Alysane
As they made their way toward the city gates, Alysane pulled her traveling hood more tightly around her face. The air had a cool, autumnal bite to it. The last year and a half in Dorne had almost caused her to forget what it was like to feel cold.
She cast a look over at Oberyn as he slid his long, slender fingers into his leather riding gloves. They would be in the shadow of the red keep by sunset, and the despondency in Oberyn’s eyes grew with every step. Her heart ached, because she knew he did not want her there, but like her, he could not bear to be parted. He wanted her to stay safe in Dorne, protected by Doran’s army, and she did not want him in the capital alone, surrounded by the architects of his greatest pain: the death of his sister, Elia.
“I do not know how he can parlay with them, even if it is all to hide his true intentions. To offer his son to those harpies…” He said to her one night as they lay entwined together beneath the stars. The scent of orange blossom hung in the air. The groves were silent, save for the faint call of nighting gales in the distance. “To force me to go and treat with them…”
“He knows you can protect Quentyn and Tristane if anything should happen to them.”
Oberyn snorted.
“Doran said as much to me, but I do not believe him. I believe he is sending me to send a message. A slight. I am only the second son, after all.” He kissed her, and then buried his face between her thighs. She leaned back, the thoughts of the Crownlands forgotten as she rode a wave of pleasure through the night.
The only thing worse than the sight of Oberyn’s turmoil was the stench of the city. Even from afar, tt was a foulness Alysane did not have words for. It choked her breath and made her eyes burn. She pulled her riding hood over her nose and mouth for some relief. As they neared the city gates, dozens of dirty hands reached out, and matted, lice ridden heads bowed, hoping for a hand out.
“They are starving,” Alysane said, pity swelling up inside her chest.
“Yes, every so often the city watch will clear them away from the gates” Oberyn said. “But there’s nowhere for them to go, so they find their way back here.”
“We must help them,” she said. “We have food and wine and-”
At her plea, Oberyn raised his hand and his caravan stopped. Alysane slid down off her horse, the muck and filth splattering the hem of her gown. She moved to a small, filthy child with skinny arms and sunken cheeks. She could not tell if they were a boy or a girl.
“Are you hungry?” she asked them softly. The child nodded, looking up at her with big round eyes. “Are you all hungry?” She looked around at the crowd of thirty or so. A collective murmur went through the crowd. “Bring the crate of oranges,” she said. She brought the crate as a gift for the king and queen, but if they would allow their own people to go hungry, she didn’t think them worthy of such a gift.
The child’s eyes widened as the massive crate was set before the crowd of hungry people.
“Please,” Alysane said. “Come, have some. It is not much, but it’s something to put in your belly. Please, take all you can carry.”
In no time at all, the crate was emptied of fruit, but it did not ease Alysane’s heart. Many of the poor took their oranges and disappeared into the shadows, but not the child. They stood, eating the orange- peel and all.
“What is your name?” Alysane said gently.
“Sera,” the child said.
“How old are you?”
“Twelve,” she replied.
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead. They died during the rebellion,” Sera said. Alysane took the last orange from the crate and peeled it. She handed the fruit to Sera as she spoke.
“Who takes care of you?”
“My aunt used to, but she died of the bloody flux last harvest.”
“No one takes care of you now?”
“I take care of myself.”
Alysane cast a look back at Oberyn. He gazed back at her, his eyebrows raised.
“We are strangers to this land and only visiting… But if you need anything in the coming days,” she said to Sera. “Anything at all, bring this to the palace and ask for Lady Alysane,” she said, and she pulled the golden pin from her hair. “I will help you,” she said as her long red hair tumbled down her shoulders.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Sera said suspiciously.
“The world is unkind enough,” Alysane said in a low voice. She turned back to Oberyn. He took her in his arms and held her.
“My lady and her generous heart,” he said, kissing her.
Even in the north, where food was scarce, Alysane never saw anyone starving. She never saw anyone so thoroughly cast aside by the lords who claimed the lands and castles and keeps.
“How can a king, who collects tax from every high lord in the realm, leave his people to starve?” Alysane asked.
Oberyn looked around and then back at her.
“That’s not a discussion to have in the capital,” he said after a moment, and then he lifted her easily, helping her back into her saddle. Clarabelle, her gentle black mare, whickered softly and pawed at the mud, clearly ready to depart. “You must toughen your heart, my love. You will see much worse than starving babes in this cesspool.”
Alysane swallowed hard and fixed her eyes on the massive red castle looming high on the hill above the city gates.