This Chapter was added on : August 13, 2018 and edited on : December 26, 2018.
Oberyn's eyes carefully studied the faces in the hall as he walked among the feasting crowd. He had the impression this was the first true feast that Storm's End had seen in a very long time. Everyone was far too rowdy and far too excited. Even the women in the crowd, those there to work and earn their meal, seemed to lose their inhibitions a bit more than usual. Sure, this feast, this party, was nothing compared to what he saw on any given day in Dorne. In fact, by his standards this was rather tame, but he'd gathered from his travels it was uncommon for men and women to be this free in the rest of the seven kingdoms. Oberyn was impressed.
"Perhaps Robert Baratheon isn't so bad after all," Oberyn murmured to his sister walking beside him. "Compared to the other suitors we've visited, at least he knows how to entertain." Oberyn didn't even like to think about the other Great Houses they'd been entertained in, if he could even call it that. "Remember the Lannisters? I thought it was a funeral feast." He shuddered at the memory of sitting between Cersei and Jamie Lannister for an entire night. There really were no words for the experience, but he would remember it, be scared by it, for the rest of his life.
Elia rolled her eyes at her brother's comment. She could hear the smirk in his voice without giving him so much as a glance, "Honestly Oberyn, you think we should choose our suitors by who offers the best feast for our arrival?" While she knew he was joking, Elia wouldn't put it past her brother to factor feasts into his own criteria for betrothal. It had certainly hurt the Lannister's chances with him, not that he ever would have considered Cersei in the first place, or she him. "Besides," Elia waved a dismissive hand, "from what I've heard, this feast isn't really for us. The Baratheons have been feasting for a week now, ever since our fellow guests arrived. I don't believe we have any reason to pause or extend our visit here."
"Why do you say that, sister? You have at least two possible suitors to consider in Robert and Stannis, maybe more with the many minor lords in attendance." Oberyn noted Robert Baratheon's table was well and truly full. Even if his sister was displeased with every man after one conversation, it would still take her several days to make it through the group of lords assembled.
Elia sighed and leaned into her brother's side as she held his arm, "There may be a large number of lords to consider, but Robert Baratheon is not among them."
Oberyn brought them to a halt and turned to face his sister, eyebrows drawn together in confusion, "What do you mean not among them?" As far as Oberyn was aware, Robert Baratheon was unwed and had not been betrothed. In fact, he was the only reigning lord from one of the Great Houses who was still searching for a wife; he was by far the highest ranking match her sister could hope for. "You know how I feel about marriage, Elia, and I have no objection if you choose not to marry him. In fact, I encourage it, but I think Doran would be upset if we did not at least speak to him before labeling him a waste."
"You're mistaken brother," Elia shook her head, "I mean, I don't believe Robert Baratheon would consider me."
Oberyn narrowed his gaze, "And why is that?" There was a venom behind his words that Elia thought rather fitting of the Red Viper, albeit unwarranted.
"The maid who escorted me to my chambers explained it all to me. Robert Baratheon is already betrothed," She informed him before his imagination could take his thoughts too far from the truth, "or at least he is going to be. The entirety of House Baratheon has been feasting for a week in celebration."
Oberyn crossed his arms over his chest, and Elia's hand fell from him. "What unfortunate soul must take him for a husband?"
"Lyanna Stark." Elia turned her head subtly towards the high table, and Oberyn followed her gaze to the woman who had greeted him at the gate.
Lyanna Stark was beautiful, not in the way men called all highborn women beautiful. She was truly beautiful. Her pale skin, pale and smooth like a pain of glass, covered a jaw as sharp as the edge of his blade. Her hair, as dark as the night sky, glowed in the light of the candles, glinting with its own set of stars. It hung long down her sides and shielded her from most of the feast when she looked down, but Oberyn knew she wouldn't be looking down for long. He remembered looking in the depths of her eyes; he remembered losing himself in a moment when she had stared back. Lyanna Stark wasn't fire; she was ice, winter personified, a blizzard that could not be walled in by stone, by wood, even by her own flesh. There wasn't a kingdom in Westeros hot enough to melt the snow storm he'd seen raging just beneath her surface. It had been many hours, and he could still feel the cold on his lips from where they had touched her skin.
As if she sensed him watching her, Lyanna's eyes darted up to meet Oberyn's once more. Lyanna and Oberyn stared at each other for an immeasurable moment in time. Neither would be the first to break. It was by no means love at first sight; they weren't under any kind of spell. Simply, they were both too stubborn to look away.
"Oberyn," Elia whispered under her breath. She could see the battle of wills unfolding before her, and she didn't want her brother to lose. However, she was worried. The last thing either of the Martells needed was Oberyn facing off with their host or, worse, his betrothed.
Oberyn didn't acknowledge Elia until several moments later when Lyanna's gaze finally tore from his, though not by her own doing. Robert had been demanding her attention for several moments, and he had finally resorted to getting it by pulling her under the chin to look at him. Oberyn smirked at the display, "She's not betrothed to him."
"And what on earth makes you say that?" Elia asked looking back and forth between her brother and Lyanna. Lyanna's eyes were on Robert now as he regaled her with what was likely another exaggerated story of his physical prowess, as most men told, but Oberyn's eyes were still on her, watching her every move. Oberyn wasn't the only one who had noticed the way Lyanna's lip curled in disgust at Robert's touch, but Elia didn't see what that proved. Most ladies in Westeros were forced to marry lords they did not like; she doubted Lyanna would be any exception.
"Because, my dear Elia," Oberyn's gaze finally flitted back to his sister, but only for a moment, "Lyanna Stark would eat him alive."
Elia almost laughed at the thought. "Oberyn, I'm sure she's a tough woman, but Robert Baratheon is Lord of Storm's End. He's notorious for his strength and ferocity. I'm pretty sure he marries whoever he wants to marry."
Oberyn was shaking his head before Elia even finished speaking. "Whoever he wants, except her." Taking his sisters' hand, Oberyn resumed their trek to the high table. "Mark my words, Elia Martell. Winter is coming, and its name is Lyanna Stark."
"Oberyn," Elia took on a warning tone. She knew her brother well. He loved nothing more than women and a challenge, and Lyanna Stark must have seemed like the greateset challenge of them all. "She is betrothed, and to our host no less. It would be incredibly rude to make any advances on Lady Stark in our current situation."
"She isn't betrothed to him yet," Oberyn spoke under his breath as they reached their seats at the high table, "and I doubt she ever will be, even without my intervention."
Stannis Baratheon got to his feet and pulled out the empty chair on his right for Elia, "Princess Martell," He bowed his head politely.
Elia smiled, cheeks flushing slightly, "Thank you, Lord Baratheon." She nodded her head in acknowledgement and took her seat beside him.
With a polite nod to Stannis, Oberyn sat down on Elia's other side and leaned in to whisper, "You can do so much better than that one."
"Quiet!"
