Vipers in the East
Scipio Smith
Oberyn
Oberyn Martell strode gracefully through the corridors of Sunspear, his boots beating a tattoo upon the floor as he made his way towards his elder brother's solar.
The white raven had arrived from the Citadel some months ago, proclaiming the end of summer and the coming of autumn, but in the heart of Dorne it was still enough that every window in the castle was open, the curtains twitching lazily in the light breeze that wafted in from the world beyond. If the wind picked up then the windows would be closed to keep out dust, but at present they let in just enough breeze to make it worthwhile to keep them opened.
That did not stop it from being very warm. Warm enough to make it worth Oberyn's while to leave his shirt open and his chest exposed.
Still, the heat did not bother him unduly. He had been living with it all his life. The recently arrived newcomers to Sunspear and Dorne were coping with the climate far less well. Princess Myrcella had nearly fainted twice already, and Oberyn had had more than one occasion to observe her white knight, Oakheart, sweltering in his white armour and his snowy cloak. The memory cheered him. If the man dropped dead from heatstroke it would be no less than he deserved for taking up arms to uphold a family that murdered children and raped their mothers.
Oberyn continued on his way, his stride purposeful even when his thoughts were not. Servants and guards he passed along the way bowed to him, lords or knights he met in the corridors called out to him and Oberyn acknowledged their greetings idly. He turned his thoughts away from Ser Arys Oakheart and the princess he protected - there was a base part of him, an ugly part, a part from which even the feared Red Viper recoiled, that wished to kill the girl and teach the Lannisters what it felt like to hear of the murder of an innocent child, but Oberyn had no wish to descend to the level of Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane - to the reason for his urgent summons.
Oberyn had been minded to leave the capital, to get away from Lannisters and anything that tasted of them, to spend some time with Ellaria and his youngest children, but Doran's summons had been insistent, and Oberyn knew better than to ignore such a request. Men thought Doran weak and soft, while they believed Oberyn to be wild and dangerous. Oberyn was wild, as it happened, but Doran was equally as dangerous, in his own way. Though his body was ruined by gout, and worsening by the day, his mind was sharp as any spear that Oberyn had ever wielded, and capable of far more. Oberyn himself was nothing more than a weapon for his brother to wield.
Oberyn had little doubt that Doran had summoned him because he had some enemy against whom he wished to wield the Red Viper. Oberyn had no objections to being so used.
Against whom, though? The Lannisters? Rumour said that the same arrangement which had brought Princess Myrcella to Sunspear had also given Doran a seat upon the council - and vengeance for Elia and her children. Not true vengeance, of course, Tywin Lannister was not going to bare his throat for the knife, but Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch, who had butchered Rhaenys and Aegon before Gregor had turned his attention to Elia; all at Tywin Lannister's command. Oberyn's lip curled into a contemptuous sneer, did the Lannisters imagine that Dorne would be satisfied with the blades, and leave alone the hand that wielded them? Perhaps Doran, who was in no condition to travel to King's Landing, meant to send Oberyn in his stead? That might be fun.
Oberyn's speculations came to an end as he reached the door of Doran's solar. Areo Hotah, the bluff and burly captain of the guards, stood sentinel upon the portal, the sunlight glinting off an axe of impressive sharpness.
"Prince Oberyn," Hotah rumbled, his voice a deep bass. With Doran it was always My prince, while Oberyn was always Prince Oberyn.
"Hotah," Oberyn replied, his stride slowing as he approached the door and his brother's protector. "How is your wife?"
A smile creased Hotah's weathered face as his finger's played softly upon the shaft of his axe. "She is well enough, Prince Oberyn, if a little bored."
Oberyn grinned. "We will have to find you a wife of flesh and blood to take to bed, captain, or at the very least a paramour. Does it not get cold and lonely to share your sheets with steel?"
"I am content," Hotah rumbled. He stood aside from the door. "You may enter. He is expecting you."
Oberyn nodded, and strode through the portal and into Prince Doran's sparse solar.
Doran was seated in his wheelchair, a blanket spread over his legs, but the first thing Oberyn noticed was how much worse he looked. Is it spreading so fast? How long does he have? If Doran died...there was so much left undone, so much that they still needed him for. Their plans for vengeance, so long in the making, might not survive Doran's death. Arianne was young and foolish, Quentyn was callow and little known, Trystane was a mere boy. None of them had the strength and wit to rule Dorne in their father's stead. Oberyn himself had the strength, without a doubt, but had he the wit? He was no fool, but he was no Doran Martell either.
"Do I look so bad?" Doran asked. "Tell me true, brother, and without flattery."
Oberyn said, "You could look worse."
"I imagine I will, before I die," Doran sighed, his voice weak and frail sounding. "I had hoped, once the pain became continuous, that soreness and I would become such old companions that I would be allowed, between times, to forget that it was there. Alas, it seems that discomfort is the worst kind of friend, the kind that pesters you continuously for acknowledgement."
"Shall I send for Maester Caleotte?"
"No. What I have to say is for our ears alone, or why do I have Hotah guard the door, forbidding entrance to any but yourself."
"You do not trust your maester?"
"I trust Maester Caleotte with my health, such as remains to me," Doran said. "I do not trust him with my secrets. Those I entrust only to those who must have knowledge of them. Sit."
Oberyn pulled out a chair and sat down upon it, crossing his legs while he waited for his brother to elaborate.
Doran was silent for a while, looking down at his swollen hands as they lay upon his blanket. "You have met our guest and her protectors without incident," he said. "I thank you for your restraint."
A smile flashed across Oberyn's face. "You feared that there would be bodies piling up around Sunspear?"
Doran chuckled "Only in my nightmares. She is only a little older than Rhaenys was. I know it cannot be easy for you."
"Is it easy for you?" Oberyn asked.
"I would you hope you know me well enough to know the answer," Doran said, a touch of sharpness entering his weary voice. "But there are advantages to being an old man riddled with sickness: even if I wished to slaughter Lannisters in a rage. I could not do it. But I do not wish it. The girl is my ward, and I find her sweet natured and intelligent."
"It is not the girl's blood I want," Oberyn said. "She did not rape Elia, she did not kill the children."
"Indeed," Doran said, nodding. His hands clenched, eliciting a wince of pain. "I have been offered a seat on the small council...and justice for Elia and her children."
"You cannot go yourself," Oberyn murmured.
"Indeed," Doran said. "So I am sending Quentyn to King's Landing in my stead, accompanied by Lord Yronwood and sufficient retinue of nobles as will enhance his status in the capital."
Oberyn's eyebrows rose. "Quentyn? I thought-"
"That I would send you in my place?" Doran's smile was slight, but present. "It gladdens me to know that I have not yet become thoroughly predictable."
"Quentyn," Oberyn murmured. "Is he ready?"
"He is a Prince of Dorne, he must do his duty," Doran said firmly. "He cannot remain in Lord Yronwood's castle, kissing Lord Yronwood's daughters forever. He is young, I grant, but Lord Yronwood will council him away from any obvious blunders, and I am not sending him to King's Landing to awe the council with his acumen."
"Then why are you sending him?"
"To watch, to listen, to learn," Doran said. "To report to me, to see if there are any allies to be found at court, to take the measure of the King and those who surround him."
"And our vengeance?"
"Quentyn has eyes, he can observe an execution as well as any man."
"I do not want to be told that Gregor Clegane's head was cut off by Ilyn Payne," Oberyn snapped. "I want to make him scream, as Elia screamed."
"You may yet get the opportunity," Doran mused. "The Imp has offered me justice, but I doubt that Tywin Lannister will give up his pet dogs so easily."
Oberyn said nothing for a moment. "So why have you called me here, brother, in such haste and secrecy? To tell me that I no longer have your trust?"
"I trust you, as I always have, to do what must be done for Dorne," Doran said. "I do not need you in King's Landing. I have a more perilous task for you by far."
"Perilous?" Oberyn's smile was feral in its anticipation. "My ears are pricked, brother, but where in the Seven Kingdoms is more perilous than King's Landing?"
"Nowhere," Doran said. "But your destination does not lie in the Seven Kingdoms. You recall, I trust, the marriage pact you made with Ser Willem Darry?"
Oberyn nodded. "Arianne was to wed the boy Viserys when they came of age and Viserys had raised an army to take back his throne. But Viserys is dead."
"But his sister lives, and she has done much more than raised an army, if the tales be true," Doran said. "There is talk of dragons."
"There is always talk of dragons," Oberyn said. "And krakens and giants and gods know what else. Does she ride upon the back of a unicorn and lead a host of demons in her train?"
"No, but I believe these particular tales," Doran said. "There are too many, from too many different places, to ignore them. However she has done it, Daenaerys has hatched three dragons."
Oberyn's eyes narrowed. "Aegon conquered six kingdoms with three dragons."
"And a thousand men," Doran said. "Dorne can offer her twenty thousand at the least, but we must have her dragons. Vengeance, brother, justice, fire and blood. This is what we have sought. Our hearts desire."
Oberyn nodded. "And you wish me to-"
"Go to Essos. Last reports placed Daenaerys on route to Pentos. Find her, win her to our cause, bring her and her dragons here, that she may take her rightful throne and we may take our vengeance. You may offer her Quentyn's hand in marriage, I understand her barbarian husband died."
"If Quentyn's hand is what you offer, then why not send Quentyn?"
"He does not have the experience."
"He is a Prince of Dorne," Oberyn said, parroting Doran's words back at him.
"But only a fool would use a short sword when a spear is called for," Doran said. "You have been to Essos, you know the country, you know the people. I trust your eastern tongues have not rotted from disuse?"
Oberyn smiled, and answered in Valyrian. "My Volantene is a little rusty, but I whisper Valyrian poetry into Ellaria's ear each night after we have made love."
"I'm not sure I wished to know that," Doran muttered. "Head east, my brother, find Danaerys, gain her support, bring back our rightful queen. Bring back our justice."
Oberyn rose to his feet. "It shall be done. I will not fail you, brother."
"You never have, and never will," Doran whispered. "I pray Elia will rest easy when all this is done."
"As do I, she has waited long enough to be at peace," Oberyn said.
Doran nodded. "A ship is waiting at Planktown. I will supply you with a small number of knights to accompany you-"
"There is no need," Oberyn said. "I already know who will go with me on this journey so full of perils and wonders?"
"Indeed? Who?"
Oberyn smiled. "If we are discovered, brother, then House Martell will be called traitors and all the wrath of Lannister and Tyrell will descend upon us. So we must be small, and stealthy, and crawl about so secretly that none know we are there. Tell me, brother, who moves more stealthily than a snake?"
A/N This story was inspired by comments on the Read of Ice and Fire over at , where it was suggested that it would have been better to have sent Quentyn to King's Landing and Oberyn east to fetch Danaerys. And this is a story where that happens.