's turn to stare at her as though she had grown antlers. "Well," he said, "that is one way to make an impression."
Dacey, who had endured the entire exchange with the patience of a boulder, finally stepped in and relieved Lyanna of Daenerys before the infant could begin another round of outraged squeaking.
Elia moved with her, and Rhaenys came too, peering with open curiosity at both babies.
"Come," Elia said. "The nursery is this way. The children should have peace, even if the rest of us do not."
Dacey took Jon from Ned with surprising gentleness. Lyanna noticed how naturally she adjusted both children without ever seeming to think about it. Practice from all of her younger sisters, Lyanna imagined.
Then the women and children were gone down one of the sunlit passages, and Lyanna found herself following the men inside.
The Water Gardens remained beautiful from within. Fountains murmured in hidden courtyards. Painted tiles gleamed beneath soft light. The arches let in sea air and the scent of flowers. Lyanna could not help but marvel at it.
"So this is what southern luxury looks like," she said.
Oberyn spread his hands. "A vast improvement over freezing to death in a grey ruin."
Ned gave him a flat look. "Winterfell is not a ruin."
"No," said Oberyn. "It is merely damp, gloomy, and full of honorable men making themselves miserable."
Howland coughed. "It does have hot springs."
"That," Oberyn allowed, "is its sole redeeming feature."
Even Doran smiled at that as he led them into his solar. It was cooler there, shadowed and lined with carved screens that softened the light. Cushions ringed a low table already set with oranges and a pitcher of Dornish Red. Once they had seated themselves, the air grew heavier.
Ned was the one who broke the silence. "Is it true," he asked Lyanna, "that you never wished to marry Robert?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Of course it's true."
He lowered his eyes for a moment, sadness plain on his face.
"Robert is a whoremonger, but my opposition to the marriage isn't entirely because of him. I never wanted to be a southern noble lady at all," Lyanna said. "And certainly not a queen. I only wanted the freedom to live my own life."
She let out a breath before continuing. "When I left, I left a letter. Somehow the tale took hold that Rhaegar had carried me off from the beginning. He was not a good man. He was not sane. But he did not do that crime."
Ned nodded slowly, jaw tight.
Howland folded his hands. "I mean to learn what happened to the letter," he said. "I already have a lead."
Lyanna glanced at him sharply. That was all he offered. Typical.
Doran leaned forward. "Whatever the truth of the war's spark, the present remains. Lord Stark has signed terms in Robert Baratheon's name. Dorne will swear peace and fealty to the new king. In return, Elia and Rhaenys are to live here without threat or seizure."
Lyanna blinked. "Robert agreed to that?"
Ned's mouth flattened. "Robert will agree to it. Or he will have to explain why he wants to march into Dorne after all this bloodshed. Tywin should be grateful Dorne isn't demanding Clegane's head."
Prince Doran's eyes went to the windows, and the children playing in the fountains outside.
"I think the agreement should be amended," he suggested. "The Baratheon dynasty should forfeit any claimed right over all Targaryen women and their descendants. Elia. Rhaenys. And even Daenerys." He glanced to Ned. "The Maesters preach to this day that Rhaenyra was an usurper and women cannot sit the throne. Even Aegon III's claim is technically from his father Daemon. Robert loses nothing by this."
Lyanna turned to Prince Doran. "You would do that?"
Doran looked offended. "We did say that we owed you a debt. We don't mind the burden of the demand."
Lyanna sagged with relief at not having to spend the rest of her life fending off royal assassins. She vividly remembered the Qartheen manticore from her visions, and the way Ser Barristan had barely stopped it.
"Thank you," she told him. "Fighting off the Sorrowful Men would have been exhausting."
Prince Oberyn laughed at that, lying back on his cushion as he regarded her with amusement.
"So," he said, "what does the wolf maid do next, now that kingdoms have been rearranged on her account?"
Lyanna considered it. The answer had been growing in her for weeks now, a bright little ember of longing. "I want to travel the world, like Elissa Farman," she said. "I've heard the Summer Islands are beautiful."
Oberyn grinned at once. "They are. And I know exactly who you ought to meet there." He lifted his cup. "My paramour Sonala will adore you. She has excellent taste."
Doran sighed without conviction. "You and your lovers. Is there any port you don't have one?"
"I've heard the women of Asshai are beautiful."
Lyanna shivered, thinking of Melissandre. "Looks can be deceiving, Prince Oberyn."
Wine was poured then, deep red and fragrant. The death and destruction of war felt farther away with every heartbeat, though not gone. Never gone.
Doran raised his cup first.
"To peace," he said.
Oberyn lifted his own. "To love."
Ned, after the smallest pause, joined them. "To family."
Lyanna took the cup offered to her and thought of the strange, broken pieces of family by blood and bond she now had. Wolf, dragon, and bear. Lizard lions and trout and stars, all tied together. So many good people were dead. Yet there were children asleep in another room who still lived, fates no longer doomed to tragedy.
She lifted her wine.
"To the future."
End of Book 1