A Vow Without Honor

The Changes

Oberyn

To underestimate one's opponent was perhaps one of the greatest sins a man could commit. Not only was it a grievous offense to the skill of one's adversary, it was also an affront to one's own. Such presumption of one's abilities begged for recompense, and there was not much Oberyn enjoyed more than watching his brother collect that particular payment.

Prince Doran Martell was not about to best a man in ritual combat, and somehow that led many lords and ladies to believe that they could match him in a duel with words. Oberyn was not sure why. Even before the gout had cost him the use of his legs, his brother had always been considered the intelligent one, but perhaps that was because he took his time to think things through rather than charge headfirst into dangerous situations. That was not the Dornish way. Really, not much of what Doran did was considered the Dornish way, but if Oberyn heard anyone utter those words aloud, they'd soon find his spear in their chest.

Ah, was that why he was not allowed to be armed in the Water Gardens? Funny he did not think of that sooner.

Smirking, Oberyn watched the back of the latest diplomat depart the room. He was from some minor lord to the west, negotiating about taxes like they all did this time of year. The fool thought to take Doran's silence as some form of weakness, and paid the price dearly.

While his brother was not as quick to anger as himself, Oberyn knew from experience that his ire was to be feared nonetheless. His brother had this strange ability to shake the very foundations of Sunspear with a look.

"Does this truly not bore you?" Doran asked, looking over his shoulder. Oberyn had taken up residence at a writing desk behind his brother, so that he would not disturb him while the negotiations took place, but was still within view of the visitors. He wanted to make sure they knew what the Red Viper thought of them as they spoke their colorful words; he liked to think his brother tolerated his presence because of his persuasive demeanor.

Oberyn took a sip of wine, carefully replacing the goblet on the desk well within his brother's line of sight. He always used to chastise him over placing drinks near his papers. Of course he'd been right to do so – the number of letters he had ruined over the years was innumerable – but even at his age, it was his duty as the younger brother to get under Doran's skin in whatever way he could.

"You ask me that every year."

"And I have yet to receive an answer."

He chuckled softly, standing. "Brother, I think the fact that I am here every year should more than suffice as an answer."

Doran shook his head, an image he was more than familiar with. "Sometimes I wonder about you."

Oberyn crossed the room, taking a seat in the couch nearest his brother. "Only sometimes? It seems I have begun to slip in my old age."

His brother snorted. "Try to remember you're my younger brother before you go making claims about your age."

The two shared a comfortable silence as they awaited the next diplomat. Oberyn glanced around the room, taking everything in. In his youth, he'd never paid it much attention. When their family had come to the Water Gardens, he had played with Elia in the lavish pools outside while their father educated Doran in the ways of ruling. There was still a chipped tile on the eastern wall from the one time he had been left to his own devices. That had been the first time he had picked up a spear. Not a week later, he was sent away to foster at House Qorgyle.

Even then, it had been clear to his father was sort of man his youngest was going to be.

Two servants entered the room shortly after, accompanied by Areo Hotah, whom Oberyn was certain had given the diplomat a warm Dornish farewell. The guard took up his position silently behind Doran, as one servant delivered his brother a missive, while the other replenished the fruit bowls on the tables between them.