Lust Demon? Tyrion raised an eyebrow. Would Prince Oberyn really call him that? He steadied himself against the doorframe.
"Lion, come sit beside me." Arianne rose and took his hand. "Don't worry, we're only talking."
"I've always spoken plainly," Oberyn said, his eyes black as dead stars. "If you wish to marry, come with us to Dorne."
"What?" Tyrion laughed. "Prince, surely you jest? Is this... your way of showing distrust?"
The Red Viper stood and leaned against the window, looking down at the barracks below the Tower of the Hand.
"Dorne has its own justice to uphold," Oberyn said, a trace of irritation in his voice. "I have no interest in Lannister lies, nor will I tolerate them any longer. Do you take us for meek sheep, or fools without wits?"
"Of course not, Prince."
"My brother is no butcher, but for sixteen years he hasn't been idle. In the second year after Robert seized the throne, Jon Arryn came to Sunspear. We questioned him a hundred times over. I tell you this! Had the choice been mine, I would never have cared for that farce of an investigation. I would have taken vengeance for Elia and her children—vengeance!"
"But why tonight, Prince…" Tyrion felt Arianne tighten her grip on his arm.
"You think you control everything?" the Red Viper hissed, his tongue flicking like a snake's. "I know you've caught wind of our plans."
He's laying his cards on the table—tonight?
"You'll return with us to Dorne. Want Sunspear? My brother will grant you Sunspear. Want Casterly Rock? Dorne will help you reclaim it."
"My love, once we reach Dorne, we'll hold our wedding," Arianne whispered in his ear.
"Prince, you misunderstand one thing," Tyrion said. "I am a Lannister. My father will give me Casterly Rock. Why would I need your help to take it?"
"Is that so?" Oberyn replied. "Then why has Tywin never named you heir to Casterly Rock?"
"Perhaps because I'm too irreverent?" Tyrion said. "He promised me—"
"Hmph. Promised. Promises of justice he'll never keep." Oberyn let out a cold snort. "Tell me, how did he explain those eyes of yours?"
"My eyes?" Tyrion understood. "Vicious gossip. It's just heterochromia."
"Ha." The prince sneered. "Your mother, Lady Joanna, was so beautiful that Aerys lusted after her. He half-joked to Tywin that abolishing the right of the first night had been a mistake. During their wedding festivities, he even laid hands on the bride."
"Rumors. I wasn't even born then."
"The year after your brother and sister were born, Tywin's father—your grandfather, Tytos Lannister—died. After that, Tywin became Great Lord of Casterly Rock."
"Thank you for the family history," Tyrion said. "Truly. Father never spoke of Grandfather."
"He attended the tourney celebrating King Aerys's tenth year on the throne. The king drank too much and asked Joanna if nursing had 'ruined her proud, lovely breasts.' Ha. Tywin handed in his resignation the next morning, but Aerys refused it."
Tyrion's eyes narrowed. Arianne squeezed his hand.
"Look at those mismatched eyes of yours—and that face said to rival Prince Rhaegar's."
"Heterochromia. I won't say it again."
"After your birth, the Mad King became obsessed. When you were born, he first gifted gold equal to your weight, then gave your brother a white cloak and stripped him of his inheritance." Oberyn went on. "Yes, heterochromia. Yes. I was visiting Casterly Rock when you were born."
"You've mentioned that before."
"During my visit with Elia, your father avoided us entirely, leaving Ser Kevan to handle everything. The room he gave me had a feather bed and a Myrish carpet, yet it was dark and windowless. I told Elia it felt more like a dungeon than a guest room. Your skies were too gray, your wine too sweet, your women too plain, your food too bland—life there was dreary until your mother went into labor."
"It lasted all night. Near dawn, the wet nurse carried you out of the birthing chamber. Every maester in Casterly Rock surrounded your mother, struggling to save her. The difficult labor caused massive bleeding."
"No one came to look after you—only Elia, myself, and a few servants. Perhaps because I bore the chains of the Citadel, the wet nurse insisted I examine you to ensure you were healthy."
"I tried to examine your pupils—one green, one purple." The Red Viper stared into Tyrion's eyes. "You've been this way since birth. Natural dual-colored eyes, not some sickness. So tell me—what exactly is the lie?"
Tyrion felt himself swallowing again and again. His palm was slick with sweat as he gripped Arianne's hand tightly.
"Then what?" Tyrion's lips trembled.
"Then? Then your father sent us away. As we were leaving, Cersei kept saying it was you who killed her mother." The prince seemed lost in thought. "I've never told anyone about this—not even Doran. Years ago, your father once proposed to Arianne on your behalf, but at the time, she was already betrothed to Prince Viserys."
"Thank you for telling me this, Prince," Tyrion said, rising to his feet. "But it changes nothing. I am a Lannister, Tywin's son."
"You are no lion. You are a dragon." Oberyn stood as well. "Tywin will never give you Casterly Rock. You'll see. Tonight is your last chance. Leave with us. Come to Dorne. Whatever your place in this world, we will help you."
No, you just want to use me as a bargaining chip, Tyrion warned himself. He's a viper—every word from his mouth is poison.
"Uncle, may we talk alone?" Arianne asked softly.
The Red Viper narrowed his sharp eyes, studying Arianne from head to toe. After a moment, he nodded slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. "I'll wait for you on the ship. Tomorrow morning, when the first rays of sunlight break across the sea, we set sail."
Then his gaze returned to Tyrion. "I must admit, your crying back then was impressive. You could wail for hours, and nothing soothed you but a woman's breast." With that, he turned and left the room.
"My dear," Arianne whispered, her hand caressing his back. "Come with me to Dorne. I will rule Dorne, and you shall be Prince Regent."
"You are a dragon, not a lion."
...
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