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Lady of Dorne

The Wedding of Disasters

"Please tell me that I heard you wrong."

Alric didn't say it.

"Please tell me that it doesn't mean what I think it means."

Alric shook his head. "I cannot say such a thing."

"Of course you can. Try it." Oberyn's voice was indeed pleading. The dog raised his brown head and snarled. Even he could say that a pleading Oberyn was not the usual kind of Oberyn. Alric didn't necessarily like it better.

Oberyn rose and went to the window. As usual in this hottest time of the day, most people had gone indoors to have a rest, from the master-at-arms to the kitchen girls. There was indeed no point in trying to do one's job when the very air enticed one to sleep. But looking closer, Oberyn noticed that the level of activity was too high for this hour. In the courtyard beyond the garden his father's chambers were overlooking, men carried heavy tables and benches and women swept twigs and leaves away. Come to think of it, he had glimpsed a lot of bustle in the kitchen area, as well. Now, it made sense. They were making preparations for Elia's wedding… tomorrow. Of course, she couldn't invite the greatest among her bannermen but there were those who were too prideful to learn of her wedding afterwards. Besides. she would have asked her friends to come. For one, Oberyn could not imagine a wedding of Elia's without Ashara Dayne in attendance. And the small party entering the Old Palace flying the Gargalen banner right now? Was he mistaken, or was this his aunt Ranna?

"Am I the last one to be told?" he asked evenly.

His father didn't try to pretend. "I'd rather you be away and be told in the aftermath. But alas, you happened to be here."

Oberyn looked at the ceiling. "Thank you, Father, that you've sent me such an honest father," he said sarcastically.

Suddenly, Alric gripped Oberyn by the shoulders. "Now, it isn't the time to pass judgment," he said tersely. "Elia's child was conceived in the night before she stepped in her role. We have no time to lose. And realistically, she could have made a much worse choice than Arthur."

"Could she?" But Oberyn's voice had lost some of it edge. He was swept by the relief that his father's grip was as strong as ever. After Alric's last fit, he had started fearing that viper wine had started causing damages that could not be reversed.

"Yes. Someone who would push their own agenda, or benefit their House."

"Someone like you?" Oberyn snapped.

For a moment, he thought that his father would strike him. He had gone too far. If anyone could truly realize how much it had cost Alric to always play a second fiddle to his lady wife, deferring to her decisions even when he thought them a bad one, to keep his pride in check for the sake of Dorne, to spend his entire life pushing Arianne's agenda, that was Oberyn, for they were so much alike. Fiercely loyal. Vengeful. Unforgiving. Always quick to act. Arianne had been born to rule and Alric to overcome any reign forced upon him, so he had been forced to overcome his own core. And out of all Dornishmen, Alric's House had been the one most useful to Arianne, providing her with councilors, leadership of her fleet, and staunch support against any malcontents. They had benefitted greatly but not unjustly.

For the briefest of minutes, the anger crossing Alric's face was such that Oberyn was reminded of the man his father had used to be. Then, the flicker was gone as swiftly as it had come. "If you think so," Alric said coldly. "The fact of the matter is, Oberyn, that for all his mistakes Arthur loves her. And his guilt won't let him take a stand against her in anything, in the beginning at least. I'd say that'll be a good start of her rule. If we can pull through the very beginning of her marriage, that is. No matter your personal feelings, I expect you to show nothing but support to both Elia and Arthur, do you hear me? Tomorrow, you'll smile and toast them, and behave as if Arthur is the match you have always wanted for your sister. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Oberyn said, showing his teeth. The dog did the same and then yowled, his eyes moving from his master to Oberyn and back, as if he couldn't understand what was going on. Well, Oberyn couldn't either. Elia was supposed to be smart. He leaned over. "No, no, Striking, we aren't fighting. It isn't Father that I am angry with. Come here, Striking, and let's be friends again. Father, why did you have to give him such a silly name?"

Slightly mollified, the greyhound came near and let Oberyn scratch him behind the ears. However, he didn't offer his belly for a rub. Great. Now, it was not only Alric who was angry with him but the dog, as well!

A sudden smile touched Alric's lips and then disappeared. In the bright golden light, he looked once again tired and lost his drive for life. "I can offer you a salve for your anger," he said. "Just think of what Rhaegar will think of that when he gets to know."

Slowly, Oberyn returned the smile. "It helps somewhat," he said. "Yes, I think that might just help me pull through."

"I hope so." Alric didn't look convinced. Of course he wouldn't be.

Like and like, father and son. But while Alric's bite had been honed and tempered with time, Oberyn was still young enough to have his blood boil. He wanted to punish all those who had betrayed Elia and Dorne, who had cost them so – and he wanted to do it not only politically and emotionally. He wanted to do it physically. He wanted to feel the hurt.

As soon as he parted with his father, he went to look for his traitorous goodbrother to be. All along the way, he encountered evidence of the wedding preparations and that fed his anger like a fire that would never be sated, just rising higher with each added twig. So Arthur thought he could just worm his way back from behind Elia's back? Not where Oberyn was concerned. He had helped Rhaegar harm Oberyn's family and Dorne and that, Oberyn would never forgive, Elia or no Elia.

Another face drove him to further anger. Loreza, his golden-haired half-sister. As lovely as they came and even kinder and gentler. A man had ruined her, taking advantage of her when she had been in no state to protest. Just like Elia had been that night. Oh, Oberyn did not doubt that Arthur had not forced himself upon her. But it was not so different, truly. Elia had been drunk that night and Oberyn knew well how susceptible women could be in that state. Arthur had used her in her moment of weakness, that much was clear. And that night had now the potential to ruin her life, just like that single occasion – Oberyn prayed that it had been a single occasion – had ruined their sister's life, he thought furiously. And as he strode through the Old Palace, somewhere in the haze of the Dornish afternoon sun, the faces of Arthur Dayne and Davel Vaith melted in one.

A question to a servant hurrying with a heavy yellow cloth in hands steered him in the right direction. Arthur was kneeling in the small armoury, going through various bows. He had already discarded a dozen or so. At Oberyn's approach, he looked up and rose.

"Congratulations," Oberyn said. "I heard you were going to rise above us all."

His mild tone screamed danger. He knew that Arthur knew it, yet the former Kingsguard did not look away. "That was not my intention, my Prince, but I guess you could say that."

"You would guess such a thing?" Now, it was sarcasm colouring Oberyn's tone. The change in Arthur was evident, and not one that he liked. He still looked tormented as he ought but he had lost that look of guilt that could hold no hope to be forgiven, the grim resignation that had, until very recently, wrapped him like that soiled white cloak had before. Instead, he looked confident, balanced, certain that things would sort themselves out. Indeed, they had – for him.

Smiling, Oberyn went to the bottom of the room where the spears were and opened the glass window to stroke the tip of one. Good, solid iron. He whirled around, pointing it at Arthur's chest. "You deserve to have that drawn all the way through what passes for your heart."

Arthur sighed. "I cannot blame you for thinking so. I can only say that I am sorry and I'll do my best to make amends."

Oberyn didn't move the tip of the spear. Now, he wished he had doused it in poison! Had Arthur lost his mind enough to think that he could make amends? Was the madness at King's Landing infectious?

"Amends," he spat. "What kind of amends can you make? Can you return my uncles' lives? My cousins'? You cannot. Tell me, Arthur, what amends are you talking about?"

Arthur inclined his head. "I wish I had died instead of them," he said. "Not that I expect you to believe me."

"You're right," Oberyn agreed. "I don't believe you. Anyway, I also wish that it had been you. But you live, don't you? They who died for your prince's stupidity are no longer, yet you live and will climb to the highest seat in Dorne."

All of a sudden, his cold disdain left him, revealing the face of fury personified. "Who do you think you are? You think you can simply sit in the seat my father occupied for thirty years with honour, rule this land along with Elia, and take the respect due to her consort after all that you did? You who are nothing compared to my father!"

He meant to offend but he was far off the mark. Arthur was well aware that unlike Alric, he had not proved himself in any way meaningful to Dorne. He was nothing compared to Alric and it did not offend him. It just drove him to work harder and persevere, as he always had.

"Were you planning it?" Oberyn asked and threw the spear aside before he succumbed to the temptation to use it. "When you took advantage of the fact that Elia was into her cups? You would have gotten along marvelously with Davel Vaith!"

Arthur might have been in the Tower of Joy in the time of this scandal but even he had heard of it. He immediately realized what Oberyn hinted at. His face went white. "Do not compare me to him," he hissed.

Grimly delighted, Oberyn enjoyed the fact that he had stricken a nerve. "Why?" he asked. "What makes you better?"

Arthur's hand went to his scabbard that he didn't wear. Oberyn snickered. "Killing your bride-to-be's brother isn't the best start of your marriage, isn't it?" he mocked. "You know, you really should give me a tour through this Tower of Joy, as Rhaegar called it. One day, I'll have to take the babe there and tell it the entire lovely story. I'm sure it'll be delighted to hear how its father stood guard at its mother's humiliation."

This time, Arthur's blood truly boiled. He would suffer Oberyn no longer. "Take that back," he growled.

"Did I offend you?" Oberyn asked innocently and swiftly ducked away to avoid the fist Arthur aimed in his direction.

They grabbed each other and tumbled on the floor in a furious flurry of punches and kicks. All the despair, hatred, betrayal, blame, and guilt came out in bruises and blood, grunts and hitched breathing that should have let them both exhausted, had they not been carried away on the wings of battle exhilaration.

The small armoury was indeed too small to contain two men with red faces and red fury. They wrestled and slid, and rolled over, bumping into bows and making cupboards rattle until a woman's scream pierced the air, "Stop them! Elvar, do something!"

"If you let go off me, I'll go and hold this squirt tight until Oberyn makes a short work of his face."

But for all his sentiments, Elvar Sand could say that the things between his brother and his future goodbrother were progressing fast, in direction that was anything but desirable, so he stepped in, determinedly, and separated them, taking a few punches in his own ruined face in the process.

"Stop it, both of you!" he ordered. "I don't care how you do it, but tomorrow, I want you both at the wedding on your own two feet."

His apprehension was not unjustified. At the moment, they both looked as if they might miss the wedding, so battered they were.

Arthur and Elia were wed the next day, in the bright sunlight of the late morning, in the sept Prince Mort Martell had built to praise the gods for relieving Dorne of the Young Dragon's men. All around, the streets were teeming with excited spectators, for somehow Sunspear had come to know before the bannermen invited did, so people now came, feeling invited if not to the wedding feast, at least to the spectacle of watching their Princess wed.

To Elia's great relief, there was no overt resentment. No one gave her trouble. Sure, here and there in the city people claimed that the traitor who had turned his back to Dorne did not deserve to wed their lady. But mainly, people spoke of his great swordsmanship and his starry sword. If he was good enough for Elia, he was good enough for them, as well. Rumours were already bursting out about their tragic and forbidden love that had finally come into happy fruition. Of course, she could not recognize either Arthur or herself in those romantic versions – but she didn't mind them spreading. Better that than the alternative.

If only her bannermen were this trusting… Sure, their friends had assured her in their support but they were only a limited number of people.

Not one eye was drawn to the mess of yellow and violet that Arthur's face was. Since Oberyn looked no better, it was not hard for everyone to guess what had happened. Elia did not pity either of them – she only hoped they would make it through the ceremony without swaying which they did. At one point, Arthur even looked at her as if he had briefly forgotten their circumstances and had eyes only for her, as if it was the wedding they had once dreamed about. In her gown of orange and black adorned with the Martell sun and spear, Elia looked radiant. No one needed to know how much time painting her face had taken. What mattered was that the evidence of the last sleepless nights was no longer. Now, if she could only fight this nausea…

Her hand was trembling in his and the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her just when they stood before the septon. Arthur was not much better, croaking his way through the vows – it looked like there was some damage to his vocal chords. All of a sudden, Elia felt like smiling, so smiling she did. "What a pair we make," she murmured in his ear when he gave her a look of surprise.

It might even work, this marriage of ours, she reasoned out when at the wedding feast, a table collapsed. Everyone's goblets were at their hands for the toasts and the plates had not been served yet, so it was not as disastrous as it would have been, had it happened later. As it was, no one was hurt.

Her wedding to Rhaegar had been truly lavish, everything had been exactly the way it should have – except for the marriage. Her heart ached for Rhaenys who was bravely trying not to show her misery. Naeryn and Daella were taking good care of her, though, and Laval didn't leave her side. At the moment, Elia had to focus on her guests and the feast, and giving everyone the impression that her new marriage was as solid as a rock.

It was almost midnight when the music stopped all of a sudden. Elia gave Arthur a swift look of surprise, knowing that he was the only one beside her who had authority to order the musicians to stop. He held her eye, rose, and raised his voice. "My lady the Princess and I would like to thank you for coming and celebrating our wedding with us. We hope you enjoy the rest of the feast and the dancing that it to follow. But for myself, I would prefer to end the feast with some time alone with my beautiful bride. I am sure you understand."

He turned to Elia and offered her a hand. Without hesitation, she took it and let him lead her off the dais, among the rows of staring, gaping people. Only when they were already out of the hall, the chaos broke out.

"You've deprived them from their favourite part," Elia murmured.

Arthur shrugged. "Well, you can go there for that if you like. I've been waiting for twelve years. What are a few more hours compared to that? But I'd rather not have the public bedding part."

A soft shine of gratitude shone in her dark eyes and sparkled like a myriad of stars in the light of the torches in their holders on the wall. He spoke casually but Elia knew the true reason for his behavior. He had wanted to save her the bedding, spare her from exposing her scarred skin to everyone's eye. Suddenly moved, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they made their slow way to their bedchamber where she promptly ran to throw up and he scowled as he took the clothes off his brusied body.

Everything was arranged as a bridal chamber should be – the new linens, the soft candlelight, the bouquets of bright summer flowers that Elia normally loved and Arthur rushed to throw away before she returned. He had spent her earlier two pregnancies at her side and knew that flowers made her sick as nothing else when she was with child…

She came back from the privy, ashen and with trembling legs. He had just finished undressing and she assessed the damages. There were four spots on him that looked unscathed.

"Oberyn?" she asked and he nodded.

"You should see him," he felt obliged to say.

There was a sparkle dancing in Elia's eye and she replied with mock horror, "No, please, I beg you…"

He burst out laughing, although it hurt, went to the flagon of wine and the two goblets set out on a table and filled one goblet for her because she looked as if she would be sick again. She drank to settle her stomach and only when the wine did that, they both realized that they had just missed the chance to have their first intimate wedding toast.

"Help me with the gown," Elia said.

He did and she was pleased when she felt how his fingers shook. It delighted her that he wanted her. Rhaegar had never… no, she would not think of him now. Tonight, it was her and Arthur, and that thin thread of hope making its way through her heart.

She still couldn't bring herself to trust him. But today, they had exchanged vows. They were now tied to each other for life – and despite everything, the thought of this stirred a deep elation that pushed away every reason, every fear. Arthur was closer to her than Rhaegar ever had been, more handsome and much more desired. And he was stroking her back and the scar under her breast so tenderly…

He took her in his arms and carried her to bed. Vaguely, Elia remembered something Naeryn had told her many years ago, when she had been the one sharing Arthur's bed. He's like a snake, she had confided. He's warm when I am cold, and he's cool when I am hot. It's as if I have my personal blanket or fan. Now, he was warm to Elia's cold, making her warm, too.

Maybe he'll be a suitable spouse for a snake, Elia thought as he lowered his head and drew his lips along the scales of her scar.