"I had thought to avenge Elia," said Oberyn quietly "Avenge Aegon or Rhaenys. But this will do as well. Take the chains off him, Ser Franklyn. Take them off, and ready a sword for use. This monster dies tonight. For Elia. For Aegon. For Rhaenys. For every man, woman and child that you let die in that city, Kingslayer. Your sins will be repaid tonight."
As the Red Viper trotted away, his longspear in hand, the Crownlander knight stepped forward to do as bid, unchaining his prisoner of his chains. First his arms then his legs were freed, and as Jaime stretched his limbs for the first time in weeks. As he did so, one of Oberyn's Dornish companions threw a shield at his feet.
Muttering his thanks, Jaime bent over to pick it up-
Only to freeze at seeing the sigil of House Dayne upon it.
Arthur...
"Do you need a moment, Lannister?" said the Dornishman questioningly, striding away out of the impromptu fighting grounds "Or can you fight?"
"I would like a minute, yes! said Jaime wearily at the Dayne knight's back, before picking up the shield with his off-hand. As his captors and Oberyn's retinue watched, he went through a series of quick practices acclimating himself to his new weapons.
"I don't suppose you kept my old sword, did you?" said Jaime casually as he tested the weight of his weapon and his grasp on it's handle "Or did you pawn that off?"
"Couldn't," grunted Ser Franklyn to the Lannister knight "Too valuable, would have attracted attention. It'll be a gift for King Viserys, when we attend upon him. The Kingslayer's sword, as it were."
"It's not the one I used on Aerys," said Jaime with a shrug "That one went up in flames with King's Landing, I think. You'll not find more than a puddle of metal and a charred hilt, if anything."
"The sentiment stands."
"I'm sure," muttered the Kingslayer to himself, before he continued to practice his forms.
In the end, he was at last ready (or rather, as ready as he was going to be after recent straits and conditions), and looked to Oberyn Martell, lounging as he was, chatting with the Dayne knight.
"Martell!" shouted Jaime with as much good cheer as he could force out "I'm waiting. Unless you've decided to tuck tail and run, like you Dornishmen are so fond of doing."
"Leave it to a Lannister to accuse other of cowardice," said Oberyn with a chuckle mirrored by his men "Is that all your little roar amounts to, little lion?"
"If I kill you Oberyn," dared the Kingsuguard, hoping against hope "Will your men let me go?"
"Perhaps," said Oberyn with a shrug "Or perhaps they will kill you. Ser Daemon, Ser Dickon, Ser Gerold... the Lannisters have quite the long list of enemies in Dorne, Jaime Lannister. If I am to be honest... you will not leave Dorne alive. Or at all, for that matter."
Suddenly, Oberyn rose to his feet, and came at his foe. Taken by surprise by his rapid stance, Jaime began to backpedal, putting distance between himself and the Martell spearman, using shield to deflect Oberyn's rapid lunge-and-pull-back strikes. As each strike hit, scratches began building on the Lannister's shield, scratches coloured a light shade of green, tinged by the poisons Oberyn had used on his weapon.
"Have you no honor?" shouted Jaime in desperation as he struggled to regain control of the battle. His breath "That you would poison me in battle? Face me fairly, coward."
At that Oberyn pulled back, considering, thinking-
Before he chuckled and began anew.
Again and again came his strikes, as Oberyn circled around the beleaguered Westerlander knight. Time and time again, only Jaime's shield stopped Oberyn's piercing spear strikes from cutting into his own flesh, the fine make of it deflecting or break the spear-heads of Oberyn's chosen weapon. No less than three times did Oberyn replace his longspear, each time taking a moment to decide upon which poisoned spear-head he would choose.
And then he would come again, from a variety of angles as the lightly armoured Oberyn took pleasure in demonstrating his unusual technique. Once he would strike forward while taking a knee, looking to pierce either of Jaime's ankles. Failing, he would roll through, then swing his spear around in a great arc, hoping to take out the Lannister's eyes, or cut his nose in two. Then he would move forward again as technically as his style allowed, a burst of pin-prick strikes that Jaime was forced to retreat from, unable to match Oberyn's raw fury.
Five minutes of this had passed, five minutes of Jaime barely avoiding death at the Red Viper's hands, trying desperately to study and note the patterns in his style.
There seemed none to be had, Oberyn's style too improvisational, too extreme, too exotic for Jaime's understanding. And yet...
A spear was still a spear.
As had happened before thrice, the Martell's longspear had snapped in two, worn down by its master's rapid pace and the fine castle-forged make of its primary barrier. As had happened before, Oberyn turned to collect another longspear-
Only for Jaime to charge against him, driving him away from his squire, leaving him helpless with nothing but the top half of his longspear in one hand, and it's bottom in another. He came at him time and again, driving him away from his spear-bearer, away from any of the men who looked to throw him a sword. For a moment, he was the Warrior, and he pressed the Dornish man. Again and again he cut at his opponent, and always his cuts met only air.
"A coward, you called me?" murmured Oberyn as he ducked under a wild swing of Jaime's, and lithely put distance between the two.
As he pulled away, the Viper repeated the Lannister's words to himself.
"A coward."
The Red Viper's eyes shone with hatred as he drew forth a stiletto, made of gleaming steel and shining with an ominous green tinge.
Poison.
"A coward."
Then the broken spear haft was thrown at the Lannister like a javelin. Instinctively, Jaime raised his shield and pivoted. The haft thudded harmlessly against his shield, but the Viper flashed out of the knight's view for an instant. Then pain lanced along his ribs, as the Valyrian weapon sliced across his ragged clothes and dread filled his heart. The sound of his heart thundered in his ears, and each heartbeat brought the poison further into his being.
Without thought, he blocked another strike, and riposted immediately...
Only to meet air again.
"Stand and fight!" Jaime roared, and he manically, ferociously drove at the Prince of Dorne.
Nothing but air met his strikes, and the mocking laughter of the assembled Dragonsworn & Dornish only made his strikes fly wilder. Breathing heavily with nothing to show for it, he slowed, conscious of the poison working through his body The wound on his torso bled freely, and pain unlike any he had ever felt before throbbed in tune with his heart.
In contrast, Oberyn didn't seem tired in the least. At some point he had picked up the steel head of a ruined spear with about a foot of good wooden haft attached. He held Valyrian dagger in one hand and the spear-haft in the other. He seemed at ease with the fighting style, and Jaime cursed himself for his own laxness in training.
It had been too long since he had fought in the melee, sparred with any knight of equal or greater worth.
Cersei....
Death was a sure thing for him, but he would take this smirking cunt with him.
With a wordless roar, he charged. His fury was met with precise parries and deft dodges. The Prince smirked, and Jaime felt the dagger punch through his bicep. His shield dropped out of his injured gasp, and he spun away from another strike. Holding his arming sword out before him, he trembled. The wound along his ribs howled with excruciating pain, and before him Oberyn moved. Squarely on the defensive now, Jaime soon bled from a dozen wounds as dagger and spear tip cut and cut.
Then Oberyn whirled away from a tired, pained swipe, and the spear tip slammed down on him like a bolt from on high. It lodged next to his clavicle, and jutted out obscenely. Jaime screamed in pain, the blade fell from his hand, and he fell to his knees. A distance away, Oberyn called for a wineskin, taking a deep draught as he looked upon his victim. Seconds passed as Oberyn did not move, and Jaime could feel his wounds burning unnaturally.
"Finish it!" Jaime shouted defiantly, desperately "Finish it!"
If he can just come close...
"Drained from a innocent little flower that grows in Mantarys," called out the Red Viper with a laugh "That old den of sorcery and sin in Old Valyria. A single pin prick kills any flesh it touches, and a wise man would sooner cut off the offending flesh than risk death. I had a whole bushel drained, Lannister. Drained and concentrated. You will die rotting from the inside, Kingslayer."
Even as he uttered those words, Jaime knew the truth of them, smelt his own rotting flesh, tasted his own blood as his teeth began to loosen and slip from their place. Spitting out as quickly as he could, he looked down, seeing the green, foul smelling, upwards creeping rot.
His vision was beginning to blur...
"For Elia."
