"I can't wear this." Ylsa sat wrapped in the gossamer sheets, holding them around herself as she was presented with one of the dresses that had been hung in the wardrobe of the room she'd been brought to; her room now, she supposed. Behind her sat one of the Dornish ladies in waiting, twisting her hair up and away from her neck and shoulders, to keep her cooler, in the Dornish style. Her own handmaiden, the red-haired woman who had accompanied her from the Westerlands named Marlyn, was sitting beside her, bowl of cool water and washcloth sitting in her lap, dabbing every now and then at Ylsa's temple. It was later on in the evening, with the sun hanging lower in the sky, the air just beginning to cool down, and yet Ylsa had awoken from her troubled and ill sleep sweating still. She'd been asleep several hours after being taken from the docks to the palace, stripped of the overly-heavy clothes she'd been dressed in and laid to rest under the thin sheets to allow the breeze to cool her overheated head as she napped. And yet she hardly felt much better, and even when she was offered food, all she would take was water. And now this….
"It's none too revealing for Dornish women," another of the Dornish ladies in waiting assured her, holding up the seafoam gown to show her. She said this, and yet Ylsa's eye was immediately drawn to the bare arms, the neckline that seemed to hang from the shoulders, the fabric that, while its sheer nature would have obviously lent itself to keeping the wearer from overheating, would do nothing to disguise the wearers form beneath it. And even showing her silhouette would have been too much for Ylsa, who was so used to thick cotton dresses that covered everything from neck to wrist, from bust to toe! "And the color would suit your complexion."
"I can't go out in something so bare!" Ylsa exclaimed, looking incredulously from the garment to the girl holding it, though she knew the Dornish ladies would not see her way; they found themselves dressed in similar cuts and fabrics. "It's hardly better than going around naked!"
"Would you prefer trousers, Lady Payne?" The woman who was pinning her hair up motioned for the one holding the dress to fetch another outfit, but this Ylsa shot down as well.
"Trousers!? I'm…..do Dornish women wear trousers?" It was an earnest question, and when the two Dornish handmaidens began to laugh at the inquiry, Ylsa's cheeks flared up red, and she pressed her lips together in embarrassment.
"Dornish women wear whatever we like," the lady behind her said, finishing up with the last twist, and moving to sit beside her, opposite Marlyn. "Women aren't allowed to wear trousers in the North?"
"I'm not from the North, I'm from the West, and…I suppose they could, if they really wanted to. But it's not…normal."
"To Dorne, everything North is the North," the younger of the two Dornish women said, setting the seafoam dress aside and pulling out a gauzy pearl dress next.
"How dreary, to always be confined to your heavy wool dresses," the older remarked beside Ylsa. "How are girls expected to run and play if they have to drag 30 pounds of fabric around with them everywhere?"
"Little girls and babies wear cotton dresses," Ylsa pointed out, reaching to touch the fabric of the pearl colored dress, making a slightly displeased face, her eyebrows meeting in a worried line above her eyes. "By the time we start wearing corsets and layers we don't play anymore. …I can't remember the last time I played with anyone." At this, the Dornish handmaidens glanced at each other strangely, exchanged puzzled looks.
"…How dull," the younger said bluntly. "It's a good thing you've come here. Ellanna, we should pray to the Seven in thanks, that we weren't born in the North."
"Hush!" Both of the Dornish women wore their hair in loose plaits down their backs, dark black locks curling wherever strands fell loose from the braid. They both had such easy, pretty smiles on their faces, eyes bright despite their dark chocolate color. And their deep rich skintone contrasted so painfully to Ylsa's pallid coloration, that added to their light hearted banter at her expense, she felt very intimidated by these girls. Marlyn was quite plain, even compared to Ylsa, who felt like a common daisy compared to these beautiful Dornish women. She swallowed hard. Even in a dress that revealed so much skin such as these, she would not be able to compete with the looks, or even the wit of her handmaidens. She didn't even want to try on these dresses; she'd look ridiculous, a plain thing like her in dresses like this!
"Isn't there any dress I can wear that covers up a bit more?" she asked, and the elder woman, Ellanna, chuckled.
"Do you like being too hot, child? Why do you think we use such thin fabrics? We are on the coast, but the majority of Dorne lies in the desert." She stood, taking the pearl dress from the younger woman and holding it out more forcefully towards Ylsa. "Try it. A fainting spell or two can be cute, but if you don't get used to the Dornish style of dress soon, heat exhaustion will claim another Northern woman who was too stubborn and prideful to shed her heavy layers and adopt the Dornish way."
"Trust me brother, I know the feeling." Doran smirked in amusement as his brother lounged on the chaise languidly, fixing the Prince with that look, the one that might've seemed annoying and condescending if Doran received it from anyone else. Oberyn swirled the wine in his glass a bit, before taking a sip. "A desire to taste the Northern wares is something I am all too familiar with! Beautiful men and women inhabit every corner of this great Earth, it's understandable to want to sample what each corner has to offer."
"'Northern wares', eh?" Doran said, rolling his eyes minutely. "Quite a way to speak of the owners of the beds you share."
"You know I have nothing but respect for those I share a bed with," Oberyn replied, sitting up suddenly, placing his glass on the table beside the chaise. "But there is such a thing as too much respect. Or…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Let me put it this way. You would not buy an entire heard of oxen, just for a taste of beef."
"So now we're talking of beef? I thought it was wares?" The older brother laughed then, nodding in thanks as he was brought another cup of wine.
"Don't be dense on purpose, Doran," Oberyn said light heartedly, joining his brother in his laugh. "You know what I'm getting at. We've spoken of this before."
"And I've put it to rest before as well…and yet here we are."
"Is it that you feel a man in such a position as yourself cannot leave his seat of power?" Oberyn regarded Doran carefully as he spoke, trying desperately to figure out what was going on in his head; Doran had always been impenetrable this way. It was so hard to figure out what this man was thinking. "I can assure you, the Dornish would not begrudge their beloved Prince a little adventuring! Besides, Trystane is nearly of age, it would not be unheard of for you to retire early to travel-"
"I'm well aware, it boggles the mind how fast these children grow," Doran interrupted, shaking his head.
"Then it must be your condition; I keep telling you brother, if only you'd find yourself in the open sea, the salt breeze in your lungs you'd heal much faster, you'd be as spritely as you've ever been!"
"Oh please, Oberyn, even as children, to call me 'spritely' would be a dreadful lie." He sighed, amused at the runaround way his brother was getting to his point. "What is it, Oberyn? What is it about this decision that bothers you so much? You seem to be making any argument you can against my wishes."
"I'm not trying to be oppositional," he insisted, finishing off his wine. "You've just always been one to settle on a decision so quickly, and dig your heels into it. You really are very stubborn, you know."
"What are our House words again, brother?" He smirked, setting his chalice down, to wheel his chair from the tables they sat around, to the open balcony on the far side of the room, overlooking the courtyard. "Are they, 'bow, bend, brake'?"
"You're taking the words too literally." Oberyn followed, leaning on the balcony railing, looking out over the yard, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. His dark locks, unkempt in their usual fashion, rustled easily with the breeze. "You can change your mind, especially when the circumstance demands-"
"Does the circumstance demand, then?"
"Doran." Turning to his brother, Oberyn's smile was fading fast. "This is serious. If it was a longing for Northern flesh, I could understand that. But to marry just any woman from the North to have just a taste is overkill-"
"Is that really what you think is happening here?" Doran was quickly losing his good temper, though even so, he remained soft spoken. It had never been his way to let his nerves grow too hot; no, that was Oberyn's territory, not his.
"No, I think there is something else, but this is the only explanation I can seem to come up with to describe this….this rash decision of yours."
"You know I never hungered like you did. Like you still do." He looked away from his younger brother, closing his eyes briefly against the comfortable breeze. "I never desired quite as much. Never felt quite as deeply. But I've also never changed based on whims quite as easily. I've made my decision, and it wasn't taken as lightly as you accuse me of."
"I just don't want you to come to regret such a decision," Oberyn sighed, looking away as well.
"You don't want to regret my decision, you mean? She will be MY wife, Oberyn. You would not need to suffer any consequence my wife might bring upon me." A long silence stretched between the brothers at this, though silence between them was not uncommon. Oberyn sighed deeply, before eventually speaking up once more.
"You never did want to follow the rules."
"And you follow the rules so well," Doran answered sarcastically, relenting to an amused tone.
"First Mellario, and now this Payne girl." Oberyn smiled, remembering Doran's first wife fondly. "It was such a scandal, though I doubt you'd remember, you were far too deeply in love to have noticed anything around you at the time."
"What, my marriage to Mell?"
"See? You wouldn't have known, but I was in the Free Cities at the time; The Prince of Dorne, married to a Norvoshi. It was apparently quite an affront to the rest of Westeros. Especially since Tywin Lannister at the time had been searching so desperately for a suitable mate for his daughter. That is, before Robert came along. The gossip at the time had been that he'd inquire to you, but you chose Mellario instead."
"I loved Mellario," Doran replied, eyebrows knitting together.
"Yes, we knew. It was hard to miss. But none the less, it wasn't what was expected of you."
"Oh, and you're one to talk!" Reaching over, Doran pinched at his brother's ribs, as if they were children again. "Refusing to take a wife, keeping your Paramour sacrosanct!"
"I am not the crown Prince," he rebutted, grinning at the meager taunting. "And now this! She's…."
"-Charming," Doran finished, but was met by a look of sarcastic disbelief from Oberyn.
"I heard she threw up into the harbor," he said bluntly.
"You would have seen it yourself if you'd bothered to show up. She was seasick, can you blame her? And you should have seen what they had dressed her in; cotton and wool, for the sake of the Seven-"
"Was she at least…" Oberyn paused then, before leaning up off the railing briefly to make a somewhat rude gesture about the feminine figure, to which Doran attempted to pinch him once more.
"Stop that!" he chastised, rolling his eyes. "It was hard to tell, in any case, as she was so bundled up. You'd think her father thought he was sending her to the true North."
"…You might've taken the Princess, at least," Oberyn said, a tone of final rellentment in his voice. "If you were going to ally our house to the enemy, you might've at least wed the Princess and not some vassal girl."
"Princess Myrcella is 14," Doran pointed out, shivering at that thought.
"And Lady Payne is hardly older."
"Coming from someone whose love resides within a bastard woman, I would have thought you'd be the last to judge a man on the status of his wife?" Doran was well aware of his brother and his brother's paramour's opinions on this matter; he'd been arguing this same issue ever since he'd announced the news.
"It's not my opinion of you that truly matters, Doran, and you know it." Running a hand through his hair, he chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "You are the Prince. What you do matters. Whom you do it with matters."
"…I know it." The Prince shifted slightly in his seat, his elbows setting on the armrests, lacing his fingers together under his chin in thought. "I've lived my entire life knowing this, Oberyn, you don't need to remind me of something I am well aware of."
"Don't I?" Another long silence spread between them, before Oberyn sighed once more, and turned, as if to leave. "You are my brother, and I don't judge you. But I am not your jury. Dorne is." With these words, Oberyn moved to leave, leaving Doran alone on the balcony, looking out over the tops of the palms that swayed slightly in the dying light of the day. Below him, he could see the servants, just starting to advance through the palace grounds, lighting the night torches as they went.
"…I know." He repeated, this time only to himself. "I know."