#(ellaria: thread)

[snakeknown]

@musenssang​ from here

Oh, Oberyn was right, he was precious. “A dornishwoman, within the walls of a Tyrell keep?” she tutted, teasing, “I doubt many would be pleased by such a thing.” She raised a brow.

“And what of Oberyn? You’d invite a Sand, but not a Prince? Leave him to be all alone in the cold tent?” she asked with a sly smile, knowing that her current words directly contradicted her past words.

[snakeknown]

@musenssang​ from here

Ellaria did not know much of Mellario and Doran’s relationship. Oberyn spoke of her with indifference, happy enough that she made his brother happy, but blind to her own unhappiness. To her, it seemed obvious that the woman had never seemed comfortable in their sands, and she could not truly blame her for wanting to leave. Ellaria had made a drastic change of her own, and while she could not say she truly missed being a bastard, nor ever wished to leave Oberyn’s side, the transition to near a Princess was still jarring on occasion.

“No, I rather think he’s caught up with sulking in his room.” Ellaria mused lightly, unoffended by the way Mellario dismissed her. “I’m not certain he truly believes that you’ll go through with it, even if he says nothing. Men are foolish like that, sometimes.”

She could not imagine the pain Mellario faced. While her own daughters may not have the same opportunities of their trueborn cousins, she could not deny she was pleased to keep them close and never risk losing them. “My offer will stand, even if you wish to do nothing other than complain or cry. We all need a sympathetic ear at times.“

[snakeknown]

@vivitanima liked for a starter.

Oberyn’s impatience had struck again. Doran had urged him that the time still wasn’t right, yet had grudgingly agreed that they needed a better knowledge of what was happening at King’s Landing. Especially with the old Hand dead and a new one arrived to take his place, alliances would shift and things would change. 

“The King cannot come to greet me himself? A shame, but alas, I imagine he’s a very busy man.” In truth, the Hand was probably more busy than the King, if rumor was to be believed. Eddard Stark was a confusing man. On one side, he was the Usurper’s best friend, his pet dog. On the other, this was supposedly the first time in near two decades that the two spoke. If rumor was to be believed, he had walked out enraged after the death of Oberyn’s niece and nephew. 

Did he include the man on his list of people to gain vengeance upon? Robert Baratheon, who laughed at their deaths, Gregor Clegane, who raped and murdered his sister and nephew, Amory Lorch, who killed his niece, Tywin Lannister, who gave the orders. Ned Stark, who had seemingly been horrified by his sister’s death and who, by all accounts, was honorable. Perhaps he’d find out during his visit.

Seemingly random, Oberyn continued, “You loved your sister.” A pause, “I loved my sister too. And my sister’s children. I heard your King laughed at their bodies, called them dragonspawn. They might have been dragons, but they were Martells too. And what did we get for their deaths? Justice? I think not.” From behind, fingers snuck between his own, a comforting squeeze but also a warning. He could almost hear Ellaria’s voice, don’t reveal your hand too early. He forced his expression to relax from whatever snarl is had twisted into, truly curious, “Have you found out yet, that whatever honor you cling to will get you killed in this stinking cesspool of a city?”