“ She is. ” Josephine was stood behind her desk as he spoke, still in the middle of sorting through her various papers to find the offers of land and titles that she had written up in order to elevate the Du Paraquettes and persuade them, in the process, to annul the contract on her life. Leliana, of course, had suggested an entirely different course of action, one that only further cemented Oberyn’s observation that she was not only adept, but confident in the abilities of her spies, too. “ Though you could have made me aware of your arrival sooner and I would have talked her down from her impromptu interrogation. ”
Though, despite her own words, she had known that Oberyn Martell would arrive like this after penning her letter to him: without warning, and without care for who stood in his way or offered suspicion as to the reasons for his arrival. It flattered her, truly, that he would come all this way merely at her word, but then, he was one of her oldest friends. The years might have separated them in approach: where he had once known her as an aspirant bard, enchanted by the thrill of the life, she had then gone on to renounce the life in favour of diplomacy, even as he still remained a chief figure within the Crows. But for all Oberyn’s outward bluster, they were both still careful, still precise, still exacting, whether in the art of killing or of politicking, and both appreciated that in the other.
“ Oberyn. ” The name is gently, fondly chastising — spoken in a way that few other than she would be allowed to address him, she was certain. She knew that he was trying to help, trying to lighten her mood with humour, but she had found it very difficult as of late to relax and talk so blithely of such things. She too spoke in a low voice, but did not believe that they would be overheard. “ You know I no longer play the game that you do. All I want is to see my family’s name restored in Orlais, and I do not wish to meet the edge of an assassin’s blade in order to accomplish it. Not when the contract was signed more than one hundred years ago by someone that I do not even know. ”
Her answer, though expected, is a boring one - and a heavy sigh escapes curved lips as he leans back into his perch once more. The room is all but barren, a stark contrast to the wealth and finer things that had once surrounded them in Orlais, and Oberyn can’t help but gaze at Josephine with a critical eye. She is changed from her youth, treaties and alliances a far cry from the game they used to play - but behind warm eyes remains a fighting spirit, and the Crow is glad to see that, at least, remains unaffected.
“But you do not object to possible death from the freezing cold?” Mouth twitches the slightest bit - the question, like so many other things he has said, meant as a teasing jest. “And if not from the snow - what of this monster your inquisitor seeks? This Corypheus.” Tongue savors the name, rolling it around as if to judge its flavor. It is not one the prince turned assassin has heard before, and still he finds his knowledge of it lacking. The people in Skyhold gossip in hushed whispers, seemingly afraid that if spoken aloud, such terrors might swoop from the skies upon them - but still he has gathered much, stories he only half believes. But Josephine Montilyet is no fool, and if she sees worth in this new order, this inquisition, then he can do nothing more but allow it some credence.
“I doubt any blade would so easily catch you.” A huff of breath akin to a laugh passes between them as Oberyn rises to his feet, tucking his dagger away so he might rest palms upon the edge of her desk and lean forward. “The House of Repose is not something we Crows take lightly, my friend. Not even for one who holds our hearts like you. But - “ Weight shifts as he pushes himself from her desk, tone shifting from serious to something akin to lightheartedness once more. “ - it just so happens I am no simple Crow. Not one to be expected to fly to another’s whims.” Dark eyes sober as they hold ones so much like their own, brow quirking as if weighing her worth. It is a test she will pass, a test she will always past - for, renowned assassin or no, Oberyn Martell does not so easily forget the bonds of youth.
“The Crows do not follow matters without payment - and for one such as this, I cannot be the exception.” Teeth bite a wine flavored bottom lip as he gives an involuntary shiver. Always so cold, these mountains. “Gold is not something I want, I doubt a ruin such as this even has it. I need answers to a question that has plagued me for many years. A ghost that haunts each footstep much like your Orlesian guild does yours. I believe your rather, competent and beautiful spymaster might yet help me make sense of it.” Brows quirk further upwards as he leans towards her once more, gaze sparking with amusement. She will help him, just as he will help her .. of this Oberyn has no doubt. But Josephine as a dignitary is a new dance, one with which he has not yet mastered the steps - and heart beats in anticipation to see what choice she might make next. “That will be my payment. Assisting you, dear Josie, will be all the sweeter because of it.”
