Chapter Thirty-Eight
….
Royal Dais, Coliseum, Osgiliath
"You know I am really having an uneventful day, first I am forced in a challenge I do not agree one, now my men are being attacked by other nobles while I'm busy fighting for my life," the voice of Delianah Tully is literally dripping with sarcasm as she glares at the two other persons standing on the Royal Dais alongside her looking at a very annoyed king of the Seven Kingdoms who is definitely unhappy thanks to the more extended postponement of the Melee event due to this…..accident.
"If wush uhff acccshzeent yur Gresshh," reasons a completely pulpified looking Second Prince of Dorne whose face resembles a dozen lemons thanks to the bruises after being beaten bloody by the Death Dealers.
Apparently facing off against two Death Dealers with backup is no problem for the Red Viper of Dorne. They however certainly has not accounted for the Death Dealer motto: "No Death Dealer is every outnumbered in his territory," The fight barely lasts five minutes. The moment Oberyn starts throwing sharp objects around. one of the guards lets off a ringing sound from the whistle at his self that can be heard from one end of the Coliseum to the other. Long story short, the Red Viper and his goons are dog-piled and beated to a pulp for "Disorderly Conduct,"
"Please your grace, my brother is a hot head and a fool. He has one too many to drink and does not know what he is doing," reasons out a very irate and exasperated Doran Martell who looks red-faced and furious at his brother. The long walk to the Royal Dais of the King does not agree with the gout of the Prince of Dorne even carried via palanquin.
"He attacked my guards and tried to break in on a locked place within my land," replies Deliianah with a scowl. "In our law here that's attempted murder, plus arson with all the damages he caused and that's not counting breaking and entering either,"
"I shaeeiiid I washhh shorrry," puffed out Oberyn earning him a scowl to shut up from his brother.
"Again on behalf of Dorne, I do apologize for my brother, my lady," says Doran with a bow. "He will be punished for his conduct. Of that I assure you,"
Delianah it seems scowls even more. "I have to disagree with you on that Lord Doran. Your brother made his misconduct here at Rivendell. He will be tried by Rivendell laws and justice,"
A dark shadow appears at Doran Martell's face with the words of hers. "I will not have you lop of my brother's head Lady Delianah for a simple misunderstanding,"
"As if you have power here in my lands," scoffs the Lady of Rivendell. "Your brother attacks my lands and attempted to kill MY people!"
"I will not have it. You hear me? I will not have-,"
"OH BLOODY FUCKING ENOUGH!" the sudden booming voice of Robert Baratheon cuts off the argument as both looks at the annoyed looking King of the Seven Kingdoms. "THE SNAKE MADE A MISTAKE TULLY BUT NO ONE IS DEAD! SO PUNISH HIM AS YOU SEE FIT AS LONG AS HE IS NOT DAMAGED IN ANY WAY!"
"But she has no right-,' Doran attempts to protest only to shut his mouth at the glare of Robert Baratheon.
"TULLY! YOUR VERDICT?!" the Fat King demands making Delianah growl before glaring at Doran and pulpified Oberyn.
"After this tourney, you will help clean the Coliseum of all the damage and dirt that it would have afterwards. You attempted to hurt a citizen of Rivendell. Therefore you will do your best to serve them,"
For a second Doran looks like he would protest about the fact that a noble would be doing something as menial that would usually be assigned to the smallfolk. He simply grimaces however before nodding silently in acquiescence much to the pulpified protests of Oberyn.
"Then that settles it," growls Robert Baratheon. "Now both of you get out of my sight. I have a Tourney to watch and you two arguing and accusing one another is causing my mood to horribly deteriorate,"
….
Osgiliath Stables
Dung stable duty is probably one of the most hated jobs that anyone is unlucky enough to be assigned to at the Seven Kingdoms. For Jon Snow however, dung duty is only made worse due to the simple fact that his behind is throbbing like a thousand cows danced on it, courtesy of the walloping at his behind by his father. Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark packs a punch even sheathed.
Suffice it to say that his father does not in any way appreciate their little jaunt in representing Northern valor even with the backing of the Greatjon that they are certainly "wolves of the North". Thus their walloped behind. He does not envy Robb and Theon right now forced to sit with their damaged arses at the Royal Box with the Stark family and pretend like everything is fine. At least here at the stables, Jon can wince and jump around clumsily while holding his bruised ego and buttocks. Even if it's dung duty, at least no one can laugh at the bastard of House Stark in his most private pained moments.
"You know, it's not exactly healthy putting your bare buttocks on the horses' trough. You don't want undesirables climbing up your ass crack," the sudden comment makes Jon jump ten feet in the air as he is promptly disturbed from his attempt of alleviating the pain via buttocks on the cold water trough where the horses are drinking.
"MY LADY!" Jon exclaims in mortification and panic as he hurriedly tries to pull up his pants at the sight of a still armored Lady of Rivendell looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Of all the things that I expected when I come out here for some fresh air is to see your pale buttocks in display Jon Snow," she idly comments making Jon blush red. He can already feel the second round of walloping that his father would give him. Putting your privates in display is the highest of offences after all, and he displayed it at the host of the land they are attending at.
"My lady, I am so sorry. I didn't see you. I really apologize," stammers Jon Snow wondering what would happen to him now. His situation is kinda unprecedented and unique after all.
For a moment he wonders if the Lady of Rivendell would punish him before her smile turns into a small smirk. "For the record Jon Snow, your ass is certainly a lot better sight compared to our Fat King Robert eating a pie without ado,"
"My lady?" Jon can't help but react in a combination of a gasp and surprise. After everything he has heard about the Lady of Rivendell via his father. Delianah Tully after all is one of King Robert's favorites. To hear her saying such things about the king makes him a little confused.
"Come Jon Snow, relax. I could use your company for a few minutes," she simply says waving to the empty barrels where she made herself comfortable by sitting.
"My lady you should not sit in a-," Jon tries to protest to squeak at the glare that the Lady of Rivendell is giving her.
"Have a seat Jon Snow," it is more an order than a request and Jon gingerly sits, making sure that his tender behind does so slowly.
Unfortunately that catches his rather surprise companions' attention for she raises an eyebrow in question. "Having fun with the boys Jon Snow? I didn't think you are into that,"
"What?" Jon's brain takes a second or two to process what she said before fully realizing it. "NO! I'm not a fop or a sword swallower! My lady! I swear I'm not a-," he pauses as he notices the amused glint of hers.
"You're pulling my leg aren't you?" he asks making her nod in affirmation.
"Relax Jon Snow, you're way too uptight," she once more repeats making Jon calm down as his racing heart beats loudly.
"I'm sorry my lady. It's just the way I am raised," he apologizes.
"Meaning what?" Jon tries not to stare too much at the form fitting leathers of the Dame's legs through the chain mail (He has no desire to have the reenactment of the beat down of the Mountain whatsoever).
"I meant we are so far in station my lady. You are the Dame of Rivendell, one of the most respected in the land and I….I am just the bastard of Winterfell. We shouldn't be having conversations like this one,"
For a second or two Jon, wonders if he has in any way offended the Lady of Rivendell. His mind is already envisioning scenarios of an extended period of mucking shit at the stables once more by order of Lady Catelyn once she hears the complaints of her half-sister when the Lady instead snorts before standing.
"Talk to the members of the Silver Knight Order Jon Snow. You might just find that there is more to being a bastard than self-pity and the target ire of everyone else. Even a bastard can rise far under the right circumstances after all,"
With those happy words, she then walks off leaving behind a very confused Jon Snow about the sudden new insight about his status in life.
…..
Private Guest Quarters for the High Lords
There are few things that Oberyn is afraid of in life. Life in wanderlust both as a warrior and an adventurer has desentesized him about many of the horrors and troubles of this world. No matter how far, no matter how much danger he traverses, it would never take unfortunately the fact that his brother's anger is something that Oberyn really wants to avoid. Personally he feels like a two year old every time his brother gives him that disappointed look.
Unfortunately today, he gets more than just a disappointed look from Doran Martell.
"WHAT…ARE….. YOU THINKING?!" his older brother hisses like the very vipers that call Dorne their home, his face red and veins bulging all over to the point that Oberyn wonders that his brother would suffer a stroke.
"It-It's just an accident Doran. I didn't mean anything to happen," reasons out Oberyn. For some reason that makes the red face of the current Prince of Dorne even redder.
"You….ATTACKED the personal guards of the LADY OF RIVENDELL!" Doran half-shouts, his voice cracking. "What damned demented reason by the gods forced you to do that?!"
For a moment Oberyn wonders if he should not tell Doran about what he manages to see on that ledge. He sighs however, he never likes lying to his brother at the best of times.
"I saw a girl that looks like our sister, Elia when she's younger," he finally admits making the entire room go silent.
His brother however blinks putting a hand on his ear. "Excuse me, could you please repeat that Oberyn?"
Oberyn scowls at the sarcasm literally draping the voice of his brother. "I saw a Dornish girl that...looks a lot like our sister Elia when she's…..ten years old,"
If possible, the silence that follows Oberyn's quite honest assessment causes even a deeper silence than before. His brother only looks at him closing and opening his mouth like a goldfish.
"That's why I took the liberty to investigate the scene. There are not many Dornish girls here outside Dorne and she is too well dressed to be part of the smallfolk. I never expected that there would be guards outside the tower. That's why I brought some of my men with me. It would be an easy thing to dispose of their bodies after I'm done with my investigation,"
"Areo," the sudden attention of his brother bewilders Oberyn who simply stares in confusion at his brother.
"Yes my prince," the large bodyguard leans down.
"Please, take two of your men and eject my dear brother to one of the moats. Apparently he has taken a drink way too many this early in the day.
"Wait! Doran wait! I'm not drunk! Doraaaaannn-,"
….
A couple of bored Osgiliath guards yawn on their posts overlooking the area outside the Coliseum. They have been caught cheating at a side street chess game and thus have to be volunteered to do guard duty while everyone else enjoyed. The Coliseum needs guards looking outside after all in the unlikely event of unaffiliated guests or rowdy knights and lords attempting to barge in without invitation.
That's why they are totally confused when out of a room, a yellow blur comes out flying screaming in a high pitched voice making a cartwheel once, twice in open air before bodily landing in a small splash on the dirty waters of the moat surrounding the Coliseum down below.
Looking at one another, they simply shrug before continuing to man their posts. Guard duty is extremely mind numbing boring after all.
…..
Lannister Private Quarters
"Father,"
"Daughter,"
Cersei gulps at the tone of Tywin Lannister currently is using. Outside she can still hear the cheers of the crowd as the melee commences but the silence in the room is so palpitating through the sheer presence of her father that it might as well be as if everything outside is silent.
"You called for me father? The messenger said you have something to discuss?" she asks sitting down on the stool beside the Old Lion whose eyes never give up anything. Once more the feeling of being a little girl under the authority and the tutelage of her father rises up despite the fact that she is now a grown woman.
"You've sent the Mountain to kill the Lady of Rivendell…..and in public no less," her father aptly states making her almost squeak out.
"Father, I have no idea what you are talking-,"
"Stop…..lying to me!" his voice is not a shout but it has the effect of one as Cersei's mouth closes in an audible snap. She watches as her father pulls the curtains behind him aside showing the bloody back of a groaning and almost unconscious Gregor Clegane looking like he was whipped half a hundred times with ten Lannister Redcloaks holding him in chains with both wrists raised.
"Ser Gregor has been kind enough to tell me about the truth where he gets his orders from. Now," he simply says before closing the curtains.
"I know you do not disapprove of my decision with allying your daughter to the Lady of Rivendell but she is one of the main pillars currently of the continuing financial sources of our House. Thus I want you to stop all kinds of animosity that you might have with her and as punishment for your actions today for daring to hurt an ally of our House, the Princess Myrcella will be free to extend her stay with the Lady of Rivendell until she says otherwise. Am I clear on this Cersei?"
"But father-,"
"Am I CLEAR?!"
Cersei wants to rage, to protest that it isn't fair, that her daughter is being manipulated by the sly fishes of these blasted region of farmers and pitchfork wielders. Under the frown of her father though she acquiesces. No matter after all the strength of a Lioness, it is the Alpha Males who ruled supreme.
"Yes, father. I will do no ill intent move on her anymore," she simply says. Inside her mind though she rages. One day, this silly trout would fall under her claws.
…
Personal Armory of the Fighters for the Next Challenge Round of the Tourney.
He loves it, Robert Baratheon really loves this tourney. Even from watching atop the royal dais, it is enough to send his blood boiling and on fire again. Gods the people cheering as blood is shed, the battles, the fights, he wants in and gods be damned if he doesn't enter this next event.
Outside he can hear the victors being crowned. The Silver Knights' of Rivendell he has to admit are quite awesome despite being an Order being made purely of Bastards. Now that he's thinking about it, maybe it is high time he should try connecting to the dozen or so bastards he knows he has sired in his entire unhappy life. Goodness only knows that some of them might need the extra attention that only he, as a king, as a father can provide. At least this way he can amend for some of the bad parenting he has done on his own trueborn children.
"Robert what are you doing?" the tired and weary voice of Lord Eddard Stark makes Robert both jump in happiness and annoyance at the presence of his quite law loving best friend.
"Don't you say it, don't you dare say it Ned! I'm participating on the next challenge and not even you can stop me on doing it," he grumbles as dumb Lancel Lannister pathetically tries to put on his armor around him which seems to be…..quite tighter than before.
"No you won't Robert, nobody would take you seriously if you take to the field. They'll be to afraid that they might hurt the king and have their heads lopped off if you even suffer as little more than a scratch," sighs Ned Stark looking amusedly as Lancel tries red-faced to pull and fail on tying the straps together.
"What the hell do you mean?! Are you saying that they would all just give up?!" Robert demands though now that he's thiking about it, Ned has a point. If he so much as hurt a pinky then Barristan would be obliged to lop that man's head off.
The damned Prude of the North simply nods his head. "And there is another point Robert," he says making Robert's current annoyance grow even more at the sensibilities the man is spouting.
"And what is that?"
"You're too damned fat for your Robert,"
The sudden comment and slap of truth almost leaves Robert gaping. It is so insulting and so honest that his heart almost stopped. If it is anyone else making it, he might have their tongue cut off with a hot poker. As it is though, it is honest Ned and Robert is once more forced to face the fact of the shadow that he has become.
"Me, fat? You dare tell that to your king?!" he booms swatting away a hapless Lancel Lannister.
"Yes," his damned brother in all but blood responds raising an eyebrow at the rather large jutting belly of his. Before he can reply though, another voice cuts in that he heard only a few hours ago.
"And what you need your grace is an armor-stretcher," the lithe form of the Lady of Rivendell comments appearing before the two of them. "I hear you want to enter the next challenge of the Tourney your Grace?"
For some reason, Robert once more finds a little bit of excitement in this sad life of his.
….
Author's Review.
Hi Fellow Westerosi Travelers. Sorry been long absent. Been engrossed with personal life and catching up with a lot of series I missed watching. I have to tell you House of the Dragon is great! For all you Westerosi settlers, I advise really watching it.
Anyway hope ya like this chapter. Enjoy!