Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.
Glad everyone was pleased with the Trial by combat, but it's not gonna be that simple to deal with the lions! ;-D.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oberyn VII
The Red Keep: 17th September, 298 AC
Early morning, two days after the trial by combat, Oberyn rushed down into the Black Cells where the Lannister twins had been placed to await their executions. The pair had been placed in a specific section of the cells, to keep them segregated from the rest of the prisoners in deference to their high birth and Cersei's sex.
Oberyn had ordered men he trusted be placed at both the regular entrances and those of the cells themselves, to guard the incestuous pair and he regretted that fact now, as he knelt on one knee beside the downed form of Garris Wells. He reached out to check for any signs of life, despite the lack of movement in the man's chest, and his shoulders slumped when he felt no thrum of a heartbeat in his guard's chest, or breath of air from his slightly-parted lips.
"They are all dead, my lord Hand," stated Ser Daeron Brune, a goldcloak and cousin to the Lord of Crackclaw Point, who had been the one to come and alert Oberyn to what had happened. "Looks like they were poisoned."
"Aye, so it seems," Oberyn muttered in agreement, eyeing the purple lines around the guard's lips. 'I am sorry. I will see you are avenged,' he thought to the unfortunate man, reaching out to carefully close his eyelids before standing and looking at Daemon, who looked solemn and grim. "Go and have the Westermen all confined to their quarters," he instructed his former squire. "Check and see if anyone, servant, guard or noble, is missing."
Other men had already been sent to find the missing couple, though Oberyn doubted they would manage to find two specific people in a city of approximately five hundred thousand.
He had no doubt that the Old Lion had arranged the breakout, desiring to save the lives of his only daughter and favourite son. But whether they would be able to find evidence of the act was an entirely different manner.
"Yes my lord," Daemon responded promptly, before selecting a few of the goldcloaks accompanying them to help him and then rushing off to fulfil Oberyn's instructions.
"Lead the way," Oberyn said to Brune, signalling to him to guide Oberyn through the maze of tunnels. He suppressed a grimace as he followed the knight through the dark corridors. The place stunk of piss and other disgusting scents, and the prisoners all moaned and yelled, pleading for release. The very atmosphere of the place was enough to drive a man to utter despair, and Oberyn was relieved when a heavy door cut him off from it.
They found Ser Brynden examining the cell where Queen Cersei had been placed, a deep frown on his face.
"What have you discovered, Ser Brynden?" Oberyn called to him as he ducked inside.
"Very little, Lord Martell," the Blackfish replied. "When the guards arrived for the shift change, they found the guards at the entrance, and those assigned to guard the two, all dead. Ser Addam, who was the ranking officer, sent runners to find the two of us whilst the remainder secured the other prisoners and made certain that nobody else had escaped. In case you are wondering, the only prisoners missing are Queen Cersei and Jaime."
"The guards died of poison, I take it?" Oberyn asked as he gave a nod of approval in response to the actions taken by Ser Addam.
"It appears so," Ser Brynden agreed. "All of them have strange coloured lines around their lips. But the new GrandMaester, Ebrose I think his name is? He is the Archmaester of Healing, and so I have requested that he open the bodies and examine them to see if he can identify the poison."
Oberyn nodded slowly in thought, rubbing his chin as he scanned the room.
He had always had an interest in poisons, but Jon had called it the weapon of women and cowards, and had steered Oberyn away from learning about them whilst he was under the Lord of the Eyrie's guardianship. Then later on, he had simply been too busy with Dorne to research things, and he had been forced to put aside his hobby of actively studying things that interested him whenever he desired in favour of simply reading the occasional book when he had the time, which was rare to say the least, between running Dorne and raising his family. Given a choice between spending time with his children and wife or studying a treatise on the effects of different types of poison, Oberyn always chose his family.
"The keys were taken from the guard's body," the Master of Laws continued, scowling slightly. "It appears that they simply unlocked the door and walked right out."
"Well, after changing apparently," Oberyn pointed out, kicking the dirty red dress that was lying in a heap in the corner of the cell. The same dress that Cersei had been wearing during the trial by combat. He gritted his teeth in frustration, curling his hands into fists.
They had been so close to closing the book on this whole disaster, and putting the episode firmly behind them. He had been so close to being able to turn in his badge of office and head home (well, after going North to collect his children anyway). Now, things had spun out of control again.
Oberyn dreaded how Robert would react on waking from his wine-induced slumber and discovering that the treacherous couple had escaped. Thank the Gods that Tommen and Myrcella were safely out of sight of the king, and Joffrey too. Robert would probably have turned his wrath on them otherwise.
"I have sent men out searching for them already, and ordered that the gates and port be closed," Ser Brynden informed him. "However, they have a head start of quite some time from before we even managed to learn of their escape, and locking down a city takes time. They are probably well on their way by ship by now."
"I know," Oberyn sighed, running a hand through his curls and sighing. "Still, something must be done. I have ordered the Westermen be confined and interrogated for any knowledge of the escape, but..." He trailed off.
The Blackfish nodded in quiet understanding of the whole thing.
Just then, the sounds of running footsteps came and they hastily exited the cell. Daemon came rushing up them, not even pausing to bow before making his announcement.
"The Lannister contingent is gone!"
"What?" Oberyn barked furiously.
"All of them, even their servants," Daemon added, eyes wide. "I have men searching the keep and the city, but I fear that it is too late."
"Gods damn it all to the deepest, darkest depths of the seven hells," Oberyn swore, clenching his hand into a fist and slamming it against the cold stone wall. At least that confirmed the answer to the question of whom had orchestrated the escape of the former queen and her twin. Not that he had had any doubts in the first place, of course.
"How in the Gods' names could they have all gotten away without being discovered?" Ser Brynden wondered, wearing a fierce scowl.
"Tywin Lannister was Aerys' Hand of the King for decades," Oberyn reminded him. "He must have learned of at least a couple of secret passages in that time. They probably got out that way."
"Damn it," the Master of Laws swore.
"Ser Brynden, Daemon, I would have you both organize the search," Oberyn ordered, getting a grip on his fury and disappointment in order as to focus on the situation. "I must go and, and inform His Grace the king as to what has occurred."
They gave him looks of sympathy before rushing off to obey his instructions. Oberyn himself took a minute to prepare himself before going off to find his king and give him the bad news that the Lannisters had fled, and were likely now in rebellion.
ASoVASoVASoV
When he arrived at the king's bedchamber, Oberyn let out a sigh of exasperation at the sight of the king half-dressed and fondling a naked girl with one hand while downing a goblet of wine with the other.
He stepped inside, jaw tight with frustration. Was it too much to ask for the king to actually do something other than whore, drink or practice spar on occasion? Apparently it was.
How in the seven hells had Jon managed to keep his patience with all of this for fifteen years? Oberyn wondered for the millionth time. He glanced around, noticing that the list he had made up of possible maidens whom Robert could take as his new queen was lying on the sidetable, the only document in sight.
"Your Grace, I hope I am not interrupting," Oberyn said curtly, a bit of his irritation leaking into his tone despite his best efforts to hide it.
Robert greeted him with a wide grin. "Oberyn!" he exclaimed. "Well? Is it done yet? Am I free of the blasted whore?"
Oberyn grimaced. "There has been a complication in regards to the executions," he replied cautiously. He cast a pointed look at the maid. She flushed in embarrassment and scrambled off the bed, snatching up her dress and pulling it on hastily.
Robert groaned in disappointment. "Oh, come on Oberyn," he complained. "What now?"
Oberyn waited until the girl was gone to respond. "They escaped," he announced bluntly.
Robert's expression crumpled into rage. "They what?"
"They escaped," Oberyn repeated. "And given that the rest of the Lannister retinue all fled in the night, I presume that they were the source of the guards' murders and the pair's escape. I imagine that they are on their way back to the Westerlands to call their banners by now. I have men searching the city, but I doubt they'll manage to find them. It's too late."
He sidestepped the goblet thrown at his head, and stayed silent as Robert paced the length of the room and ranted, spitting venom and showing a hatred towards the Lannisters that the king typically reserved for the Targaryens. Oberyn idly thought that he ought to commend the lions for succeeding in rivalling the dragons in earning Robert's enmity.
"I want their heads!" Robert bellowed. "All of them!"
"And when they are found, you shall have them," Oberyn replied mildly. "But given that we are likely to be going to war against the West, you need to hasten your decision on what you will do for an heir."
Robert scowled harder, clearly annoyed at what he called Oberyn's 'nagging' on the topic. Oberyn had already laid out the various options that the king had. Firstly, Robert could name his brother Stannis as his heir (Oberyn had quickly nixed the king's suggestion of having Renly be named as the temporary heir in lieu of Stannis, as doing so would not only allow a dozen different disgruntled heirs and such to press their own claims for their families' lands, causing chaos all throughout the kingdoms but would earn the wrath of the Stormlord.), he could legitimize one of his bastard sons and name them as heir (most likely it would be Edric Waters in that case, given he was the only acknowledged boy and had been raised as a lord. The nobility would fuss enough with being made to bend the knee to a bastard, legitimized or not. No doubt they would have fits if they were made to do so to one born of an alehouse worker) or else Robert could remarry and have new children. That was the best solution really, but it had a few problems.
The main difficulty with that option was that it likely meant a regency, and a long one at that. As much as Oberyn hated to think of it, Oberyn could see as easily as any other that Robert was driving himself into an early grave. Even though he had lost some weight after getting back into sparring on a regular basis, he had not changed his eating or drinking habits, and was drunk more often than not. Oberyn feared the realm would be kingless sooner rather than later, and then there would almost certainly be a succession crisis, with Robert's brothers, possibly some of his bastards (on the urging of whomever got their hooks into the children), quite perhaps Joffrey or Tommen (or rather, their mother and grandfather) and maybe even the Dragon-in-Exile all tossing their hats into the ring (or else having their kin or various ambitious nobles who had access to them doing so on their behalves in the hopes of ruling through a puppet king).
Oberyn still had nightmares of the Rebellion, and this time around his son would be involved in any conflicts, a thought that horrified him regardless of Rickard's skills.
No, there was only one safe way forward. Robert needed to clarify the succession, as soon as possible, least the realm dissolve into war the moment of his death.
Robert plucked up the page grumpily. "More than half of these are loyalists," he pointed out with a look of disgust. Oberyn grit his teeth in frustration.
"You need to bind them to your reign, Robert," he insisted. "You complain to me that they will turn on you the moment the Exiled Dragon crosses the Narrow Sea, but how can you expect them to be loyal if all they gain from your reign is contempt for staying loyal to their previous liege lords?"
"You sound like a dragon lover yourself!" Robert snapped, eyes narrowing. "Maybe that wolf-bitch-"
"Do not speak of my wife like that!" Oberyn snarled, his temper flaring in rage. "Aly is a good woman, and I will not stand for it! Let me remind you of something, Robert! I did not raise my banners because I wanted the Targaryens off the Iron Throne! I did not rebel out of a desire to be party to the murders of infants not weaned from their mothers! I did it to gain justice for my family! You were the one to declare yourself king, yet you refuse to accept the consequences of your own actions! You named me your Hand, and yet you refuse to listen to me!"
"If you are so dissatisfied with the office, why do you not resign from it?" Robert retorted angrily.
"Gladly!" Oberyn spat, yanking off his badge of office and flinging it at the king's feet. Before Robert could recover from his surprise at the move, Oberyn turned on his heel and stormed out, fully intent on getting as far away from King's Landing as possible, as soon as possible.
He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand, his blood still boiling in anger, and ordered the first servant he saw to begin packing for them to leave, sending a runner to organize a ship for them before at last going into the bedchamber.
Aly was sitting on the bed, hands folded in her lap as she stared at the window. He felt a jolt of alarm at the vacant look in her eyes.
He had been distant from her recently, Cersei's words echoing in his ears and making him choke on his own guilt and hypocrisy. He could barely manage to look her in the eye, the queen's words making him go over every moment of their marriage to try and figure out if she truly did love him and forgive him for the mess that he had made of the start of their marriage.
"Aly?" he stepped over to her, his brow crinkled in concern.
"Oberyn," she answered flatly, one hand resting over her stomach protectively.
"Are you alright?" he asked tentatively. "Is the babe-?"
"Fine," she replied coldly.
He faltered, bemused and uncertain as to what he had done to earn her ire.
"Then what-?" he began to ask, only for her to interrupt him again.
"Who is Meria's mother?"
Oberyn froze in shock, stunned. "Why does it matter?" he responded after a moment, unable to think properly, he was so shocked by her sudden mention of the taboo topic.
She twisted to look at him, eyes glinting bitterly and her face twisted into a look of barely-restrained fury.
"Because," she said, her voice filled with hurt and betrayal. "My cousin, who disappeared during the War, was waiting for me when I woke up. She gave me some shocking information, some of which related to Meria. Or rather, to Rhaenys. That is what her mother named her, is it not?
Rhaenys of House Targaryen, daughter of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Elia Martell."
Oberyn stared at his wife, sure that his face was paler than their sheets and unable to think clearly enough to come up with a response.
"Never mind," Aly said coldly when he failed to answer. "Do not bother saying a word.
I already know the truth, and I have no desire to hear you tell me anymore lies."