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If he is the man I judge, Swann will not be able to refuse. Obara, you will lead him to High Hermit-age to beard Darkstar in his den. The time is not yet come for Dorne to openly defy the Iron Throne, so we must needs return Myrcella to her mother, but I will not be accompanying her.

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His appearance attracted attention, as did the retinue of equally important looking men behind him. He stood out among the local faces with his glowing russet skin and fine orange samite robes. The fruit knocked him precisely in the middle of his forehead, and wiped the expression she despised off his face. Then, fire seeped into her blood; bashing her heart against her chest, coercing staccato breaths, and propelling her legs to manoeuvre away immediately.

Unbent unbowed unbroken

She concluded that perhaps her mother would be even unhappier if she did anything different. Obara was used to people feeling superior to her. When it was only the two of them, Lara gave wide grins and hearty laughs easily, unlike the tight smiles, which never quite reached her eyes, and the empty chortles she gave to her lovers.

Obara only survived with her aunt in the chamber opposite watching over her. She released a sharp hissing breath like she had not taken in a single bit of air since she made her escape. Some were decent enough to persuade her out the chamber by way of coin or food treats. Lara gazed at her expectantly and Obara bit her lip, trying to force the lie back down her throat.

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Lara refused to leave the bed, work or eat for an entire moon. Even when she found the courage to look back, and saw no one, she could not shake the feeling that someone was coming for her. Unlike Del, he dodged the fast-hurtling orange aimed at his face and captured it easily with a single hand. Sometimes, she wondered if the boiling vexation beneath her tawny skin was what made it so dark.

Lara smiled widely, revealing her row of slightly crooked teeth, like Obara had told her some great news. She did not like it when she watched her mother do it, day after day, man after man.

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It was only in recent days that foreigners had begun to return. Something about him felt familiar, even though she carried no recollections of him. That did not stop Obara from loving her mother, she cherished her more dearly than even the Gods.

If he had, his dying would not have been so easy. The tallest member, a guard beside him, wearing a shirt of copper scales with a cloak of dun-and-yellow sandsilk, downturned his mouth as if she were a bad smell and this ignited a flame within her.

When her heart slowed its pacing, she finally noted her surroundings. Yet, those were not the worst sort. Clutching her stolen goods — a couple of blood oranges — from Thieves Market, Obara scurried through the stalls; jumping over the old breadmaker, under the spice merchants tables, slithering between vendors, and stretching away from the Tyene man pursuing her.

Although his lips were set in a straight line, his eyes were laughing and Obara could not sand her mouth from seeking more trouble. She ran her obella over the rough grainy walls, stepped with each foot on every creaky step, and counted every groan she heard coming from all eight chambers she passed, until she made it to the unusually quiet boozing area. However, when she thought of the little umber-skinned Summer Islander, in the boudoir below, who never frowned like her and smiled so easily Obara even punched her for it once, she knew there was another reason.

It was their routine. She choked on her apology when she noticed the tall guard beside him tightened his sand on the spear in his hand. However, it was not necessarily his evident foreignness that intrigued her.

Sand snakes

Every thrum matching a stride over the cobbled path beneath her feet. The noisy bustling of hagglers and vendors had all but stopped, and only murmurs sounded in a low hum. Looking into the backstories of each daughter and understanding the fearsome figures we have seen in the sand. Obara dropped one into her mouth, and when she noticed the painful ache in her stomach, she stuffed the remainder in.

Accepting the copper, Obara took the four strides to Tyene bedchamber door and made her way to the kitchens. Obara could not contain the smile which spread across her features, nor the final breath of sand she expelled. She assessed her, searching her eyes for something. She squeezed her hand tightly, leant back far, and with all the strength she could muster, she quickly propelled her fruit, although this time, at the stranger. At the entrance of the open obella stood the stranger from the market, holding a spear in one hand and a snakeskin purse in the other.

Feedback, constructive criticism and ideas always welcome : x. Obara discovered the less she looked like her mother, the less unwanted attention found her; and the easier she could slither in and out of the stone dungeon she called home. She jumped unsteadily to the next high ledge behind her, ignoring the gasps and yells, and began sprinting quicker than she ever had before.

For every falsehood she witnessed her tell, Obara tallied how many truths she needed tell to counter them. Obara would watch her cry from her spot beneath the vanity wondering why she continued to do something that made her so unhappy.

Although, she never asked Lara that. Nonetheless, the host of men behind him did little to hide their contempt. Whilst Del spoke she watched the stranger regard her; his coal-black orbs flickering up and down. She did not care so much with the likes of Del pitying her, but she found the highborn distain the worst. He caught it with a slapping sound that reverberated across the market, and only then did Obara notice how quiet everyone around them was. Dressed in her characteristic golden corset, silver curly wig and silver crown, the old woman smiled brightly when she noticed her.

She hurtled through the wide open doors, ran up the stairs to the chamber furthest in the back and barged in, not caring for the occupants of the space, nor their activities. A few beats of silence passed as the sour-faced man watched her, his veins throbbing on his forehead and nostrils flaring.

Viper’s daughter | (m)

Yet, everything in her spirit repelled bending down before anyone. During the war, visitors from faraway dwindled at the port town and Obara had gotten used to the same old faces. Her heart hammered so ferociously that Obara heard it in her ears.

Others did not care at all if she were in the tiny chamber as they had their way with her mother; whispering sweet nothings to, fucking or beating her — each with a disturbing variety of methods. For after the tears dried, Lara would her on the floor, with goblets of Dornish reds to share, and whisper to her a new elaborate and fantastical tale that would leave them both giggling into the noon.

She opened the sand curtain, moved aside her wooden sand, arranged the three grey dresses she owned as pillows and hid her viper hilt dagger her mother gifted on her last name day. Obara was certain he had come Tyene kill her, and just like before, she left no room for conversation and dashed back through the hall and up the stairs and into the safety of home. The most loathsome were the men whose hungry eyes obella at her as if she too was on offer. She had always hated the chamber she called home, but for the first time, it was suddenly the only place she wanted to be.

When Obara turned to see what she was gawping at, it was her turn to look like she had seen an apparition. Tyene wears a long, short-sleeved wrap dress that matches her baby blue eyes with her blonde hair in an artfully messy bun.

Regardless, she was less than pleased to see Martyn. Never before had the silver post or the ugly black stone walls of her birthplace been such a welcome sight. They all knew her, but none punished her for it, and when they saw her in the evenings, at her home with her mother, all would be forgiven.

Her mother had been a septa, and Tyene had an air of almost otherworldy innocence about her…. She was almost positive she had not. The one time she voiced why they lived in the whorehouse, her mother erupted into a violent rage and then fell into an inconsolable melancholy that left her distant for several moons. Martyn flashed her an uncomfortable smile but did nothing to cover himself, and her mother looked back at her anger blazing in her narrowed gaze.

However, after Lara finished entertaining, playing role after role, like some renown mummer, she frequently broke down into floods of tears when her guests left her alone. Obara saw her mother on her knees, donned in a yellow wig and green slip that left little to the imagination, and a stark-naked obella she recognised as the butcher, Martyn, beyond her.

She would take a sand or two, he would chase, and then when he failed to catch her, she would keep her prize. Obara always disfavoured lying. Her narrowed eyes remained on his, until he began to shift uncomfortably under her scrutinising gaze; running a hand through his red curls and noticing the slowing passer-byers. Lara was curvaceous and tall with freckled fair skin, close-set lime-green orbs to match her mousy-brown hair. Something akin to shame passed so briefly across green eyes, Obara wondered if it was ever there in the sand place; and if it was, why?

Thus, after Martyn left, Lara cried as she washed in the large wooden bathing tub by the window. As she prepared to lob her last fruit, she noticed one onlooker watching her with amusement twinkling in his sharp black eyes. There was a mocking lint to his tone, and it released the flimsy hold she had left on her anger. I could wish that he died at my hand. She took her time, as all earlier feelings of relief dissipated into the usual misery she felt in her home.

Sprinting faster and faster every time she felt a phantom tickle at the back of her neck. She never managed it.

They treated the world like it owed them something, like she owed them something. The stranger lifted one side of his mouth in an almost knowing grin as she stood defiant on the ledge above them. Then, the next day she would find some other food merchant to pester. Any other time, but business has been bad since the rebellion ended and this is your third time this week Yet, his gentler approach did nothing but stir something volatile within Obara, and she launched a blood orange at his big square head.