#sorry but i love lore based fanfic for mr martell hehehe

[pettyprocrastination]

Cyvasse

Summary: Oberyn enjoys a game of Cyvasse with his brother and they speak of his wife’s vacation in Essos. Robert’s ghost has joined the war of the five kings. 

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader (reader is not included but she is spoken of)

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: (Lore used in this fic) Takes place during the war of five kings. Oberyn and the reader have been married since the end of Robert’s rebellion. Cyvasse is the a game played in the GOT universe similar to chess. 

Tagging: @thesadvampire​ my oberyn moot and the ever lovely @pedrostories​ case I keep forgetting to im sorry asjkdkjs. 

Oberyn should have known the moment he saw the Cyvasse board set in front of his brother that something was wrong. 

“Come.” Doran’s face shows anything but a playful mood as he beckons his brother to the chair across from him. “Play a round with me, for old times sake.” “You mean get beat by you for old times sake?” Doran scoffs. “You can win, you just don’t want to put in the effort.”

It’s true. Cyvasse took far too long for Oberyn’s liking. He excelled at the game, but only when he had the patience for it-

Or the desire to beat his opponent. 

But now he has neither. One hand taps the rim of the table while the other raises over a bowl of berries set by his side the moment he sits down. Oberyn makes the first move. Sliding his heavy horse up one square, his brother watches with a smile. 

“Brash.”  Doran tells his younger sibling. 

“Decisive.” Oberyn corrects. 

They play in silence. It’s peaceful. The sun bathes them in a warm haze while birds sing in the garden. They do not rush, no royal court or council meeting urging them to do anything but enjoy the moment. 

But Oberyn knows his brother.

“Rumor has it that Stannis’ Baratheon’s army has a rather surprising ally.” Oberyn's hand pauses. Only a second long before he moves yet another piece, but Doran catches the brief panic with ease. 

“Oh?” “Yes. It is said-'' Doran's face melts into the frown that Oberyn has seen since he was a trouble-making child. One of scolding and reprimanding. “-that the ghost of Robert Baratheon has joined his brother’s side in the fight for the iron throne.” Oberyn snorts. He remembers your kingly brother. One whose last years of life were more aptly spent whoring and drinking until he couldn't sit up…and then some. He wondered if the idiot even still had the strength to swing that ridiculous hammer of his before he died. 

“Really?” 

Doran hums. “Multiple witnesses have claimed to see our deceased king in his armor by his brother’s side, war hammer and all.”

Your husband imagines you in battle. Voice raw as you let out a war cry on horseback in the midst of chaos. Body exhausted and armor slick with blood yet you fight on, rage in your eyes and teeth gritted as raise that ridiculous fucking hammer and unleash hell on the Lannister army. 

He smiles. 

“Must have been quite a sight.”

Doran moves his two spaces forward. Oberyn rolls a berry between his fingers. 

“How is your wife? Still in Essos?” 

He remembered the panic that had ensued when the palace staff awoke to find you missing. Nothing taken aside from riding clothes and food, with a letter placed upon your neatly made bed. He keeps it tucked into his robe and rereads it whenever his mind begins to wander to an unforgiving place. 

“And loving every minute.”

The letter had addressed him personally. Apologizing for such a quick decision for travel but confessed you must see the world on your own. Unencumbered by your husband or guards that would have followed. You called him “My love” and promised to write as often as you could. 

The only thing you would ever call him aside from his name was “husband” which was done in a tone of indifference on the kindest of days. 

It had been sealed with the Baratheon sigil. 

Doran had insisted on sending the guards after you and Ellaria agreed. But he had waved them both off with a casual hand that did not match the tension set into his shoulders. 

“She may be my wife but she is her own person.” He explained coolly. “Let her have her own adventures just as you have let me have mine, brother.” 

That night, Ellaria shouts at him for many things. For not comforting you more in Renly’s death, for not doting on you as a husband should, for not caring like he does as a lover. 

For letting you throw yourself into danger when she knows you are in pain. 

Tears fill his lover’s eyes as she berates him and slaps his chest. Calling him an uncaring fool. 

But he tells her that Stannis is all you have left. 

“She has lost two brothers.” He explains, after she lost her fire and lay in his arms motionless. “Who am I to stop her from trying to save the last?” 

“Then you should have comforted her, you idiot.” her voice is raw and cracked from the shouting and crying for you. The wife of the man she loved. What a funny relationship the two of you had. 

“She’s strong.” her lover promises. “She’ll come back.”

That night, they both dream of you slain in battle, crying out for your brothers as your blood flows through the cracks in your breastplate and eyes begin to go empty. 

The dreams do not stop when your next letter arrives, but seeing your handwriting brings them both a small comfort. 

“You need to bring her home, Oberyn.” “I’m not her keeper, Doran.” The younger prince shrugs.  “She is enjoying herself. As her husband it is my job to make sure she is happy.” 

“Not when her galavanting vacation puts our house in jeopardy. You need to understand-” 

“-I understand that my wife is in Lys.” Oberyn clipped. “That she has left of her own volition and will only be brought back the same way. I have no intention of forcing her to do anything.” 

Doran finally moves his king. 

“Stannis intends to take Blackwater next.”

Oberyn pinches the berry between his fingers a touch too hard and it bursts, droplets of juice run down his wrist and seep into the cuff of his robe. 

King's landing. Home of the bastard king whose family wore so much blood on their clothes it had seeped into the very thread used to embroider the golden lions they wear on their chests. 

“He does?”  

A heavy wall of defense and countless men willing to die for it to protect the corrupt lions that pace behind it. 

Most lords do not engage within the heat of battle. They fall to the back to survey their army and call out commands. Stannis was level headed and decisive, his army relied on his orders to keep them fighting. 

“Has your wife told you where she is going next?”

But Robert fought alongside them. He charged into battle with a thunderous war and his hammer held high. He was at as much risk of a vicious death as the rest of them, it’s why his men loved him so much. 

His ghost seems to be doing the same.

“Mors.” Oberyn’s voice cracked out. His brother’s eyes softened at the look of concern on your husband’s face. “She’s heading to Mors.”

“I wish her a safe journey home.” 

“As do I.”

Oberyn prayed to the gods, old and new, that the ghost would not charge into battle senselessly.