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Lannister : Chapter 32: Red Keep
🕑 Added 2025-05-04 17:11:02 +0000 UTC
( Elia Martell POV )
Elia fixed her hair tightly into place with a pin, long straight, and black, she thought it looked pretty enough in a neat bun, and together with her fanciest dress, she looked fine enough to meet the king.
Which was good because that was exactly what she was going to do. King Aerys had invited the families of all the great lords of the realm (who were currently at King's Landing) to join him in a great feast the evening before the tournament started.
"Doran?" She shouted, staring at herself in the mirror, looking to see if she could spot any remaining imperfections. "How much longer do we have before we need to leave?"
"Well it's probably already started, but we don't want to be the first ones to arrive either." Elia nearly jumped as her brother spoke from the door, though she was able to steady herself on her chair. "No need to shout though."
"Don't do that." Elia snapped, shaking her head and standing up. "Do you think this is fine enough?"
She wore an emerald green dress with white Myrish lace and a silver necklace about her throat. The dress was high cut and conservative, but only so that its tight back binding could make the most of her small bosom, giving an illusion of size that wasn't truly there.
About her torso, there was a stiff frame that kept her back straight and her chin high, and the thin contours took advantage of her slender belly to lead the eye up or down as the viewer pleased. The fabric of the dress itself was silk, though the Myrish lace was cotton where it protruded bright white around her collar and her cuffs. In comparison to her torso, the fabric of the skirt was loose and hung off of her behind like a waterfall down to her ankles. It was a fine thing, and well made by the tailors of Sunspear.
"Yes, yes, it's fine enough, you don't need to put on every piece of jewelry in your travel trunk." Doran chuckled. He himself was wearing an orange doublet over a black silk shirt and leggings, the badge of House Martell sat on his left breast and it was clear that he was acting in a more official capacity than Elia.
"Then let's go," Elia said, nodding to him, and he acquiesced, taking her arm and guiding her out to the waiting wheelhouse. She appreciated her brother's care helping her up into the cabin, and soon they were on their way to the Red Keep, along with what seemed like every Lord in Westeros. When they finally arrived at the keep, the gatehouse to the great courtyard was jammed up with some two dozen wheelhouses, and Elia could only roll her eyes as they were all forced to stop and wait.
"Too many guests I suppose, can't be that uncommon in the Red Keep?" Doran japed as they sat together.
"Oh, can't it?" Elia asked. "I doubt many truly want to come to King's Landing, what with the smell."
"You'd be surprised, Elia." Doran corrected, still cheerful. "Men are drawn to power like rats are drawn to cheese. Women too, but that's less common in these uncivilized kingdoms."
She snorted at his words, though they were true, and peeped out of her window again, seeing that the logjam had not moved an inch. "I say we get out and walk," she said, frowning. "This is a waste of all of our time."
"It's not as if it doesn't give us an excuse to be late though." Doran said cheerfully, "But if you'd like to get there faster, then walk we shall."
Her brother helped her down onto the paving stones and tossed their driver a silver stag for the pain of continuing to wait through this mess to park their wheelhouse in the courtyard.
They walked in past the barely moving wheelhouses through the warm afternoon air, though it would have been more pleasant, in Elia's opinion, if it was anywhere but King's Landing. They passed by the gate with nary a word from the Gold Cloak guarding it, seeing who they were by the badge on Doran's chest and not even bothering to ask for their invitations, they passed by the utter havoc that was thirty wheelhouses trying to fit into the great courtyard and went to meet the castellan who was directing guests in through the gates of the Red Keep.
"Ah, Prince Doran, Princess Elia, welcome to the Red Keep, the King holds his feast in the great hall, down this hallway, past the Large iron and bronze doors." the slender man greeted, offering bread and salt. Elia took it with relish, as it was quite good bread, clearly freshly baked and still steaming slightly on the plate beside him. He was sure the kitchens must be bringing over new loafs every few minutes.
Once they'd taken the customary guest right, they passed through the door and down a long hallway, where Elia could only marvel at the great ribcages of dragons that hung from the ceiling like Macabre chandeliers, before finally entering the great hall, which was already raucous with conversation and shouting. There was so much noise, and so many people already.
Lords and ladies in their bright regalia, servants rushing back and forth, and children playing between the massive wooden tables, but only one thing caught the eye and seemed to tower over all the rest. There, on a raised dais above the crowds, above the food and the tapestries, above even the skulls of dragons that hung from the walls, some large enough that a grown man or woman could stand inside them, there was a misshapen mass of blades.
The Iron Throne stood eight meters tall, twisted and angry, it reared up from the ground like a great fountain of steel, wrought together so it was said from the blades of the Conqueror's enemies. Its colossal bulk dwarfed the feastings below it and at the sight of it, Elia felt her pulse quicken, her fingers numb.
Terrifying, it was terrifying. She had heard of it, but she had not seen it, and now it frightened her. Despite all the joy and life in the room below, Aegon's throne sat like a bulbous tyrant surveying it all with little more than cold cruelty. Elia was not one to believe in Old Wive's tales, but if magic was true as they said in Essos, then she had no doubt there was magic in that throne.
Dorian seemed less surprised, however, tugging her along towards the high table, and managing in the effort to distract her from the monster of iron that overlooked them all. Instead, her eyes were drawn to their destination, and to the Lords and ladies that attended there already. There was Lord Tyrell, and his wife Lady Olenna, their son also, young Mace, and then there was Lord Steffon Baratheon sitting with the Aryns, which made sense because Jon Aryn was fostering his son and that Stark boy. There was of course the large Lannister party, and there was little Callum looking so small at the King's table, sitting beside his siblings as they squabbled over some bit of food and getting into a conversation with the Baratheon heir.
At the head of the table, obviously, there were the Targaryens themselves, a riot of black and red clothing and hair of silver and gold, they all looked quite alike to each other, particularly the king and his wife. Seeing them now it was striking that they were brother and sister. She felt a touch of revulsion at the thought. Elia certainly couldn't imagine marrying either Doran or Oberyn. Much as she found her marriage to Callum unpleasant, it would still be by far preferable to marrying her siblings.
Doran steered them near to the Lannisters, and she saw him match eyes with Lord Tywin, who was busy carving slices off of a roasted boar's head rather vigorously. Tywin with but a brief motion of his hands sent his brothers moving to find chairs further down the table, giving Elia and Doran fine seats between the royal family and Lord Tywin himself. "Good day to you, Prince Doran, Princess Elia."
"Lord Tywin." Elia gave a small curtsey, before taking her seat after Doran. To her right was Queen Rhaella, who was engaged in a discussion with the king of some sort, while across from her was Lord Luthor Tyrell, and to her left was Doran, and the Lannister party. Across and to Lord Luthor's left though, her eyes caught on a purple gaze that almost seemed to drown out the room around it.
"Princess Elia, a pleasure." the man nodded his head, his hair a silvery gold as it fell around his ears, his face as handsome as any man Elia had seen in her life. His voice was smooth as silk, courteous, and of mild tone, he gave her a small smile.
