And So We Sing in Elegies -- Chapter 5
Oberyn Martell x reader
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
A/N: hello everyone! So sorry for being MIA, covid hit me like a train last month and threw my motivation into the gutter lol. Reading your lovely comments has been a huge motivator for me to keep going, though, and so I pushed myself back into the writing groove and finished this chapter hahaha. Love you all!
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: none
The walk back to your quarters was . . . complicated, to say the least.
After Oberyn had left his chambers, you tidied the room in silence before changing into your riding clothes from the day prior. The pants and tunic were stiff from dust and wind, making it uncomfortable to put back on--but you would much rather be stuffed into awkwardly-fitting clothes than have to slink through the halls in Oberyn’s robe. Had anyone caught you wearing his attire . . .
You didn’t want to cause any rumors. You couldn’t afford to.
You are my friend, he had told you earlier--pleaded, even, as if he were trying to convince you that it was true.
And it was. Of course it was.
But despite the bond you two shared, you were still a maid serving a prince. You were miles below him, and that distance came with rules. Protocols. And to a man where jurisdiction was at his fingertips and love came at no price, you weren’t sure he would understand why you stuck to them so closely. You weren’t sure he could.
You shook your head as you crossed the building to the servants’ wing, stifling the thoughts as quickly as they came. You didn’t have the energy to think about it any longer--not after what had just happened.
You were certain that you wouldn’t be seeing Oberyn for a while. Situations like that usually ended in him finding some place to isolate himself and think, whether it be the gardens or the library--or even the sparring ring, if he couldn’t shake off his anger enough. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he ended up in the latter.
Though you didn’t blame him much for it. His anger was out of protection, and you understood why. Had the roles been reversed, had Oberyn been the one pushed into an arranged marriage against his will . . . you would have responded the same.
You prayed that he wouldn’t affect him for much longer, though, and that he would calm down soon enough. And that eventually, maybe, he would become numb to it. Just as you were beginning to be.
The servants’ wing was lively when you arrived, more so than it usually would have been at that hour. A glance into a few open doorways and at a few scurrying maids answered your question: they were all packing. They were to leave for the Old Palace tomorrow, you remembered--and they would arrive a day before you.
Thankfully, no one paid you any mind as you hurried down the halls, likely too preoccupied with putting together their own belongings to give you much notice. A few familiar faces glanced your way as you passed--but you kept walking, slinking back into the crowd before they could recognize you.
Much to your relief, your chambers were quiet when you entered--and so you went about gathering a spare set of clothes, a towel, and a few toiletries as quickly as you could. You wanted to sneak to the bathhouse before Khaegan came in. Or anyone else, for that matter.
After stuffing everything into a cloth bag, you locked the door and changed into a bathrobe and sandals. You threw your riding clothes into a heap at the foot of your bed—you didn’t have the time to wash them now. You didn’t have the energy to, either.
The moment you finished changing, you collapsed onto the edge of your bed and released a heavy, quiet sigh. You nearly considered lying there for a while, perhaps slipping in a nap before you bathed and inevitably went back to your duties—
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. You nearly groaned.
It was a feat to get your feet underneath you again, but eventually you crossed the room and unlocked the door with clumsy fingers. And beyond it . . .
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Khaegan said, his face blank as he leaned against the doorway. Judging by his lack of surprise, you presumed he had seen you in the hallway and followed you back. Probably.
You shrugged, turning back to collect your things as he stepped further into the room. “I arrived late last night,” you told him. “I’ve been with the prince since then.”
At that, Khaegan raised a brow--but he closed his mouth when you shot him a dry look.
You grew quiet as he rummaged around his side of the room, pulling clothes and toiletries and a random assortment of items from the boxes underneath his bed. He dropped everything into an old, fraying wool bag at his side. Only when he was finished did he turn to look at you.
His eyes flicked around your side of the room--likely looking for your own luggage. “Are you not packing?” he asked.
“I suppose I forgot to tell you,” you chuckled, “I’m leaving a day after you all. The prince wishes for me to travel with his escorts.”
To his credit, Khaegan didn’t seem fazed by your comment. You suppose it made sense, after all, for you to travel with Oberyn instead of the other servants; your job required you to be close to him as much as possible, especially since you were his only handmaiden--at least at the Water Gardens.
You wondered why that was.
Khaegan let out a loud, dramatic sigh as he sat on the side of his bed. “Disappointing,” he muttered. “I was rather looking forward to watching you blush over the prince on our journey there.”
“Bite me,” you huffed. Khaegan merely laughed.
Being the perceptive one he was, it didn’t take long after you met for Khaegan to realize your feelings for the prince. Though, you weren’t necessarily inconspicuous about it; unlike your chambermate, you were never good at hiding your emotions. And so Khaegan had to witness your years-long pining over the prince, but he never once pressured you to speak of it unless you felt inclined to do so.
. . . Though you never outrightly expressed how you felt about him. And truth be told, you weren’t necessarily sure how you felt about him yourself. It was just a flurry of emotions and feelings--some that came in passing fancies and others that made home inside your chest. You weren’t sure you could put it into words, even if you tried.
You assume it’s because you refused to acknowledge it for so long.
Khaegan didn’t respond to your jab, and you allowed yourself to bask in the quiet--so at odds with the commotion beyond the door--for a moment longer. But then, just as you shouldered your bag and stood, his next words stopped you.
“Why have you returned so soon?”
. . . You paused.
And then you took in a breath. Another.
“Things . . . didn’t turn out well, with my parents,” you offered. To your own surprise, it wasn’t difficult to spit out. You supposed that it was because you had already said enough with Oberyn; what was one more confession?
For a minute, Khaegan paused.
“Do you want to speak with me about it?”
“I . . .” You chewed on your lip.
At first, you weren’t sure you wanted to--weren’t sure that you had the strength to. But the longer you thought about it, the more you realized that you should. Kaegan was the closest friend you had--and, more than that, he was one of the few you trusted.
“I suppose I need to,” you whispered. “Just . . .”
Khaegan watched as you tensed under his scrutiny. And you tried--you tried--to straighten yourself, to throw your shoulders back and release the tension in your arms until you appeared relatively normal. But that weight, the one that hung like a millstone around your neck, gave it all away.
“Why don’t you clean up,” he offered. “Then we can talk.”
☼‐‐‐‐☼‐‐‐‐☼‐‐‐‐☼‐‐‐‐☼
You told him everything.
. . . Well, nearly everything. You couldn’t bring yourself to go into too much detail, despite the fact that you knew you should. You promised that you would tell him in time. Just . . . not now.
Khaegan was still seated on his bed when you returned from the bathhouse, and he waited patiently until you gathered your thoughts together. And when you eventually confessed, he sat there in relative silence, only speaking up occasionally when he needed more clarification--the whos, the whats, the hows--
Though, he never pushed too far. He never asked why, either. You were grateful for it.
Once you were finished, you waited for a minute as Khaegan’s gaze turned shallow--likely processing everything. You weren’t bothered by it.
Eventually he spoke up--and unlike you, he wasn’t one to palter.
“What will you do?”
His face was impassive--it had been since you began to spill. It was normal for him to take in information before reacting, though. You didn’t expect any emotion-driven comments from him any time soon.
“My parents will send a letter with the location of the suitor’s estate, and I’ll meet with him soon after,” you shrugged. It sounded monotonous--and by that point, you were sure it had to be.
“And then?” Khaegan pushed. You knew what he was pressuring you to say.
And then . . .
You swallowed thickly.
“I’ll marry him,” you whispered, and it felt heavy on your tongue. And as they fell from your lips, you realized it was the first time you had spoken it aloud. The first time you had truly and openly confirmed it.
I’ll marry him.
It was final.
In front of you, Khaegan rested his elbows on his thighs. “Though you don’t want to,” he concluded quietly. His eyes flicked over your face, your posture, taking everything in.
Processing. Always processing.
“If I’m being completely truthful . . . part of me does,” you admitted to him. “If I don’t marry now, I likely won’t have the opportunity to again. And I’m not going to leave my family behind, either. So I suppose that in doing this . . .” You shrugged. “It kills two birds with one stone, so to speak. I told the prince the same.” The words were still raw from when you spoke to Oberyn, though, merely an hour or so prior. Saying them still hurt.
Perhaps if you repeated them enough, they wouldn’t weigh you down as they do now. Perhaps they would lose their meaning, and saying them wouldn’t feel like you were trying to breathe around a blade in your chest anymore. And maybe the weights hanging from your neck would shatter, too, and you would finally be able to move without breaking.
For a minute, Khaegan didn’t respond. He simply sat there and waited, watching as you finally hunched over and buried your head in your hands--
You didn’t look up as you heard shuffling, and then the quiet sound of footsteps. And then the bed dipped, and he was next to you, pressing a tentative palm against your back.
Khaegan wasn’t one for touch. He was protective of his own personal space, and any invasion made him uncomfortable--it always had been. So the fact that he had moved to your side, sitting close to you, offering a supportive hand because he knew how much you needed it . . .
Your eyes burned.
“You’ll be alright,” he whispered, his voice flowing through you like a gentle tide. And for a moment, it was enough to calm you, enough to soothe your frazzled mind and rushing thoughts--
“I know I will,” you croaked.
I will. I will. I will--
Your hands dropped to your lap, and everything around you began to grow blurry. Somewhere deep inside you, you felt the last remaining piece of your strength crack.
You began to sob.
☼‐‐‐‐☼‐‐‐‐☼‐‐‐‐☼‐‐‐‐☼
Khaegan and the rest of the staff left early the next morning.
The switch in workers was, unsurprisingly, an ordeal that lasted quite some time. Overnight, the servants stationed at the Old Palace arrived in small waves in an attempt to make the transition smoother--which was successful, of course, but it didn’t make the Water Gardens any less loud.
Unlike your chambermate, you found yourself tossing and turning as you tried to sleep. Over time you grew irritated at the constant bustle--and when that irritation manifested into clenched fists, a large headache, and a heavy weight behind your eyes that refused to fade, you climbed from your bed and trudged through the hallways with a heady sigh. The blanket you brought with you was hung loosely around your shoulders, and you managed to shuck on a pair of sandals before you left. Luckily, no one paid you any attention as you wandered.
To where, you didn’t know. Just . . . somewhere. Wherever, as long as it didn’t claw at your ears any longer.
Your head still ached from the previous day’s events--and your body was still exhausted from the past two. It had begun to wear on you, little by little, and now you were left completely defenseless. Usually, noisy quarters and a lively atmosphere just beyond your door was something you could sleep through--but tonight, as if the gods had cursed you, sleep was no easy feat. Relaxation wasn’t one, either. Eventually, you became so overwhelmed that your eyes burned of frustrated tears. All you wanted to do was to rest.
And so, needless to say, the sigh that washed through you as you wandered further into the estate gardens nearly toppled you over. You could feel yourself relax with each step down the cobblestone path--and, unsurprisingly, with each step came more exhaustion.
Eventually, you found yourself in an alcove towards the edges of the gardens, a few turns past the drawing desk you so frequented. It was a place that you visited often, somewhere most of the servants were unaware of--or at least were too busy to discover. For the most part, you could call it your own.
The alcove was small, roughly around the size of your own chambers, and mainly consisted of a handful of wooden chairs and a circular table--though at the furthest end from the entrance was a long settee, with an arch of vines nearly concealing it from view. It was exactly what you were looking for.
In an instant, you collapsed onto the settee and threw the blanket over you. The air that night was cool enough for you to be comfortable as you laid there--and you found your hands unclenching and your eyes drooping almost immediately. The rustling of leaves in the wind and the blinking stars above felt like a lullaby.
It didn’t take you long to fully relax.
You didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep, however, until a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake.
Oberyn.
Why does he always seem to find you?
“My dove, why are you sleeping out here?”
Turning on your side, you found that he was crouched next to you, his head tilted as he stared at you. He was dressed in a loose, burnt orange robe, one that looked almost burgundy in the deep blue night. Likely his nightclothes--or, well, his wandering clothes, as you liked to call them, as it was usually something he threw on just so he didn’t look too improper when he wandered the halls.
And as he watched you, despite the worry on his face and the crease between his brows, he looked . . . calm. Mellow. The curls brushing his forehead twisted and twirled in the late night breeze, and his eyes glowed and flickered in time with the stars above him—
You wanted to paint it. Paint him.
Though, that wasn’t anything new, was it?
As you sat up, you shrugged. “I couldn’t fall asleep. The servants’ wing is quite lively at the moment.”
At that, Oberyn paused.
“Why didn’t you come to my chambers, then? You know you are welcome there.” He seemed . . . well, confused, at the fact that you didn’t disturb him, didn’t wake him by creeping into his rooms to fall asleep on his settee or something of the sort--
“I needed some quiet. It’s . . . rather peaceful here.”
And you’re too timid to face him, you thought. Not after earlier.
Why would he want you in his chambers after that?
A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at his lips. “Well, if I’m intruding, I can leave you be--”
“No, no,” you interrupted, and it was much louder than you intended. You bit your lip. “I mean . . . you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.”
He hesitated for a moment--as if examining you, trying to deduce if you really wanted him there. But then, before you could say anything more, he smiled, smoothing down his robe as he came to sit next to you. Again, not too close, just in case . . .
“I thought you could sleep through such noise,” A small, cheeky smirk pulled at Oberyn’s lips. “You certainly did last time.”
“I beg of you, don’t torment me again,” you groaned--a sound that was drowned out by his laughter. It was one banquet, and he never seemed to let it go--
“It’s much more difficult to remain asleep when my chamber door screeches every time it opens,” you sighed. Though you couldn’t hide your smile.
At that, Oberyn chuckled. “Remind me to have someone replace that.”
You almost protested--surely a rickety servant door wasn’t enough for a Dornish prince to send for aid--but you knew that objecting would only make him fix it faster. He was always like that.
Hard-headed, you thought.
But then, as you took in the man at your side, a realization came to you. “Why are you awake, my prince?”
He hummed. “Oddly enough, the rest of the estate isn’t any quieter. I thought a walk would do me well,” he answered. And then you saw how his eyes glimmered--
“Though, I did come out to simply walk. I didn’t plan to find you asleep in the farthest alcove from the estate.” You pushed at his shoulder, and his resulting laugh echoed throughout the alcove. It was thrumming and bright, and it warmed your skin like sunshine. “You mock me,” you muttered.
“Only sometimes,” he smirked, throwing you a wink. “When you deserve it.”
You rolled your eyes.
And then, before you could help it, you yawned.
Loudly.
Oberyn laughed at that, and you felt your face grow warm out of sheer embarrassment--
“You should sleep, my dove,” he told you. “Though not out here. I can prepare my rooms for you--”
“No,” you objected. It was a little louder than you had hoped. “No, that’s alright.”
You didn’t want to intrude, not again. No matter how much he insisted.
You wept last night, in your sleep, he had told you yesterday. And it didn’t take long after that for you to shatter in front of him.
. . . You didn’t want to risk him seeing that again.
Oberyn must have noticed something in your face, in your tone--because after a minute, he gave up. He only hummed in response.
You both fell quiet, and you felt Oberyn’s eyes on you as you fiddled the hem of your blanket. You couldn’t meet his gaze. And in that moment, you were surprised that he hadn’t brought up the unspoken issue between you both yet, the floating question that turned the air so thick it was hard to breathe--
The words slipped out of you before you could think twice. “About earlier . . .” you swallowed. “I hope I didn’t upset you too much--”
Oberyn cut you off. “Nonsense,” he said. “My feelings shouldn’t be placed above your own. In this case, especially.”
He paused, then, and you felt his gaze on you--taking you in, analyzing you once again. Likely noticing your hunched shoulders, your puffy eyes, the way your body just yearned for some peace--
“Besides,” he offered, “something like this is much better suited for daylight, hm?” He tilted his head as he looked at you, and you fought the urge to shrink under his gaze. “The night has no use for such solemnity.”
He was always the more logical one between the two of you. The wiser one.
Eventually, you agreed. “Perhaps it would be better to discuss after your name day, wouldn’t it.” And it was, in all honesty, the best decision--you had preparations to take care of, and you were traveling in less than a day’s time, and you hadn’t so much as gotten the location to your suitor’s estate--
“Perhaps,” Oberyn shrugged, pulling you from your thoughts as he turned his gaze to the alcove before you. And in that moment, you realized that his lightheartedness was more for your sake than for his. That he would continue to remain casual, at least until the air was lighter and your shoulders felt less heavy. And it worked.
You were grateful for it.
Oberyn didn’t let the moment stew longer, though, and he let out a deep sigh as he rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I deem that this calls for something to brighten the mood,” he grinned. He shifted to reach into his robe pocket, and it was only then that you realized he had hidden something there. In the darkness, however, all you could make out was a thin, long bump.
“I’d loathe to see your gift be hidden away in my drawers again, after all.”
At that, you perked up, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help it—and Oberyn knew it too, which is why it only made him laugh harder.
“A gift?” You swallowed. “Oberyn, if this is about the other day—“
“It’s not.”
He held up the object--wrapped in cloth and secured with a piece of twine--between you both. And when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Consider it an early name day gift.”
You took it from him carefully, eyeing him for a moment until he motioned for you to continue. And so you tugged on the string, unfurling the gift onto your lap--
“. . . A paintbrush,” you breathed. An expensive one at that; you hadn’t seen a pure rosewood brush in years, let alone one that was made with sable hair--
Oberyn let out a chuckle as your fingers fluttered around the brush. “It’s from Oldtown,” he explained. “I purchased it during my last trip.”
“That was months ago,” you pointed out. Had he . . .
“I stored it away for safekeeping,” he answered. “I was planning on gifting it to you on your name day, but . . . the situation called for it.”
You let out a deep breath. “It’s beautiful,” you marveled. Gently, your thumb ran over the bristles, over the small etching in the wood just beneath it: your name.
And in that moment, you nearly chuckled at your own awe, at how you handled the brush so gently. How were you supposed to dirty something so priceless?
“Why give me this now, may I ask? I would assume that it’s in recompense for that charcoal breaking days ago, but this seems much too big a gift so something so simple,” you laughed. And though you didn’t want to, you forced yourself to put the brush down as softly as you could. Oberyn remained oddly quiet as you did so--but when you eventually looked at him again, you saw a small smile adorning his face.
“You . . .” He swallowed.
You sobered almost immediately.
“I’ve always known that you’ve been treated unfairly. Life has dealt you bitter cards.” With a gentle hand, he reached down and touched the brush, running his fingers over the engraving on its ferrule once. Twice. A third time.
“Until yesterday, I wasn’t aware just how bitter those cards were.”
You felt your throat grow thick.
Though you tried not to acknowledge it, you knew his words were true. And sometimes you wished that you had gotten something better--that the man you were fated to marry all those years ago was good, that you never had to grovel and steal after fighting against your own blood--
You never would have met Oberyn, though, you thought.
The evening grew quiet, then, and you simply watched as Oberyn continued to run his fingers over the brush.
Life brought you to him.
For some reason.
Eventually, Oberyn released a heady breath. “I want you to know that you are safe here,” he promised. Your eyes flicked to his own, then, only to find that he was already staring at you. The intensity in his gaze, the emotion, flooded into you like the sea.
“No matter what happens, I will protect you,” he whispered.
The weight of those hit the ground like stone.
For a moment, you simply sat there, your breathing heavy and your hands shaking as everything began to settle. You couldn’t find the words to respond--you didn’t think you ever would, either.
He promised--he swore--to protect you. And for him, to make an oath . . .
Before you thought twice, you took his hand and raised it to your lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. His skin was warm, comforting, thrumming with a vibrancy that you wanted to drown yourself in--
When you opened your eyes, you saw his own burning into you.
And you found that, though you wanted to shrink under his stare, you couldn’t look away.
“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”
You didn’t release his hand.
General Taglist: @mutantsandproud, @gollyderek, @mrsparknuts, @readsalot73 @toilet-keeper @bluemoon-glen @talesfromtheguild @lin-djarin @sarahjkl82-blog @gingerbreadandpaper @forever-rogue @mrpascals @bestintheparsec @hiscyarika @murdermewithbooks @aerynwrites
ASWSIE Taglist: @assaultsofthought @agingerindenial @roxypeanut @alisonisunderground @gooddaykate-reads @renececilia @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @mrschiltoncat @clydesducktape @misslolasworld @lilzebub @kid-from-new-zealand @rpcvliz @none-of-your-bullshit @shakespeareanwannabe @ineedsome-getmesome @stitchers-in-stitches @lueurnotes @cinewhore @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @windfallss @belfry-bat @april-14-blog @fandom-addict-aesthetics @alexmarie29 @frietiemeloen @imaginecrushes @stars-trash-18 @whovianwar @itsjustmylifeconfessions @mlb4evah @mcrmarvelloki @theamuz @persephoneiswatching @sweet-creature98 @drinkingwhileblogging @310ra @qhbr2013
Pedro Characters Taglist: @ilikechocolatemilkh @remmysbounty
Let me know if you would like to be included in any of my taglists!