#elia martell x ofc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

Text

To Weep For The Sun

Summary: Argella Baratheon never wanted to become a lady-in-waiting to her cousin's, Rhaegar, betrothed. But then Elia Martell smiled at her and the world tilted.

Pairing: Elia Martell/Baratheon!Female Original Character, Oberyn Martell/Baratheon!Original Female Character

WARNINGS: sneaking around with the love of your life behind your husband’s back, Elia and her babies have the canon ending, sorry, maximum angst

Word Count: 9.6k (is anyone surprised?)

(Banner by bb @thesadvampire who would always let me scream and cry about Elia)

A/N: This story bounces between the 'past' (pre-Robert's Rebellion) and the 'present' (post Rebellion.) Please let me know if you have any questions.

Or read on Ao3 here!

Robert’s face was red and wet—redder still from where her hand had connected with his cheek. The clattering of armor, of Kingsguard dogs rushing to their new king’s aid from the woman who had just smacked him, barely registered in her ears.

“You are a monster.”

Argella remembered meeting the princess before the royal wedding. She was a Baratheon—a far off cousin of the Targaryen family tree and the only girl born to Steffon and Cassana Baratheon and Queen Rhaella had requested she become a lady-in-waiting to the new princess of the Seven Kingdoms. It was supposed to be an honor, many others had been vying for the position she was unceremoniously saddled with, but she only saw it as an inconvenience. King’s Landing smelled. It had none of the charms of Storm’s End and she hated how warm every day was—where were the storms to lull her to sleep? Or the sea breeze to cool her heated skin?

And she was completely prepared to bribe her new slew of handmaidens to make sure her chalice was always filled with sweet wine but then…

“Hello,” a soft voice said.

And the world tilted.

Elia was a quiet sort of woman, who had a soft laugh and a wicked wit she only voiced in chosen few. And her poor heart was already firmly planted in Elia’s delicate hands when the princess called her into her chambers, late at night, only a few moons after her engagement to Prince Rhaegar had been announced.

King’s Landing, it seemed, had been very lonely for both of them.

“But it is good to have friends. True friends.”

Argella’s breath stuttered in her lungs when Elia reached out to touch her hand, pressing her gentle fingers around hers and squeezed. “Yes. Friends.” The word was strangled in her throat. “I would be blessed to call you friend, Princess.”

Elia chuckled and tightened her hold. “We are already friends.”

Even as the Kingsguard pushed her down to her knees at the base of the Iron Throne, Argella would not stop hurling insults at her brother—the usurper.

But she did not care about the stupid throne or whose ass sat on the stupid metal chair.

She cared about Elia and her babies.

“Did your hurt pride truly rob you of your last shred of humanity?”

“Silence!” Robert roared. He waved his hand and the armored grips on her shoulders were removed. “You are my sister. I will not fight you-”

“Fight me! You coward! You could not bear to have little Lyanna be anyone else’s wife! You are a spoiled boy with a toy—so you broke it so no one else could play with it.”

“I am your king! You will-”

“I will not! You will listen to me. You have robbed three innocents of their lives for your stupid pride. Elia and her children were not a threat to you. They would have renounced any claim to the throne if you had asked. But you left them bloody and nearly unrecognizable,” she spat. “They were children—babies. And Elia was gentle and kind. And you killed them!”

“I know!” Robert yelled, his voice cracking and echoing in the hall. “Do you truly believe that I do not care-”

“I know you don’t! Because you sit there with a crown on your head and wine in your gut like a glutton. You will ruin this kingdom—you will ruin yourself even more than you have already—you have ruined me!”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly Argella found herself half-in-love with the Dornish Princess. She was kind and beautiful and clever and she was fond of whispering vulgar jokes into her ear when they were surrounded by other highborn noblemen who were preparing for the royal wedding in just a few moons’ time.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Argella murmured as they both pulled the blankets on Elia’s bed up to their chins in the dark room. Argella’s room was always too warm and, since she was the princess’ companion, it was blessedly common for the women to share a bed. After all, the companion was to tend to the princess’ every need at every hour she may need. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”

Even in the dark, with the smallest sliver of moonlight filtering into the room, Argella watched a smile spread across Elia’s face. It was the sun—she was the sun.

And then Elia kissed her.

She wished she could say it looked like Elia was sleeping when she saw her next. But no. She had fought like a tigress against the hands of the Stranger but she was still ever so delicate. She had lost that fight.

“I’m sorry, my love. I am so sorry,” she whispered, her fingers just touching the ends of Elia’s hair, remembering how she used to braid it when Elia would be up late with her babies, nursing them or tending to their cries. It was always so soft under her fingers and Elia would smile at her over her shoulder whenever Argella tied off the ends. “I wish it were me. I wish it were me on this wretched table and you were still holding your babes close.” Tears tracked down her cheeks and splashed against Elia’s cooled skin. “Oh, my love. I am so sorry.”

The wedding was lavish, as it was bound to be for the Crown Prince and his bride.

Argella would be lying if she said it did not hurt to see Elia pledge her love and loyalty to Rhaegar. He did not deserve her. Rhaegar had been obsessed with prophecy since he was a boy and Argella wondered what he would do to Elia in pursuit of a fulfilled divination that was centuries old.

But she smiled at her Princess when she turned, holding Rhaegar’s hand, and was pronounced the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

The Seven Kingdoms did not deserve her either.

“She shines brighter than any sun, does she not?”

Argella turned at the sound of the voice and smiled as she recognized who was speaking. Oberyn Martell. Elia’s younger brother. He was a dashing man, filled with charisma and charm��and a temper as bright as his smile.

“She does.” Argella wanted to say more. Wanted to say that the dragon prince would try to stifle her shine, that the cloying dirt of the capitol would try to warp her into another mindless drone, that the last night Elia had spent as an unmarried woman had been in her arms. But she didn’t. She only smiled at Oberyn and clapped along with the crowd as the newly married couple walked by, out into the sunlight.

“I wanted to name you Princess of Dragonstone—my heir.”

Argella turned at the sound of Robert’s voice, biting back a snarl. “I would refuse. Have you no shame?”

“I need you-”

“You’re marrying Cersei Lannister. She will provide you plenty of heirs, I’m sure. Just as many as your precious Lyanna would have, too. Or any other girl in the Seven Kingdoms.” Argella turned back to her trunk and placed the dress she had been folding on top of the others.

“It was not me who killed her.”

“No. But you might as well have. You started the rebellion. You marched on the capitol. Every little thing comes back to you and your hurt pride, brother. And for that, I will never forgive you.”

Argella watched Rhaegar dance with his new wife and tried not to scowl. Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions. Royal weddings even more so. But she wanted to rip her hair out when Rhaegar was cold with Elia time and time again during the festivities. It was his wedding—he had married the most beautiful woman in the world, the kindest, the most gentle. And he could barely muster a smile.

“May I steal you?”

Argella nearly startled at the question but laughed as she recognized Oberyn at her side. “As long as it is only for a dance, my prince. You know I must stay by your sister’s side.” She placed her hand in his and let him lead her out toward the other dancing couples. He held her close and she let his pleasurable scent of spice and citrus invade her senses as he led her through the steps of the familiar dance.

“Elia speaks highly of you, Lady Argella.”

“She is too kind. It is a joy to be at her side.”

They spoke easily for the next few songs and dances, and Argella knew she could have easily fallen to Oberyn’s teasing and magnetic charms. She could have chased his smiles and made herself stupid trying to earn his laughter and attention. He was a handsome man, a learned knight, with worldly aspirations. He was who any woman would aspire to marry.

But all she could think of was how soft Elia’s lips had been last night.

But Oberyn smiled at her, unaware of her internal conflict, and she had to smile back. She could never deny him that, it seemed.

“You were my favorite, you know.”

Argella bit back the sneer she felt growing as she finished packing away the small trunk she had taken. “Renly and Stannis both starved for a year holding our home against the Tyrells but I am your favorite? I must say that I hope your new crown grants you a bit more awareness.”

Robert reached out and wrapped his strong hand around her wrist, stopping her movements. “Please, Argella. Please.”

And despite wanting to simply run him through with any sharp object she could get her hands on, she let her older brother turn her to face him and almost scoffed at the tears in his eyes. “What?”

“What would it take for you to forgive me?”

“More than you could give, your grace.”

Robert’s warm hand dropped. “I am giving you one hundred thousand dragons, to help you make a home wherever you see fit.”

“I don’t want your coin! I want Elia alive and breathing! I want her babies to still call me ‘Aunt Argella’ and tug on my hair! I want my life as it was—before your hurt pride ripped it away from me. I was happy, Robert. I was so happy.”

“You used to be happy on my lap, listening to me tell you stories. You used to climb into my bed when you had nightmares because you trusted your brother to keep you safe.”

Argella felt her chin wobble with fresh tears. “Yes. I should have known better. Should have known that you were a selfish brute when you never returned a single one of my letters after you were taken in by Jon Arryn at the Eyrie as his ward. Should have known when you dismissed me out of hand when you came back to Storm’s End. I waited all night for you, to see you come back on your mare. I made sure the cooks had your favorite meal waiting for you, spent more than a few dragons getting that ale you liked from the market—and you waved me off as soon as the gates were opened. You have always been selfish, Robert. I should have known you would take what little happiness I had and squash that, too.”

Robert’s face turned a familiar, terrible shade of sweaty red and he turned away sharply before turning back to her, dragging a hand down his cheeks. “It was not me! I did not steal your Elia away from you!”

“Then tell me who! Tell me who gave the order!”

Elia happily sighed as Argella kissed the backs of each of her thighs, up her back, shoulders, before nipping just slightly at the pulse of her neck. They had been granted a few hours reprieve of Rhaegar’s presence and had indulged themselves in a little carnality, filled with soft touches and wet kisses that lingered and fingers that moved to touch places only the other knew about until they were biting at the other’s shoulders with a cry of release. Elia’s labored breathing slowed as she turned to face her lover, tugging at the ends of her dark hair, silently requesting a kiss which Argella happily gave. “Only the sun can rival the warmth you bring me.”

“You are my sun, Elia.” And then she kissed her again.

“Dorne is calling for war. Prince Oberyn is readying House Martell’s bannerman as we speak,” Jon Arryn, Robert’s new Hand of the King, and surrogate father was pacing around the Small Counsel chamber like a white haired pony.

“My sister wants to travel to Sunspear to deliver Elia and her children to her family,” Robert said.

Argella held her breath from her hiding place behind the door, waiting for Jon Arryn or some other stupid man to say it was not her place.

“That is acceptable. Perhaps Prince Oberyn would be willing to marry-”

“I will not force my sister into any arrangement she does not design herself. That will be the last I hear of it, Lord Arryn, am I understood?”

Jon let out a sigh. “Argella, must learn her place, Your Grace. And it is to serve you and the Realm.”

“Oberyn has sent another raven.” Elia held up the bit of parchment with a smile. “It seems you have made quite an impression on him. He has dreamt of your ‘beautiful eyes and sweet smile’ while he has been running around playing sellsword in Essos.”

Argella chuckled and shook her head. “I am sure he has plenty of people to distract himself with. I will be barely a memory to him in a few moons’ time.”

Elia reached out and tugged at the end of Argella’s braid. “You think so little of yourself, my love. No one would ever be able to forget you. Even when I am old and frail and I can barely remember my own name, I will remember you. I know it. The way you smile, the sound of your laugh,” she reached out to brush a finger down her cheek, “the curve of this, just here. I will remember you.”

Argella leaned forward and kissed her. “And I shall remember you, too, my love. Until the end of my days, which I promise will be at your side.”

Dorne was warm—even as the last vestiges of Winter had the other kingdoms still firmly in its grip. Argella had to pull the silly gable hood from atop her head only a few hours after sunrise as they crossed the Red Mountains. The traveling caravan was small. Much smaller than what was probably proper. But that was what she wanted. House Martell did not need more strangers showing up at their doorstep.

It irritated her enough that Jon Arryn insisted he accompany her, telling Robert that Argella wouldn’t be capable of easing Doran’s (and Oberyn’s) need for vengeance.

Their want for vengeance was justified. Argella wanted vengeance.

And she would have it. She was not satisfied just yet. She wasn’t sure if she ever would be, even if the world was left in ashes.

“Lala,” sang a familiar voice. “Lala!”

Argella opened her eyes at the sound of her secret nickname and had to catch Elia as she pounced onto her bed. “What is it, my love?” She asked in a tired whisper, eyes half closed again already. The sun had not yet risen but it was not as if she would send Elia from her bed.

“I am with child. The maester just confirmed it.”

Argella sat up in bed and her hand pressed against Elia’s stomach, all traces of sleep evaporating in a heartbeat. “Truly?”

Elia happily nodded and placed her hand over Argella’s, squeezing her fingers.

“Oh, my love. I know you have always wanted a babe of your own.” She just wished it was someone who truly loved her. Not Rhaegar—not the dragon prince who would use her babies for some delusion. “They will be the most loved. I know it.”

“Even by you?” Elia asked, her melodic voice very soft, almost frightened. “I know you do not care for Rhaegar-”

“This child comes from you, my love. I love them already.” And Argella meant every word. She would love this little prince or princess as if they were her own. She knew the moment Elia’s lips touched hers all those months ago that this relationship, this clandestine bond, would always be confined to the shadows and the dark of the night. But she truly wanted to scream it from the rooftops that Elia was the love of her life. She wanted to hold her hand in the sunlight, kiss her for all to see. Wanted everyone to know that the Sun of Dorne was worthy of every bit of love anyone and everyone could give her. But she was quiet. She remained the perfect lady in the eyes of court, living for these stolen moments.

Elia kissed her—and Argella could feel her smile pressing against her mouth. It was Argella’s favorite sensation—aside from the more carnal feelings only Elia could elicit from her beneath their silken blankets. “I love you,” Elia whispered against her mouth. “You know that, don’t you? I love you.”

“I love you too. More than words could ever truly express.” She kissed Elia and ignored how something churned in her chest.

“I have a list of names—if they are a boy or a girl.”

“As your ‘most trusted confidante,’ I must insist that you add Argella to your list,” she said with a wink, referencing how the court referred to Argella. Elia smiled and moved down the bed just enough to lay her head in Argella’s lap, a silent invitation for her to play with her hair. “Tell me the story behind your name. It is one of your ancestor’s names, correct?”

Argella hummed as she started to weave a braid into Elia’s hair. “The Stormlands were once ruled over by the Durrandon family. But, during Aegon’s Conquest, the head of the house was King Argilac the Arrogant. Argilac and Aegon tried to find a common agreement but it quickly soured when Argilac chopped off the hands of Aegon’s envoy and sent them back to the Targaryens in a box. Orys Baratheon, Aegon’s Hand, then challenged Argilac to a duel and, of course, easily slew Argilac. The Storm Land armies fled. Argella was Argilac’s only daughter and heir. When she heard of her father’s death, she barred the gates at Storm’s End and crowned herself Storm Queen.”

“Now I see why you’ve been given such a name,” Elia teased, earning a pinch to her side.

“The Stormlanders heard of how Aegon and his sisters burned everyone in their way and turned on Argella as Orys approached with his army. They wrapped her in chains and presented her—naked, mind you—to Orys Baratheon. They told him that he could do whatever he wished to her as long as they did not suffer the same fate as Harrenhal.”

“I have not heard of this. How cruel!”

Argella sighed and nodded, finishing off one of the braids before starting another. “But Orys was kind. He wrapped his cloak around her and fed her warm foods, telling her of her father’s bravery on the battlefield.”

“And then they were married?”

“And then they were married. Orys took the Durrandon words as his own—Ours is the Fury—and House Baratheon was created.”

Elia was quiet as Argella finished the second braid. “That is cruel, to name you after a woman whose fate was less than fair. I only knew she was the wife of Orys Baratheon—but I might have dozed a little when learning the histories of the other kingdoms with my Septa.”

Argella laughed lightly and leaned down just enough to brush a kiss at Elia’s temple. “I do not blame you—but I did always wish I was Nymeria of Ny Sar instead of Argella Durrandon.” She then pressed a kiss to Elia’s lips. “But I am lucky to have you in my arms now.”

Elia reached up to tug at the loose strands of Argella’s dark hair. “There must be other names in your family that are kinder to women, no?”

“I’m sure there are—but women are rarely written about in our house’s history aside from how many sons she might have given her husband.”

“I remember learning of a mermaid…Elenei? Am I saying that right? Elenei?”

Argella chuckled and nodded. “Yes. Elenei the mermaid—daughter of a sea god and goddess of the winds. Fell in love with the First Storm King, Durran Godsgrief, it is said. Her parents forbid their love and used their might to tear down any castle he built for his bride. But he kept building. Building and building until their storms could not shake the stones free.”

“And Storm’s End was made,” Elia finished with a smile on her lips.

Argella hummed and glanced outside to the moon. What would her ancestors say of her now? Hiding her love in the dark.

“Elenei. I like that name,” Elia said, seemingly unaware of Argella’s bit of melancholy. “A much better story than poor Argella. She must be happy to know that someone as strong as you carries her name. I am sure of it.” She tugged again at Argella’s hair with a smile, drawing her gaze back to her. “Truly, I can only think of one person holding that name.” Elia turned in her lap to truly look up at her, bathed in moonlight. “It is you—only you.” She reached up and placed her warm hand against the curve of Argella’s cheek. “My Lala.”

The towers of Sunspear loomed overhead and she tried not to think of a young Elia running down those marble steps, a laugh on her lips and the sun on her skin.

This was the place Elia called home. This was the place that she had wanted to return to with her babies. This was the place that Argella never wanted to see without Elia at her side.

“My lady,” a knight said to her, draped in colors of House Martell, “Prince Doran is waiting for you in his Solar. I shall escort you. Your entourage will have to wait here.” His eyes cut to Jon Arryn in particular who was already opening his mouth to argue.

“I follow where you lead, Ser. Lord Arryn needs some sun anyway.” She only gave Jon Arryn a look in return, drying the words on his tongue before following the knight into the cooled shadows of the fortress.

The pair was quiet, only the sound of their footsteps echoing in their hall, before he slowed to a stop in front of a carved, white wood door and bowed his head just slightly before opening it for her.

“Lady Argella, I’ve been expecting you.”

Rhaenys was beautiful. Beautiful like her mother and liked to laugh when Argella would kiss her little tummy. Argella did not mind when Elia would ask her to hold the little princess when she grew tired. The birth had been hard and the healers and maesters said it would take time for her body to heal itself.

Rhaegar, the pompous silver-haired prince, did not seem to care that his wife was bedridden. He had already pressed Elia to agree to the name of Rhaenys and didn’t seem to spend much more time than necessary with his newborn daughter. He did dote on her, true. But Argella knew and wished that he could do more. More for Elia. More for Rhaenys. More for his family and less of that stupid prophecy he was known to obsess over when he was in trusted company.

“The dragon must have three heads.”

It all sounded so ridiculous. He had everything. A family who loved him. And he continued to not see that, willfully.

But she pushed that from her mind as Rhaenys happily slept in her arms while Elia was napping, too. Her sun tilted toward the slip of sunlight warming the side of her pillow as the sea washed up on the shore just a few feet below. The hum of Dragonstone was quiet.

This was peace. This was as perfect as her life could get, she knew it. Despite all the secrets, the hurt, the loneliness when Elia was called away, this right here? This was worth all of it.

Rhaenys’ dark eyes opened and she smiled as she recognized Argella—she was a smart little babe. “Hello, my little sundrop.”

Doran had given her a room in Sunspear for the night, telling her the arrangements had been made to have the funerals tomorrow. The Silent Sisters who had accompanied them down were making sure the bodies of Elia and her babies were prepared correctly for people of their station and rank.

Argella didn’t sleep that night. Doran seemed to know she wouldn’t and had a maid come in when the moon was at its highest with a bit of tea to help her. She took it with a soft ‘thank you’ but hardly sipped at it as the maid stood at the side of her bed.

“This was the princess’ room, you know, my lady. When she was a girl.”

And that just about destroyed her but she hid her face in her teacup and quickly drained its contents before handing it back to the maid who quietly excused herself, probably aware that the woman was about to burst into tears.

And Argella did, as the door shut in its frame. Through blurred vision, she could almost see Elia sitting at the edge of the bed with a smile and a book on her lap. She could almost see Elia wrapping herself in the golden silk of the blankets with a happy smile. She could almost see Elia.

And that was the worst part of it all. To know that Elia had been here, in this place, felt safe in this place, and now she was here—alone.

The Tourney at Harrenhal was a disaster. And that was putting it politely. There had been the unannounced and unexpected appearance of King Aerys—who had barely been seen outside Maegor’s Holdfast in the last two years. Then the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree. Little Lord Jaime Lannister had been inducted into the KIngsguard and then sent to King’s Landing to guard Queen Rhaella and little Prince Viserys, which in one move, stripped Tywin Lannister of his heir and refused Jaime the chance at more glory in the tourney.

But that was not even the worst of it. Elia had been feeling poorly the entire time and Argella was fretting constantly, like an old mother hen.

But she did remember how Elia was when she was pregnant with Rhaenys, and knew that Elia wanted to keep the second pregnancy a secret until she was sure she could carry this babe to term, too. She was so delicate. But she still sat in the box, beside her uncle Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, and Oberyn, who had finished his ‘adventures’ across the Narrow Sea, to cheer on her husband in the tourney.

On the night before the final day of the tourney, Argella was happy to see Elia with a bit of life back in her face as she danced with Oberyn and Ser Arthur after the night’s feast. Oberyn then called Argella for a dance and whispered in her ear, making her laugh as one song turned into two then three. And if he snuck a kiss against her cheek, she would never tell.

Argella then pulled her princess away with a secretive smile, toward her tent. “We cannot be sure that Rhaegar will win tomorrow—so I wanted to be sure to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Elia laughed and kissed her as Argella plopped a crown of braided blue roses on her shining black hair. “No matter if he does or not, I know that I am yours,” she whispered.

And, for a moment, Argella was happy.

The happiness would not last.

Rhaegar did indeed win the jousting tourney and he was given an ornate crown of blue roses to crown his Queen of Love and Beauty. Argella steeled herself to watching Rhaegar lathe half-hearted attentions on his wife—but what happened was much worse. Rhaegar rode his horse past his pregnant wife and placed the wreath of roses in the lap of Lyanna Stark.

The Septon’s words were a low hum in her ears. She could only stare blankly ahead as the funeral processions continued on. It felt like a rusted blade had wedged itself between her ribs and twisted with each breath she took. It ached.

Most of the Dornish in attendance did not look at her. She might as well have been just another pillar in the large hall. Unnecessary and unimportant. But some others… some other she could hear whisper if she put in enough effort.

“That one… the doe. The Usurper’s sister.”

“She must be mad to show herself here.”

“She should have died instead of Princess Elia.”

And they were right. She wanted to be dead instead of Elia.

But a few were kind, their eyes sad as they looked at her, as if they knew something she did not. One of them was Harmen Uller, Lord of Hellholt. His large, warm hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed gently, murmuring his condolences with kind eyes. Lady Mellario, Doran’s wife, also did not avoid her, giving her a small smile as they passed each other in the halls and offering her solar if Argella ever needed a reprieve from the court at Sunspear. But her young daughter, Princess Arianne, was always at her side, and it hurt to see the happy little girl who would always ask after her Aunt Elia.

It hurt.

So she sat in her rooms and cried.

Elia was quiet as she sat on the edge of her bed. She had managed to school her face into careful indifference during the tourney but had sunk into herself as soon as Elia had pulled her away into the tent. Oberyn was raging—vowing vengeance against the Crown Prince for the public display of shame he had just cast over his wife.

But Argella did not hear his words, only sitting at her princess’ side and holding her hand, trying to be there for her when she needed. She would do anything to make Elia smile again.

“He told me that he would do this,” Elia finally said, pulling a gasp from Argella and stopping Oberyn in his tracks.

“What?”

Elia lifted her chin from her chest and looked at her brother with tears in her eyes. “The maester told me that this babe would be the last I could bare.”

“What does that matter?” Oberyn hissed. “Two is plenty—two is perfect. Rhaenys is perfect,” Argella said, grip tightening on Elia’s hand.

“He has been obsessed with a prophecy—the dragon must have three heads—since he was a boy. He thinks the savior of the world will come from his bloodline.”

“I will split his head in three,” Oberyn said but Elia reached out and grabbed his arm as he moved toward the tent’s flap.

“Do not, Oberyn. I will remain his Queen, the true Queen. The babe I now carry will be king and any child the wolf-girl bares him will only be a spare. He has promised me this. But I had…I had only hoped that he would have waited until they were alone for him to start his courtship.” She shook her head. “And I am not sure if the girl told her betrothed of Rhaegar’s plan.”

Oh, that was right—Lyanna had been recently betrothed to Robert. He had been so excited to announce the news and then promptly brought two women to his chambers to ‘celebrate.’ Argella doubted marriage would tame his appetites. But his pride would be wounded. And a wounded stag was a dangerous one—Robert embodied the Baratheon’s words to his core. Ours is the Fury.

“Robert is an eligible lord. He can find another bride, I am sure of it.”

Elia nodded. “I do hope so. For his sake.”

The funeral had ended and Doran had asked her to wait for him in his solar. She awkwardly stood near the window, watching the sea lap at the shore until the door opened with a slam.

“How dare you show your face here, in Elia’s home!” Oberyn was already raging from across the room, his voice echoing. He was crossing the marble floor then, strides long. “You—the sister of the Usurper. You—who my sister trusted with her life. I should strike you down where you stand.” He stopped as he stepped to her side, his beautiful face twisted into a snarl most fowl.

“I would let you.”

And that seemed to strike at Oberyn as he took a single step back. “Have you no self-preservation? Did you come here to let us kill you like some lamb? To sate your brother’s guilt?”

“No…no I came here to…bring Elia home.”

Oberyn’s snarl faded. “Then you come here to sate your own guilt.”

“I came here to bring Elia home,” she repeated, standing just a fraction straighter despite the urge to curl into herself, as if that would shield her from Oberyn’s stare.

“You have done that. Leave.”

Dragonstone felt as if it were about to be consumed by the volcano on which it sat.

The paranoia of King Aerys had only grown, thinking everyone was his enemy. A raven the king had sent to his son was filled with unsubtle threats and demands for Rhaegar to stay at his side, to remain loyal to his father.

But Rhaegar only played his stupid harp and pored over his scrolls about prophecy as Elia languished in her pregnancy.

“He is preoccupied with saving the world, Lala. Try not to hate him too much.”

Argella sighed as she pulled the blankets a little higher around Elia. She had been so cold lately, constantly shivering as her hands cradled her growing belly. “If he truly wanted to save the world, he would have deposed his father long ago.” She shook her head. “He should be preoccupied with keeping you comfortable. You are carrying his child.”

“We both know you are more suited for it—and I prefer your company,” Elia said with a smile.

Argella had to smile at that and leaned down to kiss Elia’s forehead before sneaking a kiss against her lips, too. “Then I shall stay at your side until you tire of me.”

Elia chased her lips as best she could for another kiss before falling back against the silk-covered pillow with a smile. “You know I will never tire of you.”

The sun was beating down on her but the soft breeze off the water almost made it tolerable. The dark veil over her face fluttered and hid her tears from the other onlookers. The grand tomb of Elia and her children had been finished just that morning. The final brick laid. They would rest beside their ancestors in Sunspear’s ornate necropolis. They were home again. They could rest.

Argella walked forward and pressed her hand over the deep carving of Elia’s name. Princess Elia Nymeros Martell – The Sun of Dorne.

“Goodbye, my love.” She lifted the veil just enough to kiss the smooth stone of Elia’s name—the last kiss she would be able to give her. Her fingers traced Rhaenys and Aegon’s names, too. A quiet goodbye.

It was time for her to go. She had only a few more things to attend to and then…she would set sail. She would leave Westeros.

The royal stables still held her wheelhouse and she found the trunk she was needing and waved off the servants who offered her help. She dragged the trunk into her room and unlocked it before feeling fresh tears sting her eyes. Tucked inside, neatly tucked beside her dresses and chemises, was a portrait. It was of Elia and her babies. They were smiling and happy and…alive.

Some artist from Braavos had impressed Elia with his talents as he sold his wares at the market on Dragonstone and Argella had secretly commissioned him for the portrait only a handful of moons before the rebellion started. She had meant to gift it to Elia for her next nameday.

It was a true likeness—he had perfectly captured the gentle warmth in Elia’s eyes as she looked down at Aegon in her arms as he slept and Rhaenys dutifully peeked over her mother’s arm to look down at her brother. The gold dragons Robert had gifted her were left forgotten at the bottom of the trunk as she closed the lid, the portrait in her hands as she moved toward Doran’s solar.

A servant bowed to her as he announced her presence and Doran welcomed her, telling her to take a seat across from him at his finely carved desk as he finished a bit of correspondence. And she patiently waited, the portrait sitting on her lap, her arms wrapped around its frame as if she were trying to hug it—to hug the little family on its canvas.

Perhaps she was.

When she handed it over to Doran, her fingers lingers on the carved frame before dropping back down her lap.

Doran was quiet as he looked at the portrait but she could see the emotions running through his eyes before he tightly shut them and nodded once before calling for and handing it off to a servant and whispering where he wanted it hung. The servant nodded before walking away, the portrait in his hands held like a precious gem.

Argella told him of how Elia had loved the artist’s skill and Doran smiled at that. “She would have loved it. I know it.” He paused to clear his throat, the warble of tears in his voice. “It is a fine gift, my lady.”

“I have…one last gift for you. Much less palatable than the last.”

Rhaegar had left.

His wife had nearly died bringing his son into the world and he had set off with his band of guards to the Riverlands, quoting the prophecy again. Lyanna Stark waited for him.

The raven Argella had sent to Robert, telling him to break off the engagement to the wolf-girl had went unanswered.

“I am nervous, Lala. Everything is about to change.”

Argella stepped beside Elia at the window and kissed her temple as she watched Rhaegar and his retinue recede on the horizon. “And I shall be with you every step of the way.”

“I know that you were more than a companion to Elia.” Doran said it with such ease that it startled her. They had been quietly sipping tea in his solar as the sun rose when he spoke. “She loved you. I know you love her. You have lost your sun, too. And you have come here, to return her and her children home, despite knowing that your welcome would not be kind.” Doran took her hand in his and gently patted at her wrist. “The truth will come out, little doe. But we must let all of Dorne grieve, too.” He sighed and his eyes moved to the giant skull sitting on a tall-legged table. That had been the price Robert paid to try to buy Argella’s forgiveness. He had told her who had been the one to steal the sun from the world and demanded Tywin hand him over or he would not marry Cersei. Tywin had agreed. “I have been told that you are hoping to set sail for Braavos on the next ship that comes to port in a fortnight.”

She nodded.

“You will always be welcome here.”

“I cannot stay here—not without Elia.”

And Doran nodded at that. “If you ever care to return, there will be a place for you at my table.”

“That is kind of you, Prince Doran. Your wife has also suggested I visit her homeland of Norvos, if I am given the chance.”

Doran opened his mouth to respond when the door opened and Oberyn strode in. His dark eyes darted from his brother to Argella. “I thought you would have left by now.”

“Oberyn,” Doran scolded.

“I am surprised you would sup with a Baratheon, brother. First Jon Arryn comes and tries to offer peace and you take it without argument.”

Without a word, Doran opened a drawer on his desk and produced a bit of parchment from its depths. “Oberyn. I have a letter for you.”

“Now is not the time, brother.”

“It is from Elia.”

“I have already been given the last letter my sister wrote to me. Telling me of how scared she was in the Red Keep and how she loved me.” His dark eyes looked to Argella again. “How she wished that I could have been there.”

“There was another, brother,” Doran gently said, extending his arm out, lifting the letter a little higher.

Oberyn looked from Doran to Argella again before pulling his lips tight against his teeth and walking over to snatch the parchment from Doran’s outstretched hand. He opened it and Argella watched his dark eyes scan the words, his face crumpling as he finished. And then he looked to her again. “You? It was you?”

Argella looked to Doran who only looked back at her, eyes unreadable. “I…I don’t understand.”

Oberyn carefully tucked the paper into his tunic before marching forward to grasp Argella’s arm and nearly hauled her out of the room, through the halls, and toward his own chambers. When the door shut, he pushed her into the overstuffed chair at his desk. Dozens and dozens of letters were neatly stacked on top and Oberyn whispered that she should read them. He placed the letter he had just received beside the stack. “You deserve to know.” And then he left her there, alone in his solar.

It took Argella a moment to work up the nerve to reach out and grasp the first letter, recognizing Elia’s neat handwriting.

Argella dashed down the stairs toward Elia’s chambers with a smile on her face. She had woken in a good mood at Elia’s side that morning and had only slipped away to dress for the day. The sound of metal on stone seemed to echo in the halls and she briefly wondered if the royal guards were running drills.

But, as she turned the corner toward the hall that contained Elia’s chambers, two spears were thrust out toward her. “Lady Argella Baratheon, you are forbidden from seeing Princess Elia.”

“Move aside. I am her maid—it is my duty to-”

“Your brother has taken up arms against the Crown. House Baratheon are traitors. You are now a hostage until your brother is dead and your brothers swear fealty—or they are killed.”

“I demand you move aside this instant! I am no threat to Elia or her babies. I am loyal—you have-”

Two more guards suddenly grasped her arms and started hauling her back toward her chambers.

“Elia?! Elia?” She screamed.

But she was a prisoner here, too. She knew it.

My dear Oberyn, I am in love. I know only you would truly understand when I say that it is not with my husband. I shall only call them Lala, to keep their identity secret—I would not have them persecuted at Court if these letters would be discovered. But I am happy, brother. Happier than I ever thought possible.

They have kept me sane, dried my tears. When their lips touch mine, I believe I have tasted heaven—if only for a moment. My Lala is my haven in this wretched world. Rhaenys is fond of Lala, too. It is…almost as if the gods have blessed me with them, letting me have my true family at my side, letting me know what I should have had. …perhaps it is actually a curse.

Over and over again, Elia had written to Oberyn about ‘Lala,’ telling him of how they lived. How they loved. She read of how much Elia had loved her.

“Lala?” The voice was soft, but it still woke her from sleep.

Argella sat up in her bed in an instant, recognizing the dark shape at the edge of her bed. She reached out and drew Elia into her bed and quickly pressed her lips to hers, desperate and wanting.

“I do not have much time. The guards are changing shifts and they will notice I am not in my chambers if I do not time this correctly. But I had to see you.” She kissed Argella again. “I needed to see you.”

“You must know I would never, ever do anything to endanger you or Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“I know, my love. I know it as well as I know my name. But I have been summoned to King’s Landing. We leave at first light.”

“Will I be coming with you?”

Tears filled Elia’s eyes as she shook her head. “You cannot. You are to stay here as leverage against your brothers. And I do not know what Aerys would do to you if you were to come to Court again. I have learned he has been burning dozens of people a day.”

“You cannot go,” Argella said, grasping at Elia’s hands. “It is not safe.”

“You know I must. I would only make his ire worse if I prolong how long it takes me to arrive. I would rather arrive with my head held high than in shackles that I know these knights would slap on my wrists if given the order.”

“Elia, please,” the tears were choking her. “Please, do not-”

But she kissed her again. “I love you.” And in the next breath, she was gone.

One last letter remained and she dreaded what it held, what Elia had written to Oberyn to make him forgive her so easily, but she slid her thumb under the broken seal anyway and read it.

Oberyn. I know my time on this plane is coming to a close. I can only hope that my babies will survive this but I know in my heart of hearts, that they may not. The Seven Heavens await us all. I wish I could have seen Sunspear one more time, pushed you into the pools at the Water Gardens like I did when we were children. You used to pout so much after I would do that, and mother always fussed over you. I miss you brother. More than words can say. I wish I had more time. When this is over, please tell Argella, my Lala, I love her. Tell her I know she was innocent in all of this—it was not her doing. Tell her to smile. Tell her I will wait for her. She helped me understand what love should be like—she gave me her heart and I gave her mine. Tell her that I will be with her—every sunrise and every sunset. I am with you all.

The last letter slipped from her hand and Argella wept.

Her hands hurt. For hours on end, she would hit the locked door of her chambers, pleading to be let out.

But no one would answer. She only heard the terrible sound of metal on stone as knights moved through the halls and once a day, a plate of food was slid beneath her door.

How long had it been? If she was counting the moon’s cycles correctly—it had been three months.

She had nearly given up the last tendrils of hope she had before her door suddenly swung open and a familiar face stood in her doorway. Queen Rhaella Targaryen looked as bruised and beaten as ever, but the gentle swelling of her stomach was new—she was pregnant.

“Lady Argella,” her voice was as soft as it ever was. “I must apologize for your captivity. I have instructed a ship to have you brought to Greenstone—your mother’s home, was it not?”

“It…it was, your grace.”

Rhaella nodded and held out a hand to Argella, helping her stand from her place on the cold, stone floor. “I hope you do not hold me in any ill will. I had not heard of your imprisonment when we disembarked. I would have had you home sooner.”

Argella shook her head, her greasy hair falling in front of her face. “I know you are kindhearted, your grace. I am happy to see you safe.”

Rhaella’s answering smile was small and she nodded. “I will have a maid sent up to help you wash. Your ship will leave at first light.”

And Argella would have been lying if she did not feel a bit of relief as she saw the familiar island of Greenstone come into view as the ship neared its shores. Her aunt and uncle were quick to welcome her and made sure she was comfortable in their finest rooms. And it was only then, that Argella had the nerve to ask what had happened.

Her aunt smiled. “Our little Robert is King of the Seven Kingdoms. Is that not wonderful news?”

“And…and Princess Elia? Little Rhaenys and Aegon?” She hated the sound of hope in her voice. It was cruel to her own ears.

Her uncle sputtered and looked to his wife for a moment. “They were killed when the Lannister army sacked the city.”

And the scream Argella let out nearly shook the walls.

Oberyn sat at her side without a word. He did not speak. Neither did she.

But silence eventually turned to quiet, stilted conversation which evolved into seeking each other out at meals and then Oberyn was slipping into her rooms at night so they could continue their discussions, falling back into old habits of hidden smiles and secrets and trying to make each other laugh even if they wanted to cry.

On the last night, Oberyn slipped into her room and watched as she packed away her belongings and readied for bed. As she neared the bed, he stood and grasped her hands in a soft grip that had her sucking in a shuddering breath. She did not want to say goodbye just yet.

“I loved you once. I might love you again—I believe I do already.”

That was equal parts the best and worst thing he could have ever said. “And I love you still. But not in the way you deserve. You…” the words were hard in her throat. “You deserve to be someone’s sun. You deserve to be someone’s first choice. And you will be, I know it. You will find the true love of your life.” She paused. “And I know I would only be a reminder of those who you loved and lost.”

“Just as I would be to you.”

Argella nodded and dropped her head to her chest. “Yes. I am so sorry, Oberyn. Truly.”

But he shook his head and squeezed at her fingers. “Do not be sorry, little doe. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He stepped closer and rested his forehead against hers, both of them squeezing their eyes shut at the contact. “Let us not part on such sad terms. Let our last memory together be one of happiness.”

Argella nodded as best she could, trying to keep the warmth of his embrace as close as possible. “Whatever you wish. Whatever you want. It is yours.”

And the night they spent together was filled with hungry, searching kisses and warm hands and slick skin. Oberyn kissed her as his release rumbled through him and then quickly made sure she found hers, too, before making sure she was truly tired and finding euphoria with each other again before they both fell asleep in her rumpled blankets.

And she did sleep soundly—far better than she had in over a year. Before the Rebellion. But she still woke before the sun and took a moment to watch Oberyn sleep—peaceful amongst the silk. Carefully, she brushed the hair away from his face and kissed his brow in a silent goodbye before slipping away.

At the port, she caught sight of Harmen Uller and his retinue, preparing their boats to return to Hellholt.

“Ah, my lady. Prince Doran has told me you are departing as well.”

Argella only nodded before seeing a beautiful woman step to Harmen’s side.”

“This is my daughter, Ellaria Sand.”

“My lady,” Ellaria said with a small curtsey.

Argella mirrored the motion. “Lady Ellaria.”

But Ellaria chuckled. “I am no lady. But I do wish you fair travels.” Ellaria reached out and grasped Argella’s hands and squeezed, as if knowing that she was in desperate need for some sort of simple contact. “And whatever lies before you, I hope it is kinder than what lies behind.”

Lord Uller nodded at his daughter’s word.

“And I wish the same for you. Your kindness… it has been most welcome.” She smiled as best she could and bid them goodbye as they were boarded onto their fine ship. And then it was time for her to do the same.

She crossed the gangplank and was welcomed by the crew who had been expecting her—and her gold. Before she was shuffled away to her cabin below deck, Argella turned and looked back at Sunspear, trying to press it into her memory. She wanted to remember how the sun shimmered on the golden towers and how the sea salted the air and the sand glistened.

And on just the edge of the dock, just a few feet away from the bustle of the early morning crowd, was Oberyn. He raised a hand to her, a quiet goodbye. Argella did the same.

And then she turned and walked away.

Braavos was welcoming. Filled with song and people who would smile and the customs of the city demanded that the highborn and wealthy wear black—it was fitting. She could wear black the rest of her days, a mourning dress. But while they would treat her with the respect a woman of her station warranted, both high and lowborn would take an opportunity to coo over the babe on her hip.

It had only taken her a few moons to realize she was with child. And Elenei came screaming into the world just past midday, when the sun was at its highest. Fitting. Elenei looked like a Baratheon—except for her eyes. Her viper eyes that would shine in the light and always seemed to know more than she said. Those were inherently Oberyn. She was a Martell.

And she was the delight of the maids who watched her when Argella was tending to her duties as a companion to the Merling Queen, one of the most revered courtesans Braavos had ever sheltered. Her duties mostly included letting Laena, as only Argella was allowed to call her when they were alone, speak of her troubles and help her remember when she was supposed to meet whichever rich lord had paid for her company that week.

Laena was kind and sweet and sometimes would simply cry when she felt that her public persona had robbed her of a true life, of happiness. In a way, Argella was reminded of Elia. A kind woman shackled to duties she did not truly agree to and confined within a gilded cage. So, she let Laena use her as a walking diary, let her express emotions she could not with anyone else. It was cathartic for both of them, in a way.

Argella did not need the coin the position provided—she could have lived very comfortably with the small mountain of gold Robert had given her. But she needed a distraction—and the connections she made at Laena’s side made sure Elenei would be as high-ranking as she ever could be in Westeros.

Elenei was her whole world. The light of her days. She need only look at her daughter’s face to feel herself smile.

She hoped that Oberyn would smile again, too. She hoped her would find happiness with someone kind and beautiful who would handle his wrath with gentleness. Her mind conjured a thought of Ellaria and she found herself smiling at the thought. They would be a handsome pair. Maybe the gods would allow them to be happy.

For a few years, as Elenei continued to grow and prosper into a lovely and well-learned little lady, Argella pondered telling Oberyn of his daughter across the Narrow Sea. But that would have been crueler, wouldn’t it? To drag him back to into the tumult and loss she knew she embodied for him and his family.

And Elenei seemed to know that her father was an important man—but that her mother’s heart also belonged to another. And would forever.

“The sun is shining today, mama. That always makes you smile,” Elenei would say whenever the almost ever-present clouds would clear for a few hours.

“Yes, my sweet one. The sun will always make me smile.”

Elenei smiled and held her mother’s hand, dragging her out of their manse as their servants chuckled at the familiar sight. “Then I must make you smile, mama!”

“Do you think you’ll love me forever?” Elia asked, eyes closed as sleep started to take her.

“I know I will.”

(And another banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites I love you)

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

#elia martell x ofc #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell x oc #oberyn martell imagine #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell #elia martell

132 notes · View notes

lostchildofthenewworld · 4 years

Link

‘A Shadowed Path’ by lostchildofthenewworld on ao3 (myself)

“The original heads of the dragon shared the same mother and father, so too must these new heads.

Princess Elia Martell returns to Dorne after having her marriage annulled and being publicly repudiated by King Rhaegar the First of His Name in favor of his new wife, Queen Lyanna Stark.

Dorne is at the precipice with their anger, the amount of disrespect shown to not only their beloved Princess but also to Prince Lewyn Martell who was slain in battle, not for his niece but for folly.

It has always been said that Elia has a sweet wit about her, but her time as a hostage to the Mad King has taught her many things. For the past year she has learned to walk in the shadows of the Red Keep in order to stay the ire of the Mad King.

Returning to Dorne is not the sweet girl that left it.”

A story of a fractured woman putting herself back together and the relationships and bonds she forms along the way.

23 notes · View notes

whiskeynwriting · 3 years

Text

Insatiable - Chapter Nine: Let Me Nurture You

Oberyn Martell x OFC Reader “Savia”

◆

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) cuddly Oberyn (BABY), praise kink, oral sex (f receiving), BLATANT exhibitionism (Oberyn gets off on your public display).

◆

Summary: You recover quickly, immediately resuming your activities with the prince. An unexpected guest arrives, causing concern for Myrcella’s safety while Ellaria hides in the shadows.

◆

A/N: this is fluffy this is fluffy this is fluffy and I am YEARNING. I love this man with a burning passion.

- Okay y’all, we are getting deeper and deeper into Savia’s life. Savia belongs to house Vyrwel, which is a house the lives under the rule of the Tyrell’s. It’s not super popular or well-known in the books, but I chose it for a reason, so I hope it doesn’t backfire, lol.

- Wyvern: a two-headed dragon with a barbed tail.

- Also, at the end, reader says Ellaria is worthy of her name. For those of you that haven’t seen/read GOT, Ellaria is a bastard by the name of Sand. So, basically, reader calls her an unfaithful whore. LOL

◆

Insatiable Series Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like your daddy?”

“Everyone!” they playfully groan, giggling to themselves.

The three girls are absolutely adorable, and you’re thrilled you’re able to meet them. After greeting Sarella and Elia and embracing their warm hugs, they, along with Oberyn, led you over to the gardens to meet the youngest little trio of girls. Each of them were mothered by Ellaria, and it truly shows.

Loreza and Dorea, at ages six and eight, already adorned their mother’s gorgeous, long locks. Their black hair trailed down her back and to her hips, fanning out over the ruffles in their dress. Obella, on the other hand, has shorter hair. Another feature that distinguishes Obella from the younger two, are her freckles. She has just a few scattered over her nose. Other than those two traits, all three look entirely the same in one shape or another. Their hair is black and curly, spiraling into loose coils as they grow. Their skin and eye colors are the same, tanned and then dark brown, their eye color and shape entirely matching their father’s. They even have the same nose as their mother, the same lips as cheekbones, too.

You might be wondering how you know all of this, considering you’ve never met the prince of Dorne’s prior paramour. But even so, you know them to be true. Oberyn speaks fondly of his daughters and has expressed to you the traits they share with either himself or their birthmother.

“Can we come back with you?”

“Loreza,” Oberyn says sternly, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at her.

She rolls her eyes, and in all honesty, you do, too. Since you’ve been home, you haven’t been able to do anything. This was the first outing you’d had in three days. Both Amabel and Milena practically forced you to stay inside your room, urging you to rest and regain your strength. They weren’t exactly happy about your little reunion in the tub, but they can’t do anything about it now.

Anyways, Loreza can’t come back to your room with you and her father, she knows this, and you know this. No one is allowed inside beside your chambermaids and your soon-to-be spouse. Not until your health returns.

“But can’t you stay longer?” Obella whines, folding her arms and tilting her head up at you.

“I’m sorry, girls.” You sigh, chewing on the inside of your lip. “I can’t stay. But I promise we can spend more time together tomorrow.��

“You promise?” Dorea interjects, hopping up and down a bit.

“Yes,” you giggle, nodding a bit. “I promise.”

“Come,” Oberyn then says, wrapping one arm around your waist as he stands beside you. “You need to rest, my love.”

As annoying as it may be to be cooped up inside, it wasn’t all bad. For instance, you got to sleep in for however long you wanted, and had limitless access to your Dornish lover. Because of your state, Oberyn was allowed to see you whenever he wanted, which was literally all the time. He was also excused from his noble responsibilities while he helped nurse you back to health. Milena monitored your diet quite closely, measuring the exact amount of water you should be drinking, food you should be eating, and medicines you should be taking. She also began teaching Amabel how to help you bathe and how to wash your hair. It’s clear Milena has more experience, and its nice to see her passing that on.

“Oberyn.” Milena states, placing her hands on her hips.

“What?” he asks, not bothering to lift his head from your bed.

Although you hated to admit it, you did feel like shit. While you enjoyed your time with Oberyn’s girls, they, along with the sun, utterly exhausted you. So, upon returning to your room, you laid down for a mid-morning nap. Due to the prince’s sexual appetite, she assumes he’s naked beneath the sheets as he lies behind you; but he isn’t. He’s wearing his undergarments, along with you in yours, cuddling up behind you and holding you tight as you snooze away in his arms.

“We told you. No more –”

“We are merely sleeping, Milena.” He interrupts, “Please, go away.”

He doesn’t say it with attitude or spite, it’s just a request; a simple request for the two of you to be left alone while you rest from your treacherous journey that had occurred only a few days ago. She sighs out, not fully trusting Oberyn but understanding the situation.

“Okay,” she softly says, agreeing to give you the privacy any engaged couple surely needs.

To Oberyn’s delight, you remain undisturbed, snoring softly in his embrace. He smiles at you, admiring your relaxed features as he places a tender kiss over your temple.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, brushing the hair resting over your neck aside, allowing it to rest behind your back.

He gently presses his nose to the back of your head, nuzzling into your soft hair and reveling in your presence. He couldn’t be happier, truly could not be happier. Your balcony allows a soft wind to sweep through the room, but with you tucked beneath the sheets, you can barely feel a thing. The Dornish blankets were more than comfortable, soothing you to a quick and deep sleep each and every night.

Oberyn thinks to himself, gently breathing behind you as he closes his eyes in wonder. He slowly wavers between sleeping and waking, his tired state slowly but surely ushering him into unconsciousness. Before he gets there, though, he acknowledges his surroundings, your surroundings. He thinks, you shouldn’t have separate spaces, not anymore. Why haven’t you joined him in his chambers yet? Would you even want that? Or would you like to keep a bit of privacy to yourself? Surely not, he decides, knowing that basked in the warm embrace of his love.

He still can’t believe you’re home; he thanks the gods every single day that you’re back in his arms. By the grace of the Seven, you were brought you back to him. You rest in his strong yet gentle embrace, pressed up against his body as you snuggle beneath the sheets. While Oberyn would usually explore your body with you cuddled up against him like this, he doesn’t. He lets this moment, and others like it, be tender and delicate, securing you safely beside him while his steady breaths and loving hold coax you off to sleep. He knows that even though your love for Dorne is steadfast, you still yearn to feel safe. So, he does just that. He stays by your side, holding you and comforting you and just loving every little piece of you until your worries melt away.

And while you yearn to be safe, he yearns to protect. He’s always seen the glances you receive from both men and women alike. Before, he would’ve pursued it, inviting them into his bed to share a taste of the most delicious woman he could ever fathom. But now, it’s not even a thought in his head, because you are just that, the most delicious woman he could ever fathom, and why would he ever share that treasure?

He swears that those wandering eyes have increased greatly upon your return, though you argue otherwise. He just notices them more now, you think, it just bothers him more now. But he’s stubborn, insisting that he never saw so many men and women take glance at the love of his life. The guards, new handmaidens, the cooks, the servers, the commonfolk who occasionally visited his brother, they all looked, they all stared. And honestly, how could they not? You never thought Oberyn to be wrong about your beauty, because he wasn’t. You’re absolutely gorgeous, in spirit, body, and mind. You told him there’s nothing he could do about those hungry eyes that followed you so closely, be he begs to differ.

After your slumber, you head out onto your balcony, dressing in a thin gown as you layout on your chaise lounge. One of Oberyn’s books, Dornish Antiquity, rests in your lap. Its pages inform you on House Martell and how they came to rule, their popular facts and those lesser known. You love learning about them, about the ruling house of Dorne, about those who are soon to become your kin.

“Savia,” Oberyn beckons, strolling out onto the balcony shortly after he softly calls out your name.

You smile up at him as he approaches, kneeling on his left knee as he rests before you. He takes your hand, his face covered in gentle admiration as he places a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“How are you?” he asks, his big, brown eyes staring up at yours.

“Hm,” you giggle, always smitten with the prince. “I’m good, feeling better.”

“Good.” He smiles, placing one last kiss before standing. “Our mid-day meal will be delivered soon, would you like to eat in here?” he asks, more than aware that you’ve been going a little stir-crazy inside the room.

“Sure,” you shrug, “I think I’ve had enough interaction for the day.” You giggle, closing your book and setting it aside.

You release a groan as you shift in your seat, accidentally rubbing over a larger bruise. Oberyn quickly dashes inside, and you watch him with curious eyes.

“Here,” he says, back before you in the blink of an eye. “Let me help.”

“Oberyn,” you sigh out, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He states, placing a towel to your side.

He’d gone inside to retrieve it, filling it with more ice to help ease the pain of your discolored ribcage. He’d also brought a glass of water, one of many that Milena had left. She requested that you finish them before she returns, but it was harder than it looked.

“Drink.” He insists, lifting the glass to your lips.

You sigh out, but do as you’re told, sipping from the glass until he’s satisfied. He could be so attentive, he was always so attentive, it was something that made your heart squeeze with love. But right now, it made you feel like a child. You hated being injured, hated looking so weak and helpless.

“You’ll heal soon.” he coos, lightly rubbing your outer thigh. “I know it.”

“I hate this.” You groan, “I feel so weak; I feel like such a child.”

“You aren’t weak, you’re not a child, Savia.” Oberyn responds, quick to scold you for your harsh words. “You’re injured, and you need help. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You suppose he’s right, sighing out with defeat as you glance at the ground. He removes the ice from your skin, setting it on a nearby table alongside your water before climbing up onto the furniture with you. He wiggles in behind you, his hands gently guiding you to lay back in his embrace. He holds you from behind, his arms wrapping around your sides as he begins to settle in.

He knows this is hard for you, you didn’t have to tell him that. Every day since your return, he’d seen it, a look of displeasure resting on your face whenever you weren’t smiling at him. Oberyn knows you’re frustrated; he knows you like to relax, occasionally allowing your maids to do small things for you. But now, they did everything for you, and you couldn’t stand it. You desperately wanted to get up, to take care of yourself like you know you can, but the thing is, you can’t, and it was killing you inside.

Regardless, you do your best to relax, to rest and heal and enjoy the time spent during these lazy days. Whenever you were frustrated, you went to Oberyn, who was always there, anyways. Like now, he’s here, holding you in his arms as the hotheaded Dornishman melted your worries away. Between the heat of the sun and the heat of his body, you begin to close your eyes.

“Will you sleep, my love? Will you sleep for me?” he coos, leaning up to brush the hair out of your face.

“Oberyn…” you mumble, your tone informing him of your subtle annoyance.

“Come now,” he chuckles lightly, “Let me care for you, let me nurture you, sweet thing.”

You’d woken after an hour or so, the two of you unable to sleep for much longer after your nap. Regardless, you stayed like this, huddled beneath Oberyn’s strong arms as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Eventually, he rolls to his back, and you to your side, laying a hand over his chest as you kiss languidly beneath the sun. you giggle as he feels you, sliding his hand beneath the fabric of your dress and grabbing at your ass and thighs.

Suddenly, Oberyn’s head pops up, looking out at the view the balcony provides. He then shifts, moving out from behind you and sliding off the chaise lounge. He walks to the balcony’s edge, folding his hands over the sone barrier as he scans the water gardens below. You sit up as he does so, furrowing your brow in wonder of what’s caught the prince’s attention. Not much stole it away from you.

“Oberyn?” you ask, leaning forward as grimace crosses his face. “What is it?”

“They’re staring.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes. “They always stare. Love, I thought we talked about this?”

Your eyes wander to where his eyes are focused, acknowledging the presence of five guards patrolling the gardens below. You then stand, sauntering over to him a playful smirk curling on your lips.

“Why don’t you like when they stare? You used to love it.”

“Used to?” he asks, turning to face you.

“Before me.”

“That is exactly it, Inamorata.” He says, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “That was before you. Before I’d met the love of my life, the woman who would change my entire being. Why would I ever want to share that?”

“You don’t ever have to share me, Oberyn.” You softly express, placing two hands on his chest as you move in closer. “But… I kind of like it.”

“What? Why?” he asks, grabbing hold of you around your waist.

“You know me,” you shrug, petting at his chest. “I like to tease.”

“Oh?” he responds, a small smirk forming on his own beautiful lips. “You like to show yourself off, Inamorata? Show them what they can’t have?”

“Mhm,” you nod, biting your lip as your fingers curl over the hem of his robe. “I like showing them what you have.”

“Hm…” he chuckles lightly, smiling down at you and your mischievous thoughts. “Shall we show them now?” he asks, your words slightly changing his opinion on the matter.

The way you see the issue entices him greatly, every cell in his body now desperate to claim you as his for anyone and everyone to see. And while his body shivers at your words, your beautiful eyes, your seductive lips, you think over his proposition. He’s already claimed you, you know this, and of course he knows this. But something about his jealousy and possessiveness just makes you drip with need.

“I think we shall.”

Oberyn moans a deep and satisfied hum, smiling brightly at your words. He leans in, connecting your lips as his hand rises to cup your jaw. He moves quickly, forcefully, molding his mouth to yours and shoving his tongue inside.

“Hm…” you giggle excitedly, kissing the older nobleman as his one hand wraps around your back to pull you against him.

He pulls away from you, just barely pulls his lips away. Oberyn then drops so quickly you think he may be in pain. You gasp as you watch him go down, quickly kneeling before you and running his hand under your dress and up the length of your sighs.

“Oberyn!” you sigh, watching him lean in to mouth at your covered sex.

The prince of Dorne meets your eyes, staring deeply into them as he continues to kiss and lick over that beautifully sensual space between your thighs. His hands curl around, grabbing at the meat just below your ass and squeezing you in his embrace. He ushers you forward, and you comply, leaning into his touch as he stays planted below your stance.

“Do I have to ask?” he mutters, pressing deep kisses against your still-covered folds.

You sigh out, your mouth openly smirking down at him as you shake your head. He revels in your approval, closing his eyes and purring enticingly over your mound. The vibration sends a sharp shiver through your core, shooting up through your hips and lower stomach as he does it.

“Step back, my love.” He coos, removing himself from between your legs. “Lean against the frame, I want you to relax.”

You turn your head, glancing over your shoulder at the stone railing not too far behind. With only three backward steps, you’re there, leaning back against the sturdy barrier while Oberyn’s hands roam your body. He shifts forward, following you over to the edge of your balcony.

“Hm…” he exhales, humming to himself while he lifts the hem of your dress up and over your hips.

“Oberyn!” you giggle, feeling much more exposed than any previous act with your lover.

You glance over at the guards, three of them quickly looking away once you meet their gaze. You chuckle at their bashfulness, your chest rising and falling as you feel Oberyn’s mouth begin to trail up your thighs. It’s rather comfortable, your relaxed position. Oberyn has thrown your left leg over his shoulder, only spreading you open wider for the guards to see, as your left side is the one facing the exterior wall of your room. Your right side, however, is completely exposed; anyone walking by would be either blind or a fool to not see the prince’s handsome face as its stuffed between your luscious thighs. Yes, your thighs… Oberyn loves your thighs, massaging them in his large hands as his lips finally meet yours. He’d nipped at them a few times on his way up, not hard enough to leave bruises, though, you still had too many of those.

“What is it, sweet thing?” He inquires, mumbling against you as he kisses your slippery, pink lips.

“You’re right,” you breathe out, still staring at the armored men. “They were staring.”

His fingertips curl over your skin as you inform him of the wandering eyes he’d known about all along. He grunts up into you, the feeling of his hot breath quickly replaced by his wanting tongue.

“Oh, gods…” you moan out, closing your eyes as your head rests back.

He pets at your entrance with his soft mouth and even softer tongue, gently rubbing his lips over your tender skin. Slowly, he dips inside, sliding past your folds and up into your velvety warmth. dips inside. He keeps licking into you, his hands reaching up and spreading you open with both thumbs so he can get in deeper.

“Fuck, yes…” you sigh out, softly rutting over his face.

“Mm…” he moans, smiling against you. “Do that again.”

And you do, always fulfilling any request Oberyn spoke your way. Your hips move over him, swaying with the rhythm of his tongue as it continues to glide in and out of you, slurping out your juices like they’re his to take. You begin dripping, the liquid trickling down over Oberyn’s mouth and chin. He groans at the feeling, each new drop spurring some of his own as he begins to leak beneath his robes.

He continues tongue-fucking your core, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper inside so he can taste every inch of your soft little hole. Eventually, he removes his tongue, wanting to make sure he devours you whole. His tongue explores you, his mouth kissing your sodden lips and licking through the folds of your labia. He rolls his head in languid circles as he sucks on you, licks at you, playing with your pussy like it’s his favorite thing to do.

Your breaths hitch in your throat as your lover continues to pleasure you with his mouth, his stubble rubbing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your head lolls to the side, your lids fluttering open to see the guards looking your way once again. A breathless smirk forms on your beautiful face, your chest jutting upward as you release a playful chuckle.

“They see you, lover.” You coo, lifting your head to look down at him as he plays between your thighs. “But I want them to see more.”

“What would you like them to see?” he asks, his tone innocent as he glances up at you.

“I want you to take me,” he demand, “Let them know I am yours.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he moves, placing one last kiss over your lips before rising to your face. Both of his hands grab your face, eagerly pressing his mouth over yours. Your tongue slides out, licking his lips and the skin around them, tasting your slick as you make him groan. He drops his hands as you do so, cupping your breasts as you lick him clean.

“I love when you clean me.” He purrs, smirking as you lick along his jaw.

“I love cleaning you.” you reply, smiling softly before reconnecting your wanting lips.

His mouth parts, openly smiling as he fumbles with his belt. You kiss along his jaw, sliding your hands up his chest and over his shoulders. He angles himself, lifting his chin to the side to give you better access. Once he’s pulled himself free, the hand not fisting his cock reaches for your waist.

“You want me?” he asks softly, his lips brushing over yours as he speaks.

You smirk, biting your lip as you nod. He closes his eyes, groaning harshly when your right hand replaces his left, wrapping your fingers around his cock and giving him a gentle squeeze.

Oberyn’s eyes then flicker to something further behind you and off to your side. You look behind him, smirking as your heart beats just a little quicker. He leans in, giving you a sloppy half-kiss while the two of you stare at the group of soldiers at the end of the courtyard.

And suddenly, he’s grabbing your waist, spinning you around and placing you at the corner where the stone barriers meet. You lean forward, bending over before him as you rest your forearms on top of the railing’s edge. Oberyn quickly situates himself behind you, moving to lift your leg and bend it forward to its on place atop the banister. Your right leg stays on the ground, holding you up, well, as much as you can, anyway. Oberyn keeps his hand beneath your thigh, doing most of the work in order to keep you as relaxed and comfortable as he can. So, he holds you up, bearing the light weight of your body as he flips your dress up over your ass. His hungry eyes look up, locking with the men as he grabs your right cheek in hand.

“Hm…” you purr, the anticipation rising in your chest now becoming unbearable.

Although you make him absolutely feral, he stops, taking a second to breathe before ramming inside you. He knows he needs to be slow, the be gentle and tender while you continue to heal. It had been more than two days since you’d had sex, and for you’re the two of you, that was a lot; that was long, far too long without the warmth of your lover as you connected over and over again.

“Are you ready, my love? My naughty little thing…”

“Yeah, baby…” you sigh out, humming happily as he takes hold of your waist. “Make me feel good.”

He huffs out a groan as he slides inside, his rounded tip widening your folds, your arousal providing an easy entrance. Oberyn’s cock never failed to make you gasp, to make you whine and whimper and scream from the stretch he gave.

“Oh, so good…” he sighs out, clinging tightly to your body as he presses his chest to your back.

He nibbles on your earlobe, rolling his hips against your backside as he shoves himself completely inside. You release a relaxed sigh at the feeling, entirely satisfied once your lover stuffs you full. Your head falls back, resting against his shoulder as he kisses along your jaw. Then, he shifts, slowly retracting halfway before sliding back inside.

“Baby… harder.” You whine, gasping out when he grunts in your ear. “You know I like to feel it.”

“Inamorata,” he huffs out, his voice low and rough with lust. “You’re still healing,”

“Oberyn,” you cut him out, grumbling sighing out with impatience. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck!” you cry out, feeling him ram into your core.

“Stubborn.” He growls, nipping once more at your ear.

He grunts above you, pressing down against your body as he fulfils your request. And still, it’s not his best; he still works to restrain himself, and you can feel it, but you’ll take what he gives, anything he gives.

“Look at them.” Oberyn suddenly demands, roughly cupping your face and turning your gaze to the men standing watch.

They look up at you, a few of them blushing, others clearing their throat, but each one watching, nonetheless.

“They stroke their cocks thinking about you at night,” he growls into your ear. “I know it. So, look at them, look at them as they watch. It’s the closest thing they’ll ever get to having their way with you.”

You moan out at his words, the need for him to show you off igniting a passion within you that spreads like wildfire through your veins. You smile at it, the incredible feeling as his finger pinch into your cheeks, his grunts and groans filling your ears while his other hand stays cemented to your side.

“My love,” you sigh out, holding his wrist as the hand cupping your cheeks slides down to your throat. “My Viper…”

“My vipera,” he grumbles, “my little seductress.”

Oberyn’s knowledge about the Seven Kingdoms never ceased to amaze you, and his knowledge regarding ancient tongues was impressive as well. You’re a Vyrwel, your banner covered in the menacing imagine of the incredible Wyvern, derived from the Latin word vipera.

“O – oh!” you gasp, his hips now fully slapping against your cheeks.

“Do you like this, Savia?” he asks, smirking against your cheek. “Do you?”

“Yes,” you giggle, “I like being watched.”

“Hm,” he purrs, “Naughty.”

A few of the men adjust their trousers further off on the side of the water gardens below. One of them letting their hand waver just a little too long. Suddenly, a few handmaidens walk into view, gasping once they look up upon hearing your grunts and moans. Their cheeks flush red, quickly scampering away in shock. But the men, they stay, watching as you’re fucked on your balcony by the prince of Dorne.

Wind sweeps through the open air, the sun warming your skin as you give into your body and its delirious needs. Oberyn’s hand wraps around, slithering down to your core and lifting your hood with his thumb.

“Oh, yes!” you cry, throwing your head back once more.

He chuckles lowly against you, his lips pressing to your back as he rubs you. Quick, forceful circles are delivered by the prince’s thumb as he coaxes your orgasm from your core.

“Oberyn, Oberyn!”

You know Oberyn loves it when you say his name, so you do, letting him listen to the tantalizing echo of your sweet voice through the gardens below. You repeat it, over and over again as your high is just within reach.

“Baby,” you stutter out, “The maids,”

“What about them?” he grunts out, shoving his ridiculously well-endowed cock into your fluttering core.

“Milena,” you gasp out, “She’ll see.”

“Little one,” he chuckles, “I don’t care about that. Let her see, I want everyone to see.”

“Gods… I’m gonna cum… Oberyn!”

All at once, he tears himself away, ripping his cock from your warmth and hauling you up against him. He lays a hand over your stomach, quickly ushering you back toward your lounge. When the back of your calves hit the fabric of your couch, you fall, landing on your back as Oberyn returns to his knees. It happens within seconds, your lusty haze preventing you from fully maneuvering your body as Oberyn takes control.

He shoves his head between your thighs, and you immediately cry out once he sucks your clit between his lips. Your legs lift high, bending at the knee and placing the bottoms of your feet onto his broad shoulders. Both hands fly down to his hair, immediately tugging fists between his curls and pulling hard.

It’s sloppy and loud, sucking and slurping on your clit as he begs for your release. He’s so desperate for it, wants to taste it, wants to smell it, needing your cum in his mouth like he needs air in his lungs.

“Gods, yes!” you shriek, closing your eyes tight as your body begins to shake.

Your hips jut up against his face, bucking up into his marvelous mouth. He moans into you as you cum, releasing your clit in order to lick sloppily over your folds. His nose nuzzles your pleasure point, nearly every part of his gorgeous face nurturing your high until you’re crying from pleasure.

“You’re so good,” he rasps, the accent on his tone sending shockwaves through your core.

His voice always made you see stars; always made you melt whenever it resonated through the air. He groans as he licks you, now focusing on your lips as you finally relax in his hold. Oberyn loved the taste of your slick, licking up every drop until you were wet and raw.

“Why didn’t you make me cum on your cock?” you ask, giggling breathlessly as you comb through his hair, soothing the sting your tight hold had on his graying locks.

“You look so beautiful when you cum,” he replies, his voice low as he speaks.

He lifts his head from your thighs, kissing them lightly before meeting your eyes.

“That look, that beautiful expression when I deliver you bliss… I’ll never let anyone else see you like that.”

“Ser Jaime,” you smile, nodding as you curtsey.

It’s entirely fake, of course, Oberyn only giving the Lannister man a curt nod before guiding you next to him on the sofa. You’re unsure of why he’s here, you’re also unsure of why Ellaria is here. Yes, she is here, sitting directly across from you with Doran sitting at the head of the room, the same room you’d stepped in to when you first arrived in Dorne.

“Lady Vyrwel,” he responds, giving you a charming nod. “The Vipera of Dorne.”

You cock your eye, furrowing your brow a bit. How could he have known of that name? Oberyn had only spoken it a few hours ago. Oberyn leans forward, his eyebrows raising at the man. He, too, is curious as to the source of the knight’s knowledge.

“What?” he asks, chuckling slightly. “It’s hard not to hear a name when it’s shouted from the rooftops.”

“A balcony, but…” you retort, smirking as you shrug. “Same, same.”

Your eyes meet Ellaria’s as you speak, her hateful stare forming as soon as you stepped into the room. Your smile is unwavering as you stay snuggled against Oberyn’s side, his arm slung over your shoulder while his hand rubs your outer arm. He leans back, shifting further against you as his smirking lips press to your temple.

“Prince Trystane,” Jaime says, sitting on the edge of the couch, the very one Ellaria is sat upon. “How’s your jaw?”

He’s referring to the quarrel that happened in the gardens. Apparently, Ser Jaime snuck in with a sell sword in order to kidnap Myrcella and take her back to King’s Landing.

“Flea bite.” He softly retorts, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“What are you doing in Dorne?” Ellaria asks, scowling at the man to her left.

“Looking after the safety of my niece,” he responds, nodding her way. “The princess Myrcella.”

“And rather than send a raven or speak to me, directly,” Doran says, gesturing toward himself. “You decided to enter my country in secret and abduct our guest by force.”

The two men continue to converse, and all you can do is watch. You loved to make Doran upset, all fidgety and angry, but it was extra fun watching someone else do it. Although, you aren’t exactly on Jaime’s side, either. The entire ordeal is strange. Apparently, a message had been sent to the Lannisters, a threat, princess Myrcella’s necklace clutched between the jaws of a viper…

Jaime assumes he’s to be executed, but Doran refutes this remark. The Lord continues to speak, going on about war and orphans, how he can’t bare to see such upheaval within his own country. Beheading Ser Jaime would cause just that, chaos.

“And now you want to break bread with the Lannisters.” Ellaria states, her voice and face entirely unamused.

“That is precisely what we are doing.” Doran spits, glaring at the woman who’s birthed his nieces.

Oberyn hand tightens over your arm, but he keeps quiet, knowing that this is what must happen in order to bring peace. He isn’t happy about how its done, but its just that, done. He isn’t the ruler of Sunspear, his brother is. Oberyn can only do so much in his position. And after all, you do support King Tommen’s rule.

“Let us drink,” the Lord says, “To Tommen, the first of his name, king of the Andals and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms.

Ellaria looks to Oberyn as Doran ends his speech, her eyes showing nothing but confusion and worry. Oberyn quickly raises his brows before looking down at your hand as it rests on his thigh. His free one covers it, glancing back up at his prior paramour before finally setting his sights on you. Oberyn sees her concern, and he understands it, he understands it better than anyone in this room, but what can be done?

Everyone put you and the prince had been poured a glass upon sitting down. The two of you walked in with a glass already in your hands, sharing the goblet as you offered the drink to your lover whenever they required a taste. As you raise your shared glass, Oberyn nods, a sign that he, too, is toasting the king. Doran, Jaime, Trystane and his bride to be, all raise their glasses, too. And to your surprise, Ellaria joins in, raising her goblet as she glances around the room. But then, just as you all drink, it tilts, the wine pouring out of her cup and onto the floor below as she stares Jaime Lannister in the face. She slams the glass down on the table, sitting back in her seat with a pouty expression.

Doran glares at her, slowly setting down his drink before speaking. “King Tommen insists on his sister’s return to the capital?”

“I’m afraid he does.” Jaime answers, acknowledging the look of distaste that quickly covers the princess’s face.

“I cannot disobey my king’s command.”

Ellaria’s head snaps back around to look at her brother-in-law, well, not any more, you suppose. You roll your eyes at this, sighing out as you lean your head on your lover’s shoulder. You hadn’t even properly met, and it was already exhausting to be around her.

Lord Doran and Ser Jaime discuss the details of Myrcella’s return. She will arrive at King’s Landing alongside her uncle Jaime and her promised husband, Trystane.

“My brother currently sits on the small council, but clearly, he insists on remaining in Dorne. Your father understood the importance of keeping Dorne in the fold. With Oberyn gone, Trystane will take his place on the small council.”

Jaime looks to Oberyn, who’s currently sipping from the glass in your hand. He swallows as you lower it from his lips, sighing out once he’s drank his fill.

“Oberyn?” Doran says, the two men expecting an answer to the unspoken question.

“This decision sounds favorable.” Oberyn finally says, “I’m meant to remain here, at my lover’s side.”

You look up at him, ignoring Ellaria’s irritated scoff at his sentiment. He places a quick kiss on your lips, but not before you cup his jaw to make it last just that much longer.

“You have my word.” Jaime then says, his expression genuine as he makes the promise of Trystane’s new position.

“The word of a king slayer.” Ellaria mutters, standing from her seat.

�� “How disappointing. In my absence, you’ve become an utter fool.” She seethes, staring directly at the lover beside your arm.

You narrow your eyes at her, the prince doing the same. Before either of you can speak, though, she turns to Doran, leaning over as she spits out, “No wonder you can’t stand, you have no spine.”

She tries to storm off, but the Lord’s firm grasp on her wrist stops her in her tracks.

“You are mother to four of my nieces, girls I love very much. For their sake, I hope you live a long and happy life. Speak to me like that again, and you won’t.”

“What an elegant meeting.” You remark, strolling up the stairs with your arms wrapped around Oberyn’s left bicep.

“It’s never dull when that woman’s around.”

“Is it dull when I’m around?” you ask, the question coming off playful though you’re curious as to his answer.

He exhales a short chuckle, glancing down as you continue to walk forward.

“Ellaria brings a certain energy into a room. She’s always had a gift for hatred, receiving it just as much as she gives it. Ellaria brings strife, anguish, draining the joy from anyone that crosses her path.”

Then, he stops. Just before you get to your door, Oberyn turns to face you, maneuvering out of your hold, so he can wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in close.

“But you,” he sighs, lifting one hand to push some of your hair behind your ear. “The energy you bring gives life to every soul you surround. You are uplifting, refreshing. My love, you are everything.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that deepens with every passing second. Your heart flutters in your chest, his words sending a warm wave of love that covers your entire being. It surrounds you, the prince’s adoration and care, his attentiveness and appreciation for every element that created you, every shade that made you as beautiful as you are now, the same shades that birthed you into this world painting his being, too.

Oberyn ushers you inside, dressing you in a formal gown for the dinner to be had later that night. He does it as a tender action, not because you can’t do it, but because he wants to do it. Oberyn never gets tired of looking at your body, running his hands over your curves, his wandering eyes roaming each hill and valley that adorns your ivory skin, the little freckles that occasionally appear, the marks of growth that line your inner thighs and the sides of your breasts. He loves it, he loves it all.

“I’m glad Myrcella is leaving.” You admit, allowing him to tie the back of your gown.

“Why?” he asks, furrowing his brow. He wonders, do you have distaste for the Lannister girl?

“She doesn’t belong here, Oberyn. She’s not safe here… not with her around.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my prior paramour.” He responds, a twinge of humor in his voice.

“I’m not afraid of that traitor.” You seethe, “A woman without loyalty or faith cannot touch me.”

His hands drop once he’s finished, side stepping his way around your body to face you. He grabs your hands, holding them in his as he sighs out.

“I’m afraid for Myrcella’s safety.”

During your time in Dorne, you’d grown rather fond of the Lannister Lady. She was quite nice, incredibly graceful and generous, lending a helping hand wherever it was needed. She didn’t know how to sew, she’d left the capital before her mother could teach her, so you did. You’d tear small holes in her clothes, provoking a shocked laugh from the younger girl at your carelessness. Eventually, it’d turn into a game, tearing holes in her nicest gowns just to show her how to properly stitch it up. She was amazed, you could never tell it had been torn.

“I understand your concern.” Oberyn whispers, “And I love you for it, for your care, the empathy you have for others.”

You smile kindly at him, watching him lift your hand to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss over the back of it, closing his eyes as he does it.

“But,” he continues, removing his lips from your skin. “You needn’t worry about such things. Myrcella will be gone soon, she’ll be safe in her home.”

“I hope so.” you sigh, “She’s too gentle for this world.”

A dinner is hosted in honor of Myrcella and Trystane’s departure. Everyone is invited, Doran and his children, you and Oberyn, Ser Jaimie, even Ellaria receives an invitation.

As you walk down to the great hall, your bellies rumbling with hunger, you cross the only woman to ever break your lover’s heart. She stops when she sees you, eyeing Oberyn’s hand on your lower back as he leads you through the regal halls.

“Ellaria.” Oberyn states, nodding once as you approach.

“Oberyn.” She responds, her voice a bit more cheerful than expected. “And… I don’t think I’ve gotten your name.”

She says, placing the tips of her fingers on your outer arm as she speaks. You look up at her, your expression blank as you try to read hers.

“Savia.” You respond, “Of House Vyrwel.”

“Ah, the Vyrwels.” She tuts, raising her eyebrows and nodding her head. “A noble house for a noble man.”

“Not quite as noble as that man.” You remark, glancing up at Oberyn with a smile.

“Possibly.” she states, her voice now sterner than before.

It causes you to meet her gaze, her change in tone, now seeing a rather unamused look on her face. You stay silent, waiting for her to speak.

“A lesser-known name,” she continues, stepping forward a bit. “In the house of the viper.”

“Yes,” you respond, returning her jaded look. “The magnificent viper… Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken…”

You say it slowly, emphasizing each and every note of House Martell’s words. You go on to say your own, comparing the courage, strength, and intimidation your two houses share.

“And the vipera, strolling through the night… as The Darkness Calls.”

Ellaria cocks her head at you, wondering what it is you’re going on about. You smirk at her, sighing out as if bored by the conversation, and in truth, you are.

“Remind me of your house words, Ellaria.” You request. “The very words you hold dear to your heart, the same chant you repeat when your hopes are lost, the very words inscribed on your soul.”

You step forward, nearly touching her nose with your own as you leave Oberyn’s grasp.

“Faithless, treacherous, and heinous.”

“Your house may give you strength, but you are weak.” She spits back, furrowing her brow. You are unworthy of your name.”

“And you,” you respond, your voice calm as you end your little spat. “Are more than worthy of yours.”

Detailed Chapter Summary

During your recovery, you spend time with Oberyn and his daughters; they’ve grown to truly love you. Afterwards, Oberyn insists you rest, bringing you to bed, feeding you, and making sure you have drink. And then, while resting on the balcony, Oberyn takes you in front of his guards.

One of the prince’s nephews has been betrothed to King Tommen’s sister, Myrcella. Her uncle, Ser Jaime, suddenly makes an appearance in Dorne, his presence threatening the Martell family. Ser Jaime intends to bring Myrcella back to King’s Landing with the rest of her family.

During this discussion, you officially meet Ellaria. She is less than enthused, the two of you quick to argue. You’re just as quick to end it.

Chapter Ten: Let Me Protect You

Insatiable Taglist: @pascalslittlebrat @serenaisavillain @yourwonderbelle @mishasminion360

General Taglist: @anaaaispunk @dihra-vesa @sweetangel0069

213 notes · View notes

tobealostwanderer · 3 years

Text

The Sun of the North

Amore Snow had lost a lot. First her parents and elder sister, then her adoptive father, Rickard Stark, and her adoptive brother and sister, Brandon and Lyanna Stark. After the news of Elia Martell's passing, Amore knew it was her duty to go to Sunspear and help Doran and Oberyn Martell in their grief. It will be hard time. But Amore is determined to aide in the mourning process.

Oberyn Martell x OFC (x Ellaria Sand)

Warnings: 18+, descriptions of blood and gore, descriptions of death, eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory, I know barerly anything about GoT deserves it's own warning, Oberyn being OOC, story diverts from the show and book.

Timeline: This is set just after the death of Elia Martell. So Doran and Oberyn should be around 31 and 21 I think? I tried to make the ages make sense to but it is a bit confusing at times so I am keeping them at those ages. Amore is 19 years old when she travels to Sunspear, and Mara is 11.

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones nor Of Ice And Fire. The rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my characters, Amore Snow and Mara Snow.

I have just seen 3 seasons of GoT when I was like 16 so I can't remember a lot from it. I do try to be as accurate as possible by using Wikis and other fanfiction but please bear with me if I mess up events.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell x ofc x ellaria sand #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones #of ice and fire #fanfiction #The Sun of the North Fanfic

25 notes · View notes

sydnubabu · 4 years

Text

Return to Me Pt. 1

Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x Maren Forel (ofc)

Oberyn makes a promise to return home ahead of his fight with the Mountain.

Oberyn stood in the doorway to his chambers, looking longingly upon his partners within. Ellaria, who he had been with for nearly two decades, was gently brushing Maren’s hair. He smiled softly. It warmed his heart to be reminded that Ellaria was just as much in love with Maren as he was. Relationships like theirs were a gift from the gods.

He sighed as he remembered the task his brother had bestowed upon him. As always, Doran would stay behind in Dorne, and he would be the ambassador. He sighed heavily and called to Ellaria. She turned to see him in the doorway and gave him a confused look. “I need to talk with you,” he said, motioning for her to come over with his head.

Ellaria set the brush down and kissed Maren’s forehead. “I’ll be right back, my flower.”

Maren let out a small laugh and leaned back on the couch, a hand cradling her small, protruding stomach. “You better. I still need help braiding my hair.”

Ellaria rested her hand on Maren’s belly for a second before heading towards Oberyn. In a low voice, she said, “You’ve got a secret.”

Oberyn let out a chuckle and crossed his arms. “I just wanted to tell you first.” Ellaria crossed her arms back and raised an eyebrow. “Doran has asked us to go to King’s Landing.”

Ellaria made a face of disgust. “Ugh. Why?”

Oberyn rolled his eyes. “The boy king is getting married. My brother wants me to be his representative.”

Ellaria shook her head. “Why not Arianne? She is his heir.”

Oberyn leaned against the doorframe. “You know as well as I that they do not respect our traditions. Women are just chattal in their eyes.” He sighed. “Besides, King’s Landing has proved to be dangerous for women who belong to House Martell.”

Ellaria leaned against the other side of the doorframe. She looked longingly towards Maren. “And she’s just starting to feel better, too. After being so sick.” Oberyn reached out and grabbed one of Ellaria’s hands as they both looked over at Maren, who was busy setting up a game of mancala on the table next to the couch. “I never was as sick during any of my pregnancies as she has been.” She looked back at Oberyn over her shoulder. “She’s going to be devastated, you know.”

Oberyn sighed heavily. “I know. But it isn’t safe. She must stay here.” He pushed himself off the doorframe. “You ready?”

Ellaria nodded softly as they walked into the room. Maren turned and, picking up her skirts, rushed towards Oberyn. He opened his arms wide to catch her as she flung herself at him. “My prince! What did your brother want?”

She pulled back as Oberyn placed his large hand on her ever expanding midsection. He knew from Elllaria’s pregnancies that she would grow larger quickly now, after nearly three months of sickness. Ellaria came and hugged Maren from the side.

Oberyn sighed as he ran his fingers down Maren’s cheek. He didn’t want to wipe that beautiful smile off her face. “Doran has asked us to go to King’s Landing.”

“Oh!” Maren’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Well, when do we leave?”

Oberyn smiled wryly. “As much as I wish to have you by my side at all times, Maren, I need you to stay here.”

Maren huffed and shook her head. “I don’t understand. I’ve been feeling so much better this past week! I haven’t thrown up in days. I can travel!”

Ellaria reached out and tucked a lock of Maren’s hair behind her ear. “It’s not that, my flower.” She grabbed the younger woman’s hand and pulled her to the couch. “Let’s sit down.”

Maren and Ellaria sat next to each other, holding each other’s hands. Oberyn sat on the ottoman, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

Maren looked back and forth between her two lovers. “If it’s not because of my sickness, then what else would be keeping me from traveling to King’s Landing?”

Ellaria’s eyes darted back and forth between Maren and Oberyn. Oberyn sat up and tilted his head to the side, clenching his hands into fists on his thighs. Maren reached over and gently rested a hand on his fist. “This is about Elia, isn’t it?”

Oberyn nodded, his jaw tight. He took Maren’s hand with both of his and lowered his head. “My goal, as your partner, is to keep you safe. I cannot guarantee your safety in King’s Landing.” He moved to kneel next to the couch and put his hand on her pregnant belly. “You- and our child- will be safe in Dorne.”

Maren closed her eyes and breathed deeply. How could she manage with both Oberyn and Ellaria gone? She opened her eyes to see her lovers staring back at her, waiting with bated breath for her answer. “I will stay,” she answered. “But you must promise to return to me.”

Eyes wide, Oberyn replied immediately. “With everything in my power, I will return home to you.”

Ellaria leaned in and gently placed a kiss on Maren’s lips. “We will be counting the days.”

A/N: This is just the beginning of a series- stay tuned! Thanks to my C3P-Hoes for building me up every day!

Taglist: @smarchit @lestrange2703 @miscellaneous-mando @summerontatooine

#return to me #oberyn x ellaria x oc #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #game of thrones fic #asoiaf fic

9 notes · View notes

msmorningstaarr · 1 year

Text

Holy and Heathen - Chapter 3 (A true lamb.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 8.7k

Chapter warning: sex; religious guilt; depressed oberyn; descriptions of poisoning and stabbing;

ao3 | masterlist

SUMMARY: Lady Melara Hightower is the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and has a distinct, serious and pious personality. She is sent to serve the Faith as a Septa, but her destiny suddenly changes once she becomes betrothed to the heir of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell. She sees herself living in a land far from hers with distinct habits, dealing with many divergences and a husband far more wild than she could ever expect. Would she be capable of lighting the way of her mind and heart?

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Oberyn

Moments rolled Oberyn’s head like a kaleidoscope of memories. Elia was his sweet spot, his strength, his weakness. His emotions were intense, it was only logical that his jealousy and sorrow would be no different.

He was the proudest of the Martells, that day, he wished he were a Targaryen. Elia was gone for good. Her life would be now in King’s Landing, being her husband’s princess and bearing the children he undeniably wished to father. He could not understand where all that feeling came from, knowing how wrong it was to fall in love with your own kin, all he knew was that he felt something else for her and she felt the same way. Feeling Elia so close to him and not being able to touch her was excruciating. He wondered if her lips tasted as sweet as honey and if her slender body would squirm while he licked her cunt until she shed tears of joy while came for him as many times as he wished. He never did such things with her, but liked to do it with other women, imagining that it could be far better with Elia. The warmth inside a woman’s walls was something exquisite, close to a spiritual experience for him. Having a man’s arse to bury his cock inside was also quite interesting, a desire he discovered in the early days of his youth. He had no sides when it comes to lust, he could bury his head between a woman's legs with pleasure while feeling a man sucking his cock with ease, driving him to a high level of bliss. His only condition was to be his way or no way would be done.

On the Street of Silk, Oberyn walked confidently. After that eventful moment between him and his betrothed, he grew bored of lady Melara and jealous of seeing Rhaegar around his sister, being sad once she left to bed him for the first time, but at least got satisfied that she was spared from the bedding ceremony, something he found to be crass and demeaning. Wine had poisoned his head with ill thoughts and a desire to take someone who would not be afraid of some kind of Holy Punishment for a sinful behaviour, so he walked towards the nearest and finest brothel he could find.

The establishment smelled like fresh roses and the walls were filled with moans and laughs from the whores and customers. So far, he was not really excited with his options.

“Too pale.” he spread his legs while sitting at a chair, looking at the manager of the place, who was presenting him with some options. The girl blushed at Oberyn's words, but he did not seem to care. “Reminds me of my betrothed.”

“They like them like this in the capital, my lord. To show that they don’t work on the field.” the man said and Oberyn pouted, drinking another sip of his wine. He wondered if Rhaegar would be pleasing Elia that night at least, someone had to be pleased that night, he thought.

“Show me others,” he commanded, plainly. Another sip on his wine. The liquor burned his throat but he did not care. The smell and taste of grapes only made him reiterate that the wine of that city tasted like piss, but he kept drinking and looking at someone to fuck his sadness away.

A girl, extremely shy, showed up. A virgin, probably. Too young and Oberyn immediately shut her down. He liked them his age and no less. “Too young,” he replied, noticing the fear in the girl’s eyes. Oberyn was no older than twenty years and the girl seemed to be in her four and ten years of age, he wasn’t quite the fan of taking girls that looked like children. The man seemed to get impatient with Oberyn's picky manners. “Don’t like them shy.”

And finally, a feral, wild whore for him to fuck. Beautiful figure, slender and tall with brown skin and long, curly hair. Sitting on another man’s lap dressed with a thin white silk cloth, only covering her teats, ass and cunt. She caught Oberyn’s attention.

“I want her.” he pointed at the brown skinned girl, not caring at all if she was already taken. The manager of the establishment got slightly concerned.

“My lord…” he tried to speak.

“My prince,” Oberyn corrected. The man got confused at his words. “You don’t know

me? I am prince Oberyn of House Martell, the heir of Dorne.” he said, with a cocky grin. “And I demand that girl.”

He ignored all the other girls, walking down the hall in the girl’s direction. The manager followed the prince, worried about his future actions. “I beg your pardon, my prince. That girl is already taken, but I am sure I can…”

“Leave.” Oberyn replied, sternly turning his gaze at the man that held the whore he wanted. Then, he turned his eyes to the girl and she faced him. More closely, he could see a bit of Elia in her. “You come with me.” he said, extending his hand for her. The man holding the girl got outraged by the arrogance coming from Oberyn and laughed in mockery.

“You leave, you dornish pig.” and spat on the floor, close to the prince’s feet. Oberyn raised his eyebrows with a bitter laugh, already annoyed by the man’s taunting gestures.

“I believe you are not understanding that she is to be mine now. You may leave now alive or in pieces in some minutes.” he threatened. The man, appearing to be a trader, touched his sword and prepared to attack, but Oberyn quickly got his dagger and stabbed his left hand, attaching the member to the table.

“AH!” The man screamed in pain

“A dornish pig knows better than you that in a small distance a sword is a bad choice.”

“Fucking cunt!” he screamed while groaning in pain. The whores looked in absolute horror at the scene and Oberyn twisted the weapon that crossed through his hand, increasing his pain while the other men bled and yelled in pain.

“Prince Oberyn.” a man spoke softly, making Oberyn turn his back while holding the dagger that pierced the man’s hand. The dornish prince narrowed his eyes, trying to recognise who called him.

“Who addresses me?” he asked, holding firmly his weapon.

“I imagined you did not know me, my Prince. Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, slowly approaching Oberyn. “I am Benji, the owner of this establishment.”

Oberyn did not let go of the dagger, still pressuring it on the coarse man who screamed in pain like a pig about to get butchered. He took some enjoyment of making a man he considered to be stupid suffer, though. The prince looked at Benji and raised his eyebrows at the man.

“Let go of the dagger, my prince. I am sure nothing will happen to either of you.” The man tried to reason with Oberyn, calmly. In the room was only Oberyn, Benji, the whore and the bleeding man who was already losing his strength to feel his pain by now.

“If I take this dagger from his hand, he shall bleed to death and it will spill on my attire. It is so beautiful, I made it just for my sister’s wedding, Princess Elia.” he said, with a fake proud tone of voice. Wine had drunk his head truly, for he was lying about the happiness of giving his beloved sister to a melancholic silver prince, something he was not fond of doing. “I don’t want to get covered in this dying pig’s blood, so my dagger remains here for now.”

“Come with me, I am sure I can manage for you to have the best treatment. It’s not every day we are in the company of a prince, brother to our future Queen,” the man said, courteously. “Val, prepare our best room for Our Highness and get ready yourself. Pour our prince some Dornish Red so he can feel at home.” Benji commanded and the girl obeyed, leaving after bowing at Oberyn

“That was the whore I paid for!” the man exclaimed. Oberyn twisted the dagger a bit more deeper and opened even more his wound, making him scream once more.

“I am sure I shall find another one worthy of your company. A curtsy of the house, my lord.” Benji negotiated.

The reputation that followed Oberyn was quite ruthless. After some time having scholars from Essos teaching him the arts of poisoning, he used it for his own benefit while fighting, creating a dreadful narrative around him. Even though not many in King’s Landing have seen him in person, the words spoke for themselves. His name had reached The Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Speaking ill or praising the man, he was Prince Oberyn of House Martell, inspiring fear and respect, with no cares to give about other people’s opinions. He knew that people knew his name and the things he did, this prospect made him feel quite comfortable.

“Scream once more and my dagger will cut your throat.” Oberyn menaced. The man was outraged but he was shitting his pants afraid of dying and in terrible pain. He would die anyway due to the poison he spread all over the blade, but Oberyn didn’t give too much importance to this fact at point of telling him this. “You,” he turned his gaze at the owner of the pleasure house. “Take this screaming pig out of my face. And bring me the lustiest of men you have here.” Finally, the salty prince would take his dagger off the man’s hand, making him groan in relief and pain. Blood sprayed everywhere, even on Oberyn’s face and the orange garments he had on. Some minutes passed, and the man died on that chair as he predicted.

“Your wish is my command, my prince. Come with me and I shall lead you personally to the chambers prepared for you.” Benji responded with a soft smile, while Oberyn cleaned his dagger on his own robe, leaving another big mark of blood on the cloth. He looked at the injured man for a last time and smirked at him, a way to ensure to himself that power was power. The prince walked towards Benji and left the dead man behind, moving to a beautiful chamber, with a large bed, orange walls and pieces of silk giving a sultry climate to the ambient, lightened by the moon from the window. The beautiful girl awaited him, sitting at the edge of the bed fully naked with a mischievous smile.

“I shall leave you two. There is dornish wine, fruits and the best meal, fit for a prince.” The owner said, politely.

“I am hungry for other things.” Oberyn replied, brushing his own lips and looking intensely at the lady.

Before he could leave, Oberyn held his arm, not letting him go. “Bring me the manager as well.” The enticing prince commanded. The owner swallowed his own spit.

“Of course. I shall prepare him for you, my prince.” Benji obeyed and smiled, leaving him with the whore alone.

The dornishmen walked towards a small table, surrounding the girl as if she was a prey and he was a hunter, furtively looking at her. He served himself some wine and finally tasted some good wine. “I heard your name is Val,” he said, emphasising his accent. The whore stood up and approached him graciously.

“Yes, my prince.” she replied, eagerly. He smiled and handed her a cup of wine, which she drank with pleasure. Oberyn was extremely charming even under the influence, with deep brown eyes and a widowed look, mischievous and arrogant, he burned desire for the girl. In his mind, she had to be one of the goods, because since he laid his glances on her, no thought of Elia or Melara came to his mind.

“Then answer me a question, Val,” His hand cupped her breast, pinching her nipple. She closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. Her nipples easily hardened, giving signs of indulgence. His lips reached her ear. “Have you ever fucked a prince?”

“Can’t say I have. We have so few princes in this city.” Val replied, shuddering with his closeness and giggling.

“This is what makes us royals so rare, Val.” Oberyn said, reaching her waist and drinking a sip of her wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “It is not usual to see us among the commoners. But mind you that you live in a city that disposes of a high count of princes, compared to the other five kingdoms.” He coos, kissing her neck, squeezing her breast while placing the cup at the table. His arms involved Val and squeezed her rear, smirking all the time. Val gave him a kiss on his neck this time, making his body grow hot and his cock twitch inside his trousers. Her soft hands reached his hands and led him to the bed, grinning and lustfully facing him.

“Lay in bed and spread your legs for your prince.” he commanded and so Val did, eagerly. He kissed her foot while her legs spread open for him very carefully, like a viper involving its prey. With the tip of his middle finger, he slowly rubbed her clit, making the girl squirm in the bed. “Look at you… who was about to get fucked by a pink pig with a tiny cock who could barely appreciate that beautiful cunt of yours, having your night saved by me, who wants to make you reach your peak so much it’ll make you cry.”

With two fingers inside of her, Val moaned loudly while he pleased her. Oberyn questioned himself if Melara could ever like to be fucked with his fingers, something he would be very tempted to try. “Then I feel ready to be filled up… m-my prince…” She said, faintly.

“Seems like I arrived at the perfect time.” A blonde man said entering the room. “Or perhaps I am late and missed all the fun.” Oberyn and Val look at the manager, who slowly walks in the direction of the bed and lays in the mattress on Oberyn’s side, kissing Val’s thigh briefly and then coming closer to Oberyn, rubbing noses.

“Nonsense, for the fun has just begun.” Oberyn replied, pulling the boy for a kiss.

********

The Seven must have cast a curse upon Oberyn. His head felt like it exploded and was shattered in pieces. The amount of wine he drank the day before was a true record indeed, and now he was paying the price for the consequences of his actions. He woke up alone in the large bed of the brothel. Val and the manager, who he did not bother to ask his name, probably left the bed the moment he fell asleep. Although being covered in blood, his attire was perfectly folded over a chair close to the mattress, waiting for him. There were new fruits, breads, bacon, honey and more wine for him to break his fast. He wanted nothing of that, since he needed to be for a last time with Elia before he would leave with his mother and betrothed.

“Good morning, my prince.” said Val, standing at the door. Now, she wore a simple dress made of pink silk but yet revealing and Oberyn smirked at her.

“Good morning to you, Val.” he replied, covering his eyes from clarity.

He had not given too much thought to lady Melara. All he could remember about her was that she was beautiful. Her skin was soft and creamy, but her hands callused. The prince found it to be odd at first, since she was a highborn lady, coming from a very wealthy family having hard working hands, but he remembered that she served the Faith. While other men would find displeasing the fact that Melara had an abnormal silence and lack of interest for socialisation, somehow he could have some sort of empathy for her. Although always knowing what to reply, she seemed oblivious to the arts of curtsying a man. Beautiful face and body, undeniably, however, something about her turned her presence… tough.

“Does the sunlight burn your eyes, my prince? Perhaps I should ease your morning uneasiness.” she said, walking mischievously towards his bed and sitting at the edge of the mattress.

Oberyn looked at her with a grin on his face and got silent for a few seconds before speaking. “As much as I would be delighted to fuck you once more, I need to go back to the Red Keep. I am going back home to Dorne today.”

Val caressed his chin with a charming smile. “That is a shame, my Prince.”

He stretched and yawned. “I should take you with me to Dorne. Perhaps to teach one or two things for my future bride.” he mocked, smirking at her while she put a berry inside his mouth.

“And how do you know that she doesn’t know about such things? You took your bride’s maidenhood before the marriage, salty prince?” she teased and Oberyn laughed.

“Not yet . But I am afraid she is not very keen on the sensual arts.” he teased back and licked the honey left on her fingers after having a bite of strawberry covered in the sweet liquid.

Every man likes a shy woman, well behaved and extremely feminine, with a secret sexual appetite that would only be discovered by them. Anyhow, Melara was a dreadfully quiet person. Even when she experienced a heated kiss, all she could release was guilt, uneasiness. He expected to discover a secret and more loose part of Melara the moment they were alone, however, her responses were short and objective, not engaged in conversation and no smile rose from her face, atitudes worthy of a Septa.

He was not excited to have her as his wife either, but his mother caught him on a web of duty and his destiny was attached to hers, so he wanted her to feel good around his company, perhaps even grow love for her in his way, at least.

“Such a droll tragedy, my prince.” the girl replied, serving him a cup of wine and giving it to his mouth. “Perhaps you should have a last breath of freedom, then.” Val mounted Oberyn eagerly, lifting her dress and slowly rubbing the wetness between her thighs on Oberyn’s cock, which quickly got hard for the whore. A large smile rose on his face while he prepared to undo his trousers.

“A last breath of freedom shall you give me, then.” he replied, revealing his cock out of his pants.

Swiftly, Oberyn grabbed her by her thin waist and turned her body, throwing Val on the mattress and staying on top of her. Her lips went straight to his neck, where she would leave a big, purple mark. Oberyn groaned and easily took off the rest of her dress, revealing her bare body. He crooked his head on her shoulder and left his own mark there, before slapping the side of her ass and squeezing it strongly. Her hands reached his cock and stroked it, but Oberyn stopped her, blocking her hand to keep doing its moves.

“So eager… let me taste you first.” She laughed and he strongly held her fists biting, licking and sucking her upper body. Slowly, he let go off her arms to spread Val’s legs, hungrily kissing her inner thighs and edging her.

“Please, my prince…” She panted and giggled.

“Please what?” He teased, inserting two fingers inside of her, resulting in a loud moan.

“I need your lips…”

“Where?” He asked, spreading the transparent lubrification on her clit with his thumb while the other two fingers fucked her.

“My cunt, please…” She begged, moaning.

“Ask nicely.” He demanded

“Please, my prince…” She begged once more, loudly screaming.

“Your wish will be granted.” And he proceeded to swallow her clit, taking some tears of joy from the whore. His tongue invaded her slit with full desire, hands squeezing her thighs while desperate sounds let go her lips.

A loud noise came from the door. The door was broken down and the noise of heavy metal garments took care of the room, replacing the singing of Val’s sweet moans. Annoyed, Oberyn stopped sucking her sensitive bound of nerves and looked behind, already putting his hand on his dagger.

Two tall knights stood still behind him, the whore sat on the bed and closed her legs, shrinking her body to cover her nudity to the white cloak men. Another salty dornishmen looked at Oberyn sternly. Oberyn let down his guard once he noticed that one of them was his uncle, Prince Lewyn Martell. The knight had figures very similar to Oberyn’s traits. The other man, however, was not recognised by the younger prince.

“Your mother has been searching for you since last night,” He said sternly.

Oberyn giggled and, noticing that his intimacy was on display to the knights of the Kingsguard after the other man scoffed, Oberyn set his trousers back on.

“My apologies, uncle,” Oberyn said, effortless. “My sister’s wedding was rather dull, and so was my betrothed.”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” the other man said, walking slowly with a plain expression. “This is my niece you are talking about.” The other man in question was Ser Gerold Hightower, his uncle's companion. Also known as White Bull, being tall, grey, and although being quite the old man, was still full active and was a legend on the battlefield, making justice to his title of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“My apologies, Ser…?” Oberyn asked, finishing to dress himself.

“Ser Gerold Hightower.” he replied, trying to hold his annoyance.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, with a wide smile. “How could I ever forget? I believe your nephew, my future father by marriage, introduced me to you at my sister’s wedding. That makes it a family reunion!” he laughed, making fun of the situation. The prince served himself a glass of wine and kept looking at the knights. “Do you want some wine?” He asked. “This is Dornish Red, much better than that piss you drink in the Red Keep.”

Lewyn and Gerold remained serious, both outraged with Oberyn’s lack of care he was giving to his reputation and to his bride to be’s honour. “The Queen requests for you to return home, Prince Oberyn.” Gerold said, ignoring his last statements.

“And if I say I have no desire to leave now? As you saw, I was in the middle of a very important deal with my dear Val.”

The girl was quiet the whole time, scared something would happen to her. “Your Queen commands you to return.” Lewyn replied, still serious.

“Then you should have said it before,” He said, his cup over the small table after finishing his drink. “I could never deny my Queen’s commands. I am so sorry, sweetling.” Oberyn turned his gaze at Val, who didn’t dare to open her mouth in the company of the knights. He left some gold dragons over the table. “I hope it pays for everything.” The dornish prince put his dagger on his bayonet and left besides Lewyn and Gerold.

Leaving the brothel, Oberyn was escorted by the two guards and the trio left the place in silence. No one would dare to speak to the Kingsguard or the prince. Oberyn was preparing himself to listen to berating and complaining about his ‘out of line’ behaviour at court. It didn’t matter for him if in the end he could get to spend one last moment with Elia, longing to touch her, embrace her and look into her eyes. His mind recollected Lady Hightower. He broke her honour and as much as he could not care less about it, the little lady had no fault in anything that was happening. Nevertheless, she was nothing like Elia. Elia was cunning, endearing, delightful. Oberyn was deeply attached to his sister, he could not bear the idea of staying away from her and that made his heart ache. Now that the wine was gone, his mind tortured him, making him contemplate that Elia belonged to Rhaegar, she would smile to him and she could be carrying his child, a bright babe-dragon.

“Stop.” Oberyn ordered once they made their way to the Street of Steel. He saw a jewellery merchant at a small place, yet beautiful, worthy of royalty. “I want to take a gift for Lady Melara.” The prince looked at Gerold and beamed. The knights agreed to it and Oberyn moved forward to see the gems. There were rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts and many other precious stones. The blacksmith looked at Oberyn suspiciously, due to his clothes covered in blood and accompanied by two white cloaks.

“How can I help you?” The man asked.

“I want to buy some gifts for my lady bride.” Oberyn said and the smith examined the prince from head to toes, noticing the remarkable blue and bruises the whore left on his neck.

“Are you sure you can afford it?” The man replied and Oberyn tried to pull his dagger to intimidate the man, but Lewyn prevented his nephew quickly.

“This is a prince of Dorne and you shall address him with respect.” The knight said and the jewel maker quickly stopped his job and bowed to the prince.

“My apologies, Your Highness. I had no idea I…”

Oberyn cut his words. “I don’t care.” He rolled his eyes and the man eagerly started to put on display some of his works.

“I have many pieces ready to be selled, my Prince. These are forged in Valyrian steel with rubies carved in it.” He showed the rare set to the prince, who was instantly in awe with the necklace and earrings.

“That is rare.” Oberyn replied, lingering his eyes with scrutiny at the set.

“Indeed, my prince. It was very hard to find the steel to do it.” He replied, with sympathy.

“He makes the jewellery of the Royal Family.” Once Gerold spoke that sentence, his eyes lit up and an idea came to his mind.

“How long does it take for you to make those pieces?” The Prince asked.

“For you, it can be done within a day.” The smith replies.

“I will take the set made of Valyrian steel for my betrothed, but I also want a set of jewellery for my sister, Princess Elia. She loves diamonds and gold and I want you to make a necklace for her with the largest diamonds you have to be carved in the brightest gold. When you deliver it, tell her it was a gift from her beloved brother. Is that understood?” He said, placing a small bag of gold on the counter that separated the blacksmith from Oberyn, Lewyn and Gerold.

The man accepted the payment and smiled, putting the present involved in a cloth and lace. “Once more, my apologies…”

“No need for apologies.” Oberyn cut the man’s words once more and left with the Kingsguard back to the castle.

The three men arrived in the Red Keep and were led to the Queen’s garden, where his family, the Queen, Prince Rhaegar and the Hightowers were waiting for him. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen. Melara looked apprehensive, anxious. Her eyes narrowed and she appeared to be flabbergasted once she saw Oberyn covered in blood. The Hightowers and Queen Rhaella seemed to be extremely worried about his whereabouts and Ysilla was fuming with his absence. Elia was the only one who was truly calm, for she was the only one who trusted her brother’s instinct of adventure.

“Thank Gods!” Queen Rhaella said, relieved.

“Brother!” Elia ran into his arms and embraced him, calmly and more discreet than she is used to. A very quick hug as well. “Where have you been? Why are you covered in blood?”

“I was having fun, sister.” Oberyn replied and kissed his sister’s forehead. “My Queen.” And bowed at Rhaella, as a sign of respect for His Grace. “I insist on apologising for my sudden departure from the feast.”

“No need to apologise. We were worried about your absence, Prince Oberyn. But the Gods are good and you are safe and well… I hope.” She replied, noticing the blood all over his robe. “It is only a shame you lost our eventful morning here. You would be delighted to spend the morning with us.”

He darted his eyes on the sad Queen and smiled. “I am sure I would be amused to be in my family’s company.” Ysilla approached him and cupped his face, disguising her rage in front of the others with a polite smile and a false sensation of relief, but Oberyn knew too well that his mother wanted to cut him to pieces for doing what he did.

“You almost killed me with worry!” She exclaimed, noticing the marks on his neck and trying to cover it. Gently, Oberyn took her hands off his neck and kissed her hands.

“I am fine, mother. No reason for all of this fuss.” The prince tried to argue, but he saw how exasperated his mother’s gaze was.

“As much as we would like to celebrate your return, I believe the prince should rest. He must be tired.” A sweet, low voice spoke. Lady Melara was quiet, watching the whole scene until she chose to defend him, an attitude that made Oberyn get surprised with her in a positive way.

“Wise words, sister .” Elia replied with a smile on her face. He could see now with clarity her features. Her face was nearly ethereal. Pink, small lips, blue sharped eyes and a perfect nose. Her hair was all hidden in a lilac veil and her dress left a lot to imagination. With long sleeves and no cleavage, all he could see clearly was her face and a small necklace with sapphires carved in it. But her facial expression was indecipherable.

“I can assure you all I am in no need to rest. Where I was, I had plenty of time to rest.” Oberyn smirked and Ysilla pouted her lips cautiously. Melara narrowed her eyes and the air tensed, but the dornish prince was unbothered with his words.

“That is true, daughter. I imagine how thrilled you must be to leave with your future husband, but I believe that now we should give the Martells some space, perhaps.” Leyton said, trying to ease the tension.

“Lord Leyton speaks truthfully. I must insist that you extend your stay in King’s Landing for a day, Princess Ysilla. You too, Lord and Lady Hightower, I would be most glad to have you a day longer.” Rhaella said, gently squeezing her friend’s hands with a soft smile. Ysilla was hesitant, but accepted the invitation the Queen made.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.” Oberyn replied, bowing once more and faced his betrothed.

“We also thank you for giving us a last opportunity to say our goodbyes to our girl, Your Grace.” Lady Rhea replied, curling her lips on a smile and lady Melara just nodded her head. Something about her made Oberyn not like lady Rhea too much. He felt that Melara was uncomfortable around her family and he ruminated if that was a reason for her to be so closed. He wanted to give her the gift he bought for her but that moment just felt inappropriate.

“No need to thank, my lords,” Queen Rhaella said in curtsy. “Now that everything is in order, I need to excuse myself, farewell, my lords, my ladies,” She said with a gentle smile, leaving as the Septas had arrived to escort her. Oberyn found queer the fact she would be always escorted by them and noticed the eminent melancholy in her eyes. Everyone bowed at her before she would leave and Rhaegar, Elia, the Hightowers and his mother remained at that garden. Rhaegar watched everything as quiet as Melara, he seemed to be an observer, just as his bride-to-be was.

“Prince Oberyn.” Rhaegar finally said.

“Prince Rhaegar.” He replied.

“I am glad you are back to the Red Keep safely. Thanks to our Kingsguard,” That triggered something inside of Oberyn, noticing some petulancy in Rhaegar’s voice tone.

“I am afraid I can survive quite well without a Kingsguard, my Prince.” Oberyn replied.

“Of course you can,” He replied, making it obvious. “But for now, I believe I must entertain my beloved wife.” Rhaegar emphasised the fact Elia was his now, marking his territory.

“Take good care of my sister.” He said, cautiously caressing his dagger while looking at the silver prince. Elia approached him once more and hugged him, not caring about his smell or dirty clothes.

“I wish we could spend more time together.” Elia said, giving a reassuring look to her sibling. “I wish it too. But now you must go with your husband and enjoy your time. Perhaps keep trying for your heir” He whispered the last part and the two Martells laughed together. “Go, sister.” He pleaded with a strange anxiety and sadness of watching her leave with her husband after paying her farewells to the rest of the people in that garden. Oberyn could only stick with what was left for him now.

Oberyn walked towards his betrothed and bowed in front of her. “My lady,” And he kissed her hands gently. Any woman in her instead would be melting to the warmth of his lips brushing against the skin of her hands, she endured calm and expressionless.

“My prince.” Melara replied, plainly.

“You and your family deserve my apologies.” He started. “I dishonoured you, I am aware of it. But I want to make amends, so allow me to have a moment with you, just you and I having supper tonight. I have a surprise for you.”

He thought Melara would express any happy face. Instead, he received a worried expression and a clumsy lip biting. “Of course, my prince. I shall have supper with you. Your well being makes me happy.” She replied, apathetically. Her lack of emotions was a huge bothersome to Oberyn.

Oberyn smiled and caressed her face gently and soon after faced Leyton and Rhea. “My lord, my lady, I truly hope you apologise for my behaviour.”

“We trust your honour, Your Highness. A wedding was promised, and a wedding we shall receive.” Leyton said, solemnly. Oberyn’s lips pouted.

“I never break an oath, Lord Leyton. Especially when it comes to wed a lady who is to be my princess and not run away from it.” The prince would not let them get away with it, not even when it was Oberyn who put the ideas of running away on Lady Lynesse’s mind. Ysilla narrowed her eyes from afar.

Leyton and Rhea approached Oberyn. “We were concerned with you, Prince Oberyn. But we trusted your bravery and we are in full joy that you are safe.” Rhea replied. “Melara will be more than happy to have supper with you.” Leyton looked at his daughter, who only agreed in silence and lowered her head. Her passivity was extremely uncomfortable, Oberyn could see clearly that lady Melara was displeased with all the situation.

“You are right, lady Rhea,” Ysilla said. “Oberyn is a fierce man, but he is willing to be devoted to your lady daughter. I know my son more than well.” She defended him. Ysilla could have all the struggle to tame Oberyn, but he knew that no one would dare to try insulting him or her house, by extent. That was one of the traits Oberyn loved the most about his mother: she was the bravest and smartest of the women. Growing up, watching her and Father ruling was his favourite moment, his most endearing memories of childhood.

“It is a shame we barely had time to spend time here. Everything happened so quickly!” Rhea exclaimed, gracefully joining her hands and smiling. Suddenly, the subject changed and the two women started talking joyfully. He glanced at Melara, quietly heard everything the two older women had to say, paid his goodbyes and left for his chambers. Ysilla looked at her son discreetly and winked at him, with a smirk before they could leave.

**********

Oberyn took a long bath after the maids prepared it for him. His clothes were properly changed, now wearing an ivory and grey attire with golden suns embroidered. He wanted to see Elia, to spend time with her before supper with Melara, but she was with Rhaegar and he needed to give his sister space to bond with her husband. In nearly a month he would be married. He would be lying if he did not say he would be scared. However, fear was like wildfire consuming and exploding all the right triggers inside of him to discover new things and face whatever was destined to his future. His mind was convinced that Melara was a wolf in a lamb skin, hiding her game under the cloak of her innocence, enticing and teasing his mind with the thoughts of undressing her, bedding her, taking her maidenhood - if existent. His head denied the idea of someone so absent of feelings of pleasure at a breaking point of taking a vow of poverty, especially being this someone as rich as their overlords, who grew up covered in gold, expensive dresses and the most sophisticated of food.

Someone knocked on his door. “Prince Oberyn.” It was her. Oberyn decided he would not let his sadness consume him, he would leave it for the days Elia would no longer be around in Dorne, because once he turned sad, he grew angry and Melara deserved no rage from him so far. He opened the door and saw her, fidgeting her fingers and looking intensely into his eyes after slightly curving her upper body in curtsy. Oberyn found her to be celestially beautiful in that dress. Its fabric consisted mostly of a yellow velvet with no volume on its skirt, a golden vest with an orange pattern made of silk, so tight her breasts were almost on display, extending to the long and loose sleeves also made of it and a golden belt on her waist. Oberyn’s lips examined her body and smiled in awe. Lady Lynesse could be far more interesting than her lady sister, but in terms of beauty, Oberyn found Melara to be ethereal, there was no denial in it. When he looked at Elia, he looked at the beauty he saw in himself, he saw her as his equal, his true love. Melara was new, mysterious and although tough, it was a challenge he gladly accepted.

The prince caressed her thick, golden curls and passed his fingertips over the soft skin of her jawline. “Lady Melara. I must say you look beautiful in this colour.”

“Thank you, my prince.” Oberyn noticed she carried a book in her hands and he looked intrigued at it.

“Please, come inside.” He invited, and Melara got into his room, carefully carrying the book whilst walking alongside him. “I see you carry a book with you.”

Melara stopped in front of him and showed the book cover. It was old, but well cared. “It is a gift,” She started, quietly. “The history of your ancestor, Princess Nymeria. It comes from the Citadel and it is a relic, I want you to have it.”

Oberyn looked stunned at the book he held. The book was very antique, yellowed pages due to the time it was published and certainly something rare, since it was probably hidden in the Citadel. A true treasure.

“I have no words to thank you, Lady Melara. I must admit that my present compared to yours seems to be dull, simple and unworthy.” He replied, getting the small velvet bag, showing her the set of jewellery.

“Valyrian steel.” She said, caressing the necklace slowly. “Thank you, my prince.”

“I see you have a good eye for it.” He said, with a small grin. “Turn around,” He commanded gently and so she did, allowing him to come closer and lean his breath close to her neck, which made her skin go goose. He involved her throat in the icy metal, bringing another element to her beauty. A piece of him encrusted on her. Oberyn also put the earrings on her ears, even if it went invisible in the immensity of her golden cascades of hair.

“I will cherish this gift for life, Prince Oberyn.” She replied, turning around and facing him once more. The prince caressed her chin and slightly caressed the skin of her collarbones, making her eyes close for a while. That filled his heart with the possibility of tasting her maidenhood a bit earlier than expected.

“And I will cherish mine. It will be in our private chambers and I will expect to read it as soon as possible with you. Is that acceptable?” Melara nodded her head and turned her gaze to the table in silence.

Oberyn walked towards the table and served two cups of wine, delivering one for her and one for him. “Drink with me.” Melara nodded and took the cup to drink the liquid slowly. A silence reigned between them, but Oberyn already realised he would have to make the effort to make her speak.

“Do you drink wine regularly?” He asked and Melara shook her head.

“My father only allows me and my sisters to drink one cup in festivities. My step mother says it is unladylike to drink too much wine.” She replied, walking with him to the table.

“You belong to me now, you can have as much wine as you desire.” He replied, expecting at least a smile. Nothing happened, she just nodded and accepted while the maids served their dinner. Oberyn felt a grieving energy surrounding her, perhaps for the life she lost and the new prospects she received. He questioned himself if the youngest Hightower actually wanted to stay serving as a Septa, since she seemed so sad around him. Silence reigned around them once more and it was discomforting, suffocating for Oberyn.

“Do I displease you?” He asked, bluntly. Her eyes lit up to face him and confusion was placed on her face while she looked for the right words.

“You do not.” She replied, after swallowing a piece of her food.

“I told you once, and I will repeat myself. Do not lie to me.” He replied, sternly. Oberyn expected her to at least be scared of him, but she did not hide her face and kept staring at him.

“I speak the truth.” Melara replied.

“Then why do you do so little to show interest in this marriage?”

Melara lowered her head and had no response. “Tell me the truth, my lady. Do you even wish to be here? Do you have a lover you had to leave behind once you were to wed me?”

“Just as you said to me, we are tied to each other, my prince. I understand how… displeasing I can be with my odd behaviour, but I wish to be submissive and try my best to be a fit lady for your household.” Oberyn furrowed his brows, curious about the ‘submissive’ deal.

“So you agree on the supposed role a woman has in a household?” He asked and she agreed in silence. “Use your words.” He demanded.

“Yes.” He wanted to push her to the edge. It was impossible for him for someone to be so shaped to serve and conform with anything.

“So if I take a paramour, will you accept it?”

She lowered her head and accepted. “Yes.”

“You know I have two daughters, I imagine. I hope you raise them alongside me and our children.” No reaction came from her face, except for a nodding while both ate their foods.

“If this is what you wish, then I shall raise them. But not amongst our trueborn.” His eyebrows raised.

“Do you see any difference between trueborns and bastards?” Oberyn asked, looking for a way to access any other emotion on Melara.

“You see no difference in them?” She asked back, exposing the obvious truth in her statement.

“Bastards are born from passion, trueborn from duty.”

“Duty is what keeps us in line.” Oberyn noticed how eloquent she was with her words.

“You have a fair point, my lady.” And with a small line, Melara let Oberyn with no words to reply back. He had to admit it was impressive for a lady said to be a socially abnormal woman. They ate in silence until their meal and dessert was finished. Oberyn noticed how her chest was swollen in that dress and he stared at them for two or three times, imagining how they would look like with nothing to cover them. Her short responses made her even more attractive, mysterious. He couldn’t take it anymore.

His hand reached hers over the table.“You have no idea of how much I have been yearning to touch you since you arrived in my bedchambers.” Melara blushed and tried to take her hand off his, but he held faster. “You look so beautiful in this dress,” He stood up and gently took her by the hand, making her stand up as well.

“Thank you, my prince.” She said, lowering her eyes, but he quickly raised it by her chin.

“Look at me,” Oberyn demanded, looking deeply at her in a dangerous distance. His grip went straight to her waist, bringing her closer and she nervously faced him. “You smell like fresh roses.” He coos, she sighed heavily. “Do you wish to kiss me again?” He teased the lady. He finally was taking her to the edge.

Their noses rubbed against each other. Silently, their lips brushed and a kiss began. Her hands involved his neck and his arms were around her waist, squeezing her delicately. Once the kiss was broken apart, he smirked once more, facing her anxious expression.

“You taste so sweetly.” Oberyn kissed her cheek, gently. She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of his body so close to hers. His hands reached her breasts over the thick fabric of the velvet and he could hear the sigh she released once he touched her more intimately.

“Do you feel aroused, my future princess?” He asked, trying to tease her. Her eyes were burning desire, no matter how hard she tried to hide. “Use your words. Just say yes or no.”

“Y-yes.” Melara muttered, which made his smile grow largely playful.

He sat back on the chair. “Sit here.” Oberyn commanded, tapping his lap for her to sit. Melara swallowed her own spit. “Don’t fret, I just want to ease your tension.” The salty prince pulled her to his lap, making her arse rub against his groin. “I am not a religious man, but I know for a fact that the Gods have a blind spot for a girl’s maidenhood.”

Naively, Melara looked at him. “What is it?” Over her dress, Oberyn’s hand reached between her thighs, which made her moan softly. That sweet sound went straight to his cock, already hard inside his trousers.

“Open your legs for me.” He asked, whispering in her ear. She obeyed and the prince lifted her dress, touching her intimacy over the thin fabric of her underwear. Her ashamed moans whilst he made circular moves over her clit were driving him crazy. “Has anyone touched you this way, my lady?”

Melara shook her head. “N-never.” Oberyn kissed her neck and with his free hand, he put his cock out of his pants, displaying how hard it was. The Hightower seemed anxious and aroused, so Oberyn led her hand to touch it, guiding her on what she should do. His own hand kept moving on her clit over her under trousers, making her body squirm on his lap and low groans leave her mouth, while she kept touching him.

“You are so wet, my lady. I can feel it over the cloth.” His words made her blush even more and Melara tried to close her legs, but Oberyn opened it again. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, my lady.” He quickly said. “Tell me how it feels, my lady.”

“I feel it t-tingling.” She replied, bouncing her hips to feel more of his moves.

“Is it a good feeling?”

“Y-yes.” Melara was ashamed, but the arousal was bigger than any other sensation at the moment.

“Good.” He replied, also groaning while her hands massaged his cock.

Oberyn grabbed her by the waist and flipped her body so she could face him, making her sit with her cunt press against his thigh. A loud moan came from her lips, but she covered it immediately. “Do not hide those moans from me.” He ordered, controlling the moves she was doing on her thigh, riding him eagerly.

Her hand stroking his cock increased its pace, making Oberyn pant while she looked in his eyes. Her breathing got irregular and he felt her legs quivering. “W-what I… what is happening?” she asked, confused and Oberyn laughed with her innocence.

“We are close.” He replied simply, panting. Melara’s face turned confused.

She could not understand why she couldn’t breathe properly and the pleasure increased in a ridiculous amount. That made her whole body shake and her upper body arch back, making her release a scream out of her final pleasure, provoking Oberyn to release his seed on her hand. She was shaking and numb on his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder and Oberyn breathed heavily, smiling and patting her back.

“We climaxed, my lady.” He murmured and her face was burning red, unease and angst came back to her face once more. Melara saw the white liquid all over her face and took her hands off his cock and stood up, fixing her dress quickly. She could not bear looking into his eyes with embarrassment.

Oberyn stood up and looked at her, cupping her face. "You did nothing wrong, my lady. The Gods are merciful and as you heard from their septons and faith, marriage is supposed to bring happiness to each of the partners."

“But we are not married yet.” Melara replied, trying to step away from him.

“But we will.” Oberyn replied, brushing her hair.

“This is why the Gods will punish me! I should not enjoy this kind of thing you did to me!” Melara looked exasperated and Oberyn took a deep breath, fixing his trousers and standing up, handing her a handkerchief to clean her hands.

"Why would the Gods create a body that can feel pleasure and not meant to enjoy it?" Oberyn tried to argue with his bride-to-be, watching her cleaning her hand.

“This is wrong, this is wrong…” Melara walked impatiently from one side to the other. Oberyn felt bad to put her over this turmoil and tried to approach her.

“Look at me.” He said, making her stop walking. “You are still a maiden, remember? What we did was to ease your tension my lady. You will not be punished, do you understand?” Oberyn cupped her face once more and looked into her eyes. Melara nodded her head and shed some tears and strangely, Oberyn felt some sort of proud for taking any other reaction from her besides apathy.

“Good.” He replied, smiling. His hands gently caressed her hips. “A secret that not even the Gods will know.”

“Not even the Gods will know.” She replied, muttering at Oberyn.

Oberyn kissed her lips once more and embraced his betrothed, while she silently cried with guilt. Her mask fell, but no wolf howled at his face, a true lamb she was. Her reaction was odd and a bit annoying, but he did not want her to feel more guilty for something he provoked on her. Still, it felt like it was a small victory with Melara. The wedding prospect was showing to be much more challenging than it seemed to be, but a light on his head made him feel eager to take all her innocence during this marriage.

#asoiaf fanfiction #fanfic asoiaf #ao3 #game of thrones fanfiction #martell #a song of ice and fire #house hightower #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x ofc #holy and heathen #house martell #elia martell #dorne #prince oberyn

23 notes · View notes

msmorningstaarr · 10 months

Text

Holy and Heathen - 7 (Dreaming of you.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Warnings: cheating;

ao3 | masterlist

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

Oberyn

His mind still recollected the moment that happened a few hours ago. He remembered the fear in her eyes, swallowing her tears while he shook her body, forcefully holding her arms and pushing her after. It was an unacceptable behaviour. Oberyn was raised amongst women, had two daughters and a sister whom he loved deeply, he never saw himself being aggressive towards any of them. None of them deserved violence, Melara clearly did not deserve it either.

He broke his promise to never hurt Melara and treated the girl badly, a mistake he is fully aware he committed. However, rage took place on his heart the moment she loathed Obara and Nymeria, for Oberyn could also never allow this treatment with his daughters coming from his lady wife. At the same time, he could only feel trapped and resentful towards her. It was not what he wished. He never wanted to be the heir, to be a ruler, to wed someone. At least not someone like Melara. Ever since his wedding he had been feeling sad, angry, disappointed. Melara created a whole world around herself and did not make space for him, he had no idea of what kind of person she truly was, Melara displayed herself like a doll on a wall: shallow, empty; the slight difference was that her eyes were deep in feelings.

He still missed Elia. It was not an excruciating pain like the day she married Rhaegar, but that feeling was still there, lingering like a shadow in the recesses of his heart. Her laughter echoed in his memories, and the warmth of her touch lingered in the chambers of his mind. She had been his confidante, his partner in both joy and sorrow. Her departure to King's Landing had left Oberyn with a wound that time seemed unable to fully heal.

As he contemplated the between the lines of his marriage to Melara, he could not help again but to draw comparisons between the two women. Elia had been understanding, supportive, and above all, she had shared his vision for Dorne. Melara, on the other hand, seemed to exist in her own world, detached from the responsibilities that came with being the lady of a great house.

The weight of his duty pressed heavily on Oberyn's shoulders. He knew that as the heir to Dorne, he had obligations to fulfil. The alliance forged through his marriage to Melara was meant to strengthen his own image in Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms, ensuring the stability of his future as a ruler. Yet, every passing day felt like a chain tightening around him, restricting his freedom and suffocating his spirit.

In the quiet moments of the night, Oberyn found himself yearning for the simplicity of his past. He longed for the days when he and Elia would stroll through the palace gardens, discussing dreams and aspirations, lingering her intense gaze over his, fingers slowly intertwining on each other and resisting the urge of kissing each other’s lips. The memory of Elia's gentle guidance contrasted sharply with Melara's aloofness.

As the minutes turned into hours, Oberyn grappled with conflicting emotions. The love for his daughters, the sense of duty to Dorne, and the undeniable truth that Melara was not the partner he had envisioned. The internal turmoil threatened to consume him. In a rare moment of vulnerability, bare from pride, Oberyn decided to see Melara and apologise to his little lady. He had to make things right with her and try to amend things with her, once shame filled his head after exploding with anger on her.

He knocked on her quarters’ door and no one answered, her handmaidens were nowhere to be seen and so did Melara. With no mystery, he found her on her knees, staring at the flames as she professed prayers inside the Sept where they had married. Oberyn lit a match and walked towards the heated spot, kneeling by her side. On her hand, a seven-faced crystal she held strongly whilst praying, but stopped immediately once noticed her lord husband’s presence.

“H-husband.” She said, quietly. Oberyn noticed the bruise on her arm and his heart ached almost immediately. Her eyes were swollen and pink, with a tearful expression.

Oberyn lit a candle and watched the blue and purple scars on her arm contrast with the yellow and orange light coming from the big column of candles in the worshipping room. He brushed with his fingers the purple mark on her fair skin. “I know that there is nothing in the world that could be ever worthy of your forgiveness, but I owe you an apology, my lady.”

Melara sighed and lowered her head. “There is nothing to apologise, husband. In fact it is I whom ask you for your pardon. For I should never have confronted you, I’ve disgraced myself.”

Oberyn sighed, chuckling at her passiveness and compliance. “I disagree.”

Melara looked at him, narrowing her eyes. “How come?”

“I liked when you screamed. You finally let a spark of life in your eyes shine.” He smirked. Melara shook her head as he sighed and got closer to her, allowing himself to feel the softness of her skin, nose being invaded with her enticing lavender scent. “I feel as if I am the worst man alive. I should never do this to you, Melara.”

His lady princess stood up from kneeling and sat on the bench in front of the altar and Oberyn proceeded to follow her. “Men can act… impulsive when in rage. I do not blame you for your behaviour. You are just a man.” Melara faced the fire on the candles with lost eyes. A spark from a soft tear glimmered her eyes before falling out. Oberyn noticed she wore a yellow dress he gave her and smiled at the sight. How many things this girl must have been through to accept it? The thought of it caused him anxiety, felt exhausting to suppress her own emotions to contain the dissatisfaction of others.

“Nonsense, it was an unacceptable behaviour. A true, honourable man should never be aggressive towards his lady wife. I should cherish you, treat you with respect and nothing less.” Oberyn also faced forward to the fire. “I don’t blame you for not giving me a child yet. Many women find it difficult to conceive children. I should apologise for blaming you too. You should never be affected by my ire.”

“This blame is only mine to ask for your forgiveness as well, husband.” Her eyes lowered, dropping the crystal near her. Melara took a deep breath before speaking and touched his hand gently.

“It is not… mother had a difficult time conceiving children too.” Oberyn intertwined his fingers on her, remembering an intimate act he always did with Elia. “When Elia was born, everyone thought she would not survive, nor mother. Now she resides in King’s Landing, married to the Crown Prince.” The words leaving his mouth certainly tasted quite bittersweet. The thought of Elia indulging herself with Rhaegar by itself was almost heart wrenching to Oberyn. “Our time is yet to come, my lady.”

Melara stayed silent for quite a bit, biting her lower lip as her mind recollected some thoughts and Oberyn watched her features. “My mother died in childbirth. My sister, Denise… she told me that my mother died apologising for having trouble delivering the child. Mother died terribly guilty for giving my father a daughter instead of a son. I do not wish to disappoint you that way, my lord.”

And for the first time, he could know something about his wife that went beyond the surface. Her expression, however, remained serious. No signal of sadness or anger, only numbness. Those serious eyes and melancholic look worthy of a Septa. Yet, hearing that simple phrase indeed added a new layer on that complex woman. Oberyn's expression softened, his fingers tracing the contours of Melara's hand as if trying to convey understanding and empathy.

“You could possibly never disappoint me.” Oberyn replied, tracing his fingers in the silk of her dress. “Do you miss her?” The prince asked and Melara denied silently.

“I cannot miss someone I do not own a single memory of.” She muttered, plainly. "It is not something I often speak about. My father always said that dwelling on the past doesn't change it. But I do know my mother was his favourite of his four wives. Lady Rhea said that Father mourned her death for years. I remember he could barely look me in the eyes as I grew older.” As she spoke, Oberyn felt a sense of shared pain. Both of them, it seemed, carried the heavy burdens of loss and expectation. The flames in the sept flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, reflecting the dance of emotions playing out between them. “I am sorry I could not give you a child yet, I-I pray to the Mother every day she presents us with a babe…”

Oberyn cut her words, gently lifting Melara's chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. "We are both burdened by ghosts, my lady. But we have a choice; we can let them haunt us, or we can find a way to live despite them."

Melara nodded and took his fingers off her face. “I still hope you understand my concerns related to your bastards. I will not apologise for not wanting them around.”

Oberyn couldn't care less for the fact that Obara and Nymeria were bastards, he always taught them to carry this title with pride, but listening to Melara calling his girls like this was not something he could easily accept. He could feel her distaste and disdain towards them from miles away. “The last time I was travelling in Oldtown, I decided to visit a brothel I have been before years ago, encountering the same fine whore I had fucked before. Then, peeking through the curtains a small little thing looked at me, scared. I knew she was mine from the very beginning, I saw myself in her.” Oberyn raised his eyebrow, crossing one of his legs over the other. “The whore lied to my face, alleging she was not mine.” Oberyn sighed heavily and brushed his own jawline. “When I returned to claim her, I had the confirmation when I could see the mark she possesses, a birthmark behind the ear, just like mine.” he continued, showing his own birthmark. “The whore tried to deny and forbid her to leave with me, but Obara chose me once I threw the spear on her feet. Nymeria was a little thing when I left Volantis, clinging on my arms and following me wherever I went like a shadow. She chose me too, since the time she spent on her mother’s belly.” Melara lowered her head, listening to his monologue. “I choose Obara and Nymeria and they will stay here. I do not mean to fight with you once more, but they are a non-negotiable part of my life, you will understand this kind of love when you bear our children. Therefore, the girls will remain at the Water Gardens and will be raised amongst our future sons. And I will not give up on this matter.”

Melara's eyes flashed with a mixture of defeat and resentment. "I... appreciate your willingness to remain stubborn in response to my concerns. It is admirable to defend your children, even if they’re bastards," she admitted, making Oberyn’s skin burn with disguised annoyance. "Still, I do not wish to come between you and your daughters, Oberyn. My thoughts are just that the world can be harsh, and I want to ensure our future children do not face unnecessary challenges."

Oberyn nodded, swallowing his hard feelings and understanding the depth of her worries. The complexities of their relationship seemed to weave tighter, like the threads of a tapestry that told the story of their shared struggles.

"I do understand your worries, Melara. But Obara and Nymeria are as much a part of me as any child we will have together. They are my own kin and I will not cast them aside," Oberyn affirmed, his gaze unwavering.

Melara, although still reserved, seemed to respect his sincerity even disliking it. The weight of their conversation lingered in the air, a delicate balance between compromise and standing firm on principles. The sept, once a place of solitude and prayer, now bore witness to a silent understanding between husband and wife.

“You cannot fathom the layers of humiliation you are putting me through by allowing it.” Melara declared. “What kind of woman… what kind of lady would accept a child conceived out of wedlock in her own home?”

“The last thing I want to do is humiliate you, Melara.” Oberyn insisted, pouting his lips.

“And yet, here you are… humiliating me.” A sorrowful expression rose on her face. Her delicate traces carried a screaming desire to cry, but the young princess took a breath and looked at Oberyn, who remained quiet all along. “I do not mean to scream or fight you, none of this is of my liking. I will not even defy you, for you are my husband and I always chose to submit myself to you. Therefore, I shall not complain about your bastards anymore.”

Oberyn got taken aback and one more time, Melara had stolen his words. Silently, he stood up, extending his hand to his wife. Melara gently pushed her dress up as she stood on her feet. As they left the sept hand in hand, the moon shines below the horizon, casting a cold glow over the golden towers of Sunspear. The shadows of war between the couple seemed to retreat, giving way to the promise of a cold war instead. Oberyn knew that the road ahead would not be without challenges. The ghosts of their pasts still lingered, but in that moment, a tentative truce had been established. The flames of the candles in the sept had witnessed the forging of an armed peace agreement for them. As they walked outside the Sept, Melara carried a torch and lighted the way on the dark corridors in the late hours of the night. Oberyn accompanied Melara to her bed chambers on a taciturn walk, both heads lowered. Her arms were involved on his and the tip of her fingers circled gently on the silk of his attire. Her hair was tied up on braids and covered on a white veil. Once they arrived at her door, both remained stopped in front of it, not letting go of his arms. Melara bit her lips, anxiously fiddling her free fingers on the other hand. Oberyn could see more properly the dress she wore, with Seven-pointed stars embroidered and suns on the sleeves.

“You look very pretty, my lady.” Oberyn stated, caressing her arms. Her gaze seemed to sparkle to his praise and he smiled gently.

“Thank you, my lord.” She replied, clumsily. His heart warmed looking at her and stroked a lock of her bangs falling on her face.

“I only speak the truth,” Oberyn kissed her fingers as she took her arms from his. “You should loosen your hair more often.”

“It is quite warm in Dorne and I must admit I am not used to it yet.” Melara caressed her own dress before opening her door.

“Then I must provide someone to fan you and cold water to refresh your body. I will make sure you are well accommodated.” Oberyn promised and Melara nodded. Both remained silent for a while, Melara seemed pensative.

“It occurred to me we did not have our weekly… encounter.” Was Melara inviting her husband to her bed? Shyly, Melara stared the floor.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Oberyn asked, with a mischievous smile. Melara turned her cheeks red, her face heated instantly.

“I just thought that… you wanted it, my lord. I denied it to you earlier.” Returning to her regular self, Melara just wanted to accomplish her duty. Did she ever feel true pleasure in something? Has Melara ever indulged herself before him?

Oberyn kissed her forehead, savouring the warmth of the moment. "I can wait for another moment, my lady. Now, rest. Tomorrow is a new day, and we have much to live for. I will be here whenever you're ready, and until then, I will always let you decide whether you want to bed with me or not."

Melara nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. As she entered her chambers, Oberyn lingered for a moment in the corridor, watching the door close behind her. The torchlight vibrated, casting shadows on the walls, a reflection of the hardship within their intimacy. With a determined sigh, Oberyn turned away and headed to his own bed chambers.

Oberyn woke up the next morning with flashes of sunlight invading through his window and his heart raced with the dream he had. He looked at the empty side of his bed and sighed, anxious and feeling some wetness inside his trousers, coming from his cock. Then, he remembered everything he dreamed of.

Elia was dressed in Targaryen colours, a black and crimson dress that she quickly got rid of once she saw her brother in their chambers. She confessed her love for him whilst kissing his lips sloppily, fingers digging into his skin as Oberyn pulled her hair, kissing her small teats eagerly. The dream was vivid, he could feel the wetness between her undergarments as she grinded it against his length until the scenes of his dream changed to him licking her cunt as she screamed his name, reaching her peak on his mouth and finally his cock could feel inside her walls as he claimed her. Elia begged Oberyn to give her a child, to snatch her away from Rhaegar and make her his princess, away from everything and the hypocrisy of that land. In the end, he came inside her, grunting her name heavily.

Instead, he came in his night clothing just with the thought of his sweet Elia. Oberyn scratched his eyes, watching his maids fetching him clothes and preparing him a bath to start his day. His hair left a few drops of water falling over the fabric as he walked towards his mother’s solar. Princess Ysilla was sitting alone at a table covered with breads, black ale, bacon, berries, grapes and many other fruits, and obviously dornish wine. Her gaze focused on cutting the bread in half to pass a jelly to break her fast. The room smelled of incense, and the sound of distant birds added a soothing undertone to the atmosphere.

"Good morning, Mother," Oberyn greeted, his voice still carrying the remnants of the dream that lingered in his mind. Ysilla looked up, her sharp eyes assessing her son's demeanour.

"Oberyn, my son. You seem troubled this morning. Is something amiss?" she inquired, placing her hands on the edge of the table with a bright smile.

Oberyn hesitated for a moment, debating whether to share a brief lie of his dream with his mother. Instead, he chose a more reserved approach. "Just a restless night, Mother. Dreams that leave a lingering unease." He said, cutting some bread to himself.

Ysilla studied him for a moment before nodding understandingly. "Dreams can be powerful, my son. They sometimes reflect the desires and conflicts within us. But we must not let them control our waking actions."

He nodded, appreciating the wisdom in his mother's words. "You are right, as always. On the other hand, it seems like you had a wonderful night. Am I allowed to know the reason behind this beam?"

Ysilla unfolded a small letter with the Targaryen sigil marked on the melted wax. She handed him the letter after wiping her mouth from the eating. "Beyond wonderful, my son."

Oberyn shifted his focus to the paper, his mind gradually moving away from the vivid dreams that had pleased his night. As he readed, his heart felt close to stopping beating.

Dear Mother,

How has life been lately? The heat of King’s Landing is not even close to the warmth of Sunspear and I miss it. I write to reassure you that my lord husband treats me with the greatest of kindness and we have been growing more and more fond of each other every day.

However, the reason I write you this letter is to announce that I am with child. The Maester says it appears I am four moons pregnant, which is perfectly normal since the babe was conceived on our wedding night. I hope this news brings you happiness as it brings me and the Royal Family. Please, answer me as soon as possible, for I miss you, Melara and Oberyn terribly.

Your dear daughter,

Princess Elia Martell of Dragonstone

Elia was with child. The dream of her, though lingering, became a distant whisper in the corridors of his mind as he immersed himself in those news that deeply affected him. Why did she not tell him first? Frustration filled his head and his hands started to sweat. Tears yearning to fall from his eyes. The inevitable feeling of wanting Elia and fathering her children was latent inside of him. Then, he had to be content with Melara.

Anger hit him for not letting go of this feeling. “It was supposed to amuse you, Oberyn.” Ysilla snarkily replied.

“It did amuse me.” Oberyn replied, harshly dropping the letter over the table.

“Seems like it did not,” Ysilla replied, pouting her lips. “She wrote you and Melara a letter as well.” Oberyn raised his eyes to see Ysilla handing him a piece of paper with the same wax corrupted.

“Did you read her letter to me?” Oberyn asked, slightly concerned.

“I read all the letters you have been switching to each other.” Ysilla stopped eating again and drank a sip of her wine. “You and her must stop this unreasonable obsession with each other. Dreaming of you killing Prince Rhaegar to do despicable things with her… are you two out of your mind? If a letter with such content falls on the wrong hand you two are doomed. You two are married and most of all, you two are siblings. This is borderline disgusting.” Ysilla scoffed to recite the content of the letters in whispers. “You must stop feeding this dangerous fantasy. It's a fire that could consume everything you've built."

Oberyn's jaw tensed, his frustration turning into a simmering anger. "I lov-...”

“Don’t you dare continue to say what you mean to say.” Ysilla cut his words shortly and Oberyn recomposed himself. Silence hung in the air, tense and heavy. Oberyn's chest rose and fell with the intensity of his emotions. Ysilla, unyielding, stared at her son with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

"Think about what is truly important, Oberyn," Ysilla finally said, her voice still low but no less resolute. "The future of Dorne, the family you have, the wife you've married. These are the things that should guide your actions."

“You will put an end to this dangerous obsession with Elia. It's a path that leads nowhere good," Ysilla continued, her gaze steady.

Oberyn nodded, though the turmoil within him remained. “And I expect you to be on your best behaviour tonight. We shall celebrate this good news with a banquet at court. Is that understood?”

Oberyn, seething with conflicted emotions, looked away and remained with a hardened expression. “Do you understand me, Oberyn?” Ysilla asked again slowly, more threatening this time and Oberyn just nodded, annoyed.

“I lost my hunger. If you excuse me, mother.” And with that, the dornish prince left the solar without uttering another word. The weight of duty and desire battled within him, threatening to tear him apart. The dream of Elia, the news of her pregnancy, and the admonitions of his mother created a tumultuous storm in his mind, and he was left to navigate the treacherous waters alone. He feared for his sister alone in King’s Landing without him to protect her from anyone who could try to harm his beloved Elia.

Sitting on a bench in his private gardens, Oberyn traced his fingers as he unfolded the letter Elia wrote him and tried to smell any resquice of her smell, a jasmine essence. He couldn't help but close his eyes and imagine the scent of jasmine that lingered in the air when she was near. The memories of her essence intertwined with the words on the page, creating a bittersweet spiral of longing.

My beloved brother,

I have been dreaming of you quite too much lately, almost every night in truth. It leaves me under the impression that you are thinking of me and calling me in my sleep. Last night, I dreamed you arrived in King’s Landing, covered in armour to kill Rhaegar and snatch me away on a ship to somewhere far, far away from the Seven Kingdoms.

In my dreams, I am always allowed to kiss you and we can always claim ourselves as lovers. It is something to entice our minds, isn’t it?

By this point, mother already told you I am expecting. Rhaegar and I have been over the moon with such exciting news. I believe it is safe to say I love him as much as I love you. Do you believe it is possible to love more than one person in the same way, at the same time? Please, tell me you feel the same way with Melara.

I miss you too much, brother. Please, write to me as soon as possible.

Yours,

Princess Elia Martell of Dragonstone

His mind painted a perfect depiction of her dream as he noticed how capricious her handwriting is, something he always knew she was far better than him. If Elia could be able to love more than one man, could he love Melara too? At times, he wished to live in solitude, respecting the fact he would never marry his sister for obvious reasons, but the profound emotions within him refused to yield to simplicity. As Oberyn left his secluded gardens, the fragrance of blossoms surrounded him coming from the flowers in that spot, and the echoes of Elia's dreams lingered like a haunting melody.

Melara, his wife, deserved his affection and commitment. He chose the life of lust, a path of fun detached from love if he could not love the only one he wanted to love. Yet, the unspoken desires and the remnants of dreams shared with Elia tugged at his heart, a constant reminder of the forbidden allure. The letter rested in his hands, a tangible connection to a sister who seemed both distant and achingly near. His thoughts circled back to Melara, who had been mistreated by him enoughly. He walked back to his bed chambers, placing the letter on a small box he would keep all the letters she sent him. With a piece of paper over his desk, he started writing.

Loving Sister,

I wish words could measure or truly describe how much I have been missing you. I must correct you and propose the theory that we are both calling each other on our respective sleeps, for I dream with you every night. Last night, I dreamed that you begged to give you a child as I claimed you mine with lust and love. In my dreams, I can also kiss you in public and profess my love for you too. It is a desire of a lifetime, in fact.

Melara had not presented me with a child yet and it resulted in a heated argument last night, something I regret deeply. Unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to love her as I love you, however, the idea of loving both of you is something I surprisingly never considered before, for my heart only had found space for you. Nonetheless, I shall give it a thought.

I love you deeply, Elia.

Yours,

Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell

As he folded the letter and melted the wax, Oberyn sealed the paper and delivered it to a servant so it could be sent to Elia. The question she posed about love echoed in his mind, stirring contemplation. Could he love Melara with the same depth as Elia, or was the bond they shared destined to be different, defined by duty rather than passion?

With his mind travelling far from reality, he went to the stables and grabbed his horse, willing to ride onto the city and distract his mind for a while. Oberyn had no desire in participating in any council or solving any problem related to the administration of his household that day. He just wanted to ride. With a scarf covering his face to protect from the sun, the dornish prince felt his skin burn under the fabrics as his horse made his way to Planky Town. He knew it was a bad idea to ride when the sun reached its highest heat, but Oberyn could not care less. The hot breath embraced him with fragments of sand coming from the dunes itching his eyes. Oberyn stopped at a tavern, where he immediately was served with the best wine and food from the servants who immediately recognised him.

“Sir,” A girl approached him with a jar of wine. “May I serve you more wine?” Oberyn looked at her, intrigued. Her accent was not dornish. If he had a good hearing, it sounded a bit northerner.

“Please, pour me wine.” Oberyn replied, noticing the volume on her cleavage when she leaned to pour the wine to him. Still captivated by the girl, he asked: “What a northerner girl does here, serving in a dornish tavern?”

The girl smiled gallantly and placed a plate in front of him. “A northerner girl serves wine, ale and food for men like you, for women as well.” She playfully replied and Oberyn smirked.

The prince bit his bottom lip and brushed it with the tip of his fingers, analysing her slim figures. For a servant, the girl was in better form than any commoner he ever saw. “Where do you come from, girl?”

“Somewhere near the Trident, my lord.” The girl replied, adjusting her dress with her free hand. The girl stared at him intensely and Oberyn returned the favour, making himself comfortable as he drank his wine.

“Riverlands, then,” He pointed out and the girl nodded. “Sit, girl.” Oberyn commanded and the girl complied, sitting in front of him. His hand gently grabbed her callused ones.

“Does the girl have a name?” Oberyn asked, smirking.

The girl smirked back. “A girl can tell her name in other opportunities.”

The prince saw himself more and more interested in that mysterious commoner who was bewitching him. Her black hair hung loosely around her shoulders as she maintained a confident gaze. Oberyn couldn't deny the allure of her mystery, having an enticing aura around her.

His fingers traced patterns on the back of her hand as he sipped his wine, a playful glint in his eyes. "A girl enjoys keeping secrets, then. I appreciate the intrigue."

The girl's lips curled into a coy smile. "A girl finds intrigue to be a delightful companion."

Oberyn leaned back, his scarf momentarily slipping down as he studied her features. "Tell me, mysterious girl, what brings you to Dorne? The southern sun is a far cry from the warm sun and winds of the Riverlands."

Her gaze softened for a moment. "It is a long story, my lord."

“Do make sure we have enough wine so I can hear you well,” He raised his cup and she giggled.

The servant girl lowered her head with a faint smile. “I was somewhere and then I just did not want to be there anymore. I suppose I have not found my home yet.” She faced him, rubbing her legs under the table on his. Oberyn refilled their cups, the wine flowing freely, mirroring the loosening of inhibitions. "To new beginnings and hidden secrets," he proposed, raising his cup.

Oberyn had been without any physical contact with other people besides Melara since his marriage and so far, it was the most mechanical lovemaking he ever had. Melara never allowed him to take off her clothing and never moved too much, which made things difficult for him to enjoy the moment fully. He would never force her to do things on his way, although he yearned to see a naked woman and taste her properly. He missed having things on his way. And there was the stranger, temptress woman, offering him her body to indulge himself in. His other hand rested on her thigh, slowly passing his hand by. The girl’s eyes darkened and bit her lip, sighing heavily.

The girl clinked her cup against his, her eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and a longing for something intense. In the midst of Planky Town's warmth and the secrets exchanged, Oberyn found himself drawn to a story yet untold, captivated by the mystery that unfolded before him.

“You follow me now, girl” He softly commanded, delicately squeezing the apex of her thighs and letting her escape a low moan.

“Yes, my lord.” The girl stood up and took him by the hand, escorting him to one of the rooms upstairs the tavern. Oberyn’s eyes darkened to be alone with a woman who wanted him, who wanted to please him in full. The prince approached her with a devilish grin on his face, cupping her cheeks to bring her lips close. Oberyn's hands traced the curves of the woman's body, revelling in the warmth and softness that had been absent from his marriage. The stranger responded with a fervour that matched his own, his fingers deftly working to undo the simple laces who held her simple garments holding up. The room echoed with the rustling of fabric and the quiet sounds of their shared passion.

In that intimate space, Oberyn allowed himself to be fully present, free from the constraints of duty and the weight of responsibility. It was a stolen moment, a secret liaison that fueled the fire within him. The woman, whose name he had not bothered to learn, became a vessel for his suppressed desires, a willing participant in this forbidden dance.

#game of thrones fanfiction #house hightower #a song of ice and fire #oberyn martell #martell #oberyn martell fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #oberyn martell x ofc #fanfic asoiaf #ao3 #faith of the seven #asoiaf fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #ao3 fanfic #fic #elia martell #holy and heathen

12 notes · View notes