#Oberyn x OC

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Of Roses and Snakes

pairing: Oberyn Martell x OC!Female!Tyrell

summary: Ella Tyrell gets told what her family had decided against her will. Maybe it was not so bad after all

Word count: 2,5K

Warnings: Angst, fluff, hurt-comfort

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Ella grumbled annoyed as she rolled over in her bed, the sun had been hitting her face for several minutes by then but she had no energy to move until this moment when a banging on her disturbed her peace even more.

"What?!" She called out harshly. She lifted her head as the doors opened to see who had entered her room. She sighed when she saw Margaery walk into the room already all dressed up and ready to conquer the day and make the boy-king fall for her charm.

"Is it not too early, sissy?" Ella asked, sitting up with a pillow clutched to her chest. Margaery gave Ella and wavering smile, almost looking like a wince. The future queen sat down on the bed beside Ella and reached over to grab her hand, the expression on her face was some sort of apologetic which raised alarms in Ella's head.

"What is it?" Ella questioned curiously, she was not one to fear easily. She laughed in the king's face when he suggested wiping her when she expressed her disgust at the wine they had, apparently that insulted the taste of the mother king. Cersei smirked at Ella seeing her son defend her only for the smirk to be wiped off when Ella burst out laughing, smoothly she recovered and mentioned that she was not one for wine anyways but prefered ale in its stead, that satisfied Joffrey but Cersei hated her guts for that.

"The Queen mother has somehow convinced father of something, sissy" Margaery finally spoke, Ella was half relieved that she was not the only one holding the conversation between the two of them. However the other part of her wondered what queen Cersei had up her sleeve.

"What could possibly be so bad that you had to wake me so early?" Ella pushed her duvet off herself as she spoke. She sighed when her feet touched the cold tiles and she moved to the table a couple of feet away in her room. Her eyes squinted as she looked out of the window where the sun was rising, it had been for several minutes before Margaery had entered.

"It involves you" Margaery uttered looking down at her hands in her lap. Ella picked up her chalice, filled it with the disgusting wine they had in King's Landing, and took a huge gulp in preparation for whatever Margaery had to say. She did not fear wiping, no she feared Cersei using her cunning mind to hurt her, she knew she had the power to, it was no secret that Cersei was happy to abuse the power she had.

"What could she possibly have convinced the idiot?" Ella rolled her eyes. She filled her cup again but took a small sip this time. Margaery squirmed almost uncomfortable while the seconds ticked by, she was trying to form the words in her head, wondering how she could break the news to her sister, her unsuspecting sister.

"They plan on giving your hand away" Margaery's words were hurried Ella nearly understood nothing of them. The chalice in Ella's hands cluttered down on the floor in shock and the wine spilled all over the tiled floor. Margaery jumped at the sound of the metal piece hitting the floor.

"What?" Ella cried out in disbelief, she knew her father was dumb however she did not think him dumb enough to make such a decision without at the very least asking for her consent.

"Calm down, please, sissy" Margaery stood up from the bed and walked over to where Ella stood, making sure to not step on the wine and ruin her dress or shoes. One of her arms wrapped around her younger sister in comfort snapping Ella out of her shock.

"When did you find out?" Ella allowed Margaery to detour her towards an ottoman where the two of them sat down. Margaery trapped Ella's hands in between her own, trying to push her comfort through their touching organs.

"Just now, I came immediately after I found out however I could not hear well and do not know who they have in mind" Margaery sighed. She was heartbroken for her younger sister, the fact that they were born merely eleven moons apart led them to be the closest of friends and they rarely left each other's sides as children and adults. Margaery could only hope that the match would be less violent than her own and Ella would end up with a pleasant man.

"Thank you for warning me" Ella took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. "I should have known her silence never meant peace" Ella laughed at how ridiculous she sounded, Cersei and peace were polar opposites and could never meet.

"Should I expect you when we break our fast?" Margaery asked, her hand tightening over her sister's. Ella and Margaery always broke their fast together, whether it was at home at Highgarden, or whether it was family or merely the two of them alone.

"We shall see" Ella smiled at Margaery not wanting to worry her older sister, although neither really acted their age difference, many thought them to be twins.

Ella paused in the middle of her sentence to her sister when suddenly the sound of someone clinking their knife against their glass echoed around the room. Everyone who was invited for supper with the royal family paused, unsurprisingly Cersei wished the entire council and all the royalty that had traveled for Margaery and Joffrey's wedding to attend the supper. So everyone and anyone in court was in attendance and more.

"I would like to begin this supper by thanking you all for making the journey to travel this way whether it was long or short, and we welcome you with open arms and hearts. The king and I are very happy with your presence for his upcoming wedding to Lady Margaery Tyrell" Cersei's voice echoed throughout the room with false happiness, Margaery had told Ella all about what was conspiring between her and Cersei. Ella turned to watch Cersei with her eyes squinted suspicious of the Queen mother.

"I would like to use this opportunity to announce on behalf of Lord Mace-" Cersei turned to look at Ella's father who nodded with a stupid smile on his face which made Ella wince, how in the world did her father last so long she had no idea and she could not wait for her elder brother Willas to take over the Lordship of Highgarden and they be done with their father. "-that on the morrow two weddings shall take place in stead of one, both his daughters shall marry" Cersei's eyes slid over the crowd analyzing their shocked expressions.

Margaery reached over to grasp Ella's hand in shock, the two girls' eyes widened, they had expected a betrothal but not for her to be married the next day alongside her sister. Ella turned to look at her grandmother who was shaking her head in disappointment meaning she had no idea either. There was rarely anything that Olenna Tyrell did not know so this was near a miracle.

"Lady Ella Tyrell shall be wedded to Prince Oberyn Martell on the morrow" Cersei announced pointing at the handsome prince sitting near where Ella was sat with only her grandmother in between. Ella had met the prince before along with his paramour who seemed not to be in presence at the supper.

"What?" Margaery whispered horrified. Her eyes trailed to Joffrey who was grinning evilly. Ella's heart dropped, all her dreams of falling in love and finding a loyal and respectable man were thrown out of the window with one sentence from Cersei's lips. She was being given to a man known for how lustful he was, he took his paramour with him wherever he went, and he was literally residing at a brothel.

Ella swallowed thickly fighting every urge in her body not to drop the smile from her face, indifference hardly maintained on her face. Her hand was holding Margaery's in a death grip and the other one was engulfed in her grandmother's warm hands. Ella turned to smile at her grandmother as the people around them broke into applause and cheers.

Oberyn was way older than Ella was, he had eight children already all from different whores and paramours while she was barely into her tenth and fifth nameday. Ella allowed her eyes to finally trail to Oberyn at her grandmother's other side to find him already looking at her analyzing her, trying to read her. She gulped and nodded at him before turning back to Margaery not seeing his reaction.

Margaery attempted to give Ella a reassuring smile but failed when her eyes trailed to look at Oberyn who was siping his wine with a neutral look on his face

"Excuse me, grandmother, I feel tired and wish to retire for the night" Ella whispered to Olenna. Olenna gave her granddaughter a small smile and patted her arm as Ella pushed back her chair and stood up. Ella breathed deeply to calm her racing heart before plastering a sweet smile. She moved away from the table and weaved her way through several tables accepting congratulations with a polite smile and a squeaky-sounding "thank yous".

Once outside the hall Ella could not help but take a second deep breath. she leaned against the wall trying to regain her composure. The cold stone walls felt like heaven against her heated and sweaty skin, she was shocked no one mentioned how flustered and ill-looking she must have looked.

She had dreams that were thrown out faster than a horse dump would have been. She had dreams of touring all seven kingdoms and meeting as many families and people as possible during her journey. She dreamed of reading as many books as she could, filling a library of her own, and maybe even writing her own book or books but those dreams were just demolished by Cersei Lannister.

"I never expected marrying me would be such a dreadful thought" Ella jumped when a gruff voice spoke a couple of feet away. She turned to find Oberyn standing a couple of feet away from her watching her, studying her and trying to see her reactions, her intentions.

"Your Grace, it is not like that" Ella almost tripped over her skirt while trying to curtsy, her cheeks were turning from embarrassment. The prince of Dorne just caught her sulking over marrying him. Too many things wrong with this one interaction, first and most important was that the Ladies did not sulk.

"I would be honoured to be called our wife" Ella's mask fell back in place once the shock had worn off. Oberyn however looked annoyed but to the horror of Ella, she did not wish to offend him, she did not wish to have a miserable life more than it already was.

"Do not sugar coat the situation, we both know we are not the partners we wished to have" Oberyn walked over to where she was still standing and leaned back against the same wall she was leaning on before he interrupted her panicked thoughts.

"Your Grace?" Ella turned to face, her face showed just a little bit of how truly shocked she was.

"Ella I am way older than you, I am not an idiot to think you wished to marry a man my age" Oberyn crossed his arms, his eyes roaming all over her face much to her shock. She had expected that a man with his reputation would be delighted to marry a young thing like her, she was awaiting to see his eyes roam her body and see her figure and probably make comments like she's heard other men do to their betrothed including Joffrey.

"My Prince-" Oberyn cut her off by raising his hand rendering her silent. The move irritated her beyond measure but before she could voice that Oberyn opened his mouth and what came out of it shocked her.

"Call me Oberyn, only Oberyn"

Ella was baffled, she knew men loved their women either calling them by title or a nickname, they loved to boast, they were small-minded like that.

"Oberyn, I do not mean to offend you-" Ella sighed. Her eyes were fighting not to water, they stung and hurt and she was sure they were turning red as well. Her hands fisted her dress to keep her composure but it seemed her moment of silence to get her thoughts and words straight yet again was interrupted by the prince standing in front of her.

"I do not intend to cage you little rose, your place is not in a cage but a garden" Oberyn raised his hand to touch her cheek, his fingers were gentle but rough to the touch, calloused with decades of training. He may be known as a master of poisons but he was a warrior still and no less than any guard in the palace, Ella knew that, she had seen him train in passing.

"Just know that as my wife you will be free, free of this court and their expectations. I will not expect you at my beck and call for you are no servant. I will not expect you to welcome me into your bed whenever I please for you are no whore. I do not expect you to be bred and bear me children even sons for you are no breeding mare" Tears weld in Ella's eyes as Oberyn spoke. One of those traitorous tears rolled down her cheek but his thumb was already prepared to wipe it off.

"You say that now but then the court will pressure us-" Oberyn raised his other hand and placed his forefinger over her pouting red lips. He wished to kiss them, taste them, just a small taste but he forced control over himself.

"I will not listen to them, I am not some weak-minded Lord. I am a Prince of Dorne and I shall take you there with me after the wedding" Oberyn promised. Ella took a deep breath to control herself before speaking again.

"There are many things we need to speak of but no time, tomorrow I will become your wife whether we like it or not" Ella took his hand in her own and started to rub small circles over his knuckles, she felt like she should comfort him too, after decades he was being forced to settle for her when he had voiced time and time again that he wished not to marry.

"I promise to care for you, little Rose" Oberyn promised, raising their intertwined hands and kissing her knuckles gently. Ella could not help the blush that crept up her neck and on the apple of her cheeks turning them into what they were called, blood red apples. His lips were soft and his moustache scratched her hand but she found herself not minding it. Her mind even wondered if she would get any beard burns from it if she were to let him in her bed and she found herself not minding this match as much as she did earlier.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

The guard till the end

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!OC

Words: 7 543

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, some blood/gore, fighting, swearing, a bit of fluff if you squint

Summary: Talia, an ex-assasin, and Oberyn Martell were sent on a mission together. A mission to the past for the girl.

A/N: This little piece is for the amazing @almostfoxglove and her #almostfoxgloveangstchallenge. This is the first time writing for Oberyn, so I hope it worked out. I am actually proud of this so I hope you all will like it.

The beautiful moodboard is also made by @almostfoxglove <3

The sun-kissed strands of her blonde hair swirled in the seaside breeze, moving in rhythm with the ocean's undulating waves. Her actions seemed to echo the water's rhythm, and in spite of her strenuous efforts, her breath stayed regular. Her gaze was locked onto something unseen, a spectre only apparent to her. Her hands, firmly yet flexibly clutching her weapon, were primed for any sudden change in combat dynamics. Her footfalls were soft yet assured, making her deadly battle routine appear like an elegant ballet to an untrained eye. 

A man observed her from a distance, a tender smile gracing his lips. She was his sword and his shield, a creature of terror to some, a vision of beauty to others. He was privileged to witness these intimate performances whenever he chose to visit her training grounds.

He was a beast in his own right, but his first encounter with her had instilled in him an unprecedented fear. He had been sure, for the first time in his life, that he would meet his end. Her lethal combat skill was as bewitching as it was horrifying, especially when the cold steel of her blade brushed against his throat.

And yet, here he stood, still among the living, watching the same formidable assassin execute her lethal dance. He remembered the change in her gaze when their eyes had first met. His dark orbs contrasted sharply against her gentle blue ones.

He'd asked her numerous times about what had transpired in that single moment when their gazes had locked. She always cleverly dodged the question, promising to unveil the truth when the time was right. However, that moment still hadn't arrived.

"Do you not have more pressing matters to attend to, my Prince?" Her voice softly interrupted his thoughts. Of course, she had sensed his presence. Nothing ever slipped past her. That was why she was the only guard he truly trusted, the only one he regarded as his equal.

"How many times must I request you to address me as Oberyn, my dear?" He watched as she turned to glare at him. She had never been one for sweet nothings. Yet, he derived immense pleasure from pushing her buttons, from eliciting a response.

"And how many times have I informed you that I would honor your request the moment you best me in combat?" His scoff was met with a soft chuckle from her. Talia, sheathing her weapons, approached him. Despite her petite frame, she held herself with an air of dignity, never allowing anyone to belittle her. "My Prince," she added, provoking a growl of mock irritation from him, which only elicited another chuckle. "I'm surprised to find you awake at this early hour. I presumed the men and women of the court would have kept you entertained till the wee hours."

"Are you envious, my rose?" His question was met with a hearty laughter. "I believe you are the only woman in all of Dorne who rejects me."

"I haven't rejected you, my Prince," she retorted, her gaze locked onto the ocean.

"Then honour me with your company tonight. I can make the necessary arrangements." He moved in closer, their faces mere inches apart. 

"I refuse to be another notch on your bedpost, my Prince." Her words made him recoil slightly, his gaze dropping to her lips. His attraction to her was no secret. "I'll consider your proposition when you make a genuine one," she added.

"I'm not the kind who settles down," he whispered, his lips perilously close to hers.

"And I'm not the kind of woman who indulges in frivolous dalliances." She shrugged and took a step back. "Not anymore, at least." His smile in response signified his acceptance of yet another defeat.

***

"You called for me, your Highness," she said, kneeling before the frail Prince. It was unusual for him to request her presence in his office. Their discussions usually took place in the gardens or his private chambers, where he felt most comfortable. As such, today's summons was likely a matter of business rather than personal.

"Stand, and please have a seat." He was a kind ruler, deserving of the utmost respect. After years of spy work and assassin training, she valued a place where power wasn't the only measure of a person. "How is my brother faring?"

"He's living life in his own unique way," she replied. The Prince chuckled, and she joined him with a soft smile. "He mentioned something about travel."

"Naturally," she quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "You two are inseparable, sharing every secret."

"I am his weapon, his shield. His guard, the last line of defence against those who dare to harm him."

"Yet he refers to you as the strongest," she offered a warm smile at that. Oberyn Martell was renowned as one of the mightiest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, yet he considered her his equal.

"He has never truly sparred with me, never unveiled his full power. I doubt I could withstand his spear." Doran nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his wine, and gestured for her to do the same with her cup, always ready for her when she visited.

Her life in Dorne had been full of first experiences. It was the first time she had disobeyed orders, the first time she had turned her back on her master. The first time she had shown her face to someone who didn't own her, and the first time she had tasted liquor. After a sip of Dornish wine, nothing else could compare.

"He entrusts his life to you as much as I do," Doran paused, gazing into the distance with a sigh. "We've discovered a small town violating our agreements." She furrowed her brow but said nothing. "We dispatched men, but none have returned. We suspect it might involve someone you know."

"Scorpion," she murmured, a chill running down her spine. The man who had forged her, imparted all her skills. The man who had sold her to a buyer who sought Oberyn's death.

"I need him gone." She met his eyes, understanding the significance of his decision. Doran Martell favoured peace over violence, resorting to the latter only when necessary. "You know him best. However, I can't send you alone. The kingdoms must know that we handle our own problems personally."

"So, Oberyn will accompany me?" She finally asked, to which he nodded.

"I see the way you look at him." Her head jerked up, but he stopped her before she could protest. The Prince of Dorne was more perceptive than most realised. "Personally, I would be thrilled to call you my sister, but we both know my impulsive younger brother." She looked away, swallowing hard. "I don't need to tell you, but please keep him safe. This might be the most perilous mission I've ever sent him on."

"Certainly, your Highness. I will ensure his safe return, even if it means my own life." That was his biggest concern. He had a sinking feeling that he might lose either his reckless brother or the woman he had come to consider a sister.

***

"I could use some wine." She fought back the urge to roll her eyes at his petulant complaint. They had been journeying for quite some time, both of them garbed in the traditional attire of the desert dwellers. Black robes that concealed everything but their eyes, a necessary shield against the harsh desert climate and a safeguard for their identities. It was safer to merge with the locals than to draw attention as foreign travellers. Besides, Oberyn was too well-known to go unnoticed. "And a comfortable bed with…"

"A willing partner to share it with," she completed his sentence, smirking as he arched an eyebrow at her. "You forget, my dear Prince, that I know you better than anyone else out there. Maybe even better than you know yourself." He laughed at that, unable to deny it. It was true. She had seen him in the most compromising, unflattering, and downright ridiculous situations. She had listened to his drunken babbling more times than she could count. If anyone on this planet knew him thoroughly, it was her.

However, the same couldn't be said about her. He knew only the basics. He was aware of her past - to some degree. He knew of her fighting style, her weapon preference, and the fact that she had never touched alcohol before coming to Dorne. He also knew of her strangely reverent faith in his older brother, as if he were some deity. He knew her waking and sleeping times - unless she was occupied taking care of him. He knew all this, but still felt like he knew nothing about her.

No, that wasn't accurate. He knew that her touch was the gentlest he'd ever experienced. Despite having claimed more lives than any of them could count, her touch when she cared for him was softer than the most exquisite silk in the palace. He had always thought her touch was as tender as a calming breeze that incessantly pacified his tumultuous inner storm. She was the only one who could quiet his restless spirit with nothing more than a caring touch and a gaze as soft as the morning dew, acting like a lullaby sending his fatigued soul to sleep. The concern in her starry eyes always dissolved his fears, giving any doubts he had a new perspective. Giving his life a new purpose.

But that wasn't sufficient for him. He selfishly wanted more. He wanted to know her dreams, her likes, and dislikes. It was truly pathetic. He was Oberyn Martell, for goodness' sake. He was a man whose heart roamed from one bed to another, seeking delight in temporary affairs, never really looking, never longing for any kind of consistency. Until she arrived.

Talia wasn't one for short-lived pleasures, she was a constant, the only constant in his desire-ridden life. She was a puzzle, a beautiful mystery shrouded in the brilliance of her devotion. A devotion he imposed on her. She guarded her heart just like her emotions, deeply within the armour of her resolve. She was like a fortress that was impregnable and firm, something so alien to the Prince of Dorne. He found himself attracted to her mystery. He wanted to understand. No. He ached to understand her, to decipher this puzzle, this mystery that she was. But she never let him. She kept him at a distance, her fortress standing tall and her armour still unyielding.

"I can see the town," he was jolted out of his daydream and looked up to see the first signs of the small town that bore the scars of its bloody past. It wasn't easy to reach. It was hidden from the world by a daunting, ominous desert that seemed to choke the last bit of fresh air that was still left untouched. The buildings were made of hard, cheap stone, grey and decrepit, arranged in gloomy, narrow streets. The windows were dark and vacant, much like the hollow eyes of the dead. 

This wasn't a place where people came to start anew, to find new hope. It was a place where hope came to die, dragging the unfortunate with it. Every corner echoed with the whispers of the dead and the murdered, and those unfortunate souls who were forgotten even by death itself. The people moved about like ghosts, their faces pale and haggard, their eyes lifeless and dull, filled with their own pain and despair. There was no laughter here, even the children seemed mournful, deprived of a life they never had the chance to live. The days rolled on, and the customary laughter in their lives was replaced by the bitter tears of those who became orphans.

"You grew up here?" He asked quietly, unable to tear his gaze away from the pitiful sight of the people and orphaned children who looked like they hadn't had a proper meal in their lives. He didn't even want to imagine her living like that, enduring that kind of life.

"It wasn't always like this," Talia answered, scanning the streets for someone desperate enough to offer them assistance. "Before Scorpion arrived, Villion was like any other town." She bit her lip as the townspeople started to take notice of them. Not what they wanted. They needed to blend in. Ditch the horses, discard their travelling attire. Become one with the locals here. "Let's go, we need to blend in." Oberyn nodded and followed her, his eyes still glued to the streets.

***

The "Crooked Paw" was tucked away in a secluded alleyway, its dilapidated structure jarring against the town's overall sombre ambience. It looked more like a ruin than a refuge. The thatched roof was a mishmash of patches, with prominent holes that would offer no protection against the elements. 

Windows, if they could be called that, were broken, their sharp edges coated with layers of grime and dust accumulated over the years. A massive, neglected oak door served as the entrance to the inn, its creaking, rusted hinges discouraging anyone who dared to enter. The entire building seemed to stand as a stark warning about the dangers that lurked within the town. 

The innkeeper, a bent old man with a missing eye and a malicious glint in the other one, sat at the bar, observing his patrons with a predatory look. As his gaze landed on the newcomers, his face contorted into a grotesque grin that silenced the room. 

"Who do we have here?" He paused, looking at Talia. She hoped she still had some allies in this forsaken town. "Some travellers who've lost their way, I reckon, if they've stumbled upon my humble Inn." She sighed with relief and smirked at the man, signalling to Oberyn that they should approach the bar. 

"I need a place to stay," she said, rolling her eyes at the innkeeper's raised eyebrow. "I'll pay." 

"You've got quite a bill to settle, girl," he muttered, his eyes darting to Oberyn, whose face was concealed by his desert mask. "I have a room with a bigger bed. But there's only one." 

"We'll take it," The Prince interjected before she could respond. "The smaller the bed, the better." 

"Do you know this bugger, or do you want me to handle him?" She chuckled and shook her head. 

"I'll pay the bill and give you twice as much for a room where we won't be disturbed." The innkeeper nodded, understanding her meaning. 

"He'll kill you when he finds out you're here," he growled, handing her the keys to the room. 

"Not before I find him," she murmured, pulling Oberyn by the sleeve and guiding him to the room she knew all too well.

***

"Quite the friendly bloke," Oberyn muttered, finally able to shed his stifling clothes. The traverse through the desert had been both tiring and filthy. "And this place is quite delightful. Where exactly are we?" 

"My home," she replied, halting in her actions to turn and regard him. "Before Scorpion took me under his wing and trained me, I was brought up here." She sighed, clearly reluctant about divulging this information. "I can't recollect how I ended up here. I was too small to remember. But Hilt was the only person I could think of as family. He was home, and this room was a haven for me. Even when I joined Scorpion." 

"So, that's where you get that sulky demeanour from," he said, his grin broadening at her reaction. 

"I am not sulky!" 

"Of course, you're not." He laughed and ambled towards the window. "So, what's our move?"

"We can't delay. He will know we're here. He will know I am here." Her brow furrowed, unease welling up inside her. She had hoped she would never have to return here. The town stirred a flood of memories, each corner of each street holding a fragment of her past. Each memory was more powerful and painful than the last. 

Her heart twisted as memories played in her mind. She could almost hear the echoing shouts of her trainer, feel the lash of the whip on her skin, see the harsh disappointment in his eyes each time she didn't meet his expectations. Those days had instilled nothing but insecurity in her, the terrible sensation of never being enough wrapping a vice-like grip around her young, solitary heart. 

That constant nagging in her head made her feel unvalued until when she completed her first successful mission. The hours of gruelling work and painful training faded into insignificance as she stepped into the role she was created for. She felt invincible. She felt like nothing could defeat her again. She learned to handle her emotions by suppressing them. She didn't need them. Her life became void of meaning, her eyes devoid of life, because it was easier that way. It was easier not to feel anything since it was easier to die that way. It was easier not to form attachments, easier not to lead a life worth living. 

However, that all came crumbling down when she met him. It was a mission like any other - a name, a face, a life to be snuffed out. But this time, it all felt different. She was prepared to slit his throat, ready to extinguish another life, until she looked into his eyes. They were so full of life, brimming with joy and passion, something she had never seen before in her hometown. It stirred something within her, a feeling she couldn't quite understand.

She had him at her mercy, and could have ended his life with a single stroke. But she hesitated, for the first time in her life. Her hand quivered on the hilt of her dagger. His eyes never left hers. They were so pure and full of life that they pierced through her heart, a heart she believed she no longer possessed. 

When he asked her to come with him, to stay in Dorne instead of killing her, she was astonished. The only reason she had a chance against him was because she had observed him for a long time and learned his every pattern. She had been diligent and it had always paid off. She did not expect him to ask her to become his bodyguard. A man like him didn’t need a guard. He was the Viper. She was an assassin, a spectre of death. But as she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but trust and respect, she found herself accepting his offer. She found herself wanting to protect him, to keep him safe.

For the first time in her wretched life, she felt something powerful, something she had never felt before. Happiness, a profound happiness of being needed. Of being desired. It made her feel lighter than she had ever felt and yet it terrified her because he was tearing down all of her fortified walls, the walls she had learned to build. 

She looked up, recoiling when she felt his hand on her shoulder. Her name sounded so soft coming from his lips. The concern in his eyes twisted her stomach in self-reproach. She was supposed to be strong for him. She was supposed to be his pillar and not the other way around. 

"Forgive me, my Prince," she said, stepping back and letting his hand drop from her shoulder. "We rest today, and act tomorrow."

"You're behaving oddly," he said, his voice filled with concern. He rarely spoke to her like that, rarely showed such seriousness. "Are you sure you…"

"Do you question my abilities, your Highness?" His eyes hardened at the formal title she used, which she knew he detested. "I am more than capable of carrying out the mission your brother entrusted me with." She held his gaze steadily. "Pardon me for not behaving like an entitled child when I am fully aware of the perils that await us." She had never been so direct with him before. She had corrected him when he acted spoiled, but she had never been so forthright. After all, he was a Prince of Dorne, one of the most feared men not just on the continent but across the globe.

Oberyn's facial expression mirrored his current state of mind - a blend of irritation and worry. His eyes, usually lively and playful, were now clouded with annoyance. The twinkle that typically danced in his eyes was replaced with a glint of unease, a clear sign of his displeasure. His eyebrows knitted together in a tight frown. The crease on his forehead deepened, symbolising his concern. His eyes, often warm and inviting, were now cold and distant, indicating his preoccupied thoughts.

His lips, quick to form a grin or a smirk, were now pressed firmly together. His jaw was clenched, the muscles taut. It seemed as though he was grinding his teeth together, forcing himself to remain silent, to keep his composure.

"Talk to me," she said, surprised by his unusual calmness. Despite his apparent frustration, there was a gentleness in his demeanour, a compassion that was hard to overlook. The way he looked at her made her realise the depth of his feelings. He was willing to move mountains if it meant easing her pain and the turmoil she was experiencing. It was this kindness, this readiness to assist, that gave her a glimmer of hope. It reassured her that she wasn't alone in her battles, that she had someone who was prepared to stand by her side. He held that power over her, a power that frightened her.

"He is ruthless," she began, tearing her eyes away from his as she tried to choose her words carefully. Attempting to alleviate his concerns for her, to demonstrate her resilience, despite the haunting memories and the looming future. "He doesn’t allow anyone to escape. He always finds them and ensures they pay, and I am no exception." As she met Oberyn's gaze again, her eyes were a maelstrom of emotions. Her eyes, usually so full of resolve, were now a stormy sea of fear and defiance. They held a chilling portrayal of her ordeal, a silent plea for understanding seeping through her gaze. Yet, despite everything, a spark of defiance still burned brightly in her eyes. It spoke of her determination to fight back, her refusal to let anything happen to him. And it was this spark, this indomitable spirit, that only increased Oberyn's respect for her.

"You’re not an easy target, darling," he smirked, his expression turning serious when she shook her head.

"For him, it would be too easy," she held his gaze, unwavering. "It’s not his style. Torture is his delight, but more than physical pain, he revels in mental torment. He... " Her voice wavered slightly, but she never looked away. "He finds the one thing, the one person you love the most, and destroys them before your eyes."

"Well, thankfully you don’t have anyone you love, so no worries, sweetheart." He chuckled, but his eyes widened when she didn't break her gaze. It was as if she was challenging him, daring him to look away, daring him to understand what she was implying and to flee.

She shook her head and retreated a step, when he whispered her name. So gently, so affectionately that she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. She had lost again, this time in this emotional game.

"It doesn’t matter," she finally said, not allowing him to say anything else. "Tomorrow, we need to strike first. I will operate from the shadows, and I need you to gather information. Try not to draw too much attention. It wouldn't be wise to have all of Scorpion’s men on our..." But she didn't get a chance to finish, as he closed the gap between them in one swift stride. His hand reached out, gently cradling her cheek and tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His touch was warm and gentle, in stark contrast to his usual intensity.

"My Prince?" she started, her voice barely a whisper. But he silenced her, pressing his finger to her lips.

"Do you ever stop talking?" He smiled softly, before continuing. "I need you to grasp one very crucial fact." He murmured, his gaze still locked with hers. She had never seen him like this. His eyes were a pool of emotions - fear, determination, hope - all intertwined. The intensity of his gaze was almost overpowering, yet she couldn't turn away.

And then he leaned in, his breath wafting over her lips, just a moment before his own brushed against hers. It was a surprisingly gentle kiss, hesitant and tender at first, but it quickly gained intensity as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her dangerously close to him. His lips moved against hers with a passion that left her breathless, his kiss a clear testament to his feelings.

When they finally parted for air, she was panting slightly, her eyes wide with surprise and something else - something that mirrored the intensity in Oberyn's gaze. He looked at her, his gaze softening as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"I care for you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words lingered in the air, their weight undeniable. As he looked at her, his gaze unwavering, she knew he meant every word. And before she could say anything else, she was kissing him back, slowly moving towards the bed behind them.

***

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from a nearby candle casting long shadows against the stone walls. Oberyn found himself a world away from their troubles.

Lying on his back, Oberyn's gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his thoughts in turmoil. His chest rose and fell with each controlled breath, the rhythm a calming melody in the quiet room. The flickering flame reflected in his dark eyes, dancing in the depths of his gaze.

Beside him lay Talia, her head resting comfortably on his chest. Her body nestled against his side, drawing comfort from his warmth. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along his bare chest, a silent communication of her gratitude and love.

Turning his head to look at her, Oberyn's hand moved to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek before tucking the strand behind her ear. His touch was gentle, conveying a tenderness that words couldn't express.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. The concern was evident in his tone, his gaze never leaving her face.

She nodded, her eyes meeting his. The resilience in her gaze was inspiring, a testament to her strength. "I am," she replied, her voice soft yet firm.

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts. The flickering candle, the rhythmic sound of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies against each other - everything seemed to blend together, creating a cocoon of tranquility around them. In that moment, they were just two people – two souls seeking comfort in each other's presence.

***

In the hushed stillness of the room, the only light came from a thin slice of moonlight filtering through the heavy drapes. Oberyn lay asleep, his breaths slow and even in the tranquility of slumber.

She knew she had to depart. There was a past she needed to face, a journey she had to undertake alone. The thought of endangering Oberyn was unthinkable. She couldn't bear to see him ensnared in the web of her past.

With careful movements, she eased out of the bed, ensuring not to disturb him. She dressed in the dim light, her fingers deftly manoeuvring the familiar straps and buckles of her leather gear. Her weapons found their usual spots at her side. Pausing for a moment, she cast a final look at Oberyn. His peaceful face tugged at her heartstrings.

He looked so serene in sleep, his features softened, devoid of the usual intensity. She longed to crawl back into the warmth of the bed, to lose herself in the comfort of his arms. But she knew she couldn't. Not when so much was at stake.

Tears threatened to blur her vision, but she wiped them away, bracing herself for the inevitable. She leaned over him, whispering a faint "I'm sorry, Oberyn. I can't let you get hurt because of me."

The weight of her choices hit her then, leaving her feeling surprisingly hollow. She wanted to confess her feelings to him. She wanted to let him know how much he meant to her. But she didn't. Love was a luxury she couldn't afford. It was a weakness she couldn't risk. So she lay with Oberyn until he drifted off, treasuring the feel of his touch.

"I love you, my dearest Prince," she confessed in a whisper.

With those words, she turned towards the door, her footsteps barely making a sound. As she stepped out into the frosty night, a pang of regret washed over her. But she knew she had made the right decision, for both her and Oberyn.

And so, she melted into the darkness, leaving behind the warmth of Oberyn's bed and a possible future they might not have a chance to explore. She had a mission to complete, a past to confront. But as she walked away, she held onto the hope that one day, she could return to the man who taught her the true meaning of love.

***

The morning sun seeped through the weather-beaten shutters, casting a warm glow across the room. Oberyn Martell, stirred from his sleep, his mind still foggy from the night before. His eyes fluttered open, the room coming into focus. His gaze fell on the empty space next to him, the bed cold and untouched. His brows furrowed in confusion, a sense of unease settling into his chest.

Her scent still lingered in the room, a sweet and intoxicating mix of wildflowers and the sea. The night before flashed before his eyes, a whirl of passion and laughter, secrets whispered in hushed tones and shared smiles. But the tranquillity of the memory was quickly shattered by the harsh reality of her absence.

His heart pounded in his chest as he saw the note perched on the bedside table. It was hastily written, the ink smeared in places. He scanned the words, her familiar handwriting causing a lump to form in his throat.

"I'm sorry. I had to. Don’t follow me."

His heart sank. He knew what she had gone to do. The man they were sent to kill, the man who had trained her, twisted her into a weapon. He was dangerous, a viper in the grass, not unlike Oberyn himself. But she had gone alone.

His fists clenched, the paper crumpling under his grip. Anger flared inside him, hot and unyielding. She was stubborn, reckless, and brave. Too brave. He admired her spirit, her strength. But this... this was folly.

"How could you?" He thought, frustration seething in his veins. “You can’t just touch my soul and leave!” His mind raced, formulating a plan, a way to find her before it was too late. 

But what then?

Would she welcome him with open arms? Or would she see it as a betrayal, an invasion of her trust? He didn't know. He didn't care. All he knew was that he couldn't let her face the man alone.

In a flurry of motion, Oberyn was on his feet, hastily dressing in his usual attire of black and gold, forgotten the desert clothing from the day before. His heart pounded in his chest, the anger giving way to fear, fear for her safety. But he pushed it down, steeling himself for the task ahead.

He had a girl to find, a man to kill, and a promise to keep.

***

"The prodigal daughter returns," he sneered, stepping into the faint moonlight to reveal a face marred by battles - the Scorpion.

He was a formidable figure, an entity that inspired fear and commanded the shadows of the underworld. As venomous as his namesake, he was a sinister whisper in the dark corners of the Seven Kingdoms.

His face was a testament to battles fought and won, etched with scars that indicated a life steeped in violence. One prominent scar, a vicious slash, ran diagonally across his face, distorting his features into a grotesque mask that instilled fear in the bravest hearts - including hers, even after all these years. His eyes, however, were his most terrifying feature. They were cold, cruel, and devoid of any humanity, reflecting the icy void where his soul should have been.

His physical strength was prodigious, honed by years of relentless training and ruthless combat. Every muscle in his body was a testament to his lethal prowess. He moved with the grace of a predator, his every motion a dance of death.

As an assassin, his skills were honed to perfection over the years. He was a master of the shadows, able to vanish and reappear at will. His fists were extensions of his arms, lethal and swift, pushing down his enemies with terrifying efficiency.

But his most dangerous weapon was his mind, as sharp and deadly as his blades. He was a strategist, a manipulator, a puppeteer who orchestrated events from the shadows. His cunning was as legendary as his ruthlessness, a combination that made him one of the most feared men in all of Westeros.

This was the man who had trained her, who had moulded her into the deadly weapon she was today. The Scorpion was a harsh mentor, pushing her to her limits, honing her skills until she became a mirror of his deadly efficiency. But she was more than just his protege - she was his greatest masterpiece, his most lethal creation. And now, she was his greatest threat.

“I doubt you came back because you missed me.” he mocked, revealing his yellowed teeth. His eyes roved over her form dangerously. 

“Reneging on deals with the Prince of Dorne isn’t your smartest move, Scorpion.” His grin widened, and he broke into a loud, sinister laugh that echoed around the training ground where he had once trained her. She knew he had been expecting her here. He had eyes and ears everywhere.

“Oh, of course, you work for him now.” Something in his gaze darkened. The air around him grew thick with tension. “Like a whore changing patrons. What did he give you that I didn’t?” His towering figure cast a menacing silhouette against the backdrop of the training ground, pulsating with raw anger. The air, heavy with the scent of sweat and steel, vibrated with tension, each passing second ticking by like a countdown to an inevitable clash. His icy blue eyes, typically cold and calculating, now blazed with chilling fury – a deadly storm brewing within his ruthless soul.

His protegee stood defiantly before him, her gaze unwavering. She had been his finest creation, moulded into a weapon of lethal beauty under his watchful eye. But now, she was a traitor, having left him for the Prince of Dorne and Oberyn. The bitterness of her betrayal was like a festering wound, gnawing at his insides, fueling his wrath.

“Respect. He doesn’t see me as just a weapon he can use.” She retorted, her hands slowly reaching back, searching for her knives. She knew he would attack any minute now. It was only a matter of time before his temper flared, as it always did.

“I didn’t raise a fool,” he sneered, irritation lacing his voice. “Pathetic, that you believe in that. I can take you back, you know,” a dangerous glint shone in his eyes. “Of course, I would have to punish you first, but it would be nothing you haven’t endured before.”

“I’d rather die!”

“That can be arranged!” His low growl echoed around them as he lunged at her, his movements a seamless blend of raw power and deadly precision. His fists, hardened by countless battles, were like iron battering rams, each strike aimed to incapacitate, to punish. His wrath was a tangible force, an unstoppable storm of violence and fury.

Yet, she stood her ground, her lithe figure dancing around his brutal onslaught. She was a wisp of a girl, nimble and swift, her movements a mesmerising spectacle of agility and grace. Her strikes were sharp, precise, aimed to hurt, not to kill. She was his creation, after all, shaped by his hand, and she would not be easily defeated.

Their battle was an electrifying exhibition of strength and skill, a deadly dance of fury and betrayal. The Scorpion, a hulking beast of raw strength and ruthless determination, clashed against a swift and agile force of defiance and resilience of hisprotégée.

With a swift, unexpected move, he swept her off her feet, sending her crashing to the floor with a bone-jarring thud. He towered over her, his icy eyes devoid of any mercy, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants. His scarred face was a mask of rage, the vicious slash across his cheek seeming even more grotesque in his fury.

Yet, even as she lay there, pinned under his merciless gaze, her spirit remained unbroken. Her eyes, defiant and proud, met his without flinching. He could see the resolve in her gaze, the determination that he himself had instilled in her. It was a testament to his training, a silent acknowledgment of his mastery.

But even as a hint of pride flickered in the depths of his icy eyes, the Scorpion’s fury remained unabated. He was a beast of wrath, a creature of retribution, and he would not be denied his vengeance. His roar echoed through the chamber, a chilling promise of the fury that was yet to come.

The Scorpion towered over the fallen girl, his colossal frame casting an ominous shadow over her. His breath, a harsh, ragged symphony of fury and betrayal, filled the air around them. His fists, hardened by countless battles, clenched and unclenched in anticipation, eager to deliver the crushing blow. His icy eyes, a chilling mirror of his ruthless soul, bore into her with a merciless intensity.

The room hummed with the anticipation of the kill, the tension so palpable that it was almost a physical entity. Talia sprawled on the cold, hard floor, defiant in the face of imminent death, met his gaze without flinching. Her eyes, a resolute blaze of defiance, mirrored his fury with her own determination. 

As the Scorpion drew back his fist, ready to end her life, a sudden whirlwind of movement caught his attention. Through the dim light, a figure moved with the grace and speed of a viper, intercepting his deadly blow.

Oberyn, the Prince of Dorne, stood between the Scorpion and his own private guard, his dark eyes blazing with fury and concern. His slim, agile form was a stark contrast to the Scorpion’s hulking figure. He brandished a slender spear, its tip gleaming menacingly in the low light.

His anger was palpable, not merely at the Scorpion, but also at the girl for leaving him and wandering into danger. Yet, his love for her was evident in his protective stance, in the way his eyes never left her even as he faced the Scorpion.

The Scorpion roared in fury, his wrath a palpable force in the room. However, Oberyn remained unflinching, his gaze steady, his stance ready for combat. With his love still alive behind him, he lunged forward, spear leading, his movements a blur of lethal precision.

Their battle was a breathtaking spectacle, a deadly dance of strength, speed, and skill. The Scorpion’s overwhelming raw power clashed with Oberyn’s swift agility, their weapons clashing and sparking under the strain. The room echoed with the sound of steel against steel, the harsh gasps of exertion, the grunts of pain.

Meanwhile, the woman, undeterred by her fall, rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving the brutal spectacle unfolding before her. She was battered, bruised, but not defeated. She was a warrior, trained by the best, and she would not stand idle.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, she joined the fray, her movements a seamless blend of strength and grace. Together, they fought the Scorpion, their combined strength and skill a formidable force against his raw power. The training chamber, once a place of instruction and discipline, was now a battleground, echoing with the sounds of a furious struggle for survival.

She was a force to be reckoned with. Her every movement was a perfect blend of strength and grace, her strikes sharp and precise, her evasions a dance of agility and speed. Her eyes, alight with courage and determination, were fixed on the Scorpion, her spirit unbroken by the intense battle.

Their dance was a symphony of chaos, a ballet of death and survival. With Oberyn they moved as one, their actions a harmonious blend of speed and strength, their strikes and parries in perfect sync. Their eyes met in fleeting moments, silent exchanges of assurance and love amidst the brutal battle.

The Scorpion roared, a guttural bellow that echoed through the chamber, shaking the very walls with its intensity. The Scorpion, a monstrous beast of a man, lunged at Oberyn, his eyes gleaming with a lethal intent. Oberyn was ready, his spear poised to strike. But before he could move, the girl stepped in between, her weapon raised in defence. The Scorpion's fist descended upon her, a brutal blow that sent her crashing to the ground.

Oberyn roared, his heart clenching at the sight of his beloved falling. But she was not defeated. With a grunt of pain, she rose to her feet, her face a mask of determination. Her body was wracked with pain, her blood staining the cold stone floor. But her spirit was unbroken.

"Talia..." Oberyn's voice was a whisper, a plea. But she silenced him with a look. Her eyes blazed with resolve, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Finish this," she mouthed, her voice barely a whisper.

With a roar of fury, Oberyn lunged at the Scorpion. His spear was a blur of steel, each strike aimed with deadly precision. But the Scorpion was a formidable opponent, his movements a brutal dance of raw power.

Talia, despite her injuries, moved with a relentless resolve. She staggered towards the Scorpion, her weapon a gleaming promise of retribution. With a primal scream, she lunged, her weapon sinking into the Scorpion's back. The beast of a man roared, his body convulsing in pain.

The distraction was what Oberyn needed. With a swift, lethal move, he thrust his spear into the Scorpion's heart. The Scorpion staggered, his icy gaze meeting Oberyn's. A moment of surprise, a moment of realisation, and then he crumbled to the ground, defeated.

Silence fell upon the chamber, the brutal symphony of their struggle replaced by the harsh panting of the victors. Oberyn rushed to Talia, his hands cradling her face. Her eyes were dimmed with pain, but her spirit was as fierce as ever.

"We did it," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. She managed a weak smile, her hand reaching up to touch Oberyn's face. "We did it, Oberyn."

Oberyn nodded, smiling even as tears filled his eyes. "You finally called me by my name, you stubborn woman.”

“I did make a promise," she responded. He chuckled at that, his hand moving to stem the blood seeping from her stomach, the aftermath of Scorpion’s punch. “It was your eyes," she said, her voice quiet, just above a whisper. Her hand gently caressed his cheek. “I have never seen such beautiful eyes. Eyes that radiate the joy of life. Eyes so soft and gentle. How could I kill someone who loves life so much?” She pulled him closer and kissed him tenderly. “You defeated me completely, my love. I never thought I would be able to fall in love with someone. I never thought I had it in me, to care for someone as deeply as I care for you.”

“You really don’t know when to stop talking, do you?” She chuckled at that, wincing at the pain in her abdomen. “I have never and will never love anyone as much as I love you. If I defeated you, what does that make you? I’m ready to settle down, but only if it's with you.” Tears slipped down his cheeks, but a smile still played on his lips. “You turned the biggest bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms into a sentimental fool, my love.” 

“Will you take me home?” Her question brought a wry smile from him. “Will you still love me when we’re back?”

“Always my love.” 

As Talia's eyes fluttered shut, her breath slowing, Oberyn held her close, his tears a silent testament to their victory. They had triumphed, but the cost was heavy. Their love had been their strength, their bond unbroken by the storm of battle. But it was also their greatest vulnerability.

He stood, her body cradled in his arms, ready to return home. Back to Dorne. Together, no matter what.

[oneiric-misfit]

Serie Masterlist / Masterlist

Résumé : "Et quand il posa son regard sur elle, il sut. Inévitablement, indéniablement, il sut. Comme il savait que le soleil se levait chaque matin, comme il savait que la lune brillait chaque et que le printemps succédait à l'hiver. Il sut, qu'il mourrait pour elle. Et quand elle le regarda, elle sut. Indubitablement, incontestablement. Jusqu'à ce que le soleil ne se lève plus sur leur monde, jusqu'à ce que les étoiles se meurent et que l'hiver soit éternel. Elle sut, qu'elle vivrait pour lui."

Mots : 3,5k

TW : Violence, angoisses, chasse.

Tags : Soulmate, enemy to lovers, second chance, smut.

Rating : Explicit / 18+

Partie 3

Inan sella sa monture, il passa une main sur la robe isabelle de la jument, tapotant son encolure. Elle avait eu beaucoup de mal à s’habituer à la chaleur, il sentait qu’elle commençait à peine à s’y adapter. Les écuyers l’avaient prévenu qu’il serait plus intéressant pour lui d’acquérir un cheval directement à Dorne, plutôt que de se borner à vouloir faire venir sa propre monture. Il se rendait compte à présent, quand il voyait les difficultés d’adaptation qu’avait eu l’animal, à quel point il avait été égoïste. Il était parvenu à se convaincre qu’il avait fait cela pour elle, pour ne pas la laisser seule, mais à présent il ne se voilait plus la face, il savait très bien qu’il l’avait fait pour lui. Cette jument était le seul être vivant à avec lequel il avait créé un lien depuis des années, et il ne s’était pas senti près à la laisser à port réal. Elle se serait sans doute épanouie de la même manière sans lui, il n’était pas dupe. Sa poitrine se serra, comment pouvait-il prétendre avoir de l’affection pour elle, quand il la contraignait à être à un endroit où elle ne désirait pas être dans le seul but d’être près de lui ? La jument cogna doucement sa tête contre son épaule, lui demandant une caresse. Il commença à gratter le front de l’animal quand il entendit Oberyn s'approcher. Sans un mot, Inan glissa son pied dans l'étrier et se hissa sur la selle. Ignorant les salutations du prince, il resta immobile jusqu'à ce que ce dernier ai fait de même. Il poussa sa jument à la suite de son étalon, se dirigeant vers la sortie du palais. 

Il croisa le regard colérique de Ser Gulian, à qui il fit un clin d’œil provocateur. Il ne le supportait pas. Il faisait partie de la garde rapprochée du prince Oberyn, les deux semblaient proches. Inan n’avait que faire de ce que le prince faisait pendant ses temps libres et ses nuits, mais il ne supportait pas l’attitude de Gulian envers lui. Il n’avait pas demandé à devenir la nouvelle obsession du prince, si Gulian n’était pas capable de faire la part des choses c’était son problème, mais qu’il lui lâche le plastron. Il était de très mauvaise humeur ce matin, l’invitation d’Oberyn à aller chasser y était pour beaucoup, mais le regard de Gulian avait achevé la probabilité qu’il puisse recouvrer une humeur joyeuse. 

- Tu es bien silencieux aujourd’hui. 

Les mot d’Oberyn le sortirent de ses pensées et Inan poussa un soupir agacé, lui répondant du ton le plus plat qu’il pouvait utiliser. 

- Je ne me rappelle pas avoir déjà fait preuve de lalomanie en votre présence. 

- Effectivement, je ne te caractériserais pas de bavard, mais tu n’as pas émis un son depuis notre départ. 

- Je préfère rester sur mes gardes. 

- Ser Inan serait-il paranoïaque ? Je te répète que je souhaitais tester tes qualités de chasseur.  

Inan fit ralentir sa monture pour ne plus être dans le champ de vision du prince. Sa motivation à se trouver en la présence d’Oberyn était proche de zéro. Son rôle à Dorne devait être de protéger la princesse, et depuis des semaines, il faisait tout, sauf protéger Myrcella. Il était bien entendu de plus en plus évident que la princesse n’avait pas besoin de protection au sein du palais, les Martell étaient de confiance, même s’ils avaient la famille Lannister en horreur, il était persuadé qu’ils ne s’en prendraient jamais à une enfant. Certes, il n'était pas utile pour lui d’être constamment présent auprès de Myrcella, mais il ne trouvait aucune utilité à être en présence d’Oberyn, à chasser de toutes les activités qu’ils auraient pu faire. Il posa pied et attacha sa jument à côté de la monture du prince. Oberyn le devança et s’enfonça dans une forêt de chêne vert et de caroubier, les semelles d’Inan firent crisser la terre rocailleuse. Il finit par s’avancer au même niveau qu’Oberyn, et fut ravie de constater que la discrétion que requière la chasse plongeait le prince dans un mutisme plus qu’appréciable. Son regard dériva malgré lui de l’air soucieux d’Oberyn jusqu’à ses lèvres qu’il détailla rapidement, avant de le laisser glisser sur l’ensemble de son visage. Était-il envisageable qu’il le trouve encore plus séduisant que lors de leur première rencontre ? Il n’aurait jamais pensé cela possible, à l’époque il l’avait déjà trouvé parfait, sous son air arrogant et ses mots tranchant. 

- Tu sais que je vois, quand tu me dévisages ? 

Inan s’arrêta de marcher un instant, puis rattrapa les quelques pas qui le séparaient du prince. Il resta silencieux, ne préférant pas répondre, ses mâchoires s’étaient contractées sans même qu’il ne s’en aperçoive. Le phrase que le prince venait de prononcer raisonna encore un instant dans son esprit, scellant la douleur déjà présente dans sa poitrine. Il mordit l’intérieur de sa joue. 

Oberyn lui fit bientôt signe de s'accroupir. Un koudou était en train de paître paresseusement non loin d’eux. Une femelle. Oberyn arma sa lance et la projeta vers l'animal. Elle s’enfonça proprement en pleine poitrine et la bête s’effondra sans un bruit. Inan le suivit en silence et le regarda ôter la lame de la chair de l’animal. Tandis qu’Oberyn nettoyait la lame de sa lance, Inan glissa ses doigts contre l’encolure du koudou. Il détestait la chasse, il n’y avait jamais rien vu de noble. Il ne comprenait pas l’intérêt de d’acculer une bête innocente, de l’effrayer, la blesser pour qu’un seigneur puisse se targuer de l’avoir abattu. Il sentit l’épaule d’Oberyn frôler la sienne. Il s’était accroupi à son tour, posant sa paume sur la tête de l’animal. Il l’observa tandis qu’il glissait également sa main sur l’encolure du koudou, murmurant des remerciements à l’animal. Il sentit la main d’Oberyn frôler, puis se poser sur la sienne. Ils se redressèrent en même temps.Vous ne lui avez laissé aucune chance. 

Les mots d’Inan franchirent ses lèvres avec douceur, son regard s’attardant sur les yeux d’onyx d’Oberyn.

-Peut-être aurait-elle dû se montrer plus prudent ? Je ne suis pas du genre à hésiter. 

Oberyn s’approcha un peu plus d’Inan, il sentait presque la chaleur de son corps, son parfum d’oud et de myrrhe.  

-Plutôt du genre à tuer une bête innocente. 

Il sentit le prince faire mine de glisser ses doigts dans son dos, s’approchant encore un peu plus de lui.

-Seulement si cela est une nécessité. 

Inan perdit un instant son regard dans celui d’Oberyn, dans cette lueur malicieuse qui n’avait de cesse de faire vibrer son cœur.  

-Quelle nécessité y avait-il aujourd’hui ? 

Il ne lui répondit pas, se contentant de s’approcher un peu plus de lui. Pourquoi est-ce qu’il ne bougeait pas ? Pourquoi est-ce qu’il le laisser s’approcher encore ? Il n’était pas certain de vouloir obtenir une réponse à cette question. Et tandis qu’il perdait son regard dans le sien, Inan entendit un bruit discret dans les fourrés, se situant derrière le prince, il vit quelque chose se mouvoir près du sol. 

- Oberyn ! 

Inan le poussa fortement sur le côté tous en sortant son épée de son fourreau et plaça la paume de sa main en appuie entre son sternum et le pommeau, son autre main agrippant fermement la garde. Le lion était déjà sur lui et il le laissa s'empaler lourdement sur l'arme. Il le poussa sur le côté, se dégageant. Il se redressa brusquement et attrapa Oberyn par les épaules, l'air paniqué. 

- Est ce que vous allez bien ? Vous n'êtes pas blessé ? 

Oberyn se mit à sourire et glissa sa main contre le bras d’Inan, il l'attira fortement à lui en tirant sur son plastron, son visage proche du sien, son regard malicieux posé sur ses lèvres, un sourire narquois déformant les siennes. 

- Tu viens de te jeter sous un lion et tu me demandes si je vais bien ? 

Inan s'écarta brusquement, faisait un pas en arrière, il reprit son souffle. 

- Je suis désolé, c'était inapproprié. 

- Tu viens de me sauver la vie. 

Inan redressa la tête, toujours haletant.

- Non, je pense que je vous ai épargné une blessure mais vous l'auriez rapidement abattu ou mit en fuite. 

Oberyn affichait toujours un sourire satisfait, il fit un pas en avant, ses mains derrières son dos. 

- Tu viens de tuer un lion pour me sauver, d'aucun y verrait une métaphore... Intéressante. 

Inan fit un nouveau pas en arrière, les sourcils froncés, il leva les yeux au ciel. 

- Je ne vois nulle métaphore, seulement un homme imprudent qui s'est laissé prendre par surprise. 

Plus Oberyn approchait, plus Inan reculait, si bien que son dos rencontra rapidement l’écorce raiche d’un caroubier, et il osait traiter le prince d’imprudent. 

-Ai je l'air d'être imprudent ? 

- Oui. Ne pas se méfier d'un lion sur son propre terrain de chasse est imprudent. 

- Mais tu gardais mes arrières, n'est-ce pas ? 

Oberyn glissa sa main contre l’écorce de l’arbre, la positionnant au-dessus de la tête d’Inan, se penchant légèrement en avant. Inan dû fournir un effort conscient pour déglutir et reprendre son souffle avant de répondre.  

- Vous ne me connaissait pas, j'aurais très bien pu laisser le lion vous dévorer. Personne n'aurait su que je l'avais vu. 

- Mais tu ne l'as pas fait. Tu n'as pas hésité un seul instant, tu as mis ta vie en danger pour moi, et ne me dis pas qu'il s'agit d'un réflexe de chevalier. Mais je répète ma question, ai-je l'air d'être imprudent ? 

Inan sentit son corps se figer et soudainement les liens se firent dans son esprit, il chercha le regard d’Oberyn. 

- Vous saviez qu'il était là ? Le lion ?

- Ai je l'air d'être du genre à me laisser prendre par surprise par un lion, sur mes terres ? 

Oberyn s’approcha une nouvelle fois, et Inan fronça les sourcils. 

- Mais pourquoi...

- Il y a quelque chose qui me perturbe chez toi, Inan. Je trouverais quoi, je te le garantis. Tu m'es hostile, et pourtant aujourd'hui tu as risqué ta vie pour la mienne sans aucune hésitation. Je vais être honnête, je m'attendais à ce que tu le laisses m'attaquer. 

Inan sentit la morsure caractéristique de la colère lui bruler le visage. 

- Alors pourquoi avoir pris le risque ! 

- Pourquoi est-ce que cela te met en colère ? 

Le fait qu’Oberyn le verbalise permit à Inan de prendre conscience du sentiment qui enflait en lui. Il n’était pas en colère, il était en rage. Il en voulait à Oberyn de s’être mit en danger. Il s’était inquiété pour lui, il n’était pas en colère. Il avait peur.  

- Vous êtes dément. Vous venez de vous mettre en danger seulement pour savoir si vous pouviez me faire confiance ! 

- Tu l'as dis-toi même, je l'aurais maitrisé. 

Inan croisa les bras, verrouillant son regard à celui d’Oberyn. 

- Pas sans risque. 

- Le risque... N'est-ce pas ce qui rend la vie excitante. 

- La vie n'est excitante que si l'on est vivant pour en profiter. 

Oberyn se mit à rire, ce rire chantant qui lui était caractéristique, celui qui faisait trembler Inan jusque dans ses os. Il glissa le dos de ses doigts contre la joue d’Inan avant de s’éloigner. 

- Les autres ont raisons, ce que tu peux être coincé. 

Il était dangereux, et chaotique. Il prenait des risques inconsidérés. Inan ne pû s’empêcher de ressentir une pointe d’admiration grandir dans sa poitrine, mais l’inquiétude prit rapidement le dessus. 

-Tu n’as pas répondu, pourquoi est-ce que cela te met en colère ? 

-Je trouve simplement cela idiot. Si vous permettez, je vais attacher le koudou à ma jument. 

-Je t’en prie, attache-la à mon étalon. 

Inan passa les portes de la muraille du palais vieux sur sa jument, trainant le corps du jeune lion derrière lui. Il n’était pas ravi d’être celui qui ramenait un lion mort dans l’enceinte de Lancehélion, et vu le regard que lui portait Myrcella, elle non plus. 

Un festin eu lieu ce soir-là, et Inan se sentit rapidement dépassé par les évènements. Des gens le célébraient pour sa force et sa bravoure, pour avoir protégé le prince Oberyn, et d’autres été clairement heureux d’être en présence d’un Ouestien ayant tué un lion. Oberyn avait raison, et il n’était pas le seul à y voir une métaphore intéressante. Il souffla lourdement avant de se diriger vers la sortie, mais fut bloqué par Oberyn qui appuya son épaule de manière nonchalante sur l’encadrement de la porte, un verre de vin à la main. 

-Tu pars déjà ? 

-Je ne suis pas friand des soirées animées. 

-Qu’est-ce que tu dirais d’une soirée un peu plus privée, dans ce cas ? 

-Je ne suis pas certain de comprendre où vous voulez en venir. 

-Tu sais où se trouve mes appartements, vas-y, je t’y rejoindrais. 

Oberyn ne lui laissa pas le loisir de répondre, il s’était déjà éclipsé pour reprendre le cours de sa soirée. S’il pensait qu’il allait se diriger vers ses appartements, il se fourvoyait lourdement. Inan se rendit jusqu’à la tours soleil, et monta les marches. Quand il arriva à l’étage des appartements princier il hésita. Il arrêta de réfléchir et s’élança vers la porte. A l’instant où il l’ouvrit il regretta son geste. Il allait sortir de la pièce quand une voix le stoppa. 

-Alors c’est toi que je dois remercier pour le retour de mon amour en pleine santé ? 

Ellaria Sand se trouvait dans un fauteuil, il ne l’avait pas vu au premier abord. Inan n’allait pas mentir, elle était impressionnante. Elle dégageait un charisme et une assurance inégalable, quelque chose le mettait mal à l’aise, il n’arrivait pas à mettre le doigt dessus. 

-Il semblerait. 

Il finit par entrer pour de bon dans la pièce. La sensation était étrange, il ne se sentait absolument pas à sa place, ce lieu était le leur, il n’avait rien à y faire. 

-Oberyn t’a demandé de venir ici, n’est-ce pas ? 

-Il semblerait. 

-Pourquoi as-tu accepté ? 

-Tu as bien vu, j’allais repartir. 

-Il m’a dit que tu avais tendance à ne pas répondre aux questions ! 

Ellaria l’invita à s’assoir. Sa position souple sur son fauteuil, ses pieds nus sous son corps détendu et sa robe diaphane contrastait avec le dos droit, le corps rigide et vêtu d’une armure d’Inan. L’instant était lunaire, il devrait être en compagnie d’Oberyn dans sa suite, ce qui déjà était irréaliste, et il se retrouvait dans une chambre, seul avec Ellaria. Elle lui tandis un verre de vin. Il en bu une gorgée en silence. 

-Je crois que tu lui plais. 

Inan s’étouffa presque dans sa gorgée de vin et la regarda, les yeux écarquillés. 

-Je te demande pardon ?

-Oh tu m’as très bien comprise. Cela dit, cela ne me déplait pas, j’avoue que l’idée de partager notre lit avec un bouclier lige me plait bien. 

Inan sentit un frisson glacial et désagréable lui parcourir le dos, la sensation d’être dos au mur, en cage. Ses muscles se raidirent et sa bouche sembla sèche soudainement, son cœur battant plus vite dans sa poitrine. Il posa son verre de vin sur la table et se redressa. Ellaria posa sa main sur la sienne. 

-Je te taquine. Je te promets que ce n’est pas un piège dans ce genre. A moins que tu en ai envie ?

-Je ne suis pas là pour ça. 

-Alors pourquoi es-tu là ?

-Parce qu’il m’a demandé de venir. 

-Et tu ne t’es pas posé la question de savoir ce qu’il voulait en te demandant ça ? 

-Peut-être aurais-je dû, en effet. 

Inan se rassit et reprit une gorgée de vin.  

-Depuis combien de temps, es-tu chevalier ? 

Il la regarda longuement et soupira. 

-17 ans. 

-Cela a toujours été une vocation ? J’avoue que je ne comprendrais jamais comment on peut renoncer si facilement à sa liberté. 

Inan regarda sa coupe de vin un instant, puis se resservit. Il fit tourner le liquide grenat dans son verre. 

-Non, cela n’a pas toujours été une vocation. J’avoue ne pas avoir eu d’autre choix. 

-Et que voulais tu faire ? 

Inan redressa son visage et plongea ses yeux dans ceux d’Ellaria. Une douceur étrange émanait d’elle. Quelque chose de familier, quelque chose qui lui intimait qu’il pouvait lui faire confiance. 

-Être libre. 

-Et pourtant tu portes une armure. 

Il ne s’était pas aperçu, d’à quel point le métal lui comprimait la poitrine avant qu’elle ne le lui dise. Par moment il se sentait nu sans elle, et par moment, il se sentait prit au piège, à l’étroit. Il n’avait qu’une envie, c’était de l’arracher. Il se redressa et détacha son plastron, qu’il posa prêt de son fauteuil, avec son épée et ses jambières. Il inspira profondément et se rassit, glissant une jambe sous son corps.

-Comment un homme qui désire à ce point être libre finit par passer sa vie à obéir aux ordres ? 

-C’est un mystère auquel vous n’aurait pas de réponse ce soir, je le crains. 

Un bruit de bois fit sursauter Inan, la porte s’ouvrit soudainement. 

-Je vois que tu t’es mis à l’aise. 

La voix d’Oberyn le fit frissonner, son cœur s’affola une nouvelle fois, accompagné d’un sentiment de malaise. Inan se redressa brusquement, faisant mine de ramasser son armure. 

-Je devrais vous laisser. 

-N’attendais-tu pas après lui ? 

Il se retourna vers Ellaria et la dévisagea. Ils n’étaient pas ensemble pour rien ces deux-là. Il soupira et s’assit. 

-De quoi parliez-vous ? 

-De liberté. 

Oberyn se mit à rire et attrapa un verre de vin sur son passage, qu’il remplit jusqu’au bord. Il embrassa Ellaria avec passion et sa laissa tomber sur un des fauteuils, glissant sa main dans une coupe de fruit. 

-Intéressant, je serais curieux de savoir ce qu’un homme pour qui le risque rend la vie dangereuse pense de la liberté. 

Inan perdit une nouvelle fois son regard dans son verre. 

-Disons qu’enfant je pensais qu’être un homme m’aiderait à me libérer de mes chaines, il s’est avéré que j’ai troqué des chaines contre d’autres. Ce que je pense de la liberté, c’est qu’elle n’est qu’illusion. 

Oberyn le regarda un instant, semblant perdu dans ses pensées. La remarque qu’il fit se voulait sarcastique, mais la lueur dans son regard montrait quelque chose de différent. 

-Inan, tu as ce don si précieux de rendre chaque instant un peu plus monotone. 

-Je le trouve intéressant, personnellement. 

Ellaria ne détachait pas son regard du sien, il la regarda un instant et soupira avant de se redresser pour sortir de la chambre. 

Inan était sur le chemin du retour quand il sursauta en croisa Septa Églantine. Comment pouvait-on être aussi effrayante ? Se déplaçait-elle dans les murs pour apparaitre subitement de cette manière ? Et surtout depuis combien de temps attendait-elle ?

-Ser Inan. Puis je vous parler ? 

-Septa Aubépine. Ne devriez-vous pas être couché à cette heure ? Vous comptez me suivre quoi que je réponde, je vous en prie, ne vous privez pas. 

-Églantine ! S’indigna la vielle femme comme à chaque fois. Je trouve votre comportement indécent. Vous êtes bien trop proche des dorniens ! 

-Et ? Ne sommes-nous pas ici pour des raisons diplomatiques ? 

-Vous êtes ici pour surveiller la princesse. Je ne pense pas que vous acoquiner avec le prince Oberyn, qui se trouve être ouvertement hostile la maison Lannister vous aide dans cette mission. Ni de rentrer ostensiblement de la chasse avec un lion mort à vos côtés ! 

-Effectivement, c’est indigne de ma position de chevalier, je ne savais pas qu’il était dans vos prérogative de Septa de me rappeler le cadre de mon poste. 

-Et que dira le roi Joffrey, quand il apprendra que vous avez tué un lion et vous en êtes réjoui entouré de Dorniens ? Il n’est pas très indulgent en ce qui concerne les traitres !

Inan lui sourit et maintint son regard. 

-Je ne sais pas, que dira-t-il, quand il apprendra que sa jeune sœur passe son temps à se promener dans le palais et ses jardins en compagnie de son promit plutôt que de suivre vos préceptes ? 

-Vous n’oseriez pas ! 

-Non, bien sûr que non. Je sais m’occuper de ce qui m’incombe, et je sais qu’il en est de même pour vous. Sur ce, bonne nuit, Septa Aubépine. 

Chapitre 4 : La bête qui sommeille

[versatileginger]

SYNERGY | MASTERLIST

Oberyn Martell x OC (Ava)

Warnings: AU, violence, weapons, mature themes, murder, everything you'd find in in Game of Thrones. 

Summary: In the embrace of existence, the brilliance of light finds its depth in the shadows, and conversely, the obscurity of darkness discovers its essence in the radiant dance of symbiotic contrast.

CHAPTER 1 (Coming soon)

[be-there-or-be-square-bro]

An Unlikely Pairing | Part One

Oberyn Martell x Redwyne!OC

Synopsis: Prince Oberyn Martell did not want to marry the bride Doran picked for him. Lady Rhea Redwyne needed her plan to succeed or Doran would have her head.

~~~~

By gods, did Oberyn not want to be standing here, awaiting the ship carrying his bride-to-be. He had laughed at Doran three moons ago, with Ellaria nestled on his lap, as Doran mentioned having found a suitable bride for him. He had almost hit his brother upon learning that Doran had made a pact with Lord Orys Redwyne of the Arbour for his only daughter to marry Oberyn. He detested the idea of marrying a mainland Noblewoman unfamiliar with Dornish ways.

He still was, but the small amount of information he had learned about through Obara on his betrothed soothed him.

Lady Rhea Redwyne, known throughout the Reach as the Mother of Beasts, never seen without her beloved Myrrish Tigress and massive bearcat. Lady Rhea Redwyne, co-captain of her own warship, named the Serpent and rivalled the ships of the Iron Fleet.

At least his new bride wasn’t a snivelling flower. Or worse yet, Cersei Lannister.

As the ships came closer, Oberyn was at least able to see why Doran arranged for him to marry Lady Redwyne. The Redwyne fleet was the largest in Westeros, boasting two hundred warships, and over a thousand merchant ships. And, the Redwyne’s controlled the trade of Arbour wine, a wine Ellaria loved.

After what seemed like years, the Serpent docked in front of the greeting party consisting of Prince Doran and his wife Mellario, and their children Arianne and Quentyn. Ellaria and his children through her were not in attendance, as Doran banned them from making an appearance at the greeting, but Obara, Tyene, and Nymeria stood behind Oberyn, and he was thankful that three of his daughters were there at the very least.

The dock lowered, and Oberyn got a first look at his soon-to-be-wife.

She was pretty, and noticeably younger than Oberyn, though thankfully not young enough to be a maiden. Her auburn hair was darker than other shades he had seen, though glowed more orange in the bright Dornish light. It was left down, allowing for her soft curls to fall kindly to her hips, though the sides of her hair were twisted and pulled back to keep her hair from obscuring her face. Her pale eyes glistened in the light, though she was too far away for him to determine the colour. 

She was dressed in a beautiful and eye-catching dress of blue-grey silk and an armour-like bodice. The tan leather bodice covered her neck completely and jutted out as pauldrons over her shoulders, underneath which sheer silk sleeves hugged her arm and loosely ended at her fingers. The leather was stopped just above her breasts, which were sculpted by intricate metal linings, covered with blue and gold embroidery that covered the entire bodice and cauldron, extending down onto the full skirts of sheer silk.

To the sharp gasp of his brother, Oberyn was pleased to see at her heels, were the famed tigress and bearcat. Oberyn had no care for the people behind her, watching Lady Redwyne intensely. As she came no more than a metre from Oberyn, she stopped, and gave the Dornish party an elegant curtsy, the silks of her dress moving like waves around her. Oberyn did not hesitate to respond with a bow of his own, the rest of the Dornish party following suit.

He cherished in the realization of the crowd that Lady Redwyne approached the party first, and not her father who stood behind her and that she approached Oberyn and not the Ruler of Dorne.

“Pleasure to meet you all, I am Lady Rhea of House Redwyne. I bring with me my companions Nymeria and Visenya,” She gestured to her tigress and bearcat. “My father, Lord Orys Redwyne of the Arbour, my mother: Lady Meera Redwyne of the Arbour, my younger brother Lord Paxter Redwyne, and my ship the Serpent, along with ten merchant vessels of House Redwyne.”

“It is all my pleasure to see you again, Lady Redwyne.” Doran interrupted, cutting in. “May I introduce your betrothed, my brother Prince Oberyn of House Martell? With me is my lady-wife Princess Mellario and our children, Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn.”

Oberyn never stopped looking at Lady Redwyne and was pleased that she never stopped looking at him. Now that she was closer, he could see that her eyes were an icy grey colour, lined softly with light brown kohl. His gaze cooled as she finally turned to look at Prince Doran, her upper lip upturning slightly as she finally addressed the man behind both of their predicaments.

“Thank you, Prince Doran, for this arrangement. I hate to end our chat here, but my mother does not do well on the sea. Would my party be able to rest in our rooms before dinner tonight?”

“Why yes of course. Oberyn, please show your betrothed her temporary quarters while I show Lord and Lady Redwyne their chambers.”

Oberyn nearly scoffed at his brother, but nonetheless held out his hand to Lady Redwyne who tentatively took it, allowing him to lead her into her chambers within the Tower of Sun.

~

In the six days since Lady Redwyne’s arrival in Dorne, Oberyn had not seen or spoken to his betrothed. It was not as if he was seeking her out, but he found it strange. The only confirmation that she was alive was Nymeria having informed Oberyn that she had been keeping Rhea and her beasts' company, which was at the point that Oberyn learned that Lady Redwyne had brought not only her tigress, Nymeria, and her bearcat, Visenya, but a spotted genet named Lobelia, and two twin mangrove pit vipers named Iris and Wisteria. 

But alas, today was the dreaded day. Oberyn stood underneath an orange tree, a Septon he did not care for standing next to him as he waited for Lady Redwyne to enter the grove. It was apparently her coaxing that allowed them to get married at the Water Gardens and not a Sept near Sunspear. He was still unsure how she pulled that off and was quite impressed.

“Who comes before the Seven this day?”

“Rhea of House Redwyne and Reed, a woman grown, true born and noble, I have come here to be wed.”

And that is when he turned, finally taking in her appearance.

Her hair was intricately braided up and out of her face, forming a bun at the crown of her head, secured by a gold hairpiece of a band with twelve thin spikes jutting out, emulating the sun’s rays. Her eyes were once again lined with light brown kohl, and her plump lips were painted slightly with a peach gloss. It was her dress however, that was wowing the crowds. Simplistic yet clearly delicately made just for her, it was quite revealing in the silver semi-sheer panels that made up the sleeveless dress that hugged her curves tightly, the panels slowly transitioning into panels of feather-like Qartheen silk, pinned to the skirt with delicate silver embroidery. The top of the dress was a high neckline of sheer white fabric and white grid-like seams, covering her delicate neck and covering her shoulders in yet another pauldron-like detail.

“Who comes to claim her?”

“Oberyn Nymeros, of House Martell, Prince of Dorne.” He called as he drank in her appearance as she stood next to her father a few meters from him and the Septon.

“Who gives her?”

“Orys of House Redwyne, Lord of the Arbour, gives this woman.”

And with that, she was passed to him, her soft hand sliding carefully into his outstretched one, and she came up next to him. His eyes briefly glanced at the silk cloak she donned, a pale burgundy that somehow didn’t clash with the white of her dress and the overall colour of the Water Garden grotto.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.

He carefully slipped the silk cloak from her body, folding it and passing it to Doran who handed him a sunny yellow cloak with a golden serpent upon it, which Oberyn gently slipped onto her before taking her left hand.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Oberyn swallowed harshly at the feeling of the ribbon binding their hands.

It should be Ellaria with whom he was binding hands with, not her.

“In the sight of the Seven, I nearby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger - hear now their vows.”

Robotically, their voices come out, emotionless at the state of their circumstances.

“I am yours and you are mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

“Let it be known that they are one hears, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. I proclaim thee man and wife.”

Oberyn was incredibly thankful for the removal of the ribbon and silently turned to face his lady-wife. They paused before Rhea leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“This was not my idea, I have much to tell you once we are alone.” She whispered.

Oberyn hid his surprise by kissing her on the cheek as well as he grasped her hand once more and turned towards the crowd observing the ceremony.

All they had to do was get through this blasted dinner without pissing off Doran and then they could share their thoughts in private.

Thankfully for the both of them, the feast went much quicker, Doran having ended it so that the newlyweds could have significant time to bed, something which made Rhea grimace behind her napkin. She returned to quarters and slipped into the nightgown gifted to her by her cousin, Alerie Tyrell. It was skimpier than what she had worn before, but she did not mind for she already found many of her dresses too warm for the Dornish climate. 

It was made of hand-dyed Qartheen silk, a pale blue colour Rhea favoured, falling shapelessly from her shoulders and hips as the material hugged her breasts. The neckline reached down to her navel, giving a teasing glimpse of her perky breasts, only interrupted by a crisscrossing embroidered band that lined the edges of the bodice and its cutouts, including the ones above her waist and on her hips, giving teasing amounts of skin.

It would be a while before she could wear dresses as showy as these once more, but hopefully, it would be worth it.

“My Prince?” She called, as she entered his personal chambers.

“Lady Redwyne.”

It would be a lie to say that Oberyn was not handsome, but even his looks couldn’t sway her from her mission tonight. He was dressed in sun-gold breeches and an open robe that showed off his chest.

He approached her, beginning to shed his robe, but stopped when he met her hand, pressed flat against his chest.

“May we sit and discuss what I mentioned?” Rhea asked, “And please, Prince Oberyn, refer to me as Rhea. We may as well act the part of a married couple now.”

“Very well, care for some wine?”

“I will pass at the moment.”

Oberyn lounged in the chair, looking over at his sensuously dressed bride and wondering what she needed to speak with him about.

“I am with child already.”

That was certainly not what he expected.

“Oh? Who is the father?”

“Prince Doran.”

Oberyn coughed on his wine, looking at Rhea incredulously.

“My brother fathered a bastard.”

“Yes. I only agreed because it was the only way to cover my pregnancy. I am just over a moon already, so it is still believable that you are the father of my true-born child.” Rhea said, “There is no need for us to bed, I only ask that you keep my secret and be a father to your niece or nephew as you have fathered your daughters.”

“You take no offence in my daughters and my paramour?”

“Your daughters are lovely. I take no offence to bastards, for they are treated far too poorly outside of Dorne.”

“And my paramour? Will you resent me for continuing to love and dote on my beloved Ellaria?”

Rhea's cheeks flushed, and Oberyn grinned.

“Or are you perhaps also entranced by my Ellaria’s beauty and wit?”

Rhea looked guilty and terrified for all but a moment before Oberyn gently set his hand down atop hers.

“I trust you have heard the rumours that I bedded Knights of Reach?”

“Yes.”

“Unlike the stuck-up cunt lords of the rest of Westeros, I care not for only bedding women. I bed both because it pleases me. Doran and I have the agreement that I am free to do as I will so long as I father one true-born child with you, as you are already with Doran’s child, I will not force you to bed me, nor will I prevent you from seeking the comforts of others. I only ask, does Doran know you are with child?”

“He does not know he even coupled me.” Rhea snapped, her glare turning sour.

Oberyn’s jaw tightened, “Tell me what happened, so that I may prevent it from happening once more.”

“He came a moon and a half ago to finalize the marriage pact. I was exiting my quarters for a moonlight stroll and Doran, completely in his cups stumbled upon me and mistook me for his Lady Wife. He dragged me into his quarters and took me to his bed, despite my refusal and attempts to leave. He coupled me until he rolled over and fell asleep, at which I removed the bloodied sheet and returned to my chamber.”

“You did not take moon tea to stop it?”

“I cannot take moon tea, for one of the flowers within it is deadly to me.” Rhea admitted sadly, “I had every intention of stopping our betrothal, but I knew that soon I would show and my slim options for suitors would shrink and that I would likely be exiled for my crimes against my father and the Seven. I pretended to be madly in love with you to keep myself and my unborn child safe.”

Oberyn’s eyes watered as Rhea spoke honestly, her voice trembling as she told him everything.

He had no room to be mad at her now, only a boiling rage at what his brother had done to Rhea and Oberyn himself.

[happilyhertale]

A royal encounter - Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Summary: Daemon had a great idea to bring a breath of fresh air into your marriage. But his plans were thwarted.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; oral f receiving, fingering (f in v and f in a), p in v sex, p in a sex

Author’s note: To celebrate the one year anniversary of my very first posted story, I've decided to finally post the Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader x Oberyn Martell story.... I hope you like it! And… Thanks for reading my stories for a year! 🖤 I am very happy that you still want to read my stories!

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.3 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You cling to the railing with your hands. Daemon's hands dig into your hips almost unpleasantly, the marks of his fingernails will be visible for a long time. His thrusts slowly subside and his breath comes heavily. A warm breeze envelops you, here on the balcony of your old chambers. You have sought a little excitement, escaping the boring ball that has lured many lords and ladies to King's Landing. That's how Daemon came to practically push you into your old chambers for a bit of excitement.

You are both still breathing heavily as Daemon slowly pulls out of you. His soft laugh rings out as he gently kisses your nose.

But then this gentle moment is interrupted as someone applauds you and a clap is heard.

For a second Daemon's gaze meets yours before he looks over his shoulder and sees Prince Oberyn Martell standing in the middle of the chambers. He grins, "Perhaps I should have tried harder to seduce a Targaryen princess after all," Prince Oberyn says cheekily. In one movement Daemon pulls his trousers completely up and spins around, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, is the Prince of Dorne trying to make a pass at my wife?" hisses Daemon.

A gasp escapes you and you try to hide your naked body behind Daemon's. Your gaze wanders, searching for your dress, which Daemon had torn off you just moments before.

As Prince Oberyn chuckles, "No... But now that I've seen how much fun you've had, I wish I'd had it too," he says to him. Daemon's gaze falls slightly over his shoulder, seeing you trying to cover your body. He sees you reaching for your dress, which is lying on the floor.

He looks back at Oberyn and his mood suddenly seems more relaxed. He starts to button up his shirt, "I think we were just looking for a little excitement here," Daemon replies.

"But..," Daemon adds suddenly, "if you want to join us, I could certainly be persuaded."

You are pulling up your dress and frowning when you hear his words, "Daemon? Did you just invite Prince Oberyn to a threesome?" you ask him a little shocked.

Daemon hears your words, but before he can say anything back, Oberyn intervenes. 

"A threesome?" asks Prince Oberyn with a grin, "I would have thought you were a jealous husband rather than an adventurous one...". Oberyn's words echo through the chambers and your eyes fall on Daemon again. You know he can be jealous, but this time something else is reflected in his eyes.

Daemon chuckles softly, "We could have a good time in these old chambers here," he says mischievously, "It might make everything a little more exciting." Daemon turns slightly, looking you straight in the eye, "What do you think? Is the Prince of Dorne a threat to our marriage?" he asks you gently. His thumb gently strokes your cheek.

You are not easily embarrassed, but this idea makes you blush. You bite your lip lightly, the pulsing between your legs reignited. Prince Oberyn was a handsome man. No less handsome than your husband, but in total contrast.

"No... he's not a threat. I only love you..." you say softly to Daemon.

Your gaze drifts to Prince Oberyn and his mischievous grin jumps out at you. He begins to unbutton his shirt and his lightly tanned chest is revealed. It is a stark contrast to your fair skin. Gently he brushes his shirt off his shoulders, revealing muscles that are rather small compared to Daemon's – he is defined but slender in stature. You step forward and stand next to Daemon.

But Daemon's gaze follows Oberyn's actions as he unbuttons his shirt, looking at his wife. He sees pure lust in Oberyn's eyes, the brown of his eyes barely discernible – his pupils dilated with lust.

Daemon notices how handsome Oberyn is and feels an excitement welling up inside him.

Oberyn's gaze falls on Daemon's face and notices Daemon trying to hide his excitement, but he sees his eyes fixed on the scene before him. A smile spreads across Oberyn's face. Oberyn walks towards you and slowly kneels on the ground in front of you.

You gasp briefly as his gaze goes up to you and he smiles at you. His hands reach for your dress and slowly begin to lift it.

The blush on your face continues to spread to your cleavage. Never has another man been about to touch you like this.

As Oberyn's voice brings you back to reality, "The blush is much more visible on your pale skin, Princess," he murmurs, "No need to be nervous, you'll enjoy it"

You bite your lip, even though you don't want to be nervous, you feel it flood through you.

You feel Daemon behind you, his hands on your shoulder. His thumbs glide gently over the crook of your neck. However unfamiliar this situation may be, Daemon's touch soothes you.

"Well?" asks Oberyn suddenly, "Do you want me to have her?" 

Your eyes slide from Oberyn's to Daemon's purple eyes. Slightly peeking over your shoulder, your lips meet, "I want you both, Daemon..." you whisper against his lips.

Oberyn chuckles lightly as he lifts your dress further. You're not wearing any undergarments and as Oberyn pushes your dress up to your hips, your light pubic hair is revealed.

"Mmm, the silver hair of the Targaryens..." he murmurs, pressing his face into it. A smile crosses his face, the smile of an artist when he sees the masterpiece he has created. 

You gasp as Oberyn presses his face into your pubic area. You exhale heavily, watching Oberyn enjoy the warmth of your private parts.

Daemon watches Oberyn and a slight, excited growl forms in his chest. Your previous words, "I want you both," also add to his arousal. Daemon's lips gently touch your neck as his hands begin to slide your dress down from your shoulders.

Prince Oberyn lets his tongue slide slowly through your womanhood. His fingers gently pull apart your folds so he can fully enjoy you.

You moan as you feel Oberyn's tongue find your bundle of nerves and gently circle it.

A "mmhmm" sounds from Oberyn as he pushes his face further into you. Your breath quickens as you feel Daemon lightly bite the soft skin of your neck and Oberyn circles his tongue faster. Your moans echo through the chambers.

When Oberyn suddenly lets go of your warm core and you whimper in disappointment. Your eyes fall on Oberyn, who looks up at you. His lips are glistening with your juice. Slowly he stands up and begins to open his trousers. Meanwhile Daemon lets your dress fall to the floor. His hands slide to your breasts, massaging them lightly. His thumbs and fingers grip your nipples, teasing them lightly. His lips continue to caress your neck as another moan leaves your lips.

You are now standing naked in front of them both. And your teeth don't want to release your lip. As Oberyn takes one of your hands and leads you away from Daemon. You take a step and slip out of your dress, which is lying at your feet. Slowly he leads you to the bed.

You climb onto the bed and Oberyn, who is naked himself, lies down beside you and begins to caress your body with his fingers. You see how Oberyn's hot length is already aroused and unlike Daemon's, a dark ring surrounds his size. You can't resist, you run your fingers through the hair. Oberyn grins at you and now he lightly bites his lip.

Your eyes fall on Daemon and you watch as his gaze is fixed on you. A shiver runs down your spine as you see his gaze follow Oberyn's fingers on your skin. Daemon begins to undress, his eyes never leaving you. First his shirt falls, revealing his muscular torso. The scars from all the battles won litter his pale skin. Your arousal rises immensely. As Daemon undresses from the waist down and his arousal immediately springs free, you moan. The way Daemon stands in front of you and Oberyn's fingers find their way between your thighs is too exciting.

Daemon's attention is on you, the love of his life, and the tanned man next to you, caressing you on the bed and sliding his fingers through your wetness. Daemon comes towards you with long strides, gently sliding himself onto the bed with you. His fingers find your hips, reach into your curves as he begins to play around your nipple with his tongue. You moan again as his teeth begin to nibble lightly. 

Daemon's lips slowly glide up your neck. A game of kisses and light bites until he encloses your lips. You breath into his mouth as Oberyn slides his hand to your bottom and turns you to Daemon. You lie on your side, your hand glides over Daemon's chest to his neck while your tongues dance wildly around each other. Oberyn brushes your silver hair aside and begins to kiss your neck softly. His fingers slide down your thigh, until his hand reaches the curves of your bottom and grips firmly. You whimper into Daemon's mouth. Oberyn releases your butt cheek and lets his fingers slide between your thighs. You whimper again as he covers his finger with your wetness and slides it to your butt hole. He applies light pressure and your whimpering repeats itself.

His fingers are slick with your wetness, easing the way as they tease the sensitive spot. He wants to push you further, to see how far you're willing to go. Experimentally, he stroked his fingers against your hole.

Oberyn's breath hitches as your hips begin to move slightly. A soft sound comes from you and your bottom presses lightly against his finger, your slight gasp sending a wave of satisfaction through him. He pressed a little harder, his finger slowly sliding into your tight, forbidden entrance.

The feeling of you around his finger, it all fueled his desire, igniting a primal need within him. He let out a low grunt in response, his own pleasure intertwining with yours.

He could feel his own cock hardening almost painfully, aching for the intense pleasure that only you could provide at the moment. The sound of your whimpering, your vulnerability and need, only served to heighten his own desire to please you.

Daemon's fingers mirror Oberyn's movements as his fingers slide between your legs. His attention is on your clit at first until he slides them inside you. You hear him growl softly as he feels the walls of your cunt already clenching around his fingers.

Daemon looks at you with slightly parted lips, enjoying the sight of ecstasy on your face. "You always take my fingers so well inside of you," Daemon mumbles a little breathlessly, "just like my tongue... My cock"

You whimper again and your fingers grab his biceps.

Daemon growls again and his gaze falls on Oberyn, who grunts slightly as he slides his fingers into your butthole.

"The princess is so tight," Oberyn murmurs and Daemon feels a tingle inside him as he hears the words. You gasp and bite your lip lightly as Oberyn's fingers thrust deeper, his warm breath on your neck.

Daemon lets his lips meet yours again, both of you breathing heavily, his fingers thrusting faster into you, completely wet with your juices. He starts to insert another finger into you and you moan almost desperately. The sensation of your wetness coating his fingers only fueled his desire further, knowing that you are becoming more and more receptive to his touch. He elicits a long whine from you as he curls his digits against your sensitive walls.

You feel the fingers thrusting into you. But this time it's so much more than usual. Daemon's fingers keep rubbing over the rough part of your wet walls, making you whimper, while Oberyn's fingers keep stretching your tight hole, awakening the feeling inside you that you need to feel so much more.

You moan out loud and before you've fully realised it, you feel Daemon's fingers pull out of you and slide his hot length through your wet folds. You whimper slightly each time he grazes your sensitive pearl. You moan even louder as he presses lightly against your entrance and you whimper again at the thought of how perfectly he will fill you.

"I think the princess will be perfectly filled tonight," Oberyn whispers, followed by a slight chuckle, as if he can read your mind. His lips still pressed against your neck as his fingers continue to explore your depths.

Daemon thrusts hard into you and your walls give way to his size. Daemon grunts loudly as he's back in his warm, soft home. His large hand slides to the back of your thigh, but you are distracted by the penetrating thrusts. He grabs your thigh and guides your leg closer to his body, placing your knee on his hip so he can penetrate you deeper.

He thrusts forward again and again, conjuring up the sweetest whimpering noises from you.

When you suddenly feel Oberyn's fingers leave your tight hole, you almost feel an emptiness inside you that needs to be filled. But then you feel his cock sliding along between your thighs from behind. Again and again he rubs it through your wet folds, soaking it with your wetness, while Daemon continues to thrust into your cunt.

Oberyn's cock throbbed with desire while his lips are still pressed against your neck. His breathing becomes heavier and you feel the warmth on the soft skin of your neck as he positions himself at your tight entrance.

You're slightly distracted by Daemon's thrusts and grunts, but you feel Oberyn begin to press the tip of his cock against your butt hole. You cry out slightly, but it ends in a long moan.

With a deep, primal grunt, he presses the tip of his cock against the entrance, feeling the resistance and tightness that awaits him. The whimpers and moans escaping your lips only fuelled his desire, his own need becoming unbearable.

But your butthole quickly gives way. Still slightly stretched by Oberyn's fingers, it almost greedily envelops the tip of his cock. You hear Oberyn moaning in your ear, breathing heavily.

"Gods... Princess... I haven't even been all the way inside you yet and you already feel so divinely tight," Oberyn murmurs breathlessly – you can only whimper.

Oberyn follows Daemon's rhythm and every time Daemon pushes your pelvis backwards, Oberyn takes the opportunity. Your bottom is pushed towards Oberyn again and again and each time he thrusts a little harder to meet your movements.

You feel yourself getting restless and your hand suddenly reaches for Oberyn's bottom. Your hand grips his small, firm bottom and squeezes gently. Oberyn continues to thrust slowly but firmly and you are caught up in the feeling of wanting to feel him deeper, but the slight pain forces you to take it slowly. But your hand starts to push him closer to you as a mix of whimpers and moans leave you. Oberyn stretches you further and further and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

With one final, powerful thrust, Oberyn conquers your tight hole and moans loudly. You cry out briefly, but the pain quickly subsides and gives way to pure pleasure. You realise how completely filled you are. Daemon and Oberyn are now thrusting in unison and you are trapped in their grips – and you don't want it to end. You put your head back and Oberyn immediately turns his attention back to your neck. He bites in lightly as he thrusts into your tight hole.

"Gods... Gods... fuck..." leaves his lips again and again.

With a primal instinct, he grabs your hips and slides closer to you. His thrusts now go deeper. He savours your tightness and the pleasure he brings you. The sound of your soft cries and moans fill the air as Daemon and Oberyn thrust into you, driving them both even further into a state of primal lust.

Daemon's hand is still on your thigh, lifting it slightly as he thrusts into your cunt. Oberyn's fingers grip your hips tighter as his thrusts penetrate you from behind.

Daemon grunts to himself, feeling the unusual resistance on his cock every time Oberyn thrusts into you and it turns him on. He thrusts harder and feels your cunt literally pulsating. His hand slides from your thigh to your breast, gripping it tightly as his lips slam onto yours. A wild kiss, accompanied by whimpers and moans, unfolds between you.

Your foot slides to the back of his thigh, wanting to pull him closer, needing to feel him deeper.

Daemon breathes heavily and grunts as your kiss ends. His eyes are fixated on the sight of you taking Oberyn's cock up your ass as he continues to fuck your cunt. The combination of your actions, the raw lust emanating from you, elicits a primal moan from deep within him.

With each thrust, he feels the lust building inside him and the need for release becomes almost unbearable. But he wants to savour this moment, savour your pleasure, revel in the intoxicating connection you share. Daemon's hand lets go of your breast and slides to your leg again.

His grip is firm and so are his thrusts, which become more intense and violent. The sound of your moans and the beginning trembling of your thighs only fuel his desire and bring him even closer to the edge.

You feel that you are about to come. The sensation of being filled in both holes is almost too much and you feel the familiar pressure spreading through your abdomen.

"Yes... Come on my cock," Daemon grunts, " Show me how good it feels for you to be filled like this," he grunts as his cock starts to twitch dangerously as well. Oberyn starts grunting behind you. He can feel your whole abdomen literally start to clench. His hand slides from your hip to your warm core. You look down, breathing heavily, and see Daemon thrusting into you and Oberyn's fingers begin to rub your clit. You are a moaning mess. The pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

"Be an obedient wife... come while our cocks fill you," Oberyn grunts in your ear as his fingers rub faster.

You only whimper, followed by a loud moan.

"I'm going to fill you up, princess... My seed will fill this tight hole," Oberyn grunts further, thrusting deeper.

And then you come, your cunt clenches around Daemon's cock, milking him and driving him over the edge with you. He growls and grunts loudly, pumping his cum deep into your cunt with deep thrusts.

Oberyn follows shortly after you and dresses your dark walls in white. He bites the back of your neck and immerses himself in the sensation. The grips on your body are firm, the feeling wonderful.

You whimper softly as the grunting around you slowly dies down. There is a smell of sweat and sex in the air. Heavy breathing echoes off the walls. Your light whimpers come to a climax as the two of them slowly pull out of you. Exhausted, you let yourself sink against Daemon's chest while Oberyn lies on his back, breathing heavily. His hand rests on your bum, stroking it gently.

"Maybe I should visit King's Landing more often after all..." mumbles Oberyn as he looks up at the ceiling.

Your eyes are closed, but instead of a reply, you hear a slight chuckle from Daemon.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list:

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @sylasthegrim @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @arcielee @just-some-random-blogger @softyhwrt @bl4ckph0enix

[moireia]

lost and led by stars — the titles of alyssa snow

"I’ve been given many titles throughout my life. Bastard, Lady, Princess. I have no desire to add Queen amongst them." —Alyssa Martell, 302 AD (inspo)

taglist ✨: @dragonsbone @lorettastwilight @dio-nysvs @julianblackthcrns @arrthurpendragon @endless-lilach @drbobbimorse @luucypevensie @the-witching-ash @megdonnellys @emilykaldwen @ocappreciationtag want to be added/removed? click here!

[slavicdelight]

The Last Embrace

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Lannister! OC

Summary: Lorelle, Tywin Lannister's youngest daughter, forms an unexpected alliance with Oberyn Martell after defeating him in a duel. Their love blossoms, but tragedy strikes when jealousy leads to everything falling apart.

Warnings: death, cursing, angst

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In the heart of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister welcomed his youngest daughter into the world, a fierce and spirited girl named Lorelle. From the beginning, her fiery nature clashed with the traditional expectations of a lady born into such a prestigious family.

As Lorelle grew, her independent spirit grew with her, driving her further away from learning of noble etiquette. She abandoned needlework for the training yard, where she observed the art of swordsmanship. Tywin, torn between pride and concern, could only watch as her interest differed from other young noble ladies. Word of Lorelle's exceptional skill with sword spread through the Seven Kingdoms, reaching the ears of Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne. Although he despised the Lannisters for what happened to his beloved sister Elia, he was curious if the rumours were true.

The first encounter between the two was marked by a clash of swords, or in this case - a spear and a sword. Each duel became a battleground for dominance, a fierce dance where neither was willing to yield.Oberyn's disdain for the Westerlands and its houses fueled the fire of their rivalry. In his eyes Lorelle was not just an opponent but a symbol of everything he despised about the realm.

Despite their hatered for each other, they decided to combine forces to travel together through Essos.The tension between them kept both nobles balanced on the egde.Yet, amidst the clashes, moments of understanding and mutual respect began to emerge.It wasn't until a decisive duel where Lorelle emerged triumphant that Oberyn's disdain began to shift. As he lay defeated, he finally acknowledge her skill. The dislike eventually evolved into a strange alliance, a bond forged on the edge of blades and the heat of their conflicting personalities.

During their tumultuous journey, Lorelle and Oberyn faced numerous challenges, each encounter adding layers to their complex relationship.One day, as they were riding through Pentos, a group of men attacked them. They were strong and quick. It was obvious that they’ve been trained to steal and kill. Thankfully, Oberyn's quick thinking and combat finesse saved Lorelle from an ambush, blurring the lines between adversary and ally. The tension that once defined their interactions slowly transformed into something more.

When Oberyn knelt before her, proposing a marriage with sincerity in his eyes, the tension reached its zenith. Tywin, recognizing the potential for an alliance, reluctantly agreed to their union. Lorelle became the Princess of Dorne, thrust into a political landscape that mirrored the complexities of her relationship with Oberyn.Yet, tragedy struck their already fragile union.

Ellaria Sand, fueled by jealousy and resentment, plotted against Lorelle. In a venomous act of betrayal, she poisoned the Princess of Dorne. As Lorelle's life slipped away, Oberyn's grief transformed into a burning desire for revenge, reigniting the tension between them in a different, more profound way. In a fit of righteous fury, Oberyn confronted Ellaria. The clash was brutal, mirroring the intensity of his battles with Lorelle.

In the end, justice was served, but the cost was high. Oberyn stood still after delivering avenging the woman he loved, a shattered man, his heart torn between the love he discovered and the unresolved tension that lingered between him and the memory of Lorelle.

In the aftermath, the halls of Sunspear echoed with a haunting silence. Oberyn, having avenged Lorelle, found himself with conflicting emotions. The memory of their fierce clashes lingered, intertwined with the love he discovered and the unresolved tension that defined their relationship.

As Princess of Dorne, Lorelle's absence left a void in the court. The alliances formed through her marriage hung in delicate balance. Oberyn, once fueled by a desire for revenge, now faced the aftermath of his actions. The people of Dorne witnessed a Red Viper who had lost his venom, a man torn between the love he found and the ghosts of his tumultuous past. The court of Sunspear whispered of Lorelle's legacy – a fiery princess who defied conventions, a skilled swordswoman who left a mark on the pages of history. Yet, the tragedy that befell her cast a shadow over the realm, a stark reminder of the fragility of alliances and the cost of vengeance.

Oberyn, haunted by the memories of Lorelle, retreated into solitude. The tension that once fueled their clashes now manifested as an internal struggle within him. The flames of revenge had consumed him, and in their wake, he was left with the ashes of regret.In the quiet corridors of Sunspear, Oberyn's gaze lingered on the places where he and Lorelle had faced both adversaries and each other. The sword that once clashed with hers now rested, a silent witness to the battles fought and the love lost.As the years passed, Dorne found itself in a delicate dance of politics and intrigue.

The memory of Lorelle became both a symbol of defiance and a cautionary tale. Oberyn, a once vibrant force, moved through the shadows of the court, a man forever marked by the flames that burned between him and the Princess of Dorne. And so, the tale of Lorelle and Oberyn became a legend – a story of love, rivalry, and the high cost of vengeance that echoed through the corridors of Sunspear, leaving behind a legacy as enduring as the ancient stones of the castle.

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A/N: This is a shorter story, but I hope you'll enjoy it just like the other ones.

[guiltyasdave]

little lion

pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC

word count: 394

tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, i think that’s it?

a/n: @catchallfangirl gave me the prompt “finally, something we can agree on”, oberyn and thirty minutes to write. this is the result :)

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here!

dividers by @plum98 <3

She sips her wine, tuning out her father who is rambling on about uniting houses and how much good it would do for the people of the realm.

It’s not about the realm, let alone the people living in it. She knows it, he knows it, everybody in the room knows it. It’s about power. It’s about the iron throne and ensuring who will sit on it.

The man two tables over from hers catches her wandering gaze and raises his own cup in a quiet toast. As he drinks, he winks at her. She hates the blush creeping up on her cheeks, hates the fact that he can see it, even in the candlelight, if the smug look on his handsome features is any indication. She hates his dark eyes, the glinting of the golden chain around his neck, the way it accentuates the panes of his strong chest, his golden skin, visible through his robe.

She needs some air.

Quietly excusing herself, she rises to her feet and leaves the hall, climbing stairs until she reaches one of the higher floors where the thick stony walls open into big windows, overlooking the city below them.

Lights are twinkling in the darkness of the night, until the city gives way to the ocean, moonlight reflecting off of its surface.

She feels his presence before she hears his quiet steps behind her.

“Prince Oberyn.”

“Hello, little lion.”

Goosebumps form on her neck. He’s closer than she anticipated, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. His voice is low, gravely behind her, his accent wrapping around the pet name. The stupid pet name that he won’t stop using and that sounds way too good from his lips.

“I told you not to call me that.”

He tuts gently, twirling one of the long blonde curls of her hair between his fingers, before giving it a light tug.

“Why did you leave?”

“I was bored.”

It might not be the whole truth, but it’s not necessarily a lie, either. He chuckles, still playing with her hair.

“Finally, something we can agree on.”

She turns her head towards him, eyes searching his. He’s much too close. He gently trails one finger over her cheekbone.

“We shall leave the talking to your father and my brother. Let me walk you to your chambers, little lion.”

thank you for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask. interaction is what keeps writers going <3

[blxkstar]

POV: You're in Game of Thrones

I made this playlist by mixing all of my game of thrones playlists into one (with some edits). Please check it out!

If you like this one, please check out my other playlists for specific houses and house of the dragon.

"I'm not going to stop the wheel, I'm going to break the wheel"

Winter is coming. We know what’s coming with it

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Ella Tyrell aesthetic (2)

Ella Tyrell face claim: Amy James-Kelly

[starogeorgina]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Baratheon OC

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of animal cruelty

Chapter: 1.01

You stand before the iron throne teary-eyed; this was the goodbye you had been dreading for over a year. It was time for you to leave your home and travel to Dorne to meet your betrothed, Prince Oberyn Martell, the red viper.

The king's eyes move over the different entrances to the throne room, and many knights from the king's guard, including your uncle Jamie, stand at attention, ready to cut down any threat to the king and his family. “Your mother?”

Your mother visited your chambers the night before to inform you that Dornish men were known for ravaging women, and your wedding night will be one of the most unpleasant and painful experiences you’ll ever live through. You hadn’t seen her since then.

“We said our goodbyes last night, my king.”

He knows you’re lying; you often did when it came to Cersei. He stands and motions for you to step closer.

Your grandsire, Tywin Lannister narrows his eyes and nods. He was in full agreement that using you as a political pawn was the way forward. Joffrey stands beside him, looking bored, while Myrcella and Tommen both cry. You didn’t want to leave them, but it was your duty.

As the first legitimate child of King Robert Baratheon, you should have been next in line to the throne, but you were a daughter. So the throne would bypass you and go to the eldest male, Joffrey. The irony was that your father made you sit in his council meetings, would ask your opinions on different matters, and allowed you to sit in on your brother's sword lessons, something that your mother disapproved of. Your father had never once shown any interest in Joffrey or prepared him to rule one day.

Your father cups your face, wiping away a fallen tear with his thumb. “Cassana, my daughter, do not cry again, as I won't be there to wipe your tears anymore.”

“I will miss you, father.”

“Next time I see you, I will be at your wedding, and you will be the most beautiful bride the seven kingdoms have ever seen.”

—

“There she is.” Ellaria nudges Oberyn's shoulder and points in the direction of a young, timid-looking girl sitting on a staircase overlooking one of the ponds. “I expected her to have the famous golden lion hair.”

“Perhaps this one really is a Baratheon,” he quips. The Prince wasn’t sure if it was common knowledge or not that Cersei’s three youngest children were rumored to be fathered by their uncle Jamie. However, it appears his future bride wasn’t the result of incest.

“Princess Cassana Baratheon, the eldest daughter of King Robert, and Cersei fucking Lannister.”

Oberyn smirks at hearing the venom in his lover's voice; she hates House Lannister just as much as he does. He watches as the girl, who couldn’t have been much older than seventeen, twitches her jaw; she can sense them looking at them. He had argued with his elder brother, Prince Doran, when he agreed to the betrothal between Oberyn and the daughter of his enemy without his permission.

“Trust me, brother, this is the way.”

He should be going over to at least introduce himself, but the girl looks so terrified that Oberyn thought it was best to give her some time.

Ellaria Scoffs asks, “Why did she bring those things? Does she think Dorne doesn’t have cats?”

“Because if she left them behind, Joffrey would have killed them.”

Oberyn looks away from the girl and turns around to see the infamous imp, Tyrion Lannister, walking towards them. He was the only one willing to travel to Dorne with the princess.

Tyrion graciously accepts a cup of wine, then sits down and indulges the drink in full before continuing. “Years ago, Robert gifted my niece a kitten on her name day; he picked that particular one because he said it had curious eyes that matched his oldest daughter’s. She named it Milady. Cassana loved the little thing, and against my sister's wishes, she let it sleep in her bed, and it followed her around the keep, wherever my niece was, the kitten wasn’t far behind. It was quite cute, actually. Then one day it went missing, and Cassana searched the full red keep and cried herself to sleep every night for weeks missing it.”

Tyrion had a way of telling a story that was very intriguing, almost as if it were an old tale passed down through generations. The prince sits down on a plush yellow chair across from his quest, his arm casually swinging over the back of it. “Then what? Did she ever find it?”

A look void of emotion passes through Tyrion’s features; he clicks his tongue while refilling his cup with wine. He takes a large gulp. “One evening during dinner, Joffrey claimed to have a gift for his sister, something to cheer her up. He had a servant bring in a red silk bag, and inside it was whatever remained of Milady. Robert was horrified, of course, but Cersei stated that cats were horrid little creatures and continued eating her meal as Cassana bawled her eyes out.”

“A cunt.”

Tyrion lifts his cup in agreement with Ellaria’s statement. A Lannister’s cruelty never surprised him, but a brother being allowed to treat his own sister like that was... Oberyn had no words.

“And that was my sister being kind to her. Does that answer your question?”

“What question?”

Tilting his head back, Tyrion gives them a knowing look, as if he knew what question was burning on the tip of their tongues. “Why is this marriage allowed to go ahead? It’s because even Robert, a drunken fool of a king, knows he can’t protect his daughter from her mother’s hate.”

“The girl's eyes are swollen; is she scared that the Dornish aren’t as kind as the people of King's Landing?” Ellaria asks sarcastically.

“Cassana didn’t want to leave her father, Tommen, or Myrcella,” Tyrion answers truthfully. “She’s been shipped off to a foreign country to marry a stranger who’s twice her age, with customs she doesn’t know or understand, and it may have possibly crossed her mind that she may be used to get revenge for the sack of King's landing. Of course she’s scared.”

Ellaria's brows pull together; being a mother herself, she couldn’t fathom the idea of putting her own child in harm's way. “And the Lannisters were still willing to send her to Dorne, thinking we were nothing more than monsters wanting revenge?”

Oberyn clenches his jaw. “What was done to my sister and her children—”

“Was a travesty,” Tyrion says, cutting him off. “But my niece had nothing to do with it. And the girl is not dim; she’s under no false allusions to who her mother, father, and grandfather are.”

“And yet she loves them still.”

Tyrion shrugs. “Hmm, she loves Robert, but I wouldn’t be so sure about her feelings towards my father and Cersei.”

Oberyn crosses his legs; he was curious to learn if Tyrion was saying these things in the hope he would be sympathetic towards the girl. “Why do you think princess Cassana should be married to Martell?”

Looking over his shoulder, Tyrion smiles, observing his niece take in her new surroundings for a moment before answering. “Because I don’t believe you’ll treat her any worse than she already has been.”

—

After speaking with his guest for some time, Oberyn decides to go and introduce himself to Cassana. From everything Tyrion had told him, he felt nothing but pity for his future bride. He looks across the garden and notices his paramour glaring at the girl, who seemed content playing with her pets. Since the wedding would be held in a few months, Oberyn had extended the invitation for Tyrion to stay in Dorne so that Cassana wouldn’t be so alone.

Cassana doesn’t look back as he gets closer to her, even though she would have been able to hear him since the Prince was deliberately making his steps louder than normal. The Baratheon girl looks out of place by the way she was dressed; he’d need to have clothing that was more suited to the Dornish climate made for her.

A large black cat was stretched out across her lap, while two others playfully fought on the ground beside her feet, the sand sticking to their fur.

Oberyn sits down on the step beside her. Cassana was so caught up in her creatures that she merely offered him a polite nod before turning her attention back to the cat, which caused him to smile. “What’s its name?”

“This is Balerion. The brown one is Vhagar, and the white one is Meraxes.”

His brows arch in surprise. “You have an interest in Westeros history?”

“Mainly house Baratheon and Targaryen.”

“Why those houses?”

She continues to focus on the animal sprawled across her, scratching behind the cat's ear. Cassana nips at her tongue before answering, as if she’s thinking of an acceptable answer: “I like learning about my family’s history.”

“I imagined you’re tired of hearing about Robert’s rebellion.”

She scoffs, “The septa who taught myself and Myrcella was rather skilled in telling us the histories she wanted us to learn.”

He raises his brows and asks, “Is that so?”

“Nobody was ever going to tell us the full truth of what happened, only the parts they wanted to be remembered.”

Oberyn becomes so lost in his thoughts of the sacking of kings landing that he doesn’t even realise one of the cats had climbed up onto him until he feels the pinch of his claw on his thigh. He swallows back the poison, ready to jump from his mouth, reminding himself that the poor girl couldn’t help who her parents were. “So, who’s your favourite Baratheon then?” He asks, hoping to lighten his sudden, tense mood. “Your father?”

“No,” she chuckles. “The founder of House Baratheon, Orys Baratheon. He was the bastard son of Aerion Targaryen and stepbrother to the three conquerors.”

“The Dornish refused to bend the knee to house Targaryen during Aegon’s conquest.”

“Your words. Ours are unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. You may burn us, my lady, but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your peril.”

The prince was impressed; he didn’t think the Baratheon princess would have any knowledge of who Meria Martell was, let alone his house words. They sit in silence for some time, and Oberyn watches as the sun begins to disappear. The stillness is only disturbed when Cassana speaks again.

“I’m sorry, Prince Oberyn.” She finally looks up at him, her eyes full of sorrow as they meet his. “For what my family did to house Martell, I’m sorry.”

Oberyn was lost for words; he had accepted many thoughts from the daughter of Robert and Cersei, but for her to show genuine remorse wasn’t one of them.

[oneiric-misfit]

Master list / Série Master list

Résumé : "Et quand il posa son regard sur elle, il sut. Inévitablement, indéniablement, il sut. Comme il savait que le soleil se levait chaque matin, comme il savait que la lune brillait chaque et que le printemps succédait à l'hiver. Il sut, qu'il mourrait pour elle. Et quand elle le regarda, elle sut. Indubitablement, incontestablement. Jusqu'à ce que le soleil ne se lève plus sur leur monde, jusqu'à ce que les étoiles se meurent et que l'hiver soit éternel. Elle sut, qu'elle vivrait pour lui."

Mots : 3k

TW : Violence, sang, combat.

Tags : Soulmate, enemy to lovers, second chance, smut.

La main du chevalier se crispa sur le pommeau de son épée à l'approche de Lancehélion, le palais vieux. Leur périple à bord du Véloce s'était déroulé sans encombre, au grand bonheur de Septa Églantine. L'air lourd de la journée laissait peu à peu place à une brise plus fraîche, mais respirer était toujours laborieux pour l'Ouestien. Il était clair que son armure n'était pas adaptée à une atmosphère aussi lourde. Cette pensée lui fit presque regretter d'être bouclier lige, il lui serait impossible de la troquer contre une tenue plus favorable aux lourdes températures de Dorne sans être accusé de trahison. La pression d'une main sur son poignet lui fit baisser la tête. Myrcella se tenait à ses côtés, le regard anxieux, fermement agrippée à son bras. L'homme caressa ses cheveux et lui chuchota que tout irait bien pour elle. 

Cela ne lui fit pas pour autant desserrer la mâchoire, tout ici était hostile. La chaleur étouffante, la végétation, les animaux... Les dorniens. Leur haine à l’égard des Lannister ne rendait pas les regards qui se posaient sur leur assemblée des plus amicaux. Arrivés au centre de la cours intérieur, ils furent accueillis par Arianne Martell, qui serra Myrcella dans ses bras, et fit un clin d'œil suggestif au chevalier qui fit mine de ne pas le remarquer. Derrière elle se trouvait Trystan Martell, le promit de Myrcella. Cette dernière lâcha bien rapidement sa main pour s'avancer vers lui, ses joues rosis montrant qu'elle avait déjà oubliées ses craintes et ses angoisses. Le chevalier les regarda se présenter tandis qu'une voix s'élevait derrière lui. 

- J'imagine que vous avez été recruté pour votre capacité à rester discret et non pour votre force Ser ? 

Il se força à se retourner, un homme se tenait derrière lui, l'œil moqueur, le menton levé. Avant même qu'il ne pose le regard sur lui, il sut qu'il s'agissait du prince Oberyn Martell, la vipère rouge.

Que ce soit son attitude arrogante et séductrice, sa manière de dire des choses sans les prononcer, sa tenue allègrement ouverte sur son torse nu ou son charisme étouffant, tout se prêtait à le nommer comme tel. Il plissa le nez et ignora la douleur sourde qui s'empara de son cœur à l'instant où il croisa le regard du prince. 

- Inan Stoneheart. Je ne suis pas sûr de comprendre votre remarque... Vous connaîtrais je ?

- Oberyn Martell. Stoneheart... Commenta Oberyn en marquant une pause. Je soulève simplement le fait que vous semblez bien frêle pour un chevalier, Bouclier Lige de surcroît. Quel piètre choix pour une si noble maison. 

Il n'avait pas prononcé le nom des Lannister, il n'avait pas attaqué frontalement, se contentant de décrire une vérité physique, Inan était, de fait, petit pour un chevalier et d'une stature qui semblait frêle. Il n'avait pas insinué que la Maison Lannister n'avait pas bien choisit Inan, il avait insinué qu'Inan n'était pas digne de son poste. Cet homme maniait les mots comme du poison, bien dosé, ils pouvaient se montrer létales. Inan le jaugea du regard, puis se mit à sourire. 

- Peut être qu'en vous battant contre moi vous comprendriez pour quelles raisons, j'ai été sacré Bouclier Lige. 

Un silence palpable s'abattit sur la cour, l'atmosphère se fit pesant, de gêne, d'appréhension de stupéfaction. Chacun savait ici, que s’il y avait bien une personne qu’il ne valait mieux pas défier en duel, il s’agissait d’Oberyn Martell. 

- Ser Inan je ne... Commença la voix d'Arianne. 

- Vous ne devriez pas jouer à ce genre de jeu. Le coupa Oberyn. 

Arianne continua de parler, des personnes s'agitèrent, d'autres s'approchèrent mais Inan, tout comme Oberyn, ne détourna à aucun moment son regard. Le reste du monde disparu un instant, ne laissant que cette promesse de se battre l'un contre l'autre. Les prochaines paroles qui sortiraient de la bouche d'Inan seraient déterminantes pour la suite des évènements. Il pourrait s'excuser, rire, faire demi-tour. Inan était bien de choses, mais il n'était pas un lâche. Encore moins une personne sage. Il posa sa paume le pommeau de son épée.

- Je ne joue pas. 

- Comme vous voudrez. 

Oberyn tira son sabre de son fourreau et se recula d'un pas. Inan avait encore le choix, il pouvait ne pas dégainer son épée, s'avouer vaincu par avance. Il poussa doucement Myrcella ; qui s'était rapproché de lui en voyant la scène ; en arrière et tira sur son épée, faisant un pas de côté. La foule s’éloigna, créant un cercle autour des duellistes. 

La vipère rouge frappa en premier, un coup rapide, difficile à prévoir qu'Inan para tout de même sans difficulté. L'homme se déplaçait vite, semblant insaisissable, son surnom de vipère prit rapidement son sens dans l'esprit d'Inan quand il fut pris au dépourvu par ses assaut fluides et précis. 

- Tu ne cesses de parer, un enfant en serait capable ! 

Le prince fit suivre sa phrase d'une attaque haute, les deux mains sur la garde de son sabre, il ne laissa pas d'autres choix à Inan que de contre attaquer. Ce dernier para et assena un coup de pied au prince qui recula de deux pas, un sourire aux lèvres, reprenant aussitôt le combat. Les forces s'équilibrèrent mais bientôt, le prince sembla moins concentré, une lueur de rage dans les yeux. Inan comprit instantanément d'où elle venait et son cœur se serra. 

- Vous êtes tous les mêmes, à cacher votre jeu ! 

Inan contra une attaque qui aurait pu lui être létal, le prince avait visé son cou, puis son ventre sans lui laisser de répit. Ses attaques étaient moins précises, plus directes, il ne prenait plus la peine de rester sur ses gardes. Il devenait dangereux. 

- Des menteurs ! Tu n'as rien à répondre ! 

Inan resta silencieux, concentré sur les attaques du prince, cherchant une faille. Au vu de l'ardeur de son adversaire, il ne pouvait pas se permettre de se déconcentrer au risque de finir ce combat sans sa tête. Son silence semblait rendre Oberyn plus rageur qu'il ne l'était déjà. 

- N'as-tu donc pas d'honneur ? 

La colère fit faire une erreur à Oberyn, il ne prit pas son appui de manière correcte et Inan eu une occasion de lui porter un coup à la jambe. Coup que le prince para instantanément, à la surprise d'Inan. Il n'était peut-être pas si déconcentré que cela par sa colère, en fin de compte. 

- Évite de t'approcher autant, tu n'as pas envie de vérifier si ma lame est empoisonnée. 

Inan se recula brusquement, s'éloignant de la lame. Il croisa le regard d'Oberyn, et le méprit qu'il y vit le révulsa. Cela n'avait que trop duré. Il laissa le Dornien s'approcher et quand il porta un coup vers son flan, Inan ne contra pas, mais élança sa lame vers le cou du prince. 

L'ambiance se glaça, le silence retomba de nouveau. Pendant un instant, Inan eut la sensation de n'entendre que le bruit du sang goûtant sur le sol. Sa lame s'était arrêtée contre le cou du prince, l'éraflant légèrement. La lame d'Oberyn s'était enfoncée dans son flan, entre deux plaques d'armure. Sa visée était impeccable. 

De ce qu'Inan sentait, il avait arrêté son geste avant d'enfoncer trop en avant sa lame. Son contrôle l'était également, c'était un guerrier hors pair. Ils restèrent un instant dans cette position, Inan légèrement penché en avant, son épée contre le cou d'Oberyn, son autre main lui retenant le poignet, Oberyn sa main ne lâchant pas son sabre, le regard rivé sur celui de son adversaire. 

- Et si la lame est empoisonnée ? 

- J'aurais vaincu mon adversaire. 

- N'as-tu aucun instinct de survie ? 

- Qu'en savez-vous ? 

Oberyn plongea un regard indéchiffrable dans celui du chevalier. 

- Je te connais, n'est-ce pas ? 

Interceptant du mouvement de la part des gardes princiers Inan laissa tomber son épée, mais ne lâcha ni sa prise sur le poignet du prince, ni son regard rivé sur ses yeux sombres. Ce dernier leva la main et les gardes se figèrent. 

- Il ne me semble pas vous avoir déjà rencontré, je m'en serais souvenu. 

- Tu as été sélectionné pour ton imprudence alors ? 

- Ce n'est pas moi, qui me suis laissé toucher à un endroit potentiellement mortel. 

Oberyn se mit à sourire et pivota son poignet, tournant sa lame dans sa blessure. Inan ne broncha pas pendant de longues secondes, maintenant le regard du prince. Il serra sa prise sur le poignet de ce dernier. Quand la douleur fut insupportable il lâcha sa prise, posa un genou à terre et le prince retira sa lame. 

Inan voulu se relever seul mais il fut surpris de voir le prince lui proposer son aide, qu'il accepta, plus pour des raisons politique que par choix. Se retrouvant en face du prince il le jaugea sévèrement, sa main fermement appuyé sur sa blessure. 

- Pour ton obstination. 

Seul le silence lui répondit, avant que la voix d’Arianne ne dérange cet échange informel. 

- Oberyn ! Est-ce donc de cette manière que l'on accueil des invités, et de surcroît le Bouclier Lige de la princesse royale ! 

- Un combat de bienvenue, rien de dangereux, une simple démonstration d'amitié entre nos deux peuples, n'est-ce pas, Ser Inan ? 

- Je vous remercie pour votre accueil, Princesse Arianne. Le Prince Oberyn dit vrai, un simple combat amical, j'ai fait preuve de maladresse et suis seul responsable de ma blessure. 

Arianne leva un sourcil de surprise, et Myrcella croisa les bras sur son torse, visiblement contrarié. Inan sentit du sang couler entre ses doigts mais ne regarda pas sa blessure. 

- Faites venir un mestre dans les quartiers de Ser Inan je vous prie. 

- Je vous remercie, mais cela ne sera pas nécessaire, je m'occuperais moi-même de ma blessure, je vous serais reconnaissant d'avoir simplement accès à du matériel pour ce faire. 

Arianne sembla hésiter un instant puis acquiesça, Myrcella accompagnée de Septa églantine se rendit dans ses appartements de la magnifique tour Soleil, et Inan fut accompagné dans sa chambre. Quand il fut seul il lâcha un soupir de douleur et de frustration, et s'attela à détacher les pièces hautes de son armure. Il déchira le bas de son haut de lin et regarda la plaie. Les bords étaient inégaux à cause de la torsion qu'avait exercé le prince avec sa lame, elle en serait bien plus compliquée à recoudre. Ses doigts se refermèrent sur une bouteille de vin dont il but une gorgée avant d'en déverser le contenue sur la plaie, crispant son autre main contre le matelas sur lequel il s'était assis. Il commença à recoudre minutieusement, point par point la plaie qui avait eu la délicatesse d'arrêter de saigner. Une pause fut nécessaire quand il sentit une intense nausée le prendre, nausée qu'il attribua à la sensation de tiraillement ainsi qu'à la douleur de la suture. Qu'importe le nombre de fois qu'il avait dû endurer ces soins, il ne s'y faisait jamais. 

Ce soir-là, l'odeur de la viande rôtie fit gargouiller le ventre d'Inan, elle le faisant presque saliver. S'il y avait bien une chose à laquelle il ne s'habituerait jamais en tant que Chevalier Lige, c'était de manger après les nobles. Il avait d'ailleurs toujours trouvé cela absurde, les chevaliers n'avaient-ils pas besoin de toute leur force en cas de conflit ? Les personnes qu'ils étaient sensée protéger n'apprécieraient certainement pas qu'ils hésitent entre prendre leur défense et voler un morceau de venaison fumante sur la table. Des rires et des éclats de voix résonnaient dans la grande salle au plafond peint et aux faïences colorés. La musique dornienne était, il fallait l'admettre, agréable. Myrcella se tenait à ses côtés. 

- Je ne suis pas d'accord, avec ce que tu as fait quand tu t'es battu contre le prince Oberyn. 

- Avec quoi n'êtes-vous pas d'accord ? 

- Ce n'était pas un combat de bienvenue, c'était dangereux, tu aurais pu être gravement blessé. 

- Et vous savez tout autant que moi que je ne pouvais pas me permettre de remettre en question la parole du prince, certainement pas à Dorne alors que nous venions d'arriver. 

- Peut-être n'aurais tu simplement pas dû accepter ce duel ? Comment comptes-tu me protéger si tu meurs à cause de ton égo ? 

Inan se retint de rire, du haut de ses dix ans la jeune fille n'en était pas moins une véritable princesse, assurée dans ses paroles et dans ses actes. Il s'inclina. 

- Effectivement, je vous prie de m'en excuser, je tacherais de me tenir à carreaux. 

- Vous savez tout autant que moi que cela ne se produira pas. Se moqua l'enfant. 

- Vous devriez rejoindre votre promit, je crois qu'il a quelque chose à vous montrer.

Il la regarda s'éloigner et d'installer sur un pouf de couleur soutenu, elle se mit rapidement à rire en discutant avec Trystan. Les deux enfants se mirent à jouer à un jeu de plateau qu'Inan ne connaissait pas. La princesse royale était tellement absorbée par la compréhension du jeu qu'une ride de concentration s'était formé entre ses deux sourcils. Inan poussa un rire discret et détourna le regard. Il scruta un instant la table princière. 

Les yeux d'Inan poursuivirent leur chemin jusqu'à ce qu'il rencontre ceux d'Oberyn. Son amante de cœur, s'il avait bien compris, était assise à ses côtés, lui offrant des fruits de ses doigts. Le prince lécha les doigts de cette dernière de manière subjective en appuyant son regard sur celui d'Inan. Ce dernier leva les yeux au ciel et dirigea son attention vers quelqu'un d'autre. 

- Bonsoir, Ser Inan Stoneheart, c'est bien cela ? 

Arianne Martell s'était approché de lui, elle posa une main sur son armure, au niveau de son torse et le regarda intensément derrière ses cils noirs. 

- C'est bien cela, votre altesse. 

- Oh voyont, nous ne sommes pas à la capitale ! Appelez-moi Arianne, je vous en prie. 

- Bien, comme vous voudrez, Arianne. 

- Dites-moi, est ce que tous les hommes de l'ouest sont aussi séduisant, ou il ne s'agit que de vous. 

Inan resta silencieux un instant, fixant le mur devant lui, puis adressa un sourire courtois à Arianne. 

- Je vous remercie, j'imagine que cela dépend. Toutes les femmes sont aussi honnêtes dans le sud, ou ce n'est que vous ? 

Un rire franc sortie des lèvres de la jeune femme. 

- Nous sommes bien plus franc que dans l'ouest, je dois l'admettre. J'ai assisté au combat tout à l'heure, vous semblez être un combattant hors pair. 

- Je ne rivalise pas avec le prince, en témoigne mon flanc gauche. 

- Moi, je vous ai trouvé fantastique. 

Inan plongea son regard dans celui de la princesse, était-elle en train d'essayer de le séduire, ou était-elle seulement polie ? 

- Peut être que vous pourriez m'apprendre quelques mouvements... En privé ? 

Inan se mordit l'intérieur de la joue et inspira profondément. Ce n'était visiblement pas de la politesse. 

- Peut être une autre fois.

- J'espère bien en avoir l'occasion, je vous laisse, passez une bonne soirée !

La jeune femme le gratifia d'un clin d'œil avant de s'éloigner en balançant ses hanches. Il la regarda s’éloigner un instant puis croisa une nouvelle fois le regard du prince Oberyn. Ce dernier se leva et se dirigea vers lui. Inan se retint avec force de ne pas pousser un long soupir de résignation, il l’avait assez vu pour aujourd’hui. 

- Pour quelles raisons refuses-tu nos mestres ? As-tu peur d'être empoisonné ? 

- Il est vrai que les dorniens ne s’encombres pas du superflue. J'ai simplement l'habitude de me soigner seul. 

- Pourquoi passer par des détours quand on peut aller droit au but ?  

- Si vous êtes simplement venu vous moquer de moi je vais vous décevoir, je dois me rendre aux côtés de la princesse. 

- Je suis venu te féliciter pour ton combat. Tu as une analyse visuelle et une rapidité de compréhension et d'anticipation incroyable. Cela comble à merveille ton manque de force physique, dommage que tu sois si imprudent. 

- Et vous une agilité, une force et une précision sans égale. Dommage que vous vous laissiez dominer par vos émotions. 

Oberyn poussa un rire sincère. 

- Je crois que je t'apprécie. Tu n'as pas ta langue dans ta poche, et elle est bien affuté, c'est plutôt rare chez ceux qui viennent de Port Réal.

- Cela dépend desquels vous parler. Je dois rejoindre la princesse. 

Oberyn attrapa son poignet quand Inan le dépassa. 

- Fais tout de même attention à ton comportement, il serait dommage de te faire tuer dès ton premier jour à Dorne, il y a tant de belles choses à découvrir ici. 

- Je ne manquerais pas de faire attention, mais je ne suis pas ici pour des raisons touristiques, si vous voulez bien m'excuser. 

Chapitre 2 : Appelle moi Oberyn

[versatileginger]

SYNERGY | INTRO

Oberyn Martell x OC (Elara)

Warnings: AU, violence, weapons, mature themes, murder, everything you'd find in in Game of Thrones. 

Summary: In the embrace of existence, the brilliance of light finds its depth in the shadows, and conversely, the obscurity of darkness discovers its essence in the radiant dance of symbiotic contrast.

A/N: And thus it begins..

In the frigid embrace of dawn's shadows, Elara's alarm, a shrill harbinger of monotony, tears through the cocoon of night. With the weariness of a thousand routines clinging to her, she reluctantly extracts herself from the dwindling warmth of her bed, limbs protesting against the relentless pull of another day. The bathroom, a witness to her perpetual metamorphosis, becomes the stage for her despondent ballet.

Her movements, mechanical and detached, guide her through the motions. Dark red strands cascade like forgotten aspirations as she prepares to face a world painted in grayscale. In the muted glow, a delicate layer of makeup becomes a futile attempt to conceal the exhaustion etched beneath her eyes. The closet, a repository of uninspired choices, relinquishes dark jeans, a nondescript grey t-shirt, and the obligatory leather jacket—a uniform of resignation. A baseball cap crowns her ensemble, a feeble shield against the relentless onslaught of the outside world.

This ritual, once a dance with promise, has devolved into a monotonous symphony played out too many times. Breakfast is reduced to the perfunctory gulp of a Red Bull, a liquid lifeline in a world devoid of vibrancy. Beyond the walls of her apartment, a dismal scene unfolds—the rain, a relentless torrent of forgotten dreams, drenching the world in melancholy.

The allure of a real job and the excitement of office life, once promising, have given way to a withered existence. In the field of sales, her days are a mechanical march through time, compliments falling on deaf ears, and a forced smile unable to breach the depths of her weary eyes. The conclusion of each day is a scripted routine—home, eat, bed—a haunting cycle that repeats like a tired echo.

Turning a desolate corner, she steps into an alley, undeniably shady but undoubtedly quicker. Her gaze scans forward, revealing a figure stationed at the alley's end. Confidence radiates from his stance, sharp features implying strength concealed in shadow. A fleeting glance is all he spares before disappearing, intentionally evading further observation. Just a few steps more, and a cloudiness descends upon her mind—an all-too-familiar precursor to the moment one realizes they're slipping into sleep.

In the heart of the alley, where shadows intertwine with the echoes of her wearied footsteps, she surrenders. Her body succumbs to the inexorable embrace of unconsciousness.

At the desolate terminus of the alley, Oberyn stood, a sinister silhouette against the muted backdrop of shadows. The time had come for Elara, chosen by the scouts days ago, to be collected. As the right hand of the cell's leader in this city, Oberyn held a position of authority, a harbinger of ominous forces operating in the clandestine corners of the urban labyrinth.

Beside him, Lucian, a newcomer shrouded in uncertainty but wanting to prove himself, was present for a purpose—to ensure the subject's procurement unfolded according to plan. The alley, chosen strategically for its familiarity to Elara, became the stage for their sinister operation. Oberyn, making sure Lucian did what he was told, stood ready for damage control, a necessity when handling delicate matters like these.

Elara's form materialized at the entrance of the alley, an unwitting player in a meticulously orchestrated scheme. Oberyn recognized the calculated precision—they had anticipated her routine, exploiting the predictable path she took to work. Now, it was imperative to distance himself, and let Lucian do his thing and execute the extraction. In the realm of clandestine operations, every moment spent not in control was a risk, and Oberyn aimed to minimize those risks.

As the shadows tightened their grip, Elara moved further into the alley, unknowingly stepping into the carefully woven web of their plans. It was a successful day, a dark triumph for the cell that operated with ominous precision in the unseen recesses of the city's underbelly. The whispers of the alley, the echoes of their intentions, heralded the completion of another clandestine chapter, leaving behind only a sense of foreboding in the air.

MAIN MASTERLIST SYNERGY MASTERLIST CHAPTER 1

[wardenparker]

The Viper’s Bride - ch 1

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst​

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol* A slap! Mentions of menstruation, fleeting mention of a suicidal thought, threats of violence, bathing, so much foreplay, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering (anal), MM coupling, MMF threesome, anal sex, oral sex (f giving and receiving), FF coupling, technically this is an orgy. Summary: Upon receiving news of your arranged betrothal, both you and Prince Oberyn of Dorne make your ways to the Red Keep for King Joffrey’s impending nuptials. However, his arrival to the city is significantly more playful than yours. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number seven! This summer we are getting hot and heavy in Westeros with everybody’s favourite promiscuous prince. Buckle up, my darlings, because this one gets spicy right off the bat 👑💖

Oberyn frowns slightly as the oil slicked hands of the servant press into the arches and joints of Doran’s feet, making his older brother hiss in pain. It must be a harsh day for him, his wheeled chair a near constant as it is now too painful for him to walk even short distances. A far cry from the hale and hearty brother he had grown up with as the youngest of the Martell princes. He knows the oil is warmed, the scent of eucalyptus and mint filling the air as it is worked into the skin, hopefully providing some relief. “I can come back, brother. Let you rest.”

“This is important.” Doran insists, not dismissing either man from his presence. His own discomfort is a stark reminder of the sacrifices that must be made for the throne of Dorne. “You know the Baratheon boy is to marry.” The fact that King Joffrey’s mother is a Lannister makes him an unsavory topic between the Martell brothers, even as Marcella Baratheon plays in the water gardens a mere thirty yards away.

Stiffening instantaneously for a moment before he forces his body to relax, Oberyn despised the mention of anything to do with the Lannisters, including that bastard on the throne. Everyone knows the rumors and with the golden mane of the boy and the tales of evils he has done, he’s inclined to believe it. “Gods be praised.” He murmurs sarcastically, reaching for the carafe of wine and the spare goblet that had obviously been left in anticipation of his visit with the elder prince. “What poor girl is marrying that…king?”

“Margaery Tyrell.” The elder prince huffs derisively before leveling his younger brother with a serious gaze. “You are to attend the wedding in my stead.”

Rolling his eyes, Oberyn sighs heavily. It will be two weeks of hard traveling to reach King’s Landing. All for a wedding he does not wish to attend. “I will extend the Martell family’s feelings.”

"You will be gracious and accommodating." Doran warns, knowing that the Martell family's true feelings are not appropriate in any way to be expressed at a wedding. "There will be some other business for you to attend to in King's Landing which is far more important."

“Yes, there is that wonderful brothel down in Flea Bottom.” Oberyn muses, grinning at the idea of bringing Ellaria there. The last time he had come, it had been two years before he had met her.

"Oberyn." His brother's voice has a warning tone to it. "I beg you not to waste your time in brothels on this trip no matter how enjoyable a pastime it may be. There is someone you need to meet."

He snorts and shakes his head. “I have no interest in meeting boring nobles with their equally boring wives.” He tells him. “I’ll be with Ellaria anyway.”

"No, you won't." Doran jerks away from his servant in frustration and turns to fully face Oberyn. "I will not have that woman jeopardize the contract I have signed when the ink is barely dry. Leave her home, Oberyn. She will be here with open legs when you return."

Oberyn’s brow arches up dramatically. Doran has never had issue with Ellaria, even counting her as a confidant in his absence. She is the mother of four of his children and a member of the family despite there being no vows between them. His soulmate. “What contract?” He growls.

"Leave." He hisses at the young man who was tending to him and he backs off immediately, taking the pot of oil back into the interior of the palace as fast as his feet can carry him. "It was time, Oberyn," he intones seriously. "Far past time, but I have let you have your freedom as long as I was able."

“Let me have my freedom?” His hackles rise and his eyes narrow. “I have my freedom because I wish it.” He reminds his brother. “I am not the head of the Martells like you, and you have your heir.”

"I have one heir." Doran bristles, but the raised tension between the brothers is his own fault. A product of the tension and pain he was already feeling today. "If anything should happen to Trystane, it will be you on the throne. And though I have great love for my nieces, none of them can be a princess."

“Our house will endure like it always has.” Oberyn snorts, dismissing Doran’s concern. “If the time comes, I will marry Ellaria and claim my Sand Snakes as legitimate.” He takes a long sip of his wine, humming at the delightfully floral note.

"The chance for that has passed." It is Doran's turn to be dismissive, sitting back again in his wheeled chair and adjusting a cushion under his arm. "Your objections to marriage have been noted, brother, but it is time to make a respectable husband of you. Ellaria will understand. She is an intelligent woman, and I'm sure would not abandon you as your mistress." Oberyn prefers the term paramour, and though it is accurate now, it will be more complicated once things are settled.

“Brother, what have you done?” Oberyn demands, slamming his goblet down onto the table.

"You know exactly what I have done." There is no chance, in his mind, that Oberyn has not deduced that a marriage contract has been signed, but Doran still sighs heavily. "She is the only daughter of a noble family. The father let her go without a match for some time while her brothers all married, but her portrait is beautiful and he assures me that she is accomplished." Reaching for the wine glass that Oberyn has rejected, Doran takes a gulp rather than a sip. "And she has no marks, blessedly."

“The agreement was my soulmate or no one.” Oberyn hisses, his gaze turning withering. “I will not marry some cow faced northerner.”

"Every place is northern to Dorne," Doran waves one hand dismissively and sets the wine glass back down on the table between them. "The contract is signed, Oberyn. You will not make a liar or a fool of your brother by denying it, and I am not going to try to force you to spend time with the girl or even like her. But you will marry her and produce a legitimate heir." The contract is full of terms to be adhered to, and the fairly enormous size of the girl's dowry includes access to trade routes that will greatly benefit the people of Dorne. There is no downside to this arrangement in Doran's mind, aside from having to have this discussion with his brother.

Oberyn’s lips press together in a firm line and his chair scrapes back as he stands. “Then you fuck the girl.” He hisses. “For I will not be gracing her bed.” Turning on his heel, the prince storms away before he loses his infamous temper.

Doran breathes a sigh, reaching for the goblet again to drown his frustrations in the wine that his maester has instructed him to avoid when he is in pain. "Fuck it," he grumbles harshly. Oberyn is going to make his life a living hell anyway, he may as well be drunk for it.

******

“Marriage!” Oberyn scoffs angrily, pacing in front of the lounge where his paramour is currently sprawled. “As if I am some fresh-faced maiden. How dare he sign a contract on my behalf!”

"I smell Mellario behind it," Ellaria admits, watching him pace back and forth like a caged beast. Oberyn had come careening back into his chamber like a sandstorm and now he was seething. "Doran has never had issue with your arrangement before now, and suddenly he is concerned about heirs? I would not be surprised if her change has come."

“Or he cannot get his cock to rise.” Oberyn winces at the idea of his own cock not working, but with his brother’s declining health, he would not rule it out. “I will not do it.” He decides. “We will leave for Braavos if he decides to push the issue.”

"My love," Ellaria sits up, shaking her head. "If you leave here, I would follow. You know this. But you would still have four daughters you would not be able to see and we both know that would break your heart." His children are the most important thing in the world to Oberyn – everyone knows this – and Doran would certainly use them as a punishment for insubordination. "Exile is no choice, Oberyn. Even self-imposed."

Pausing mid-stride, his robes swish around his legs as he turns to stare at the woman who had been with him and by his side for nearly twenty years. “You would have me entertain this idea?” He demands, surprised she would consider this.

“I would not have you be less of a man than you are.” For all her complexities, Ellaria Sand is not the temptress or the snake that some make her out to be. Her genuine love for Oberyn is rooted in as much respect as it is passion, and their four daughters currently have a father that they can look up to as a good and wise man. “What is the worst this girl could be?” She poses the question carefully as he shifts his weight anxiously in front of her, and she folds her hands in her lap. “Ugly? That is not her fault. The sun and good company can make anyone more beautiful. Cruel? Doran has already said you do not have to spend much time with her. Or perhaps childish? Spoiled? Then you treat her like a child and send her to her chamber without a treat if she misbehaves.” There is anger in his face, which Ellaria hates to see, but she tries to be encouraging. Motherhood has taught her that encouragement can be a balm on almost any wound. “So you would be married. What does that signify? Nothing in so far as you and I are concerned. You are still my soulmate, my love. And the father of my children. She cannot change that.”

“You are my sun.” Oberyn reaches down and takes his lover’s hand to draw her to her feet. Pulling her against his body, his broad hand covers the small scar on her side, a knife wound that he had earned in the fighting pits. “My world.” He promises, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, trying to rid himself of the idea of tying himself to another. Ellaria is his soulmate, which is why he had said that he would only marry the woman who bears his marks.

"And no one will ever change that." She vows just as solemnly, giving herself over to the kiss without restraint. There are parts of his world that she does not stray into, or they would have fought with Doran for the right to marry years ago. The elder Martell brother may not mind her as Prince Oberyn's paramour, but she is not what he would envision for a princess of Dorne, nor does Ellaria particularly want such a title. For Oberyn she might have borne the duty of it all, but he never asked that of her and she was grateful. Now, whoever this girl is that is being thrust into their life will bear that burden instead. Ellaria does not envy her the responsibility.

******

“My love, you must calm yourself.” Within the walls of your chambers, Raeden Stone knows that the two of you are safe. Your maid will not interrupt unless necessary and she is sworn to protect your happiness and well-being above everything else, including your parents. “Stop.” Striding across the room, the sword at his side clanks as he grabs your hands filled with dresses, and takes them from you. “We cannot flee under the cover of darkness like we are thieves escaping the sword.” He knows that if he is caught, he will be killed or sent to the Wall as well.

"I won't do it." The very idea is offensive, leaving the taste of burnt crumbs in your mouth and the feeling of insects crawling on your skin, so that even with Raeden clutching your hand all you can think of is being rid of the horrible sensation. This whole horrible situation. Your eyes are already red from tears, their dried tracks left on your cheeks and down your neck, yet still more threaten to spill over as he holds you still. "I won't marry a stranger and move halfway across the world. I won't leave you behind!"

“You will not need to leave me.” Setting the clothes down on the trunk that is meant to be packed for your journey to King’s Landing and then to Dorne, he cups your cheeks. “I will pledge to accompany you.” He promises, his dark eyes boring into yours. His heart aches but he had known this day would eventually come. “I will ride into all seven hells if need be to stay beside you.”

"Why can we not just tell them?" Your smaller hands wrap around his long fingers, holding tight to him as though he might disappear if you let go. "To marry my soulmate should not be such a shocking thing to do, surely?" Having gone over and over it in their time together, you know why. Status. For a young noble woman to marry a bastard of no consequence, soulmate or otherwise, would be unacceptable in any part of Westeros.

“I have no name to offer you, other than Stone.” Raeden reminds you, aware of his station. He had only become a trusted member of your guard when he had risked his life for you nearly three winters ago. No one knew of the shared marks on your skin. No one could know. “No coin, no land, no future.”

"I could be your future." The argument is an old one. Aged and worn like the stones in your floor. The fact that you would abandon your station and your family for him is moot now that your father has sold you. "Three brothers married wealthy wives and yet I am the sacrificial lamb to be offered up to the lecherous second prince of Dorne." The stories of the man's temperament and deeds preceded him, of course. Lusty and vengeful, the second son of House Martell was to be feared never spoken of above a whisper in polite company. And now you have to marry him?

“I have heard he is handsome.” Despite his own heart aching at the thought of another touching you, he has to make this seem like a good thing. “They say he will treat any in his bed respectfully.”

"He could be the most handsome man in all of Dorne and he would still not be as handsome as you." Soulful eyes the color of chestnut shells, plush lips, and a perpetually mischievous smile when he’s pleased, there is no one more handsome than Ser Raeden Stone. Firm muscles and an impressive strength make him as formidable on the battlefield as they do in the bedroom - a fact which you have kept mum about for years now. Raeden's broad frame and towering height envelope you fully when you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his chest to muffle a sob. "I will never lay with him. Or love him. Not as long as I live."

“You will be his wife.” He swallows as he says those words. “You will bear his children, love or not. And I will protect you.” It will be his own special kind of hell, watching you grow with a child that is not his, marry a man who is not him. “You must not tell him, love.”

"How can you be so calm?" You demand, looking up at him with fear and hurt swimming in your eyes. "My father is sentencing me to stand at the side of another man and you...my love, I cannot believe you are accepting of this?"

“I have no choice but to accept it.” His voice hardens slightly. “If we try to run away together, we will be caught. I will be killed or sent to the Wall.” It rankles, but he had known that one day you would be married off. “I cannot protect you if I am dead or taken the oath.” He growls, shaking his head and leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I cannot risk leaving you alone.”

"Only cruel gods would have given us to each other as soulmates without ever intending to allow our love." It is an unfairness of life that you have lamented more than once, but right now it feels as though a dagger has been plunged through your heart and twisted violently.

“The gods know of our love.” Raeden knows it, sighing softly. “We are together and we will still be together.” He kisses you softly. “I spend more nights in your bed than my own. It will be the same in Dorne.”

"I will not allow it to be any other way." Despite the fear of the unknown, the thing that you can cling to is the strength of your feelings for Raeden Stone. Since the day he arrived rather triumphantly in your life, he has been a constant and welcome presence and you will not allow any power to steal your soulmate from your side. "No prince from Dorne will ever keep you from my arms."

“There is my girl.” Raeden smiles, happy that you are calm again and he presses closer to you. “Now…do you wish that I take your mind off your worries?” He coos softly.

“I always wish for you.” Though time is precious now, as you leave for King’s Landing in just three days and the road is no place for a romantic interlude. Raeden will not even be allowed to ride in your carriage during the journey. His place as your guard demands that he protect you, not indulge in you. Although he is fully capable of doing both.

The grin that you have said melts you flashes across his face and he pulls back so he can remove his belt and sword. “Then let me make you forget about Dorne, forget about marriage and only think of me.”

******

The painstaking journey feels ludicrous, and your weary mother certainly has not made it any easier with her complaining. The decision for your parents to accompany you was entirely your father’s and even then it was only so that he could brag to his small group of friends that he attended the king’s wedding. If this were only about delivering you to your groom, he would have sent you with your guard and your maid and thought no further on it. As it is, you have spent every day sitting beside your mother’s lady’s maid in the cramped and uncomfortable carriage praying that you might get even ten minutes alone with Raeden before the end of the day. It has hardly happened, and you have found yourself near tears rather constantly. Ignorant man that your father is, he imagines you so delirious with joy that you are weeping for your good fortune. The truth could not be further away.

“Do not fret.” Your mother assures you softly. “We have long had daughters marry in Dorne or Dornish brides sent to us.” She reminds you. “While most will look their noses down at a Dornish man, we know he will treat you well.”

“I still do not see why this marriage is even necessary.” And since no one has offered you any sort of explanation, you’re inclined to just ask. “My brothers married wealthy women. We do not need the favour of House Martell. So I am forced to wonder again why I am being offered to them in sacrifice.”

“Change is coming to Westeros.” Your mother leans in, her words quiet and fervent. “Dorne is the last kingdom that still has royalty. You will not just be a lady, you will a princess.”

"I do not want to be a princess." You inform her flatly, ignoring the way her lady's laid looks aghast at your ingratitude. "My own maid had more freedom than I do. At least someone asked her if she wanted to be shipped south like chattel. And she was even able to say no!" Though Clarey had served you since you came of age, your own maid had been able to marry her soulmate and had recently discovered she was with child. Your father had considered himself quite magnanimous for not breaking up that family to send her to Dorne with you.

“You would have your father break his contract with Dorne?” Your mother asks, appalled at the mere idea. “You were born into a noble house. You have grown up knowing your father would arrange a marriage for you. Most are married at seventeen.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment that you are forever ungrateful for the time your father had allowed you to remain unwed. If you only knew the rumors that had swirled.

"If you always planned to marry me against my will then I wonder that you waited so long." Staring out of the carriage window, you can see Raeden up ahead, face drawn in concentration as he keeps constant vigilance over the route you are traveling. "Why not have signed me away to the Starks when I was born?" The bitterness in your voice is obvious. "Then I would have been a queen."

“You will watch your sharp tongue, or you shall be sent to your room without dinner.” Your mother hisses, sitting back and shaking her head. “Your father wanted to hold out hope for a soulmate.”

"I am not a child, as you so love to point out when it is convenient to you." The threat of no dinner is nothing when you have no appetite to begin with. It would be a blessing not to be stared at over a meager meal. "And you can hardly send me to my room when I haven't one. We will not even arrive in King's Landing before first light tomorrow."

Your mother’s hand strikes out, slapping your cheek with a sharp crack. “You will not shame your father and house.” She hisses. “I have long begged your father to marry you off, to stop giving into your childish notions, but no more. You will marry Oberyn Martell.”

If the impulse to cup your own cheek was present, you don’t give in to it, not wanting to show the satisfaction of acknowledging that she has caused you pain of any kind. At the moment all you can really think is that it is good Raeden did not witness your mother striking you, or he may have given himself away with his reaction. “At least in Dorne I will never again be forced to breathe the same odious air you have exhaled.” No one in all of Westeros could ever have mistaken your mother for your ally if they saw you interact in private – it is only her sickly sweet countenance in public that made others think that she had babied or favoured you in any way. More than once in your life you’ve wondered how such a hateful woman could even grow a babe let alone birth four of them.

“You will learn your place soon enough.” She promises you. “You are a woman, not a man.” Her disappointment in you pours off of her in waves. “Be thankful your father did not choose a fat, aging lord.”

“Fat and aging means he would die faster.” At least antagonizing your mother is passing the time, you decide, staring straight ahead at the pompous boil of a woman who has lorded herself over you for the last twenty-five years. “I think I would do very well as a widow.”

“I wonder if your bravery would falter learning that your guard will not be staying with you.” The sly, evil menace in your mother’s voice is clear.

“Of course he will.” Brazen confidence is the tone which drowns out your panicked fear, and you tell yourself not to look outside and give yourself away. That could ruin everything in less than one heartbeat. “He swore to Father to protect me and Father accepted.” If something had changed, surely Raeden would have told you.

“Hmmmm.” Her smile is acidic, her fingers twisting around her handkerchief. “You think you are soooo clever. That I did not know.”

“Honestly?” Honestly you really did not think for a second that anyone besides your former maid knew anything, but you swallow down the boiling acid in your throat and keep your chin poised to stare your own mother down. “I do not know what you could possibly mean.”

“I birthed you.” She snorts, a very unladylike sound. “You think I do not know when my daughter had decided to spread her legs and become a Stone’s whore?”

Of course the thing that bothers her most is that Raeden is a bastard – Stone, as they are named in the Vale – and not an actual concern of safety or care. “I can assure you, that is not the case.” Though saying it would be a waste of breath, nothing you have done with Raeden could mark you as a whore. Just a woman very much in love with her soulmate.

“At least you just bled.” She scoffs. “Not carrying a bastard in your belly.” She leans in, her eyes flashing with malice. “Behave. Or I will allow your father into my bed for the night and he will do as I say. Including making sure your precious Raeden rides home to the Vale with his lord, your father.” She threatens.

Though you have serious doubts that your mother’s cunt is magical enough to control your father’s thoughts, it isn’t a chance you’re willing to take. If Raeden is ordered to return to the Vale and you are forced to ride for Dorne without him, you are more likely to see the bottom of the seas than your marriage bed. “My Lord Father loves me and wishes to protect me,” is all you say in response.

“Your Lord Father will do what makes me happy.” She promises you with a self-assured smirk. “Especially now that I have convinced him to marry you off.”

“It was you?” You should not be so shocked. Her hatred for you has been obvious from the time you were a child and had never seemed to waver. Your father, on the other hand? Doting and indulgent, always picking flowers for you and bringing you books instead of suitors. Your brothers are strong men with discipline instilled in them. You had been allowed to read and dream and sing and ride at your leisure. Of course his sudden change of heart was down to your bitter, angry mother.

“Who else?” She sneers. “Your father would be content to keep you around until you are nothing but a spinster. You are already past your prime. Luckily enough, the Prince of Dorne already has eight bastards.”

The way her utter dismissal of you makes your blood boil is beyond explanation, but as you squeeze your hands together in the pockets of your robe, only one precious thought floats to the surface. “My only solace is that if I should ever see you again after this week, Mother, you shall have to curtsy to the person you despise most in the world.”

“I will not.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I will never bow to a little whore like you.”

“Oh, but you will.” A victory, even a small one, is enough to grasp at as you square your shoulders again. “When I am Princess of Dorne it will be required of everyone save King Joffrey himself. You included.”

“Bitch.” She hisses, glaring at you. “I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb.”

“A regret you will live with forever.” If Knocking her from her wicked confidence is the best you can do in this conversation, you will not take that for granted, for your mother has always been a formidable enemy. “Now leave me to read, Mother. Lest you earn yourself another wrinkle and find your hair a shade greater than it was when we left home.”

“I will be overjoyed to not see your face every day.” She spits, hating that you don’t seem cowed by her threats. “Dorne will be eye opening for you. And everything you deserve:”

“As you say, Mother.” Without another word, you take the small book of histories from your reticule and open it to the place where you left off last night, too distracted by Raeden’s handsome face to give any more thought to words. False confidence is a thing you learned very well in the face of your mother’s vitriol, and apparently on this one occasion it has actually yielded a victory. You may still be terrified of your future in Dorne, but she never needs to know that.

******

“This city still smells like shit.” Two weeks of travel has left Oberyn irritable, grumbling as he pulls his horse up to the gates of the city. “Let us go find comfort and a bath.” He tells Ellaria, unable to stay in the carriage and deciding to ride ahead of the contingent of troops Doran had sent with him.

“At the brothel, my love?” She smirks at the suggestion, far less uncomfortable from travel than he is. “A bath, fresh food, and a good fuck will restore your mood.”

“Of course.” Oberyn scoffs. “I will not accept chambers in that keep.” He hates even being here and seeing it. Wanting to burn it down, considering his sister, niece and nephew died in that keep.

“Nor should you.” As a prince he should have the most resplendent rooms available, but they both know what would happen if Oberyn ever set foot in the Red Keep beyond the wedding in two days. “We will visit this Littlefinger you have spoken of?”

“I had sent word that we were arriving.” He chuckles, smirking at Ellaria because she knows him so well. “Tell me you don’t want a hot bath and an even hotter cunt?”

“If I am honest, I am ravenous for a cunt to bury my tongue in.” There is never any judgment between them, or jealousy, and Ellaria sighs indulgently at the idea of a slick cunt and perky tits to indulge in. “Will you share with me, lover?”

“Always.” Oberyn waggles his brows. “We will pick out a whore together.”

“A favorite pastime.” Ellaria laughs softly. She has not spoken a word about Oberyn’s intended bride since they left Dorne and she won’t until it’s necessary. His mood is volatile here in the northern capital and she does not relish his moments of anger.

“Silk sheets.” Oberyn groans, not willing to admit that he is weary of travel, but he needs to recover. Especially if he is to be meeting this bride. He had decided that the poor girl deserves to be told in person that he will have nothing to do with her.

“Silk sheets. Roasted meats. Wine. Berries and nuts fresh from their trees.” She giggles when his hand slips inside her dress to caress her skin. “And a pert ass for you to bury yourself in.”

“We could get two. A man and a woman.” He reasons, smirking at the idea. “Perhaps we will have Littlefinger line them all up for us to choose from.”

“As many as you like, my love.” After all, it is not as if the coffers of Dorne lack for funds. They have brought a fortune with them under Doran’s insistence that Oberyn shower his intended with gifts – and a second fortune to pay for the bills his natural extravagance will no doubt incur. “We will have whatever you desire. And when you have had your fill we will rest and then begin all over again.”

“Wine.” Oberyn decides, frowning despite thinking of nicer things as the two of them enter the walls of King’s Landing. “I will need a lot of wine.”

Their destination is not far, but the duo of Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand attract attention by virtue of their combined beauty and the onlookers who cluster to gaze at them make their journey last longer. Oberyn sends their driver off with the carriage to find stables nearby and Ellaria wraps her arms around him when he returns to her side in the steps of the building. “Do you hear the false moans, my prince?” She pouts in sympathy for the unsatisfied women inside as they cross the threshold together. “We will make them scream so they never forget us.”

Oberyn smirks, holding her hand with no shame. He does not hide Ellaria, she is his paramour. Much more than that, although that is something that is kept between the two of them, private at her insistence so she does not become a liability to him. “We will, my love. Every whore in this brothel will pout when you leave.”

“Very pretty pouts, I hope.” Ellaria loves a very pretty pout when the time is right. To be begged to come back to bed. To have a lover cry her name with such passion that their heart aches for more. She saunters into the brothel beside Oberyn with her head high and looks around as the prettily dressed woman at the entrance fawns over Oberyn. Everyone fawns over Oberyn, that is of little interest to her.

Oberyn eyes the cunts and tits on display, lifting a brow when he sees earrings through one woman’s nipples. “I see we are in the right place.” He smirks, watching as Littlefinger rushes over to the pair.

“Prince Oberyn.” Though he does not ever bow deeply, he does bow, eyes tracking over to Ellaria with an oily smile. “My lady. What an honour to be graced with your presence. What can we provide for you this morning?”

“My lady?” Ellaria scoffs, making Oberyn smirk and squeeze her hand. “We will be needing accommodations for the duration of our stay in King’s Landing.” Most brothels do not rent rooms and he is sure that Littlefinger’s establishment is no different but Oberyn has learned that his title and the gold of his coin makes things possible when they previously weren’t. “For now, until it is ready, we need baths and whores to join us.”

“The duration of your stay?” The man does not bother to hide his surprise, but smiles broadly like the showman that he is. “I will send someone to ready your accommodations,” he promises, hand on heart. “Our baths are this way,” Littlefinger motions deeper into the building. “Do you have a preference for who should join you or shall I send you a variety to choose from?” There is enough gold dripping from the Prince of Dorne that Littlefinger will unfold the world of pleasure at his feet if that is what he wishes, without worry for his ability to pay what is owed.

“Your choicest men and women.” Oberyn looks over to Ellaria for her approval. “Clean.” He insists, although Littlefinger’s whores are always of a higher caliber than most. “We will send the others away once we have chosen.”

“Leyth.” Littlefinger waves to a tall, buxom girl with orange curls down to her waist. “Tend to the prince and his lady for me,” he instructs her, obviously trusting that she can do the job. “Anything they need, you will acquire for as long as they are here, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl called Leyth nods and smooths her thin skirt, looking between the beautiful prince and his stunning lady. “I will be happy to serve them.”

“Good.” The chuckle that bubbles out of Littlefinger is full of approval. “Take them to the baths and then fetch them food and wine.” He smiles at Oberyn, a thing dripping with false charm. “I will send you a selection of company to choose from.”

“Berries.” Oberyn adds, the need for fresh fruit after weeks on the road is great. Ellaria chuckles, well aware of his fondness for snacking, especially when he is fucking.

“Berries.” Leyth bats her eyelashes prettily as she leads the pair down the hall. “Do you prefer sweet things, your Grace?”

“Hmmmm.” He doesn’t answer one way or the other, although his gaze is sliding up and down her form and he reaches out to caress her ass through the sheer robe she is wearing.

She hums right back at him, playful but bidding, and slows her pace slightly to let him touch as they turn the corner to the bathing room. The deep bath in the floor sits full and waiting for paying customers, beautifully tiled with trays of soap and sponges for gently scrubbing skin. The oiled waters smell of flower petals, and two baths are even littered with the things. Leyth walks toward the bath of floral water with a sultry smile and a swing in her hips. “I will wash you with my own hands if that is your wish, after I fetch you food to break your fast.”

“What do you say my love?” Oberyn asks Ellaria. “Leyth and whoever catches our eyes?” He would love to see his paramour’s thighs spread for the orange haired beauty. “Or would you prefer to choose the woman?”

“You are lovely, Leyth.” Ellaria praises, already having decided that she likes this woman’s spirit as well as her figure. “We will see who else catches our eye when they arrive.”

“Show me your tits.” Oberyn commands the woman. Eager to see if they are as perky as they seem or if it is an illusion of the gown she is wearing.

Obedience is necessary to work for Littlefinger, but Leyth is lucky to have been given to this couple she finds so attractive. She slips the ties from her shoulders and lets her silken dress fall to the stone floor with pride. Her body is well worth selling and has given her a good living, so she proudly bares her large tits and curved waist to this prince when he demands it.

“Very nice.” Oberyn groans with a smirk. “They will look lovely bouncing when you ride my cock.” He predicts. “We can undress ourselves.” He promises, turning to Ellaria and pushing aside her own gown so he can cup her bare breast, tweaking an already hard nipple.

Ellaria moans happily when the girl excuses herself to fetch their food, and drops the traveling robe she was wearing to the ground immediately. “Lover…” she sighs, her body arching to seek Oberyn’s touch instinctively. “You were right about this place.”

“Of course I am right.” He teases playfully, leaning in and dragging his nose along her throat. “Now, we need to wash so we can be ready to play when the whores are brought in. I want to feed you fruit while a tongue is buried in your cunt.”

“Leyth is a beauty.” Ellaria disrobes easily and quickly, leaving her things scattered as she steps into the bath built deep into the floor. It is warm and smells sweet, like summer in the Water Gardens. “Pale, but I like her freckles.” She looks up at Oberyn with admiration as he shrugs off his own robes. “I like your freckles better, though.” Especially the one on the inside of his right thigh, high on his muscled leg where she can kiss it before swallowing his cock.

“Just like her tits are gorgeous, but yours have suckled four of my children.” His cock twitches and he kicks off his boots, throwing the loose, pale yellow shirt off and reaching for his leather breeches.

“Hers are bigger than mine.” Ellaria chuckles at the way he loves tits. “Enjoy them, lover. I know I shall.”

“You always do.” He chuckles, thanking the gods that his soulmate is just as adventurous as he is. “Maybe she will be the only one we choose for now.”

“Perhaps.” Sighing as she lays back in the water, Ellaria tilts her head and soaks her hair, enjoying the way she feels cleaner already. “Perhaps we will develop a taste for sun-red hair while we are here.”

“Whatever we develop a taste for, we will indulge in.” Oberyn does not mind sharing her, doesn’t get jealous because she is his sun and world. No one could break their bond.

“Come to me, lover.” She beckons him with both hands, pouting for him prettily. Now that travel is behind them, Oberyn is already cheerier and it lightens her heart. “Soak with me. It has been weeks since we had a bath.”

“With pleasure.” Stripped down, Oberyn strides over to the bath and starts to descend the stairs to join her in the deep tub.

Ellaria moves to him immediately, arms welcoming him home and lips finding his with a deeply satisfied moan. Her legs are around his waist as quickly as his hands find her ass, and his growing cock twitches against her soft skin.

Oberyn turns around, letting his paramour cling to him as he drops down onto the seat under the water. “I love you.” He murmurs quietly against his lips.

“As I love you.” Since the day they first spoke the words to each other they have not wavered, and Ellaria runs her hands across Oberyn’s skin reverently. “My warrior.”

“My sun.” Oberyn squeezes her ass and rocks her onto his hardening cock. “My world.” The passion between the pair has not wavered over the years, growing stronger in a way that could only be because of their soulmate bond.

“Oberyn.” No matter how many times she takes him, the stretch of his cock inside her takes her breath away. Her hands find his shoulders to cling to him as they find their pace, with his grip guiding her as she begins to bounce on his length in earnest.

“Too soon, my love?” He teases, knowing she is far more than adequately wet. She is dripping.

“Never.” She shakes her head before throwing it back, letting her moan ring out through the echoey chamber. “Never. I am always yours.”

Multi-tasking is a gift that Oberyn has. Results of a wandering spirit and a restless mind. It was one of the reasons he had joined the maesters and eventually left after forging eight links. He reaches for the perfumed soap and a rag to wash his lover.

They are fully enraptured with each other when Leyth returns, and she sets the tray down beside them before seeing about pouring two goblets of wine. It’s rare to have pairs of lovers visit the establishment but not unheard of, and she smiles indulgently, watching the passion they share for a moment before making herself known. “I can do that for you, your Grace,” she offers, knowing her employer will be upset if she neglects them.

Even with Ellaria impaled on his cock, Oberyn tears his mouth away from her lips and looks over at the woman. “Join us and bring the wine.” He orders. “Are the others coming?”

“They are right here.” Leyth slips into the water easily, taking the sponge from him and resumes the work of bathing his lady without missing a beat. Four women and two men all of varying ages and looks pour into the room behind her clad in next to nothing looking apprehensive.

“Do not be shy.” Oberyn turns Ellaria’s head and groans when she clenches down around him. “Any who wish to not join us may leave now.” He does not want someone who is timid.

The most tired looking of the women takes the youngest girl by the hand and leads her from the room with a respectful nod of her head, and one of the men bows before stepping out behind them. "Leaving us with five supple bodies to learn," Ellaria groans appreciatively. Between Oberyn's cock and Leyth's hands massaging her back as she washes her, this is surely already one of the seven heavens. One of the girls is the first to step forward, beautiful dark skin on display and bright eyes full of mischief as she easily discards her meager dress and slips into the water right away. She has heard legends of the second prince of Dorne and intends to find out for herself if they are true.

“Eager.” Oberyn chuckles and beckons her forward. “I like that.” His eyes slide past her towards the remaining man, tall and broad. His tawny skin clear and it’s obvious that his cock is starting to harden as he watches. “You—” he motions towards him. “Do you suck cock or like cock in your ass?”

"I like whatever you like, my lord." After all, is that not what he is here for? Being a man with a voracious appetite for pleasure makes him an asset in a place like this.

Oberyn growls, eyeing his cock tenting the loose trousers he is wearing. “Strip and join us if you are going to.”

Spacious as it is, there is not enough room for everyone in the bath, and the last remaining girl lays down bare on the edge after everyone has climbed in and patiently plays with herself while she waits her turn. There is plenty to feast her eyes on until one of them decides to bury their face in her pussy.

Twitching inside his lover, he kisses her gently and pulls her off his cock. “Go play, my love.” He urges her, knowing she wants to do more than just be touched.

"We may learn to enjoy King's Landing after all." Ellaria laughs, happily letting hands explore her skin. Leyth and the man gravitate toward Oberyn, and she is happy to drown herself in a sea of pussy until she is drunk on the sound of women's pleasure.

When he is close enough, Oberyn reaches down and cups the man’s cock firmly. “What is your name?” He demands, squeezing him gently and jerking him slowly.

"Cal, my lord." His eyelids flutter slightly at the firm touch, eager for more. "Or whatever you want it to be."

“Cal….” He smirks and presses his thumb against the head of the man’s cock. “Have you ever been fucked by a Prince?”

The way Cal shudders and his breath hitches is reverent, and he shakes his head as he tries to remember to breathe. "No, your Grace. But I would like to be."

He turns to Leyth, jerking his chin up. “Kiss me.” he orders, stretching his neck out and lets go of the man’s cock so he can slide his hand around him to press between the cheeks of his ass.

The room fills with moans as Leyth eagerly complies, licking into the prince's mouth with surety. She knows her skill and she hopes to impress, even pressing closer to him to wrap her own hand around his cock.

Oberyn hisses, his tongue sliding against hers happily as he finds Cal’s puckered hole quickly and starts to rub around the opening.Hands are everywhere as Cal lowers his head to lay kisses along the taut muscles of the prince's neck, one hand caressing his skin and the other groping for Leyth's breast to squeeze the supple flesh and play with her nipple. They are paired together often, when clients wish for a show, so he knows her body as well as any instrument.

“You are lovers.” Oberyn groans, pushing a finger inside the man’s quivering hole. On the other side of the bath, Ellaria and the ebony skinned beauty are tangled together in a passionate embrace.

"Sometimes." Leyth agrees, leaning over to give Cal a kiss without missing a single stroke of the prince's cock.

The sounds of heavy breathing and pleasure are filling the bathing room and he can feel the way Cal’s body squeezes his finger as he pumps it into him to stretch him out. “So do you want his cock or his tongue while I fuck him?”

"If I have his cock, I will feel every time you fuck into him." She moans at the idea, chest heaving with just the thought. "You will be driving us both wild with pleasure."

He chuckles and nods, pulling his fingers out of the other man. “Then get on your knees and let him slide inside your cunt.”

Kneeling on the bench where he had been sitting, Leyth presents herself easily for both men to appreciate and sighs out loud when the familiar stretch of Cal's cock presses inside of her wet heat. She knows that Cal is truly the one getting spoiled today and hopes the prince lives up to every rumour for his sake.

Oberyn can’t help but reach out and slap her ass and groans when her generous skin jiggles. “I will fuck you after I have had my fill of your lover.”

"He is insatiable," Ellaria offers, chuckling deeply before burying her face in the cunt nearest her talented mouth. Oberyn is not the only one with an endless appetite. It is one of the reasons that they have so much fun together.

“It has been two weeks.” He huffs, rolling his eyes. There hadn’t been any place to stop and fuck while on the road. He was pent up.

"No one here will complain, my lord." Cal promises, burying himself again in Leyth's cunt and groaning at her heat. "The stories of you are legend, and most of us are eager to know if they are true."

“They are true.” Ellaria pulls his tongue out of the cunt to purr her vote of confidence.

“Thank you, my love.” Oberyn chuckles and reaches for the oils that are kept on the edge of the bath for things such as this.

"Then we will add our praise to the stories that already exist." Soon Leyth will be able to do nothing but take the thrusts from the two men above her, but for now she meets each movement with a roll of her plush hips.

"We are yours for as long as you wish to stay." It is only half of a promise from Cal himself, having been instructed by Littlefinger himself to give Prince Oberyn whatever he wants, but at least now Cal can make the vow with pleasure.

Oberyn has no doubt that these people have been told to do whatever he or his paramour likes but he will only take what he deems right. “Only if I bring you both pleasure.”

"I cannot imagine you have trouble giving pleasure." Cal moans, bending over Leyth's back to present himself to the prince for the taking.

Coating his cock in enough oil to wash his entrance, the water in the bath sloshes as he shuffles closer and takes himself in hand. Pressing closer and pushing the head of his cock against the other man’s hole and slowly rolls his hips forward to break him open.

Cal curses, eyes rolling back into his head as the prince's girth fills him, and in turn pushes his cock further into Leyth's fluttering pussy. The bathing room may as well be their own private party in this moment, because of the large handful of people indulging in each other no one notices Littlefinger lurking by the doorway. True pleasure is rare in a whorehouse, so this is sure to be a lucrative visit for the proprietor.

Oberyn lets out a lusty groan when his hips are flush against the other man’s ass. “You do not flinch away.” He praises, wrapping his long arms around the man so he can cup Leyth’s generous breasts while he waits for the man’s muscles to relax around him.

“Pleasure is a gift.” Cal’s body shudders as he takes Oberyn fully, the stretch of him making the man pant and reach back to grasp the prince’s hip. “You have a very large gift, my lord.”

Oberyn chuckles quietly, pleased with Cal’s words and leans in to nibble on his ear. Enjoying the way he shudders again. “Let me show you what I can do with that gift.”

******

The Red Keep looms above you when you finally step out of your carriage, trying with all your might to block out your mother’s voice muttering indignities that your party was not greeted by a royal retinue at the city line. What utter nonsense. Your house is ancient and wealthy, yes, but certainly not royal and there is no reason for the royal Baratheons or Lannisters to pay you any heed. At least, outside the carriage, you can finally be more than a foot and a half away from your mother again.

“Alright, pumpkin?” Your father beams down at you before swinging off of his horse.

“Of course, Papa.” Of course not is the truth, but after days of spitting venom you are too tired to put up much of a fight. Besides, now that you know this is your mother’s doing, it is hard to be upset with your father for simply being a fool.

Your father beams at you as he steps beside you and offers you his arm. Not having an opportunity to talk much on the road, he wants to assure you. “I understand you are nervous because you have not been to Dorne, but your grandmother and her mother are from Dorne.” He reminds you. “And there is family in Braavos and across the Narrow Sea.” The long tradition of finding love outside the Vale is common, your father finding the free-spirited prince to be a far worthier match for you than some sniveling little lord grasping for favor. The idea that his daughter will be princess is also a factor.

“I shall visit them all at my earliest ability.” The idea of traveling to see family you have never met sounds infinitely preferable to spending even a minute in the presence of the prince you never agreed to wed, and for a moment you almost relax at the idea.

“I doubt your husband will allow anything other than you spitting out his heirs for the next few years.” Your mother scoffs. “You will be visiting his bed.”

“That is not for you to know or to decide.” You tell her, though the fact that she may be right makes you sick to your stomach. Two steps behind the three of you, Raeden could not have missed the comment but you cannot exactly turn to look at him.

Raeden keeps his gaze down, your mother’s words in his mind as he tries to decide if he had made the right choice. Perhaps he should have run away with you. He’s noticed the captain of your father’s guard eyeing him so he had tried to be as impassive as possible. His heart aches at the idea of you in the Prince’s bed, despite the rumors of his prowess and propensity for men and women, something that he shamefully shares with the Prince of Dorne. He had fought his attraction to the other men around him. Not even sharing it with you.

“My lord. My ladies.” A steward in the hallway bows to you dutifully and opens his mouth to welcome you to the Red Keep, but a swish of skirts and a silky smooth voice cuts him off from behind. “Lollard, I will greet my guests,” she instructs, sounding nearly severe before her voice pitches up to something delighted and seemingly terribly excited. “I was so pleased to see your banner approach that I could not help myself.” The woman declares, and you cannot tell if she means it or not. “Lady Margaery Tyrell,” she introduces herself with a broad smile. “It was I who sent your invitation. Welcome to King’s Landing, and to the Red Keep.”

“You are even more beautiful than your portrait, Lady Margaery,” your mother gushes, simpering to the woman who appeared to be several years younger than even you. “And how thoughtful of you to include our House in your nuptial feast. We are honoured.”

“It is I who am honoured.” She steps toward you with a smile. “To have the future princess of Dorne amongst my guests, and of course the ancient connection between our Houses makes us loving cousins, does it not?” The marriage of a Tyrell daughter into your House was four generations ago, but Margaery has never been one to overlook a string that might be pulled in her favour. At least not after her grandmother pointed it out.

Future princess of Dorne. Raeden’s fists clench at his sides as he tries to ignore the fury in his heart at that simple phrase. You will be a princess, and the gap between your stations will be more vast than before.

“We are flattered by such a personal welcome.” Beside you, your father is talking and patting your hand on his arm, but you barely hear him. Each time another person calls you princess or refers to the man who bought you, you feel closer and closer to being sick all over the floor. Or perhaps sinking in a wasting depression. If both are possible simultaneously, that may be the answer.

“Forgive me.” When you find your voice it almost cracks, but you put one hand to your stomach delicately. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Margaery, but I am afraid I feel quite ill from weeks of travel. Would it be possible to be escorted to our chamber so that I might be well enough for a turn around the gardens later?” An ally – any ally – may be worth grasping, and you enjoy the way this young woman made your mother frown by not paying attention to her. For right now, though, you would do anything to be alone so that Raeden could visit you.

“Forgive me.” Margaery bows her head respectfully and gives a small, sincere smile. “My manners have forsaken me.” She gestures towards the keep. “Allow me to show you personally to your rooms. A light repast has been laid out for your pleasure as well.”

“How very kind of you,” you murmur, knowing you won’t touch a thing. The reality of your situation has stolen your normally healthy appetite.

Clever blue eyes catch the subtle grimace when she mentions food and yet she doesn’t comment on it. Sensing that you will have much to talk about, Margaery had invited you to stay in the keep as her guest after learning of your betrothal to Oberyn Martell. “This way.” She smiles and motions towards the left corridor.

Though you might not be fond of the games of society, you were raised in them, and you have sense enough that when the future queen offers you her arm you take it. That is how the first glimpse many guests to court ever have of you is strolling arm-in-arm with the woman who will become queen in two days time. It does not matter that you just met. It does not matter that she is chattering away politely while you simply smile your polite smile and nod. The future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the future princess of Dorne paint a very pretty picture on their way through the halls of the Red Keep with your family trailing behind. If you weren’t so desperate to be alone with Raeden again and attempt to forget all this is happening, you might more fully enjoy the way your mother is green with envy.

______

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[felixaussiegf]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 - 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 - “𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄’’

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: The war to Robert’s Rebellion is finally over, Robert Baratheon has finally destroy the Targaryen Dynasty. He has killed Prince Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident, while Princess Elia Martell and her three children Rhaenys, Aegon, and Viserra, were killed by Lord Tywin Lannister's orders during the Sack of King's Landing. But is that really true? No, one child still lives, Viserra Targaryen, the last true living child and youngest child of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell. In 283 AC, Ashara Dayne, the sister to the late Ser Arthur Dayne and one of Elia Martell’s ladies-and-waiting, but also one of her best friends during Robert's Rebellion and Ser Jon Connington one of Rhaegar Targaryen's best loyal knights and best friend decides to send a raven to the Prince Oberyn Martell in, Dorne stating for him to come to Starfall, alone where she and the exile knight have something important to tell Oberyn Martell, whether or not it might put all their lives in danger or in jeopardy.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cursing, robert’s rebellion war mention, characters deaths mention, suicide thoughts, war, betrayal, violence, angst, secrets. (Please, remind me if there are any missing warnings, I have missed or forgotten)

𝐀/𝐍: Ahhhh, hello my loves! SUPRISE!!! I have decided to do the GOT fanfic, instead of doing it on Wattpad, I will be doing it on Tumblr. This story will be following the TV series and a bit of the books spoiler’s; but mostly the TV series GOT, so please remember that. There is not much warnings for this chapter as, it is the Prologue to this story. Also, for the story I decided to put Ashara Dayne in my story she will not die like in the books, she still lives in GOT universe because to be honest, I really do love her character, and well she is a badass woman. Also for Ser Jon Connington, I have decided to add him as well, in which both GOT characters will have a bigger part in this story.

𝟐𝟖𝟑 𝐀𝐂, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄, 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 𝟔 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃.

Looking outside, through one the window’s of the castle of the beautiful sea of Star-Fall, were it is located in the western Red Mountains, stood a beautiful woman who is a tall and a fair maiden all together. Her long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders but what really got other’s attention were her very own eyes in particular her beautiful purple eyes who some would say she would be consider a Targaryen or resemble one at that. The ones that did know her very well, she went by the name of Ashara Dayne. But the ones who did not know her well like to gossip and talk at court, behind her back and would call her -

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬.’’

The sister of the late Ser Arthur Dayne, "The Sword Of The Morning." With her, she carried a beautiful babe, not even a year old yet. The babe who truly resembled a true 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧, just like her late father Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, as her elder siblings Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen truly looked like their own mother with their very own Dornish features, on the other hand Viserra, truly did look like her late father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen with her little scruff of white hair poking out of her head, while her little brownish eyes with a bit of blueish hue in them and her appearance, told a different tale her eyes truly resembled a 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥, just like her late mother Princess Elia Martell.

Ashara felt sorry, for the little babe, for Viserra will never get to meet her mother and father, but her siblings Rhaenys and Aegon, as well. Ashara knew this world was a men’s world and women were just simply living in it, to just be broodmares and give men the heirs they truly needed, but little Viserra will never be that type of Queen or get to meet or, see her family ever again, as they were taken from her, before she could even say goodbye to any of them.

Her grandmother Queen Rhaella was dead, her grandfather the Mad King Aerys was dead as well, as her father and mother Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia were dead, her sister and brother the late Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon were dead as well.

The whereabouts of her Uncle Viserys and Aunt Daenerys were unknown as they went into hiding and where shipped across the Narrow Sea as soon as Stannis Baratheon and his men arrived on Dragonstone, but did not find them instead they found Queen Rhaella there as she was found dead on Dragonstone.

This little babes entire family was all gone and not just any family house the Targaryen dynasty was finally gone. Just because Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped and raped the Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell and did nothing but get his whole family slaughtered and killed for his actions and consequences.

She looked down at the little babe of who she carried, while the babe grabbed onto her fingers with, her tiny hands and smiled up at her. Some would say the babe was Ashara Dayne’s, but she knew the cold hard truth, of where this babe truly came from, the babe was not hers, but her late best friend Princess Elia Martell; for she was the youngest daughter and last living child of Princess Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

Ashara Dayne also had lost, so much within the years of Robert’s Rebellions wars, the war had changed everything for her and her family, hell it even change her, even if the war was finally over, still she had lost so many people she had loved and cared about; she had lost her still-born daughter, her lover, her best friend Princess Elia Martell, and her brother Ser Arthur Dayne. No matter, what she felt about ending her life right then and there, she felt that her life didn’t have any worth anymore. To her what was the point of living and breathing, she knew that she had lost, everyone she truly loved and cared about.

Ashara still had her younger sister Allyria Dayne alive but she was sent away to Blackhaven, for protection and away from the war as she knew Robert Baratheon would kill every Targaryen loyalist and blood Targaryen, he could get his bare hands on, but he could make an exception for the houses that would bend the knee to him as their rightful new King, but even Ashara Dayne knew she nor the Dayne's or Martell's were going to bend the knee to the newly crowned drunken cunt of a Usurper Robert Baratheon, who ended the Targaryen dynasty, just because they did not have any dragons as they were long gone or extinct from the world.

She later had gotten another raven from Blackhaven stating, that her sister, Allyria Dayne is set to be betrothed to, Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Where now it was just her, as the last true Dayne of Star-Fall. She would be the next "Lady Regent Ashara Dayne of Star-Fall." But, she even knew that, she could not rule Star-Fall anymore as she had already faked her death in order to protect the princess Viserra Targaryen and what was left of her family's bloodline. Her eldest brother would soon become the Lord of Star-Fall.

The people that knew her as the beautiful Lady Ashara Dayne, was now long dead as she had faked her death by suicide from a broken heart by jumping off one of the towers of Star-Fall. For now, she went as her new given name Wylla Sand, one of her former wet-nurses who died due to a fever she had her name changed in order to protect Viserra Targaryen from Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister, and those who wish to harm, the sweet little princess of King's Landing.

Just a few days ago right before she was about to end her life by committing suicide by jumping from the top of the Palestone Sword, one of the towers of Star-Fall, and fall into the sea and disappear forever. But things change for her; instinct just a few days ago a raven had arrived in Star-Fall, for Ashara Dayne from Lord Varys also known as, “The Spider’’ in King’s Landing stating,

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝙰𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 Wylla Sand 𝙾𝚏 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. You are not that hard to tract down my Lady, but my little birds of whispers inform me you have faked your death in your very own home at Star-Fall in order for you to protect your family from the now newly crowned King Robert Baratheon's wrath and rage. First, m𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 lost of your 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕-𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚛 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎, "T𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 O𝚏 T𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐.'' 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚆𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜'𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 in 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 fight for what was truly right for the Seven Kingdoms and the entire realm.

I have heard from my little birds in Dorne that, your former lover, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, was seen in Star-Fall recently to return to you, your family's ancestral sword the Sword Of The Morning, "Dawn". I do wish, Lord Eddard Stark could see you alive on better circumstances, but I'm afraid with the newly crowned King Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne now is a big no for you, I do not think it is a good time for you or your family to leave Star-Fall as of yet. I am hoping this raven fine's you well my Lady, because there are some pressing matters that we have to attend to and it has everything to do with, the princess Viserra Targaryen's very own name and birthright written all over in King's Landings and the entire realm of the Seven Kingdoms.

Now, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚁𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚢𝚜, 𝙰eg𝚘𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 Targaryen, 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 order to be 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 "T𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗" 𝚂𝚎𝚛 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛 𝙲𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚎, 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 strict 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚃𝚢𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. Now this must be kept between us only. For, I fear for the little dragon princess safety and for her to return to Kings Landing where she rightfully belongs,and when the time comes for her she will be ready to ascend the Iron Throne as the true heir she was meant to be just like her late grandfather the late Mad King Aerys Targaryen wanted her to be. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 to, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 on time,and 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘�� 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙 and 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 and send her to Dorne 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍. She is to be sent to Star-Fall, where the now exile Ser Jon Connington, will meet you at the gates of the Dayne castle, where little princess Viserra Targaryen, will be given to you under my orders in private and away from traitors and others eyes, who wish to harm the true heir to the Iron Throne.

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚛 Jon Connington, 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔 and mission 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚔𝚎 one day 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚖,and the Seven Kingdoms. Ser Jon Connington was able to sail away with the princess Viserra Targaryen before Robert Baratheon and his men could kill him as to being Targaryen loyalist and a dear friend to Rhaegar Targaryen. T𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 her uncle 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙾𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 of Dorne. 𝙰𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕, 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜. 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 and well, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 and Ser Jon Connington made an oath to protect the little princess Viserra with his life until his last breath 𝚊𝚗𝚍 she shall 𝚋𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 and Ser Connington's guidance 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚄𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙾𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 whereabouts 𝚊𝚗𝚍 when he 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 he will care for her as she has his very own blood in her after all. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝙳𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗-𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 and Ser Jon Connington 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒m 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢 Ashara Wylla, 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 with her life and children's life, now she trusts you with her last living child's life until her very last breath, you are 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 trusted friend and loyal lady 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜-𝚊𝚗𝚍-𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 you were with her during Roberts Rebellion and then fled with your brother before the Sack of King's Landing. Know, this 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 raven 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙰𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 t𝚛𝚞𝚎 born ruler, a 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 t𝚛𝚞𝚎 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙰𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎. And when the times comes s𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 “𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍’’ 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 and for they 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚋𝚢 dragon 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 and burning to ash 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐s and her entire family. 𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒, 𝚠𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝙰𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊, Lady Wylla. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛,

Lord Varys, "Master of Whisperers"

The raven that Lord Varys, had sent Lady Ashara, a chill down her spine as she did not want Elia Martell's last living child and only living daughter the little Viserra to grow up to be like her grandfather the late “Mad King’’ Aerys Targaryen. She had first met the little babe Viserra, when Ser Jon Connington had came to Star-Fall in order to give little Viserra Targaryen to her loyal servant Flora, who help deliver her still-born daughter along with the wet-nurse Wylla and help her grieve for her stillborn daughter.

Lady Ashara and Ser Jon Connington had an argument over his welcome to Star-Fall and that he made no argument of over staying his welcome and would not be exile again especially to the only surviving child and true heir of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell.

He then later told Lady Ashara Dayne that she may not like him and will hate him forever for what Rhaegar Targaryen did, to his wife and children. But he had sworn an oath to his best friends Rhaegar Targaryen and her brother Ser Arthur Dayne as a kingsguard and, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms and protector, that he would serve Viserra Targaryen as his true loyalties are only to the Targaryens and the heir to the Iron Throne.

When Ser Jon Connington had handed the babe to her. Her heart stopped for a moment, just by looking at her she could immediately see Elia Martell, in her very own daughter. What she saw was this pure, innocent, child who had to watch her entire family be slaughtered and killed by Robert Baratheon and his men of traitors. She remembers a time when she was in King's Landing, right before Viserra Targaryen was born, Princess Elia Martell and Queen Rhaella Targaryen were fearful for little Viserra because unlike Rhaneys and Aegon that smelled like Dornish to him.

The "Mad King" Aerys II Targaryen had actually taken a liking to his youngest granddaughter telling her that she was a true Targaryen and a true Queen even he would say that in his so called dragon dreams and his madness, he would dream of her that one day she too will sit the Iron Throne, but what was fearful of the words he said were -

"Viserra Targaryen my greatest weapon, my youngest granddaughter and my true heir, you shall be the most fearful and dangerous ruler of the Targaryen Dynasty, and the entire realm of Westero's has ever seen, one day they will truly see what you really are and when the time comes you will be ready to "burn them all" for what they have done to you and your madness just like what they did to me. You have the blood of the dragon, the blood of Old Valyria, you have my blood in you, it runs thick through you and only you can use it to your advantage and show those damn bastards traitors who you really are, for you are; The Dragon's Queen."

But, no one had to blame anyone for Robert's Rebellion war for happening but Rhaegar Targaryen “The Last Dragon’’ for kidnapping and raping Lyanna Stark “The She-Wolf’’. When Ashara found out about what was about to happen, she knew they were all going to war for what Rhaegar and Lyanna did. And, she knew her brother Ser Arthur Dayne, would take part in the war because of his loyalties to his best friend Rhaegar Targaryen.

No matter, how much she plead for her brother Ser Arthur Dayne, not to go he had promised to her that he would come back to her, Ashara prayed to the Seven and to any the gods, that would hear her prayer, to bring her brother back safely to her when the war was finally over. But even she knew it was all just a lie, just for her to lose the last bit, of faith within the gods, as the gods were cruel to everyone.

Zoning out, and startled by one of the servants coming through the doors, while Ser Jon Connington made his way into the chambers of Lady Ashara Dayne for a guard had opened the door for the servant and knight named Flora. Ashara Dayne looked up from where she stood, and not before putting the little babe Viserra in her cot, before looking at the servant and raising her eyebrows to Ser Jon Connington as well, before he too gave her a smirk. She soon then, spoke in a stern tone.

“Yes, Flora, what is it this time?" before continuing to speak and looking at Ser Jon Connington with annoyed expression, "And, to what do I own the pleasure of, of your entitled presence here, Ser Jon Connington?"

“Forgive me, my Lady, I am sorry to be unannounced, but Prince Oberyn Martell has arrived from Dorne, and wishes to speak to you alone." Flora spoke as she had her eyes glancing down at her feet, not before glancing at the handsome Knight who still did not talk but just kept on staring at Lady Ashara with a serious look. Without, Lady Ashara or the Knight known as Ser Jon Connington knowing Flora secretly sought a glance at the little babe Viserra, in which she was in her cot babbling away not knowing what was happening.

"Oh, yes, please do tell Prince Oberyn Martell, to come in." spoke, the Lady Ashara, as she looked directly at Flora the servant before walking to the table ignoring the entitled knight's presence and grabbing two cups of Dornish wine for her and Prince Oberyn Martell.

"Right away, my Lady." Flora replied, before bowing to both the lady and the knight going away quickly to the door once the guards had open the door but to inform Prince Oberyn Martell he may come in to speak to the Lady of Star-Fall as well. Finally, Ser Jon Connington spoke but in an aggravated tone-

"You had the fucking damn, Red Viper of a snake Prince Oberyn Marterll of Dorne come here?" "Seven hells, Ashara what were you thinking, what tis' next, you have that damn bastard of usurper Robert Baratheon and his men of fucking traitors, come here to slaughter and kill us all and the little princess and, the true heir to the Iron Throne?"

"How dare you speak to me like that, do not forget, yourself "Ser" Jon Connington, you know damn well why he is here, I can't not change that Prince Oberyn Martell is here and came all this way from Dorne besides he is Viserra's only kin who is left alive besides Prince Doran Martell, I will not be told what I cannot do in my own damn castle by a damn exiled knight!" snapped, Ashara as she looked at Ser Jon Connington with a glare.

"Do you trust him?" spoke, Ser Jon Connington before continuing to speak to her but in a softer tone, "The Prince Oberyn Martell, can he truly be trusted, as you say you know him very well can he be trusted, especially with this dangerous secret about the little princess, I do not trust anyone but you Ashara, I don't give a damn what Lord Varys says, I'm telling you and only you?"

"I do Jon, I would trust Oberyn Martell with my life, trust me he is a complicated man and his ego may be somewhat annoying but he has a good heart I know that because, he truly loved his sister Elia and her children more than anything in this world, no matter what, I know he will help us protect Viserra from anyone who wishes to lay harm to her."

"I trust you Ashara, but do not expect me to play friendly, with the Red Viper of Dorne, if it comes down to saving the princess, I will not hesitate to kill anyone who wishes to harm her, even if it is her own blood or kin."

"I know, you will but please, Jon just let me handle this please, Prince Oberyn Martell will understand what is at stake here once he arrives in Star-Fall. You don't know him like I do, I know him, he would never wish to harm the princess, especially his own niece Viserra, Elia's only living child and his blood."

"Well, that was a lovely conversation, now please try not to kill him or his damn guards, with your damn glare." spoke, Ashara in a statistical tone with the roll of her eyes.

"Ah, yes, yes, yes... And, you try not to kill anyone, with your looks and your damn controlling ways, Wylla."

"As well as you, Ser Griff."

"Well, Viserra, my darling it looks like, to us your Uncle Oberyn is here from, Dorne just to meet you." spoke Ashara, as she gave the little princess Viserra a silly smile, not before sipping her wine. Little Viserra, looked up at, Lady Ashara and gave her a smile back before babbling once more.

Just then the doors to the chambers open again, in which Ashara Dayne and Ser Jon Connington while having his hand the hilt of his sword standing in between Ashara and Viserra, both looked up from where she was sitting along with little Viserra in her cot by her side slowly rocking the cot.

Looking around her cot little Viserra stop, what she was doing as she heard the noise. It was non-other than Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne, coming in a hurry to see if it was really Ashara Dayne if she truly was alive. The servant named Flora again, came into the chambers in a hurry telling Prince Oberyn, to please not rush into the chambers for the guards would think he was here to harm Lady Ashara and the little princess Viserra.

"Ashara, h-how are you alive?" spoke, Oberyn Martell, as he looked at her in shock and surprise not before noticing Ser Jon Connington. Ashara look at her best friend's brother, not before looking out the window and gulping down the last bit of wine she had before setting the cup on the table.

"They told me, you were dead, that you had killed yourself and jumped off Star-Falls tower and into the sea, right after your brother was killed at the Tower of Joy." spoke, Oberyn, as he slowly came near her, and the little babe of who he did not notice yet. Slowly, Ser Jon Connington looked at Prince Oberyn as he gave him a hardened all the playfulness gone from his face as he stayed back but not to over step where he was at as well.

When Oberyn Martell looked at Ser Jon, he finally knew who he was looking at besides the Lady Ashara Dayne, of where he stood he was one of the late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's loyal friends and knight's also known as the exile knight, Ser Jon Connington also known by his hidden name "Griff". Prince Oberyn Martell's eyes hardened at that as he was blinded by rage and hate by the so-called knight who took no part in the war of Roberts Rebellion and did not save his sister Elia and her children.

Ignoring, the Lady Ashara's protest not to fight in her very own bedchambers or castle where the guards were stationed outside the door. Due to the little princess being here she did not want for them to get violent or spill any bloodshed Prince Oberyn walked briskly to Ser Jon Connington as he took out his sword and pointed it at Ser Jon Connington neck while Ser Jon Connington grabbed his sword as well.

"You bastard traitor of a knight, what are you doing here, have you come here to kill us as well." spoke, Oberyn with anger and rage in his tone as he looked at Ser Jon Connington.

"No, I haven't yet." replied," Ser Jon Connington as he continued, as he stared at Oberyn Martell with a challenge me look.

"How many people had to die and suffer because your friend the beautiful noble Rhaegar Targaryen couldn't meet the expectations of his consequences when he kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark while, my sister Elia Martell and her children had to suffer the consequences of his damn mistakes."

"ENOUGH, the both of you," spoke, Ashara as she continued, "You may not like him, here Oberyn but he is my guest, I can't change that but you are here for a reason."

Finally, Lady Ashara Dayne decided, to turn around and look at the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, with anguish and rage in her eyes as not before speaking in an emotionless tone ignoring Ser Jon Connnington's glare again.

"I am alive, because I fake my death Oberyn, I had to." replied, Ashara as she look at Oberyn, before continuing to speak, "You got Lord Varys raven, didn't you?"

"I did, Ashara if I may speak? What is this really about?" spoke, Oberyn with furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as to why he is really here while also, ignoring Ser Jon Connington glare yet again.

Not looking at Prince Oberyn or Ser Jon, the Lady Ashara spoke, in a tone that should not represent any lady especially a higherborn at that. "Do you know what, they did to my brother Oberyn?" "E-Elia and her children, were innocent they did not have to die the way they did."

Ser Jon Connington looks away as he could not meet the eyes of Ashara or Oberyn talk about her brother Ser Arthur Dayne one of his best friends and Elia Martell and her other children, also know as Rhaegar Targaryen's children.

Oberyn looked away from her, as soon as Ashara spoke but while also glaring at Ser Jon, about the mention of his own sister Elia and her children, his nieces and nephew. Talking about his sister and her children were a sore and hurtful subject on the Martell's but, especially for Prince Oberyn Martell as he and Elia were so close during their childhood before, she was even betrothed and to be married off to the Silver Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

His sweet sister and her children were innocent and, the Mad King Aerys took advantage of that, he did not have to keep them there as hostages or prisoners within the Red Keep, just because he was paranoid that the Martell's especially his uncle Prince Lewyn Martell who died during Roberts Rebellion as well he would turn against him and take away his favorite grandchild Viserra Targaryen his only one true heir when Rhaegar Targaryen had been killed at the Banks of the Trident by Robert Baratheon.

His eldest darling niece Rhaenys, was stabbed over hundred times while under the bed of her father's Rhaegar's bedchambers waiting for him to save her, while his brave nephew Aegon was ripped away from his own sister Elia as his head was smashed against a wall and was believed to be unrecognizable, and lastly sweet little Viserra, was rumored to have her throat slit open while her blood poured from her neck while laying in her cot left to die while she choked on her own blood, as Elia Martell watched defenseless and caged while being rapped and murdered, as her children were killed right in front of her.

"YOU DON'T THINK I KNOW THAT ASHARA? MY SISTER AND HER CHILDREN WERE MURDER AND LEFT TO BE KILLED AS ANIMALS WITHIN THAT DAMN KINGDOM." yelled, Oberyn to Ashara as he had thrown his cup of wine to the floor, as tears and rage within him came out of his very own eyes and heart.

Startled by the yelling and the loud bang of noise, little Viserra started whaling loud, in her cot as she could feel her uncles rage and hate being torn in two pieces at the same time. Quickly, Ashara walked to the cot and picked up Viserra slowly rocking her back and forth to keep her from crying too much. Oberyn took a glance at the babe in Ashara's arms slowly to walk towards her side to get a better view of the babe, he had thought Ashara had a still-born daughter but clearly the babe was very much alive, what other secrets were the great Lady Ashara were hiding from him.

Startled, with the princess cries, Ser Jon Connington moved forward, ready to advance at any given moment as he had his hand on the hilt of his sword, before he could do anything Ashara said, "Don't, it's okay Jon, let Oberyn come forward."

With, a nod to Lady Ashara Dayne, Ser Jon Connington, moved back but still kept his eyes on the Red Viper of Dorne. He knew he had, to let Oberyn Martell see his niece even if he is sworn to protect her from harm at all cost.

"Oberyn, I would like for you to meet someone that is very special to me that was sent from the Gods above."

"I thought you had, a still-born daughter Ashara?" question, Oberyn with a confused look. "That's just a baby."

Lady Ashara and Ser Jon, looked at Prince Oberyn Martell not before meeting each other's eyes and giving each other an understanding look. Ashara came forward with the little babe Viserra Targaryen as she carefully handed the babe to her Uncle Oberyn Martell as he looked at her with a curious look and emotion in his eyes while the Viserra made grabbing hands towards her Uncle and cooed at him.

"Oberyn, she is not just a baby or any baby really?" continued, Ashara as she looked at Ser Jon Connington, with a nod, "She is your niece, Viserra Targaryen. The daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and your sister Elia Martell."

"H-How is she alive, she can't-"

"She is very much alive, Oberyn, you may hate me all you want but know this, I did my best to protect Elia Martell and her other children, but I could not get to them in time Lord Varys was the one to save her right before he handed the princess Viserra Targaryen to me, I was able sail away from King's Landing and bring her here to Lady Ashara Dayne." cut in but replied, Ser Jon, as he looked away from Oberyn Martell and Ashara Dayne not before looking at the Princess Viserra Targaryen who looked so much like his best friend Rhaegar Targaryen and a mix of Elia Martell as well.

"She is your niece, Oberyn, as much as you can't believe or you want denied it she is Viserra Targaryen and she will always be, but for now, in order to protect her we had to give her a new name which will be Ella Dayne. The true born daughter of the late Lady Ashara Dayne of Star-Fall and the late Brandon Stark of Winterfell."

"But when the time comes she will know her true identity." spoke, Ashara as she looked at both Oberyn Martell and Ser Jon Connington with an understanding of both men there. "Until then, we will protect her from any harm and with "fire and blood" she will take her throne back when the time comes she will ascend the Iron Throne as the true heir."

"For she is, Viserra Targaryen, second of her name, the true heir to the Iron Throne. The last living child of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Martell."

❝THE SUN QUEEN❞