Oberyn
King’s Landing – The Red Keep
The throne room of the Red Keep was much changed since the days of the Dragon Kings. Once the skulls of the great dragons of legend hung suspended from the great wooden beams overhead, and the red and black banners displaying the three headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen hung on the walls. As Robert took the throne, all traces of the conquerors of Westeros were swept away, and floral tapestries depicting mighty hunters and nude maidens flanked bright yellow banners with a crowned stag upon them. Even the Iron Throne itself was changed, though Oberyn once heard a rumor it was because Mad King Aerys kept cutting himself on the blades that dragon fire wrought into a hideous misshapen chair. The blades of the vanquished had been culled, and where once the jagged metal arms of the throne extended beyond the edge of the dias, only the chair itself remained intact.
But nary a Dornish blade among them, he thought proudly. The words of House Martell rang true: Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. They did not kneel to the Targaryens when Aegon the Conqueror came, nor did they bow to Robert when he usurped the throne.
King Robert sat at the far end of the room, upon the throne, his squat gold crown atop a nest of scraggly greying hair. Six and a half feet tall, his warrior’s build was beginning to go soft. Oberyn saw it from time to time, when men stop fighting, and start enjoying the pleasures of the realm, they got soft. Robert was not fat, but he was not far from it. Oberyn imagined in another few years, he would have a great sagging belly and heavy jowls. Queen Cersei still shone bright in the candle light. Her long golden hair was artfully arranged in the Southern style, piled atop her head in neat braids. Her emerald eyes glittered in the soft light, but they were cold, just like the tight smile stretched across her face.
Oberyn felt the need to step in front of Alysane, to shield her from the icy cold stare of Cersei Lannister, and the predatory glint in King Robert’s eyes as they took in his bride. He cast a look at Alysane as they made their way into the throne room. Her deep blue eyes sparkled in the candle light, and her loose, flowing red hair shone like spun copper. The Queen’s hair was styled finely, piled on top of her head, and Oberyn did not miss the way her eyes hardened as she gazed at Alysane’s loose mane.
“Prince Oberyn Martell, and Lady Alysane Martell,” the herald bellowed. “You stand in the presence of His Grace, Robert of House Baratheon, First of his name. King of the Andals and the First Men, Ruler of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm, and Queen Cersei of House Lannister.”
Alysane curtsied politely to the King and Queen, but Oberyn only slightly bowed his head in a show of respect.
“Your Grace,” he said to Robert. “Queen Cersei,” he said. A wicked grin passed over his lips. “It’s been a long time.”
“Indeed it has,” Queen Cersei said. “Since your mother offered me your hand in marriage.” Her smile was honey laced with poison.
“I don’t wish to speak for you, Your Grace,” Oberyn said. “But I dare say both of our fortunes have improved.”
Cersei’s smile hardened a fraction as she tried to discern whether or not Oberyn had insulted her.
The King let out a guffaw.
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“Pray excuse me,” Queen Cersei said, and she stood.
“You’ll leave when I say you can leave,” King Robert growled. Queen Cersei retook her seat. Oberyn felt Alysane stiffen at his side. “I did not realize that they made women like that in Drone.” King Robert said, fixing Alysane with a lecherous stare. Oberyn felt his jaw clench as the King’s eyes washed over Alysane like a wave. “If I did, I would not have stayed away all this time.”
“Well, I’m half Northern, your grace.” Alysane said, taking the the King’s liberty with grace.
“That I don’t believe. I’ve spent time in the north, and you can scarcely tell the women from the men up there.”
“My sisters won’t thank you for that compliment,” Alysane said demurely. The King laughed again.
“Sisters, eh?” He smiled indulgently, greedily. “Perhaps it’s time I packed you off to a convent, and found myself a new queen,” King Robert said, elbowing Cersei’s arm. She smiled another tight smile, but she stayed silent.
“My sisters are a child of eight and a child of four, your grace, I’m afraid you will have to wait a long time for their hand in marriage,” she said, and Oberyn could hear the false ring in her voice, the light cheery air she put on was just that: an air. The king either did not notice, or did not care. He laughed again, a great booming laugh that made the queen wince ever so slightly.
“I would like to formally present my nephews, Prince Quentyn Martell and Prince Tristane Martell,” Oberyn said, nodding to the footman by the door.
“The Princes Quentyn and Tristane of House Martell,” the herald called.
Quentyn stepped in first, his awkward bowlegged gate shuffling against the flagged stone floor. He mumbled a hurried greeting laden with flowery language and honorifics and then he gave a polite nod before falling back behind Oberyn Tristane followed behind him, and Oberyn saw himself when he was Tristane’s age: Tall, slender, and graceful, with eyes that glittered and an infectious smile. A boy of seven, with a gapped tooth smile and a sweet disposition, he was loud where Quentyn was dour, full of laughter when his brother was sullen. But like his elder brother, he seemed nervous about meeting the king and queen. He ran to Alysane, clinging to her skirts shyly. Oberyn’s heart filled with affection as Alysane wrapped a protective arm around the boy.
The queen smiled at him, and for the first time since they arrived, Oberyn saw warmth behind her eyes.
“Hello Prince Tristane,” she said kindly. “I am Queen Cersei,” she said. “Would you like a lemon cake?” She offered the boy a sweet from her own tea tray. He nodded, his dark eyes as big as saucers.
“What do you say?” Oberyn chided Tristane.
“Thank you,” Tristane said in a tremulous voice.
“You’re quite welcome,” Queen Cersei said, her tone one of motherly affection. Oberyn could not help the way his eyes narrowed at her. “Would you like to meet Princess Myrcella?”
Tristane, eyes still wide, nodded slowly. Queen Cersei nodded to someone off to the side of the room, and a moment later, a septa entered the throne room with a young girl at her side. The Princess Myrcella looked like her mother, but without any of the queens coldness. A sweet, bashful smile spread across her face as she approached Tristane.
“Hello Prince Tristane,” she said in a soft voice. “Welcome to Kings Landing.”
“Thank you, Princess Myrcella,” Tristane whispered.
“Septa Onlea will take the children to the nursery for tea,” Cersei said. “We eat late in the capital,” she said as Tristane’s governess, Amalthea, followed the children and septa out of the throne room. Quentyn lingered awkwardly a few steps behind Oberyn.
“Now then,” The Queen said. “My Princes, Lady Alysane,” her words were honeyed and soft, but Oberyn watched her eyes, cold and hard. “I’m sure the three of you would like the chance to rest and refresh before the feast this evening.”
“That would be lovely,” Alysane said, ever the picture of courtesy.
“Show them to their rooms,” The king barked, and servants jumped to attention. Oberyn inclined his head and Alysane curtsied again.
Servants led them through a series of hallways and corridors.
“These are the chambers for Lady Alysane, and Prince Oberyn-”
“I do not need separate chambers,” Oberyn said. The servant looked surprised.
“What do you think?” Alysane asked as they settled into their chambers. Her maid, Eria flitted in and out of the chambers. She removed Alysane’s travelling cloak and set about preparing her bath.
“I think the King has been in his cups,” he said in a low voice. Even that much was dangerous to say in the halls of the red keep, where the walls had both eyes and ears. “The queen is much as I remember her.”
“You never told me your mother offered a marriage pact.”
“Yes, when we were children. Elia to the Kingslayer and Cersei to me. Tywin countered the offer by suggesting Elia marry Tyrion. He planned to wed Cersei to Rhaegar Targaryen.”
Alysane squeezed his hand. A warning.
“You know me better than I know myself,” he murmured, pressing her against the wooden posts that held up the bed curtains. He kissed her, trying to erase his wish that Cersei had married Rhaegar, and that Elia had never come to King’s Landing. He’d almost said it aloud, and Alysane felt it coming. Oberyn had once thought loving Alysane would be the death of him, but no longer.
Eria brushed the dust and travel from Alysane’s hair before helping her into the bath. She scented the water with oil of lemon and rosemary, to help with Alysane’s stiffness from the long journey.
“I didn’t miss Queen Cersei pointing out that they eat late in the capital,” Alysane said once they were alone.
“Oh?”
“Peasants eat their suppers early because they go to bed early, to be up with the sun,” Alysane said. Oberyn nodded, following along with her. “I’m sure to a queen, a lady from the far north must seem like a peasant.”
“You were born of two great and noble houses. You are no more a peasant than Cersei Lannister was before she became queen.”
Alysane said no more, but Oberyn could see the cold mask sliding over her features. Inwardly, he sighed. There was no shortage of reasons why he did not want Alysane to come to King’s Landing. The danger was the biggest one, but he also knew that the women of the court, the bored southern ladies that found joy in gossip. They would ostracize Alysane. They would hear her northern accent and assume as Cersei did that she was uneducated and ill mannered. She would find no friends at court, but Lady Anissa and Lord Wyll would arrive the following day, and Alysane would at least have one friend with her.
“If you are too tired to sup with the king and queen tonight, I can-” Oberyn began.
“No,” Alysane said, and she rose from the bath, steam rising from her skin. She shivered, and Oberyn put his own robes around her, holding his arm steady for her to climb out of the tub. “The Queen will surely either view that as an insult, or confirmation that I have no manners.”
Oberyn huffed.
Eria returned, with one of Alysane’s gowns in her hands.
“I thought you might want this one, my lady, for the chill tonight.” Oberyn recognized it as one of the dresses she brought with her from the North.
“No,” Alysane said. “Please bring me my black silk gown, the one with the sunburst stitched to it. And you,” she said to Oberyn. “Will dress to match.”
“As my lady commands.”
“You will be cold, my lady.”
“I will wear a shawl,” Alysane said. “The golden yellow one”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You needn’t be uncomfortable for the sake of impressing the queen.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “That’s what court is all about, isn’t it? Pageantry and showing off, trying to be the richest and most ornamented courtiers in the realm?”
Alysane sighed as Eria returned with the black gown. The handmaid moved methodically, perfuming her, helping her dress, putting a hint of beetroot powder on her lovely pale cheeks. As she began to pull Alysane’s hair up into a style similar to the Queen’s, Oberyn felt a pang. Alysane’s hair was lovely in all forms, but he especially loved it when she wore it long and loose around her shoulders. He felt silly; nothing had truly changed, but he didn’t like that Alysane felt she should wear her hair a certain way to appease the queen.
I suppose she doesn’t have to wear it a certain way to appease me, either, he thought. When Alysane was ready, he took her arm, and they followed a red doubleted steward to the great feast hall.
The herald announced them, then Quentyn, and Lord Wyll and Lady Anissa. Oberyn gazed around the hall. He recognized the sigils on many of the doublets; Lannister of course, Frey, Baratheon, Tyrell, Fossway, and Tarley. All those who bent the knee to the Rebel King, the Usurper. He watched as all heads turned at the mention of his name, how they all stared at him and at Alysane.
“Few northern houses here,” Oberyn said to Alysane. She nodded but did not speak.
“I’ve never seen so many people in one place,” she whispered.
“Really?”
“No, not even at feasts when we went to Winterfell,” she said earnestly. They took their places among the other courtiers, and finally the King and Queen entered. The king moved unsteadily on his feet, swaying as he made his way to the throne. The Queen moved regally, as if she were on the arm of some gallant warrior, not an old drunk fool.
Oberyn tried to keep his thoughts from mocking, lest thoughts become words after a few goblets of wine.
“May the Light of the Seven bless this…. Aw hells, let’s eat!” the king called out. A titter went through the crowd.
The meal had scarcely begun when the king let out a great snore. Oberyn looked up to see him slumped over in his chair, his crown askew.
Oberyn heard Alysane suck in her breath. He poked her in the side.
“Don’t you dare laugh, because if you laugh, I’ll laugh.”
Her body shook as she held in her laughter. Oberyn ducked his head, unable to look at her.
Gods I love her, he thought.
As the first course was cleared away, Queen Cersei turned her long, slender neck towards them.
“Lady Alysane,” she called over the din. “A moment, please?”
Alysane cast a look at Oberyn. He nodded reassuringly, but as she spoke to teh queen, Oberyn strained to hear.
“You will join me and the ladies tomorrow for breaking fast,” the queen said. Oberyn relaxed.
“Forgive me, My Queen,” Alysane said, her tone demure, but Oberyn could not hear her response. Oberyn watched as the Queen’s eyes widened slightly, and then Queen Cersei threw her head back and laughed. The king jerked awake.
“Why yes, please bring your ladies.” The Queen looked positively delighted. “How precious and quaint you are!”
Oberyn sat back in his chair, letting out a long slow exhale. Alysane rejoined him.
“What was that?” he asked.
Alysane looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.
“I don’t know much about the rules of the southern court,” she said with such sincere innocence that Oberyn might have believed, if he did not know just how filthy she could be behind closed doors. “I asked if I could bring my ladies with me.”
“She liked that,” Oberyn said, a smile playing around his lips.
“She wants me to be a fool, so I’ll be a fool,” Alysane said, and her eyes slipped back to the king. “You don’t think the king will be at tea, do you?”
“I can’t say.”
Alysane said no more, but Oberyn understood: It would be dangerous if the king disliked her, but it could be just as dangerous if he liked her. It was said that Robert had a dozen bastards, and while Oberyn had eight himself, it was also said that the queen was a vain, jealous woman. Oberyn did not often avail himself to gossip, but whenever the Lannisters were mentioned, his ears would perk up. It was said that Cersei had a bastard babe King Robert got on a scullery maid drowned in the Black Water just a stone’s throw from the keep. Oberyn could only imagine what the queen might have done with the maid. For Alysane’s sake, Oberyn hoped that King Robert did not like to join the queen for breaking fast.
The feast lasted until well into the evening, and Oberyn stayed glued to Alysane’s side. The king dozed off and on through the first few courses, but when the main course was served, he woke and ate his fill, then he chased a serving wench around the hall, stumbling over his own feet a few times.
Conspicuously absent from the feast was the queen’s father, Tywin Lannister. Oberyn wondered why he was not at court, with both of his children so close to the king: Cersei married to him, and Jamie serving in his kingsguard.
The Imp, Oberyn thought. I wonder where that little beast is… Probably in a brothel somewhere he thought with a chuckle. Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf. Oberyn had only met him once, when he was a baby. He still remembered the cruel way Cersei pinched the child’s cock until he wailed. Even as a boy of ten, it made Oberyn sick to his stomach.
Well after midnight, Oberyn and Alysane followed a lantern wielding steward back to their chambers.
“You have survived your first evening at court,” Oberyn said, stretching languidly out in the bed as Eria brushed out Alysane’s hair.
“It doesn’t seem so bad,” Alysane said. “Thus far.”