"I've got wine in my rooms. Pure Torentine gold!" Edric laughed. "My aunt Allyria sent some to me for my nameday. I've kept it in my rooms because it's a fine vintage."
"Really?" Myria bit her lip. "Mind if I join you for a sip afterward?"
"I'd be delighted." Edric nodded back.
Myria smirked and left him for the Dornish table, likely seeing that the first courses were being served.
...
The Dornish table was placed opposite that of the Tyrells, but still within a reasonable distance of the married couple's so much that Edric could still hear what was going on there. There were exceptions to this rule, though.
Prince Oberyn was at the married couple's table, between his paramour Ellaria and the oaf of Highgarden, Mace Tyrell. Aron Santagar, who had been in the capital for years now, shared a table with other men of various houses, which he likely called friends. As for Cletus Yronwood, he was at the Reacher table! Alongside his pretty Tyrell of course, and a knight of house Ambrose who looked like he was ready to shove his fist into Cletus' face.
Edric, for his part, was well-placed on the Dornish table. Quentyn, as the most important member, was seated in the middle. He was flanked by his bastard cousin on the left, while Edric, in his capacities as Lord Dayne, stood at his right. Besides the sand snake was Dagos Manwoody, while Edric ate in the company of Larra Blackmont.
The courses came and went, and Edric wondered how he would be able to down seventy-seven of them.
"Surely there cannot be that much!" Edric let out.
"You'd be surprised." Larra Blackmont's dark eyes met his. "Traditions like these are essential for the Royal Wedding, and the Tyrells and Lannisters both spent plenty of gold."
"I'd have spent all of this on making this city's stench bearable!" Ryon Allyrion, his olive skin starting to take a redder color under the sun and sat to Larra Blackmont's left, let out.
"It's been stinking ever since the days of the young Dragon, and possibly even before that point." Larra shook her head. "I doubt we'll see any improvement soon. The Tyrells and Lannisters are content with giving out bread and wine, and the smallfolk are satisfied."
Edric nodded. He had seen the care the Tyrells put into their image, having soup and bread distributed at every street corner in King's Landing. And with the Royal Wedding celebrations, no doubt that the Tyrells also had more things planned that the smallfolk may celebrate too.
"Let's count our blessings." Larra Blackmont sighed, redoing the braid holding her dark hair together and throwing it on her left shoulder. "They haven't played the Rains of Castamere in about an hour."
"How much longer can they hold, do you think?" Dagos Manwoody cut in while serving himself another piece of mutton. "I'm willing to bet not another hour."
"The lions know only one song and they repeat it over and over again." Lady Nymeria scowled. "I wish I could just shove their pretty song up their arses for once. We've been sitting here doing nothing, it's about time…"
A hand came to rest on her forearm, instantly calming her down.
"Patience, love." Quentyn sighed. "Only a few more days."
The snake looked at him and nodded.
"Let's hope you're right." She let out.
The toasts then came, with the boy-king lifting a cup to his wife, Queen Margaery Tyrell. And although Edric wished he could drink, Myria was right, the Reacher wine was piss. Like many at the Dornish table, they would settle for water for now.
"I bet they didn't even think about buying Dornish red…" Larra silently raged.
"Or it was a deliberate insult…" Quentyn shrugged, his frog croaking in his vest pouch.
The prince sighed, took a few leftovers from his plate, and shoved it into his pocket, hoping that would stop his pet from croaking.
"Why did you have to bring it along?" Edric asked, the frog almost recognizing the insult and wordlessly turning his large eyes towards him
"I told you, he comes as he pleases and…oh shit, my uncle is going to give another one of his special speeches…" Quentyn folded his hands into his head.
Indeed, prince Oberyn had risen up and brought on the attention of the table, with King Joffrey and Queen Margaery, but also Lord Tywin, Lord Mace, and a few other guests, most notably Lady Sansa, stuck between Ser Lancel and a Tyrell cousin he did not recognize.
"Your grace, it seems to me like our Reacher friends here have forgotten what real wine tastes like!" Prince Oberyn raised his cup. "Therefore, I bring you our best Dornish red! This will water down the piss we've been drinking for some time!"
"Well it's about time…" Larra Blackmont silently let out.
The barrels came out, and it seemed that the boy-king enjoyed the Dornish red more than the Reacher wines served. Another meaningless win for Dorne, Edric sighed, looking at his half-finished plate of chicken and herbs.
He didn't think he'd have the courage to finish it, to be fair. The wedding was almost as sickening as the meat. And the mood was sour amongst all Dornishmen, Quentyn chief amongst them. It seemed that although he wasn't seething publicly like his lover, his rage ran just as deep, his fists clenched and teeth continuously biting the edge of his cheeks.
Of course, the others were all having a great time. Wine flowed on the Westerlander table, the Reachers were all blabbering about gods knew what, while Cletus was certainly having fun, laughing with his Tyrell lover. The newlywed table was just as merry, only Lady Sansa not smiling.
A pie was cut, although Edric paid no attention to the birds flying out of it. He was more concerned with returning to his rooms and drowning his pain in Torentine gold with a beautiful dark-olive-skinned girl who would certainly lighten up his mood a little.
Suddenly, everything fell silent, before a few panicked cries filled the air.
Edric frowned to see what was going on at the main table, raising his head from his plate. It seems like the king was choking. Had he choked on his pie, the idiot? Serves him well, a few slaps on his back should do him some good.
Indeed, Ser Garlan stepped up to slap him on the back, hard.
However, the king kept coughing, making other sounds, like he was desperately trying to breathe, as if the air had been sucked around him. Panicked cries came from all over the garden, asking for water, for a maester, for anything. The High Septon prayed loudly, while a commotion formed in the Kingsguard. Everyone rushed towards a different direction. Some to leave, some to get closer.
Edric was amidst the latter, almost morbidly fascinated by the colors the boy's face were taking. Purple, then almost black...gods what a horrible way to die. Queen Margaery was trying not to look, her face crooked inside her grandmother's robes, while King Joffrey died on the dais, in the middle of the guests looking over him with morbid curiosity.
Besides him, Quentyn was trying extremely hard to contain a smile, leaving his frog to jump out of its pouch while doing so.
"Now that…is better than in…" he cut himself, seeing that Edric was listening.
"Serves the boy right." Quentyn instead sighed. "I won't shed any tears over him."
Edric only nodded, confused at Quentyn's first statements. Prince Oberyn, on the other hand, had not moved from his seat.
"Well, Dornish red isn't for everyone." He almost mockingly scoffed, finishing his own glass.
All heads turned to him, and a huge frown set across Mace Tyrell's face.
"Kingsguard." Mace calmly stated. "Arrest Prince Oberyn. Immediately."
There was a moment of silence, then of disbelief. Quentyn's eyes immediately went wide, as did Lady Nymeria's.
"What?" Quentyn let out. "No!"
Then in a small voice, almost a whisper: "That's not how it's supposed to go…"
Prince Oberyn on the other hand, just shrugged.
"Why am I under arrest?" he asked. "For a poor joke?"
"For murdering your king." Mace stated bluntly.
Tywin didn't even oppose the move and made a quick nod, with all Kingsguard surrounding the prince, who had not moved a muscle.
"That does make more sense." Prince Oberyn shrugged, not even denying the accusations and instead finishing his cup of wine!
Edric didn't believe his eyes, his eyes riveting to a now red-faced Quentyn, fists clenched and on the verge of bursting out in anger, while goldcloaks slowly surrounded the Dornish table. Lady Nymeria immediately held him back.
"No, love." She warned him. "They're seven, and we don't have weapons good enough to cut our way through."
"It's not them I want." He snapped. "Right now, uncle Oberyn should be happy there's seven kingsguard around him, because otherwise, I'd be the one having his head!"
With all the commotion, Edric was the only one to notice that Lady Sansa had disappeared from the main table, and saw a small lock of auburn hair running down an alley amidst the gardens.
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