Oberyn
The King was sprawled out on a chaise when Oberyn joined him on the terrace. He looked as if he had not been to bed; his wiry graying hair stuck out in all directions and his green and black robes were wrinkled and stained.
“Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne,” The king said, watching Oberyn approach. “Where’s your pretty young wife?” The sour smell of wine clung to him like perfume.
Gods, he is already pissed. Or still pissed.
“She was invited to break her fast with the Queen.”
King Robert made a derisive noise in the back of his throat.
“Damnable shrew,” King Robert muttered. He rolled over on the chaise, his deep green robes pulling tight across his belly. “Your wife,” he said. “What’s her name again? Your wife? Alice?”
“Lady Alysane, your grace,” Oberyn said.
“Sit down,” the king grumbled, pointing to a chaise opposite him. Oberyn did as the king commanded, trying not to let his discomfort at the mention of his love. “Alysane,” the king mused. “That’s a northern name, isn’t it. Who are her people?”
“Her mother is Ser Arthur Dayne’s youngest sister,” Oberyn said. “Her father is Lord Rickard Cray.”
“Quite the noble lineage. My wife is a Lannister on both sides.” He rolled on to his back again. “Lannisters. I’m surrounded by Lannisters everywhere I look. Lannisters in my Kingsguard. Lannisters pouring my wine. Lannisters in my bed.”
“So many Lannisters, but I noticed Tywin Lannister is not at court.”
“And good riddance,” King Robert grumbled.
“Forgive me, your grace… May I ask why you’ve summoned me here this morning?”
“For you to regale me with tales of your life across the narrow sea, for the man famous for fucking half of Westeros must have a tale or twelve to tell.”
“If that is your Grace’s pleasure.”
“Tell me of your lady wife,” the King said, and his smile took on that lecherous gleam again. “What is she like in bed?”
“I’m afraid I will not speak of my wife in that manner,” Oberyn said as coolly as he could, trying to draw from Alysane’s blue flames, the icy way she would move and speak when she was upset.
“Truly?”
“Yes, I’m afraid your grace will have to forgive this.”
“No need,” King Robert waved his hand. “In truth that’s not why I summoned you here.”
“No? Then why?”
“To take your measure. You can’t tell much about a man when you’re at a feast. Too much food and drink can make even the most beastly man seem agreeable.”
Oberyn pursed his lips, dark eyes fixed on the king
“And what measure do you make of me, your grace?”
“I haven’t made up my mind. But I have a question.”
“Ask away,” Oberyn said.
“Why now?”
“Excuse me, your grace?”
“Why now? Why extend the white dove of peace now?”
“My brother doesn’t share his reasoning with me,” Oberyn said. “He gives me orders and I carry them out. He ordered me to escort Tristane to meet that Princess, and to help Quentyn secure a marriage to a suitable young lady, so I am here to do that..”
“Yes, I’m sure a man with the moniker of Red Viper always does what he is told.”
“I do,” Oberyn lied easily. “First my father, then my brother, and now my lady wife.”
“Hmm.” King Robert took a long pull off of his wineskin. “Do you hunt?”
“I do, though in Dorne we do it crawling through the brush. I did have the chance to hunt at my lady wife’s home before we were wed, but only twice.”
“The North… Grand hunting up there,” Robert said wistfully. “I have not been to the north in many years. But I remember the hunting. Did you enjoy it?”
“In truth, it wasn’t a hunt so much as a chance to get acquainted with Lady Alysane.”
“Your wife hunts?”
“She rides, but I don’t think she cares much for the hunt.”
“I hunt often, in the Kingswood,” King Robert said. “You will join me on the morrow. You and your lady wife. Bring your retinue. We’ll have the hounds rustle up a stag or two.”
“As you wish, your grace.”
“Oberyn Martell…” King Robert repeated his name. “Do you hate me, boy?”
“I’m no boy,” Oberyn said. “And no, Rhaegar dishonored my sister just as he did your betrothed. I reserve my hate for the one responsible.”
The one who gave the order, he thought coldly.
“Your sister… Gods,” King Robert looked terribly sad. “I don’t hold with what they did to her.”
Oberyn started to speak, but as clearly as if she sat next to him, he heard Alysane’s voice in his mind.
Hold your tongue.
“Forgive me your grace,” Oberyn said softly. “Then may I ask why The Mountain walks free?”
“We were at war..” King Robert’s voice sounded far away. “And…” A pause for a long sip from his wineskin. “I mourned the death of my betrothed, of Lyanna.” His eyes were fixed on some point far in the distance. “A Black haired beauty. She didn’t look like her brothers at all, and she was wild. Gods, she was wild,” King Robert smiled fondly. “When I learned she died, I… “ He turned back to Oberyn. “The Seven Kingdoms couldn’t fill the hole she left behind.”
Oberyn did not want to think of it… But he would rip the realm apart for Alysane, too.
Do not speak of such things, the mirage of Alysane whispered. This is dangerous.
“Alysane Cray,” King Robert said suddenly. “Winterbrooke,” he said. “Ah, so she’s Ned’s cousin.”
“I’m not sure of the familial connection, to speak plainly,” Oberyn admitted. “But yes, they are relations.”
“Gods, I miss Ned,” Robert said. “I don’t think I’ve seen him in nearly ten years.”
“He looked to be in good health and fine spirits when I saw him last year.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes, and his son, young Robb.”
King Robert smiled sadly.
“The boy is my namesake and I’ve never met him,” he said. “Jon Arryn’s boy is named after me, too, but they call him Robin. Sickly little thing.”
“Lord Arryn is your grace’s hand, is he not?”
“Yes,” King Robert said. “Ned and I fostered at the Eeyrie together, under Jon’s watchful eye.” He sat up, looking at Oberyn with curiosity. “You truly love your wife, don’t you?”
“Of course, you grace.”
“There’s no ‘of course’. Love is for peasants, not for those who must make political alliances, pacts and allegiances. I do not love Cersei. Hells, I do not even like her. But Jon counseled that it would be advantageous to wed her… and now here I am… Surrounded by Lannisters.” King Robert closed his eyes and faced the sun before continuing. “You love your wife. I envy you.”
“I am sorry,” Oberyn said. “I am not sure what I can do for your grace.”
“Tell me why you love your wife.”
“She’s clever,” Oberyn said. “And she makes me laugh. She smells of oranges and vanilla. She’s beautiful, inside and out. She is gentle and kind. Her heart is open for all. She hates to see people or animals in pain. She saw a hungry child at the city gates and stopped to feed them.”
“A hungry child at the gates?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“The city watch is supposed to deal with them.”
“Deal with them?”
“Take them away,” Robert said.
“I’ve heard they do, but they come back. They’ve nowhere else to go.”
“You’ve heard?”
“My gentleman-at-arms, Lord Walter Wyll, has a brother at your grace’s court,” Oberyn said, hoping he was not condemning the boy to death for gossiping.
“Why do they come here, though?” King Robert said. “Surely they would find work in the villages, or at the seaports?”
“Many of them are old and can’t work, or sick, or are children too young to work,” Oberyn explained patiently.
Is the man really that deep in his cups at this hour of the morning that he can’t understand this?
King Robert said no more about it.
“You said Lady Alysane is funny,” he said, changing the subject.
“Yes,” Oberyn smiled. “It is what made me fall for her, she made me laugh on the morning of a hunt, so loud it echoed off the mountains,” he recalled.
“I look forward to seeing this rapier wit at the hunt,” the King said.
“I think your grace makes Lady Alysane a little nervous,” Oberyn said. “She may guard her tongue.”
“Pity,” King Robert said.
A servant joined them on the terrace.
“Forgive me, My Prince, Your Grace,” the footman said with a bow. “Lord Arryn would like to have a word.”
“Gods, what now?” the king muttered. “Send him out.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
A moment later, a tall man with a gaunt, pale face shuffled into the room, wearing a pale blue cloak over white wool and gray silk robes.
“Forgive me, your grace,” he said to King Robert. “A raven came from The Wall. Grand Maester Pycell brought it to me, but I dare say you should read it immediately.” He handed Robert the scroll. He turned to Oberyn. “My Prince, forgive the intrusion.”
“No bother,” Oberyn said lightly, wondering what could be so urgent. The Wall was the gateway to the far north, a wild and lawless place frozen and dark. Nearly seven hundred feet tall, dozens of feet thick, running the width of the country from the sea to the mountains and made completely of ice, frozen solid. It was the one thing he wanted to see when he was up north, and yet, it was forgotten the moment he laid eyes on Alysane.
Probably even colder there than Winterbrooke, he thought, and he shivered at the memory.
“Damn,” King Robert said.
“Shall I send a reply?”
“No.”
“Your grace-”
“I said no,” the king snapped. “Leave us.”
“As his grace commands,” Lord Arryn bowed to King Robert, then Oberyn, and then left the terrace.
“Should I take my leave as well?” Oberyn asked.
“No,” the king said. He sighed. “You were a sellsword for a time, weren’t you?”
“Yes, for the second sons.”
“Living by your wits and your blade,” Robert smiled again. “I should have done that. I should have let the rest of them fight over the crown and gone to Braavos. Or Volantis.”
“You’d have made a fine addition to the second sons, even if you are the first born.”
King Robert let out a huff.
“I could still swing the hammer now, you know.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
The king sighed.
“You think I’m an old fool, and a drunk.”
“No, your grace.”
“No, you do and you’re right.” he shook his head. “I used to think I could fuck it away. Then I thought I could eat it away. Now I know the answer is that I can drink it all away.”
“Drink what away?”
“The pain,” King Robert whispered, almost too low for Oberyn to hear. He cleared his throat. “I’m tired. Leave me. My steward will confer with yours on arrangements for the hunt.” King Robert waved his hand, and Oberyn stood up, leaving the king to his thoughts.
“My prince,” Lord Arryn said as Oberyn made his way back towards the guest wing. The older man stepped out of a shadowy corridor and came alongside Oberyn. “We’re honored to host you and your retainers in the capital. How are you faring? Can we get you anything?”
“No, thank you, we are quite well seen to,” Oberyn said. “His grace is still on the terrace if you-”
“What? Oh no, it is you I hope to speak with.”
“Oh?”
“His Grace is receptive to the idea of the marriage pact between Prince Tristane and Princess Myrcella, but Her Grace the queen is a bit more resistant.”
“I am hoping that she will see that Prince Tristane is quite a lovely child,” Oberyn said.
“Oh, I’m certain he is.” Lord Arryn looked somewhat pained. “Could I speak to you later, my prince, privately?”
“On what matter?”
“Some concerns I have. Not about you, quite the contrary. I very much would like an alliance between Dorne and the Crown,” Lord Arryn said. “But the Lannisters are an obstacle in more ways than one,” he whispered.
Oberyn raised his eyebrows.
“Not here,” Lord Arryn whispered. “Come to my tower this afternoon, after the feast bells toll.”
Oberyn stood, watching Lord Arryn disappear back down his shadowy passageway. He shook his head slightly before resuming his journey back to his chambers.
Anissa and Alysane were on the small balcony terrace of their apartments when he entered, giggling like a couple of school children.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s not funny, not really,” Alysane said through her giggles. She wiped her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s a House Manwoody in Dorne?”
“Did you tell her the liege Lord’s name is Dickon?” Oberyn said, his eyes twinkling. Alysane’s giggles became wild peels of laughter and Oberyn watched her with such longing that he felt compelled to throw Anissa out of the room.
Before he could, she excused herself.
“If I drink any more wine now I’ll be too pissed to get pissed at the feast,” she giggled as she slipped past Oberyn. “I’ll look for you two later.”
Oberyn took Alysane in his arms.
“My beautiful rose,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “How was breaking fast with the Queen?”
“In truth, we did not visit long,” she said. “The queen was upset about something.”
“As was the king,” Oberyn said. “Peculiar.”
“Peculiar and not ours to speak of,” she cautioned.
Oberyn led Alysane to the edge of the terrace and whispered in her ear.
“The King’s hand, Lord Arryn, asked me to meet him in the Tower of the hand while everyone’s at the feast.”
Her blue eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, but she did not speak.
He nodded, and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.
“Will you?”
“I’m undecided.”
Alysane looked out over the balustrade, her eyes worried. The wind changed then, whipping her hair around her and for a moment it was as if it were alive. Oberyn took her in his arms and kissed her hard before he scoped her up and carried her towards their bed.
“You are the loveliest being in all creation,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “I thank the Gods every day that we found one another.”
“You found me,” she teased in his ear.
“You found me, too,” he said, kissing her collar bone. “The part of me I didn’t allow myself to feel, because I didn’t want to play the game.”
“The game?”
“A political marriage. I did not want to be married to someone I was not passionate about.”
“Show me how passionate your are about me,” she murmured, grinding her hips against him.
“Wicked woman,” he said, and he flipped her over in one smooth motion, grabbing a fist full of her hair as he gently bit her neck and shoulders. He did not pull hard, but he moved with purpose. With his other hand, he deftly unlaced her dress. His hands slid up her skirts, finding their way beneath her petticoats. He rolled her back on to her back and she eagerly reached for the laces of his breeches. Oberyn grabbed her hands, pinning her wrists above her head, then kissing her hard.
“So eager,” he said. “Did you miss me while you were away?”
“Desperately,” she breathed in a whisper. “Why do you waste time on ceremony? Fuck me, Husband.”
“I remember a time when you were too timid to say such things.”
“Do you want me to go back?”
“No, I like that you ask for what you want.” He pushed her skirts up around her hips and yanked his breeches down. Alysane moaned when he entered her, her fingers digging into his skin.
Gods, I love her.