"You man are a whore, you shall never touch my body."
"We shall see."
House Velaryon survived the genocide of Targaryen blood lines during Roberts Rebellion. The Velaryon name had long lost its luster with little to no wealth left to it. Monford Vel...
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They had spent six grueling days traversing the desert. Vaelerys' eyes burned from atop her husbands stead, draped in his arms as they traveled home. She found his warm smell of citrus and mahogany soothing, so familiar and safe after so much time enveloped in strangeness and fear.
When they arrived home, Vaelerys and Arianne had been taken to the Maesters. For over a fortnight they both laid abed, visited by those they loved and cared for as if they had been soldiers wounded in battle.
Oberyn had not left Vaelerys side. Once a usual proud cock, had turned solemn since the rescue of the princesses. His cunning smirk was traded for a thin line. The mischief that danced in his eyes faded into worry and pain. Although he had been in Vaelerys' company constantly, he barely spoke, when he did it was only to ask if she needed his aid or to decline proper accommodation.
He slept at night in the chair by her balcony. Vaelerys had offered to send a servant to bring him a bed on numerous accounts. He had declined each time, refusing to give his wife a justification of his stubbornness.
Doran had fretted over both Vaelerys and Arianne since their return. But he had spent most of his time worrying over the bed of his beloved daughter and heir. Doran made sure each day after luncheon to visit Vaelerys, then to return to Arianne's chambers promptly to persuade her to take her treatment.
"You are starting to look better. The rosiness of your cheeks has returned." Doran smiled, his wheelchair pulled to Vaelerys bedside. His hand extended, playfully pinching Vaelerys now hallowed cheek.
"How does Arianne fair? It has been over a week now. She was treated far worse than I."
It was true, where Vaelerys had laid silent and submissive in her cell, Arianne had fought to stay alive. She had been beaten and belittled, while Vaelerys bent the knee to cowards. She had done nothing to save or give herself any chance of escape.
A grimace shuttered across her features. She was ashamed.
"She is up and about. Arianne does not stay down for long. She has taken to... questioning... our prisoner."
Doran's elongation of 'questioning' made Vaelerys believe anything but that was occurring in that dungeon.
Obara had left one of the men alive, the fat one who smelt of piss and ale. She had dragged him through the desert with the help of one of Tyene's concoctions to keep him subdued.
"Who did this?" Vaelerys eyes fell to Oberyn who stood at the end of her bed. His arms folded across his chest, a serious expression written on his face. His head rose at the question.
"I could tell you, but he fears the truth." Oberyn looked to his brother with distain, the gesture shocking Vaelerys. Oberyn loved his brother, to see him so hateful towards him felt wrong.
