289 AC – Sunspear
Oberyn Martell – The Red Viper of Dorne
He had not originally liked the idea of a Baratheon marrying into his family. The very notion had made him froth at the mouth. It was the Baratheon king who denied them their justice for his sister, niece, and nephew. Robert Baratheon that had left Clegane, Lorch, and Tywin Lannister walk away without repercussion.
Oberyn had done his best to talk his brother out of it. He had spoken as sweetly as he would to seduce a woman for his brother to see reason. When that did not work he had raged. Unleashed a string of curses that would have made the saltiest of Dornish men blush and septas bleed from their ears. Then, he had begged. Did everything short of actually falling to his knees and stretching out his hands.
But, it had all been for naught.
Once his brother's mind had been made to something, it was as solid as steel.
Harry had been a child when he came to them, only nine years of age. He showed no fear, stood in front of them humbly, genuinely sad for what had befallen his family. But, for as sorry as he was, Harry was not afraid. Of course, Oberyn knew there was no reason for the young boy to be afraid. They did not hurt children in Dorne. Oberyn would not place the king's guilt on Harry's shoulders.
But, other children would have been afraid.
He could not change his brother's mind, so Oberyn had done the only thing he could have done. He made the boy his page. He would teach Harry what it meant to be a man, a good man, the kind of man who would not allow the rape and slaughter of innocents to go unpunished.
He still remembered the day he decided.
FLASHBACK
A year had past and Oberyn watched the young boy from the shadows. He had a guard attend to the boy's combat training, wanting to spend some time with his lover and daughters. The day had been going well until Obara had burst into Sarella's nursing chambers, her brown hair matted to her forehead with sweat. His oldest daughter had tried to speak between heaving breaths, but the words 'Harry', 'trouble', and 'tilt yard' were clear enough for Oberyn to understand.
It was with long, dangerous strides that he stalked through the halls after telling Obara to fetch his spear. Whatever he had been expecting to encounter at the training yard was not what Oberyn wanted to see. A small part of him was hoping Harry had been causing the trouble.
But, it was not.
The guard he had assigned to teach Harry in his place had recruited a few friends it had seemed. They circled around him with blunted steel spears and proper Dornish shields, while Harry had a simple wooden stick. It looked more like the handle of a broom than a training spear. He was covered in sweat, his shirt off and skin pinking under the stare of the sun. His body was sinewy, muscles coiled like a snake.
He looked worse for wear.
The boy tried to brave on, look unaffected, but Oberyn's eyes were trained. There was large gash of split skin on the boy's cheek, from the corner of his lips nearly to his ear. A testament that blunted metal was still dangerous. It would not cut too well, but it was still capable of breaking skin. Harry's leg was hurt, the boy limping at he swiveled one way or another to keep his eyes on all the guards that surrounded him like he was an animal.
He looked the very vision of it, a wound animal being corralled by hunters. And Oberyn knew that it made Harry, just like all animals, all the more dangerous.
Even as the guards teased and ruthlessly toyed with the boy, even as Obara was handing him his spear, even as his lover, niece, and other children had showed, it was Harry that captivated Oberyn's attention.
Harry held his 'spear' tightly, using sliding strikes and wild swings to keep his opponents at bay. His teeth were bared, like a snake bearing its fangs as it readied to strike, the dripping blood making him look all the more grotesque and wrathful. He was wild, angry, and ferocious. His blood was showing through; the Baratheon fury was rearing its head.
It was a beautiful, if albeit strange sight.
His eldest daughter was shoving his spear into his hand, his lover was harshly whispering for him to intervene, but Oberyn just raised his hand to still them all. He wanted to see what young Harry would do. The child was in no danger now that Oberyn was near, but something compelled Oberyn to watch.
He wanted to see.
The guard he had put in charge of Harry's training for the day attacked first. The blunted metal spear came quick, poised to skew in Harry like he was a flank of lamb. The boy charged recklessly towards the threat, barely twisting his body around the spear. Harry roared his fury and retaliated, his spear arm shooting forward like the string of a bow. The wooden stick in his hand struck with the force of an arrow and drilled into the guard's forehead. The man's head snapped back, his skull being saved by the helm he wore. But, he stumbled back to his knees dazed.
The attack was more of luck than skill, having only landed because the guard was sloppy. But, the speed, the power…that was all Harry.
A grin spread across Oberyn's face.
The boy was unafraid.
That was not something that could truly be taught. Techniques and conditioning could be imparted. But, fearless, courage, those were made from within.
Many more lessons were needed, but Harry was a diamond in the rough. Oberyn knew that with enough polish and tending to, Harry could be a jewel worthy of a crown…in terms of fighting at least.
As the two other guards went to avenge their fallen comrade, Oberyn stepped from the shadows and began to clap, halting the men's advance.
"Well struck, young Harry. Excellent use of speed and power, but your form leaves much to be desired. Don't you gentlemen agree?"
"Prince Oberyn." The three guards and Harry said with a bow of their heads in greeting. He ignored the greetings and instead stood in front of Harry. The adrenaline was wearing off and the boy looked ready to collapse where he stood, but he willfully stayed up right. The cut on his face had leaked as far as his collarbone. There had been a lot, but nothing too threatening to his health.
"You look need of tending too," Oberyn stated unnecessarily and Harry's look spoke of it. Still, the older man smiled and beckoned his niece forward. "Arianne, would you show Harry here to the maester."
The princess of Dorne nodded her head, even as her face looked torn between wanting to look worried and blushing. Her eyes were focused on the wound on his pretty face and Harry turned away slightly so she could not see. Oberyn placed a hand on the boy's shoulder as he limped forward.
"It will be a good looking scar. All women love battle scars." He said with a comforting grin. It make have been more lecherous than comforting, but it was the thought that counted.
Harry just grinned a macabre grin and Arianne's own blush heightened.
Before the young man left with his niece, who taken the silk shawl she used to cover her body and pressed it against Harry's cut, Harry turned to the guards and spat his blood on the ground. He did nothing but laugh as he saw the men's eyes widen.
It was a small, simple gesture, but such things had meaning. Oberyn was amused because the guards looked more insulted than worried. And they should have been more concerned. They had cornered Harry, the brother of Robert Baratheon. They had hunted him and he had survived. The slight would not go unforgotten.
But, that was in the future.
They would have more immediate problems to deal with.
The princess and his pseudo-ward had not made it halfway down the hallway when his eldest stomped towards the men, his spear clutched in her hands.
Obara lacked much of the beautiful her sisters had. Even Tyene, who was many years younger, was more beautiful to look at. That did not mean his eldest was ugly. But, she was rather plain looking. She did not have the midnight black hair of Nymeria, as hers was brown and kinky. Obara did not have the sweet and innocent look of Tyene, but when her blood was up and her face twisted into a snarl, his daughter reminded him of a warrior queen who looked beautiful in her fury.
As much as he wanted to see how much his daughter had improved in her training, Oberyn halted Obara's advances. She threw him a look that was both questioning and withering.
Not that Oberyn could blame her.
He was well aware of Obara's…fondness of Harry. The boy was younger, true, but he was also the only one to treat Obara no different than her sisters. It did not matter to him that she was average looking. In the few months he had been around, Harry openly showed his appreciation for her prowess with a spear and complimented her often. It was where Oberyn had gotten the idea to compare Obara to a warrior queen. He had heard the younger man mention it once before. His eldest had played it off the compliments, punching the lad in the shoulder and calling him stupid. But, Oberyn had seen the traces of her appreciation for the flattery.
It was strange to Oberyn. The boy was young and inexperienced with everything in life. There was no way that Harry did not know why he was being fostered, but his outlook was so…open and cheerful. It drew his family in like moths to a flame. Even his lover Ellaria was fond of the boy who was equal parts charming, respectful, and witty. It helped that he was difficult to make blush. The girls loved trying to see who would be the first to do it.
A quick nudge of his shoulder brought Oberyn from his musings. Obara looked to him before motioning with her eyes to the guards. He rolled his eyes at his daughter's insistence. Oberyn was going to deal with it. There was no need for her to push.
"You had your asses handed to you by a boy." He said with a hint of mockery towards the guard. "Maybe I should have him train you instead."
The man made to reply, but Oberyn just waved his excuses away dismissively.
"There are more important questions to answer. Why was young Harry not given a shield? Why were you and your men using steel? Perhaps most importantly, why were there three of you against one child? I asked you to train him, not hunt him down like some animal."
There was not question as to his outlook on the entire spectacle. His anger was quite plain, even if his tone did not reflect it. He had learned that a calm anger was much more frightening.
The guards were all looking at each other for answers. But, they quickly came to the conclusion that they had none that would please him. They all quickly dropped to a knee.
"My prince, we did as we thought you wanted." The one he had put in charge said, his head bowed in deference.
The words made Oberyn's eye twitch.
It was an insult of the highest order and he did not consider himself a man easily insulted. There were times he thought his brother weak, but at certain times he envied his brother. His brother the patient, calm man he was. Doran would have thrown the men into a cell for endangering their ward for a few weeks. But, Oberyn was not his brother. His blood was every bit of Dorne: hot and unforgiving.
"May I see your helm?" He asked to the man in charge. Oberyn hefted the copper covered steel in his hands before turning to one of the others. He struck as fast as his moniker.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five strikes to the guard's helm covered head, following him as he fell to the ground. Once the man's face was groaning and successfully bloodied, Oberyn threw the helm back to its owner. He wrapped his blood-covered fingers around the guard's face.
"We are not Lannisters. We do not blame children for the sins of their fathers or brothers. We most certainly do not harm them," He seethed, "If I so much as hear whispers of this happening again…the boy is my squire, he is entitled to a certain amount of respect. If he is not," Oberyn leaned in close with narrowed eyes, "We will see how well you do against someone who knows how to wield live steel."
There was no question as to whom the guard would be facing and they were all equally fearful of the prospect. No one took a challenge from the Red Viper lightly. The guards nodded their compliance all too quickly with vigor.
"Good," Oberyn said with a smile, all signs of anger vanishing just as quickly as he appeared. "Now, leave."
The guards picked up their comrade and rushed away from the prince of Dorne, not wanting to be subject to his ire again.
Oberyn was not given a moments peace and his daughters attacked him with questions.
"Since when has Harry been your squire?" Nymeria asked.
"Will Harry become a knight like in the stories?" Tyene gushed.
"I fight better than him, can I be a squire like Harry?" Obara questioned.
Oberyn laughed as they bound up to him and circled all of them into a hug. They were not so big he could not do it yet.
"Since right now and we shall see." He answered all three of them.
"Children. Leave us." Ellaria said, her tone conveying there to be no argument. Obara looked ready to, but a hand from him and Nymeria stilled her lips. He thanked the gods for his second child not inheriting his temper. Oberyn did not know what he would do if all of them were as brash and hotheaded as his eldest.
Ellaria Sand was not the most beautiful woman he had lain with, not even the most beautiful he had seen. She had a wonderful body and brown hair and eyes. Her skin was the common tawny shade in Dorne. There was something eye-catching about her, but she was no great beauty.
Still, Oberyn loved her all the same. More than he had his other lovers.
"What are you doing Oberyn?" She asked when all of his children had left, Obara having to nearly be dragged.
"I am not sure what you mean." He replied, picking up the stick Harry had dropped.
"I know you are spontaneous, it is one of the qualities I love about you. But, making the boy your squire? I do not understand it." Ellaria said a little suspiciously.
"Understand it? Did you not see him?" Oberyn exclaimed excitedly.
"I saw a stubborn, scared boy being toyed with by guards."
Oberyn shook his head. He loved the woman, but she was no fighter. No killer. It took warriors to see the traits that made a good warrior, let alone appreciate them.
He saw that in Harry. She had said he was stubborn and that was true. Placid men did not fight. They swayed with the wind or were carelessly tossed aside by the waves. One had to be stubborn, at least a certain amount of it, to be great warriors. They needed to stubbornly trek forward towards death, to stare at it and not be cowed. People called it courage and bravery. And it was, but it was also stubbornness.
Yes, the boy had been scared. What ten-year-old child would not have been?
But, he had held his ground and attacked when he could have just as easily run. He was not intimidated. Harry did not run.
"That was not what I saw," Oberyn stated, "I saw a boy rage against three grown men. Stand his ground and refuse to be beaten. I saw a boy who was in pain and refused to yield, to bow, to give up. He was a stag cornered by snakes, but ready to gore them to death for his life." He finished recreating Harry's movements. It looked silly because the stick was so short compared to his height, but his movements were far more graceful than Harry's.
"With this. Three men with blunted steel and he held them off with this." Oberyn held up Harry's weapon.
"A fucking stick." He laughed, but stopped when his lover sighed and shook her head.
"I thought you would be pleased. You have taken a liking to him. What is the matter?" Oberyn asked, his grin turning into a questioning frown.
"In a way I am, but…"
"But?" he repeated as she let it hang. Ellaria sighed again, placing her hand against the stubble of his cheek. She was so sad considering he had just done the boy a great favor. There were many who would kill for the opportunity to be his squire and he gave it to a Baratheon.
"What is it my love?"
"You do not have a son. For all your children, for as wonderful as they all are and as much as you love them, you do not have a boy of your own. It is a nice gesture to make Harry your squire, but a small part of me was hoping you would see this as an opportunity to have one of your own." She said with a small smile.
"Let us not get ahead of ourselves, he is still a Baratheon." Oberyn made to pull away, but his paramour pulled him back into her embrace.
"What happened to not blaming sons for the sins of their fathers?" Ellaria quoted back to him. A tiny grin was on her face because she knew she got him. He resisted the urge to groan and settled for rolling his eyes at her.
"We can always have sons of our own. We certainly enjoy trying to make them." His lover smiled gently at his suggestion, but was not deterred.
"Even if we do have sons of our own, it will be nice for them to have a role model. Someone closer to their own age." She added the last part when he went to open his mouth.
"A Doran to their Oberyn."
He hated it when she made sense. But, Oberyn still had arguments of his own.
"He will learn everything he needs to as my squire. I will teach him to fight, to ride, and other things. What difference does it make if he learns as my squire or, as you so wish to put it, my son?" Oberyn asked, successfully pulling away and fiddling with the stick.
Everything she had said was true. He had no sons of his own. He loved his daughters as much as any parent could love their children. Oberyn did not mind they were not boys. They were as they were and he loved them for it.
But, there was that tiny, almost nonexistent little nagging at the back of his head, which all fathers probably had, that wanted a son.
"Sons love their fathers much more than squires their knights."
Finally, Oberyn did release a groan.
"And what am I supposed to do with him? He is much to old for me to tuck him in and read him stories."
"Teach him to fight, teach him to ride, teach him to drink, and when he is old enough take him to pillow houses so he may know the warmth of a woman. It is not what you do, Oberyn, but how you do it," Ellaria informed him.
"He may act unaffected, may even be as strong as I believe he pretends to be, but no child remains unchanged when ripped from their home. We all know why he is here. His family is part of the problem, you have a chance to make us part of the solution."
Oberyn sighed and continued to twirl the stick absently in his fingers. Moving helped him think. And he would need all his wits about him against Ellaria. They were not married, but she was family. He would not be his brother. He refused to be a man who just said 'No'. There would always be reason to his arguments with her.
It would be nice to have a son of his own, even if it was not one of his name. And Ellaria was correct…about everything. He could just not wrap his mind around treating the Baratheon as one of his own. The boy was a noble guest in their house, even if Oberyn really knew that Harry was essentially a hostage, and was entitled to a certain amount of respect. Even if her arguments made sense, Oberyn wanted to say 'no'. Having Harry fond of him, have him see Oberyn as his father had many advantages. It was also why he did not want to.
It was one thing to take advantage of a grown man, especially an enemy. But, to manipulate a child was a line that Oberyn was not willing to cross. To pretend to love Harry only to use him was not what Ellaria had meant, but that was the only reason Oberyn could come up with for him to even consider it. 'No', was the simple answer.
Yet…
"We shall see." He finally said, not having the heart to see the disappointed look on his lover's face had he answered differently. The half-smile of acceptance was already disheartening. He never wanted to see Ellaria sad, never wanted to see any of the women in his life sad. Oberyn wanted them to have all the happiness his sister should have had.
Even, if he had his misgivings
FLASHBACK END
It was shortly after Oberyn decided he would mold Harry into a respectable Dornish prince. Part Doran and part Oberyn.
His brother was the one fit to be a lord, one who could take the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders and bear it without complaint. Oberyn could not teach Harry how to do that, but it turned out well, since he did not have to. The hospice was proof of that. Harry healing his brother without request was proof enough of that.
Oberyn was the fun one, the one to enjoy all the joys of life. He would teach Harry that. The second prince taught his future nephew to ride a sand-steed, a different beast from the 'noble' horses in the north. It was a horse of Dorne, one that could strive in the desert. It also had the temper to match. He had trained Harry to fight with the spear, the curved sword of Dorne, and even that exotic sword-glaive he had gotten for his nameday. Oberyn taught Harry life lessons. Though, if he were honest Harry had taught him a few lessons of his own. The boy was remarkably bright and wise for someone so young. It was not long until he had taken to Harry as a step-father would a step-son.
And he's finally old enough to take to pillow houses!
He and Ellaria could hardly wait for the day they could take Harry. It would be like taking their own son. They would pick gorgeous women for him, women who could show him the ropes. Then, they would drink wine and listen to all that Harry had learned, maybe even give him advice of their own.
He was not married yet after all. Harry had his whole life for monogamy and serious relationships. Oberyn had meant what he said to Obara. Harry should be acting his age. Oberyn was three-and-ten when he had his first woman, Harry was a year behind and it was his duty as his liege lord to make sure Harry did not fall behind.
The young man was smooth, that much was true. The way he tempered Arianne was evidence of that. His niece was fiercely determined and of fiery temperament. The fact that he kept her close to him without being consumed by her was a shock to him. There had been other boys who, even if Arianne was not the most beautiful, had succumbed to her charms…when she was eight.
His niece was not the only one Harry had endeared himself to. The green eyes healer was dear to Oberyn as well. He loved his daughters, would not trade them for anything or wish for them to be anything but who they were. There was nothing he could not do with his daughters that he could not do with a son. But, still, he wanted one.
And the gods, in their silly way of muddling with mortals, had given him Harry.
It had not started out that way, but it was very hard to stop it from becoming so. Harry was just so polite, so likeable, and so damningly understanding. There were times Oberyn wanted to strangle him just to get a reaction. It was like the situation that had happened earlier. The man at the clinic had said he stood in a public street.
That was true.
But, it was the Prince of Dorne's public street. It was public in the fact that anyone could walk it. However, if they threatened the Prince's peace, they could be arrested and if they resisted arrest, killed. Harry knew that. Everyone old enough to think knew that. But, Harry had not had them arrested. He just scared them off. Nothing more than what equated to a small shove.
Oberyn did not know what he would have done if he had been in the same position. But, it certainly would not have just shooed the man away.
It was his love for Harry that had his temper up. A piece of parchment was crumpled in his hands. His first instinct was to burn it or tear it asunder. If the golden wax seal were not enough reason, the words written in on it would have been. But, he held in his anger. Oberyn would have patted himself on the back if he was not so incensed. In truth, he did not burn it because…
I do not want to hear my brother's whining that I burnt a missive from the king.
"Move aside, Hotah."
Areo Hotah was the captain of his brother's guard, a man who had traveled from Norvos with his brother's wife, Mellario, to serve the Prince of Dorne. He was a tall man, as tall as he was broad. He was pale, would have been the color of snow if not for the redness the Dornish sun gave him. His hair and trimmed beard were pure white, looking like clouds on his face. A long axe, with an axe head the size of the blade of his spear, was firmly upon his hands. Oberyn knew that though the man had not fought anyone with the intent to kill in a long while, he was still deadly.
"The Prince does not wish to be disturbed."
He respected Hotah. The man was loyal and a good warrior. Oberyn would have either crossed arms with him or joined him in it any day.
Just not this one.
"A missive has come from the king." Oberyn stated, holding up the unsealed parchment. He made sure the captain could see the seal.
"Let him in." Oberyn could hear his brother say. The dutiful Hotah stood to the side silently, allowing Oberyn to pass.
Doran Martell was older than his brother, about ten years older. His hair was almost completely silver from his age and the stresses of the kingdom. It had been black once. He had the traditional olive skin that all those of eastern Dorne had and was dressed in fine silks to denote his station. His brother sat in a lavish chair, not a throne, but a nice office chair that was comfortable even to the look. It had been made when his gout had started to irritate him, but now Doran kept it because of the extra comfort it provided.
"What need does the king have of Dorne?" His brother asked evenly. Oberyn knew he meant it derisively.
"Not Dorne. Harry." He replied, throwing the offensive letter on his brother's desk. Dorne only spared him a raised brow at the disrespect before taking the missive. Oberyn was chomping at the bit for his brother to say something, to do something. Even a small reaction would have been better than the stoic façade.
It's four sentences!
"Hotah, shut the door," Doran waited until he heard the telltale sound of wood hitting against stone, "so Stannis Baratheon has crushed the Iron Fleet. King Robert bids Harry to take the armies of the Stormlands and subdue Island Harlaw before meeting with him at Pyke." His brother spoke calmly, telling Oberyn things he already knew.
"I can read. Can you believe the balls on that man?" Oberyn exclaimed. "Telling a boy who has not even felt the warmth of a woman to go to war! It is because he had heard of Harry's power and thinks it will grant him an easy victory!"
"He is his brother and king. What do you expect me to do about it?" Doran asked.
He wanted to tell his brother to forbid Harry to go. But, that would not do. Harry and Arianne were not married yet. Harry was still a Baratheon. The only ones who could have said anything negative about it would have been Stannis and Renly. And it was no secret they held no sway over Robert. Harry was the king's favorite brother. Of course, he would want glory for him. House Harlaw was defenseless. All the Iron Islands would be defenseless without their Iron Fleet. It would be an easy victory to add to Harry's belt.
That was the kind of man Robert was. He thought giving Harry a sword and a victory would remove the ill feelings Harry had about the lack of justice for Elia. Harry had not liked what had happened at the Red Keep, had made it known for everyone with ears. He bore his brother no ill will, but there was a lessening of love. And Robert would not stand for that from his favorite.
Oberyn wanted to tell Robert that Harry's magic was not for war. He healed people. But, that would only make Harry more valuable, more worshipped by those who fought. He could essentially keep an army at almost full strength, so long as not many died. In this single and, gods willing, short war Harry would be revered for all the lives he saved. Probably much more than any man who took lives.
Everyone could take a life. That was easy. But, not just anyone could save a life.
"Give me men and ships." He said, taking the only avenue available.
"No," Doran stated plainly, not even hesitating, "the Ironborn have not harmed Dorne. They will not harm Dorne. There are too many more convenient targets for them to raid than our mountains or deserts."
"He is your future good-son and prince of Dorne!" Oberyn said, shocked that his brother was so callous. But, that had hardly surprised him. His brother had always been a cautious man. He had taken Harry in to avoid war. However, ever since Mellario had left from his fostering of his second born to Lord Yronwood, his brother had taken into an entirely different level. He was almost paranoid in his cautiousness, hesitant to strike for fear of being struck.
"He healed you! He heals your people!"
"And I am grateful. I gave him the clinic. I allow him to keep whatever revenue he makes, only taking the tax owed. I hold no grudge against him. But, I will not allow Dorne to go to war." Doran said, eyeing his brother in a way Oberyn knew he had to tread carefully. They were brothers, but Doran was Ruling Prince.
"Besides, I have another task for you."
"If Harry goes to war, my daughter will go with him. She is his Sworn Shield. I am his liege lord. I must go as well." Oberyn said, turning away from his brother.
"I want you to go Braavos and arrange a marriage between Quentyn and Daenerys Targaryen."
The words had brought him to stop so quickly he almost fell on his face.
"Have you hit your head? Do you need Harry to look you over?"
"Have you lost your lust for vengeance?" Doran shot back. His brother was not that stupid, it was merely a reminder.
"Of course I still want justice. There are days I burn from it. But, offering your second child to the youngest Targaryen would be seen as an insult not favor."
"Unless I promise to back her brother's claim to the Iron Throne. When they return, we will fight for them. Then, we will be able to claim our justice from the Lannisters. Harry will see our way. We will have many years to work on him. His brother will not be king forever."
"Then his nephew will come next." Oberyn pointed out. It was just an obvious thing; he knew his brother had thought of it already.
"A nephew with Lannister blood. Harry has spoken of how he has no love for what the Lannisters did. If the boy proves as cruel as his grandfather or as inept as his father, we will not even need to bring Harry to see our way. The Lannister boy will do it for us. And, with his sister held here in Dorne, Viserys will be easier to be brought to heal."
It was a good plan. A lot of it hedge on the Lannister spawn being cruel. But, with his parentage Oberyn had no doubt he would be. His mother was a power hungry shrew, a jilted woman from her husband's infamous ways of whoring and drinking. She would turn her son away from Robert. Tywin was a cruel man with only thoughts of his legacy, of his own power. He would aim to turn the boy into a true Lannister. A dumb nephew Harry would probably be able to live with, but a cruel one?
The sun would cease to rise first.
And it was not another daughter of Dorne going to a dragon, but a dragon coming to Dorne. They had killed the dragons before. The last time they had given one of their princesses…it had not ended well.
He had no real reason to argue against it. Viserys was still young, younger than Harry. He would not be able to amass an army across the Narrow Sea easily. Oberyn had been across the Narrow Sea, been a sellsword. Hells, he had established his own company of sellswords. All that mattered was gold. It would take Viserys years to get enough to buy the loyalty of a reputable mercenary troupe.
If the gods are merciful, it will take him at least a decade.
That was not so much for Viserys' sake as it was Oberyn's. It would allow him and his family to bring Harry around to their kind of thinking. To see why they did what they did. Ten years was a long time to work, but Oberyn knew he would need every day of it. Not only to convince Harry, but to assuage his own guilt.
It was a betrayal to his squire of the highest order, to the person who had done much for his family and people. Plotting against his family. Men had been killed for less, had wanted him dead for less. If he failed to convince Harry, for as jovial as the young man normally was, Oberyn truly feared it would come down to one of their deaths.
He did not know if he would be able to bring himself to do it.
"I will agree with this plan." Oberyn sighed, regret and guilt already starting to build within him. "The gods help me, I will do this."
If only not for betraying him, Oberyn would say 'fuck the king' and take Harry with him. He believed Harry would like Braavos. It was a large city full of trade and always had something going on. They could watch the bravos do their Water Dance, tour all the best brothels that Oberyn knew, drink at every tavern, and see the grand structure that was the Iron Bank or warrior statue that stood over the entrance the city.
"You will be meeting Ser Darry. The Sealord of Braavos will serve as witness and officiate." Doran said, pulling out a scroll from his desk.
Such a small piece of parchment for the large amount of treachery he was committing.
His guilt was enflamed by his imagination. He could already see the look on Harry's face, the hurt in his eyes and his mouth open in shock as if he had run him through with his spear. It would have been kinder to run him through. Harry would not have lived to see his betrayal.
Oberyn was not the most just, most noble, or pious man. There were many off the top of his head that he could name that would be heralded above him in those regards. But, he did have his own code of honor. And he broke it the moment he took the vellum from his brother.
For Elia, you do this for Elia. Harry will understand. You will make him understand.
Even as he tried to convince himself, the words sounded hollow. They did nothing to assuage the creature in his gut that threatened to claw its way out.
"I need gold." Oberyn said suddenly.
"What for?" Doran asked, stopping mid-stroke of his quill.
"Harry goes to war. Obara will go with him. They will need armor." It was the least he could do. He could not give them a ship, could not give them an army. Oberyn couldn't even send guards with them. The very least he could do was make sure they had armor.
His daughter had the essentials, his gift to her for becoming a Sworn Shield. She needed it to perform her duties. Not so much because he believed Harry to be in danger, but because bearing a shield and a spear tended to make people think twice. He would complete it now and give Harry the same. Armor fit for those that came from a noble House of Dorne.
"You could always tell her 'no'. I can have her thrown in the dungeons if you like." Doran offered, but Oberyn scoffed at the suggestion.
It would have been a slight to Harry, even if he would understand it. It would be an insult to Obara. And she would not understand. Worse, she would never forgive him.
Her father hiding her behind him, forbidding her from doing her duty, taking away her dream…even her love for him would not allow her to forgive him. His love for her would not allow him to take it away.
"I will already have…great difficultly facing him for what I am about to do. Now you ask me to shame my eldest daughter? I love you dearly brother, but you overestimate how much." It was with a stupendous amount of effort Oberyn did not sneer, spit, or growl. His tone was even. He would have been proud, if he did not feel like stabbing himself in the foot.
"It is for our sister."
"It is because it is for our sister I do this. There would be nothing else you could use against me to agree."
Doran held his hands up in surrender before scribbling on a blank piece of parchment. He poured wax at the bottom, a place to apply his seal, and stamped it with his signet ring. Doran took hold of it and froze.
"You think me callous?" He asked. Oberyn replied with a scoff.
"You are wrong, Oberyn. I too have love for Harry. As you have said, he has healed me and he is to be my good-son. He has done much for our people. But, I cannot allow our people to go to war. We have to conserve our strength, wait for the most opportune moment to strike. When that time comes, you want to take Harry and march directly into the Westerlands to drag Tywin Lannister and all his kin to burn at the stake, have him drawn and quartered, I will not stop you. But, we must wait brother. A snake only strikes once because that is all that is needed to kill its prey."
Oberyn knew it was meant to make him understand. To help him better accept what was to take place. When he saw his brother stand with ease, to rise without assistance of his chair, it only made Oberyn angrier.
"Embrace me brother and let us end this quarrel."
He moved around the desk and embraced his brother. Tightly. Oberyn felt Doran's hair tickle at his nose as he leaned in close to whisper.
"Remember why you can do this Doran. Remember why this does not hurt more."
"I thank the gods every day, Oberyn. I thank them everyday, that I did not listen to you the day Jon Arryn came with our uncle's bones and a boy."
Just twist the knife why don't you…