The Bastard Queen

Familiar Faces, Different Places

The air was thick; filled with incense, the smell of flesh, and the sound of distant and nearby moans of strangers. The brothel was shrouded by curtained windows, you could lose track of the daylight in places like these.

Manfrey wasn't a man to judge, he'd just prefer to do business elsewhere. "I hope I'm not interrupting,"

At the sound of his voice the whores scattered knowing that their client would no longer be needing them.

"Yet, you interrupt all the same." Oberyn grumbled, pushing himself up on the pillow cushions strewn about the bed. Manfrey couldn't help but notice his cousin eyeing a blond man's retreating form.

"Please tell me that we're leaving soon. I don't like being away from the girls so long, and this place bores me." Ellaria announced, readjusting the thin silk of her dress.

"Spending your days in a brothel bores you?" he quizzed, though the question was entirely rhetorical. Manfrey wondered how anyone could keep up with her; their commitment to each other in the face of their open door policy had always confused him. "I do bring news-"

"You wouldn't have come all the way here if you didn't. I never will understand your discomfort of brothels." the younger of the men quipped, popping a grape from the long forgotten tray into his mouth. "Do tell, what word have you brought from the Keep?"

Oberyn's mood had been filled with snark and venom before they had even reached the gates of the city, Manfrey had hoped he had better hid his ill feelings by now. He had also hoped his cousin would have put in more of an effort with the Princess he was to marry, but he had long ago learned that Oberyn rarely does what you hope him to.

"Perhaps if you had set foot in the castle and been a part of the meetings you were supposed to attend, you wouldn't need me to play messenger. But alas, the costume fits." Oberyn only shrugged half-heartedly at Manfrey's irritation. "The bargain is struck and we've finally agreed on terms, all that's needed is to procure them."

"Procure what?" Ellaria asked before adding, "an actual olive branch?"

The woman scoffed at the perceived audacity of the crown to ask something of them. She hated the capital, the stench of it, the food, the politics. Most of all she hated that Doran had sent them here. A marriage alliance needed to be made, but why did it have to be her Oberyn? Why not Quentyn, was Doran's son too good to offer up like this? Why did they have to destroy her life; ruin all that she had worked so hard for.

Ignoring her, Manfrey continued to explain the details of their new peace, "Our end of the deal is completed by your marriage to the Princess Syrana and the withdrawal of our militia men from the outskirts of the Marshes, theirs is more... complicated."

"Why would I ever need to attend any of those meetings, when you can tell me everything just as drawn out?" he sighed, rolling out of the bed and tossing a silk shawl over his shoulders. "What's so complicated? What were Doran's terms?"

"We have a standing seet on the small council, Elia's death gets a proper investigation, and the line of succession follows Dornish law. Those were the terms that were accepted anyway."

"Why would the line of succession be of any importance?" Ellaria inquired only half interested as she continued to recline on the large cushioned bed, sipping wine out of a goblet.

"Doran has out done himself," Oberyn's smile was full of agitation. He knew exactly why the line of succession was important. Of course his older brother had left out the details before sending him to this place. "Marrying this girl for show was one thing-"