Oberyn Martell
"What a surprise, Lord Tywin!" Oberyn said mockingly. He was taken aback for only a moment, then quickly recovered. And he knew how to behave. He liked to pull the lion's beard. "Would you like to join us?"
"I'm not sure my company would be so pleasant," the Hand replied calmly. "I would like to speak in private."
Prince Oberyn thought for a moment, then nodded to Ellaria and the whores. The whores giggled and ran out. Ellaria, however, realizing that the prince wished to annoy his guest, gathered her things and dressed with deliberate slowness.
The Hand's men followed the woman out, closing the door behind them.
"Would you like some wine?" Oberyn rose from the bed as easily as a predatory beast and crossed to the table.
"No."
"No? And why not?"
"It's too early for such drinks."
"I won't refuse," Oberyn said, demonstratively pouring himself a cup and taking a few slow sips. His dark eyes studied the Lannister intently. He was not in the least embarrassed by the fact the only clothes he was wearing were light pants.
"Why did you decline my son's invitation?"
"Are you speaking of the Imp?" Oberyn smirked, noticing how Tywin grimaced involuntarily. "What invitation do you mean?"
"To accept our hospitality and move to the Red Keep."
"You know that's a damn dangerous place. And without my loyal men, I'm not going to stroll into the lion's den."
"It would be too short-sighted of me to place you in danger," the Hand said with a faint smile.
"Perhaps. But sometimes people do such short-sighted things. Like killing women and their children."
"Are you hinting at something, Prince Oberyn?"
"Hinting? Oh no, Lord Tywin. I am speaking openly about the murder of my sister Elia and her young children. Have you forgotten?" Oberyn strode toward the old lord and stopped abruptly a step away from him.
Unfortunately for him, his hope that Lord Tywin would flinch or show any sign of weakness was not fulfilled. His interlocutor continued to stare impassively at the Red Viper.
"Prince, you and I both know who committed this. Why are you telling me?"
"Because every dog has a master."
"So you believe it was I who ordered Ser Clegane to kill your kin?"
"I am certain of it!"
"And I deny it."
"Truly?" Oberin bared his teeth and brought his face almost close to Tywin's, staring intently into his green eyes with golden flecks for a long time.
"Absolutely. I cannot keep track of every subordinate during a war. Sometimes your own men do things you never ordered. You should know that. After all, you once led mercenaries yourself. You should know how these things happen."
"Let us assume that," Oberyn said, stepping back and returning to the table. He did not believe a single word and never wavered in his certainty that everything had been done on this man's orders.
Still, he was impressed by Tywin's composure. He knew well how people usually reacted when he behaved in such a manner and spoke such words.
"I came here to meet Clegane. When can I see him?" Oberyn knew that Doran would not approve of such haste.
His elder brother would have noticed that he was revealing his cards too quickly. But Oberyn did not care. Doran was far away in the south, in the Water Gardens, bound to his chair, while he himself stood here, in the most dangerous place in Westeros. Therefore, he would decide for himself what to say, what to do, and when.
"Ser Clegane is at war in the Riverlands."
"Then summon him."
"That is not so simple. He performs his duties well, and there is no one to replace him."
"Is that all you wished to tell me?" Oberyn asked darkly.
"No, Prince of Dorne. I have not even begun."
"Then begin."
"I have come to invite you to join King Joffrey Baratheon's Small Council."
"Me?" Oberyn was taken aback. He had expected anything but this. To say that he was surprised would be an understatement. "In what capacity?"
"All positions are currently filled. You would serve as an advisor, with voting rights. You would see and hear everything the realm lives and breathes."
"An unexpected offer," Oberyn said, his mind racing as he weighed the advantages and risks of such a proposal—and also searched for the trap.
"Consider it, Prince," Tywin said, nodding as he prepared to leave.
"And we will return to the matter of the Mountain," Oberyn said firmly.
"Yes, we will," Tywin replied. "If you accept my invitation, please do me the favor of moving to the Red Keep. Quarters for you and your people have already been prepared. Living in a brothel is hardly fitting for a member of the Small Council."
Lord Tywin departed, and the Red Viper watched him thoughtfully. Well, no one had promised that this would be easy—the Martells were not the only ones playing their games.
By evening, Oberyn and his retinue had moved into the Red Keep. He was given decent quarters and did not deny himself anything.
He began attending the Councils. There, he felt like a lone fighter surrounded by enemies. All of them—the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Redwyne, the Paxter, and Pycelle—treated him with caution and barely concealed prejudice.
Only King Joffrey seemed genuinely pleased by his presence.
Yet Oberyn soon realized that the puppy was not as naive as he appeared, and that this, too, was a mask concealing his true emotions. It was a little strange: according to the information he and Doran had previously received, Joffrey was supposed to be far simpler and more straightforward.