THE SECOND TALE OF SEPTA POPPINE

A Blazing Day: Before the Story

It was a blazing autumn midday, and five days from the twins' seventh name day. 
The air was unusually stifling for the season, and the great halls of Casterly Rock blazed with sunlight. It was therefore no surprise that the young Lannisters could be found in the godswood, refreshing themselves in the shade of the tall pines and splashing about in the pool. Cersei and Jaime were undressed and up to their knees in the fresh water, lashing at each other, even fighting a water battle, while Tyrion, perched on a low pine branch, was reading another of his good history books.
The septa was sitting in the shade of a spherically-trimmed thuja bush by the godswood pool, watching the children in their pastimes. The blazing weather reminded her of somewhere she had been not long ago, and she happened to remember a story she would like to share with her little charges:
"Jaime! Cersei! Tyrion! Would you like a story in the shade of these branches?"

Her words rang loud and clear like an incantation, and there must have been something magical about them, for the odd-eyed one quickly dismounted from his branch, as the twins got up on land and wrapped themselves in cool lavender-scented white towels.

"Look here, I'm a bride!", Cersei said with sparkling green eyes, twirling around.

"I'm a Kingsguard!", Jaime waved a broken branch as if he were fencing.

"Well, if you're a bride and you're a Kingsguard... then who or what are you, Tyrion?", the young septa inquired. The sunlight made rainbows in passing through her crystal star pendant.

"I'm Aegon the Conqueror", the imp said without any enthusiasm.

"Well, let's say I can't find myself in a merrier company. A bride, a Kingsguard, and Aegon the Dragon himself!", Septa Poppine chortled. "And of course me, a strange young septa with a knack for telling tales. Today it's pretty hot for the Westerlands in autumn, isn't it?"
"More like mid-summer in Dorne", Jaime commented.
"Well, I was just thinking of a Dornish story", the septa cheerfully replied.
"I hope it's a love story with a happy ending", Cersei said. She wasn't pleased with last night's story because the Night's Watch officer didn't get his girl.
"It happens to be a love story, and the ending won't leave you indifferent."
"Seven Gods, a love story!" Jaime replied with a slight frown. Now he was the discontented one, for, unlike his twin sister, he preferred adventure and war stories, accounts of daring feats, like the tale before.
"Oh, Jaime, give this one a chance!", the septa stroked his golden hair.
"All right", he sighed. "After all, it will be a Dornish story, and thus it will be rather unusual..."
"I bet it will", Cersei said. "For who has never wished to go to Dorne?"
"Well, I have been there myself!", was Septa Poppine's obvious reply. "So, are you ready for a visit to those sunny lands?"
Neither of them spoke a word, but their eyes sparkled with confidence and they smiled pleasantly. The septa didn't need to ask them anything more.
Then, all four formed a circle, or rather a square, with Tyrion opposite Septa Poppine, Jaime and Cersei on either side, snuggled up in their towels.
The young septa cleared her throat, and, by the blazing light of the noonday sun, she began to tell the children a tale...


The Secrets of the Golden Halls: A Tale of Dorne 

Long, long ago, long before Aegon the Conqueror's landing, a fleet of ten thousand wayward ships left their war-torn homelands to seek their fortune on foreign shores. On board were thousands of copper-skinned and raven-haired people, led by a brave and clever warrior queen, defeated and put to rout yet never despairing to found a better future. Nymeria was her name, and the Rhoynar were her loyal subjects. 
In the end, they landed on the warm southern coast of Westeros, in a region where feudal lords were constantly at war over the precious streams and springs of freshwater. And, as soon as the last warrior at her orders had landed, she had all ten thousand of her ships burned at once, for no cowards within her ranks to sail away. Offering her hand and her support to one of them, Mors Martell, who had fallen in love with her and vice versa, marrying her scarlet sun to his scarlet spear, the foreign queen managed to subjugate the rest of the clans and unify all of their lands, centuries before Aegon the Conqueror would do the same north of the Marches. Thus the blood of the Rhoynar, who had found a new homeland, flowed into the veins of the children of the Andal natives, and thus arose a prosperous and wealthy realm by the name of Dorne, ruled by a widowed Nymeria (since Mors Martell had fallen on the battlefield ere the land was unified), whose seat was founded in a bay on the east coast, on the greatest of all the springs, a stately Rhoynish-style palace surrounded by a fresh, verdant paradise with many a sparkling fountain. The place is still known by its beautiful name, the Water Gardens, and it is here that our heroine was born and raised, reared always with comforts.
For she was a princess of Dorne, of House Nymeros Martell, the firstborn among all her siblings, and heiress to the crown. 
Now in Dorne the crown always goes to the eldest, regardless of gender, so her widowed mother (the maiden's father, the prince-consort, had died in his other half's arms, wounded in the side, in a skirmish near the border with the Reach) had her reared in statescraft and science and in the fine arts, as she had been reared herself. And thus, Princess Nymeria (for she, like many Dornish girls, had been named after her legendary ancestor) had as many books as her garden had oranges, and learned how to fight with a spear, to discuss about philosophy, to ride on horseback and to lead an army on the battlefield. And she spoke Old Valyrian as easily as she pleased. There was no more accomplished rider or cyvasse player in all the land, from the Marches to the southern coastline. 
And soon, when she had attained the age of eighteen, having lost already both her parents, she ruled as well as any prince could have done. During her reign, the orange orchards and the vineyards which conform the fortune of Dorne were carefully tended to, and ships constantly entered and left the ports, trading wine and citrus fruits for spices, silk, and Braavosi glass among other commodities. The winters brought cool rains to quench everyone's thirst and water the vineyards and the gardens. And, whenever she could, the young princess, her raven hair concealed under a golden veil, went forth into the roads and streets undercover, on horseback, and she was pleased with the fruit of her skill as a ruler. For her heart was as passionate as the Dornish summer sun.
She had obviously reached the marriageable age, and she was a good party as well, the realm of Dorne being her fortune. Princess Nymeria was not only a skilled ruler, but tall and beautiful as well, as lovely as the merciful springtime of her lands: her long hair shimmering and raven black, her skin the warm colour of cinnamon. She owned stables full of Dornish sand-steeds, the fastest ones in all Westeros, beautiful horses whose colour range stretched from the white of the moon to the black of midnight. A grand palace, with the loveliest garden in the land around, full of thickly embroidered tapestries, vessels of Braavosi glass, weapons of finest steel, both swords and spears, ornate with jewels, their blades covered in cobalt. There was no doubt that she was a good party, and she didn't lack suitors at all. And her heart was as passionate as the Dornish summer sun, so she was rarely discontented.
But she wasn't interested in a wedding, and after all, she needn't marry. She would be contented with a paramour, someone who would share her life without being married to her (this lifestyle is not unusual at all among the Dornish). She had remained single ever since she had attained the marriageable age of sixteen, and it was her decision to have a paramour rather than a wedded consort. For she had decided to give far more time to affairs of state rather than to her own private pastimes.
Yet soon, her attention was drawn to an officer of her personal guard, a certainly young and dashing one. And their relationship seemed to be perfect, for they were pleased with each other from the start... until she found him quaffing the blood-red wine of the lands and romancing the court ladies.
One after the other, paramours came and went into her bedchamber, all equally good-looking: a prisoner of war from the Reach, a stateless sellsword, a Braavosi merchant captain who traded in glass and silk... All of them had their flaws. The courtiers themselves were always smiling on purpose, rarely honest, always pleasing their liege lady, even if they had to lie.
Still, the princess did not despair at all to find the jewel in her crown: a young man with the looks of a demigod, a heart of gold, a mind sharp as a longsword, and good taste in every sphere of life. Someone to share her life, but not one who would always say yes and smile to her on purpose, for that would be tiresome. She'd rather love a youth who should be honest, pure, modest and true, just like rock crystal. Then she assembled her entire court together in the palace gardens and told them of her intentions, to much rejoicing and acclaim. But were the courtiers really honest towards her? She had her reasons to doubt, for her younger brother and three of her advisors had been too honest towards her. Which was by no means a sign of truthfulness.
And thus, at the end of the day, she grew weary of it all, leaving the affairs of state to her advisors, and riding away across wastelands, following dried-up river beds, on her favourite stallion Mors, whose coat was as black as the rider's hair. On her own, alone in the barren landscapes, she daydreamt of her dream paramour.
One day at dusk, as she returned to the Water Gardens from such a ride, she sat at the dinner table to behold a new face she had never seen before. The most comely young man she had ever seen, shining with marvellous and foreign beauty, was serving the ruling household their blood-red wine into their glass cups. 
And then, liquid fire coursed through her young half-Rhoynish veins.
The newcomer, that young man of marvellous and foreign beauty, appeared to be seventeen or eighteen years old. Tresses of spun platinum or of sunlight, tied with a ribbon into a loose ponytail, cascaded on his back, a rebel lock hanging on his left shoulder. His sparkling eyes were the colour of amethysts, and his soft skin was as white as a lily's petals or the full moon. Though he was wearing the garb of a Dornish courtier, silks in warm colours embroidered with suns in golden thread, the young cupbearer cut a figure and betrayed his foreign descent among the dark and raven-haired Dornish.
Nymeria had never seen such features in real life, but merely read about them and recognized them as the traits of the Valyrians, once lords of Essos and now an exceedingly rare sight.
The most trustworthy of her ladies told the princess about the one who now caught everyone's eyes:
"He's from Lys, and he's been to Myr, Volantis, Braavos, and King's Landing as well. Pure Valyrian descent, as you can see, and a name so hard to pronounce that we got to know him as Sorrow, the name that he says he used in King's Landing. Isn't that a strange and even ironic name for such a talented cupbearer with such a sweet disposition, who sings in a fine tenor voice and plays the harp as easily as you please? And that is not all, for he speaks Old Valyrian as easily as you please, and he can also write love poetry and compose tunes to it..."
"Is he a eunuch?", her liege lady inquired.
"He's certainly not, for he's loved both men and women", the lady-in-waiting replied.
As for Nymeria Nymeros Martell, she drained her glass at one fell swoop and felt how her heart throbbed as if she had a fever. Following the Lysene youth with her eyes, she called him to her side to fill her cup time after time, looking into his periwinkle eyes every time she put the cup to her lips, and thus, she felt how her temperature rose as the strong wine seared her throat. Why was she feeling that strange... was it the drink or the one who had served it? 
Confidently, she drew his attention: 
"Cupbearer! I'd like a ewer of rosewater to drink after the wine and wash my face..."
He left the room, and then returned within an instant, with the pitcher full of water in which rose petals floated. And then, the princess got up with a few difficulties, commenting that the room was reeling, and asking the young Lysene, in a slurred voice, to escort her into her bedchamber.
And so he did, as she staggered and leaned against his left shoulder.
The bedchamber was magnificent, with an ornate canopy bed whose silk curtains were thickly embroidered in golden thread with suns and orange blossoms. An intoxicated Nymeria got into bed already fully dressed, with a lilywhite cupbearer by her side, and they slept soundly in one another's arms, her face quite hidden in his platinum hair.
They stroked each other with warm and soft, delicate hands, one's like cinnamon and the other's like fresh lilies. And they exchanged kisses as warm and full of passion as their caresses.
The next day, she woke up with a throbbing headache and her most recent paramour by her side, convinced that she had at last found the one.
After having recovered and broken her fast, she overheard her advisors and her ladies talking to each other about the new cupbearer, "Sorrow" as he was called. The confidante told her liege lady, as honestly as she could, that he had previously had countless lovers of both genders and of the highest ranks, in his own birthplace of Lys, in Myr, in Volantis, in Braavos, and most recently in King's Landing, but that he had left all of his lovers one by one, turning his back on every lord and lady, officer and courtesan. Or so he had said, without giving any reason why.
Those details about the young cupbearer's past did not make Nymeria despair. Rather, she identified herself with this person whose life had hitherto been a series of heartbreaks.
In due time, the servant and the princess grew closer and closer to each other, and it was clear that he was as pleased with her as she was with him. When the Lysene was not serving his liege lady a glass of crimson wine or of refreshing lemonade, or fragrant rosewater, to quench her thirst, which he often had to do in summer, he played the tunes he had composed on the high harp, singing his lyrics in a sweet tenor voice. They could often be found together in the gardens, the cupbearer serving to the princess or both of them walking together by the fountains, sprinkling each other or playing cyvasse... as he always sheltered his lilywhite skin from the searing Dornish sun with a silk parasol. In the shade of this shield of ornate yellow silk, Nymeria spent more time for each day, until at last her advisors had to warn her to attend to her affairs of state, which she now nearly almost forgot.
Yet she had begun to feel weak and light-headed ever since the cupbearer had entered her life. Now she was nearly always weary, her heartbeat having weakened to a quick flutter. She had already begun to feel ill at ease the first time she had seen his sparkling periwinkle eyes...
"It must be the effect of true love, which has entered my life at last", she thought about the gradual change in her state of health, once as firm as iron and now wavering like a lily on its stem.
Some courtiers, though not all of them, were impressed by how their liege lady's heart was being won, but also concerned about her fading health. Could she at last have found the right one?
Yet one evening, as they were lying in bed and the princess asked her lover to undress himself before going to sleep, he coldly said no.
And then, Nymeria suddenly remembered the words of her closest ladies about the past of the one she loved. She could not believe her ears, and she was astonished by her paramour's reply. Was he going to leave her, like he had turned his back on so many others? And thus, she sincerely asked the young Lysene why he was reluctant to take their love one step further.
"Pardon me, my Liege", he replied, his heart on his hand. "I cannot tell you the truth."
"The truth cannot be hidden forever. Sooner or later, it will come to light", she lay a warm and cinnamon-brown right hand on the middle of his chest, where she could feel the cupbearer's heart throbbing restlessly. "Maybe you just have to dare to confront the truth, no matter how painful it might be."
The young man looked into the black eyes of the princess, and there he saw warmth and concern. And he decided to trust her, no matter what he had done, for there was something deep in her heart of hearts that made him feel brave enough to share his secrets, and lighten the burden that oppressed his chest, tightly binding his heart with iron chains. Upon that he relied, and, clearing his throat, he addressed her:
"If I ever offend you by telling you my secrets, my Liege, why don't you tell me a few secrets of yours? Wouldn't you tell me why so many have come and went within this magnificent bedchamber before me?"
"Tell your own secrets first, my darling, and then it will be my turn", Nymeria Nymeros Martell promised, with both her hands upon her heart.
Raising his periwinkle eyes, he cleared his throat and spoke thus:
"My story is a tragic one to begin with. I was born and raised in the finest quarter of fair Lys, with a beautiful courtesan for a single mother. I never knew my father, and soon I learned that neither had he known his father either, and so on for generations, due to a curse that goes back to the ancient days of the Freehold. A curse that makes every man born into our lineage die, his heart stopped due to elation, as soon as he has reached the heights of pleasure in the company of another. This is the reason why I wish to be known by the name of Sorrow. This explains the reason why I have left so many lovers, such a trail of broken hearts. To spare my own life."
"You left them all to save yourself?"
"I arrived at this court having long time heard about the greatness and the wealth of Dorne. And, as soon as I had come hither from King's Landing, I happened to stumble into the wrong company. Three of your advisors are seeking to dethrone you and place your younger brother on the throne. Knowing that I was a cupbearer and a Lysene with great knowledge of poisons, they asked me to pick a certain flower from the garden and slip its sap into your wines."
"And what did you do then?", the princess asked, surprised and full of concern for whether her paramour was a traitor and an ally to prospective usurpers who attempted against her precious life.
"Well, I was a newcomer, and I did barely know you back then, but I had heard of you and was fond of you from what I heard from others of your beauty, your cleverness, and your skill as a statesperson. Yet I was afraid at heart that our story would end like all those I had been part of before, and I was not sure of whether to love you completely and lose my life. And thus, I naively showed these advisors which flower they would need, one that can poison an adult gradually, slowly... but, upon learning what they wanted the sap for, I refused to be part of the plot. Yet the conspirators must have slipped the lethal sap into my pitcher behind my back, and you must have drunk a good quantity of it... However, I know my substances as well as any other Lysene gentleman. Your system hasn't absorbed much of that transparent liquid... Thus, I regret whatever I could have done against you, my Liege, for I have never given you cause. Moreover, I give you the names of the traitors who had ensnared me, and I ask for your mercy, as long as the real traitors receive what they deserve."
And thus, the young cupbearer gave his liege lady the names of the three advisors who had pulled him into their plot. The next day, these three noblemen, high officers all three, would be thrust out of court and sent to Yronwood, a distant fortress in the middle of the Marches.
"I cannot thank you enough for your honesty and your courage to dare to inform me of a plot in which you had been involved yourself, even at the cost of your life. And thus, I admire you even more, and I spare you the fate of the conspirators. You are pardoned. No other person I have ever known has dared to say such words to me. No matter if they were courtiers I have known since childhood or strangers who have turned up at our garden gates, they were all shallow and distracted by the splendour. But you, though you were born and raised in Lys among silk tapestries, though you had spent your whole life in grand surroundings, remained true to yourself, honest, brave, clever, and gentle. Now I know that you are meant for me." She kissed his soft, lilywhite hands warmly and looked into his clear amethyst eyes.
"And now I know that you are meant for me", the platinum-haired youth kindly said, with his usual sincere smile. "For you stay true to yourself as well, in spite of all the pressure, and in spite of the many people who try to chain your will and live your life." And then, he felt his heart fill with happiness, and the curse that had once rested upon his bloodline for centuries was finally broken.
"Now you may no longer call me Sorrow, my Liege. For my true name is Rhyse, though I had forgotten it long ago, with the third love I ever left."
"And you may call me by name as well, call me Nymeria, or Nym for short, and no longer betray me."
The Dornish sun cast its first rays of a new day through the narrow gap in the bed-curtains. 
 "Now let us promise each other, let the rising sun be our witness, that we will always be true to each other and to ourselves, for what we fear the most never to happen at all", both the princess and the cupbearer said at unison. A ray of sunlight fell on their lovely faces, they embraced, he ran his lily-petal fingers through her raven hair and she laid her cinnamon-brown hands on the middle of his chest.
And then, their lips touched, and both their hearts throbbed at unison, skipping a beat at the start, as their eyes, her beads of onyx and his dew-drenched violets fixed on each other, quickly filled with bright stars.


A Blazing Day: After the Story

As the septa ended her story, she found Cersei drying up her tears, her mint-green eyes slightly closed. But she smiled and laughed as she dried up her tears, and the expression on her face was one of happiness.
"So you loved the story, didn't you, Cersei? I hoped that you would like it."
However, her twin brother was frowning and pouting.
"I was expecting more battles, more fighting...", he said.
"At least we visited Dorne", Tyrion encouraged Jaime, patting his older brother on the right shoulder.
"Well, I'd love to visit those lands one day in person", Jaime Lannister said. "Once a Dornish prince came here to Casterly Rock to visit us. He was about as old as we, with dark skin and eyes as black as his hair, and we showed him around and had so much fun! And he even invited us to come over to Dorne someday!"
"What was his name?", the septa curiously inquired.
"Oberyn", Cersei answered. There was a slight blush in her cheeks, displaying that she felt slightly more than friendship towards the stranger.
"Oberyn Nymeros Martell...!", Septa Poppine mused. "I see him now, the naughtiest little bundle of sunshine I have ever known! It was impossible to have a tiresome day at the Water Gardens, for he had always got a trick up his sleeve and was always getting into scrapes!" She chortled to herself and to the Lannister children.
"Well, there was something of Nymeria in him", Cersei now said.
"The Rhoynar queen or her descendant, the heroine of today's story?", the septa asked.
"Of both Nymerias", little Cersei replied with a smile. "He told us that his mother was the Princess of Dorne, now that I remember. And I think it's so nice that Dornish girls can get to rule a realm or do anything else that they want... If only I had been born in Dorne!", she sighed.
"Septa Poppine", now it was Jaime who drew her attention.
"What is your comment on this story?"
"I remember that Father was a young cupbearer at the Red Keep when he first came to court, and he was as honest and good as the one in this story", the young heir said, as he stood up and looked at the shining sun.
"Your father, when young, a good cupbearer at court? That's a pleasant surprise, and I know you're telling the truth by the look in your eyes. You are rather proud of him, ain't you?", the septa stroked Jaime's golden hair once more.
"Well, I'd like to be a cupbearer at least for once, as much as I'd like to visit Dorne", Tyrion, who had been silent and listening to his older siblings' conversation, intervened.
"If you want... then we're getting thirsty already, so you can start by bringing us four cups and a pitcher of cool lemonade from the banqueting hall! It's made of Dornish lemons, by the way!", Cersei commanded, as impatiently as if she had been Princess Nymeria from the story.
Thus, Tyrion went back into the fortress, and soon he returned with the pitcher in his right hand and four stacked golden cups in the left. The lemonade was soon poured into the cups, and the young septa raised hers to propose a toast:
"Here's to sunny Dorne, to its warm people and its cool fruits!"
The four cups clinked and went then to the lips of those who held them, and soon the cups were drained at unison, so all the lemonade was rushing down their throats, refreshing three cheerful siblings and their governess.
"Well, I'm glad at least one of you liked today's story, my children!", Septa Poppine said. "Hope that tomorrow's story, though it may be different, will be equally interesting!"