The Winding Path
Twenty Third Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
Viper's Tower, Golden Fields Province
Oberyn Sandviper, Count of Golden Fields, did not come home riding along the pale roads of the old Rhoynar now rebuilt in arcane stone, he did not fly though the air nor pass from tree to tree as the fey who had grown so common in these lands were wont to do. He simply appeared in the courtyard before the Viper's Tower with a sigh of relief at seeing the ever more familiar banner of the crimson serpent swaying in the breeze, not that he would admit it to another living soul. The Red Viper had a reputation to maintain, after all. A trip to Mereen with a pair of sadistic ancient assassins, an angel, and a pack of gremlins was all fun and games and maybe gave him a chance to add a notch or three to the bedpost, or at least that was how it was supposed to go. Truth be told, he was just glad to get back somewhere he could sleep without keeping one eye open.
Am I turning into Doran? Oberyn asked inwardly, looking down at himself in a flash of worry as though half expecting to see the fine lace and silk chords his elder bother preferred instead of his own silvery armor. As he raised his gaze he saw hair woven with field flowers and eyes as bright as summer grass, his heart began to race and... other things to stir. Not yet at least.
"Silore, lady more lovely than mortal lips can tell, how has your time in my lands been?" he asked. "Did some daring outlaw steal your heart that you would not reveal his hiding spot."
"You have not smelled many outlaws have you?" the fey asked, amused. "It is rather hand to tell if they are dashing under all the grime, and soiling themselves at the sight of the Dragon King's iron-shod legion did not help matters."
Expand Law Enforcement in Golden Fields Progress 5/18
A sigh passed her lips, the mood shifting as swiftly as summer rain clouds veiling the sun. "There's still a lot of work yet to be done. The new immigrants mostly want land grants, and that is fine, better than all being crowded behind walls for sickness to breed, but a lot of them lack the crafts it truly takes to make a village, blacksmith and farrier, potter and apothecary...."
At that the lord of Golden Fields laughed a little. "Of course they don't all have apothecaries, most villages anywhere you would care to name, are lucky to have a hedge witch out in the wilds who manages to heal folk a little more often than they kill them. The idea of having properly trained apothecaries, with a bit of healing low magic besides, is nothing short of miraculous."
"They used to have it before, the folk that lived between the rivers, the priests that talked to the spirits of wild things, that soothed the waters and made the fields grow green..." the fey replied, her gaze growing distant.
Fuck, this must seem like a miserable world to her, the Dornish prince thought, his own weariness seeming to fade to insignificance. From where she is standing, we are all barely crawling back to what the old ones had, what she had seen with her own eyes. For the first time since he had figured out that there may be ways around growing old and laying your bones in the dust, Oberyn wondered if it would be worth it to live many times a man's life, to see with your own eyes the ruins of drowned Ny Sar and remember it whole and living.
Luckily for him, his was not a character given to melancholy.
It will only matter if we fuck it all up again and we won't this time, he thought as he put his arm around Silore's waist and they walked together into the tower.
OOC: Yes Oberyn is aware of the obvious phallic connotation of calling his keep the Viper's Tower and it was very much intentional. Not yet edited.
