ironfeather (ironfeather) wrote in usurper, @ 2011-07-10 22:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! house martell, elia martell, oberyn martell |
elia & oberyn
who: elia and oberyn
where: the red keep, king's landing
when: juuuuust after this!
what: oberyn is fascinated by his sister's sudden interest in the myriad flora to be found in king's landing
Oberyn Martell was not at all unfamiliar with sleepless nights, having been a party to many and the instigator of more than a few -- if anything, they gave his eyes a sharp quality he quite liked -- and this one, on the face of it, had been no different. A girl asleep in his bed, a room littered with a half dozen flagons crusted with the sediment of wine that had been thoroughly indulged in; and he, wide awake at the crack of dawn -- as though the endless festivities that King’s Landing had to offer did nothing but replenish him -- with a bowl of blood oranges and a pitcher of cool water set before him as he penned a letter.
Rhoynish; an old military dialect that even those well versed in the antiquated language were often unfamiliar with. -- the general attitude here is that of relief combined with a heady amount of fear that, though it is never directly referred to, lurks within the King’s court. I was told of a Storm Lord that made the mistake of --
The quill grew still in his hand as the silence of the sitting room that linked the chambers of the Dornish suite was interrupted by the creak of a door. Oberyn, with a glance over his shoulder, offered a flicker of a smile. On the face of it, this sleepless night could have been like any other, save for the fact that Elia, as suggested by her absence, was enjoying it too.
“Well met, sister.”
Closing the door behind her with as little noise as possible (others slept on, oblivious to the wakefulness of the youngest Martells), Elia greeted him with a smile of her own. The evening had been a sweet one, and though she had hoped to slip into her chambers in silence and avoid all others, the presence of her brother was not one which did anything to diminish it.
“You would be up. Well met, Oberyn -- or should that be good morrow? The birds have already awoken.” Her hand rested upon his shoulder for a moment as she passed, taking a spare (and clean, upon inspection) goblet to fill with water from the pitcher before kneeling close by. “Too thoughtful to sleep?”
“Thoughts never keep me from my sleep.” After a quick study of his sister’s appearance, Oberyn’s gaze was drawn back to the parchment, sweeping over the unfinished letter one last time before he set down the quill. “Doran, however, does,” he continued. “Daily accounts of life here is what he demands of me. In about a week I shall run out of things to say and simply regale him with tales about what I do to keep myself from boredom.” Beat. “How do their gardens compare with ours, then?”
“Poor you. And perhaps, then” she grinned, briefly, “poor him. I have a letter too -- it will make rather tedious reading, I’m sure, but no doubt Doran will appreciate it nonetheless. We can send both together, if you like.” After taking a deep sip from her water, Elia set the goblet upon the table and made a show of examining the ornamental etching for a moment, before turning back to her brother.
“Gardens? Well, they are inferior in most respects, naturally, but not entirely without their charms.”
A sickly sweet drawl: “Do their charms lie in white calla lilies and lavender?” With a quick flick of his wrist, Oberyn plucked a leaf from the thick, glossy mane of his sister’s hair. Following in Elia’s example, he made a show of examining it, twirling the foliage between his fingers as he leaned back in his seat. “Hmm.”
Elia shook her head, the corner of her mouth just slightly quirked. “I dislike all lilies, as you well know, and the lavender does not stand well against our jasmine. The trees, however --” She made an idle gesture towards the leaf that he played with. “Quite remarkable. It must be all the rain they get here.”
“Yes, I’m sure they all stand very tall and very rigid.” Another twirl before he drew it lightly against her cheek. “Perhaps I shall include your new-found interest in flora in my letter, hmmm?”
“Regal bearing, one might call it; trees are all tall and rigid, dear brother, try to widen your vocabulary a little.” She shrugged then, resisting the urge to pluck the leaf from between his fingers. “And you can include whatever you like in your letter, of course, what’s one more tedious detail?”
“Well, yes, if one is a prince, one ought to be regal.” Lightly quipped, his words were accompanied by a soft snort of laughter as he gave her cheek one final swipe with the leaf. “Elia. Elia. I know you better than I know myself. Don’t pretend with me.”
Both brows raised, she gave his forearm a light jab with her finger. “Then you know I wasn’t trying very hard.” A smile spread slowly across her face,. “Will you have a detailed account, Grand Inquisitor, or will general impressions do? Because loath though I am to provide the former, it could possibly draw a blush from you, and wouldn’t that be something.”
In a tone that could almost be called solemn -- “Oberyn Martell does not know how to blush.” He leaned down, replacing the ghosting of the leaf with a press of his lips to Elia’s cheek. “Keep your great romance to yourself, sweet sister -- every woman deserves to keep some secrets, even from a brother. But do tell me if he was good to you.”
“I beg to differ -- Oberyn Martell does know how to blush, only he refuses to recognise that and so no one has the pleasure of seeing it. For now.” Finally taking the leaf from between her brother’s fingers, Elia let it fall to the floor and set her palm against his. “And you are my favourite brother, though I don’t recommend adding that to your list of King’s Landing trivia, for all Doran already knows it.”
“He made me very happy, Oberyn. It would have been sweeter to spend the night, but we cannot have all the things that we want when we want them, or so the maesters love to repeat ad nauseum. And it was sweet enough without.”
Doran had his Mellario, and thank the Seven for her, thought Oberyn, for without his lady from Norvos, their older brother would be bereft of affection indeed. He smiled, threading his fingers with hers before bringing her hand up to his lips, which pressed a kiss against the indentations of her knuckles. “This failed, though very youthful and spry, maester is glad that his lesson stuck with the crown prince. Remember, you are not married yet; we can always call this entire thing off.”
“Hardly failed.” Elia quirked a brow. “Though he did mention that he liked you, patient teacher that you are. Men will have their secrets too, I suppose.” Moving a little closer, Elia turned to rest her head against his knee with the slightest smile. “Are you jealous? You needn’t be. No one will ever replace you -- no one could. And even if I wanted to call this off -- which I do not -- you know as well as I that it would be impossible.” The talk of the court did not go unheard by Elia, for all that the Dornish princess was less at liberty to pick it up than her younger brother; all was not well, and to say that a sudden refusal would not sit well with the monarch was serious understatement. But few things were without price, and the sweetness found in Rhaegar Targaryen came with it’s own.
“Anyhow, I could be with child, and then where would we be?”
Impossible. Yes, he supposed, calling off the wedding would be impossible. Still, even he had his moments of blissful flights of fantasy -- spine going concave, he rested his brow against his sister’s. “Nothing is impossible. We have the world laid out at our feet. Would these dragons follow us to Norvos and beyond?” Rhaegar, perhaps, he thought, but then, the Prince of Dragonstone had that way about him.
Aerys, however...
A kiss was quickly pressed against her cheek. “Jealous? No. I’m far too generous to be jealous.”
“This from the brother who would not run away with me to the Stepstones for fear that I would keel over halfway there, or brigands would grab me before I had the chance to string my bow. Interesting..” A beat. “And I think they might, you know. It would be a great slight.”
She returned the kiss, free hand cupping his cheek for a moment as she continued with a hum of thought. “Daydreaming aside, I am glad you are not jealous, O Generous One. Let the world be jealous of you.”
The sound that emerged from his throat was a cross between a laugh and a snort of derision. “Fucking dragons. They are very entitled, are they not?” His fingers slipped down, sliding beneath her shoulders. “Break your fast with me. Or--” A tilt of his head. “Go to sleep. I imagine you have a long day ahead of you. I hear the King and Queen require your undivided attention. Of that I am not jealous.”
“I love the way that you ignore things you do not want to discuss.” Her fond tone drew the sting from the quip as she rose up, brushing his cheek gently before claiming the seat opposite. “No, truly; it’s a skill.”
“And there will be no sleep for me, I think.” Switching to Rhoynish, Elia continued: “I’d far rather break fast with you than dwell on that particular pleasure, which I don’t think any truly sane creature would envy. I will dine with you now, and shoot with Rhaegar after noon, and the inbetween shall be --” A shrug. “De-clawed.”
In the same ancient tongue, the fluid vowels flowing as effortlessly from him as they did from Elia -- “What don’t I want to discuss? Your health? Your potential child? Or the children of the Valyrians who would have us kiss their throne?” As he spoke, he reached across for the bowl of oranges -- all brought with them from Dorne, peeled, juicy and sweet and refreshing in the sticky heat of King’s Landing -- and offered it to her whilst his other hand made a faint gesture. In the far corner of the room, one of their servants soundlessly disappeared to procure the food they desired.
“Anyway. Them. The mother, at least, seems sweet, if cowed by her brother. And your prince is very grim indeed.”
“You named the topics, not I.” Elia claimed the orange, drawing away a segment and placing it in her mouth whole, the taste of home flooding her senses (almost overwhelming, for a moment). “You know --” She shook her head slightly, reaching for her goblet and leaving the sentence unfinished.
“Serene, I heard a septa call her,and she is, though it is not an epithet I would ever choose. But the queen is kind. And he is not grim with me; Rhaegar needs reason to smile, I think. I shall try to give him that.” Her thoughts on the king, Elia saw no reason to voice; they were too close to need words for that.
As though Oberyn had picked up on her unspoken words -- “Don’t trust the ones in white. For all that our uncle and Dayne are Dornish, for all that I’m sure all seven of them are all very honourable in their snowy cloaks, they are his.” Leaning back, he settled his linked hands across his bare stomach, frowning at an indeterminate point on the floor. “Trust Ashara when I’m gone. And Rhaegar, I suppose.”
“That is the whole point of them, no? The best swords of the kingdom, sword to the king’s own person. I will be guarded by them only due to proximity and within limits, I know that.” Even Uncle. “I trust Ashara very much, but it would not be fair to set her against her brother should it come to it. She loves him well.”
She paused a moment, eyes fixed upon her brother’s face, familiar and beloved. “I am to be his wife, Oberyn. I can do nothing but trust Rhaegar, else what do I have to stand upon? That is the way of the world.”
His chuckle was soft, interrupted only when his manservant returned with a tray laden with fruits, cereals, and small pitchers of milk. “Never trust your spouse, Elia. Did you learn nothing from Mother? Or Doran? His love for Mellario is true, but they trust too much. There is no space there for them to breathe.”
“-- the Sword of the Morning,” he continued after a beat, extending a hand to push the food towards Elia, “has exchanged Sunspear for the Iron Throne. Ashara is still ours. She knows how these things work.” There is no such thing as fair. After another contemplative pause, Oberyn’s lips twisted into a dry grin. “I hear Uncle has a paramour.”
"Mother married for Dorne; does that make me Father in this equation, then? He hardly trusted at all, and will be forever bitter for it. As for Doran and Mellario -- give me a little credit, Oberyn. I know that I need to breathe." I would have flown, before I met Rhaegar and had I the wings to do so, and you know it. "I take my lessons from Arturo; trust enough. Too little is as dangerous as too much.” Elia made an impatient gesture with her hand, before selecting a ripe peach to go with the orange. “I can see I will never please you on this count. So you must just trust me.”
As for her dear friend’s loyalties -- “We’ll see, perhaps. Though I hope we do not.” Finally, she grinned to matched his own. “And that surprises me not at all. I should like to meet this paragon of beauty, for I’m sure she must be one to have him break his vow.”
“Ah. Arturo.” Another wry smile made its way across his lips as he picked out a small handful of berries. “Wise man, that, to have kept Mother so thoroughly... engaged. I’m not sure I agree, however, so I will just have to trust you, sister. As for Lewyn, I wonder if I should admire him more than I do. Forbidden to marry, but finding his way around such an imposition. It’s a pity he’s as tight-lipped as he is -- I couldn’t get a word out of him on the matter.”
Elia pulled a face quickly, before turning her attention to her peach, cutting it neatly into segments with a knife. “It’s such a burden, I know. I wonder how you put up with me.” A beat. “And leave it be and let me talk to Uncle. He will not say it outright, but I wager I will get something from him nonetheless.”
“Yes, please. Ask.” A fleeting kiss was brushed against Elia’s shoulder before he straightened, leaning forward to help himself to some of the cereal on offer. Pouring the milk with a steady hand, an arched brow and a flick of his gaze back towards his room was directed at his serenely waiting servant, who turned on silent feet and slipped into his master’s room -- the girl there needed to disappear before the rest of the Keep had arisen.
“-- this paragon of beauty must be someone of the court -- or someone within ten, twenty if she is truly a force to be reckoned with, leagues of King’s Landing.”
“There, then, we have already disqualified at least two thirds of the ladies in the kingdom, both noble and otherwise.” Elia flashed a grin as she stole a spoonful of the cereal that Oberyn had poured for himself, before returning to her peach more satisfied with her own choice. “We will find out, never fear. I imagine she must be a force to be reckoned with, even if she is within the walls of the Keep.” A beat. “Perhaps especially then.”
“Intrigue.” Oberyn made a show of offering her another spoonful of cereal before loudly crunching it through his teeth instead. And then: “Should I tell Doran? Would he be amused or horrified? Perhaps I shall save the tale of Lewyn and his paramour for a time when I run out of things to tell our brother and must resort to sordid tales to titillate the Prince of Dorne.”
“Despairing, with that edge of resigned humour, I imagine. But he’d rather hear about the other game anyhow, not our petty intrigues -- unless the intrigue intersects. Add it to a list of things to save it for a slow day.” She glanced at the window for a moment (the sky now streaked with pink and mauve) before turning back to fruit and brother. “Be as archaic as you can, when you do write it. I’d hate for Uncle to be sent to the Wall --” or worse “-- by a stray idiom still in use at home.”
“That and the fact that we from Dorne are made lascivious from our love of spice makes for a case that our uncle cannot emerge unscathed from?” Oberyn -- and, he was sure, his sister -- was fully aware of the sort of reputation the people from their homeland had to put up with, and though it wasn’t entirely without merit, the idea that Dornish men and women could not control their urges was laughable. “I will be so archaic as to confuse Doran himself; never fear, Elia.”
With a laugh (though she was mindful of those still resting nearby), Elia leant back into her chair and, cupping the nape of her neck, stretched her head further back with a sigh. After a beat she returned to her previous position, meeting Oberyn’s gaze with a grin. “It is so very tiring, being a natural slave to one’s carnal desires. That is why we rest at midday and stay up late into the night, or so they love to whisper here, and who am I to correct their ignorance and explain that it is at least five eighths the heat?”
Carnal desires, as far as Oberyn was concerned, were all well and good, but one should never be enslaved by them. Around a mouthful of cereal, he grinned back at his sister -- “It is good that they shall have you as a queen, then. Please educate the ignorant masses.”
“Little by little.” Grin fading to half-smile, she plucked a number of dark grapes from the heavy bunch upon their table and ate them thoughtfully. “The crown princess of as vast a realm as this should take note of expectations and be willing to accept the customs of the capital, yes, but if the masses expect me to be anything other than myself -- Dornish, and happy to be so -- they are in for a severe disappointment.” A beat. “And if all else fails, I’ll bribe them with oranges.”