One: A  Dangerous Place

Oberyn

9 Years Before the Purple Wedding

Dorne

The bedchamber glowed dimly, amber-orange light flickering from the hearth and the lantern on the bedside table.  Alysane’s gentle curves pulled against the silken sheets as she rolled over and sat up in bed.  Oberyn was struck by her loveliness, even in the faint light.  Her fiery red hair shimmered deep crimson, and her fine feature caught the orange glow of the firelight.

“Is it time?” She said sleepily.  Oberyn crossed the room and pulled aside the heavy brocade drapes. Faint pink fingers stretch across the sky as the sun rose from beyond the sea.

“Yes,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.  Oberyn had lain awake all night, finally giving up the pretense of trying to sleep and instead stalking the halls of their manse. The servants were surprised to find him in the kitchens with a mug of ale when they started their morning chores.

“You are restless,” Alysane said, moving next to him and putting her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.  He breathed in her scent; orange blossom and vanilla, letting it fill his lungs.

“I have been working up the courage to tell you that I want you to stay here.”

“Oberyn!” She exclaimed.  She was on her feet in an instant, her deep green night dress fluttering around her as she moved to stand before him, her hand on her hips. Her deep blue eyes were almost black in the darkness. “We have talked about this, at length. I will not be left behind.”

“Kings Landing is dangerous, and I-” his voice faltered. He did not want to take Alysane to the place where his sister was so brutalized, betrayed and murdered.  He could not bear the thought of her breathing the same air as the men who did that to his kin.  “If any harm were to come to you, any insult… I do not know if I  could keep my temper. I would worry for you constantly.”

“Is it so hard for you to imagine that I would worry for you, here, where I am powerless to do anything? Where I would not know for days, perhaps weeks, if anything should happen to you?” She spat back, her voice growing cold and her spine growing rigid.  Oberyn grimaced. She did not often invite the Steel Maiden to their bed chambers, but when she slipped on the cold, icy mask, Oberyn knew she would not let the matter rest until she had her way. “Besides,” she said in a thick, frigid tone. “Doran commanded you to take me with you.”

Alysane was half Dornish, and that made her passionate, fiery and wild, but she was half Northern born as well, and when they first met, she masked her fire behind her cool northern graces. But he fell in love with her fire, and as it burned through her frigid mask, he stood up, crossing to the fire. With troubled eyes, he leaned one arm on the hearth as he stared into the flames. Doran’s command that the pair of them would depart for King’s Landing with Prince Tristain, Doran’s youngest son, to present a marriage pact to the royal princess, Myrcella Baratheon. In truth, the marriage pact was a ruse to shroud their true intentions: To restore a Targaryen king to the throne.

“Why send me?” Oberyn demanded. “I have no use for the favor of a king that is nothing more than Tywin Lannister’s fat, drunken puppet.”

“I hope you will choose to be more careful with your words once you are in the capital,” Doran shot back. “It must be you; Tristane is too young, and they will not wish to speak to Arianne on such matters.  Westeros does not hold value in a woman’s wisdom..”

“Send Quentyn.”

“I am, and he will learn his diplomacy from you,” Doran said. “And you will be a model of diplomacy.”

“Why me?” Oberyn repeated. “You have any number of-”

“Because they are my sons,” Doran seethed, his eyes flashing dangerously. “The future of House Martell. I would not send him to Kings Landing without the best fighter in all of Dorne at their side. You are the only one I trust to protect my blood.”

“You flatter me,” Oberyn said dryly. “I do not believe you, though. It was a marvelous effort.  Should you tire of ruling Dorne, I am sure that a mummer’s troop could make fine use of you.”

“You doubt my sincerity?” Doran said, and with great effort, he pushed himself up from his chair.  His movement was slow and pained, but he crossed the room to Oberyn. Suddenly, cold steel pressed against his jugular. Doran could still move his blade faster than a sandsnake could strike, even if his legs could barely hold him up.  “Then how about this, you owe it to Quentyn to help him learn to be taken seriously by the high lords of Westeros. You stole his bride.”

Oberyn swallowed, but he gently pushed the knife away from his throat.  Doran let him, and collapsed back into a chair.  Oberyn sighed.  He had no witty retort. For one blissful night, Quentyn thought he would marry Alysane.  And Oberyn had taken that from him.

“Copper for your thoughts,” Alysane said in a low voice, bringing him back to their bedchamber. 

“What would it take for me to convince you to stay here?” he asked sadly.

“There is nothing that could convince me to stay behind,” she said. “You will have to tie me up and leave without me.”

“Do not tempt me,” he said. He sighed. “I did not think I could ever love someone the way I love you, Alysane,” he said, and he lifted his palm to her cheek. “And in truth, I do not think I could bear to be parted from you, either.”

“Then let’s have no more talk of me staying behind.”

Oberyn nodded, and he pulled her close, kissing her fiercely, with all of the love and desire he felt when he looked at her behind it.

“The capital is a dangerous place,” he repeated. “Once we leave this room, this chamber, you should assume that everything you say will make it back to the king… To the Lannisters.”

“I am prepared,” Alysane said. “The king shall tire of hearing about how you’ve had me in every room of the palace, of how insatiable my love for my husband is….”

“That’s no way for a lady to speak,” he teased. “Let’s get on then,” he said, and once again his tone was somber. “The quicker we leave and get this farce over with, the sooner we can return to making love in the orange groves.”