Playing God 8

Playing God 8

Charlie Foxtrot

Oberyn was a wonderful entertainer. Really, he was as charismatic as I’d been led to believe. He had a thousand and one questions for me of course, but with each question, he told me a bit more about himself in exchange.

He told me about all the places he’d been and things he’d done during his travels. He told me about a bar fight in Bravos and a pirate raid he’d helped fend off while he sailed from Essos. He told me about how he forged chains at the Citadel, which I recalled was their equivalent of a university here. A chain link was akin to a degree in a specific subject.

Most of all, he spoke of the most important women in his life. I got to see Tyene’s face flush red when he described in sordid detail exactly how he met, and seduced, her septa mother. He spoke of Obara’s fine spearmanship, of Nymeria’s love of knives, and Tyene’s quiet mastery of poisons that rivaled his own. He also told me about daughters I hadn’t known he had, eight of them in total!

Sarella, the next eldest after Tyene, had a thirst for knowledge like none of the others. Elia, eldest daughter of his current paramour, was the “Little Lance,” a young girl with a love of knights and jousting. There were also Obella, Dorea, and Loreza, who was the youngest of them all. She was only three years old.

“I hope you know that I’m not going to remember them all,” I told him truthfully. I flew along, keeping my feet just far enough off the ground to make me eye-level with the riders. After all, they hadn’t expected to need to bring a third extra horse.

My casual display of magic, and clearly unnatural tails, had yet to settle in the minds of House Martell’s guards. Many of them eyed their swords and spears warily, and it was only their liegelord’s friendliness that that reassured them.

I admired that. It could be quite hard to project an aura of safety before the unknown. Oberyn was a good leader, or at least, a well-respected one.

I could have refrained from any overt displays of magic. Ariane offered to let me ride behind her. She smirked teasingly, as if riding behind a pretty girl would be emasculating. Then again, this was Westeros; a grown man allowing a woman to ferry him like that would probably be seen as a sign of incompetence or poor education according to their sensibilities.

Instead of playing along, I chose the casual display of magic. I’d continue to do so. There was no need to hide my tails, and that also extended to my many gifts. If anything, I hoped to desensitize them via overexposure. Eventually, they’d learn to shrug and say, “Charlie’s being Charlie.”

Oberyn chuckled sheepishly. He really did have a roguish charm about him. I could see why so many women had fallen for him. “You’ll have to forgive me, my furry friend. How can I not boast with daughters as fine as my own?”

I laughed along. “Of course. Family is everything. It is good that you know what truly matters in the world.”

“Aye. We must treasure those who are nearest and dearest to us, lest time break us apart before we are ready,” he said, mood darkening. His fingers twitched towards his spear.

“How does a fox like you defend himself?” Obara asked as she urged her horse to ride alongside us. It took a moment for me to realize that she was purposely trying to change the subject, and why. “A traveler should never be unarmed, no?”

“That is true. Life can be harsh and we don’t always get to choose our battles,” I agreed.

“Yet, I see no arms on you, not unless you have a dagger hidden in those flowing robes.”

“I have my magic of course, and I am much stronger than the average man as a virtue of my race. But I am also much like you. When I must engage with a worthy foe, my preferred weapon is a spear.”

That drew her interest in earnest. “Truly? A spear? I don’t see it. Do you keep it in that not-space with your grill?”

“Yes. It is a jeweled spear, as magnificent as the heavens and as mighty as all the world put together.”

“Must be quite the spear. Next you’ll tell me it can raise the dead and turn sand into gold.”

“No, don’t be silly. I can do that without the spear.”

“Funny,” she scoffed.

“Yes, we kitsune are known for being quite clever,” I replied with a knowing smirk.

As we traveled, I wondered.

Elia. Not Elia Sand, but Elia Martell. She was Oberyn’s sister and his daughter’s namesake. She died horribly during the sacking of King’s Landing. I wasn’t clear on the details, but I knew that one of the Lannister knights, the one called the Mountain, murdered her two children before raping her to death.

I could raise her from the dead. True Resurrection was a ninth-level spell, and appropriately overpowered. Unlike lesser resurrection spells, it needed no body, merely a name and a clear idea of who I was aiming for. It could resurrect anyone at all, so long as they died in the last two hundred years, and for any reason save old age. Elia most definitely qualified.

And yet, should I?

If there was ever a way to prove my godhood to the Martells, this was it. I’d have their unquestioning loyalty. No, their eternal devotion and worship. I could build a shrine here on Doran’s dime and he’d kiss my feet for the privilege.

But I didn't want that kind of blind worship. Back when I thought I was destined for the New World, I'd decided that I didn't want to be like Momonga or the six who formed the Slane Theocracy. The politics, the constant bowing and scraping, that wasn't for me.

And yet, was my reluctance to accumulate worshipers a reason to deny Elia life? I’d already decided that I had no intention of hiding my abilities; I could always refuse worship, or if it came to that, outright smite the morons who tried to act in my name. This favor done for House Martell did not necessitate starting a cult, that was just one possible direction.

Another way of looking at it was that Elia had lived already. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t owed a second chance at life. Yes, her death was tragic, but so were the deaths of tens of thousands of others during Robert’s Rebellion, people who were younger, people who had even less agency than she had. A pretty face and a noble birth didn’t entitle her to a happy ending.

I was free, truly free, to make my own decision. Dorne could offer me nothing of true substance, certainly nothing that could be called a fitting compensation for the life of their princess.

At the same time, I wasn’t trying to hide, either. Maybe I should raise her simply because I was a good person? Wasn’t doing a good deed without expectation of appropriate compensation the meaning of charity?

We continued to make idle conversation, and soon enough, we reached Sunspear and the Shadow City beneath.

It was a spectacular sight. Twin towers stretched above a hilled city that was surrounded on three sides by the sea. One of those towers, the Tower of the Sun, was appropriately capped with a golden dome. It was from there that Doran Martell ruled. The other tower was called the Spear Tower, and was equally tall. It held highborn prisoners apparently, though the rooms were mostly unused for the moment.

Beneath the towers was the Old Palace, and nearby, the Sandship. The Sandship was the oldest structure in Sunspear, and the original keep that once housed House Martell even before Nymeria and her thousand ships of the Rhoynar sailed here.

All these buildings were wrapped by the Winding Walls. They were three, concentric walls that wound in and throughout the Shadow City. The only way to pass through the walls without traversing the dark alleys of the city was through the Threefold Gate, a straight path up to the Old Palace.

I smiled as Arianne waxed poetic about these things. The frigid air she’d adopted to spurn her uncle vanished like the morning dew as she told me about the home she so dearly loved.

I drew plenty of eyes but I didn’t mind. None of the guards dared stop Prince Oberyn and Princess Arianne. They had the looks of hotel security guards who’d decided that they weren’t paid enough to question my presence.

A thousand and one scents assaulted my nose. There were the usual smells I’d expected, shit, piss, and sweat that came from so many people and animals being crammed in one place, but also a great deal of new aromas. I smelled cumin, black pepper, cinnamon, and more. Dozens of spices and scented oils competed for my attention, no doubt wafted from the nearest bazaar.

Still, I remained with the princely party. I wasn’t quite rude enough to run off on my own to explore, no matter how my ears twitched in anticipation. I had to get down and walk; our progress slowed as we entered the Threefold Gates.

Soon, we reached the Old Palace. There, I saw a group of people waiting for the prince and princess. They were led by a man and a woman. The man was obviously a castle guard of some stripe, what with his yellow cape and steel, spear-shaped clasp.

It was the woman who drew my attention. She was on the taller side for women around these parts, with cascading waves of thick, brown locks that framed a shapely figure. She had big, brown eyes and long lashes that gave her an effortlessly seductive flair. Given the babe in her arms and young girls who followed her like ducklings, this was Ellaria Sand, Oberyn’s paramour.

“Welcome home, my love,” she said with a warm smile, so loving that I almost felt as if I was intruding just standing there. “And to you as well, princess.”

“Hello, dear sister,” Arianne responded with equal warmth. Whatever grudge she had against her father and uncle, she didn’t seem to hold any animosity for Oberyn’s lover.

I found her address a little odd and leaned towards Tyene with a whisper. “If Ellaria is Oberyn’s lover, wouldn’t ‘aunt’ be more appropriate than ‘sister?’”

The blonde leaned into me in answer. “No, it would not. ‘Aunt’ would imply that father and Ellaria are married, which holds political significance. Yet, they are close, and so ‘sister’ it must be.”

“Ah, I see. Thanks, Tyene.”

“It is no issue. I am happy to act as your guide in Sunspear.”

“And should I wish to explore the Shadow City beyond?”

“Then I will accompany you, though Nymeria might also come along. She knows the city’s back alleys better than I.”

Her elder sister, paying half an ear to our conversation, nodded. Then, one of the young girls trailing behind Ellaria bounced forward. She had a deeper tan than the others, a shade that was closer to mixed Caribbean than pure African in my old world. Her eyes glinted with a light I knew well; this one was as curious as a fox.

“Father, who is your companion?” she demanded as soon as it was polite. “Are those ears real? And the tails! He must be a famous mummer.”

Oberyn released his paramour and nodded. He gestured to one of the guards. “You, grab bread and salt for my guest. And he is no mummer, daughter-mine. This is Charlie Foxtrot, self-professed fluffiest fox in the world.”

“I dare not doubt him then,” she said with a giggle. She looked at me with searching eyes. “Tell me, are those real? Do you have four ears or just two? And how do you find room to attach nine tails to your rear?”

“You’re a curious one,” I chuckled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another little girl circle around. Her eyes were locked onto my tails like a cat chasing a toy bird. “In order: Yes. Two. Magic.”

“Magic? Really?”

I pulled out a carrot from my inventory and fed the nearest sand steed. “Of course not. Don’t be silly, child. There is no such thing as magic.”

“You just made a carrot.”

“It’s just a trick of course, a masterful sleight of hand. I merely pulled it from my pocket.”

“Mhmm… I’m watching you,” she muttered, her nose scrunched up in an adorable frown. I resisted the urge to pat her head, but only just.

“I have heard many learned men say that magic is for fools and charlatans. Everything in this world has a logical explanation.”

“That’s not what you told me last night,” Arianne said with a snort of laughter.

“It is not,” I nodded. The young girl, about ten or eleven, was closer, nearly ready to pounce. I swayed my tails even more, tempting her onward. “I always said that there is a difference between intelligence and wisdom. And formal learning, despite popular misconceptions to the contrary, is proof of neither.”

“Oh? So how do you distinguish the two?”

“Intelligence is knowing that foxes are fluffy, and that this fox has nine tails,” I said. My tails lashed out, wrapping the little girl in a cocoon of floof. I drew her to me and began to tickle her. “Wisdom is knowing better than to try to ambush one.”

“Hehehe! Haha! Stop!” she squealed as she squirmed in my tails. She was cute, in that gangly way that all children were. Judging by her facial features, she was the eldest daughter of Ellaria, which made her Elia, the Little Lance I’d heard so much about.

“Hello, little one. You are too young yet to hunt as mighty a beast as I. Sharpen your lance, and perhaps you will not suffer this indignity in the future.”

“I don’t have a lance,” she pouted. “Father won’t give me one.”

“I gave you one,” Oberyn said with an exasperated, but fond smile.

“It wasn’t real.”

“You’re too short for a real lance, Elia.”

“Am not. I totally would have got him if I had a lance.”

I chuckled as I bounced her around on my tails. “You know, I could give you a lance.”

“Really?”

“Not until she can mount a horse without help,” Obara said.

We were interrupted by the returning soldier. He had a plate with a loaf of bread and some coarse salt. He first presented it to Oberyn with a respectful bow.

Oberyn tore off a chunk and dipped it in the salt before handing it to me. In a formal voice, he said, “I bid you welcome and offer you guest right so long as you mean me and mine no ill will, Charlie Foxtrot.”

I nodded in thanks and did likewise. The bread was coarse and hard, though I supposed it had its own, rustic charm. “I accept your hospitality and promise not to harm any of your people unless I am slighted first… Did I say that right? Is that what I’m supposed to say?”

“Do you not observe guest right where you’re from?” Oberyn asked curiously.

“Not in this exact way, no. We don’t have a ritualized format like this, but it’s understood that providing hospitality to guests and travelers is considered a sacred task.”

And, it was. Greeks called it “xenia,” and considered it a divine obligation to provide travelers with a meal, bed, and bath. Or at least a bowl of water to wash their feet with. The Jews had something similar. It was the “for some have entertained angels unawares” part of the Torah that bled into Christianity and Islam as well.

In Japan, we had “omotenashi,” which was meant to conceptualize a deep, wholehearted care for guests. Though it didn’t have a singular religious origin, it was a deeply rooted part of my home’s culture.

After a bit more smalltalk in which I was introduced to the rest of Oberyn’s brood, I was finally welcomed into the Old Palace proper. Now that I stood at the base of the Tower of the Sun, I estimated its height to be about a hundred and fifty feet, give or take a dozen.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Arianne said smugly as we began our climb. “The Spear and Sun Towers are the first sights anyone sees of my home, be it from land or sea.”

“I pity the servants who have to climb it multiple times a day,” I replied dryly.

“It is their job, and they are compensated richly. Besides, father does not rule from the throne room these days.”

“He doesn’t? Why are we going up there?”

“He only sits on the Spear Throne when he welcomes important figures. He undoubtedly received word of your magic by now.”

“Then I should feel honored.”

“Indeed. You will be the first in months to see him seated there. Usually, he receives visitors from his solar, or the great hall at the base of the tower,”she said, somewhat bitterly.

Next to us, Oberyn eyed his niece with pursed lips but said nothing. I gathered that this was a power play on Doran's part. It was like when my old superiors made me wait at the company I used to work at. “My time is more valuable than yours. If you want to talk; you come to me.”

And here was Arianne, ruining her father’s power plays. No doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing. She was getting a few jabs in while she could before she got put under house arrest. 

Then, I remembered. “Arianne, doesn’t your father have gout?”

“He does. It is why he does not rule from the throne room often anymore.”

“Then how did he get up here?”

“Areo Hotah, father’s captain of the guard, likely carried him up while we were talking.”

“Ah, I see. I suppose appearances are important.”

Author’s Note

So, should he? Should Elia come back? Keep in mind that this isn’t a “waifu poll.” I”m not asking if Charlie should dick down Elia Martell. That’ll be a separate matter entirely, if it comes up at all.

Arianne calls Ellaria “my dear sister” in the books.

Animal Fact: Foxes typically have eight nipples. However, this differs widely between species. For example, Arctic foxes have sixteen while gray foxes have six.

And, as per usual, the nipple-to-litter-size rule applies. On average, mammals give birth to half the number of pups as the number of nipples they have. A gray fox averages around 3-5 pups per litter. Red foxes average around 4-6.

However, Arctic foxes are a bit odd. Alaska Fish & Game says they average around 7 pups, but I’ve also read 11. Apparently, they can give birth to a maximum of 22 pups on occasion, which would probably be a death sentence for both the mother and entire litter.

And now you know more about fox nipples than you ever wanted to.