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( SUNSPEAR, DORNE ) MID 285 AC
OBERYN HAD BEEN GONE FOR THREE FORTNIGHTS OR SO WHEN SHE ASKED OCTAEVIA, "The mothers of the girls, who are they?"
The sky outside was yellow with dusk. She watched it carefully, imagining that Oberyn would be travelling at sea, now. Her thoughts were flooded with images of the waves, the breakers, and the white horses, sea foam and the sweet sea breeze that reminded her of Saltshore. Part of her longed for home and for her grandmother, for Yellowbed and for how she used to spend her time jousting or in the stables.
"Hmm?" Octaevia quirked an eyebrow.
"The mothers," Gwendys reiterated, casting her gave over towards the maid, "The mothers of the girls," she gave a heady breath, the sky present in her russet eyes. She pulled a shawl further over her shoulders for warmth, even if the thin material was barely effective against the breeze.
Octaevia folded clothes into trunks, bustling around and smoothing out wrinkles in nightgowns and the like. The girls were receiving evening lessons from the septa before they ate, even little Sarella, who still only wanted to hide in her wet nurse's skirts.
"Oh," she mumbled, not looking over to the princess as she continued with small deeds to clear up the messy nursery, "They say Obara's mother was a whore from Oldtown. She hadn't wanted to give Obara to the prince. He threw his spear into the ground and slapped the woman down. He asked Obara, what weapon? and of the spear and the tears, she chose the spear. People say that her mother drank herself to death shortly afterwards. I heard some rumours that she was given a job here, so that she could stay in contact with her daughter. I don't think that Obara knows, though. She's never mentioned it."
A whore from Oldtown. She must have been beautiful. Probably more beautiful than Gwendys, if Oberyn had left her with the greatest gift like that — a daughter. She combed through her dark hair with her fingers, as the yellow in the sky became a gradient to orange.
"With Nymeria, it was a noblewoman from Volantis."
A noblewoman. Gwen herself was a noblewoman. How was she any different? She wondered how long he had spent with these women, before fleeing. They'd only known one another for about a year and a half, and had been married for even less than that. How long would it be? How long would it be?
The orange of the sky quickly became a bloody crimson, the colour of Arbor Red. It made her think of her mother, and how she used to swell with happiness at the sight of the fine wine. It made Gwendys feel quite forlorn.
