Chapter 12: Dorne
As Oberyn spun and twirled around with his spear his moves flowed along with a timed precision only the greatest of water dancers could achieve. A dodge and a weave coupled with counter-strikes towards his opponent, he had always preferred to be known as a man confident enough to dance around the battleground without a care in the world. His first ever duel was against the late Lord Edgar Yronwood for the honor of both lord Yronwoods wife and his mistress. To not make it a messy affair the duel was simply till first blood as to not lead to one of the Princes of Dorne being killed in such an unsavory manner. Lord Edgar of course lost the duel and, sadly, died of a festering wound a week later. A pity it was, and Oberyn wept a single tear for the foolish lord, who thought going against a viper meant coming out of it alive.
But this was not Old Edgar Yronwood, who's best days were behind him, this was Brandon Stark, Heir to Winterfell and a man whose blood boiled hot enough Oberyn thought any poison he could coat his blade with would simply burn away before it started to take effect.
Tall and robust with a mane of thick dark oak hair and a full beard, Brandon was as much Stark as Oberyn was a Yronwood. Long were the tales of Northerners and their honor bound traditions and dutiful outlook, most of all their wardens the Starks. The tales must have overlooked Brandon when he was born, as no man seemed to be filled with more passion for both wine, love and battle.
The Stark swung his sword around, always grazing Oberyn by a few inches. The misses always coming an inch closer to Oberyn each time. From atop the balcony overlooking the courtyard Oberyn saw his siblings, Doran and Elia. They looked on the same way they would the children playing in the water gardens, he didn't know if that should be taken as an insult or as a hint as to how foolish they thought this 'sparring match' was between the two.
"What's wrong?! Lost your tongue?" the Stark spat out as he continued swinging, some would say wildly but Oberyn saw that all of them had a frightening intent to them.
For a second Oberyn found an opening and thrust his spear, for nothing more than to give himself a moments respite. "Careful, lest you lose your own." he antagonized the Stark as he dodged the spear without a thought.
The thrust made Brandon take a few steps back and regain his footing, the time in which Oberyn merely caught his breath. They were a few feet away, Stark holding his longsword in both hands ready to defend against any attacks from Oberyn's spear. On the corner of his eye however Oberyn spotted his two siblings being approached by their lady-mothers master-at-arms, Rocas. The old man had given Doran a letter, from this distance he could not see if it was sealed or not but he could recognize that it was from their mother.
Lowering his spear Oberyn signaled to Brandon for pause, the wolf looking at him with a raised brow. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you've already shat yourself."
"It would seem I am needed elsewhere friend." he pointed to the balcony where his siblings sat.
"Ah," Stark sighed as he recognized what was going on, "Well I'll not keep you." he said solemnly.
"Don't look so defeated wolf. We can continue this once whatever my mother demands of me is fulfilled." he gave him a warm yet threatening smile that came as a challenge to see if the proud heir to Winterfell would rise to it.
"Aye, but by then I'll probably sober up. It'll be no fun if we're not on equal grounds."
"I will be sure to bring extra casts of firewine."
With a tap on the shoulder Oberyn left the courtyard alongside Brandon. One went to the main keep while the other went to the kitchens, while the Stark had been anything but temperate with the many Dornish wines he had mainly kept to black bread and salted beef when it came to food.
Once out of his training attire and into something more presentable, a quilted yellow tunic with long brown breeches all adorned with the sun of Dorne, he arrived at his mother's terrace, where both she and Oberyn's two other siblings were awaiting him.
"Mother." He bowed courteously. Even in her fading years the princess of Dorne was a marvel to behold, clad in a white and blue smooth silken dress and simple leather sandals she sat upon her resting chair that overlooked the Sea of Dorne as well as some of the isles of the Stepstones.
"Come Oberyn." She said simply, never one to mince words with family.
While his mother and Elia were looking out solemnly and somewhat grimly over the Dornish sea his brother Doran paid all his attention to a small crumpled letter with a broken wax insignia. It was the insignia that made houses panic, rejoice, quiver or sadden, the red dragon of Targaryen. All of a sudden the notion came to Oberyn that this was not a simple family meeting. He joined his sister's side to gaze over the terrace unto the Dornish sea. Over the horizon the massive flagship Oberyn could recognize as the Blackwood loomed, slowly making its way onto the dock of Sunspear. It's monstrous hull and giant sail made it tower above almost all the small trading galleys coming in and out of the port.
"Has his Grace suddenly decided to start a royal procession through the Seven Kingdoms?" Oberyn asked, squinting his eyes to get a better look at the sails that carried the Blackwood.
"Sadly, his grace has not decided to finally make good on his promise to 'Make the dornish deserts bloom'. This raven, I fear, is of a much less gracious topic." She reached out her arm as Doran passed the crumpled letter over to their mother, then to Elia and eventually to Oberyn.
'Dark wings, dark words.' Oberyn thought.
"Pirates attacked.
Prince is injured, has fever.
Need Maester."
The letter was crudely written, its contents even simpler, and yet a grimmer thing could not be made so simple. In opposition to the simple, crude, writing of the main letter, there was also a signature, one much more eloquent and clearly written by a more literate person.
Ser Arthur Dayne, protector to his grace King Aerys II Targaryen
"Well, well…" he tried to mask the grim tone of the room by giving out a smirk. "It would seem we not only have one guest of high honor now, but three." Brandon Starks arrival had come with similar small notice, though the Heir to Winterfell was known to travel by himself mostly, he had a small assortment of household guards, all draped with the same ragged brown cloak and traveling attire that made them seem to be either wandering sellswords or ragged knights.
Originally, Oberyn and his family had found out about the unannounced visit after an incident in a tavern near Sunspear where Stark had allegedly gotten into a drunken brawl with five other soldiers who belonged to House Martell's own personal houseguard. Once he was brought before the princess of Dorne he revealed his identity as Brandon Stark, using a formal letter as proof made by the Warden of the North, Lord Rickard. To this Oberyn's mother let out a laugh, "The wisest parent is one who is aware of their child's strengths as well as their faults." She said, "I assume your lord father gave this to you before you left Winterfell?"
"Aye my lady." He replied simply, as if he was part of some cruel jape at his expense.
"To any of the noble lords or ladies who may be given this letter. I implore you to be merciful and have forgiveness for any wrongdoings or mistakes my son may have committed in your realm and humbly request you be just in your judgement of him." The Princess read aloud, to the great scowling of Rickard Stark's heir.
Had this been some other lord or heir to another Warden of the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps they would have used the leverage their status gave them to absolve their heir of any acts, but the fact that the Warden of the North had still expected a judging must have struck a chord with Oberyn's lady mother.
"Your father says I be just in my judgement. Many lords and ladies would not be so courteous, especially ones of such high status. Areo, will you be so kind as to inform me of what exactly I am judging our northern lord here."
"We took reports from all sides my lady." The big gruff man said, the metal of his axe shinning brighter than Valyrian Steel. "All agree that it was simply nothing more than a drunken brawl caused by a joke the northerners took offense to. Apparently, one of our men had said that all northerners 'Take their goats as wives more often than not.'" The joke itself was not anything too clever, but the Princess still let out a sigh of amusement.
"Well then, it would seem that we were the ones at fault here. My apologies for any offence caused Lord Stark, the common punishment for insulting someone of noble birth in such a way is to rip their tongue out. If you wish I may-"
"My lady," the Stark cut in, "if it please, I am more than ready to pay for any damages me and my men caused, with my own coin of course. If your men require to pay for any medication, I would be willing to pay for that as well."
"Oh?" she clasped her hands together. "Were they not the ones who instigated this row?"
"Perhaps, but you have some good men here my lady. Strong and loyal they are, that one especially." He pointed towards Areo Hotah. "Has a punch like an ox." Stark said, this time pointing to the blackish purple bruise on his right eye, much to the amusement of the court, and even Hotah himself.
Afterwards Stark was a guest at Sunspear, with a raven being sent to Lord Rickard as a formal notice that he would be staying there for a time, as well as a personal letter from Oberyn's mother complimenting the boys skills at winning over a court.
But now in the present different guests awaited them, the prince of the Seven Kingdoms and the Sword of the Morning.
"Not three, my son, four." His mother snapped Oberyn from his recollecting.
"Truly? Are there any more Kingsguard with the prince?" he put a hand on his chin and rubbed it contemplatively, he would have liked to test his mettle with Arthur Dayne but there were others who were just as skilled as him bearing the white cloak, Barristan the Bold, or the king's brother Daeron.
"No, it would seem the only white cloak joining us this day will be Ser Arthur. Apparently, this ship was meant for the Free Cities as part of a coming-of-age tour for the prince and one other. The son of Tywin Lannister, the heir to the Rock." Doran explained.
Oberyn could recall what little memories he had of Casterly Rock all those years ago when his mother had gone about Dorne, the Reach and the Westerlands looking for possible suitors for Oberyn and Elia. From Starfall to Crakehall, Oberyn made it a point to mock almost all of Elia's would-be suitors. But when they had arrived at the Rock, there were no would-be suitors, only a house filled with black-suited mourners.
"And what would you have of me then dear mother?" Oberyn asked.
"You and Doran shall go and give our esteemed guests as royal a welcome as you can, bring maester Caleotte with you and a score of his apprentices and assistants. I will not have the prince and heir to the Iron Throne die in Dorne of a festering wound."
Later…
The sun had fallen and Elia was taking her evening stroll throughout the Sandship. At this time, all of their household guards had grown accustomed to her making rounds around the keep, often accompanied by her friend, Laena Velaryon. A short yet slender girl with full cheeks and loving, innocent eyes and a great mane of silver-gold hair the stretched well past her shoulders. The two had known each other for three years now, ever since the queen had sent her to be a lady-in-waiting for her lady mother. Soon enough however, she and Elia became inseparable and the little girl followed her everywhere she went.
The Sandship was a rather ugly thing, from both the outside as well as the inside. A large, ugly, dun-colored building that was shaped like a dromond. Legends will say that it was the remains of Princess Nymeria's flagship, the only one out of her original ten thousand ships not burned upon their arrival on the dornish coast. Rather, it was a simple design built during the reign when the very first Princess still ruled as a reminder of where they came from. Elia herself always looked at it as proof that Dornishmen did not belong at sea, the crude design of the castle being testament to that. Many halls and corners led simply to dead ends or windows. The windows overlooked both Sunspear and the Shadow City as well as the several seas surrounding their coast.
Over time, more buildings shaped more in a Rhoynish fashion sprung up over the centuries, making Sunspear cast a long shadow over the many different other keeps along Dorne, with the Shadow City becoming the closest thing to a city that the Dornishmen have.
And yet, none of it compared to the beauty of the Water Gardens. The ancient palace built by Maron Martell for her Targaryen bride to free her from the heat and dust of Sunspear. Elia and her mother would go there once a week, to gaze at the pale pink marble the covered its gardens and courtyards. When they were little, Elia and Oberyn would play for hours in the gardens with all the other children. There were no symbols of status there, no hierarchy they had to follow. On long nights, when the full moon would be out in the sky, Elia would dream she was still in the gardens, playing with all the other children. Those were amongst the few sweet dreams she still had.
"My lady…" little Laena tugged at the sleeve of her dress. "Is this wise? I would think the prince would not want to be disturbed."
That might have been true. When the untimely royal visit occurred, Elia had only managed a quick glance at the prince. The stories of Targaryen beauty her mother had told her when she was still little had proved to be true, though the features the prince shared with Laena were all either covered in sweat or pain.
Next to him were two other men, one she recognized as Arthur Dayne, as gallant and shinning as ever, with his sword Dawn slung across his back. The other she could recognize by name alone. Tytos Lannister was still only a boy when she visited Casterly Rock, as she was also nothing but a small girl. And yet, through that small young lad she saw, trying to look as large as he could beside his lion of a father, now was a man fully grown in his own right. Compared to her, the heir of Casterly seemed to age a decade more and a decade better.
"It's fine Laena. If you wish you can turn around now, I'll be back in my bedchamber before the sun comes down." The days in Dorne are said to last twice as long as in any other part of Westeros, in reality it would be much truer to say they lasted four times as long.
For a moment, Laena took a few glances back the way they came, before turning back and shaking her head. "No…" she muttered.
The girls were 4 years apart in age, with Elia being the elder, so the two treated each other as sisters more often than not. Much to the chagrin of her brother Oberyn.
Once they finally reached the prince's chambers Elia did not see any guards, but rather, a Kingsguard. Ser Arthur stood still as a statue, his white plate and cloak making a stark contrast to the maple walls of the Sunship. "My ladies." He greeted them, taking a deep bow.
"Ser Arthur, it is an honor finally meeting." She curtsied as gracefully as she could, with Laena pulling it off much better and smoother.
"The honor is all mine. You are all your mother said and more. As are you, my lady Velaryon." The Sword of the Morning had said that as a compliment, though others could easily interpret it as an insult as well. 'It seems he is as good as conversation as I am at greetings.' The Kingsguard were not picked for their social skills however.
"You… know my mother, ser?" the little lady-in-waiting flushed a bright red, another victim of the charms of knighthood.
"Lord Velaryon is his grace's Master of Ships, we talk more oft than not, and some times his lady wife comes to visit in the capital. A fair and kind woman-"
"Perhaps you could entertain my friend here for a few moments Ser." She cut the knight off rather brusquely. 'Too fast, too obvious.' She thought, and the knight seemed to gather it quickly as well.
"Do you plan on going somewhere my lady? The sun will set soon and I don't think heading alone would be so wise."
"No, nothing like that. I was wondering if I may enter to see Prince Rhaegar and Lord Tytos."
"The prince is unwell." Ser Arthur said plainly, his friendly eyes soon becoming stone cold. "And Lord Tytos would rather not be disturbed. Neither of them would."
"It is simply to deliver a message from my lady mother. Or rather, an invitation."
"And what kind of invitation would that be?" the knight's gaze pierced her soul like a thousand daggers.
"A simple one."
That answer did not seem to please Ser Arthur, and Elia wondered if he might have already caught on to her mother's little scheme. Soon enough however, his expression returned to the stoic yet warm knight in shinning armor as he bowed his head. "Forgive me, my lady, I spoke out of turn. It is no place for a knight of the Kingsguard to assume and question."
She breathed a silent sigh of relief and would have jumped for joy had the Sword of the Morning not still had his violet eyes on her. "You have nothing to apologize for Ser Arthur, it is only reasonable that you would be cautious of the prince's safety. I shall be gone for only a moment." She turned to Laena, who was still blushing furiously at the Kingsguard knight. "In the meanwhile, I am sure my dear friend Laena can help you pass the time, it must be ever so dull to stand watch all day."
And with that she glided past the Kingsguard before he could respond and went through the doors of prince Rhaegar's bedchamber, quickly closing them behind her.
Inside lied the prince, his fevered and pained expression now replaced by a much calmer and tranquil one. Had he a much less defined face Elia could have mistaken him for a woman, his long hair draped about the bed and his smooth, soft hands were over the furs covering his bare chest.
Opposite to him sat Tytos Lannister, his thick mane of gold hair being slicked back. Compared to the smooth and handsome face of the prince, Tytos' face was marred by small cuts and a scar near the lower part of his left cheek. Elia knew that not all men were his brother Oberyn or Brandon Stark, men who actively sought out danger and battle whenever and wherever it presented itself. In their eyes Elia always saw a fire, a lust for it. In Tytos' she saw only sadness. He looked nothing like the heir to Casterly Rock, nothing like a noble lord. 'A sleeping prince and a sailor who has been lost at sea for over a year.' That was what it looked like to her.
"My lord." She said in a hushed tone, to which Tytos finally moved. Now that he was turned to her Elia could see even more how disheveled and unkept the Lannister heir was. "Forgive me… if I have… disturbed your rest." She struggled with her words. "I am-"
"I know who you are my lady." Tytos interrupted her and got up from his seat. "It is I who should be asking forgiveness. Both for our unannounced visit as well as my… appearance." He looked down at himself as if only now noticing the state he was in. "I'm afraid I haven't had much time to freshen up."
On that he was right. Elia could hear the smell of sea water from him and she didn't find it difficult to spot the many stains on his tunic and breeches, some looked like blood. Nevertheless, her eyes broke free from the Lannister and returned to the sleeping prince. "Has Maester Caleotte managed to ease the prince's pain?" she said. 'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! You should have asked if he was healed!' she screamed internally.
"More or less. He's much calmer than he was back on the ship, and the sweating has stopped. On behalf of all the Seven Kingdoms, and my own, I thank you for the untimely help." Tytos bowed as if he were a simple servant boy bowing before a nobleman.
"No less should be expected of any other house in Westeros." Elia shuttered to think of what would have happened to a house that failed in those expectations.
Silence had overcome the room as a few candles began to flutter from the breeze coming through the window. For a moment, she had forgotten the reason of why she had come, until it came back.
"M-my mother… wishes to have an audience with you…" she stuttered, "… my lord."
"With me? Would it not be the prince she would request a personal audience with?"
"Once the prince is fully healed, we plan to have a feast, our steward is already making the necessary preparations. It is not every day that a member of House Targaryen decides to come to Dorne."
"Willingly or not." Tytos added, a faint grimness to his tone. "Then I suppose this 'audience' is something best kept behind closed doors?"
"I-if you w-would be so kind my lord, I can escort you to my lady mothers solar, she is already waiting for you as we speak." Elia fumbled at her words now more often than not, trying desperately to lead Tytos into ending the conversation.
'He knows. Ser Arthur knows. The guards know. They all know! Why did you pick me for this mother?! Why couldn't it have been Oberyn, or Doran, or Caleotte?!' the voice inside started screaming even louder now, panicking. And yet, she managed to retain her composure, for the most part.
For a few moments, Tytos observed her with his emerald green eyes, as if he was stripping her down, her and all her lies. He rubbed his chin contemplatively, the beginnings of a beard showing around his chin and jaw.
"Very well." Tytos said simply, and in only a brief second that poor sailor had regained his composure, straightened his back and replaced the sadness from his face with an expression of regal nobility. As he put his hands behind his back and held his head up high Elia felt the same as when she saw that little boy back in Casterly Rock, puffing his chest out and raising his chin as high as he could.
But that boy was gone, what stood in front of her was a Lannister of Casterly Rock.
