A Vow Without Honor

The Breaking

Oberyn

He remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on a rat. It was a twitchy, disgusting little thing that snuck around the kitchens and put its paws on everything it could see. Every now and again, it would make a soft squeak, enough to garner the attention of those nearby, before it disappeared again. Even though he could no longer see it, Oberyn had known it was still there, watching and waiting.

He also remembered watching a viper catch and consume the creature.

The image of that pathetic animal's death spasms was the driving force behind the smile Oberyn flashed at Petyr Baelish, the king's Master of Coin, and general annoyance to the Seven Kingdoms.

Well, that and the rough handling Areo Hotah was giving the man. No one moved about the Water Gardens without his knowledge or permission. Indeed, Littlefinger was fortunate he hadn't been presented to them skewered on the end of a spear.

There was still time, however.

"Lord Baelish," Doran began, his voice that curious mix of politeness and venom. He was seated in a chair by his writing desk, quill at the ready for whatever he needed to do to counter this interruption. "I'd welcome you to Dorne, but it seems you wished to skip the pleasantries."

"Forgive me, Prince Doran, but I-"

Littlefinger's presumably well-polished apology was cut off as Areo retreated further into the room, his shoulder bumping against the man, causing him to stumble forward. It was a small doorway, and his brother's guard was a large man. These things happened.

Clearing his throat, he continued. "As I was saying, Prince Doran, I do apologize for my perceived lack of courtesy but-"

"Perceived?" Oberyn echoed. He sat up from his reclining position on the couch and leveled a hard glare at Littlefinger. "This is not King's Landing, Lord Baelish. It is not even Sunspear. These are the Water Gardens, our family's sanctuary. No one arrives without invitation, and no one leaves without permission. So tell me, what do you perceive your unwelcome presence as?"

The man did not answer immediately. He only watched him, and Oberyn could see his mind at work behind those beady eyes. His lips quirked briefly before he set back to Doran.

Oberyn was not a man easily intimidated, but he knew when to be wary. When a scholar smiles at the threat of violence, one must keep their guard up.

"A precaution," was the calculated answer Littlefinger gave his brother. "You have someone that I was seeking out, and I preferred to find them before anyone had the chance to whisk them away."

"That is a bold statement," Doran replied, leaning back in his chair. He'd let go of the quill, and was eying Littlefinger much in the same way the man had done to Oberyn earlier.

"I find that when you're in a room full of people who would prefer you dead, lying does not help your position."

"What do you want, Lord Baelish?" Doran asked, clearly unable to stomach dancing around the subject any longer. In King's Landing, it might have lasted for days. Being direct seemed to be a lost art.

Sensing the conversation turn in the direction he wanted, Littlefinger took the opportunity to approach his brother's desk. "A simple trade is all I ask. Release Sansa Stark into my custody, and I speak nothing of her presence here."

"I did not take you for one who enjoyed little girls," Oberyn said. His tone was light, but his eyes had narrowed. Anyone who knew anything about him could see he had grown taut, coiled for the strike. There were few things that could get directly under his skin and immediately make his blood boil, but he had many daughters, and the thought of anyone touching them in their youth was perhaps the worst. "Why else could you possibly want her?"