Chapter Text
Oberyn first understood that Loras was homesick because of a peach.
It was an unimpressive peach. Small, slightly bruised, and too early in the season to possess much sweetness. A merchant from the Reach had included a basket of them among a shipment of wine and wool, apparently hoping the gift might soften Doran toward a disagreement over tariffs.
The tariff remained unchanged.
The peaches were brought to breakfast. Oberyn took one, cut it open, decided it was disappointing, and reached instead for a blood orange.
Across the table, Loras held his peach without eating it. He turned it slowly between his fingers.
The morning meal continued around them. Doran discussed repairs to an aqueduct. Nymeria and Tyene argued over whether a visiting singer possessed talent or merely excellent cheekbones. Ellaria was attempting to persuade Loreza that honey did not constitute an entire breakfast.
Loras heard none of it. His thumb rested against the soft yellow-red skin. For one moment, Loras was no longer seated beneath an orange tree in Sunspear. He was somewhere greener, softer, cooler. Somewhere full of orchards and rose gardens, with his sister’s laughter nearby and his grandmother’s voice cutting through whatever foolish thing his father had just said.
Then Loras seemed to feel Oberyn watching. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are staring.”
“I often stare at you.”
“Yes, but usually with less concern and more indecency.”
“A remarkable distinction,” Ellaria said. Oberyn ignored her and nodded at Loras’ peach.
“You have not eaten.”
“I am not hungry.”
Oberyn reached across the table and traded the peach for half of his blood orange.
Loras looked at it, then at Oberyn.
“You dislike peaches.”
“Today, I have developed a passion for them.”
“You said this one tasted of wet wool.”
“The flavor improves with time.”
Loras’s mouth curved faintly.
He took the orange.
Oberyn ate the disappointing peach.
It did, in fact, taste like wool.
***********************************************************8
Homesickness did not announce itself dramatically in Loras. It gathered in small habits.
He lingered over letters from Highgarden, reading each one twice before folding it neatly and placing it inside a carved box beside the bed. He began asking the kitchens for mint tea in the evenings, though he rarely drank it in Dorne. He paused whenever a musician played a melody from the Reach.
Once, during a ride beyond the city, they passed a patch of wild roses growing stubbornly beside a dry stone wall. Loras stopped his horse.
He dismounted and touched one pale flower with extraordinary care.
Oberyn remained in the saddle. “Should I be jealous?”
“Of a plant?”
“You have looked at it more tenderly than you looked at me this morning.”
“You tried to steal the blankets.”
“They belong to my bed.”
“I was in your bed.”
“Yes, and I tried to keep you, too.”
Loras rolled his eyes, but the smile did not quite reach them. He turned back to the rose.
“They grow differently here.”
“Everything grows differently here.”
“Yes.”
Oberyn dismounted, stopped behind Loras, and rested one hand against the small of his back. The young knight leaned into him without thought. It had taken months for Loras to begin accepting comfort before he had decided whether accepting it might look like weakness. Oberyn valued the gesture enough not to tease him.
“You miss them,” he said.
Loras’s fingers went still against the flower. “My family?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes.” The admission was quiet. “I do not miss my father’s planning,” Loras continued. “Or Willas telling me not to race horses through the lower courtyard. Or Garlan becoming insufferable every time he wins at cyvasse.”
“That sounds remarkably like missing them.”
“I said I miss them. I did not say they were not irritating.”
“Of course.”
Loras looked toward the distant line of the sea.
“Margaery writes often. Grandmother writes when she thinks everyone else’s letters have become too sentimental.”
“Does she succeed?”
“Usually she insults three people before reaching the end of the first paragraph.”
“I have always admired her efficiency.”
Oberyn touched the wild rose. “Will you return soon?”
The question was necessary. That did not make it easy.
“I do not know.”
“You may.”
“I know.”
“I will not be wounded.”
Loras looked at him skeptically.
“I will be wounded with great dignity,” Oberyn corrected himself.
“You possess none.”
“Then I shall have to acquire some.”
Loras reached up and touched his cheek.
“I do not want to leave.”
“That does not mean you never should.”
“I know.”
There was the conflict. Loras loved Dorne. He loved Oberyn. He loved the daughters who now dragged him into their arguments, the stablemaster who reserved his preferred horse, Ellaria’s quiet understanding, and even Doran’s endless council discussions.
But love in one place had not erased love in another, it had only stretched him between them. Oberyn took Loras’s hand from his cheek and kissed the palm.
“Perhaps,” he said, “Highgarden should come to you.”
Loras laughed, the sound genuine this time.
“Yes. We shall have the castle carried south stone by stone.”
“I was thinking smaller.”
“Margaery?”
“She is occupied being beautiful and politically dangerous.”
“She would enjoy Dorne.”
“Too much. I would never be rid of her.”
“Willas cannot travel so far easily.”
“Garlan?”
“He and Obara would challenge each other before supper and destroy half the training yard by morning.”
“An enticing possibility.”
Loras looked at him suspiciously.
“What are you planning?”
“Nothing,” Oberyn smiled. “I am considering possibilities.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Loras turned back toward the roses. Oberyn kissed the side of his head.
By the time they returned to Sunspear, he had already composed the first line of the letter in his mind.
****************************************************************
Lady Olenna Tyrell’s reply arrived twelve days later.
Oberyn was at breakfast when the raven was announced. Loras reached instinctively for the letter, but the servant delivered it to Oberyn. That alone was enough to draw every eye at the table.
Loras narrowed his. “Why is my grandmother writing to you?”
“Perhaps she has heard of my beauty.”
“She has heard of your reputation.”
“Even better.”
“Oberyn.”
The prince broke the seal. The letter was brief. Ellaria watched him over the rim of her cup. Doran stopped eating.
Loras looked increasingly murderous. “Well?”
“She accepts.” Oberyn folded the parchment and tucked it into his robes.
Loras blinked. “Accepts what?”
“My invitation.”
“Your—”
Oberyn smiled.
“You invited my grandmother to Dorne?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Surprise.”
“You invited Olenna Tyrell across half the realm as a surprise?”
“Her reply suggests she was surprised.”
Loras held out one hand. “Give me the letter.”
Oberyn passed it over.
Tyene leaned toward Nymeria. “Is he pleased?”
“He looks ill.”
“He may be both,” Ellaria said.
Loras lowered the letter. “She is coming.”
“So she claims.”
“She never travels without six servants, three ladies, two guards, and enough luggage to invade a small kingdom.”
“We have rooms.”
“She will insult everyone.”
“We have survived Oberyn,” Doran observed.
Oberyn looked betrayed. Loras turned on him.
“What did you say to her?”
“The truth.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I wrote that you were happy, loved, and increasingly impossible.”
“You told my grandmother I was impossible?”
“She already knew.”
“What else?”
“That you missed your family.”
Loras went still. The anger slipped, and for one vulnerable moment he looked very young.
“You noticed.”
“Of course I noticed.”
Something warm moved through Loras’s face. Then suspicion returned.
“Did you ask her because I was sad over a peach?”
Oberyn did not answer quickly enough. Ellaria began to laugh.
“You invited the Queen of Thorns to Sunspear because I looked sorrowfully at fruit?”
“It was a very sorrowful look.”
“Oberyn.”
“The peach was terrible. It made the whole thing worse.”
Loras tried to remain angry, but the smile came slowly and helplessly.
“When?”
“Within the month.”
“That soon?”
“She writes that if she must endure Dorne’s heat, she prefers to do so before she becomes any older and begins melting on the road.”
Loras looked down at the letter again. His thumb traced the familiar green wax seal.
“Thank you.”
“You need not thank me.”
“Yes,” Loras said. “I do.”
Their eyes held. Around them, the family wisely returned to breakfast.
Tyene leaned toward Nymeria again. “Is Olenna frightening?”
Loras, Doran, and Oberyn heard. They simultaneously said, “Yes.”
********************************************************************
Olenna Tyrell arrived at Sunspear beneath a green canopy, surrounded by enough attendants to confirm Loras’s prediction.
Her caravan entered through the palace gates shortly after midday. Servants carried trunks, boxes, cushions, parasols, medicines, sweets, and at least one potted rosebush that had apparently crossed the realm beside her.
Oberyn stood with Doran, Ellaria, Arianne, and Loras beneath the shaded arcade.
Loras had changed clothes three times. Oberyn had enjoyed every version.
Now he wore pale green silk embroidered with golden flowers at the collar and cuffs. His curls had been carefully arranged, though the heat had already coaxed several free around his face.
A servant opened the curtains and Lady Olenna emerged.
She was smaller than Oberyn remembered, wrapped in pale green and cream, with an embroidered headdress framing a face sharpened by age, wit, and a complete intolerance for foolishness.
She surveyed the courtyard. Her shrewd gaze passed over the fountains, the sun-colored walls, the waiting Martells, and finally settled on Loras.
Her expression changed only a little, but Oberyn saw the relief beneath the scrutiny. Loras crossed the courtyard before anyone could announce her.
“Grandmother.”
Olenna held out both hands. He took them and for one moment the Knight of Flowers disappeared. Loras bent and kissed her cheek, and she touched the side of his face as though confirming for herself that he was whole.
“You are thinner,” she said.
Loras laughed softly, “I am not.”
“You are. These Dornish people have been feeding you peppers instead of proper meals.”
“We have fed him constantly,” Oberyn called.
Olenna looked past Loras. The warmth vanished beneath a bright, assessing intelligence.
“Prince Oberyn.”
“Lady Olenna.”
He crossed the courtyard and bowed over her hand but did not kiss it. He suspected she would bite.
Olenna looked him over. “So,” she said. “You are the reason my grandson writes letters full of sea air and suspicious happiness.”
Loras closed his eyes. “Grandmother.”
“And you are the reason he can destroy a man’s confidence with three words and then complain his tea has cooled,” Oberyn smiled.
“Four words,” Olenna said. “I have standards.”
Oberyn laughed. Doran’s brows rose. Ellaria looked delighted.
Loras looked afraid.
Olenna turned toward him. “Oh, stop looking as if I have brought an army. I left your father at home.”
“That is not as reassuring as you think.”
“It should be. He would have brought banners.”
She returned her attention to Oberyn.
“You invited me.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Loras missed you.”
Loras looked as though he wanted the earth to open and swallow him whole.
Olenna’s gaze softened despite herself. “Did he?”
“Yes.”
“He might have written that.”
“He did not want to trouble you.”
“He has always confused love with inconvenience.”
Loras flushed.
Oberyn looked at him fondly. “So I have discovered.”
Olenna saw that too.
She saw everything.
“Hmm,” she said. The sound contained judgment, calculation, and perhaps the beginning of approval. Then she turned to Doran.
“You must be the sensible brother.”
“So I am told,” Doran smiled good naturedly.
“My condolences.”
“I am standing here,” Oberyn objected.
“That has rarely prevented honest conversation,” Olenna replied.
Ellaria covered a laugh with one hand. Oberyn stared at the old woman. Then he smiled slowly.
Loras saw it happen.
“No,” Loras whispered.
Arianne leaned closer. “What?”
“They like each other.”
Olenna had already taken Doran’s offered arm.
“This is disastrous,” Loras said.
Arianne watched Oberyn follow, clearly delighted at the turn of events.
“For whom?”
“Everyone.”
************************************************************
The first supper confirmed Loras’s worst fears.
Olenna and Oberyn were seated opposite one another. This had not been the original arrangement, but no one admitted to changing it.
“You keep excellent wine,” Olenna said after her first cup.
“Dornish red,” Oberyn replied. “Not too sweet.”
“Reach wine is not sweet.”
“Some of it tastes like flowers drowned in honey.”
“Some Dornish wine tastes like a saddle set on fire.”
Oberyn considered this. “That may have been intentional.”
Olenna’s mouth twitched.
Loras looked between them. Ellaria sat beside him, openly amused.
“They have been speaking for five minutes,” Loras murmured.
“And?”
“No one has been poisoned.”
“Your grandmother does not need poison.”
“No.”
Across the table, Olenna asked Oberyn whether he truly kept eight hidden daggers in his chambers.
“Only eight?” Oberyn said. “Who told you that?”
“Loras.”
Loras nearly dropped his fork.
“I did not.”
Olenna ignored him.
“He also wrote that you pretend not to like honey cakes and eat them from his plate.”
Oberyn turned toward Loras. “You write about me?”
Loras became redder. Olenna smiled into her wine.
“Frequently.”
“What else?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Olenna looked innocent.
Oberyn leaned forward with obvious interest. Loras put down his fork.
“I regret both of you.”
“You are surrounded,” Ellaria whispered.
Olenna looked toward her.
“And you are Ellaria Sand.”
“I am.”
“I expected you to be jealous.”
Loras tensed. Ellaria did not.
“Of Loras?”
“Yes.”
“No.” Ellaria rested her hand lightly over Loras’s. “I know the difference between losing love and watching it grow.”
Olenna studied her. Then she nodded. “Good answer.”
“It was not offered for approval.”
“Even better.”
The meal continued. Olenna insulted the climate, praised the fish, informed Nymeria that a green gown made her look washed out, and immediately won her affection by suggesting three better shades.
She asked Obara how many men she had thrown from horses and seemed disappointed the answer was fewer than twenty. She listened to Sarella explain a disputed Rhoynish translation and corrected a historical date the maesters themselves had apparently recorded wrongly.
She told Tyene that beautiful people must be especially suspicious of compliments. She let Loreza place a flower crown over her headdress and wore it through dessert.
By the end of supper, the younger girls had accepted her as either a grandmother or a small, dangerous queen. Oberyn was equally charmed.
“You encouraged Loreza to put flowers on my grandmother,” Loras accused when they finally retired to their rooms.
“I did no such thing.”
“You handed her the flowers.”
“I merely supplied materials.”
Loras began removing his rings.
“She called Doran patient in the tone most people use for dull.”
“She respects him.”
“She asked Arianne whether she had considered marrying someone weak-minded enough to be manageable.”
“Practical advice.”
“She told Ellaria that your taste had improved.”
Oberyn smiled. “I enjoyed that.”
“You enjoyed all of it.”
“Yes.”
“You were supposed to survive the visit.”
“I am thriving.”
“That is what frightens me.”
Oberyn came behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist. Loras leaned back despite the irritation in his voice.
“She loves you,” Oberyn said.
“I know.”
“She was afraid for you.”
“She did not say that.”
“No,” Oberyn rested his chin on Loras’s shoulder. “But she came.”
The simple truth settled between them. Olenna Tyrell had crossed half a continent in old age.
Not because Dorne interested her. Not because Oberyn’s invitation flattered her. Because Loras missed her.
Because she needed to see the life he had built with her own eyes.
Loras covered Oberyn’s hands with his.
“She likes you,” he said with the weary resignation of a man announcing a military defeat.
“Deeply.”
“She has known you for one day.”
“Some bonds are immediate.”
“You spent half of supper competing to see who could make Doran sigh first.”
“I won.”
“No. Grandmother did.”
“She is formidable.”
“Do not encourage her.”
“Too late.”
Loras turned within his arms.
“If the two of you begin exchanging letters, I will throw myself from the Spear Tower.”
“We have already discussed correspondence.”
Loras stared. Oberyn laughed and kissed him before he could decide whether murder was justified.
*************************************************8
Olenna remained in Sunspear for three weeks.
During the first, she inspected the palace kitchens, the gardens, the guest chambers, the stable, the council hall, and apparently Oberyn himself.
She asked questions with the subtlety of a knife.
Did he intend to keep Loras in Dorne?
Would he prevent him from visiting Highgarden?
Did he expect fidelity while offering none?
How were disputes handled?
What place did Loras possess in the household beyond Oberyn’s bed?
What happened when the prince’s attention wandered, as songs insisted it always did?
Oberyn answered every question.
Not always comfortably, but honestly.
“I do not keep him,” he said when she cornered him in the orange garden on the fourth morning. “He stays.”
“And if he leaves?”
“I wait for him to return.”
“If he does not?”
“I grieve and do not punish him for choosing a different life.”
Olenna studied him over the rim of her tea. Oberyn leaned back.
“And you? If he chooses Dorne permanently?”
“I shall complain.”
“Only complain?”
“I shall write constantly, remind him his father remains a fool, and ensure he visits often enough that Highgarden does not begin forgetting his face.”
“You will not demand he return?”
“I stopped demanding things of Loras when I realized he obeyed out of love and then resented us for needing it.”
The honesty surprised him.
Olenna looked toward the nearby fountain. “He has always made devotion look effortless,” she continued. “People mistake that for an endless supply.”
Oberyn said nothing. He understood too well.
Olenna’s eyes returned to him. “You see it.”
“Yes.”
“That is in your favor.”
“How generous.”
“Do not become pleased. I have not finished judging you.”
“I had hoped for several more weeks.”
“You may receive years.”
Oberyn smiled.
“I look forward to them.”
Olenna’s mouth twitched.
During the second week, inspection became participation. She joined Doran’s council and dismantled a proposed trade agreement in under ten minutes. She and Ellaria began taking tea together in the afternoons, where they discussed family, power, and the numerous ways men mistook women’s patience for agreement.
Arianne sought her advice about court factions and emerged looking both enlightened and insulted. Olenna took one of Nymeria’s new gowns apart stitch by stitch and had it remade properly.
She watched Obara train and told her that rage was useful only if one did not become predictable. She listened to Sarella read. She cheated at cards with Tyene.
She ordered the kitchens to teach her how to prepare spiced dates and then informed them Highgarden would improve the recipe.
With Loras, she was gentler.
She walked with him in the evenings when the heat eased. She listened to his stories of Sunspear, though she interrupted often. She inspected the new scars on his hands and demanded to know whether Oberyn’s daughters were working him too hard.
He laughed more around her. He also became younger.
Sometimes Oberyn found them beneath the orange trees, Loras sitting at Olenna’s feet while she complained about Mace, Willas, Garlan, court, weather, fashion, and the general decline of standards since her youth.
Loras listened with an affection that transformed every insult into comfort.
Once, Oberyn approached quietly enough to hear Olenna say, “Your sister misses you.”
“I miss her.”
“She is pleased you are happy.”
“Is she?”
“She is also furious you found somewhere with better weather.”
Loras laughed. Olenna touched his hair and twirled a curl around her finger.
“Come home for a time before winter.”
“I will.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
Oberyn stopped before entering the garden. The word hurt. Not because Loras meant to leave. A home that required never returning to the old one would eventually become another prison.
Oberyn stepped back before they noticed him. That evening, Loras found him on the terrace.
“You heard.”
Oberyn did not bother lying.
“Yes.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“I know.”
“I will return.”
“I know.”
“You say it as though it does not trouble you.”
“It troubles me.”
“Then say so.”
Oberyn looked at him.
“I will miss you every day.”
Loras’s face softened.
“But you should go,” Oberyn continued. “You should see your sister. Your brothers. Even your father.”
Loras came closer and wrapped his arms around Oberyn’s shoulders.
“Come with me.”
Oberyn blinked. “To Highgarden?”
“Yes.”
“Mace may die.”
“You say that as though it discourages me.”
“I will terrify the court.”
“That encourages me.”
“I may seduce a gardener.”
Loras caught the front of his robe.
“I will throw you into the river.”
“Then I accept.”
The relief in Loras’s face was immediate. He kissed him.
Later, Oberyn realized Olenna had known he was listening. Of course she had.
The woman missed nothing.
*************************************************************
During the third week, Olenna stopped judging Oberyn openly. This worried him.
He found her one afternoon in the Water Gardens, seated beneath a canopy while Loreza and Dorea arranged flowers around her chair. Loras had gone riding with Elia. Ellaria was occupied with a healer. Doran rested inside.
Olenna watched the children play in the pools. Oberyn took the chair beside her.
“You have become quiet.”
“I am old. We do that occasionally to alarm the young.”
“I have never known you to waste an opportunity for criticism.”
“I am gathering strength.”
“For what?”
“Your faults require preparation.”
For a while, they sat in companionable silence. It was unexpected. He had thought Olenna’s company would always be a contest. A pleasure, certainly, but a sharpened one.
Instead, quiet had grown between them, too. The comfort of two people who could see through each other and had decided not to use every weakness discovered.
“He is different here,” Olenna said. “Less polished.”
“That sounds like an insult from a Tyrell.”
“It is praise from me.”
Loreza ran past them carrying a garland. Olenna watched her go.
“At Highgarden, Loras was always aware of eyes,” she continued. “His father’s. The court’s. The servants’. The singers’. Even mine.”
“He is aware here, too.”
“Yes. But he no longer performs for them every moment. “He laughs more,” Olenna said. “Badly.”
“He laughs beautifully.”
“He snorts.”
“Rarely.”
“He does.”
Oberyn smiled into his wine. Olenna’s expression softened.
“He argues without fearing the argument will cost him love.”
“That took time.”
“I imagine.”
“He expects perfection from himself.”
“I know.”
“So I insult him regularly.”
“A sound method.”
“Highgarden is full of smiles. A beautiful child learns quickly that people forgive what pleases them.”
“He became very pleasing.”
“Yes.”
“And very lonely.”
Olenna looked down at her hands. For the first time since arriving, she seemed old. Not weak, never that, but burdened by all the wisdom acquired too late to change the past.
Oberyn rested one hand over hers.
She glanced at it. “He loves you,” she said.
“I know.”
“Do not answer so smugly.”
“I love him.”
“That was not the question.”
“No.” Oberyn watched the children splashing in the shallow water. “I know what it is to be loved by him.”
“He gives everything.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“I am learning not to let him.”
Her brows rose.
Oberyn continued, “Not everything. Not until there is nothing left for himself.”
“You may be less foolish than your reputation suggests.”
“My reputation suggests many delightful things.”
“I have heard.”
“Loras exaggerates.”
“Loras omits.”
Oberyn laughed. Olenna withdrew her hand to take her tea.
“You understand him.”
“I try.”
“That is more than most.”
From the water, Dorea called for Olenna to judge a flower boat. Olenna rose carefully.
Before walking away, she looked down at Oberyn.
“You will hurt him.”
It was not an accusation, it was a certainty. Because all love wounded eventually.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“He will hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“Do not make either pain a reason to become cruel.”
“I will not.”
“Do not promise what no man can guarantee.”
“Then I promise to recognize cruelty when it enters my hands and put it down.”
Olenna held his gaze. At last, she nodded.
“Better.”
She joined the children. Oberyn remained beneath the canopy.
The decision he had been carrying for weeks settled fully into place.
********************************************************
Olenna’s departure was arranged for the following morning. Her trunks multiplied during the visit. No one understood how.
Alongside the silks and medicines she had brought, servants now packed Dornish wines, spices, painted tiles from the Water Gardens, three books from Sarella, a dagger from Obara, and a young orange tree Olenna insisted would either thrive at Highgarden or serve as proof Dorne had tried to poison her garden.
Loras spent most of the final evening with her. Oberyn did not intrude. He knew goodbyes required privacy.
At dawn, the courtyard filled with horses, guards, servants, and farewells. Olenna embraced Ellaria. She allowed Arianne to kiss her cheek. She told Doran to write if he required sensible counsel, which she implied would be often. Each of the daughters received a word, a gift, or a warning.
Then Olenna turned to Loras. He stood before her, composed until she touched his face.
“Come home before winter.”
“I will.”
“Bring him.”
Oberyn lifted one brow. Loras glanced at him.
“I intend to.”
“Mace will complain.”
“I know.”
“Do not let him corner you alone.”
“He is my father, not an assassin.”
“Sometimes the difference is only competence.”
“Grandmother,” he said fondly.
She kissed his cheek. “I am proud of you.”
Loras went very still. Olenna did not say such things lightly.
“For what?”
“For choosing a life rather than merely performing one.”
Loras bent and embraced her. Olenna held him tightly, then quickly released him and turned toward the caravan.
“Olenna,” Oberyn’s voice stopped her. “I would speak with you before you go.”
Loras’s brows drew together. “About what?”
Oberyn kept his eyes on Olenna.
“Privately.”
Every member of the family became interested. Arianne’s expression brightened. Ellaria looked at Oberyn and understood immediately. Doran’s mouth curved faintly.
Loras looked between them.
“No,” he said.
Olenna lifted one brow.
“No?”
“Whatever the two of you intend to discuss, I object.”
“You do not know what it is,” Oberyn said.
“That has never made objection unwise.”
Olenna looked at him with approval.
“He has learned.”
“From the best.”
Loras folded his arms. Olenna tapped his wrist with her cane.
“Go say farewell to my ladies. They have spent three weeks praising your hair and will expect attention.”
“Grandmother.”
“Go.”
Loras stared at both of them. Then he walked away with the rigid dignity of a man certain he was being betrayed.
“Where to?”
Oberyn offered his arm.
“The orange garden.”
The garden was quiet at that hour. Morning light filtered through the leaves. Water whispered through narrow channels cut into the stone. The palace walls protected the space from the bustle of the departing caravan.
Olenna sat on a carved bench.
Oberyn remained standing.
She looked up at him. “Well?”
The Red Viper had faced assassins, armies, maesters, kings, and the Mountain. For some reason, this felt more intimidating.
“I want to ask Loras to bind his life to mine.”
Olenna’s expression did not change.
“Has he not already?”
“In every way that matters privately.”
“And publicly?”
“No.”
“In Dorne, there are old vows,” he continued. “Older than Aegon’s conquest. Rhoynish in origin. They were used by those who could not or would not enter the marriages arranged for them.”
Olenna listened.
“It would not be considered marriage under the laws of the Seven Kingdoms,” Oberyn said. “They grant no claim to Highgarden, no place in succession, and no title that would offend his father’s ambitions.”
“What do the vows mean?”
“That before family, Dorne, and whichever gods they choose, two people declare themselves one household.”
Olenna’s gaze sharpened. “Property?”
“Remains separate unless named otherwise.”
“Children?”
“Recognized as family to both, though inheritance requires individual agreements.”
“Freedom to leave?”
“Of course.”
“Other lovers?”
“As the pair decide.”
“Your decision?”
Oberyn did not hesitate. “None, unless Loras wishes otherwise.”
“That surprises me.”
“It surprised me as well.”
“Ellaria?”
“Is family. Always.”
“But not your lover.”
“Not now.”
“Because Loras demanded it?”
“Because I wished to offer him something he had never asked me to give.”
Olenna leaned back. “And what would he become?”
“My chosen consort before Dorne. A member of House Martell by vow without ceasing to be Tyrell by blood.”
“Does Doran agree?”
“Yes.”
“The daughters?”
“They may riot if I delay much longer.”
“Ellaria?”
“She helped select the rings.”
Olenna’s mouth twitched.
“So everyone knows except Loras.”
“Essentially.”
Olenna’s gaze moved toward the palace.
“What are you asking from me?”
“Your blessing.”
“Not permission?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said sharply. “If you had asked permission to possess him, I would have had you buried beneath your own orange trees.”
“I expected nothing less.”
“He is a grown man.”
“Yes.”
“He chooses for himself.”
“Yes.”
“Then why ask me?”
Oberyn looked down at his hands. For once, wit offered no shelter.
“Because he loves you. Because Highgarden is part of him,” Oberyn continued. “Because I do not want the next step in our life to feel like Dorne taking him from his family. I want him to know that he can belong here without being lost to you.”
The garden seemed very quiet.
“He would accept without your blessing,” Oberyn said. “Perhaps even tell himself it did not matter.”
“It would.”
“Yes.”
Olenna looked toward the orange trees.
For a long time, she said nothing. At last, she asked, “Why him?”
The question was deceptively simple.
Oberyn could have answered with beauty, with desire, with Loras’s courage, loyalty, pride, tenderness, sharp temper, or the true smile Oberyn still felt privileged to receive.
Instead, he said, “Because when I returned from King’s Landing broken, he did not worship the man I had been. He loved the one who needed help standing. He knows the ugliest parts of my grief and does not use them to excuse my worst behavior. He challenges me. He sees my daughters as themselves rather than extensions of me. He has made a place in Dorne without surrendering the Reach inside him.”
Oberyn breathed slowly.
“And because when he leaves a room, I miss not only his face. I miss the way the room feels when he is in it.”
Olenna’s eyes shone. Then the Queen of Thorns returned.
“That was disgustingly sincere.”
“I rehearsed something more impressive.”
“Be thankful you abandoned it.”
“Do I have your blessing?”
Olenna rested both hands upon the head of her cane.
“You have my consent to ask, but my blessing belongs to him.”
The answer was precise. Fair. Oberyn bowed his head.
“Then give it to him.”
“I intend to.”
Oberyn offered his arm to her. Before they left the garden, she stopped.
“If you make him unhappy—”
“He will make me suffer.”
“He will forgive you too quickly.”
Oberyn knew that was true. Olenna tapped his arm with her cane.
“So I will make you suffer instead.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“And if he makes you unhappy?”
“I will complain to you.”
“Do not. I will side with him.”
Oberyn laughed. Olenna’s expression softened.
“You have my blessing too,” she said.
The words struck him harder than expected. He looked down at her. Olenna Tyrell rarely offered softness without disguise.
“Not because you are a prince,” she continued. “Nor because Dorne has made room for him. Because you asked what it would cost him before asking what it would give you.”
Oberyn’s throat tightened. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“You are going to become sentimental,” Olenna warned.
“Never.”
“Good. It would ruin your reputation.”
They returned to the courtyard together.
**************************************************************
Loras stood beside the waiting caravan. He looked both furious and frightened. The combination made him beautiful.
His eyes went immediately to Oberyn, searching his face, then to Olenna.
“Well? What did you discuss?”
His grandmother took both his hands. “That is for him to tell you.”
“Grandmother.”
“But I have something to say first.”
The courtyard quieted.
“You were born into a family that loves houses, names, legacies, and gardens. We taught you that roots mattered,” she continued. “Perhaps too well.”
He swallowed.
“Roots are not chains. You may grow elsewhere without ceasing to belong to us.”
Loras looked toward Oberyn. Olenna squeezed his hands.
“Whatever he asks, answer for yourself. Not for Highgarden. Not for your father. Not for me.”
“Do you know what my answer will be?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do,” Loras laughed wetly. Olenna touched his cheek.
“You are still my grandson. Still a Tyrell. And still expected home before winter.”
“I know.”
“And you are loved here.”
Loras’s mouth trembled.
“I know.”
“Good. You have become wiser.”
“Occasionally.”
“Do not become proud.”
Loras laughed. This time, when they parted, there was grief in the goodbye but no choice between homes.
Olenna entered the covered caravan. The curtains remained open. She pointed her cane at Oberyn.
“Do not take too long.”
The caravan began to move. Loras walked beside it until the outer gate.
Oberyn waited in the courtyard with the rest of the family. Ellaria came to stand beside him.
“You asked.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She did not have me killed.”
“A promising beginning.”
Doran joined them.
“Her blessing?”
“Yes.”
Arianne appeared on Oberyn’s other side.
“Did she threaten you?”
“Yes.”
“Then she approves.”
Oberyn watched Loras return through the gate.
He walked slowly, eyes following the green canopy until it vanished beyond the walls.
Then he turned toward the family waiting for him, toward Oberyn. Everyone else remained with suspicious stillness.
Loras noticed. “Why are you all looking at me?”
“No reason,” Arianne said.
“You are a terrible liar,” he replied.
“We will leave you two alone,” Ellaria said, kissing him on the cheek. Doran began guiding his chair toward the palace. The daughters followed in a cluster, none moving quickly enough to suggest they had given up listening.
Oberyn held out his hand for Loras to take. The courtyard emptied around them, though several dark heads remained visible behind the nearest arches.
Oberyn ignored them. He drew Loras beneath the orange trees.
“What did you ask?” Loras repeated. Oberyn touched the golden rose clasp at his shoulder.
“I asked whether she would bless the next step.”
Loras went very still.
“What step?”
The prince’s heart struck harder than it had before the duel.
He smiled because he was Oberyn, because courage often wore arrogance on his face. Then he let the smile soften.
“There are vows in Dorne,” he said. “Old vows. They would not make you my husband under the laws of the realm.”
“I know.”
“You would retain your name. Your titles. Your freedom.”
“Oberyn.”
“They would make us one household before Dorne.”
Loras’ true smile had not appeared yet. There was too much wonder.
Oberyn gently squeezed both his hands.
“I would name you my chosen consort,” he continued. “You would stand beside me publicly, not as a guest or a lover being whispered about after feasts.”
Loras’s eyes filled. “And you?” he asked.
“Yours.”
“Publicly?”
“Yes.”
“Exclusively?”
“If that is what you want.”
“It is.”
“Then yes.”
Loras gripped his hands.
“You asked my grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Terrified.”
Loras laughed. The sound broke into something almost like a sob.
Oberyn touched his face.
“She said her blessing belonged to you.”
Loras closed his eyes.
“She gave it?”
“Yes.”
When Loras opened his eyes again, the smile was there. The real one. Brilliant enough to make the entire long journey worthwhile.
“I have not asked the question yet,” he said.
“You have made a speech before half the palace.”
“They are supposed to be hiding.”
A giggle came from behind the arches. Loras looked toward it. Oberyn caught his chin.
“Look at me. Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden,” Oberyn said, “will you stand with me before Dorne, before our family, and before whichever gods have managed not to offend us?”
Loras laughed through tears.
“Will you make one household with me? Keep your roots and grow beside mine? Leave when you must, return when you choose, and permit me to love you without pretending it is anything less than the center of my life?”
Loras’s fingers tightened painfully around his.
“Yes.”
Oberyn exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Say more than yes.”
Loras stepped close until their bodies met.
“I choose you,” he said. “Publicly. Privately. In Dorne, in Highgarden, wherever our lives take us. I will not belong to you because a vow commands it. I will belong beside you because I choose it.”
Oberyn’s vision blurred.
“And I want you beside me.”
The prince kissed him and the family abandoned all pretense of hiding.
Cheers erupted from the arches.
Loreza ran into the courtyard shouting something about a wedding. Nymeria corrected her that it was not technically a wedding. Tyene insisted that technicalities were boring. Obara demanded to know whether there would be weapons in the ceremony. Sarella began explaining the Rhoynish origins of the vows to anyone unfortunate enough to be standing close.
Ellaria reached them first. She embraced Loras, then Oberyn. Doran followed more slowly, smiling with unmistakable pride.
Loras looked around at the Martells and Sands surrounding him. Then beyond the gate where Olenna’s caravan had disappeared toward the road north.
Oberyn wrapped an arm around his waist. Loras leaned into him and pressed their foreheads gently together.
“You planned all of this because of a peach,” Loras murmured.
Oberyn kissed his temple.
“It was a very poor peach.”
Across the courtyard, Doran sighed. Ellaria smiled. The daughters immediately began arguing over ceremony clothes.
And somewhere beyond the walls, Lady Olenna Tyrell rode north knowing her grandson had not been taken from Highgarden.
He had simply found another garden in which he could bloom.