A.N. So, chapter three is finished and it's even the third update on Christmas Day! Heck, the chapter even has a message of fraternity and goodwill!
CW: If you stop to think about it, those two had all the right tools to be each other's best friend. Now if only Tywin hadn't fucked it all up.
AtW: Aye. The Lannister is a cunt. But that's why vengeful, angry, omnipotent gods exist. Also, also, have fun every body and give us lots and LOTS of feedback!
Chapter 3 - They see me rollin, they hatin!
King Robert of House Baratheon.
First of his Name.
King of the Andals and the First Men.
Protector of the blah blah blah.
Titles, titles, titles.
That was all people seemed to care about these days.
Mind you, he liked his titles. They let him drink as much as he wanted, spend as much as he wanted, and curse others out as much as he wanted. And people couldn't say anything about it.
Why would they? He was the King!
The brave warrior who broke the Targaryen Dynasty and liberated them from the mad king.
Now he got to sit on a stiff iron chair all day hearing people whine at him about whose house had insulted whose relative and how people weren't taxed enough and the latest attempt to make him try and attend one of those boring council meetings where all they ever did was try to grease him up and fill their own pockets.
'All hail King Robert. Long may he reign.'
He almost spat out the wine in distaste.
Not that he would. It was good stuff and the only thing numbing him from the displeasure of having to actually hold court. At the end of the day, he was bored. Bored and miserable and the only people in the whole damn castle who didn't want to fleece him were his children. Who, in order of birth, were a little monster, a sweet, naive girl, and a boy so gentle he might as well have been another girl.
'Maybe I should just make Renly my heir. Then go and off myself fighting a bear or something. That'd piss the old cunts off enough to be worth it."
Thoughts of abdication aside, he finished his glass of wine and gestured for more to be poured.
Though lately… something else occupied his thoughts.
Not the eternal pissing match he had with his wife.
Not the constant harping of Littlefinger and the coppers he so eagerly counted.
No….
The only thing occupying Robert's mind was death.
The death of his mentor and father in all but name.
Jon Arryn had been a dear friend. The only one he had left in this damned pit of vipers. Someone he trusted to keep a steady hands on things as he drank himself into an early grave. As was his right.
Only he was gone.
Poisoned.
And therein lay the reason he was half-way sober this time.
Because soon enough, the Martells would be arriving at King's Landing and as unlikely as it was that a little slip of a girl had been involved in murdering the Hand of the King, she was still the one who made the poison.
Which was a start if nothing else. He doubted there weren't other reasons.
After all, the vipers wouldn't have told him about it if they didn't want him to issue a summons. And since justice was the furthest thing away from the minds of the selfish parasites littering his castle, he'd just assume they wanted the girl here for some other reason. Hopefully, the Martells would figure out what it was, murder the people in question, and then go back to that sand pit of a country of theirs. At least that way Jon would have a bit of justice.
'Gods know I'm not smart enough to figure this out.'
He knocked back another goblet of wine, rivulets of the fermented juice running down his second chin.
It let him pretend that his eyes weren't stinging, that his chest didn't ache, that he didn't miss Lyanna and that he didn't hate himself for being a useless fat fuck and that he still… mattered.
So, with his temper simmering, he waited out the rest of court, doing the things he was expected to do and not one jot more. Before, as was his right, he called his kingsguard to him.
"Yes your Grace?"
"Don't yes your Grace me Kingslayer. All you bloody Lannisters are alike. I know what you're actually thinking! Isn't Selmy supposed to be on duty today?"
Jaime bowed low, his armor sparkling and cloak sweeping across the ground. Robert wanted nothing more than to choke the life out of the smug little shit. Fucking Lannisters indeed.
"Never mind you ruddy, buggering arse weasel. Just get me Ser Arys. If I have to be alone with your smug, cuntish grin for too long I'll kill you boy. Fucking Lannisters." And just like that, the fight went out of Robert, his anger leaving him, his strength parting like a morning fog. "Oh Gods, this whole fucking empire is going to collapse. Stupid parasites, sucking me dry. Leeches."
He snatched the pitcher of wine out of a servant's hands and poured himself another goblet of wine - the pewter one, he was shaking too much for glass anymore. It was bitter, his stomach, turned, but Robert held his wine. As he always did. And so he drank and drank until Oakheart arrived.
Instead of roaring and screaming, he put the pitcher down, visibly swaying, and meandered his way to the stable.
"Boy." His tone was gruff, but not unkind. "Bring me my horse." Scampering away, the stable boy did just that, bringing his old favorite over. "Heh. Ear Biter. You've gotten old." Robert's friend, the war horse that had served him since he was a boy, whinnied, nibbling at his hair and giving his ear a friendly nip. "Aye. That's a good lad."
For a minute, he just stroked his mount's whiskers. Greying around the muzzle, Robert worried for a moment if he would be too fat to mount his steed… if he would be too fat for Ear Biter to hold him. Thankfully, the stirrups held and the horse didn't protest when he climbed aboard. Still, he was drunk enough he needed to be strapped in - and not so drunk he refused to be so. And in this moment, so strong, so bittersweet was his melancholy that his pride abated.
"Lannister. Bring my children. We'll be going for a ride today."
Going for a slow, steady trot, he meandered about the yard until he was comfortable that he wasn't about to snap his horse's back.
"Gods I'm fat."
Whuffing, the horse seemed to agree with Robert. Somehow, that was the funniest thing the half sober man had ever heard in his life. And so it was a laughing king that the queen found, the ugly woman - hate making her beautiful features abhorrent. Turning to look at her, he could smell the Lannisters at this point, the once proud and brave man felt his shoulders sag.
"Cersei."
"Your Grace."
She did the thing where her smile was bitter, mocking. His title a knife to hurl at him. He grunted, already knowing what was happening.
"Well, out with it, what is it you want, woman?"
"My - I mean our - children are at their lessons. It would be totally inappropriate to drag them off to go run about the woods. Joffrey is not king yet, so does not have the luxury of your position, or the right to ensure that he is not overworked. As I'm sure this was meant to be for your… health. And not some whim you'd drag everyone about to sate."
Levelling an unimpressed stare at the woman, he noticed that the other Lannisters were circling. His "squire" Lancel and the Kingslayer both.
"You are a bitter cunt." Snorting, he shook his head. "Whatever. Go fuck your brother for all I care. Oakheart!"
"Yes your grace."
"If any of the blonde haired cunts try to follow me, kill them."
"Your… grace."
Hesitation in the old knight's voice, he laughed.
"I'm serious. And that goes for you lot too." He gestured at the men at arms and knights scurrying about the place. "I'm going for a ride and if any of those blonde leeches follow me, you're to kill them. In fact, I'll knight any commoners and make a lord of any knight who does."
He meant it.
The past few days had been trying. While normally he wouldn't mind giving that Queen of his a much needed tongue lashing, he just wasn't in the mood to have his patience tried. He needed to be away from her and whatever boot lickers she'd roped into her latest scheme.
And he knew many were considering it.
He was the king, after all. And his word was law.
And maybe, just maybe, some fresh air would help clear his head.
Something strange was going on. Jon Arryn was dead. The court was moving to corner some bastard girl from the south just as he was due to start preparations for his departure up north. And as much as he liked to tout his track record as a tactician and warrior… Robert knew he was ill suited to the Game. It wasn't just the sneaking or the lies or the back biting, it was all of it at once, constantly, with everyone around him being involved in it.
"It's madness, how we live. How we think. Even if I was never the greatest knight, I didn't turn on my friends. I didn't rape peasants or loot homes. And Dragonspawn aside, I never condoned slaughtering babes either. But this place is evil."
Muttering to himself wasn't a great idea. But the smallfolk were staying well clear of him and the kingsguard with him - Blount or Trant or some other lickspittle had joined Oakheart. And right now he barely cared enough to not rage against the stupidity of his younger self, of the unimaginable flight of idiocy that had gripped him when he decided to be king. Deep down, he was forced to admit, he missed the Vale.
He missed the Eyrie.
Missed the days he and Ned would do nothing but train, ride through the Vale, and dream of the future.
Those had been good days. Before his friend had gone quiet with the loss of his father and brother. Before he had sunk to the bottom of a barrel after losing the love of his life.
'Ah, those days were the best.'
But everything changed. And he couldn't tell whether it was for the better or not.
Maybe it was selfish of him. But he wondered how things would have gone hadn't the last dragon not taken Lyanna. Would Ned be the same boisterous runt of his litter? Would he have married and ruled amicably under the dragons, same as his father and his grandfather?
So many what ifs….
'Must be running out of wine.' He was starting to hear Ned inside his head.
Even now as he felt the cool wind whip against his face, the king couldn't help but dwell on his thoughts. So little answers to so many questions. It was why he planned to go North from the start. He needed his brother, the one man in the entirety of Westeros he was sure wouldn't stick a dagger in his back as soon as it was turned.
He needed some actual loyalty!
And wasn't it a shame he was being forced to go that far away to find it.
Head down, he pushed out of the city gate, glaring at the kingsguard that wasn't a real knight hard enough the man backed down when he tried to protest this decision. Once he was on his own bloody road it was easy enough to get a bit of speed out of Ear Biter, the wind whipping in his hair as they galloped a short ways, just enough for the both of them to feel a rush of pleasure. A rush of the old glory.
But, when he noticed his old friend slowing down, Robert actually stopped and got off. Taking his mount by the reins, and getting an affectionate nibble on his fingers for his trouble, he walked the old war horse, ignoring the pain in his own lungs and legs and his now pounding head.
It wasn't the first time that day he cursed himself for being so fat. And, being honest with himself, he doubted it would be the last.
"Hold! Who goes there!"
Ser Oakheart, wheeling in front of him, drew his sword.
Because, as he looked up, a dozen people were trotting towards him.
Sitting at the head of the party, fingering his spear, grinning ear to ear, was none other than the Red Viper Oberyn Martell himself. And half his bloody household too, from the looks of things!
"Well hello there."
"Dornishman."
"You wouldn't happen to be the man that let my sister be raped and her children murdered, would you?"
"Give it back."
"Nuh uh!"
"Sarella, I'm serious!"
Ophelia prowled closer, mouth turning into a silent snarl as her annoying older sister took a step back, carrying with her the journal the resident witch had been keeping on their journey to king's landing.
"Sure, I'll give it back. But only if you take out the parts about 'stupid adventurers'!"
She took a step closer.
Sarella stepped back.
"It's only a single passage…."
Her sister flipped open the book in question, showing her the small annotations she made on the bottom of every page.
"You've kept writing it at the end of every entry, though."
Well… she had a point.
"You're actually right you know." Sarella looked confused, taking another step back. "It's a very stupid adventurer that pisses off her little sister. Her little sister that knows magic." Ophelia smirked. "And whose turn it is to cook dinner tonight. Oh Tyennnnnneeeeeee."
"Yes dear sister of mine?"
The blonde sashayed over, wrapping her arms around Sarella's shoulders.
"You called?"
Their middle sister had gone very still and very pale.
"Oh leave her alone." Obara walked past, bridle in one hand and a horse brush in the other. "You know Tyene won't hurt us because it would upset Ophelia and Ophelia is too soft to do more than maybe put a spicy herb in your dinner." The oldest daughter snorted. "And it's funny how you'll piss off an entire longship of Iron Islanders, but are still afraid of your own siblings."
"Your saying that the two of them aren't much, much scarier than a horde of barbarians?"
Pausing at Sarella's riposte, Obara inclined her head.
"Fair enough. I wouldn't sleep tonight if I were you."
Creeping up, Ophelia was about to snatch her journal back when she felt something that brought her up very short, very suddenly.
"Oh."
It was Elia who noticed her sibling's discomfort first, Tyene and Sarella speaking about something that had the younger sister snorting in laughter while Obara groomed her horse.
"What is it sister? What's wrong."
Her face had gone a bit pale, her knees a little weak. Still, she knew better than to visibly display her stress any further. So, reaching up to grasp her sister's hand, she squeezed. Elia tilting her head, very much smelling a rat, but not pushing the issue. She was polite like that. With her family at least.
"All right then. Tell us later suppose. If it's trouble it's best for us all to know, rather than be surprised by it later."
"Of course." Smiling at her younger sister's wisdom, the once warlord couldn't help but wish that grown adults had, had this child's foresight. "Let me speak with father first. Just to be safe."
Nodding, the Lady Lance guided her mount away, tossing a final worried glance back over her shoulder.
Ophelia simply moved quietly, approaching her father, who was speaking with a few of the guards, and sending them away with a pointed look.
"Now, now. What's got you looking so glum my dear? You're much too pretty to glare at the men like that."
Swallowing, she didn't bother beating around the bush.
"One of my animals slipped out of my control."
Oberyn blinked, genuine confusion on his face.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I had one of my birds out scouting. It was flying in a circle above us, near a good couple of hundred yards farther down the road. Watching the forest around the area. Moving a bit higher, it passed outside of my control for about half a second before it dipped back down." She shook her head. "And even worse, I didn't notice because I wasn't really paying attention, but my range is smaller too."
"So… what does that mean."
"Not even the foggiest father."
"Should we, I mean, I thought your reach was growing? You had even mentioned being able to start feeling things like spiders in the harbor port or worms in a dog's heart. Can you still do so?"
Shrugging, Ophelia tried to communicate how much she simply didn't know.
"There's no parasites in the animals, a few fleas, but nothing inside of them. I checked before we left. But, honestly, insects and arachnids are still under my influence." She caused a spider to drop down onto her hand, a single thread of silk connecting it to the top of the tent. "And I can even feel the worms in the dirt, plus a few smaller things I don't have a name for. Maybe even some nematodes, I think, maybe? One of the guards had a tapeworm, I ordered it to starve itself and it hasn't stopped."
"That's disgusting."
Oberyn's voice was totally deadpan.
"Really… that's what your focusing on?"
"That your powers are very nasty sometimes?"
"Says the man that used magic to make his cock bigger!"
"Hey! Who told you that!"
Pouting with indignation, the grown man feared by so many came off as so absurd Ophelia couldn't help but laugh. Her father, the Red Viper, was acting like a teenager right now. And it was just… so him. Eventually, after her guffaws settled down and his indignation faded into an amused smirk, he stepped closer and pulled her into a hug. With that, the panic she hadn't realized had been building in her breast abated, the warmth and strength of her father keeping even this sudden fear away.
"Now, what do you want to do?"
She looked up at her father.
"Hmm?"
"Well-" He began. "Do you want to play this close to the chest? Tell your sisters? Tell the Mage? Perhaps he could help. Assuming you want to take the risk of trusting him."
Trust… didn't come easily to Ophelia.
A throwback to her previous life.
To let people know of something so important and dangerous about herself was a habit she had to relearn over the course of her new life. Accepting the love of her new parents and sisters was what allowed her to be open about many things to them.
Her feelings.
Her interests.
Even if she'd never told them about her previous life as Taylor Hebert, there wasn't much else she hadn't told them about.
Her powers, however, were one of those few exceptions.
"I'm… not sure." It hurt to admit, but even Ophelia didn't have a good grasp on how her powers really worked. It wasn't that she missed the similarities to her passenger, or that they were that much different to use.
It just felt like… she was reaching the correct result through the wrong means.
Controlling other animals.
Seeing through them.
Connecting her emotions to them.
Those were all things she could do as Taylor, but as Ophelia she felt as if she was missing something. Like she wasn't seeing the forest for the trees. Not understanding what made her powers tick like she had before.
And not knowing such an intrinsic part of herself… scared her.
For one… she wasn't limited to bugs like she had been before. Her range was increasing without losing effectiveness and she was even able to teach her new swarm how to behave independently from her. Those weren't things she could do before. Sure, her commands would be followed even if she wasn't conscious.
But this was different.
This was teaching animals that shouldn't have the ability to process the knowledge she gave them without guiding their actions.
It was… unfamiliar territory.
And that scared Ophelia.
Why had her powers changed? Were they even coming from her passenger anymore? Or were they something new entirely that she was using the same way as she had the power of Queen Administrator.
"I want to tell them. Tell them as much as I can." She finally confessed.
"But?"
"But I don't think I can really explain it. Will they think I'm crazy if I explain to them what I've seen?" It was a wholly unfounded fear, she knew, but there was still a part of that isolated girl in her heart.
The part of her who thought this might be just another trick to get her to lower her guard.
"That's why you wanted to meet the Mage. To learn more about magic itself."
"Part of it, yes. That and I really wanted to visit Oldtown." She pouted at the end.
Oberyn, to his credit, only chuckled.
"Not gonna live your sister live it down, huh."
"Eventually." She smiled. "But not yet." Stepping back, she took a deep breath. "Ultimately, I'll have to tell them. It's wrong to keep them in the dark about something as important as this. I just want to have information to share with them when I do. To try and explain why it's happening and what it means."
"To avoid them becoming overprotective." Oberyn chuckled. "More than they already are."
That got a scowl out of his daughter.
"Just because I don't know how to wave a metal stick around doesn't mean I'm defenseless. In fact, I'm better with a knife, even without cheating, than the rest of you."
He waved her off, pulling a wineskin out from a sack.
"Perhaps. But that is largely irrelevant. They are family. And we Martells… well, we always worry about our family." He took a pull. "It's just in our nature. Still, my daughter, come, it's time to get moving. After all, the sun's been up for a while and we might only just make it to King's Landing by mid afternoon at this rate!"
"Aye, father, I'll saddle my horse."
As she turned to leave, he pulled her into one last hug, squeezing her tight.
"And Ophelia, come to me with any problems you have. No matter how silly they seem. I am your father, so, thank you. Now, run."
Oberyn clapped her on the back before calling his men at arms back, the two quickly finalizing the day's plans. And, from what she could hear, the poor guard was eager for more than wild greens and hard jerky even though it had only been a week since they'd last eaten in a castle.
'Ah, such is the opulence of being a prince's retainer.'
"Slow down Elia! Wait, damn it all, come back here!"
Laughter rang out as the youngest of her present sisters raced ahead of their group, only tossing a jaunty salute back at them with her spear, as Ophelia spurred her mount forward. While she could have taken control of her sister's horse, she didn't want to take the chance and throw her. Not when the consequences of that could be so dire. So, instead, she raced behind the girl as two of the men at arms followed her. Oberyn himself simply laughed in turn, glad to see his baby girls having fun. Though he did wave two more of the men at arms forward, their own mounts rushing off forward.
So it was with her family laughing and chatting that Ophelia and Elia, and their escorts, left the others behind - the older sister intending to remind the younger that they were no longer in Dorne.
Unfortunately for the older, the younger was a significantly better horseman and the guards had inferior horses. So it was a lone, dismounted Ophelia that was approached by the Lady Lance, who was totally unperturbed by the fact they'd left their party far behind. The former Cape, however, felt a bit exposed.
"Well sister, did I win? Did I defeat the terrible Witch of Dorne?"
Glaring at her little sister, the witch in question did the most mature thing she could.
She blew a raspberry.
"Hah! I did! Remember that big sister."
Laughing, Elia dismounted and hugged her own horse's neck, taking it by the reins and walking it too, the two girls practically strolling up the Kingsroad.
"Perhaps. Perhaps I'll remember to make a snake crawl into your bed tonight." Elia put on a brave face and swatted at Ophelia's arm.
"You wouldn't dare!"
Giggling, the older sister dodged out of the way.
"It depends on when our escort catches up. They shouldn't be too far behind and we didn't actually go that far. Especially since we're on the Kingsroad. It's a straight shot and it's not exactly easy to get lost when you're practically strolling through civilization itself." Ophelia inclined her head. "Plus I have a few birds watching both us and them."
Shrugging, and looking distinctly not uncomfortable, Elia sidled a bit closer.
"What does it look like through their eyes?"
"Hmm?"
"The world." Waving her hand vaguely, Elia elaborated. "Through the eyes of birds and beasts and bugs. What is it all like?"
"Jumbled, I suppose." That was the easy response and it came to her lips easily. Still, Ophelia tried to communicate the deeper answer. "But it really is confusing. They don't see like us, smell like us, taste like us. It's… hard to put into words what a magnetic sense feels like. As if your stomach was pulling towards the Wall at all times?" In the end that was clumsy, not really even useful for the girl in question. "Hold your hand out."
Complying, the younger sister reached out to the older, Ophelia putting a small apple out of her saddlebag. Placing it in her sister's open palm, she chuckled.
"Now, tell me what it tastes like. Without biting it."
"But I can't do th - oh." Elia's eyes widened slightly. "They can do that?"
"Some." She nodded. "Insect mostly and it's not truly the same thing. But imagine if you could taste with your fingers, smell with your tongue, hear with your eyes, and taste with your ears. Imagine if you could do all that at once and use them normally and it was coming in at once. Now… try to imagine that the sunlight whispers in your ear, that the darkness speaks back when you call out to it, the every stone and blade of grass has its own saga."
Elia was quiet, contemplative for a long time. Seemingly content to think on what she'd been told.
"You know what?"
"Oh?"
"That sounds awfully noisy."
Ophelia couldn't help but chuckle, ruffling her sister's hair as she leaned over, Elia biting into the apple in question. Already the sensory organs of a hundred insects detected the spike of tartness in the air, the flash of the green apple's flesh, even the sweetness in the juices dribbling down her chin left a chemical trail that could be followed. Even her sister's breath left a recognizable trail, the jostle of her body, the exhalation of her horse, the tussle of her hair - all of it was observed from a thousand eyes. Most of them too small to make out more than the blurriest, most jumbled images.
"Aye. It can be. But you learn how to tune it out with practice."
And together they watched.
Together they saw.
It was good.
Oberyn expected many things of his family's journey to King's Landing.
He expected complications.
He expected bickering.
He was pleased to see his daughters mingle and play like when they were younger. So much was happening, so many things changed for him since he first became a father, but the joy of watching on as the loves of his life experienced life to the fullest would never leave him.
If only this trip had come about through more pleasant circumstances.
But that's what he was there for.
To bare his fangs and his poison at the world to protect his daughters.
Poetic euphemisms aside, he had a duty to his children, his brother, and his nation. And this, no matter how frustrating it might feel, was the best way to achieve those goals. Or, at the very least, it would be the most efficient, and arguably entertaining, way to challenge the idiots that wanted to attack them. Except, he wasn't sure what was going on. Rather, he didn't know what his enemy's win condition was.
And that annoyed him.
So, despite how skilled his own tongue was, he hadn't gotten any others to wag. His magical vision remained the single most useful source of information he'd acquired and his memory of it was already beginning to blur.
Marwyn, at least, had proven useful and ensured that he put down every detail he could, allowing him to review it at his leisure. Though fundamentally it didn't answer his questions.
Meaning he was still starting with less than nothing, going into the game half blind. But, at the risk of saying something poetic, he wasn't called the Red Viper without most excellent cause. In the end, he was confident that his venom would ensure the doom of anyone foolish enough to make themselves a visible enemy. And animals fled when the viper walked.
"Well hello there."
What he couldn't have expected, however, was to run face first into the King in the middle on the road.
"Dornishman."
King Robert Baratheon.
The Liberator as some liked to call him.
Or as some amidst Dorne's courts like to call him…
The Usurper.
A far more flattering title than Whoremonger, Drunken Idiot, or Murderer, of course. But those were his own private opinions, which his dearest wife and most clever daughter had warned him not to share unless in a trusted, private, company.
A piece wise counsel.
"You wouldn't happen to be the man that let my sister be raped and her children murdered, would you?"
Oberyn Martel didn't always follow it.
At once, the man's escort formed up around him.
Admittedly, the kingsguard looked very impressive. Their white cloaks swished about and their swords were free and ready.
"Do I look like a fucking Lannister to you?"
The Dornish prince spat to the side.
"Lannister, Baratheon. Not a whole lotta difference between the two these days, you know?"
He enjoyed the angry red which overtook the King's completion. There he stood, a fat king sitting on the back of his old war horse surrounded by a band of hired killers no different than sellswords.
"How about you stop dancing around what you really want to say, Viper."
The King looked eager for a fight. All too eager in fact, ruddy cheeks coupled with a manic gleam in his eyes belying the danger underneath. Oberyn knew well to be wary of old men who lived through wars.
Though he had stuff himself with wine, Robert Baratheon was still a man bred and born for the battlefield.
A few years ago, he might have even taken him up on the challenge.
From the corner of his eye he could see Obara and Sarella subtly reach for their blades. His eldest looked eager, all too eager, as she eyed the puffed up mercenaries surrounding the King.
Good girls.
But unneeded.
"Maybe some other day. When you're not already dying of a hangover."
Robert grunted, pulling his horse around.
"Well, if you're not going to put me out of misery, you can at least give me another reason to drink. I can't believe I forgot to bring a wineskin. Give me one of yours!"
Tossing over the one he'd just taken a pull out of, the Prince of Dorne watched as an old man swallowed a skinful of wine like it was water.
"Dornish red, four, five years ago. Good. Good wines too. Well, come on then. I'm not going to murder you for being a cunt. If I did that, I'd have had to burn the city down years ago and I don't have any salt or bread on me."
Ophelia rode up to his side and gave him one of those looks. The kind of look that told him if he made an ass of himself he'd find spiders in his food for the next week. So, doing what he always did when a woman was angry with him, he flashed her his best smile.
"My dear heart, my precious love, my inexorably crushing daughter who would never curse her most beloved father… don't worry. I've got this."
And like that, Oberyn left a suddenly very annoyed little girl to glare at his back. But that was okay. Because she wouldn't stay angry at him long enough to hurt. So that was what mattered. Mostly. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have laid it on so thick.
"You know your grace, my daughter is a witch."
"Yeah, yeah. And I'm the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. What's your point?"
"Well, I fear I may have just made her rather annoyed at me. In fact, I may have made her so annoyed with me I fear for my hairline."
Robert snorted.
"She looked like one of those types of women. The dangerous ones that is. In fact, every single one of them looked dangerous. How'd you do that by the way? I got one snivelling little monster, a gentle girl, and a boy so gentle he'd have been better off a girl."
"Oh! That's easy. I started with this ritual involving the severed cock of a manticore and-"
A very, very large crow landed on the head of his horse. It stared him in the eye.
"Ok, ok, I'll save that one for when we're drinking."
Using that as an excuse to do just that, Robert held out his hand for another wineskin. This time Oberyn fished out a pair of bottles and handed one over.
"So, you were telling me about how much you want me to kill all the Lannisters for you, yes?"
Glaring at him with a very intense bout of loathing, Robert said something that had him laughing.
"Don't tempt me you dornish whore monger." Visibly grumbling, he took a swig. "Those bloody leeches are everywhere. I'd have just let Tywin sit the damnable thing if I'd known how miserable it was. Oh, oh! And you know what the worst part of it is?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "The fucking Iron Throne pokes you in the ass!"
Both men roared with laughter, Ser Oakheart and… some other nobody, he was sure his daughters would kill him brutally if he tried anything, both had their swords at the ready. Inside their sheathes, of course, but loose and ready to draw. It was almost like they thought they could stop him from reaching up and driving his spear through the Baratheon's skull. As if he'd need more than a split second to skewer the pig king's heart.
It was… quaint.
"Don't."
He looked to the side, answering his dear daughter's milk curdling stare with a winning smile.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, dear."
Ophelia didn't believe him, of course.
She knew better than that.
Settling back into place, he let his fingers dance on the back of his horse's neck for a bit, getting out their nervous energy. It also let him focus on the conversation a bit too.
That was always nice.
"Now, your grace, it seems we have two common enemies."
"Hmm?"
"Tywin Lannister. He's the one that murdered my sister, had her raped, butchered my niece and my nephew, and had their cat killed because he's a sick fuck who can't get hard unless he's murdering someone. Do you think he had to snuff a stable boy before he could mount his wife? I think he probably - wait, off topic. So, as I was saying. Why don't we forge an alliance and murder him?"
Robert took another drink.
"You know what. Let me get a bit more drunk and we can swing back around to this. Who's our second enemy?"
"Why hangovers of course, your grace. You see, my sweet, precious, wise daughter Ophelia figured out how to cure them. And while I would taint a man's veins, just to watch him choke to death on his own pooling blood and vomit, I would never deny a man her miracle in a bottle!"
Suddenly very grave and solemn, the king sat straight.
"You speak truly?"
Oberyn raised his hand.
"By my honor and by the blood of my father and the blood of my children."
Robert, still very serious, took the Red Viper's forearm warmly.
"Come Brother. You shall sit at my right hand tonight!"
