misereres (misereres) wrote in usurper, @ 2012-02-12 23:04:00 |
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Apartments far away from the central cluster of the Red Keep suited the recently widowed Olenna Tyrell very well. The best for the quiet that a grieving woman would surely crave, the seneschal had murmured sympathetically, as if to mask the fact that the rooms were surely due to the fact that no member of the royal household wished to offer the slightest offense to the Dornish delegation, given the events months before. But the corner apartments, in a quiet wing, were just what was required.
Messages could be left -- as she had left a message for a certain member of the Kingsguard that afternoon with a cluster of grapes upon a silver platter -- and meetings could happen as unobserved as was ever possible within the Keep, which was enough to keep even the best upon their toes, but certainly not a deterrent. And courtly games were but bread and honey to Olenna, for all she spent as much time in Highgarden as in capital now.
Though thoughts of such things were never far from her mind, it was pleasant anticipation that Olenna chose to focus upon as she brushed out her hair sat behind a painted screen, her serving girls dismissed with an idle wave of her hand. How delightful and irksome, that white suited Lewyn Martell so well.
So much of Lewyn’s watches had been given to the oversight of his niece and her daughter that he began to suspect a heart beat in the breast of the White Bull. Nevertheless, upon returning to his cell after a day of bearing Rhaenys upon his shoulders as her very own fell beast, the grapes upon the platter were the calling card of one he knew too well. King’s Landing grows crowded.
Without waiting too long -- for he stood in front of mirror for a moment, regarding himself and remembering the man last seen by Olenna -- he soon discarded his white robes and took up the hybrid dress of a Dornishman too long North of the Boneway. Beneath his cloak he secreted the grapes and his own offering (two blood oranges, still sun-warmed and only lately picked from his niece’s groves), before being permitted to enter House Tyrell’s secluded apartments.
Indicating to a valet, he placed the oranges and the grapes upon a tray and nodded. “Show those to your Lady.”
And the lady smiled at the sight, selecting an orange (the freshness and warmth well-noted, the sharp citrus scent as the nail of her thumb scraped against the peel) to slice into quarters before the valet was dismissed as the women had been before him. A sweetly tart quarter in her mouth, Olenna called out into the antechamber as she stepped naked from behind the screen and into the deep sunken bath that was the gift of Targaryens past.
“Do come in, Prince, or the water will get cold and I will be most put out. Which would be a shame, all things considered, don’t you think?”
“Shame,” Lewyn murmured, his lips pursed as he caught sight of his lady between screen and bath. “A shame would be only seeing you beneath the heavy layers of all that mourning when such perfection is nigh.” Stepping into the room, he unlaced his tunic and let it fall to the floor before leaning over the tub to flick a thimble-full of water at her.
“Lady Tyrell.”
“Prince Martell. Your flattery is, as ever, much appreciated.” Cupping her hand in the water, she flicked her wrist to send some of it over Lewyn in a lazy retaliation as she directed a frank gaze at him. “This garb suits you better than the white, but naked will serve you best here.
A slow roll of her shoulders as she turned to look at the pile of discarded blacks left behind the sceen. “The Faith must have its due, I suppose, but it is tedious. Come be debauched with a widow; I hear our experience is attractive.”
Lewyn slid out of his clothes, pausing at the lip of the bath with his hands upon his hips for her own measure before he slid beneath the surface of the water and leaned against the opposite angle of the tub.
“I’ve never had a widow.”
“Really?” Olenna’s smile was feigned surprise as she shifted to accommodate him in the water, foot teasing as she pressed it against his calf. Many years gone and yet no time at all, really. “Perhaps you’ve had one in ignorance; they’re not all so overt as I.”
“Perhaps.” He took hold of her foot, extending her leg beneath the surface of the water to let his fingertips crawl over the still familiar skin. “And what they don’t understand is that for all of your overt actions you, my love, are most covert of all. I never took a Tyrell for being quite oafish enough to take a swandive off a cliff. But life is full of these little surprises.”
Lip caught between her teeth, she slid a little closer, until it was easy enough to reach her arm across and tangle her fingers within his hair. “They are the joy I live and breathe.” A beat, then Olenna continued: “Luthor was an oaf, who knew little enough about managing House finances and nothing at all about politics. And he left muddy boots on my carpets, which was almost worse.”
No admission, but close enough.
“I would trade an oaf for a dragon.” Her waist was caught within the tangle of his elbow and the press of his fingertips as he slid within the water until he was pressed flush against her. Teeth gentle at the hollow of her throat -- “Tell me more little surprises. Tell me more of Olenna.”
“Yes, your niece is in trouble, you can have that one for free.” Her fingers pulled tight for a moment -- tease and reminder that she knew exactly what he was asking -- before moving to beat out an idle pattern against his back. “It’s almost a pity you love her and the child; it would be safer to back away, you know. Dragons always turn eventually.”
“As for me and surprises -- you can guess about me and I will tell you if you are right, or pay a fee and learn a surprise. Your choice, Prince.”
“My nephew was a fool for allowing love to enter into any marriage-pact.” And that was as far, with circumstances being as they were and with their best laid plans still to reach fruition, as he was willing to go. But he pressed a smile against her cheek before he leaned back, re-applying the tension between her fingertips and his scalp.
“House Tyrell is in King’s Landing to welcome the coming of Prince Rhaegar’s heir. The real reason why Olenna is here with all of her trappings is because she’s waiting to see the Northern Lords bring down their wrath upon the Mad King.”
“He was, and she was too indulged for too long.” Just because you think a child will die before coming of age does not excuse being remiss in her education in the ways of life -- but these last words Olenna would not say, despite their reflection in the arch of one eyebrow. Releasing him entirely, she leant forward herself with a firm push against Lewyn’s shoulders, shifting in the water to sit astride him with a knowing smile.
“But wrath? Soon, not yet. I just want to feel it all building; how else will Olenna Tyrell gauge what best to do, hmm?” A pause, as she pressed a near-chaste kiss to his lips. “And a lovely gift we have for the babe too, boy or girl.”
Filling his hands with the firm flesh of her backside, he took a deep breath and caught the end of her kiss with an open mouth, searing her lips with the sharp tips of his incisors. Olenna’s observations were all too keen; with her at House Tyrell’s helm, the Reach would stand to gain anything.
“What of the Dragon Prince? If he shows his hand before the lords of the North of the spears in the South - what of him?”
She gave a teasing bite to his generous lower lip before turning her attention to an earlobe, shifting against Lewyn in a way which appeared entirely unconscious (though her knowing smile suggested otherwise). “What do I think he will do, or what have I found through watching him? Do be specific, my dear.”
“What have you found. For, Olenna, I have my own idea of what he will do. And I find myself unimpressed by any of it.” The purr in her ear became a growl and his hands against her backside grew more firm as he ached for greater pressure; more of her. “I must be inside you.”
“He gathers his friends close, and he plans. For what, precisely, I do not know, but as for the details I have... how much do you want them, Lewyn? You will have to make an offer.” She laughed then, in his ear -- low and pleased and heavy with desire. “Then fuck me, Prince, and show me how I was missed in the capital.”
“Careful lest I pluck your details like flowers in the garden --” He turned his face to her, then, and lifted her slightly so that he could center himself beneath her before he brought her down again. His fingertips tangled in the long lengths of hair at the nape of her neck that he unpinned with a twist and drew down over her back. “I shall fuck you, Lady. And your son shall wonder why he was not swallowed or spit upon the ground for fear of the son that could have been.” A pause.
“But first. Details.”
Her second laugh was brighter than the first, a thing of pure amusement after her steadying breath. “Oh, we would have been great, would we not? And our son a marvel.” A beat, then, before her smile turned sharper. “This is not payment, Lewyn. And I will have that, sooner or later, as you well know.”
Olenna rocked, ever so slightly, above him. “A name and a rumour for one small favour of my choosing which will do nothing to harm your House. Yes?”
“And much to the sorrow of the South that the marvel shall only ever draw breath in our minds --” And draw a breath he did, gasping over the weight ever further up on his thighs. “Careful that your payment is not shaken together and running over.” The tips of his fingers beat along her chest, counting the indentations as he went, before sliding back beneath the water to tease the soft skin entrapping him.
“Yes.”
Her muttered curse was a compliment as she closed her eyes and sighed, expression the closest to unguarded as she had shown him thus far -- pleasure that went deeper than the physical. “Good. I am very fair. Jon Connington is the name, and the rumour is that he loves the Dragon Prince most dearly -- and so he might do nearly anything for him, no? Even in cases of civil war. Hearsay or not, Connington is in Rhaegar’s favour as a true friend.”
One hand rested upon his shoulder for support as the thumb of her other settled upon his lips, a firm pressure. “Yes?”
“There is neither wealth nor men enough in Griffin’s Roost to make much difference to the Dragon Prince. But the boy, who loves my niece, seems to make much of love.” His fingertips beneath the water grew more firm upon her as his wrist flexed back and forth.
Her thumb, taken between his lips, was given both tongue and teeth before his chin raised to rake his bite against her thumb.
“What do you wish of me.”
“Think like a woman, Lewyn, it will be refreshing for you -- wealth and men don’t mean everything in war. As for that boy and love, well. Love is fickle, and dangerous.”
“I wish you to tell me the order in which the King privately receives petitions from the noble houses, when next you guard him on such an occasion.” A beat. The words were less steady now, as she began to move in earnest, willing him with her. “And I wish very much for you to take me now, please and thank you.”
He laughed softly, head bowed against her breast -- “Indeed it is. And indeed I shall, for it is upon the morrow. I will come to you at moonrise with your list. As for the fickle, dangerous nature of love -- only too well do we men come to rue it, after a time.”
But her second request -- “You shall not ask me thrice.” And he rose from his seat, turning to pin her between his chest and the edge of the tub, seeking the pleasure that had for so many years been lost to him.*****
After, the most pleasurable kind of tiredness settling about her like a mantle, it was the increasing chill of the water that drove Olenna from the bath. “Don’t let it go to your head to an unwarranted degree, but that was by far better than when last we knew each other.” If Olenna meant something slightly different to her words she did not elaborate, merely smiled as she retrieved two towels and wrapped one around her own body. It is good to be back.
“Time has been good to us. And I’ve had the practise.” While Lewyn knew that there were always several levels to what Olenna said (meanings hidden within meanings and obfuscated by smiles or tones), he chose to give it his own colour. He accepted her towel, wrapping it loose around his waist before he laid a kiss against the nape of her neck.
“How long are you staying?”
“Until the babe comes and then a moon, give or take. Highgarden can spare me for so long; any more time and Mace will do something that makes me wonder why I didn’t switch him with a shepherd’s child at birth.” Her caustic words, whilst truthful, were belied somewhat by the kiss that she pressed to the corner of his mouth after turning.
“Though I’ve had certain occasions to practice too. You can come and take a lesson, if you like.”
“In good time, then. We will have lessons aplenty. And perhaps there will be time to draw Highgarden into the graces of the Prince … ess.” Raking his fingers through the slow coil of her hair, he sat upon a chair and leaned back, crossing his legs as his hands came to rest against his waist.
“Stand with us, Olenna.”
“My, we are bold today, if no longer quite standing.” The pins that had held her hair were retrieved from the floor and twisted to hold the low, loose bun that she created, gaze sharp upon his face. “Good for you.”
“I’m undecided, you’ll have to let me think on it. It will be fascinating, I am sure, to meet your nieces.” Just two names upon Olenna’s long list to investigate for herself, in her time by the high seat of Westerosi power, though undeniably important ones. “The Viper favours you, I’d wager, but tell me -- is there more of you or your sister in the girl? From even passing familiarity I think it’s safe to say the father provided almost nothing to either of them.”