The altered prologue is here!

No one ever thought much of her, in all honesty. In Dorne, she was a second child. For the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, she was a girl. But that gave Vitoria Martell a freedom her older sister and younger brother did not have. Arianne was the heiress to Sunspear, the future ruling Princess of Dorne. Quentyn was the eldest son, and to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms it was he who should inherit. As a second daughter, Vitoria was free.

She grew up happy in Dorne, in the Water Gardens with her sister and brothers and with her Uncle Oberyn's daughters.

From Obara, she learned to be fearless and to trust her instincts in the battlefield. From Nymeria, she learned to be cautious. With Tyene, she learned the importance of her appearance. And with Arianne, she learned how to use her body as a weapon.

By her thirteenth name day, she is already a woman grown. Her chest is full and her hips are wide with a tiny waist to compliment them. It's around that same time that Robert Baratheon becomes paranoid about Dorne. It's about that same time that Rober Baratheon begins plotting her marriage.

And one day, Vitoria hears her Uncle Oberyn screaming and her father raging and she knows something has happened. When she bursts into her father's study, they both turn to look at her with grim expressions in their faces.

"Come, my darling sun, we need to talk," her father's voice is soft but she still sees the tense lines on his forehead and knows nothing good will come out of this conversation.

Her Uncle Oberyn shows her the letter sent by Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. It states that in no uncertain terms, Vitoria of House Nymeros Martell is now betrothed to Robb of House Stark, the heir to WInterfell.

294 AC

The day after Arianne's eighteenth nameday, she leaves Dorne behind with her uncle Oberyn, his paramour Ellaria and a hundred guards. The goodbyes with her father and siblings were so painful she had to restrain herself from crying. She's a princess of Dorne and princesses were not weak!

How can Robert Baratheon be so cruel? She wonders…she is innocent in all of it. She'd been a mere babe when the Rebellion broke out, after all. She has done nothing to deserve her ire, even if she sometimes wished for his death, silently of course.

And he offered her to a Stark. A member of the same family who ruined hers. It was an insult, though she knows it could have been worse if the king had intended for her to marry his brother Renly, who has rumored to prefer the company of his same sex.

It's a long way from Dorne to the North. Almost two months, but she thinks this long period will help her adjust. She did not want to go by ship, even if it would have been faster. She has not wanted to set foot in one since she saw the back of her mother as she abandoned her father, herself and her siblings on a ship that would take her back to Norvos.

The more they go North, the colder it gets and the more she suffers for it. She should have expected it, she realizes as she grits her teeth. Winter is coming are the Stark words and there must have been a reason for those words.

When they are getting close to Winterfell, she insists they stop.

"It's getting dark and I don't want to reach Winterfell at night. We will continue tomorroww."

Her Uncle and Ellaria look at her knowingly. Ellaria shakes her head, before placing her arms around her in a carefree hug, whispering into her ear, "You must not be afraid. Remember who you are. A Martell of Dorne."

And even if she would join the Starks, she would remain a Martell, she thinks. She would remain Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

294 AC

Vitoria looked down at the small package in her hands; she was sure it was one of the oddest wedding gifts a bride would receive. Arianne had slipped it into her hands before she left Dorne, a sly smile on her face. She looked down at the strange, tiny package, it was as thick as three of her fingers and filled with the blood of an animal., with some compounds mixed in it by Tyene to make sure the blood remained fresh and did not clot.

She, of course, knew why her sister had given her such a gift. So she would crush it in the right moment and leave the proof that in the eyes of everyone in WInterfell she was a virgin.

Vitoria swallowed as she remembered the reason why she needed such a gift. But she pushed those thoughts away, centering herself in the present. Robb was little more than a boy, but some would say the same about her. Yet, she was glad to know her husband would not suspect a thing. He would not know of such inventions as the one she held in her hands. Still, she reasoned, he had no reason to back out of the marriage. They both had much too gain from their union and if anyone stood to lose anything, it was Vitoria.

A knock came at the door and she rose, quickly stuffing the package in the back of the bed, so she would be able to reach for it quickly.

She is only sixteen.

She is only sixteen and she has already given birth three times and lost one of her children. She is only sixteen and they have told her of her daughter's fever and how her poor child will not make it. She is only sixteen and people expect her to forget about her dead children and go back to her husband's bed to conceive a heir. She is only sixteen.

She is only sixteen and she already hates the world.

From the cradle, she can hear the child crying. She's her youngest, looking a mix between Stark and Martell, much to the disappointment of the northeners who'd been hoping for another Arya or Lyanna. It did not help that her twin looked more Tully than Stark.

The midwives hired by Catelyn had warned her not to expect much of the child, had warned her not to love it and its twin because they seemed so like to die. Not her. It. They had disregarded the name she had chosen, telling her to save them for another child, a child who would survive. Months later, her eldest had recovered and was thriving while a chill had caught ahold of her sister and had her hanging between life and death.

Tentatively she picks it up gingerly, only making the child's cries grow in volume.

She moves across the room, trying to calm it, feeling detached from it and the situation at hand. "If you look the least bit like your grandfather, you'll be very ugly," she chokes out as tears fall from her face. "And the worst thing in the world is to be an ugly woman - or that's what your grandmother says." Shamelessly, she throws the blame at her goodmother, knowing that in the end what she says is true. There is no love lost between the two women, despite their marriage to Stark men. They are too different; Catelyn is too self absorbed for Vitoria's liking while Catelyn abhors how tightly Vitoria clings to her dornish identity all while assimilating herself into the Northern culture far better than she's ever been able to do. The redheaded hates that Ned actually listens to Vitoria

They have bound her breasts so tight that they ache at times - highborn ladies north of the Red Mountains rarely suckle their own children. Defiantly, she unlaces the front of her nightgown.

"You must be hungry. It shouldn't be too hard. All I have to do is just pick you up and and you'll know what to do," she guides the baby to her breasts and after a few tries, feels the unfamiliar sensation of something sucking at her nipples and sighs in relief. "You're my little girl." She thinks of the names they had thought of - Henrik for a boy, Alia for a girl. "You're my H'alia," she tells the baby firmly. "You're going to live."

As you might have noticed, I pushed back some dates in order to make them fit in with my story. I have a timeline with the information for this story which I'll update as I go along to make sure things make sense.