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Eyebrow raised, Oberyn took in the stranger’s words.  The younger man did have a point, he couldn’t even argue against it.  Nodding, in agreement, the dornishman lightly pushed himself from the balcony and straightened his posture.  In turn he politely addressed the other, “You have a point, a pity that most of the drunkards will be common folk.  I’m sure spotting a few among the tables will be entertaining throughout the day.”

He languidly adjusted his stance and leaned back against the stone, resting his arms on the the hard surface.  The night was dark, but the flickering torchlight mixed with that of the moon allowed him to make out some of the features of the man before him.  The other’s features didn’t strike him as familiar, and there was no brooch or emblem that he could recognize.  Interesting was all he could think of.  Who exactly is this person?

“I like you,”  Oberyn started pointedly at the stranger, nodding in the other’s direction.  “Most play nice and try to avoid thoughts that might upset who they talk to.  But you,” he smirked in admiration, “you don’t mind that too much.”  Perhaps it was because this newcomer didn’t know who he was and didn’t mind speaking  their thoughts.  Regardless, it was refreshing.

🐦

                    ( leaving king’s landing wasn’t an option, especially when an important event was happening - gods know petyr would find new opportunities. ceremonies like these meant increasement of sales, nobles going wild, it all sounded like a great time for a good bargain. yet all this folly and excitement left baelish with a feeling of uneasement, the chances of finding old acquaintances increased and the devil could be waiting him right on the next corner. on the past few days he had grown used to the red keep, his employer would pay no mind to the scrawny young boy so he could try and work things on his own, on his way; he hated going by the rules of others and working all by himself seemed like a better idea. )

                   ( he was curious about the play, yet he wasn’t as excited as nobles who all they wanted was to drink it all away. petyr found himself roaming through the halls of the red keep once again, trying to remember what task he had been told to do; skipping his chores, littlefinger decided to explore more. distracted with his thoughts, he had barely noticed someone had spoken. )

                   ( he observed the other man, dornish of course, he thought; petyr smiled politely his attention going to the music. ) “i must agree; yet everyone seems to be more interested in different affairs.” ( littlefinger commented, his eyes on all the lights, something he wished he could see closer. ) “most of them won’t even remember the play.” ( he pointed at the city, obviously referring to those who enjoyed drinking too much, way too much. )

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It was his turn to smirk, his dark eyes flitting from man to man, wondering what fool would make an attempt against him.  He couldn’t say he was the only Dornishman in the area, so if no one knew who he was, they could mistake him for any man.  Or so the jokes go.  But among his people, they knew.  

“They can try,” his words simply left his lips as he tilted his head with a calculated grace.   “They should know that you are in more than capable company.”  He glanced back at the fallen men and turned his back to them, the show officially over.  

Though he didn’t carry his characteristic spear, he did have several daggers on him that he could use in a fight should anyone dare confront him.  The very thought intrigued and disappointed him.  Should they be attacked, their moment - however small it may be - would be lost.  Yet he was itching to test his skill.  Perhaps there would be some sort of competition to sign for?  

“Shall we, my lady?” he asked as he offered his arm to her.  The gesture contained a small flourish, possibly to gain another smile from the lady or to attract other eyes to their conversation.  Nevertheless, he was always one to show off. 

He looked disappointed at her turning to leave. She did enjoy his company, albeit unfortunate that they were witnessing an improper brawl. He wasn’t like the other lords she had met–he seemed to actually look at her like she had something worth saying, not like she just was another silly lady. At least one man I’ve met here views me as somewhat of an equal she thought, at least in conversation and wit. 

Cat smirked at his comment. She wanted to say that she needed no protection, but then again, he had a point. Wine had flowed freely during this feast, and there could be many other brawls on her way back to her quarters. How silly that with all the guards around the Capital, I find myself unsafe walking around the Red Keep. 

I suppose I can accept his escort Cat thought, thinking it would be more impolite to refuse. And he was entertaining–he was candid, and felt he would not look down if she spoke more frankly than normal ladies.

“I suppose you have a point–I would be flattered if you escorted me back, my lord. But I am afraid I cannot offer much assistance should you get attacked,” she said with a smirk.

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The play had finished, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, which in turned forced him to take a sip of the wine.  The events after the ones depicted have ultimately landed him in King’s Landing as a guest of the descendants of those who conquered the land so long ago.  He had, however, found himself enjoying the company of those around him, amused by their differences and particular behaviors. 

Standing, as he saw his king and queen do so, the Prince of Dorne decided to pay his dues before a queue formed before him.  Throwing a risky smirk to some of the ladies that had been studying him from afar.  Oh how Doran would chide him for his behavior.  It was only an interlude before the feast.  The true party had yet to begin.

Gold robes decorated with golden suns, Oberyn approached his monarchs with ease, “Your Grace,” he said with an eloquent bow to the royal family.  “I must congratulate you on the success of the festivities thus far as well as the future of your family.”

❝ ᴀ ғᴇᴀsᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴋɪɴɢs                        єνєηт σηє❞ 

If you asked the Queen-Mother her opinion on how her day fared, she would have told you that she was rather impressed by her own ability not to mutter in irritation throughout the entire performance put on by The Travelling Buffoons. Maybe she was getting old, or maybe she had been deprived from fun and laughter for so long that she had forgotten the warm embrace of happiness, but Rhaella failed to see the appeal in any of this– this performance. If that was what one would call it. 

First of all, both she, her dear children and their highborn guests, had been forced to sit on hard wooden benches in the middle of the city in the chilly autumn weather, with commoners and whores alike sitting mere metres from them, before having to sit through three hours of stiff acting. Now, Rhaella wasn’t usually so spiteful towards the people, they were their people, after all, but there was something unsettling in how the poor and the whores crouched in the snow, bodies half bare with mottled bruises spreading across fair skin, young children and bastards chattering away to them as if there was nothing unusual. It made Rhaella feel sick.

She wanted to go back to her chambers. 

She didn’t though, instead sitting through the entire performance with a thunderous expression as her family’s history was presented as a comedic love story. She couldn’t leave without arousing her Dear Aerys destructive anger however, she was a doting wife after all, but as soon as the men and women on stage took their final bows, the Queen was on her feet, bowing her head respectfully before stroking her hand through her daughter’s hair fondly. She then turned and walked away in a flurry of silks. There’s a reason, she thought bitterly as she finally reached the great hall, warm from the lit fires with tables overflowing with fine wine and freshly hunted meats, that travelling performers weren’t endorsed before now. What an insult.

Her husband arrived not long after she had, saying nothing to her, but she hadn’t expected him to. She and Aerys rarely spoke these days, but Rhaella found herself glad for small mercies such as these. She believed herself awfully untactful as she grew older, and it was only a matter of time before her tongue slipped and she told the brute to die. 

Now that would be extremely embarrassing.

Rhaella found herself so untrustworthy, that she grabbed a glass of wine to distract herself as she stood by the head table, beside her sweet Aerys whom wore a smile as false as her own, prepared to greet their i n v i t e d guests back in as their night of entertainment continued.

The Dragon Queen only hoped these young Lords knew to control their alcohol intake before His Grace.

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So she had already met Elia.  He feigned personal slight by her comment about Elia.  One point for his sister and none for him.  Wasn’t that the way it usually worked?  Oberyn, however quickly let it slide and chuckled, dropping his “hurt” act.  “I would argue, but It is pointless since we both agree on that matter.”  The Dornish prince smirked as he sunk into the chair, glad that the princess was now smiling, even if at his own expense. 

“It is quite different from Sunspear,” he replied matter-of-factly.  Shrugging his shoulders now, he motioned lazily to the architecture around them, “Some of the architecture is similar.  Even the coast reminds me of home.”  Should he say that he wasn’t truly fond of the city itself?  It wasn’t terrible but the air it gave was on edge, and it even smelled of excrement that the people threw in the streets.  But that was the city itself.  The Keep was much different.

“Do you enjoy the city, princess?” He was now curious about her own thoughts of the place she lived in.  “Have you been anywhere else?”

“Well then, it is a pleasure to meet you for the first time.” Ah, so she had been correct after all! Daenerys felt the barest hint of smug satisfaction, her old Septa would have definitely been proud by how quickly she’d discerned Prince Oberyn’s identity. Now that introductions were done with, the Princess could not help but feel curious. She knew of some altercation with one of House Martell’s vassals had lead to the Dornish Prince being discreetly sent away, though she was unaware of where he’d gone.

Daenerys grinned at the comment. “I might have believed you if I had not already met your kind sister whom if I may be so bold to say, is a little prettier than you.” She was intrigued by how… comfortable and relaxed Oberyn acted. It was as if he was dining with an old friend, not his future Queen whom he had just met. It was both odd and refreshing. “How are you finding Kings Landing?”

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A voice he hadn’t heard answered him, which caused him to turn to see who it belonged to.  Studying the young woman, he could tell that she was not a southron lady.  Her breath came a little fast which made him wonder if she was being followed.  His eyes darted towards the corridor she had just exited, but saw and heard no one.  If she were running from somebody, she had successfully lost them.

The thought of the woman before him running from another made his facade crack at the edges of his lips.  The soothing music that had been flowing through his thoughts now interrupted with those of this woman outrunning a man in her gown and heels.  Or maybe it was the steps at the end of the hallway that had got to her?  Either way, the more entertaining thought still lingered in his mind, though he dared not ask right away. 

“Lyanna. . . “ he murmured as he let her name roll off of his tongue, almost as if he were savoring the taste of Dornish wine.  Both amused and interested in her appearance, he turned his back on the city lights, to focus on her. “It is a pleasure, my lady.  I am Prince Oberyn Martell,” he replied as he gave her a slight nod of his head. 

Instead of continuously leaning against the balcony, he broke from the wall and approached her.  Hand on his belt, and a lax walk, he approached her but stopped short.  Canting his head, imitating her earlier gesture, he smiled before turning towards the lights once more.  “Some say the best instrument is ourselves,” he spoke as he reminisced about his time away from Westeros. “Our footsteps, our breathe, our voice. . .” 

Turning once more to her, he shrugged his shoulders.  "We only call it music if we would like to hear it again.”

“I’ve never heard anything like it before,” Lyanna admitted, a small smile on her face. She was a little out of breathe from escaping her handmaid, and after making her way across a maze of people, she was finally free. Part of her knew she shouldn’t be playing such games with others, but she was tired of the constant hovering. It took the joy out of every activity she wanted to take part in, mostly because her handmaid did not consider them to be at the height of propriety. Lyanna firmly believed that her decision to escape was the best for both of their sakes.

The whole city was alive with the news of actors coming to perform. The Traveling Kingsmen, they called them, reputed to be the best in the realm. If the king himself deemed them worthy to grace a royal celebration, then they must be deserving of the prestige. Lyanna felt a passing dismay upon knowing that they were to tell the story of Aegon the Conqueror, for it was a predictable choice, no doubt for the sake of the king, but it was soon overcome by her excitement to see real actors performing in the flesh. It would be a wonderful experience, bound to fill her up with nostalgia once they return home to Winterfell. 

She turned to the man who spoke, getting a good look at him for the first time. He was extremely handsome, with olive skin and deep-set eyes, and along with his physical allure was an underlying sense of danger. And yet, something about him was familiar. He wore the Dornish colours and looked like Princess Elia around the eyes and mouth, though Lyanna decided he was much younger than the ruling prince Doran. He’s certainly highborn, and recalling her manners, she immediately introduced herself. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, my lord. I am Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.” The music was still playing along below them, progressing into a crescendo of cleverly intertwined notes. The wolf-maid smiled and tilted her head to the side, a gesture that, coupled with her wild hair and bright eyes, appeared almost wolf-like. “I think the music’s growing on me. If only I could play half as well, but alas. I don’t think I’d be able to carry a note if my life depended on it.”

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“Oh?” he asked, returning her raised brow with one of his own.  Catelyn was quick with her words which intrigued him.  She had proved that she wasn’t just a fragile ornament like how some lords treat their daughters.  Just with her words, she gained his respect.  

Pity was the thought that came across his mind when he realized that she was to make her exit.  If only the men had been brawling for some time longer, maybe their own conversation would have as well. There was a faint look of disappointment as his gaze lowered briefly.  

“Well then, perhaps I can at least escort you to your destination.  What if another happens in your presence on your way back?”  A teasing smile now crept upon his lips.  Be he denied or not, it wouldn’t hurt his feelings, she did say they would meet again.  He could at least look forward to their future encounter.

He must be Oberyn Martell Cat thought, thinking back to the rumors she heard of him. Sure, most of the rumors were about his sexual or womanizing adventures (she did not approve of in the slightest), but she was thinking of those about his fighting abilities–how he was nicknamed the Red Viper. She admired men who did not just fight bravely but who fight intelligently. And out of all stories of knights and great swordsmen, his short maester’s training and quick mind made his story the most fascinating. She found his smarts admirable, and while they may not seemingly abide by the same moral code or code of manners, she appreciated that she was making the acquaintance of someone who was not just brave and strong, but someone who was smart and sly as well. 

The brawl was now reaching a close, both men stumbling over their own feet and fumbling with their swords. The crowd slowly dispersed once they realized that no victor was to be named–both men were too drunk to walk, let alone properly fight. At last both swords clunked to the ground, the two men lying on the stone ground clearly exhausted from their show. Cat breathed a sigh of relief, but studied the face of the Tully bannerman to remember later when identifying him to her father; she refused to accept a sworn sword of House Tully to disrespect her family with a drunken fight. 

“Regardless, it is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Oberyn,” she said politely. “But I am afraid I must go alert my lord father of what has just happened. I am sure I will see you again before the festivities end, hopefully not against the backdrop of a fight,” Cat quipped with a smirk, one brow slightly raised as if to almost challenge him to find her again. 

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The familiar voice caused Oberyn to raise his eyebrows.  “Lady Catelyn of House Tully, “ he remembered her introducing herself not long ago. The situation in where and how they met was amusing in its own right.  “It is much unlike the music that comes from angry old men fighting,” he replied with a smirk as he turned his attention to the lady rather than the city below. 

He studied her for a moment, mulling over what she said, “We could venture into the city to enjoy the festivites up close, rather than from afar,” the prince of Dorne offered.  His stance shifted, turning towards her, but he still leaned into the wall that kept them from falling onto the ground below. 

Raising an eyebrow as he gazed  at her peaceful face, Oberyn wondered if she would actually be interested in observing the events up close, even if only for a few hours.  “Have you?” he asked, “Experienced the excitement with the commoners, I mean, Lady Catelyn.”

Catelyn decided on taking a walk after supper, feeling too energized to sleep but too tired to make small talk with the many, many lords who once realizing she was already betrothed to another, would drift away wanting nothing to do with her. She exhausted herself getting her hopes up that men would look to her for conversation because they were interested in something other than her title or beauty. And even after she learned that they just wanted to try and woo a beautiful woman like herself, she had to keep up the graceful and beautiful facade when inside, she really just wanted to roll her eyes and point out that these men were not nearly as beautiful or smart as she is. 

Her walk led her to the balcony, where she heard faint music floating up from the streets below. The night was crisp, but pleasant. A man was standing by the balcony and without looking towards her, said “I don’t know about your tastes, but the music below is something worth listening to.” She recognized the man as Oberyn Martell, whom she’d met earlier in the Red Keep during the unfortunate drunken brawl. She walked to stand next to him, peacefully watching the glimmering lights and soft music from down below. 

“Well, I have always been fond of good music.” She said quietly, too entranced by the dim lights and soft music and crisp wind and overall peace to muster more effort into her reply.

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Taking the chance to gaze out to the city below, he reminisced of his time in the Free Cities and how the the sight was eerily similar yet so far.  The torches below flickered as the guards made their rounds within the castle grounds and throughout King’s Landing.  To think that the next day would be filled with more music than what was being played in the streets now made him both excited and bitter since he wouldn’t be able to traverse the streets, but instead watch the Traveling Kingsmen give a noble performance of Aegon’s Landing.  Not being able to deny that their performances were well thought of, the prince figured he would not be alone in wishing that the play could be of another tale. 

He couldn’t say that he wasn’t fond of large gatherings.  They tended to bring ladies and men alike from across the land, and the festivities tended to lead to long nights of passion and frivolity among the nobles and commoners alike.  This time, however, he will be interacting with other members of great houses like his own.

Thoughts of listing a number of possible ways to skip the feast were broken by the sounds of footsteps and shifting of fabric.  Oberyn tilted his head towards the sound but continued to stare out towards the streets below.  “I don’t know about your tastes, but the music below is something worth listening to,” his voice was solemn as he spoke. 

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Of many of the southron women, rumor had it that Catelyn’s beauty was unrivaled.  Tully hair and blue eyes that seemed to mirror the sea, he couldn’t argue the claims other than he felt his sister more beautiful. But he was a biased man. It even seemed that beyond her ladylike demeanor that she was not just a flower, but an intelligent woman as well.

A laugh nearly escaped him, was she mistaking him for someone else?  Not many were truly interested in meeting a dornishman, unless she was able to figure who he was.  “We have not, but the pleasure is mine, my lady,” he replied with a grin, “I am Prince Oberyn of House Martell.”  He had leaned towards her, but was careful not to linger so closely for too long.  Knowing full well that despite the brawl, he was surrounded by her father’s men.  Though, a few odd stares at his mannerisms didn’t bother him in the least.

“You speak the truth,” he spoke in a low voice as he tilted his head.  The fight before them was starting to slow down now, the initial excitement dying out and a victor soon to be decided within the next few blows.  Raising an eyebrow in amusement, his dark eyes turned from the dying scuffle back to Catelyn, “though our chances of meeting would be slimmer.” 

Cat looked nervously at the man who heard (and replied) to her quiet muttering, but couldn’t help forming a smirk at his last comment. 

“I know very few women who desire a drunken brawl over their hand,” Cat said, adding “And I know even less men.” Cat blushed slightly, trying to keep her head on the matter at hand–the Tully bannerman fighting–but kept trying to think of who this gorgeously tan and foreign-looking man was. Dornish, he must be dornish, oh, a Martell? Is he Oberyn Martell? 

“I do not believe we’ve met, my lord. I am Lady Catelyn of House Tully. I do wish the circumstances of our meeting would have been better; while some brawls seem to have a purpose, this one seems to just be drunken fools acting out.”

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“You are correct, princess, we have not met before,” he said matter-of-factly as he gracefully seated himself in the chair that was planted across from the Targaryen princess.  Swinging a leg over to rest on the other, he leaned back into the cushions, elbow on the armrest.  “I,” he started as his dark eyes flicked from her to a berry that he had picked from the plate on the table, “am Oberyn Martell.”  Immediately after stating his name, he placed the berry in his mouth, savoring the taste of the fruit.  All the while taking in the sight of the woman before him. 

“I wouldn’t blame you for confusing me with my siblings, but,” he smirked at the thought of their faces should he have said this around them, “I am the prettier one.”  The lighthearted comment was meant break the ice.  His positioning remained relaxed but his gaze traveled from her face to the lone Kingsguard that stood by.  The singular guard and two servants interested him when many other ladies of Westeros saw themselves tended to much more.  The revelation now intrigued him, but he dared not question her of it.  Perhaps he would later.

Daenerys swiftly wiped her hands clean and put an easy smile on her face. If the hectic energy of the past few days had taught the Princess anything, it was how to be a gracious host. It was not as if she was unaccustomed to the population of the Keep swelling exponentially, for people often came to celebrate the nameday of a royal family member. However, Dany was unaccustomed to being in the epicenter of an occasion that there was so much anticipation around. At all times she felt as if people were staring more than usual and while it did not make her uncomfortable exactly, she definitely felt more exposed.

After having a string of people eager to flee the balcony after accidentally interrupting the Princess during her meal, the ease and confidence with which this man sauntered up and asked to dine with her was both amusing and refreshing. “You are certainly welcome to, if you’d like. Perhaps you’ll also tell me your name? I don’t believe we have met before.” Dressed in Martell colours with the darker Dornish skin whilst also feeling comfortable to interrupting a member of the royal family left Daenerys with a keen idea of who this man was. He looked too young to be Doran, which left Oberyn. However, not knowing his name was less embarrassing than using the wrong name so she left him to introduce himself.

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He had grown used to the weather over the years and accommodated accordingly.  Still sure to wear his house colors and emblem, his clothes didn’t vary much from those of home, save for the thickness of the fabrics that he wore. 

Lucky because he realized that there were guards from his house there in King’s Landing, he took the opportunity to dress like them and enter the vicinity.  Not quite yet able to go home, he was careful not to bring too much attention to himself.  If he could at least see one of his siblings. . .

Not quite familiar with the Keep himself, he too was wandering aimlessly, though he did keep track of his whereabouts as he moved through the halls.  The voice, however, caught him off guard.  The lilting voice could only belong to one person which made him smile like a little boy.  It had been some time since he had seen his older sister.  In fact, he had been expecting Doran to be there.  Having mentally prepared to speak with his older brother, his walls collapsed at the sound of her voice and further so at the sight of her.

However, instead of completely succumbing to revealing himself to his dearest sibling, Oberyn stayed in character. His face and hair still covered by the scarves to keep his head warm.  The very fact that she didn’t have an escort amused him greatly, but he did worry about how long she had been out and away from warmth.

“I am sorry, princess.  I know this place as much as you do,” he imitated the stiffness in some of the guards from home, but still kept his sultry nature in tact. "Shall I accompany you?”

☼ Despite being a child of winter, her first few hours in King’s Landing were when Elia truly began to understand the implications of the Stark words as yet another breeze managed to infiltrate the Red Keep’s supposedly impenetrable walls and chilled her to the bone. In Dorne, winter was nothing more than a chill in the air. Her septa had once told her that the last time Dorne had seen snowfall and the darkness was during the Long Night, long before Aegon had even set his sights upon Westeros. Yet in King’s Landing, even the thickest gowns and cloaks that had been specifically made for such weather were not enough to protect her against the harsh chill of the final days of winter. 

 The Northern lords and ladies spoke of winter’s end, that the newly bloomed flowers of royal garden surely meant that spring had arrived. Elia had hoped to see the flowers herself, but instead she found herself lost in a maze of hallways. ‘I am a fool,’ she thought, for what rational lady would wander the halls of a foreign castle, in a city that she had never been in before? She had wanted some time to herself, instead she found herself with frozen fingers, wishing that she had brought an escort at least. Sighing, she stopped where she was. Surely asking for directions couldn’t hurt. 

“Excuse me, could you perhaps help me with some directions?”

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A walk in the water gardens was something that he had enjoyed back in Sunspear.  Not that the gardens here were inferior, but the nostalgia it  brought, made him somewhat sad.  Approaching the perimeter, he saw a lovely woman  pale of hair and skin.  She was unlike those he would encounter in Dorne, let alone some parts of Westeros.  A sort of beauty that came with those of old Valyria and their descendants.  Those of House Targaryen. 

From where he was below, he couldn’t tell if she was forlorn or deep in thought.  Curiosity now took hold of him as he wondered what she was thinking.  Was she thinking of her impending union?  Perhaps her thoughts were lost among the flowers in the garden?  He continued his walk, but now he made sure to walk to the sidesteps to the balcony rather than the path to the gate that led away. 

His walk slowed as he approached the guard.  Not wanting to cause a fuss, the Prince of Dorne stopped respectfully by the knight.  He was already in a precarious position back at home, and had no qualms with the Kingsguard or servants at hand.  Making sure that his positioning let him gaze upon the princess, he started to regret his choice.  She was one woman that he could not have, knowing full well of her engagement to Prince Rhaegar.  Which in turn meant that she was not a risk worth taking.  Right?  Surely harmless flirting couldn’t hurt.

Soft-spoken words left her lips in which he replied with an initial glance at her guard.  Raising an eyebrow at the knight, he turned his attention fully to the lady before him.  “Your Grace,” he replied as he gracefully dipped his head.  As he brought his head back up, he noticed the food at her plate and frowned briefly before smiling when his eyes reached hers.  “Might I join you?”

As she was often known to do, Daenerys sat on a balcony overlooking the gardens as she ate her afternoon meal. The Princess had dismissed her ladies for a few hours, allowing them a portion of the day where they could whatever they pleased and so it was just two servants and a member of the Kingsguard to keep her company. Dany was tearing a piece of chicken into smaller pieces when the sound of approaching footsteps pulled her attention upward. “Hello…”

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Amusement was clearly written across the dornishman’s face as he observed the brawl.  He had attempted to ignore the growing tension, but the idea of a fight after being away from one for so long was really tempting.  Had someone else not have thrown in a word or two to validate the first punch, he would have attempted a quip. 

There was no malice in his gaze as he watched the scene unfold.  He was neither fighter, nor did he know either of them.  They were two “honorable” knights and the scuffle would probably be minimal to any effect. The idea of it quickly dulled and the Dornish prince placed a berry on his tongue and savored the taste as the men traded blows.

Despite of growing bored, the sight of auburn hair and the rustle of skirts did happen to catch his attention.  Noble in looks and in dress, she seemed to be more irritated rather than interested with the event unfolding before the growing crowd.  Even the words that came from her mouth were more amusing than watching the two men. 

“It depends.  Some happen to harbor ill will for the other, before they are even intoxicated,” he shrugged his shoulders, a wry smirk playing across his lips.  He knew all too well of how those situations played out.  However, it tended to be other men that harbored him ill will, rather than the other way around.  “Other times it’s over a woman,” he paused now glancing to the younger woman, his eyes traveling from her auburn hair down to the neck of her dress.  “Or man,” he continued innocently, completely disregarding the social norms of those north of Dorne.

Catelyn heard yelling coming from the courtyard–it appeared that two men had started a drunkenly brawl. Cat sighed as people started gathering to watch the fight, and almost turned to walk away when she caught a glimpse of one of the men’s sigils–a trout! Could one of my father’s bannermen be fighting? Cat assumed none of the Tully bannermen would ever instigate a fight because surely if any ever had, Ser Desmond Grell, her father’s castellan, would’ve thrown them into Riverrun’s cells for a short while as punishment. She started to weave her way through the crowd, trying to more clearly see which house each of the drunk men were sworn to.

“Why must men feel like fighting whenever they drink,” Cat muttered under her breath, then jumped a little when someone turned to look at her, clearly having heard her.

[oberynofdorne-blog1]

Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, 21, Played by Fawad Khan, Open

 The fifth child to be born to the ruling Princess of Dorne Ariella Martell, and her consort, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, better known as the Red Viper, is the youngest son and third Martell child to survive past infancy. He is the younger hot-headed brother of the Prince Doran Martell, whom he was born exactly ten years after, and Princess Elia Martell, who is older by a year, thus putting him third in line to inherit his mother’s seat as per Dornish laws of inhertiance. After the miscarriages suffered following Doran, as well as the children who had died in their cradles, Elia was nothing short of a miracle for the Princess and her consort. Although the survival of her premature daughter had given Ariella hope, she was certain she wouldn’t have the same stroke of luck twice. However, Oberyn was a robust babe unlike his sickly sister and against all odds, he too survived.  Like his brother and sister before him, Oberyn was born in the Sunspear, the Dornish capital but was raised primarily in the Water Gardens. He lived there for a few years before eventually being sent to be fostered at Sandstone.

 By all accounts attractive, he has got a handsome face with thin eyebrows, black ‘viper’ eyes and a sharp nose. Accompanied with a luscious head of hair that begins with a widow’s peak, Oberyn is a force to be reckoned with.  Although the Prince has a good heart, he is known to be quite forceful and lusty man with a quick wit and a barbed tongue. There had been many occasions during his fostering where he had to be reprimanded because of it. At the age of sixteen, Oberyn was found in bed with the paramour of Lord Edgar Yronwood, so the lord challenged him to a duel. The duel was to first blood, given the prince’s youth and high birth, and both took cuts. However, Lord Edgar’s wounds festered and killed him. Oberyn has been known as the “Red Viper” ever since by friends and foes alike, due to rumors that he fought the duel with a poisoned blade. This fateful tragedy ignited a deep hostility in the Yronwoods that has not abated with time. In order to try and soothe tensions between the noble families, Oberyn was sent away from Dorne and into temporary exile (though no one dared call it exile). He first traveled to Oldtown where he spent three years studying at the Citadel and forging six maester links before the whole process began to bore him, leading the Prince to leave the order and instead make his way to Lys. He remained there for almost two years before returning to Dorne and reuniting with Elia and Doran.

 An exceptional fighter, his speed and skill with both spear and sword are renowned. Oberyn is ever the viper: deadly, dangerous, and unpredictable. With a blade as sharp as his tongue, his fearsome reputation proceeds him. His tourneys, his battles, his duels, his horses, and his carnality. There is no man in all of the realm who dare tread on him despite his youth. One can only imagine how fearsome Oberyn will become with experience and age. He is infamous not just for fighting with poisonous weapons, but for his bastards as well. It is said that Oberyn beds both men and woman and has begotten bastard girls all over Dorne. Many whisper that he has more bastards than any man in the realm, however, unlike most Oberyn does not allow his children to grow abandoned. He takes responsibility for them and actively seeks to help raise them. Whether they be true born or results of a night’s passion. He does not believe in disrespecting those who cannot control the circumstances surrounding their birth and as he grew he began to realize there were few men in the world who deserved respect at all.

Traits

(+) witty, passionate, loyal

(-) forceful, hot-headed, blunt

Connections

Elia Martell: Although the two have always been as different as night and day,  due to only having been born a year apart, Elia and Oberyn have a closer relationship than most siblings. While Oberyn may be the one who takes action, it is Elia who is the mastermind behind everything - thoughtful and calculating to a fault. Even as children, while Oberyn and Ashara would physically be causing havoc, it would be Elia and Arthur who would silently be pulling the strings behind each prank like two puppeteers. Seldom has changed since. It is his opinion that she values the most, which was apparent in her turning down each suitor that he did not approve of.

Arthur & Ashara Dayne: Oberyn grew up with with the Dayne siblings in the Water Gardens alongside his sister, Elia. While and Elia and Arthur had always gotten along better due to their restrained nature, Oberyn and Ashara became fast friends. While it was alongside Arthur that Oberyn first learned to fight with a sword, thanks to his and Ashara’s similarities in nature and personality, wreaking havoc wherever they went as they grew from children into conscious players in the great Game. Oberyn and Ashara had their first sexual experiences with each other when he was thirteen. It was a clumsy yet sweet encounter.

Obara, Nymeria & Tyene Sand: Oberyn has claimed all three of the girls as his bastards and has taken an active role in caring for them and raising them.