Chapter 25: Oberyn III
For Oberyn, the port of Sunspear was a sight for sore eyes.
The journey south had been meandering, and thrice now unfavourable winds had slowed their way. With every passing day Ellaria grew more impatient to see her daughters, and Oberyn to see his brother. And yet, there was naught he could do to allay their boredom. Oberyn stayed mostly in his cabin, welcoming the occasional sailor to their bed, several nights spent in the nude, grunts and squeals and groans the only sound as even Ellaria's seemingly endless lusts were exhausted.
And yet, regardless of what he tried, thoughts of murder still ran through his mind with every league. A spy...
No matter. Today was not the day for such suspicions, and Oberyn felt a grin grow in the middle of his face as they drew nearer and nearer to the dock. Obara, Elia and little Obella stood arrayed at the end of the quay, awaiting their victorious father on the prow of the Elia as it sailed ashore. Dorea and Loreza, presumably, would greet him either in the Old Palace or in the Water Gardens.
Obara, of course, had on her full plate, bronze glittering in the sunlight, leather straps for various swords and daggers crisscrossing her skin, her whip hanging off her hip in a loose loop. She had made an effort to look her best for him, he could tell; her rat-brown nest of hair was uncharacteristically well-combed, her clothing almost womanly. A savage grin graced her face, however, much like Oberyn's own.
Elia, on the other hand, seemed better put-together. Her long black braid trailed down her bare shoulder, her dress orange, held aloft by a ring of gold around her neck. Still, she was smiling, and Oberyn could see in the distance the outline of a dagger on her thigh when the wind blew her dress hither and thither. Beside her was the littler Obella, her dress of a similar cut, a more mischievous smile on her face. Her black hair shimmered in the sunlight and fell around her slim shoulders in straight lines, unbound and untamed, but still well-cared for.
When finally the ship was still, bobbing gently in the water as one of the sailors threw a rope out to tie it to the quay, the gangplank was lowered and Oberyn could go to see his daughters, Ellaria at his side. She swept little Obella up in a warm hug, even as Oberyn embraced the other two, and once all words were spoken they finally set off together into the streets of the Shadow City, guards flanking them as they reached the end of the quay.
All around, the city was silent in anticipation. The Spear and Sun Towers loomed in the distance. Crowds of well-wishers lined the streets, backs against mud-brick walls the colour of dun, and broke out in raucous cheering at his arrival. Whores leaned out from brothel windows, clad in naught but jewels and oil, teats sweating and swaying and glistening in the golden sun as they watched him pass. Today they'd service any man and refuse any coin in honour of the Mountain's demise at his hand. Oberyn smiled and waved as he walked past the rows of loyal Dornishmen on his way to the walls of the Sunspear.
"Our prince is here!" they cried. "Victory for the Viper!"
Compared to Tyrosh or Myr or even Kings Landing, the Shadow City was merely a town; and yet it was the nearest thing to a true city that Dorne had. The air smelled of dust, sweat and smoke, and the babble of voices could be heard at all hours. In the centre was the seat of House Martell; the Sandship and the Spear and Sun Towers, flanked on three sides by the sea, and on the fourth side mud-bricked hovels and shops and pillow-houses had sprung up, some with walls of their own. More hovels had arisen behind those walls, and so on and so on.
And so when they finally reached the gates, the cheering of the crowds still loud behind them, they were quickly welcomed inside. They went through the Threefold Gate, heading along the straight brick path, bypassing the winding web of alleys and narrow passages the walls made, and went into the Old Palace. Only once they had passed the thick walls of the castle did the shouts slip away, and when they reached the outer ward they found Ser Manfrey waiting to greet him. Beside him half the court was arrayed: the blind old seneschal Ricasso, young Maester Miles, and a dozen knights.
"Prince Oberyn," Ser Manfrey greeted him. "Sunspear rejoices at your return."
"I heard," Oberyn said, grinning.
"I have commanded the cooks to prepare a feast for this evening," he continued, "with all your favourites."
"I can hardly wait."
When they finally got away Oberyn was firstly led to his chambers, where he bathed, a task he involved Ellaria in, and by the time they were done a servant called them down to dinner.
At the table, Oberyn's family were all arrayed, along with the feast. Every type of food, lavishly prepared, served on golden platters and plates. Ser Manfrey sat at the foot of the table, gesturing for Oberyn to take the head. Ellaria sat herself beside that seat, Obella beside her, Obara and Elia sat opposite.
"A wonderful feast!" Oberyn declared, grinning. "But lacking in decoration, I think." He reached down into a sack he'd brought with him from his chambers, and withdrew from within a large skull, meat boiled off the bones, and set it down in the centre of the table. "Compliments of the king," he said as he finally sat.
"The trail," Elia said, eyes gleaming. "Tell us about the trial."
Oberyn chuckled and nodded and complied. He told the tale of his duel with the Mountain that Rides in detail, and all his family listened with rapt attention. He told them of the king's gift, which he then withdrew from it's sheath at his hip and presented to the table, still red with the Mountain's blood, and then of what a close shave that victory truly was. He described each blow and cut. His three daughters all listened intently, faces showing at times excitement and at others fear. Little Obella in particular seemed most excitable, and made a show spearing her meat as she imagined her father had speared the Mountain.
"The king?" Obara leaned over and quietly asked once he was done. "Not the Usurper?"
Oberyn nodded as he dug into a cut of beef. "You heard how he helped me," he said. "My quarrel is no longer with the crown."
"And the Old Lion?"
"The Old Lion's end will come," Oberyn answered between bites. "We just have to be patient."
Obara frowned, confused. "Patience, father? Has defeating the Mountain sated your desire for revenge?"
No, Oberyn thought, the king's agents did that. A serving girl rounded the table, clad in a dress of jewels and precious little else, and poured him a glass of Dornish red, batting her lashes and bending over perhaps a little more than necessary to grant Oberyn a better view of her bosom. Are you one of his? Oberyn wondered as he took a sip and sent her on with a slim smile, her hips swaying enticingly as she sauntered away.
"I was able to slay the Mountain because of circumstance," Oberyn said. "Killing Lord Tywin is an entirely different sort of task, at least if we wish to get away with it. The king is cleverer then he looks, and more dangerous as well. An ill-thought plan could well get us all killed."
"Or start a war," Obara added.
"Or start a war," Oberyn agreed. "I need to see Doran."
"He's still in the Water Gardens," Obara said. "He ordered Princess Myrcella and Trystane back to the Water Gardens after Arianne left, though he himself has not left in what feels like an age. I can't imagine he'll leave anytime soon, and I'd ask you stay a while longer. Still, if the matter is urgent then we can leave on the morrow."
"It very much is," Oberyn said, nodding. The feast went on for a few hours more, and Oberyn only went to his bed once it was late, Ellaria and the serving girl moaning and screaming his name into the early hours as they took turns on his cock. Despite this, he awoke at sunrise and readied his things for the next leg of the journey, Ellaria opting to remain a little while longer in Sunspear with her two eldest daughters.
When they set off, it was Obara and Oberyn with dozen a Dornish guardsmen that Oberyn felt he could no longer truly trust. He watched their backs with a keen eye as his sand steed carried him forwards. He was safe, most likely - the king would not order him killed, but he misliked it nonetheless. Most likely these are loyal men, Oberyn thought as he rode on in silence. Most likely...
The road to the Water Gardens ran beside the sea, so he had a nice breeze to soothe his suspicions as he rode. Only after an hour of silence did Obara draw her steed beside his and venture to say: "Father, I would know what troubles you so."
Oberyn shot more suspicious glances at the guards around them. "Not here," he hissed. "When we are more alone."
Obara frowned as she followed his gaze to the guards. "This matter is so private even our most loyal men cannot hear it?"
"Of course not," he said. "But who's to say who's loyal and who's not?"
Obara's expression changed in realisation at his words, her grip on her horse's reins tightening as she glanced about. "You talk of a turncoat?" she asked in a low voice.
"I told you the king was clever."
Obara stiffened. "And dangerous as well, so you said," she said, nodding.
And onwards they rode in silence, suspicions filling the air, blown across by a gentle sea breeze. Only three leagues of coast road separated the Water Gardens and Sunspear, and yet they were akin to different worlds. The citrus scents of lemons and blood oranges wafted over to them, a sharp contrast to the dust and sweat they'd left behind. The Water Gardens themselves were a shock of pale pink marble and luscious green and a gentle blue in the pools.
In those same pools Oberyn could hear the children laughing and playing and splashing as he dismounted his horse and set off at a fast march through the halls of the Water Gardens, guards all around him bowing their heads as he passed. Obara was close behind, the drumbeat of her boots on the marble floor never too far away. Oberyn clambered up the steps to Doran's terrace, and was confronted at the end of the hall by Hotah.
"Captain," Oberyn acknowledged, even as suspicion again sparked in his mind. What better man than him? he thought. With Hotah the king would have a look into even my brother's most private moments.
Areo gestured onto the terrace. "The prince awaits you."
With a nod Oberyn ventured onto the terrace, Obara grumbling behind him as Hotah barred her entry. "The prince is watching the children at their play. He is never to be disturbed when he is watching them at their play."
And play the children did. Below, Oberyn could see them all, the youngest no less than five, the oldest no more than ten. Half were boys and half were girls. He could hear them splashing and shouting at each other, their voices shrill and sharp and playful. They waged mock-war in those pools, wading in waist deep water and trying to force each other below the surface, throwing up huge splashes of water that flew over the sides of the pool. Out in the distance Oberyn could see some of the older boys swimming in the sea, a row of girls sat on the beach, watching the boys whilst they built tall sandcastles.
The citrus scent came in strong up here, and fat, ripened blood oranges occasionally fell from the branches of their trees and burst on the pale marble floors, splattering their sweet juices all over. Beneath the shade of one tree, conveniently plucked clean of all falling fruit, was Trystane with his new wife, like ivory and ebony. They sat opposite each other at a stone table, a cyvasse board between them.
No, Oberyn thought as he watched her share a smile with her husband, she surely cannot be the spy.
Doran watched all this with his shrewd, sunken eyes. He was sat in his rolling chair with his gouty legs propped up, a fine myrish blanket thrown over his lap to hide his swollen joints and limbs, wrapped in bandages soaked in soothing lotions. Maester Caleotte knelt beside his prince, tending to one last matter, his head as smooth and round as an egg. He was so fat it was hard to tell his age, though Oberyn knew he had once served his own mother. And yet, in spite his age, at Doran's command he was quite nimble, and fled the terrace meekly.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Doran began as Oberyn found a seat for himself, eyes still affixed to the children below. "Your victory over the Mountain was very well-received in Sunspear, or so I am told."
"Oh, brother," Oberyn boasted, "it was glorious! You should have seen it. All the lords of the realm arrayed, the king watching closely, the Mountain's massive sword sweeping overhead. The spectacle of the century! And all the better that Lord Tywin lost his favourite tool and had no choice but to sit and watch. I took the Mountain's skull as well, brother, but I decided to leave that in Sunspear."
Doran turned laboriously in his chair to look at him, and Oberyn noted how much older he seemed than his age. His hair was greying fast, his body soft and shapeless beneath his robes, his legs noticeably swollen, his knees lumps under his blanket. His eyes were tired, and yet also alight, hard with a quiet fury.
"I note Arianne is not with you," he finally said.
"I left her in Kings Landing," Oberyn answered. "To sit the small council in my stead."
"You left my heir with the Lannisters," Doran said quietly, and Oberyn resisted the urge to wince and rear back at his brother's softly-spoken words.
"She needs to learn," Oberyn explained. "Viserys is dead, and if she is to be the heir to Sunspear then she will need to learn more about the rest of the realms. And with Arianne's lust for excitement, I thought Kings Landing might suit her well."
"You left my heir with the Lannisters," Doran repeated.
"They won't hurt her," Oberyn insisted. "Not now we have Myrcella."
A silence fell over the two of them as they watched Myrcella play against Trystane. Her golden hair cascaded down her pale shoulders, over her crimson gown. Her full lips were slightly parted, emerald eyes narrowed in concentration as she gazed at the jade pieces on the board. They looked like night and day, the two of them together. Trystane with his olive skin and straight black hair, Myrcella with her milky complexion and mop of curls. One was five-and-ten, the other four-and-ten, and both were at just the age where when they caught each other's eyes they'd break out into blushes and look away shyly.
"She bled for the first time a little while after you left," Doran said. "It'll only be a matter of time before the two are abed. We can't hurt her, not now that she has become one of us. And so an empty threat protects my Arianne in that pit of snakes people call a city."
"The king does not seem to think so," Oberyn said, glancing around to ensure they were alone. "He took care to tell me as such before I left. Made some veiled, and some not so veiled, threats to try and keep us in line, to ward us away from his sister and his grandfather. Even went as far as to tell me something he couldn't possibly know."
"What was that?" Doran asked, curious.
"Viserys," Oberyn said. "Arianne and Viserys. He knew. Mentioned it in casual conversation, as though he were not discussing a grave treason. And then the king had the gall to offer his forgiveness and tell me it was all forgotten, so long as such plots were not continued and his precious princess was kept safe."
Doran sighed and licked his lips. "We have a turncoat," he concluded.
Oberyn nodded in agreement. "My thoughts as well," he said. "It must be someone significant, and someone close to us, else the king would not know such things."
"Did the king give any indication anyone else knew?" Doran asked. "Does he have some new Master of Whispers? Does Lord Tywin know as well?"
Oberyn shook his head. "Not so far as I could tell."
Doran watched Myrcella more closely at her seat below the orange tree in silence. "She sends letters to her brother often," he noted offhandedly. "I presumed it was how he knew of Arianne's plot to have her crowned, and yet..." Doran sighed. "I wonder if she knows who among us belongs to her brother?"
"Perhaps," Oberyn remarked. "Regardless, only a handful of people knew our true intent. It should not be too hard to sift through them and find the culprit."
Doran rubbed his chin contemplatively, the fire fading slightly in his sunken eyes. "If he knows that, then... What else does he know? What of Quentyn?"
"I can only presume," Oberyn said. "Yet if he knew about Viserys, then it does seem likely."
"And so another of my children is at the boy king's mercy," Doran said. "Quentyn is already across the narrow sea, with Ser Gerris Drinkwater and Ser William Wells and Sers Cletus and Archibald Yronwood. He is already too far gone. I cannot call him back now, nor send someone after him who could reach him in time."
"Perhaps Essos is outside the king's reach?" Oberyn ventured.
"Perhaps," Doran agreed. "Yet regardless you are right: the king is indeed cleverer than he seems. He means to secure himself by simply telling us just enough to fill us with uncertainty and doubt, to disrupt our work. The mere idea of his men in Dorne is enough to stay my hand, enough to discourage me away from thoughts of open treason. It matters little whether Daenerys Targaryen has dragons if the king can just order all our throats cut at a moment's notice, never mind that he holds my daughter hostage. With one conversation he has destroyed years of planning."
"So what now?" Oberyn asked. "The Mountain is dead, but Lord Tywin is not. And justice for Elia cannot be had so long so the Old Lion lives."
Oberyn's question was met with silence. Doran stared out onto the pools of the Water Gardens, but Oberyn noted his eyes were mostly affixed to his last remaining son. He and his new wife were sneaking a kiss, thinking themselves alone with all eyes watching the water-battle.
"You went above and beyond what I asked of you," Doran finally said, his eyes gleaming. "I'd call it foolish, except you were fortunate enough to succeed. Can you imagine the uproar if you'd been killed? But now... the Boy King on the Iron Throne has again changed the game, and we are forced to adapt. But one thing is for certain: Now that the stakes have risen again, there can be no more room made for risk."
"Don't worry," Oberyn said. "I told Nymeria and Tyene to be careful. They'll do little more than ingratiate themselves and acquire influence and information, and perhaps even undermine his new regime just a tad. To test the true extent of Tommen's strength. They know to await our orders before they act."
"Let us pray they listen, then," Doran said wanly. "Lest the Boy King sees exactly what kind of an ally he has in Sunspear."
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P.S. Not too happy with this chapter. May be subject to a rewrite or edits in the future