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wardenparker · 1 year

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The Viper’s Bride - ch 3

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

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

Rating: Explicit for violent circumstances. 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* This chapter contains mentions of Elia’s assault and murder. Blunt discussions of sex. Arguing/fighting, physical violence, threats of further violence. False accusation of sexual assault. Summary: The first meeting between Prince Oberyn Martell and his future bride goes very differently than either one of you planned, and what happens immediately afterward is quite possibly your worst nightmare come to life. Notes: It all takes place in the space of one morning, and this is an extremely busy morning...

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

"If you tighten my stays anymore I will not be able to breathe." The problem with having your mother's maid dress you during your stay in King's landing is that she does your mother's bidding. The stays that envelope your entire middle have been strapped onto you this morning so that your posture is more like a board than a noble woman's, and though the dress that has been selected for today is lovely there is no need for this sort of binding. It fits you perfectly as it is.

"Her ladyship's orders." The maid mumbles as she slips the lavender velvet gown over your head and tends to each and every button and tie with precision before nearly forcing you down in a chair to style your hair into an elaborate series of small plaits, curls, and twists that is a far cry from the simple three-strand plait you have favored for nearly a decade. Apparently your mother has determined what you will look like today and has left no room for argument. How terribly unlike her says the petty and slightly childish voice in your head as you roll your eyes to yourself.

The breakfast invitation from the Queen Regent was unexpected, but the utter delight on both of your parents' faces made it obvious that it was unavoidable. Queen Cersei had offered to host the meal at which you will meet your intended for the very first time, and that sort of invitation is impossible to refuse.

******

“I will hide my brother’s chair once we return to Dorne.” Oberyn hisses, his normally loose and relaxed gait is more rigid, annoyed with every step he takes towards the Red Keep. “Or burn it.” His hand is firmly entwined with Ellaria’s, insisting she join him for this dreadful occasion.

"He can still give orders from his bed, my love." Ellaria shakes her head as she walks beside him. No good can come of this meal this morning. Oberyn is in a foul disposition at being summoned anywhere by a Lannister and you are certain to be cagey and snobbish after the meeting last night.

“Not if the servants are not around.” He grouses, annoyed to be woken by none other than Tywin Lannister to be ‘invited’ to this meal. Tense words and barbed meanings were bandied about and the mettle of each man was casually examined. “I have no doubt Cersei is already deep in her cup.” He snorts, wishing there had been time for a cup of his own wine before leaving the brothel.

"Yet I think even a drunk Queen would not be pleasant enough company." She has her own reasons for not wanting to be near the Keep the day before the young king's wedding, but mostly it has to do with what vexes Oberyn. He was supposed to have one more day before this betrothal became public knowledge. A day he was counting on to collect himself. And now it seems he will not have it.

“Where did you go?” Oberyn asks suddenly, squeezing her hand. “After supper last night?” Before he had met Tyrion and very satisfactorily put his dagger through the hand of a Lannister. Then fucked Littlefinger’s man since Cal had been away from the brothel.

"To obtain a gift for you." Ellaria tells him with a sultry smile. "Leyth told me of a shop that sells wares you will be most interested in. But it will not be ready for several days." Before making her way to the Coachman, she had indeed visited an artisan that crafts exquisite garments to display any kind of body. With all of the aggravations he will be suffering here in the capital, she thought it would be a pleasant surprise for him.

“You are all the gift I need.” He smirks, eyes dipping down to the deep v of her dress where her lithe body is very nearly on display. It is a gown she is comfortable in, yet would make all the other ‘ladies’ uncomfortable. Which makes it all the more amusing for Oberyn.

"But you love to unwrap your gifts," she reminds him. "And so I thought I would find some very pretty wrapping."

For the first time today, Oberyn’s eyes light up with something other than annoyance and he grips her fingers tight. “We will not be staying long.”

"A few days." It had been something he was very firm on. Oberyn did not want to stay here any longer than necessary and she would follow his desire on the subject. "But first...." The Red Keep looms as it comes closer, almost seeming to lean over so it can swallow them whole. "Into the lion's den."

“Fucking Lannisters.” Oberyn growls, trying not to imagine his beloved sister’s blood splashed over the stone floors and her crumpled, violated body laying forgotten.

"No good will come of drawing your blade this morning, my love." Though her hand does tighten around his, knowing that anything is possible.

“I make no promises.” He relaxes slightly, knowing he would not act rashly. It would put Ellaria in danger and while his paramour can protect herself, he would not do that.

"Think of your daughters left without their doting father," she reminds him as they start up the stairs of the keep. If anything happened to Oberyn, his eight bastard daughters would surely be left wanting. Doran is too proper to do more than send apologies to their mothers.

"Prince Oberyn." The footman at the door of the keep bows deeply, though he shoots a confused look in Ellaria's direction. "And...guest. Please follow me. You are expected in the gardens."

“Guest.” Oberyn chuckles under his breath, amused that Tywin hadn’t thought he would bring his paramour.

The halls of the Red Keep are narrow and damp with chill despite the warmth of the sun and Ellaria sticks to Oberyn's side as they follow the man through the maze out to the gardens on the other side. This is sure to be an unforgettable morning, no matter which way things go.

“At least I will not have to eat in that moldering pile of shit.” Oberyn grunts under his breath, rolling his shoulders back and immediately adopting a more relaxed stance than the rigid form just seconds ago. He will not allow these lions to see he does not like being here.

"Prince Oberyn." Cersei's voice is dripping with insincere joy the moment she spies gold peak around the corner of the palace walls with her footman solemnly leading the way. "How kind of you to join us this morning." Though she does not want him here any more than the Dornish Prince wanted to attend, Cersei has little choice. That little schemer Margaery Tyrell has gotten her claws into you already and Cersei cannot be left without allies. Not while her only daughter is kept under the lock and key of the Martells.

Prince Oberyn. As soon as you hear the name, you turn from examining the hydrangea bush beside you and hold your breath. If you could, you would flee. Damn the consequences and damn the danger, you would grab Raeden's hand and run. But you seem frozen to the spot as your future walks out into the garden with one hand firmly holding Ellaria Sand's.

Oberyn can hear the immediate whispers and dismisses them. The movement out of the corner of his eye is servants, scurrying to place another setting for his ‘guest’ and he musters as charming a smile as he can possibly gather. “Cersei.” He nods, purposefully not using her title. “Shall I call you queen, or dowager? I should think you relish the use of the title for one more day.”

"I believe the proper term is Queen Regent." Her teeth don't grind like the gears in her mind, but only because she commands them not to. "I gathered at supper last night that you had not yet had the fortune of meeting your betrothed, so I took it upon myself to help you toward happiness." She smiles at him, sickly sweet and insincere, and begins to lead Oberyn down the steps to where the table has been set up. Everyone with half a brain knows that Prince Oberyn never intended to marry and that he travels everywhere with his mistress. There is no possible way that this marriage was his idea, but still she has to work with what material she has.

His hand doesn’t slip from Ellaria’s, holding firm to it as he follows the queen with his jaw tight as the eyes around the table follow him closely. Dark eyes meet yours when he is halfway to you and his brow arches, surprised that you are older than he imagined and even more beautiful than the miniature portrait that Doran had provided.

There is a moment, right before his eyes find yours, that you consider running all over again. The people who called Prince Oberyn of Dorne merely handsome were foolish, lacking the vocabulary to describe such an ethereal being. He is nothing short of devastatingly magnetic, and just as you realize that he is looking directly at you the feeling that he has gone far past your eyes and into your soul is unmistakable. Only one other person in the gods' own world had ever made you swallow your heart the moment you saw them, and he has been your constant bedfellow for years.

This man is the one you have vowed never to lay with or to love. Never to bear his children or to enjoy his company. It is a cruel trick from the universe that he should be so captivating in his looks. So much so that you have forgotten to curtsy and now your mother's hand is on your shoulder trying to tug you downward. How unlucky for her that you seem to be made of stone at the moment.

“So this is the future lady wife.” Oberyn would not shame you, even as much as he might be justified in it because of his objection to the union. Your name rolls off his tongue as he feels Ellaria let go of his hand so he can take yours, bending down to kiss the back of your hand even though his own station is higher than yours at the moment. There’s something about the fear and defiance in your eyes that intrigues him. You are not some overjoyed miss, happy to have landed him as your husband. From the tightness of your eyes, you would rather be anywhere else and he can’t help but wonder where you would go.

"Your Grace, we cannot say how delighted we are to unite our families." When you cannot muster the intelligence to speak or even curtsy, your mother pushes in as delicately as her usual grace allows. "Our House's relationship with Dorne is so dear–"

“Don't lie to a prince, Mother." Even you have to admit to being shocked at yourself when those are the first words out of your mouth in his presence, but her bowing and scraping is ridiculous. Embarrassing her a little now, with the contract signed and the match already made, cannot do much but color his opinion of his future mother-in-law. "It is my Father's house that has connections to Dorne, your Grace." You still haven't curtsied, and yet now you feel like you will not just out of spite. "My mother is overjoyed you are a prince. It does not matter where you come from."

The sharp inhales from the nosey busybodies that are the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are all that is heard for a long moment. The birds and insects are still as well, as if the entire world holds their breath for his response. Fabric rustles and your mother opens her mouth again while his eyes bore into yours. “Your Grace, I must apolo–”

Oberyn holds up his hand, the one not holding yours, to silence the decidedly shrill voice of the poisonous pit viper of a woman to your left that is currently looking as if she might faint. “Be quiet.” He orders sternly, still staring at you.

It is possibly the only time in your life that you have heard her follow an instruction the first time it was given – if at all – and you swallow thickly, wondering what he will say to being told the truth. If you could look past him even for a moment you would see the utter amusement on Ellaria's face or the drawn shock of Raeden's expression some feet away where he stands with your father, but you find yourself frozen under the prince's observation. "I was told that you did not ask for this arrangement, either, your Grace." At least you remembered to address him properly, this time, even if your voice has dropped to something quiet. "So I would not add insult to the situation by having her lie to you."

He wants you. If for nothing more than to find out if your obstinate passions extend to the bedroom. Oberyn is almost disappointed by this discovery, anticipating finding a mousy, shy wallflower that he could wed and ignore. “I did not.” He admits, although he keeps his words low enough that only you can hear them, squeezing your hand just the tiniest amount. Meant to be a comforting gesture, or at least signal that you have not blundered too badly. “So we have that in common.”

"It remains to be seen if there is anything more than that." You murmur back to him, despising yourself for the heat that you can feel coiling inside you. Animal attraction means nothing. This man is not who you have given your heart and your soul to, and you truly wish that you could communicate that to your body right now.

"Perhaps we should sit." Cersei suggests, looking between every guest in the garden and wondering how exactly this is going to work itself out. The guard that seems to follow you everywhere stands dutifully by like no more than a tentpole and the woman that Oberyn brought is most likely the paramour everyone speaks of, but this train wreck might serve as an entertaining morning before she has to return to the task of preparing for her son's wedding tomorrow.

Glancing over at your guard, Ellaria smirks, finding his eyes not watching Oberyn with hatred and distrust. Those dark eyes are hungry, blinking and letting his eyes find hers for a moment. She doesn’t know why she keeps looking at him, he’s not a threat to her lover or anyone else, but it is like she is compelled to seek out his gaze.

As wounded as your mother is, she cannot discipline you in front of a queen or a prince – let alone both at once – so she sits in the chair that your father holds out for her and smiles primly to the queen from the other end of the table. Etiquette has her sitting in between her useless husband and her insolent daughter, and across from the whore the prince has brought as his companion. A wholly unsuitable place in her mind, but at least she can reach over and pinch you soundly on the hand under the table. Surprised by the move, you nearly yank your hand away after you have been seated, almost laughing at the childishness of it. If you had a toy she might have stolen it out of spite.

Oberyn catches the movement, glancing at you and then towards your mother. Sensing that the woman is not happy with the current tone. “Despite extending the invitation personally, Lord Tywin is not attending this feast?” He asks Cersei, looking around the gardens expectantly.

"My father is spending some much needed time with his grandson the day before his wedding." Cersei answers politely before signaling to the servers to pour wine and leave the pitchers. "Tomorrow is quite a busy day, my lord. As I'm sure you can imagine. Your own nuptials will be much the same, I have no doubt."

Sucking his teeth for a moment, he flashes a bland smile. “Unlike the crown, we focus more on the celebration than the wedding.”

"Oh?" Your mother titters, trying to recover from her earlier embarrassment. "Do enlighten us."

“There is a giant feast where all are welcomed.” He informs her. “From the lowliest bastard to the highest lord. All drinking ale and eating meat pies. Dancing, music, for days.”

Despite needing to be near you for this first meeting, Raeden wishes he could plug his ears to hear no talk of this impending wedding. The most he can hope for, for the moment, is that Ellaria Sand did not poison the prince's ear against him and suggest refusing his services in Dorne.

"For days?" Your mother simpers, already starting to sip the wine that has been poured for her. "My word, that sounds very exciting."

“What do you do if the bride and groom are disinclined to dance?" If you are going to be forced into false gayety, you would prefer to know in advance. At any normal affair, dancing would be your entire occupation. But this wedding? Your own? You cannot see either of you wanting to dance with the other.

Oberyn turns his head towards you, his lips twitching slightly and he is almost amused. “The happy couple are not present.” He tells you, shrugging slightly. “They are in their chamber, doing their duty to Dorne while their people celebrate.”

That effectively shuts you up, your eyes dropping to the plate of food in front of you that suddenly holds no appeal whatsoever. This was easier when you imagined that the Prince of Dorne would be handsome to everyone in the world except you. Now that you are sat across from him and able to see down the length of his loosely tied robe to catch glimpses of deeply tanned, freckled skin, you simply hate yourself as well as the situation.

“The people are very accepting.” Ellaria feels the need to reassure you, watching as your face falls and your expression sours.

"My grandmother always spoke very warmly of her home." It is the best you can do, under the circumstances, though you are surprised that Ellaria would seek to give you any kind of comfort whatsoever. She is the most perplexing kind of woman, and you had spent too much time last night before falling asleep thinking of her. Wondering what she could possibly have considered the outcome of last night's meeting.

Oberyn nods, aware that you have a familial connection to Dorne, despite being from the Vale. “The sand and sun are warm, much warmer than here.” He huffs, reminding everyone at the table that he does not like King’s Landing.

"You will be trading your velvet for something lighter before you know it, my dear." The Queen smiles, though it does not feel warm in any way. When Cersei Lannister smiles you have a distinct impression that there is still a snake hiding behind her teeth ready to strike.

"It took the strength of twenty men to keep her from packing my entire library in her trunks," your father jokes, jovially enjoying his meal as though nothing at all is wrong. "There would not have been any room for gowns whatsoever if we had let her."

“A love of reading is not a curse.” Oberyn shrugs slightly. “I spent much of my time at the Citadel reading the great tomes before I grew bored of the idea of being a maester.”

"A love of reading is not a curse for a man." You can't help but look up, finding the prince looking around the table with a frustratingly leisurely air. "When you are a woman it is a danger and will give you unladylike thoughts. Or worse yet? Opinions of your own."

He arches a brow at your words and tilts his head towards Cersei. “You teach your women such strange things here in the North.” He comments before turning back towards you. “Dornish women are strong, opinionated and not afraid to speak.”

"Well, we have solved the mystery of why Northern men dislike Southern women." Having met Ellaria even once, you can see that strong women are at least not humbled around this one man. "They do not like to be challenged."

Oberyn snorts in amusement and leans back with his wine in his hand. “That is because the women best them in a battle of wits. Most men think with their cock, stomach or both.”

The way your mother looks absolutely affronted to hear such a word out loud nearly throws you into a fit of laughter, but you just barely manage to stifle it. "Well said, your Grace." There is a possibility, albeit a small one, that this man might not make you want to throw yourself off a cliff in frustration after all.

“Well.” Cersei’s smile is tight, frozen on her face. “Shall we eat?” She asks, trying to change the topic. “There is still much to be done today.”

Polite conversation focuses on the nuptials that are impending tomorrow, which quite brightens the queen's mood and turns your mother into a veritable lapdog simpering and agreeing with everything she says while your father says nothing at all and the prince speaks mostly to his lover. As the odd person out at the table, your only solace is that no one has commented to you on your lack of enthusiasm for eating or seemed to notice that occasionally you manage to glance over at Raeden to check in with him. He barely reacts, but the communication between the two of you has been silent for enough years now that you know there will be much to talk about the next time you find a moment alone.

“You like her, my love.” Ellaria’s voice is low, amused at the turn of events. She had thought he might be intrigued by you.

“She is…not what I thought.” Oberyn admits, glancing back at you just as you turn your head to look longingly at your guard.

"Not a wilting wallflower." Ellaria agrees, a smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth as she whispers. "And doing a very poor job of hiding how besotted with her guard she is."

His eyes slide over to the guard and he hums. “I understand her desire.” Oberyn chuckles quietly. “He would look good in our bed.”

"I found myself thinking the same." She finds her eyes drawn to the wall of a man once more, smile growing mischievously when she catches his eye before looking away. "Do you think it will be so difficult to marry her after all?" Ellaria has no fear of losing Oberyn. Their bond is too strong for that and his love too fierce, both for her and for their daughters. But adding a wife into the pattern of their lives will certainly shake things up. More than a little.

“It will be no hardship to bed her.” He watches you glance back at the guard again. “Do you think she carries his bastard?” Oberyn doesn’t care about bastards, he has eight of them that he loves very much and his own soulmate is a bastard, but he would not have you pass off someone else’s child as his.

"It is possible." She certainly wouldn't blame you, if that were the case. He is an extremely handsome man. "It would account for her family's urgency."

He grunts, watching you closely. “She is not eating.”

"Nerves." Ellaria guesses with a shrug. "Or sickness from the babe."

“I will need to know when she last bled.” He decides. “Just a lover or her soulmate?” He asks his own soulmate.

"If it is both, it will account for her anger." It's a characteristic in you that she had noticed last night. That you wear your armor of verbal barbs and half-confidence to hide fear and anger at not being able to determine your own life. She would call you a 'poor child' over it, but you are much older than either of them had expected. For her part, Ellaria is glad about that. "Will you turn her away if she is?" It would certainly be an excuse to end the arrangement, although you would be ruined for another offer.

“No.” Oberyn decides, straightening in his chair. “But she would have the babe before we wed.” Being unmarried, any child born out of wedlock would not be considered to be his legal heir, like his own bastards.

"Not quite the speedy timing that Doran bet on when he bought her for you." Ellaria shakes her head a little. Having a bastard in the north would make you a pariah. In the south, at least, the babe would have ten thousand Sand siblings.

“If she has bled, or is bleeding, we will be wed as soon as Doran wishes.” He shrugs slightly, reaching for her hand to kiss it. “What do you think of her?”

"She's very beautiful." There is no reason to deny that, not when Oberyn has eyes of his own and is already clearly intrigued by you. Instead, Ellaria squeezes his hand slightly and smiles. "And I like her spirit."

“It is surprising to see a Northern woman with a spine.” He hums, smirking slightly.

"I think she grew it in spite of everyone else," Ellaria almost giggles, amused at the thought. "But I admit. I like the look of her lover as well."

“They would both look good in our bed.” He agrees, smirking slightly when the man’s eyes drift over towards him again. “He is either going to attempt to kill me or fuck me.” He tells Ellaria. “He has not decided yet.”

“I do not think even he knows,” she hums in amusement.

The demented nature of the meal is certainly not helping anyone feel relaxed other than perhaps Oberyn and his whore, and when Cersei stands after some time longer she smiles politely. “Do stay as long as it pleases you,” she encourages, not caring whatsoever as long as she doesn’t have to suffer through it. “But there is much to attend to and I am afraid my time is demanded by many today. Good morning.”

Everyone else shoots to their feet, but Oberyn simply nods and reaches for the wine to refill his cup.

“Are you enjoying your stay in King’s Landing, your Grace?” Your father asks after a moment, resettling himself in his chair when he realizes that this morning is certainly not over.

There are many ways to answer that but Oberyn keeps himself from snorting in disdain. “Of course.” He chuckles darkly. “I always enjoy visiting the city where my sister was violently raped, her and her children brutally murdered by the Lannister’s lap dog.” His stare is intense as he looks at your father over the rim of his cup.

The entire table has the wind sucked out of it at that, with your parents looking baffled by the declaration and even Raeden's eyes widening in surprise. "I–I'm very sorry to hear that," you murmur, not even realizing that your hand is over your heart when you say it.

“You didn’t know?” Oberyn asks, lifting a brow in surprise. He would have assumed your family would have coached you in the intricacies of the Martell House. “Elia was married to Rhaegar Targaryen. Her blood was spilt in this keep during the Baratheon rebellion.” He sneers, drowning the rest of his cup and Ellaria reaches out for his wrist gently, trying to calm him.

"I know almost nothing about you." Of course there are plenty of people who know very little about their betrothed ahead of time, but it seems like in this case there should have been a few things mentioned to you in advance.

He relaxes slightly, aware that this is not your fault. “Perhaps you should take a turn around the garden.” Ellaria suggests softly. “Learn about one another.”

"What a wonderful idea. We could all–"

"I think she meant alone, Mother." You interject, having no intention of letting your mother tag along or chaperone this walk in any way, shape, or form. She has done plenty enough damage to you in your life already, the prince does not need to hear her vitriol – or worse, her false adulation.

“She should not be here.” Your mother hisses, unable to contain herself, glaring at Ellaria.

Oberyn’s eye twitches slightly and then he smiles, a twisted curl of his lips that is not handsome at all and displays his displeasure at your mother’s outburst. “My dagger is sharp enough to tame that tongue. My paramour goes wherever I decide she belongs.” He threatens quietly, eyes dark as they slide to her husband. “Control your lady wife or I will be forced to.”

"I think we can leave our daughter with her betrothed." There is nowhere your father wants to be less than around a man who makes that kind of threat, and he stands to offer his hand to his wife. "Stone." The command in his voice is firm. "Remain here and escort her ladyship back to her chambers when she is ready."

Oberyn can tell your mother has never been talked to that way and she doesn’t know how to respond. Instead of paying her any attention, he stands and kisses Ellaria’s hand before walking around the table to offer you assistance in leaving your seat.

One mark in this man's favor will be the way he does not suffer your mother's nonsense, but you still take his hand tentatively. Knowing that Raeden has been instructed to wait for you, not chaperone you, means that you will actually be alone with the prince on your walk and that gives you an unexpected twist of nerves in your stomach that you do not like at all. Apparently, instead of hating this man as you planned to, you are supremely nervous around him.

He doesn’t speak as you stand, your hand in his is surprisingly warm since he had anticipated you being cool with dread. Turning, he guides you towards the edge of the trellis that will take you away from Ellaria and your guard’s sight.

The entire situation feels uncertain, and you wish to all the gods that Raeden could still have been nearby, just for the security of his presence. What do you even speak to this man about? Should you speak at all? Your nerves truly are higher than ever this morning.

“I suppose the gardens are the only thing of true beauty in this city.” Oberyn offers, breaking the silence between you. “Though they do not compare to the water gardens in Dorne, they inspire me to write a poem for my Loreza.”

“You write poetry, my lord?” Focusing on that first, instead of cautiously inquiring who Loreza is, at least gives you hope that there may be some common ground between you. There had been no cause for hope before now.

“I do.” He smiles fondly as he looks over the flowers. “My children enjoy it when I am away.”

“And you have…several children?” The figure you have heard is eight, which has previously made you wonder. But the prince is older than you had expected and eight seems suddenly like not so large of a number.

“Eight daughters.” His smile shifts to something beaming, proud of his girls. “My Sand Snakes.” If you are going to be his wife, it is best you know now that they are not to be neglected or mistreated. “Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza.”

“You are very proud of them.” A fact which you find oddly reassuring. Most lords in his position would have paid off the girls’ mothers to disappear already. “Having sisters sounds wonderful,” you offer wistfully. “I have only brothers.”

“I am the youngest of both.” Oberyn offers. “Doran and I are brothers and close, but there was a special bond between Elia and I.”

The name registers with you after hearing it three times now, and a reflexive smile tugs at your lips. “I think there must have been. Since you named one of your daughters after her.”

“Yes.” He’s surprised that you have paid attention; his eyes leaving the flowers to find you looking almost wistful at the idea of a man being so sentimental. “Is your guard your soulmate?” He asks bluntly. “Or just the man you allow between your thighs for the time?”

Your face falls, shoulders rolling in on themselves as though your youngest brother has once again head butted you in the stomach as he used to when he was at his most annoying. You could lie. That is a possibility. But you have lied about it for too long and you are certainly not ashamed of loving Raeden. Shame has never even occurred to you. “He is my soulmate, your Grace,” you nod even though your voice is quiet. If he throws you over for this it will only make him a hypocrite. “And I love him very much.”

“My paramour shares my marks.” Oberyn stops, turning towards you and understanding why you look so conflicted. Neither one of you is being given a choice. Oberyn will not be exiled from his children and you have no control over your own future as a woman and a noble. “Have you bled? Or do you carry your Stone’s bastard? Is that why your father is eager to make this match so hastily?”

“My father makes the match hastily because my mother despises me.” Honesty comes pouring out of you in a way that you cannot seem to stop. For a man that so many call violent, the prince seems to be putting you wholly at ease now. “It was her insistence to send me as far away as possible. I—I bled before we left the Vale. I am not with child, if that is your concern.”

He watches you for a long moment, your eyes not shifting away. The truth burns in them and reflects from their depths. Making you even lovelier than you first appeared. He frowns slightly and reaches out to caress your cheek, pushing back some hairs that have escaped the pins. “Then you will bring your mate back to Dorne with us when we leave.” He decides. “I am a man who does not mind sharing my lovers. I will never bar Ellaria from my bed and it would be wholly unfair of me to bar your Stone from it as well.” He smirks slightly when your eyes widen. “He is a very handsome man.”

“You mean to—” That temporary wave of comfort is replaced by naked shock as you try to wrap your mind around what the prince is suggesting. Nevermind the fact that his fingers on your face are so warm that a pinch of disappointment in yourself twists at your heart again. “He is not…inclined that way.” You finally manage to stammer out. The idea of sharing had simply not occurred to you and now you are flustered by it.

“Pity.” There’s some doubt in his mind but you are more intimate with the man than he is. “It would have made our time together much sweeter.”

“So you…you do not intend to separate us?” That thought had never passed your mind even once, always assuming that you would be forced to deny Raeden with the prince as you have been forced to deny him with your father.

“When you give birth to my heir, I expect the child to be from my seed.” He answers honestly. “I bring my paramour where I wish, she is my soulmate. The future princess of Dorne will have the same luxury.” It is simple in his mind. You will have his heir and strengthen the alliance Doran wants, then you will be free to share his bed or keep to your own with your lover. “What is his name?”

“Raeden, your Grace.” It will be your torture to deal with the fact that visiting this man’s bed does not seem horrible after meeting him, but you swallow down your guilt for now. This is about keeping your soulmate safe. Safe from the hateful hands of your mother, who would see his head on a pike if she had any real evidence of your affair. “He saved my life, years ago, and my father gave him a place in our guard as a reward, so he is Ser Raeden Stone.”

“Ser Raeden Stone.” Oberyn smirks slightly and steps closer to you. “I had been convinced that it would be impossible to bed you, to fuck you,” he admits softly. “And I am a man of great appetite.” His dark eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment but he does not lean in to steal a kiss. “Now I will be pondering how often I can convince you to join me in my bed without your Ser Raeden Stone.”

The shock must be written on your face, because he chuckles lightly when your lips move but no sound comes out right away. “You—” Even the one word cracks, and you have to long away to compose yourself. “You are entitled to demand companionship whenever you wish it, your Grace.” It is simply a fact, although not one that you agree with. But as your husband he could simply order you to his bed and that would be that.

Oberyn snorts and shakes his head. “I pay, I seduce, and extend an invitation.” He tells you. “I do not order it.” He chuckles slightly at your shock and confusion. “There are many who will jump into my bed, and do. I have no need of forcing anyone to take my cock.”

"So you would not force me?" That, if you are being completely honest with yourself, has been one of your greatest fears. The idea of forced intimacy seemed inevitable once you were made to marry.

“I would not force the lowest whore.” He scoffs. “Why would I force a woman that bears my name? If you never share my bed, you will be barren to all. As long as you do not bear your Stone’s bastards.”

"I understand." That tea that you had been drinking for years now seems more valuable than ever, and the mix of gratitude and shame for even thinking such a thing swirls in your blood like a sickness. If this prince is any indication of what men in the south are like, you will vastly prefer that setting in many ways.

He’s slightly disappointed in your reaction and he drops his hand from your face and turns to resume the walk again. “What else do you wish to know?”

He does not exactly mask his emotions well, and it is obvious to see that you have either upset or disappointed him, though what you possibly could have done wrong is beyond you. Hadn't you just said that you would obey his wishes? "When do you intend to leave once more for Dorne?" Whenever it is, it will be the last glimpse of the north you have for a very long while. Perhaps for your entire life. So you would like to be able to plan for it rather than being yanked away.

“As soon as I have recovered from the wedding celebrations.” He grunts. “I will be much pleased to put this stinking shit pile of a city behind me.”

"Is there anything you wish to know of me?" He does seem somewhat upset, and you have no wish whatsoever to anger him on this walk or make him take back any of the promises he has made you.

“When did you find out your Stone was your soulmate?” He is always curious about the dealing of soulmates. It is an intrigue that there is not more effort out into finding the people who share your marks among nobility.

"After he saved my life." Wishing that he had not taken his hand away, you clasp your own together as you walk. "The boar that intended to gut me ended up digging into his leg instead. When the scar from that wound appeared on my own thigh, I went to him immediately."

“And you have been secret lovers ever since.” He hums, finding the story to be sweet and innocent, much like you appeared to be.

"It did not start right away." You tell him, finding again that the urge to be honest is overwhelming. "His sense of propriety is admirable. But we found quickly that we could not keep away from each other."

“The bond between soulmates is irrefutable.” Oberyn can understand that. Ellaria had quickly become his sun and world after meeting her. The chance encounter that had taken her from nearly being a whore to nearly being a princess. “It is impossible to stay away from your soulmate once you know them.”

"It truly is." And you count yourself extremely lucky, in this moment, that he understands that. "Raeden is a good man, and a loyal one. Intelligent and kind. I think..." You raise your head again, bold enough to find him watching you as you walk. "It may be presumptuous to suggest, but I would hope that there could be a way for the two of you to be friendly with each other. Just as I would hope that there could be a way for me to be friendly with your soulmate." After meeting her last night you have left shaken and concerned. But first impressions are not everything.

“There is only one way to determine that.” Oberyn counters, not unkindly. “We will have to spend time together. Ellaria has already expressed an interest in learning more about you and your guard.”

"She seems very interesting." Complex was the word you had ascribed to her already and it seemed to hold true. "And you...you love her very much, I think." Which should not cloud your heart the way it does. Not when he has been so kind and open with you. "And she is the mother of some of your children. So it would be...neglectful, I think, to not extend a hand of friendship to her."

“She is a warm, compassionate woman.” Oberyn promises you. “Loyal like your Stone and loving.” He chuckles. “She also finds you fetching.”

"She is very beautiful." For your entire life you would have given almost anything to be as stunning as that. Ellaria is self-assured and magnetic. You are lucky if you can affect those things for long enough to get through a confrontation. "That is very kind of her to say...especially considering I would not blame her at all if she decided to despise me."

“She would not despise you, unless you hurt me or the children.” Ellaria is protective over those she loves, more so than over herself but she knows that Oberyn will protect her. “She knows you have no real interest in becoming my Princess.”

"If I had been allowed to choose my own destiny, I would have married Raeden long ago." There is no harm in admitting that to him, as you are certain beyond a doubt that he would have married Ellaria if he had been given the opportunity.

Oberyn hums, understanding what you mean. “The titles we bear are often burdens, even with the freedoms they allow.”

"There are as many constraints as there are advantages." You nod as you walk together. "I would not ask you to forsake her." Not that you would truly be able to stop him if that is what he desired. Most men do not take the opinions of their wives into account. "That would be unthinkably cruel, in my mind."

“Then you understand why I have no wish to separate you from your Raeden.” Oberyn states. “There needs to be more love in the world, not less.”

"I do understand. But I admit that it surprises me. Most men I have known would sooner be rid of their wife's lover." Having lost track of how long you've been walking, you find yourselves near the sea wall and the scent instantly relaxes you. "I am grateful that you do not seem to be like most men."

“I am not most men.” He assures you with a chuckle. “I would fuck your lover. Have my cock deep in his ass so you could feel me as he fills your cunt. Or share you. Each of our cocks filling one of your holes as you screamed in pleasure.”

The sheer, unbridled honesty of it stops you dead in your tracks, staring at him with the same expression of shock as if he had just confessed to murder. Although your body's response is much different – pulse jumping and blood streaking quickly through your veins making you both flustered and inexplicably aroused. "I—" As surprised as you are, he seems equally amused as more truth tumbles from your lips. "I have only ever been with him, my lord. In that way."

“Of course you have.” Oberyn doubts you are free with your cunt. If you were, you would have no issue taking Oberyn into your bed, you might have even anticipated it. “Just like I am sure you have never had a woman lick your cunt.”

Before now, having taken a lover at all made you particularly promiscuous. But now you feel positively like the most legendary of whores and liars as you shake your head. For two women to embrace would be shameful – yet according to the septa who taught you all manner of difficult lessons about this life, it is not to be compared to laying with a man. "Never." The lie tastes sour in your mouth, but it is done. The shame that you have never spoken of to anyone remains unsaid.

“It is a beautiful sight,” he promises, cock twitching under his robes. “The sight of two women giving each other pleasure. A woman knows how she likes to be touched. Just like a man knows how he likes his cock sucked.”

"And that is something...that you would...wish me to do?" It is a troubling idea to wrap your head around, and you now know that he would not force you to share anyone's bed. Not even his own. But trying to know this man better seems to include understanding his sexual appetite. In the south, perhaps, their shames are different.

“It would be something you could explore if you wished.” He corrects you. “If you wanted to be with Ellaria or another woman, a whore we bought or someone you have an interest in, there would be no rebuke.”

"It is not something that should ever have crossed the mind of a northern noblewoman." The evasive way you skirt admitting your secret seems not to phase him, thank the gods in all their heavens, and you promptly shut your mouth again so as not to ramble and expose yourself.

“I doubt you have been exposed to such things.” He hums quietly, aware of how most Northern women are raised.

"It is..." You sigh slightly. "To say that it is looked down upon would be an understatement."

“The North is so…boring.” Oberyn agrees. “Limiting pleasure and judging is not something I am a part of.”

“Then I find myself very grateful that your brother and my father made the arrangement that they did.” For all you can tell, this next chapter in your life may wind up being far less dreadful and far more freeing than you could ever have imagined. “And I will do my best not to be a disappointment to you.”

He nods but he doesn’t say anything. You seem to have decided that the marriage will be in name only and he will not fight you on that, but it is disappointing. “We will decide how to arrange things when we get back to Sunspear. My brother lives at the Water Gardens most days now.”

“Until meeting you, I was not under the impression that I would have any choice.” That is how it would have been if your parents had married you to a northern lord, anyway. “I assumed I would eat and sleep where I am told and do as my husband bids me. That is…before this morning, the only expectation I have had for my marriage.” You shrug slightly, almost shaking your head at yourself. “So you can see why I have not been exactly excited for the prospect. But you…” The words you are looking for elude you, and you end up feeling embarrassed at not being able to articulate yourself. “I am optimistic enough to hope for more than a contact, now that I have met you.”

“That remains up to you.” The table comes back into view and Oberyn smirks as he finds Ellaria leaning into a now seated Raeden as she pours him a cup of wine while she talks. He cannot hear what she is saying, but there is an air of seduction that he recognizes.

The picture in front of you would likely have tickled that reflex of jealousy in all devoted lovers if you did not have a better idea of the way the prince and his soulmate view promiscuity. Now that you have touched on the topic together even just barely, you can breathe much more easily. No one is attempting to steal away a lover or to toy with a reputation. Sex seems simply to be the Prince’s favored hobby. “We will see you both tomorrow, then?” The morning wedding is sure to be a long and tedious service, as all royal ceremonies are, but at least the company will not be bad if you are able to spend a small amount of time with him.

“Tomorrow.” Ellaria unwinds herself from her seat and stands, smirking as Oberyn strides towards her with a very hot blooded look. He’s been affected by you. The prince drags her into his arms and she moans softly when he fuses his lips to hers in a movement that reveals the frustration he must have kept hidden during your talk. Once she has him alone, she will ascertain what has caused such a reaction.

They are extremely passionate people, there is no denying that, and you clear your throat gently before stepping away to give them some semblance of privacy. Raeden had stood after Ellaria and stepped out from the table, and you are at his side like a magnet. “Did you have an interesting visit with our friend?” You ask quietly, wishing it was safe enough to kiss him as Ellaria does the prince.

Raeden’s eyes shift back towards the pair, swallowing slightly and feeling incredibly guilty for the attraction he has to both the prince and his paramour. He is drawn to Ellaria, much the same as he had been you and it is confusing. His attraction to the prince is shameful, one he tries to ignore. “She is…open.” He settles for that as he wishes he could look away from them.

"He says that she likes you." The relief you feel after speaking to the prince is overwhelming, and you almost laugh as you shake your head. "I cannot blame her for having excellent taste."

“She is a very beautiful woman.” Raeden admits, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t ever look at other women. There is no one that could possibly compare to you, until now.

"My love." He is looking anywhere but at you, and right now you are too full of news to realize why that might be. You are taking his hands tightly in both of yours before he can draw away, despite being out in the open. "He does not intend to separate us. We will have nothing to fear in Dorne."

“Truly?” His eyes widen and finally rip away from the lovers to look at you in shock. “He— he will allow me to come with you? To continue as we are?”

Your nearly ecstatic nodding does have conditions, of course, but you squeeze his hands tightly. "He would even allow me to bear your child. It...it would not just be a dream any longer."

“How?” Raeden frowns, unable to believe a man, a husband, would allow you to bear your bastard lover’s bastard. Especially when he is a prince.

"In the usual way." Is your cheeky answer, but Raeden's face is not one of laughter and your smile falls in turn. "If I visit his bed and give him an heir, he would not shame me afterward for also bearing your child. It is far more than any other man would allow."

“No.” Raeden shakes his head. “I will not have you do that for me.” He insists, squeezing your hands. “It is– it is more than I can ask of you. I do not wish you to force yourself to lie with him.”

"Would you try to forbid me if I did it of my own free will?" The prince is extremely handsome, after all, and you are more than certain that there was some kind of clause in the marriage contract your father signed that will require you to birth an heir anyway. If you are entirely honest with yourself, it would not be a hardship to lie with the prince. Since meeting Raeden, no one had turned your head for more than a mere glance. Now you find your thoughts to be full of possibilities for pleasure.

“I–…no.” Raeden shakes his head, lifting his brows. “My love– are you– do you wish to sleep with the prince?” He asks softly and his eyes slide back to where Oberyn and Ellaria are still deep in their embrace.

"He...is very handsome." It's not an answer, but you do not know whether or not you could give an honest answer right now. Your mind is too muddled by the surprise of attraction. "But I do not know him well enough to say."

“You will be his wife.” He reminds you gently. “He can have you in his bed whenever he wishes.”

"He said he would not force me." Which is another source of great relief, as you are sure he can understand.

“He said that?” Shocked again, the caliber of the man is becoming very obvious. “He– the rumor is that he has fucked half of Westeros.”

"It seems that those conquests have all been by choice." Which makes a smile twitch at the corner of your mouth, but you shake it away. "He also said that he and Ellaria would happily welcome both of us to their bed, but I informed him that I did not think you are not inclined that way."

Raeden’s heart stops, freezing in place and stiffening as he wants to immediately protest and say yes. Shamed that it is almost gleeful in the way his cock twitches, he is glad he is not pressed against you.

"Have I–done wrong?" The way he seems to become a statue on the spot is alarming to say the least. "Are you...you did not...mention finding Ellaria attractive after our encounter last night. I did not think...?" It's surprising that you do not feel jealous, but instead worried that he might be upset with you.

“It is nothing.” He makes himself relax and shakes his head. “I was only…surprised.”

"Please do not lie to me." After feeling the compulsion to be completely honest with the prince, it is an alarming feeling to have Raeden withhold the truth.

“I–” he looks into your eyes and he shakes his head. “I cannot speak about this with you now.” He admits quietly. “I– you will not understand.”

"I would understand perfectly if you thought Ellaria was beautiful." But since you also respect the topic enough not to push it now - in public - what remains is only for you to be hurt by the idea that your soulmate does not think he can trust you with something. For the moment you can only push it away. "We will be leaving for Dorne as quickly after the wedding as the prince is ready," you tell him instead, changing the subject all together. "It may be as little as two days before we are traveling again."

“I will be ready as soon as you are.” Raeden promises. He had determined that he would be going to Dorne no matter what. Relieved that you are dropping the subject, he tries to avoid looking back at the couple as he squeezes your hands. “Where you go, I will be there.”

******

Saying a temporary goodbye to the pair from Dorne, Raeden escorts you through the halls of the Red Keep once more to the chambers that you are sharing with your parents. You have every intention of spending the rest of the day reading and repacking your trunk to be ready to leave a moment's notice – eager to be off somewhere where you would be able to love your soulmate openly and be afforded the freedom of choosing who you wish to spend your time with.

“Once you are in your rooms, I will make sure that I have my things ready.” Raeden promises you quietly. He wants to be ready whenever the prince is ready.

"The journey to Sunspear will be long, but far less tedious than the journey from the Vale." Inside again, with your parents near, you don't reach to squeeze his hand or kiss his cheek. Instead you offer Raeden a reassuring smile and move through the small sitting room to the room you have been sleeping in. Only to find it very much occupied by the last person in the world you ever want to find near your bed.

“You can leave.” Your mother spits at Raeden. “I doubt my daughter needs protecting in her chambers.”

"With you here, I very well might." You tell her honestly, but still you turn to Raeden with a resigned expression on your face. "Go and pack," you suggest to him instead. "We want to be ready as soon as the prince wishes to depart."

“How dare you talk to me that way!” Your mother screeches in utter dismay, flying to her feet and obviously ready to impose her wrath on you. “You little bitch!”

When she flies at you she obviously expects you to be either too astonished or too demure to react at all. Any of your governesses would have known better – having seen you duck away from your older brothers' torment dozens upon dozens of times. You had been plunged bodily into too many stone walls in your youth and now veer out of the way immediately so that it was your mother who collided with the wall instead of pushing you into it. "What has possessed you?" At least your voice is shocked, punctuated by a small oof when Raeden catches you before you can stumble to the ground in an effort to flee from the attack.

“You had to humiliate your father!” She bellows, even though her anger and rage has nothing to do with your father and everything to do with your embarrassment of her. “I did not raise such an opinionated bitch!”

"You did not raise me at all!" Standing again, your hand holds fast to Raeden's for security. "What is it precisely that you are accusing me of, Mother?" Presumably she is angry about being embarrassed in front of the prince, but pretending it is about your father is imbecilic.

“You made me look like a fool! Unable to keep that stupid tongue inside your head and just act like the lady you are supposed to be!” She fumes, glaring at you as if you are shit on the bottom of her shoe.

"I am very much a lady. A lady who will be the Princess of Dorne in just a few weeks' time. And so I refuse to continually be insulted by you." At this point you had expected to return to your chambers and put up with your mother's hate for only a little while longer, but the gods did not have that in mind for you, it seems. "If you were under some illusion that you would still be able to control me from across the continent, you are sorely mistaken."

“I should have drowned you the moment you slipped from my womb!” She hisses, rushing towards you again and drawing her hand back to land a vicious slap on your cheek. “I will kill you now!”

If it were the first time she had ever laid a hand on you, or the first time she had ever expressed regret at not killing you at birth, you might have been shocked. Unfortunately the impact of those vile actions had long since faded away and it is only the fact that she is running at you again that surprises you. This time it’s enough for you to burrow yourself into Raeden’s broad frame – barely moving to his side in time for him to draw his blade in her direction with the tip mere inches from her chest.

“You will stop, my lady.” His voice is deep, and firm, brokering no question or argument as fire flashes in his eyes. “I do not wish to hurt you but if it is the only way to protect her, I will have no choice.”

“Bastard.” She spits in his face and then her face freezes and the evil, manical look in her eyes blooms happily. “I will not kill you.” She tells you with a sugary sweet voice, reaching up and grabbing a sleeve of her own gown so it rips. “I will have your lover killed.” She threatens. “Beaten and beheaded in front of you to scream and mourn for all your days.” Her laugh is hollow and grating as she rips the front of her bodice and drags her hands through her hair to wreck her carefully styled look.

“I wonder how you will do that if we are not here to be commanded by you.” If you had not met him today, if you had not seen the good and just man that Oberyn Martell is with your own two eyes, you would have feared for Raeden’s life at this moment. You truly would have believed that she could get her claws deeply enough into him to take him away. Now, you know there is someplace safe that you can go. Looking back at him, you quickly grasp his free hand with determination. “We are leaving, my love.” Without a single one of your things, or his, which you’re sure she will destroy in a rage, you must go now before she has a chance to spread her vile lies.

Screaming, your mother rushes after you but in a moment of providence surely gifted by the gods, both old and new, she trips on one of the silk rugs and collapses to the floor.

“Run!” If you are lucky, you can find the prince and Ellaria before they are too far from the Red Keep. If you are even luckier, you might find your father during your escape to tell him the truth of what his wife has done. It will be up to the gods whether or not he believes you, but you will certainly be writing to your brothers just as soon as you stop shaking and find safety.

Raeden heeds your command. Holding your hand tight, he leads the way. Rushing through the halls and out of the keep through a servants door. Ignoring the turned heads as he attempts to lead you to safety, though your heavy gown makes running slower for you.

Down stairs, around corners, through paths crowded with servants and tradespeople until you are far enough away from the Keep to be certain that neither of your parents can catch up to you but equally certain that the prince is nowhere to be found.

“Did she tell you how to find them?” You are panting, not having ever run frantically for your life before, but even as you slow down you don’t stop. There can be no stopping. “Did Ellaria tell you where their lodging is?”

“She did.” Raeden nods, frowning because he is uncomfortable with where he must take you. “They are staying at a brothel in Flea Bottom.” He stops and rips his cloak off to drape over your shoulders. “You will need this to hide your finery.”

"I promise to you that when I apologize to you properly for this later, I will do everything I can to make it up to you." This decision did not only affect you, but it has torn him away from his life and his worldly possessions, as well. You may as well be bandits on the run for the punishment you would face if you were caught – for surely the uninformed observer would believe your mother's tale if you cannot reach safety before she is able to spin her web of lies for someone in authority. "But there is no time now." As soon as his cloak is around your shoulders, you are running again: as swiftly as your muscles can bear.

______

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AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 1 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter One: The Devil's Trumpet

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror,

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Sooooooo… I don’t know a lot of Game of Thrones lore… so I ask for your patience and kindness when it comes to this fic, cause I know there will be some inconsistencies. I would stay up late at night, staring at the ceiling of my bed, constantly imagining that I could save Oberyn Martell from the Mountain. This is the story that I have been dreaming about for almost two years now. This fic is loosely based off The Glory on Netflix, it’s a show all about revenge which felt fitting for a Game of Thrones fic. There’s not a lot of Oberyn Martell yet in this chapter… but the next one for sure he’ll be there ;)

Song: as good a reason by Paris Paloma

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DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 280 AC

From the moment your mother bartered you away to the Targaryens, you harbored no illusions about your worth in her eyes. Born to a minor lord, your father's coffers were never overflowing, and upon his death, your mother wasted no time in casting you aside like a discarded toy. It was a transaction as cold and calculated as any.

As a mere girl, you were thrust into servitude within the Targaryen household, your days filled with menial tasks and fleeting moments of respite. Your mother's indifference had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, yet you dared not dwell on the past, for in the world of kings and queens, survival was a luxury afforded only to the cunning and the strong.

So, you learned to keep your head down, to swallow your pride and obey without question. In the grand tapestry of courtly life, you were but a humble thread, weaving your way through the intricacies of power and deceit with the practiced ease of one who knows their place in the hierarchy of the Seven Kingdoms.

News of the betrothal between Princess Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen spread like wildfire through the streets of King's Landing, igniting whispers of anticipation and speculation among the common folk. And when the day of their union finally arrived, the Great Sept of Baelor bore witness to a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur, as the noble houses of Westeros gathered to witness the marriage of two powerful dynasties.

In the wake of their wedding, the newlyweds departed for the ancient seat of Dragonstone, leaving a wake of excitement and intrigue in their wake. Within the stone walls of the island fortress, the air crackled with anticipation, as servants bustled about in a frenzy of preparation for the arrival of the newlyweds.

In the hushed corridors of Dragonstone, amidst the flurry of activity that heralded the arrival of the royal couple, you found yourself singled out from the bustling crowd of servants. With a sense of unease mingled with awe, you were ushered into the inner sanctum of Princess Elia's chambers, thrust into a position of unexpected privilege.

As you navigated the opulent surroundings, your heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The eyes of the court seemed to follow your every move, their silent scrutiny a constant reminder of your newfound status.

Perhaps it was Princess Elia's keen observation or her innate sense of compassion that led her to notice the subtle cruelties inflicted upon you by your fellow servants. The older maids, with their twisted smiles and mocking jests, seemed to take pleasure in your misfortune, their actions a reminder of the harsh realities of life within the walls of Dragonstone.

Yet, in the presence of your new mistress, you found solace and sanctuary, a refuge from the cruelty of those who sought to belittle and demean you. With each passing day, as you tended to her needs with a quiet diligence, and you felt a sense of belonging that had long eluded you.

As Princess Elia's pregnancy progressed, you remained steadfast by her side, attending to her every need from dawn till dusk. With each passing day, the weight of responsibility rested heavily upon your shoulders, as you labored tirelessly to ensure her comfort and well-being.

When the time finally came for Elia to bring forth new life into the world, you stood beside her, a silent witness to the agony and ecstasy of childbirth. Her cries pierced the air like a dagger, each shriek a testament to her strength and determination. And though fear gripped your heart with each painful contraction, you remained steadfast in your resolve to see her through this trial.

With the arrival of Princess Rhaenys, the air seemed to shimmer with joy. As Elia cradled her newborn daughter in her arms, her eyes alight with love and exhaustion, you offered words of comfort and admiration.

"You have brought forth a beautiful child, Your Majesty," you murmured softly, your voice a gentle reassurance in the flurry of the birthing chamber. "You have done marvelously."

A weary smile graced Elia's lips as she gazed down at her precious daughter, her fingers tracing the delicate features of the babe's face. "Thank you for your kindness," she replied, her gratitude evident in every word.

And so, with the birth of Princess Rhaenys, a new chapter began in the lives of the Targaryen dynasty. As the babe was presented to Rhaegar's parents at court, the halls of Dragonstone echoed with the whispers of anticipation, a testament to the enduring legacy of House Targaryen.

As Queen Rhaella cradled her granddaughter with tender affection, her eyes alight with joy and pride, King Aerys the Second stood apart, his expression twisted with disdain. With a sneer of contempt, he recoiled from the child, his words dripping with venom.

"Smells Dornish," he remarked, his voice laced with disgust.

Your jaw clenched with suppressed anger at his callous words, a silent witness to the depths of his cruelty and madness. In that moment, as you beheld the scene unfolding before you, it became abundantly clear that the king's heart was as black as obsidian, his soul consumed by the darkness that lurked within.

TOURNEY AT HARRENHAL, THE YEAR OF FALSE SPRING, WESTEROS — 281 AC

At Harrenhal, nestled in the verdant heart of the Riverlands, Lord Walter Whent played host to a grand tournament, a celebration that spanned ten days and drew lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms. Within the storied halls of the ancient castle, whispers of intrigue and ambition mingled with the clinking of goblets and the strains of music, each moment pregnant with the promise of both glory and treachery.

Amidst the throng of nobility, you moved with the silent grace of a shadow, your keen eyes and sharp ears attuned to every murmur and gesture. As a mere servant, you lingered on the periphery of the festivities, your presence all but unnoticed by the illustrious guests who reveled in the splendor of the occasion.

On the first night, as the Hall of a Hundred Hearths blazed with the warm glow of torchlight and the scent of roasted meats hung heavy in the air, you observed the comings and goings of the noble houses with a keen eye. From the stalwart Starks to the enigmatic Howland Reed, the northern lords mingled with their southern counterparts, their alliances and rivalries simmering beneath the surface like a pot ready to boil over.

Amidst the revelry, the figures of legend and lore moved with an aura of mystique and allure. Brandon Stark's easy charm drew Lady Ashara Dayne to the dance floor, while the shy Eddard Stark found himself swept up in the rhythm of the music. Benjen Stark's playful banter with his sister Lyanna elicited laughter and teasing, a glimpse into the bonds that bound the Stark siblings together.

And then, amidst the swirling throng of dancers, you caught sight of him: Prince Oberyn Martell, the embodiment of charm and charisma, his laughter ringing out like silver bells in the night. As he twirled Lady Ashara Dayne in a graceful waltz, his smile illuminated the room with its brilliance, casting a spell over all who beheld him.

But you knew better than to linger on such fleeting distractions, in the glittering spectacle of courtly intrigue, shadows were lurking in the corners, secrets waiting to be uncovered. And so, with a determined resolve, you turned your attention away from the beguiling prince and towards the task at hand, knowing that one must always be vigilant, lest they be consumed by the machinations of power and ambition.

The tourney at Harrenhal stretched across ten days, a spectacle of martial prowess and pageantry that captivated the hearts and minds of all who attended. In between the clash of swords and the thunder of hooves, champions emerged and legends were born, each contest a testament to the valor and skill of the knights who jousted and fought in the name of honor and glory.

From the seven-sided melee to the fierce competition of the joust, the tourney boasted a variety of events to entertain the crowds, including archery contests, axe-throwing competitions, and thrilling horse races. Yet, amidst the revelry and excitement, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air, a whisper of uncertainty that hinted at darker forces at play.

As the final moments of the tourney drew near, all eyes turned to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the golden-haired champion whose prowess in the joust had earned him victory over four knights of the Kingsguard. Yet, it was not his triumph in the lists that would become the stuff of legend, but rather the fateful decision he made in the aftermath of his victory.

Standing amidst the gathered nobility, you watched in disbelief as Prince Rhaegar bypassed his own wife, Princess Elia, and bestowed the crown of blue winter roses upon Lyanna Stark, the betrothed of Lord Robert Baratheon. This was the moment all smiles died. The air crackled with tension as murmurs of confusion and outrage rippled through the crowd, a clear sense of unease settling over the festivities like a shroud.

In that moment, as the fragile peace of the realm hung in the balance, you felt a chill run down your spine, a premonition of the chaos and bloodshed that would soon engulf the Seven Kingdoms. For in the blink of an eye, the seeds of war had been sown, and the fate of Westeros hung in the balance.

DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 282 AC

In the dimly lit chamber of Dragonstone, the air was thick with anticipation as Princess Elia fought through the pain of labor, her strength waning with each passing moment. Beside her, you stood as a silent sentinel, offering words of encouragement and support as she braved the trials of childbirth once more.

With each command to push, Princess Elia's resolve hardened, her determination a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf her. Yet, it was evident that her delicate health posed a formidable obstacle, her frailty a constant reminder of the challenges she faced.

And then, amidst the hushed whispers of the attending maesters, the sharp cry of a newborn babe pierced the air, a herald of new life amidst the shadows of uncertainty. With a ragged sigh of relief, Princess Elia's weary frame slumped backward, her brow glistening with sweat as she drew in ragged breaths.

"It's a son," the maester announced, his voice ringing with reverence as he presented the newborn prince to his exhausted mother.

A flicker of joy illuminated Princess Elia's weary features as she reached out trembling hands to cradle her newborn son, her touch gentle and reverent as she welcomed him into the world. With tears of gratitude glistening in her eyes, she pressed her lips to his tiny forehead, whispering words of love and devotion as she held him close to her heart.

Prince Aegon was born.

KINGS LANDING, WESTEROS — 283 AC

Chaos erupted across the realm with the dawn of the new year, as news of Lyanna Stark's abduction by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen near Harrenhal spread like wildfire, igniting the flames of conflict between rival houses.

In the Vale of Arryn, the clash of steel and the cries of battle echoed through the mountain passes, as Lord Jon Arryn marshaled his forces to defend his homeland against the encroaching storm of war. Meanwhile, in the coastal city of Gulltown, the once-impregnable defenses crumbled under the relentless assault of Robert Baratheon and his forces, with the valiant Marq Grafton falling in the heat of battle.

With Gulltown secured, Robert Baratheon wasted no time in rallying his own banners to his cause, sailing swiftly to his ancestral seat of Storm's End to muster his forces for the coming conflict. Yet, even as he prepared for war, Robert's gaze turned to the stormlands, where the first major battle of the campaign awaited him.

At Summerhall, within the ruins of the ancient keep, Robert Baratheon faced his foes in a brutal clash of arms, his skill and valor turning erstwhile enemies into staunch allies. With Lords Grandison and Cafferen, as well as Silveraxe, pledging their fealty to his cause, Robert emerged victorious, his path to the north now clear as he prepared to join forces with Jon Arryn and the northern lords in their quest for vengeance.

All throughout the chaos of war, you bore witness to the dark machinations of the Mad King as he conspired to unleash destruction upon King's Landing itself. Ser Jaime Lannister, his white cloak billowing behind him, stood witness to the sinister plot hatched by the Alchemists' Guild, while the rest of the Kingsguard were scattered, their loyalty divided amidst the brewing conflict.

In the midst of this turmoil, Lord Qarlton Chelsted, Hand of the King, emerged as an unexpected ally, his friendship and concern for your safety a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of fear and uncertainty. Yet, as whispers of the king's treachery reached his ears, Lord Chelsted's conscience could no longer remain silent. With courage and conviction, he confronted the Mad King, pleading for mercy and reason in the face of madness.

But mercy was a foreign concept to Aerys Targaryen, his mind consumed by the flames of paranoia and tyranny. In a cruel and chilling display of power, he condemned Lord Chelsted to a fate worse than death, his screams echoing through the halls of the Red Keep as the flames consumed him.

In the wake of this horror, you found yourself thrust into the cruel embrace of the king's wrath, your cries of anguish falling upon deaf ears as the searing pain of the iron rod seared your flesh. Bound and helpless, you endured the agony of your punishment, a silent testament to the cruelty of those who held power over life and death.

When consciousness returned, it was to the gentle touch of Princess Elia, her soothing words a balm to your wounded soul. With tears of shame and gratitude, you sought to apologize for your weakness, but the kind princess silenced your protests with a gentle shush, her compassion a beacon of hope in the darkness.

"Rest now, dear child," she murmured, her voice a soft melody of reassurance. "You have tended to me with care and kindness. Now it is my turn to watch over you."

In the warmth of her embrace, you found solace amidst the pain, your heart heavy with the weight of your suffering but buoyed by the kindness of one who saw beyond the scars to the strength within. And as sleep claimed you once more, you whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the Seven for the gift of Princess Elia's compassion in a world consumed by cruelty and strife.

The rest of House Targaryen remained blissfully unaware of the dark schemes brewing within the walls of King's Landing. Queen Rhaella Targaryen, her eyes veiled to her husband's descent into madness, remained preoccupied with her own concerns, while Prince Rhaegar Targaryen marshaled his forces for the impending conflict.

In the depths of the city, hidden from prying eyes, the pyromancers of the Alchemists' Guild toiled in secrecy, their hands guided by the whispers of their mad king. Thousands of jars of wildfire, that volatile substance capable of unleashing unimaginable destruction, were meticulously placed in strategic locations throughout the city. From the shadows of the Dragonpit to the hallowed halls of the Great Sept of Baelor, and even beneath the very foundations of the Red Keep itself, the city of King's Landing was a powder keg awaiting the spark of war.

As the flames of conflict spread across the realm, each battle leaving its mark upon the land, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung in the balance. Amidst the chaos of the Stoney Sept, where narrow streets became blood-soaked battlegrounds, Prince Doran Martell grappled with the weight of his decision. Bound by duty to his king yet driven by love for his sister, Princess Elia, Doran reluctantly pledged his support to Prince Rhaegar's cause, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the dangers that lay ahead.

Following the fateful clash at the Trident, the Mad King's grip on power grew ever more tenuous. In a desperate bid to consolidate his rule, Aerys named Rossart, his favored pyromancer, as his new Hand of the King. Yet, his reign of terror would be short-lived, as the flames of rebellion engulfed the realm. With his wife, Queen Rhaella, and their young son, Prince Viserys, sent to the safety of Dragonstone, Aerys's grip on reality slipped further into the abyss, his madness driving him to unspeakable acts of cruelty and betrayal. Locked within the walls of King's Landing, Princess Elia Martell and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon, remained prisoners of a king consumed by paranoia and fear.

MAEGOR’S HOLDFAST, THE RED KEEP — 283 AC

Lord Tywin Lannister, who had stubbornly refused calls to arms from both the loyalists and the rebels until that point, appeared at the gates of King's Landing with an imposing army of twelve thousand men, mere hours before Eddard Stark would arrive. Lord Tywin professed his unwavering loyalty to King Aerys, and while Lord Varys, the cunning master of whispers, counseled Aerys to keep the gates locked, the king chose to heed the advice of the manipulative Grand Maester Pycelle, ordering the gates to be opened to Tywin's men. With the arrival of the forces from the westerlands, the city of King's Landing became a target for plunder and destruction.

As the realization that all was lost sank in, Aerys, driven by madness and desperation, commanded Rossart, a pyromancer, to unleash the hidden caches of wildfire throughout the city, hoping to reduce Robert's forces to mere "ashes and bones".

In a final act of cruelty, he tasked Ser Jaime Lannister, the eldest son of Lord Tywin and the sole remaining knight of his Kingsguard present in the city, with killing his own father and presenting his head as a gruesome gift. However, Jaime, torn between loyalty and reason, defied the mad king's command. Instead, he turned his blade on Rossart, knowing that Aerys would simply find another pyromancer to carry out his destructive plans. Realizing the imminent danger, Jaime rushed back to the Red Keep and put an end to Aerys' life in the throne room, just moments before soldiers from the westerlands stormed in.

Meanwhile, Ser Gregor Clegane, known for his massive size and brutal nature, accompanied by Ser Amory Lorch, made their way into Maegor's Holdfast. Their mission was to eliminate the remaining members of the royal family, solidifying Robert's claim to the throne and demonstrating House Lannister's complete abandonment of the Targaryens.

The resounding crash of the door being forcefully shattered reverberated through the room, punctuated by the shattering of glass and the piercing screams that filled the air. You, trapped in that room, could do nothing but bear witness to the horrific scene unfolding before your eyes. Gregor Clegane callously hurled you towards the fireplace, the searing heat scorching your skin, as he believed you would perish amidst the flames. Bleeding and disoriented, you lay on the floor, your vision blurred by the pain that engulfed you.

In the middle of pandemonium, you watched in horror as Princess Rhaenys, a mere toddler, was dragged from beneath her father's bed by the monstrous Clegane. The screams of the innocent child echoed through the room as she was mercilessly stabbed over fifty times. Aegon, Elia's son and the last hope for the Targaryen line, suffered an equally gruesome fate as Gregor brutally smashed his head against a wall. With Aegon's blood and brains still staining his hands, Gregor proceeded to rape Elia and ultimately ended her life by crushing her skull.

As Gregor and Amory callously departed, their hands stained with the blood of their heinous acts, they paid no heed to your crumpled form, assuming you were dead. Silently, you feigned death, your battered body lying motionless on the floor. The sound of their heavy footsteps slowly faded away, their hearts devoid of remorse, as they never once faltered or looked back.

With fresh burns scorching your body, the searing pain and stinging sensations intensified, causing you to vomit on the side of the bedroom, overwhelmed by the horrifying sight before you. The people you held dear, the ones who reciprocated your affection, were now lost and lifeless, torn away from you forever.

In a state of despair, you crawled and stumbled, driven by an unknown force or perhaps a touch of divine intervention. Miraculously, you managed to navigate the treacherous secret passages of the sacked city, escaping the clutches of danger. The reason for your survival remained a mystery, lost in the chaos that surrounded you. Perhaps it was your unwavering determination or the small flicker of hope that compelled you to keep moving forward, to honor Elia's memory and the children who were denied the chance of a life.

You couldn't recall how you found yourself on the shores near Blackwater Bay, gazing out at the vast expanse of the Narrow Sea. Kneeling in the cool, wet sand, you felt the water recede, stinging your burns and prompting an uncontrollable urge to scratch, causing fresh blood to flow. Your bruised stomach throbbed with pain.

Exhausted from the relentless pursuit of survival, you yearned for respite, for an end to the constant struggle. Slowly, you began to crawl toward the ocean, knowing that the cold embrace of the water would bring solace, relieving the incessant itch of your scars. What more could you desire? This, perhaps, was the only path left.

But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Standing at the precipice, you let out a piercing cry, releasing your anguish into the air. With every ounce of strength, you struck your arms, the very arms that bore the visible reminders of your torment.

In that moment, you chose to defy the darkness that threatened to consume you, refusing to succumb to despair. At the edge of the world, you stood tall, your cries echoing across the empty beach, a testament to your resilience and determination to get revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 287 AC

In the ancient city of Braavos, where secrets whispered through the narrow alleys and the canals flowed with mysterious tales, you found solace amid the chaos. Once a believer in the gods, you had come to realize that their existence was nothing more than a facade, a comforting illusion for the masses.

Having scraped together enough coin, you secured passage on a ship departing from Blackwater Bay, leaving behind a turbulent past and seeking refuge in the anonymity of Braavos. The city welcomed you with its vibrant streets and diverse inhabitants, offering a chance at a new beginning.

From baker to cleaner, nurse to animal keeper, and occasionally even a tutor to minor Ladies, you took on any job that would sustain you. Your tireless work ethic caught the attention of the nobles, who saw value in your dedication and entrusted you with their precious steeds. However, the privilege of working for the Lords came at a cost, as some would cross boundaries and attempt to take advantage of your vulnerability. Yet, you stood strong, extracting your payment and moving on.

Throughout the years, you meticulously saved every coin, seeking out the teachings of various assassin guilds and skilled swordsmen. Disguised as a boy, you delved into the secrets of High Valyrian, honed your swordsmanship, and mastered the art of poisons. The guilds taught you to discern truth from lies, and to control your facial expressions, laying the groundwork for your vengeful plans.

As you went about your duties in the bustling stables, you tried to steal moments to study the intricate notes on potions, mumbling the descriptions to yourself. Suddenly, a sharp smack landed on the back of your head, causing you to wince in pain. "Quit your foolishness and focus on your work!" your employer reprimanded.

"Don't be too hard on her! Look at all the burn scars on her legs and arms," one of the older stableboys interjected, coming to your defense. Gritting your teeth, you offered a quick apology, knowing that it was best to comply with your employer's wishes.

Resuming your tasks, you discreetly tucked away the notes into your pocket, their pages smudged with the grime of your surroundings. Your determination burned within you, fueled by the scars that adorned your body, a constant reminder of the pain and suffering that fueled your quest for revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 294 AC

The scent of salt hung heavy in the air, you had grown up immersed in their language and customs. Fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, you clandestinely absorbed every morsel of information you could gather about the events unfolding in Westeros. Alongside your studies, you dedicated yourself to the art of combat, honing your skills with weapons and tirelessly toiling in a variety of jobs that allowed you to pursue your clandestine education.

As the boat that would carry you away from Braavos was being prepared, one of the enigmatic faceless men, who had taken an interest in your journey due to the scars that adorned your flesh, approached you. His hooded eyes locked onto yours as he inquired, "Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"

A mixture of determination and uncertainty danced in your gaze as you responded, "They seek servants for the Red Keep. The time is drawing near, and I must gather further intelligence on a select few. It appears that more than just the Lannisters are entangled in this web of power." The faceless man nodded, acknowledging the complexity of the situation.

With a silent understanding, the boat began its departure, carrying you across the waters of the Narrow Sea. Standing at the bow, your eyes fixated on the horizon, a sense of purpose and anticipation surged within you as you braced yourself for the unknown challenges that awaited.

RED KEEP, KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS — 298 AC

In the hallowed halls of the Red Keep, where whispers of power and deceit echoed through the stone, you had spent years serving as a humble maid, donning long-sleeved dresses regardless of the season that enveloped Westeros.

Maintaining a low profile was imperative to the success of your clandestine plan. As you arranged your quarters, a haven of secrecy, you opened a worn journal containing a meticulously compiled dossier. Every page adorned with detailed sketches and meticulous notes on the individuals implicated in the tragic demise of Princess Elia. Royals, lords, and ladies from every corner of Westeros found their place within those ink-stained pages. Their routines, preferences, lovers, and dark histories were meticulously chronicled, forming a tapestry of knowledge that would fuel your pursuit of vengeance.

Locking your quarters behind you, you ventured into the mist-shrouded gardens, a white datura flower delicately cradled in your hand. As you spun the delicate bloom, the devil's trumpet, between your fingers, a solemn chant escaped your lips, carried away by the ethereal fog. "Anyone who inflicts harm upon their neighbor shall bear the same injury."

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A fracture for a fracture. The concept of just retribution swirled in your mind, the very embodiment of justice. Yet, a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. Was such fairness truly fitting? Was it not too generous, too even-handed? After all, fairness is a fleeting concept in this treacherous game, isn't it?

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x fem!reader #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn martell #oberyn martell rewrite #got rewrite #game of thrones rewrite #game of thrones #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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countrymusiclover · 1 year

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Fire OF A Stark

Cadence Stark also secretary known as Lynesse Targaryen daughter of Rhaegar and Elia Martell. Surving twin sister of Aegon all thanks to Ned Stark who took her in as his own daughter. But the dragon struggles to keep up the lies when she meets Jaime Lannister and is betrothed to be his wife. The difficult task is will they allow their walls down to let the other in.

Ch 1 - The Queen’s Twin Brother

Ch 2 - Wines and Swords

Ch 3 - The King’s Command

Ch 4 - Bethrothed Lion and Wolf

Ch 5 - Wedding Grey to Gold

Ch 6 - Cadence Lannister

Ch 7 - Stark Camp

Ch 8 - The Secrets We Keep

Ch 9 - In The Name Of Father

Ch 10 - Defending the Enemy

Ch 11 - Suspicious Intentions

Ch 12 - Wolf Vs Lion

Ch 13 - His Equal

Ch 14 - Prisoners of Locke

Ch 15 - Can A Lion Be Trusted

Ch 16 - Bear Rescue

Ch 17 - Back In King's Landing

Ch 18 - Spirit Of A Dragon

Ch 19 - The Dragon and The Lion

Ch 20 - Trial of a Dwarf

Ch 21 - Dragons Can’t Be Caged

Ch 22 - An Heirs Dream

Ch 23 - Two Dragons Now

Ch 24 - Rhaenyra’s Crown

Ch 25 - Dragons VS Dragons

Ch 26 - She's Both Wolf and Dragon

Ch 27 - She's Ours

Ch 28 - The Trip Back North

Ch 29 - The Pack Survives

Ch 30 - Ramsay Bolton

Ch 31 - Knights of the Vale

Ch 32 - Regaining the North

Ch 33 - The North Remembers

Ch 34 - Peter Baelish

Ch 35 - Dragons in the North

Ch 36 - The Night King

Ch 37 - Battle Celebration

Ch 38 - The Lannister Heirs

Ch 39 - The Future of Westeros

Ch 40 - The Targaryen Queen

Ch 41 - Royals Grand Feast

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list - just ask to be added

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queenofsarcazm · 1 year

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Rhaenys Targaryen fix-it fic

Rhaenys Targaryan, daughter to Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryan, was murdered at 1 year old by Gregor Clegane, or was she? A fic in which Rhaenys grows up in the Modern world only to be brought back to Westeros before it all goes to shit. Who will she save? Who will she kill? Who will she court?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41624250/chapters/104406582

Excerpt from ch 6

Rae had just woken up from a nap and quickly saw she was not alone. “I assume you’re here because you found something at the library?”

“Yes,” the Waif replied, though stayed put where she was sat at the table, watching Rae with great interest.

“Are you going to show it to me?”

The Waif did get up then, bringing a book that resembled a fancy bible to Rae’s bedside, flipping to the right page before she gave it to Rae, who was relieved to see that it had been written in common English and not in Valyrian.

Rae found the small part about the Princess and read out loud, “Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Daughter to Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Nymeros Martell, of Dorne. Dark of hair hair with white streaks and golden eyes, taking after her mother. Rhaenys was born on Dragonstone and presented to the court by her father Prince Rhaegar while her mother lay bedridden. Hmm...” Rae frowned, reading on, “whilst her grandmother Queen Rhaella Targaryen embraced her warmly, her grandfather King Aerys II Targaryen refused to touch or hold her, claiming she smelled ‘Dornish’.” - “What the fuck?” Rae looked to the Waif, but the woman just shrugged.

Rae went on, “Rhaenys had a small kitten named Balerion, after the great black dragon of Aegon I Targaryen.” -”How is that relevant?” she asked, shaking her head before continued, “Rhaenys, five years old at the time, died during the Sack of King’s Landing, and her dead body was presented to King Robert Baratheon and his court by Lord Tywin Lannister alongside her mother, Princess Elia, and her infant brother, Prince Aegon…”

Rae took a deep breath. People who killed innocent people, and especially fucking children, deserved to burn in hell, so she was glad she’d already sent someone out to murder Tywin Lannister. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his absence would cause chaos, she would have sent someone after Robert Baratheon too. Gods knows he fucking deserved it after allowing the stuff he’d allowed. She was about to close the book, feeling sick, when the Waif pointed further down the page, at a somewhat smudged footnote. “Look here.”

Rae looked, and then read that part out loud too. “The dead body of the Princess Rhaenys that was presented to Court had recently dyed black hair, which led some to believe that the child was a decoy, and that the Princess Rhaenys is still alive.”

Rae slammed the book shut.

#rhaenys daughter of elia #rhaenys targaryen #game of thrones fix it #game of thrones fanfic #Fix it fanfiction #Modern girl in Westeros #Rhaenys Targaryen x Robb Stark #Rhaenys Targaryen x Viserys Targaryen #faceless men

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raisab332012 · 1 year

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Answer to How beautiful was Elia Martell? by Charline Thom

Answer to How beautiful was Elia Martell? by Charline Thom https://www.quora.com/How-beautiful-was-Elia-Martell/answer/Charline-Thom-1?ch=15&oid=1477743665369749&share=ca61067f&srid=7KVRc&target_type=answer

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a-song-of-quill-and-feather · 3 years

Photo

The Other Stark Girl - Character Posters

Jon Arryn & Robert Baratheon | Aerys Targaryen & Rhaella Targaryen

Eddard Stark | Catelyn Tully

Rhaegar Targaryen & Lyanna Stark | Elia Martell

Taglist: @tessasocs @perfectlystiles @wokenhardies @zeleniafic @eddysocs @foxesandmagic @raith-way @fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs @kazinejghafa @jewelswrites-ish @akabluekat @anna-phora @booty-boggins @stilynskii @bitter-post-millennial @lokitrasho {wanna be added?}

Alys Stark Taglist: @golden-limbs

The Other Stark Girl Taglist: @within-thehollowcrown

#the other stark girl #got fic #asoiaf fic #roberts rebellion era #my edit #character posters #ch: jon arryn #ch: robert baratheon #ch: aerys targaryen #ch: rhaella targaryen #ch: eddard stark #ch: catelyn tully #ch: rhaegar targaryen #ch: lyanna stark #ch: elia martell #i call this the rebellion focused grouping #i have another post of character posters after this #again really like how these all look #simple but i dig em

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fullrangeofemotions · 3 years

Note

[Text: Wrong number] This is the third time this month, Rhaegar! I won’t deal with this any longer! [[ from elia in the 'bad moms' verse ]]

sent by @oftargaryenqueens

Donna stared at the text, reading the words, over and over again. Her blood began to boil, she was livid. This man had done enough to hurt those she cared about. They had all let him roam free for too long.

[text] What is he doing now?

After sending the quick message to Elia, Donna sent a text to Coatli, because it was time for her to do her thing.

#oftargaryenqueens #ch: elia martell #v. a bad reputation

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mskrianna · 4 years

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"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

#got #game of thrones #game of thrones aesthetic #game of thrones moodboard #a song of ice and fire #elia martell #ch: elia martell #house martell #aesthetic #collage #moodboard

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bisexualterror · 4 years

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Heads Up Seven Up

I was tagged by @myocmultiverse @margothedestroyerr @iron-parkr thank you bbs ily 💖💖 since i was tagged three times i’m gonna give you each something from three different recently worked on WIPS cause why not

tagging: @queen-of-salt-and-fury @butcherofblackwater @thecaillic and anyone else who wants to join, feel free to ignore if u don’t wanna 2 participate

rules: post the last seven sentences of the last WIP you’ve worked on and tag seven more people to keep the challenge going!

“Lady Ashara!”

Elia ducked her head to hide her smile as the girl in question ignored Lady Larra’s continued admonishments and continued to stick her head out of the carriage, the winds whipping her hair about and muffling the sounds of her gleeful giggles.

“Oh, lighten up, Lady Larra, let the girl have her fun,” Jynessa said, pausing her whispered conversation with Meria to say, an amused smile on her lips as she looked at Lady Larra’s worried frown.

“You will get wrinkles if you keep your face like that any longer.”

Meria tried to hide her still very obvious laugh in the palm of hand, but despite their amusement at her worries, Lady Larra’s eyes remained on the young girl all but hanging out the window.

Elia could not blame Lady Ashara for her bout of childishness, she would perhaps be doing the same if she thought she would not become sick at the stomach or lightheaded. And so instead of calling in the girl, she lightly touched Lady Larra’s arm to gain her attention.

“She will be fine, Lady Larra, she has us both looking after her after all,” Elia spoke quietly, as to not gain the other’s attention and was gifted with the rare sight of Lady Larra smiling ever so softly at her.

“Thank you, princess,” Larra replied, equally just as quiet. And together they watched.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

“Still charming as ever, sis.” Diego stepped back as she got out her car.

“...and you’re still wearing the same knock off batman costume,” she said, her eyes scanning his get up from head to toe. At least he was consistent.

Bickering with her siblings was easy, it was achingly familiar. Bickering would probably be the easiest thing she would have to do today.

“Hilarious. How long have you been saving that one?” Diego asked, walking in stride with her to the entrance of their hell home.

“Long enough,” she admitted, getting an amused but mostly smug look in response.

She dragged her feet as they stopped in front of the doors, watching as her brother spun towards her. “Do we know what the cause of death was?” Was he murdered, Noor all but asked, her voice eerily calm despite the subject.

“Checked the coroner's office before I came, the old man’s death was ruled a heart attack.”

Noor wasn’t sure if she was happy to hear the news or not, she guessed she should be grateful it wasn’t someone feeling vengeful over something dad had done to them, as that usually meant that person might be coming after them next.

But…there was so much she wanted to say to him, none of the words on her mind were kind, but they were words that she had kept locked inside herself.

Him dying this suddenly felt like things would always be left unresolved. Maybe it was for the best. She wasn’t sure she was brave enough to look him in his cold eyes and speak those words.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Remy was thankful when she tugged on the school’s doors and they opened, and hurriedly raced inside for shelter from the rain. She rolled her shoulders as the strap of her gym bag and backpack pressed into her uncomfortable.

She jogged towards the girl’s locker room, her damp shoes squeaking loudly against the floor as she went, her eyes taking in the now familiar yet eerie sight that was a mostly empty school. She used her hip to open the door, walking towards her locker and absently checking her wristwatch: 6:15

Remy didn’t have to come to school fifteen minutes earlier than the rest of her teammates, but she did it every morning anyway.

Beacon Hills High School had a girls volleyball team, track, softball, and even synchronized swimming but because of a budget issue a few years back there was no longer a gymnastics team, girls lacrosse nor swimming team.

Remy could have tried for cheerleading or track, but she’s always had a passion for swimming and so she had tried out for the swim team… after getting brutally shot down for the lacrosse team that is.

#oc: noor hargreeves #ch: elia martell #oc: remy johnson #also idk if noor and remy were being recently worked on #but i did open it recently lol #ok i'm going to bed pls ignore all misteaks

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sunsncke · 4 years

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@khrysophos asked 🔥 / help my muse get firewood and build a fire . / GURL YOU KNOW

She hated this. More than anything, she absolutely hated this. She was cold, and tired, and too emotionally unstable to handle a night alone in the middle of nowhere with the man she promised herself she’d never speak to again.

The universe, however, did not seem to ever be in her favor.

“Rhaegar, this has to be more than enough.” She hissed as she kicked her way into the (only mildly warmer) cabin their friends had rented out for the weekend (they hadn’t bothered to show up, so the sentiment wasn’t as good as she had hoped). She glanced over at her hus-... ex-husband, before dropping the wood next to the dwindling fire place.

“We have the wood. Now make like a dragon and-” She gestured vaguely at the kindle, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm.

#khrysophos #p: rhaegar #ch: elia martell #// modern au who?

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inmydrcams · 1 year

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someone with SERIOUS health concerns in medieval times doesn’t stay bedridden for half a year after giving birth and then have another child 2 years later with both mother and child surviving

#ch; e. martell #( ;; we don't vibe with fanon )#also like cersei and joncon have personal grudges against elia #no one can trust anything they say #this is why my elia has different health concerns in asoiaf and in modern

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wardenparker · 11 months

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The Viper’s Bride - ch 8

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

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 16.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid* Oral sex (m receiving), hair pulling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Mentions of Elia's fate (sexual assault and murder). Voyeurism, technically? Intimate touching/nonsexual intimacy. Brief mentions of pregnancy/childbirth/mortality in childbirth. Misogyny. Ellaria being an absolute badass. Stabbing. We respect sex workers here, but Petyr Baelish does not (asshole). Mention of forced medical procedure. Summary: A blissful morning after is interrupted by an unwelcome guest with even more unwelcome news. Notes: I have been waiting entire WEEKS to use this gif. Apologies for any technical difficulties with links and missing tags in this chapter - I posted about it last night but I experienced even more trouble as the night went on. 💖

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Your eyes open with the birdsong the next morning, drifting back to reality from the bliss of happy dreams. Oberyn's frame weighs you down in the plush bed, his leg hooked over yours and seemingly his whole torso on your back with his arms around you to hold you close. With the whole great expanse of bed to lay out in, he has attached himself to you even in sleep. It makes you hum softly and curl even deeper into his hold. As if you could burrow into his side so entirely that you would never have to leave.

Despite the excess and indulgences that Oberyn partakes in regularly, he is also a warrior. A man who has ridden with the Second Sons and even commanded his own company of men. He has warred in multiple locations and lived under the hardest conditions, awake and fighting at a moment's notice. When you move, his eyes open, focusing immediately before he allows himself to soften and hum against your neck. "Does the sun break over the horizon or is my lady wife an early riser?" He rasps into your ear.

"Your lady wife is a light sleeper," you mumble, turning your head to indulge in a long kiss good morning. Your thighs ache from last night's tumbling just as you had hoped and it is a welcome, wonderful feeling. "The birdsong roused me. Go back to sleep, my prince."

"Hmmm." Oberyn smirks at you and shakes his head. "It is too late, my cock has decided to awaken." He growls with a leering look down your body, and his hand slides up to cup your breast and pinch your nipple sharply.

The rasping moan it earns from you seems to please him, and your whole body instantly awakens at his touch. "How does my husband like his pleasure in the morning?" You are entirely soft and pliant at the moment, willing to give him what he wishes as he gave to you last night.

“I think I want my Princess to ride my cock.” He chuckles throatily. “Let me bite and lick your tits while you gallop to pleasure.”

Yes, your legs will ache all the more from such early exertions, but that is the furthest thing from your mind at the moment. You shift in his arms to straddle his waist easily, resting your weight on his thighs for a moment as you look down at him. His half-roused cock lies thick and proud against his belly, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding that he deserves as much indulgence this morning as you can muster. Instead of wrapping your hands around his length to stroke him to hardness, you move back and bend down, taking his cock into your mouth with an approving hum.

Hissing in pleasure, Oberyn’s hand wraps around your plait again, his hips rocking up to chase the tease touch of your tongue. “Fuck.” He groans, enjoying the very pleased look on your face as you hollow your cheeks. “Have you enjoyed sucking your lover’s cock?” He asks, twitching and hardening even more in your mouth.

Not willing to sacrifice having him in your mouth to answer, you hum in agreement and bob your head as if to nod. It is one of Raeden's favorite indulgences and you learned the skill well to please him.

“Hmmmm.” He groans, leaning back against the bed and closes his eyes. “You have talent.” He praises breathlessly. The praise washes through and encourages you to work harder, to take him deeper and use your hand well on what you cannot swallow. His vocal appreciation for your efforts has awoken your own desires, making your cunt ache and quiver with anticipation.

It doesn’t take long for Oberyn to tire of your mouth, talented as it might be. He wants to see you ride him. Tugging on your hair, he pulls you off his cock. “Mount me, wife.” He orders harshly.

You discovered long ago that you despise taking orders in life, which made your position all the more difficult. But in bed with a lover, to be needed or desired that badly is something you have found intoxicating. This morning, it makes you look up at him and smirk boldly, popping off of his cock with a sinfully wet sound. “The prince does not like his seed to be wasted?” You guess with a teasing air as you move forward to position yourself over him.

"I wish to feel your cunt around me." He rocks his hips up impatiently. He has not yet had his fill of your cunt and wants to be inside you before he cums. Although the smirk and sass that you give him makes him even harder, watching you become emboldened by your freedom with him.

You are slower to impale yourself on him than he was to bury himself last night, only by virtue of wanting to draw out the delectable feeling. Your pussy stretches to take him without resistance but it does push a soft moan from your lips. Once he is fully seated inside you, though, you start to move immediately. The feeling of him is too good to waste.

Your cunt lips are stretched wide around him and his hands on your hips move so he can pull your clit back so he can see more of your delicious cunt impaled on him. "Beautiful star." He groans passionately, looking up at you before one hand slides up to cup your breast.

“Do you like to watch me take you, husband?” The idea makes you groan, leaning back to brace your hands above his knees while you move.

"Yes." He grunts, biting his bottom lip until it is plump from the blood. Fingers digging into your skin and he hisses when you clench around him. His grip loosens and he palms it gently. "I find that your cunt is made for me."

“Then your cock must be made for me.” It is boldness that makes you talk that way, you know that, but a part of you almost feels the truth in it. Though – you must remember that you felt that way about Raeden as well. Perhaps you simply enjoy the pleasures of the flesh more than you knew.

Oberyn groans, arching a brow as your answer surprises him and even more, he agrees with it. “Perhaps it is, princess.” He huffs. “Perhaps it is.” Your hips are squeezed, then slapped as you ride him.

He delighted in your sounds last night so you do not hold back this morning. It would be a thing of wonder to feel this free no matter who you have in your bed, and you wonder in the back of your mind what Ellaria will sound like when you one day taste her sex for the first time.

Your sounds are loud, lusty and he doesn't mind who hears them. Proud that you would make your pleasure known when you had confided that you had to be quiet in all your other encounters. While he knows that you will be loud with others, he revels in being the first that you find your voice with.

Your combined moans bounce off the walls of the chamber, echoing down the hall to alert any and all who are up this early that the prince has already begun his work for the day. It is a scene of ecstacy right until the doors open, and for a moment you decide not to care. Let Leyth see you like this. She has seen worse in her time, surely.

"It is interesting that you house your wife in a whorehouse, Prince Oberyn." Oberyn's eyes slide past you and lock on Tywin Lannister, his expression pinched in disapproval as if he has a shit he has been unable to get out. His eyes slide over your bare back, down to your ass and his brow arches, "unless that is not your lady wife bouncing on your cock like a whore, and then I must ask what her price is."

The deep voice startles you more than anything else, making you immediately cover yourself and look over your shoulder in a panic. You have only seen Tywin Lannister on one other occasion – the late king's wedding just days ago – but you will never forget the man's face. It seems to bleed hate in every direction. Before you can even breathe again you have slipped out of Oberyn's lap and burrowed under the many blankets on the bed as if you are trying to disappear.

His breeches are on the table next to the bed and Oberyn grabs them, sliding into them and standing up, hopping slightly as he pulls them up over his hips and turns to look at Tywin. He is not pleased about the interruption and he narrows his eyes. "You have a sense of timing." He huffs, turning his back on him again as he reaches for the butter yellow robes he had been wearing yesterday. Your own gown would be too cumbersome for you to get into, so he will put his robe on you.

The covering is gratefully accepted, and Oberyn wraps you in it with gentle hands and ties it around your waist to preserve the modesty that is so important to you. "Tywin Lannister?" You whisper, barely breathing, and he nods silently that you are correct.

"May we have the room? Or are you a man who allows his wife to hear his business?" Lord Tywin asks, seeming barely interested in the answer.

Oberyn doesn't answer the man, but he asks you a silent question, arching his brow. He wants to know if you wish to stay or go. If you wish to stay, Oberyn will obstinately state that his wife is allowed wherever she wishes to be and she wishes to be by his side. If you wish to go, he will pat you on the ass and send you in to your lover and Ellaria.

The question is whether to cave to embarrassment or to exert yourself as a proud and steadfast wife, and it is a harder question to answer than you are proud of. While it would certainly be more comfortable to leave, that is not the role you wish to fulfill. You nod your head subtly, telling your husband that you wish to stay, and fiddle with the ring that he gave you yesterday for only a moment. "Wine, Lord Tywin?" You ask, as brightly and easily as if he had just stumbled into the sitting room at your father's estate.

His puzzlement only flashes across his eyes for a moment, and he nearly chuckles at how easily you seem to bounce back from the momentary mortification of being taken for a whore. "No, thank you."

"My wife goes wherever I wish and I wish for her to be by my side." Oberyn reaches for the small shawl to wrap around his shoulders. Smirking slightly at how you hold your head high and walk across the room to the table as if you were holding court instead of dressed in his robe with your legs bare.

Lord Tywin watches as you pour two glasses of wine and deliver one to Prince Oberyn, but pays it no mind. As he understands it, the marriage is but days old and done in haste. You will tire of each other before long. "There are matters to discuss," he declares though his air is still as careless as if he was discussing the weather. "Between you and I, Prince Oberyn."

He understands that is yet again another hint to send you away and yet, Oberyn smirks quietly. "Would you like to sit?" Oberyn offers, gesturing to the bed. If he knows the uptight prick he will not take the offer.

"No, thank you." He doesn't disappoint and since you have already offered him wine, Obyern takes a sip of his own.

"I am sorry about your grandson." He tells the man.

"Are you?" Lannister seems surprised at that, but only his voice and not his face or manner would ever let anyone know that.

"I don't believe that a child is responsible for the sins of his father." Oberyn takes a sip of his wine and lowers his cup. "Or his grandfather." He hums. "An awful way to die."

"Which way is that?" The unmoving nobleman barely lifts an eyebrow. You can feel the measured way he stands, the aura he gives off simply by being in such close quarters with him. Tywin Lannister reeks of quiet calculation and strategy, and your dislike for the man grows instantly.

Oberyn turns and faces the man directly, knowing the question would come eventually. "Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?" He asks boldly.

Tywin doesn't fluster or excuse his question. "Some believe the king choked." He manages to keep his voice even and convey derision at that idea at the same time.

"Some believe the sky is blue." Oberyn counters, "because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant." He flops back down elegantly on the bed and looks over at you before back at the head of the Lannister family. "The king was poisoned."

"I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel." The accusation comes as cool and clear as if he was stating a fact, and you have to stop yourself from reacting instantly. A reaction would be defensive and make Oberyn look guilty. Just like defending your brother over stealing sweets as children had always given you away to your septa.

The accusation doesn't phase Oberyn. "I did." He tells Tywin. "This is why I know." He takes another sip of his wine.

"Your hatred for my family is rather well known." Tywin lays out. "You arrive at the capitol, an expert in poisoning, some days later, my grandson dies of poisoning."

"Rather suspicious." Oberyn agrees. "Why haven't you thrown me in a dungeon?" He asks curiously.

You open your mouth to bite back at Lord Tywin but the nobleman mows over you as if he has entirely forgotten you are in the room. It makes you far more angry than you would have expected, but you certainly are not taking kindly to the line of questions he is taking with your husband. "You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?"

Amusement laces Oberyn's tone as he sits up. "You think we conspired together?" He asks.

Tywin doesn't answer, instead he asks again, "What did you discuss?"

"The death of my sister." Oberyn walks towards the taller man.

"For which you blame me." Tywin drones.

"She was raped and murdered by the Mountain." Oberyn stares the man down. "The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you."

The head of House Lannister nearly shrugs, but that would be too undignified a movement. "Here I stand unarmed and unguarded. Should I be concerned?"

"With a witness, Lord Tywin?" You tick one eyebrow up at him, watching your husband saunter closer to the man he names as his greatest enemy. "Or do wives only count as wallpaper?"

Oberyn smirks, proud of your comment. "You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that." He hums. "I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow."

Lannister's eyes flash back to you on the bed but he says nothing to you. His business is not with you this time. "Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge." He reminds the prince, but there is an air of satisfaction there that rings out and you do not like it at all.

"So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?" Oberyn demands.

"Categorically." Tywin murmurs, although it feels as false as his making you for a whore.

Oberyn stares at him for a long moment, rage filling his veins but he simply smirks and turns back to you on the bed to pick up his wine cup. "I would like to speak with the Mountain."

"I'm sure he would enjoy speaking with you." Lord Tywin Lannister is not a fool. He knows there are secrets in this marriage between the infamous prince with many bastards and the daughter from the Vale that all at court had either forgotten about or assumed would end a spinster. He simply does not know what those secrets are. Unfortunately for him, you seem thoroughly infatuated with your husband. That will make you harder to break.

"He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks." Oberyn hums, amusing himself as he imagines snuffing the life out of the Mountain slowly. He picks up a berry from the table and pops it into his mouth.

Tywin seems amused and he starts walking towards him. "I could arrange for this meeting." He offers.

Oberyn is no fool and he sits down on the bed beside you. "But you want something in return."

"There will be a trial for my son. And as custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict." As Lord Tywin comes closer, the conversation now seems to be suitable for your ears as well, and he casts a glance down at you wrapped in your husband's robe before looking back to Oberyn. " I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge." A fact he seems less than thrilled about but has obviously deemed necessary. "I would like you to be the third."

Oberyn is eating again throughout Twyin's little speech and he arches a brow. "Why?"

"Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon." Tywin reveals. "Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn huffs. "Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen." He snarks. "Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting."

"I will also ask you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors." The Lannister does not miss a beat, though he seems increasingly annoyed at Oberyn’s flippancy. "A residence in the capital dignified enough for your bride, of course, would be offered with such a position."

Obeyrn sets his cup down and turns around. "I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin."

Tywin looks pained as he admits, "we are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold. The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall." Twyin paces past you and towards the window. "And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons." Oberyn turns to look at the lord as he absorbs this news. If Doran knew of it, he did not reveal it before he had left for King's Landing. "Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons."

"You're saying you need us." You murmur in recognition, including yourself amongst the numbers of the Dornish. You may not yet have set foot there, or begun to understand your true duties, but you are a princess of Dorne with Dornish blood in your veins.

Oberyn can tell that your comment irritates Tywin, which means that it is true. "That must be hard for you to admit." He tells the Hand. Tywin jerks his head slightly, fidgeting as if he wished to shake off the unpleasant truth.

"We need each other." He manages after an insincere smile. "You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's."

For a moment there is tense silence in the room, and then Tywin Lannister makes a grandiose show of holding his hand out to the Dornish prince. An offer is on the table. An opportunity to see through the thing that he knows Oberyn wants more than anything in this world – for his sister's brutalization and murder to be avenged. It is not a truce, but an agreement that each has something the other needs, and you all but hold your breath waiting to see what your husband will decide.

Oberyn stares at the man's hand for far longer than polite, making him think that he might not have sold his proposal. Only when he sees the doubt in the man's eyes does he reach out and capture his hand, shaking it with a smirking warning. "I do things my way, Lord Tywin."

"I did not expect anything else." The older man seems reluctant in his admittance of this fact but at least he has gotten what he needs. "I will have your quarters prepared for you at the Keep. A suite for you and your bride should suffice nicely." When his eyes turn to you they are icy cold. "I hear she is fond of the library."

“We will stay here.” Oberyn insists.

"It is hardly a long-term residence for a member of the small council." Tywin knew this would be a sticking point. That the prince's desire to keep far away from the place where his sister died would complicate issues. "The position affords you the comfort and prestige of a residence in the Red Keep. It is expected."

Frowning, Oberyn’s jaw clenches as he turns towards you. He had not anticipated staying longer than another week, but it might be longer if he sits in the small council. Your eyes are warm, and he smirks before he turns back to the Lannister. “I will need more rooms.” He tells Tywin. “For my lover, and for my servants.” He chuckles. “I have grown very fond of the service I receive here and I do not think the Red Keep can compare.”

The sound that the Lannister patriarch expels is caught between a tut and a chuckle, as if the prince's demands are ostentatious and amusing. A thing to entertain oneself with for a short amount of time and nothing more. A mere trifle. "I will arrange your accommodations," he nods, looking between you. "And send word when your rooms are ready."

“Now if you will excuse me, Lord Tywin.” Oberyn tosses off the shawl and crawls back onto the bed with a lecherous smirk. “I have a gorgeous young wife who I need to fill with my seed.”

"Of course." He strolls from the room without another word, thinking as loudly as he can that the prince's wife is not nearly as young as she should be if he intends to breed her.

Instead of kissing you, or starting to remove your clothes, Oberyn lays beside you, reaching out and caressing your hand. “What did you think of your first small council meeting?”

Waiting until you can hear the door at the end of the hall shut tight, you exhale slowly and look back at your husband with concern. "He wants more from you than he is saying," you murmur, keeping your voice low out of an abundance of concern. This feels like any average week with your upset mother as a child, laying in your brothers' bed with them and trying to figure out how to soothe her. "I do not know what, but we should be on our guard."

“Of course he does.” Oberyn agrees easily. “He is a Lannister. They always want more.” The smirk slides into a frown and he hates the thought of living in that fucking keep for even a day. “But I will not give him more than I wish to,” he assures you, leaning in and kissing your lips. “It means I must decide what I wish to do.” He pulls away and sighs softly, “I must go.” He tells you. “Talk to my men. You stay here with your lover and Ellaria.”

"Will you tell me what you decide?" You ask, concerned that this may be the threshold of what he includes you in.

He nods seriously. “Despite what the north might think, a Princess of Dorne must know what her husband knows.” He understands that he’s not bringing you now, but he needs to have some serious discussions with the men and that wouldn’t happen if he brought you.

"Do what you must, and we will be here for you when you return. But—" Your hand strikes out, caressing his cheek gently. "If you are to talk to your men, take Raeden with you. Ellaria and I will be safe here, and he must know all in order to protect us."

“Do not leave the brothel.” Oberyn cautions you, smirking slightly. “Maybe you and Ellaria can become better acquainted. A bath together?”

"I certainly need one," you huff slightly, half-rolling your eyes. "Or else I shall arrive at your side to the Red Keep smelling of sweat and cum."

“No sweeter scent to be had.” Oberyn chuckles, sliding his hand up your thigh and slapping your ass. “I will need my clothes.” He prompts. “As fetching as you look in them.”

"Of course." If you claimed that you had forgotten that you were wearing his robe it would be a lie, but it is soft and elegant and you cannot say that you do not enjoy wearing it. "My robe is in the other room." As if on cue, a soft moan sounds from beyond the door that connects to the chamber where Raeden and Ellaria slept last night. "It appears that our lovers are awake."

“They are.” He hums, listening to the sound of pleasure. “Should we watch?” He asks you seriously. “Do you wish to see your lover? Or wait until they are done?

"Let them enjoy their time," you decide, hearing Raeden's voice dip deep. Whatever Ellaria is doing, he is enjoying it thoroughly. "If you need to leave immediately, I will understand."

“It can wait.” He tosses his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “Damn Tywin and his sense of timing.”

"He could not have timed it better if he tried." Laying back in his arms, you frown at the thought. "I half suspect that he waited outside the room to make sure he was interrupting."

“It matters not.” Oberyn only hates that you felt exposed. His fingers drag down to the belt he had tied and quickly unknots it. “He will be jealous that he saw beauty he could not buy with his coins.” Once the robe falls open, his hand finds your breast and he palms it. “What does my Princess like in the mornings?”

“This,” you hum softly, leaning into his touch. Though it is not at all the question he is asking. “Will I not have plenty of things to keep me busy in the morning in Dorne? Running your household and seeing to royal duties?” Of course most responsibilities would fall to his brother’s wife, but to run a royal household will be a challenge to learn.

“No.” He hums in amusement. “The servants run the house.” He chuckles. “Is it not the way in your father’s house?”

“I did not think I would be cleaning a palace on my own,” you tease, laughing with him. “But who tells them what to cook for meals? When to expect visitors? Organize social events? Being a well-married woman is all about social engagements, according to my brothers’ wives.”

Oberyn scoffs and shakes his head. “Dorne is different. At least for my house.” He chuckles. “The cooks know our favorite foods and it will be a surprise to see who they cooked for that night when we sit down to eat.” He had thought it particularly genius of his brother’s wife to give them control over the food. “Unless there is a special event and then there will be arguments over what to serve with the cooks throwing things and shouting how their recipes are best.”

"I am sure I will learn what is expected of me soon enough." It sounds as though the things that you have been taught regarding how to run a household and be the lady of the house will not quite be right in Dorne. But this is not the time to agonize over that, considering Tywin Lannister has now bought your husband's presence in King's Landing for at least the next two weeks.

"Yes you will." He has no doubt that you will be a magnificent princess if your reactions to Lord Tywin's intrusion on a private moment is anything to go by. His eyes slide over your breast, watching as the bud of your nipple tightens, pulling the skin together. "How do you feel about staying in the Keep again?" He asks idly. "No doubt your bitch mother will moan to stay." He snorts. "Watch the festivities of Lord Tyrion's head being removed from his body."

"I will adjust, although I admit that the bath here is far superior to the one I had in the Keep," you smile slightly. "And unfortunately, Lord Tywin was correct about one thing. I do enjoy the library." After a moment, and a deep shuddering breath as his fingers continue to tease your skin, you sigh. "Do you think he did it?" From what you saw, the king's uncle looked as shocked as anyone else present. And you had not taken the man for any kind of actor or even a very good liar.

"I do not." Oberyn has his suspicions but he won't share them with you. Not to keep you in the dark, but to keep you safe. "Whoever killed the king had much more to gain than just a petty grievance. And Lord Tyrion had nothing to gain by killing his nephew."

"I suppose we will find out in two weeks." It is longer than either of you thought to stay in King's Landing, and not for a good reason, but you will try to make the most of it.

"It will not be a fair trial." Of that, he has no doubt. "At least you will be able to visit with the queen while you are there."

"She was very kind to me when we arrived." Queen Margaery, for better or for worse, is one of the only friendly faces that you know at the keep. "In fact, she encouraged me by only speaking good things of you. So I likely ought to tell her how right she was."

He hums thoughtfully, pausing his touch as he wonders why the Tyrell girl would speak so highly of him. Unless… "You must talk to her again." He encourages with a nod. "Offer her comfort and support."

"Of course I will." You would not dream of doing otherwise, after having been the person to stand in horror with her on the dais while King Joffrey lay dying. "I would not think to do anything else."

"She wants something from you." He reaches up to cup your chin and tilt your head up. "If there is a time to mention visiting Dorne, offer it to her and see how she reacts."

"I will." It is not a desirable feeling, to understand that the younger woman's friendliness might not have been true kindness or affection for you at all, but that is how the world works. Instead of falling to pieces over the unfairness of a possible lie, you nod. "And I will tell you when we speak of it."

He sees the doubt and the way your eyes dim slightly, hating that you have come to realize that your position makes you a most valuable friend to make. "She is scared, princess." He reminds her softly. "The Lannisters all but hold her hostage. She will have to marry Tommen."

"But..." Your mind whirls back into motion, realizing how little you actually have to regret. "He is...nine years old."

"And she will be expected to bed him." His lip curls in disgust or perhaps pity for the girl. While he was in a woman's bed when he was merely fourteen, he had not had the timidity of the future king.

"I cannot stomach that thought." Especially with your best guess that Queen Margaery is perhaps twice the young boy's age. You shake your head, listening for the last few moments of pleasurable sounds from the next room and lying back in the bed when your lovers fall silent again on the other side of the door.

"At least two of us found pleasure this morning." Obeyrn huffs, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. "We will find ours later. Unless you find it with Ellaria while your Ser Raeden and I are gone."

"Even if I find it with Ellaria," which you are not certain you will do, although the idea is no longer far-fetched. "It will not stop me from wanting to find it with you again tonight."

"Whatever you wish." He promises. "We must make sure the halls of the keep are filled with pleasure."

"And there is a chance we may be the only ones finding it." You huff slightly, but lift yourself from the bed to slip out of his robe completely. You can wear your thin shift to walk into a room whose occupants have already seen you bare. "We should tell them what has passed."

"We will." It would be an insult to both if he were to keep them in the dark about the day's surprising outcome. It would be futile anyway, because Ellaria would sense something is amiss and he is sure that Raeden is the same way.

A small knock at the door is enough, and you crack it open a respectfully small amount. Not to interrupt them the way you had been this morning. "Are you...is it...alright if we come in?"

Surprisingly, there is a shuffling of sheets and fabric in the dark. The sound of clothes being thrown on hastily takes a moment to recognize but Oberyn tilts his head curiously at the cause of such a thing.

Ellaria appears at the door a moment later with a smile and opens it wide. "Our lovers have emerged from consummating their marriage," she hums with a warm smile. "Have you enjoyed your morning as well?"

His brow ticks up, but he says nothing about the pause before. “It would have been wonderful if Tywin Lannister had not shown up and rudely interrupted my cock being ridden.”

The name makes Ellaria frown immediately and she moves aside to let you both in. "What happened, lover?" She asks with concern. Her hand finds Oberyn's easily and she leads him to the bed, assuming you will all sit together while he relates the tale. "What did he want?"

“I have been given a seat on the small council.” Oberyn informs her. “And I will sit on Tyrion Lannister’s trial.” He turns his dark eyes towards his lovers and sighs. “We will be moving into the Keep today.”

"Oberyn." Ellaria's frown deepens measurably. She knows how very little he must wish for such a thing, considering his sister's fate. "Are we to...to stay here?"

He understands what she really means and it makes him frown even more than he already is. "No." He tells her smugly. "I demanded additional rooms for my lover and servants." He juts his chin towards the door. "Cal and Leyth." He tells her. "They come with us. Pay Littlefinger whatever price he names."

"We will arrange it." You may not be as used to handling Oberyn's affairs as Ellaria is, but you must learn eventually. And someone who might try to brush off a prince's lover will do no such thing when dealing with a princess.

Ellaria's brow raises as she turns to look at you for a beat before turning back to Oberyn. "Of course lover, everything will be as you wish." She promises with a smile, leaning over and kissing him passionately, knowing he is unsettled in this turn of events.

Your robe is hanging from the back of a chair at the table along one side of the room, and you slip into it before making your way over to Raeden. "You enjoyed your night?" The question might be unnecessary, but wanting him to be happy and comfortable is your default feeling in regards to your soulmate.

“Very good.” Raeden admits, as he sweeps you into his arms to kiss you rather desperately. Sliding his tongue into your mouth immediately as if to pay penance to you for kissing another.

The comfort of having him near is immediate, letting you melt into his side and sigh open for him like a blooming flower. His arms around you are a protective wall of calm and safety, and a soft whine from the back of your throat is a reminder that you were very much interrupted this morning and you are still feeling cheated from your own pleasure.

“When your new lover is finished kissing his soulmate, Ser Raeden and I will go talk to the Lords of Dorne.” Oberyn tells Ellaria. “You and my wife stay in the brothel.” He cups her chin. “Please.”

"He will never be finished," Ellaria huffs an amused laugh, having found that it is something that Raeden thoroughly enjoys. Still, she sets her chin on Oberyn's shoulder and kisses his cheek softly. "You need only say the word and I will undertake anything for you, my love. You know this."

“I know.” He knows that Ellaria’s loyalty to him is unshakeable and yet he still worries about the murky waters he must tread to find satisfaction for Elia’s murder. “Tywin was not pleased to learn that my paramour was coming with me. He will be less pleased to learn the Princess has a paramour of her own.”

"He can shove his shriveled cock in a bucket of leeches," Ellaria huffs again but this time she rolls her eyes. "I doubt he feels pleasure unless he is on the battlefield. Frigid man." She shakes her head and does not move from his side. "Do what you must, my love."

He smirks, nodding as he reaches for her hand. You and Raeden are still wrapped up in each other and he laces his fingers with hers. "How was your night, my sun? Did your Raeden pleasure you like you had hoped?"

"He is sweet, and gentle." Ellaria smiles as though that is an indulgence. "Not timid, but eager to please. It will take some coaxing to find the animal in him, but I do not mind that."

"Yes, she said sometimes she wishes that he makes her ache." Oberyn turns and drops a kiss on her bare shoulder. "Was it his guilt that made you dress before opening the door?"

She nods - the explanation is a simple one and she gestures to the two of you on the edge of the bed together. "Hers was less so?" Ellaria guesses with a sly smile. "We heard you both."

"You know that I am irresistible." He jokes, winking at his lover. "Her cunt is perfect." He hums. "You will enjoy it." Now that the barrier of propriety has been broken, he has no doubt Ellaria will spend most of the day in bed with his wife. His neglected cock twitches at the idea.

"I will take care of her for you," Ellaria promises.

"Please do," Raeden looks up and his eyes on Ellaria are soft.

Oberyn leans in to kiss Ellaria again. "We must dress and then you will be meeting the other lords from Dorne, Ser Stone." He informs Raeden. "Tell them of what has transpired and what is to come."

"Aye." With one more kiss, Raeden stands and starts to dress, donning the Dornish robes that he now takes great pride in wearing. Oberyn pats his lover's hand before he stands to get ready so they can depart.

In mere moments they have gone, and you look to Ellaria with an unintentionally nervous expression. “Would you share a bath with me?” It is the most normal thing you can think to offer, and would keep the two of you together. Something that you know the prince is concerned with.

Her eyes flash with something indistinguishable but her lips curve into a sultry smile and she sways her hips as she moves towards you. "Of course, princess." She purrs, reaching out and stroking your cheek lovingly as she stares into your eyes. "I will have the servants prepare the bath and I will bathe you myself." She insists. "I am well familiar with the ache and mess that comes with being in the prince's bed."

“Ellaria…” as tempting as that sounds, and it does, you hesitate. “You…are not my maid. I asked because I wish to spend time with you.”

"And I offer because I wish." She promises with a small pat to your cheek. "You could not get me to act as your servant if you wanted." She is not boasting that fact, but it is true. Oberyn would never allow it.

“It is the last thing that I want.” You promise her quickly. “I admire you, Ellaria Sand. For your strength, and your confidence. I—I honestly hope to learn from you…if that is something you would allow.”

Her brows arch in surprise for a moment and the confidence falls away. The woman underneath shines through and her eyes soften as if you were her lover. She cups your cheeks and smiles at you. "Of course, princess." She nods, her thumbs stroking your cheek. "I will teach you whatever you wish to learn."

"You love him very much." That is beyond questioning, and you swallow the accompanying thought in your head as Ellaria takes your hand to guide you out of the shared chambers and down to the bathing room. "And you have lived in Dorne all your life. There is much more you can tell me about our home than the stories my grandmother could remember from her childhood."

Leyth is in the hallway, bringing a pitcher of wine to the room and Ellaria stops her, ordering a bath for you and her. She knows that the water will be ready before the two of you are even down the end of the hall. "I will tell you how the house works. It is very interesting." She chuckles as she watches the servant rush away.

"Please." After this morning's revelation, you desperately want to understand how things are run at the palace. "He told me that things are done differently than the north and now I have no bearing of what I am supposed to do, and–" You look to Ellaria so gratefully. "I do not want to disappoint or embarrass him."

"You will not do either of those things." She promises you with a small smile. "Doran resides at the Water Gardens since Sunspear is difficult to navigate with his chair. Often it is Oberyn who sits at Sunspear in his brother's stead."

"So that is where we reside?" It had never occurred to you that Ellaria and her children would live apart from Oberyn, especially since he has often referenced having his children nearby.

"Yes." She nods. "We often visit the Water Gardens so we have rooms there as well." She smiles. "It is lovely. Perfect for sparring the courtyard or frolicing in the cool waters."

"But most of the time we are in the capital." You nod, beginning to form a better picture of their life. "Prince Doran and his wife rule from the Water Gardens, then? It is fortunate that there is a place for them to reside that is better for his health. And...both staff have adjusted to how she prefers things to be run?" You must sound like an insecure child asking, but you want to do the very best job that you can.

“Mellario is a strong willed woman.” Ellaria nods. “But she is also unique in her ways of ruling. She believes the servants are happier if they feel they have purpose. A say in the running of the household. They created their own cleaning schedules and the palaces are sparkling. The menu is varied and often better than the best taverns.”

"Then that is how it will stay." It would hardly improve conditions or opinions of anyone involved for you to change things that not only work but also make people happy. "My role is then...to sponsor social engagements and to bear children?" Which does not sound like an unfortunate life at all, but you want to be sure you have not missed anything.

“You will be an advisor to your husband. A hand of the throne of Dorne when needed.” Ellaria opens one of the bottles of oil and sniffs, wrinkling her nose and putting the stopper back in it and choosing another. “Lords will come to you to solve their problems when Oberyn and Doran are unavailable. Women in Dorne are not chattel, we are also warriors.”

"A fact I doubt my mother had any idea of." And thank the gods for that, otherwise she never would have forced your father to agree to the arrangement. As horrible as it sounded to you weeks ago, that is how wonderful you find it now. "Is this why you did not want the title for yourself?" You ask her carefully, not at all trying to offend her. "To be free to live as you choose instead of ruling?"

"I am a bastard." She shrugs one elegant shoulder as she unstops another bottle and sniffs, humming in approval. "There would always be someone who would question my claim as Oberyn's soulmate or insult him." She turns back to you and lifts a brow. "I did not wish to have my lover kill that many men on my behalf." She smirks. "And I have no use for formalities."

“Something I excel at, for better or for worse.” You nod in understanding and let her lead you to the bath. “My mother made sure of it, of course.”

She pours the oil into the bath, the smell rising with the steam as it swirls through the hot water. "We all have our purposes." She hums as she pulls the ties to your robe. "You will strengthen the title of my lover and your husband."

"I wish I had your certainty." It is one of the things you envy most, if you are honest, but you offer Ellaria a smile and pull your own shift over your head. She has already seen you naked, there is no reason to be shy.

"You are lovely." Ellaria hums, her eyes sliding over your body with lust and approval at your boldness. She smiles and gestures for you to get into the water. "I will get our soaps and cloths."

“My reasons for being shy in front of you are gone.” The rising water is hot and you slip into it gladly. “I may not have your confidence with new lovers, but I certainly do not wish us to be strangers.”

"Tell me about your first lover." Ellaria gathers the necessary supplies to bathe and she quickly slips into the water after discarding her own gown to join you.

“She was my best friend, besides my brothers. Her father was the maester who kept my father’s library and she was the only other girl I knew who enjoyed reading the way I did.” When Ellaria begins to wash you, you relax subtly. She offered, you remind yourself. “That is how it began. Reading together.”

"Romantic." Ellaria hums. "Oberyn reads to me sometimes, it puts me right to sleep." She knows how to read, she's actually very good at it, but she does not have a taste for reading like her lover does. That man's mind is far sharper than hers and she knows it.

“We would read to each other under the trees in the garden. Fairy stories and histories. Tales of the old world and fictions that our fathers disregarded as drivel for little girls but were full of the best questions about life.” It is good to know that Oberyn has the same taste for reading that you do. It can be something you do together.

"You fell in love imagining together." Ellaria smiles as she imagines two girls reading and yearning for one another. Perhaps stealing a kiss in secret and giggling about in the dark while touching her lips. It is very innocent and her heart aches that you had to hide such a beautiful thing.

"We did." That might be the most accurate way of describing your years as a girl with Brynna, and you never would have thought to put it that way. "As we grew older, she was given a place in the kitchens and my mother became stricter about allowing us to spend time together. It was..." You trail off, looking down at your own hands before managing to look back at Ellaria in front of you. "It was the night I returned from my only other trip to King's Landing that she kissed me for the first time."

She drags the soapy cloth over your shoulders and down your chest. She's not bathing you to seduce you, so she doesn't grope as she cleans. "And how did you feel when she kissed you?" Had you ever been kissed by a boy before?"

"No one ever." You shake your head, deciding to watch her hand as it moves. Revealing this part of you is more exposing than even being naked. "We came home late and my parents sent me to bed right away. But Brynna brought a tray to my room and told me how much she'd missed me and..." It makes you feel a little silly to admit, but you do: "I was only fifteen. And when she kissed me I was so aroused that I moaned and I had no idea why."

Ellaria nods, waiting for you to continue your story. It will do you good to tell your story and have it accepted. She knows you will keep talking, like bleeding a wound of infection.

"For years it was no more than kisses." Despite feeling like you are rambling, you cannot seem to stop. The relief of being heard is far more powerful than you had expected. "Stolen in the garden or late at night in my room. The day that desire became too much for us to bear...I see now how we lied to ourselves. Only men could make love to women, according to my septa. So even though we felt enough guilt and shame to keep what we were doing a secret, we did not call it lovemaking."

"But it was addicting, wasn't it?" Ellaria asks gently. "It makes you crave those stolen moments." She could imagine that being the case, falling together as often as you could and stealing moments of sublime pleasure.

"For almost two years," you admit, finding Ellaria's eyes again. "And then one day I was out in the woods and nearly impaled by a boar. And Raeden saved me."

Her jaw tightens slightly and she relaxes into an indulgent smile. "You found your soulmate.” She nods. "And you felt as if you could not have both."

"It was more than that...we had an agreement." One that seems both childish and useless in retrospect. "I had promised her that when she met her soulmate that I would not come between them. She was free to marry for love and I was not, so who was I to be selfish with her?" You sigh, looking away again and feeling the old shame wash over you. "Instead, I met Raeden first, and she wished me love and luck with him. When she met her own soulmate a year or so later it seemed serendipitous."

"I am sorry." She really is. There has never been an issue of having to deny her feelings towards anyone, especially someone that she has loved. Guilt swirls in her stomach and she focuses on you. "Perhaps you can write to your first lover? Catch up on her life and fill her in on yours."

"I think she would be very surprised to hear all that has happened." Brynna's life is tranquil, as far as you know. Far better than yours was in many ways right up until a few days ago. "Her husband is a farmer, and the last I heard she has birthed two beautiful babies."

"Lovely." She hums. "And soon, perhaps, you will join her in the joys of motherhood." She knows how virile Oberyn is and you are still young enough to be bred easily. Unless you had decided to keep drinking your tea.

"It is in the hands of the gods." It surprises you how much that makes you smile, one hand gently touching your belly as if you must be terribly delicate with your own body when that is certainly not how you behaved last night.

"May the Seven shine on you." There is no jealousy if you wish to carry another of Oberyn's children. Her own womb has already been used many times and he would not love his children any less when he holds his legitimate heir in his arms. The little prince or princess would be raised with their Sand Snake siblings.

"I am...scared," you confess quietly, reaching out to stop Ellaria's arm and find her gaze. "I know that childbirth is not easy. I have seen that first hand. But I...I wish to do this."

"There is a tea." Ellaria smiles, reaching up and caressing your face. "Oberyn brewed it to help me through my labors. It helps with the pain and eases the birth." She's not quite sure what he had brewed but after the labor of the first, he had made it his mission to find something to ease her suffering. "You will have that tea, I promise you."

"Thank you." There is no shame in admitting to a mother of four babes that you are nervous of your first, but it is still a relief to be offered so much comfort. "My brother's wife nearly lost her life with her second child. I–" You tremble a little. "I cannot imagine leaving any of you behind. Let alone my child."

"It is an unfortunate part of giving life." Ellaria won't deny that. Too many women suffer and die while they are trying to birth their babies. "I am sorry you had to worry so about that but you will have my lover to dote on you." She smiles in fond remembrance. "The prince was very indulgent while I was carrying his daughters. I have no doubt he would lavish the same attention and affection on you."

"He loves you very passionately." There is a second part of that thought that you do not dare voice, but you smile at her and lean forward, pressing an affectionate kiss to her cheek. "And you are so very deserving of it. Thank you for soothing my fears, Ellaria. For...if it is not altogether too forward of me...for being my friend."

"I am hopefully to be a lot of things to you." She purrs, reaching out and touching your shoulder. "What we become will come with time, but for now, I am most definitely your friend."

"Oberyn had hoped we might indulge each other while he is with the lords," you admit, allowing yourself to enjoy the warmth of her touch. "But that is up to you."

"We should wait." Ellaria decides, frowning slightly and shakes her head. "There is much to be done to get ready to move to the Red Keep." She looks at you earnestly. "We will need to order plenty of Dornish wine to be found and provided to us, he will be uneasy in that keep."

"I would not want to be anywhere one of my brothers died." The understanding washes over you, extinguishing any arousal that might have been building, and you nod. "And we must see what it will take to convince Lord Baelish to give up Cal and Leyth."

"Yes." She arches a brow. "You will not oppose having them serve you in the Keep, will you?" She knows that you accept Oberyn having lovers, but it is a different thing to have whores serve you.

"I would only object to it if they did not wish to serve us." Maids, whores, servants – it does not matter to you as long as it is work being done of one's own free will. Forced labor and slavery are abominations you will not accept.

“We will have to pay for them.” That is an unfortunate truth. “But they will be free to leave our side once their debt to Littlefinger is paid.”

"That is a relief." There is much to do, and you soak your hair carefully, making sure that no knots have been left behind from the night before while Ellaria washes herself. The two of you are done in the bath before long and you both dry off to don your robes again and go back upstairs.

“I will find Baelish and make sure that he knows that Cal and Leyth are coming with us.” Ellaria hums as she sweeps into the room.

"I will make sure that my things and Raeden's are packed." It was not as if you had unpacked much, especially considering you had only been in the brothel with Oberyn and Ellaria for a few days.

“Good.” Ellaria looks at you seriously. “We are going to a place that will be very dangerous.” She cautions. “Do not speak around the servants unless they are ours.”

"I will remember." You promise her. The maids, as they say, know everything.

She smiles and nods at you before quickly turning back to her trunk to find a gown to change into. Not a normal one that she has no problem tossing to the ground in a moment but one that reminds Baelish that she is Oberyn’s lover and has been for years.

******

There is an unhappy, squat man in Littlefinger’s office when she arrives, and he does not look up from his accounts book. “If you want a whore, go to the front room and wait. If you want a job, go away. No room for novices here.”

Ellaria snorts and does neither of those things. She strides up to the desk and reaches over, closing the book on the man’s fingers. “You think the Prince of Dorne’s lover is a novice?” She demands haughtily.

He looks like the sort of man to whimper and whine and he is - attempting to snatch his hand away and failing. “What do you want?” He demands, trying to wiggle his way out of the book again. “Lord Baelish isn’t here.”

“There are two whores that I want to take with me.” She smirks, leaning over and staring at him with an amused gaze. “Prince Oberyn wants them to come when we leave your establishment.”

“We don’t sell our whores.” The man tells her, gaze obviously aimed down her blouse instead of at her face. “Might trade, though. He can take one if he leaves you behind.”

It’s not smart of the sniveling little weasel to have a dagger out on the table whilst insulting her. Her own temper isn’t quite as fierce as her lovers, but her aim is just as precise. Snatching up the dagger, she buries the tip of the blade into the man’s hand and through the leather cover of his book, pinning his hand to it.

“Seven HELLS!” The weasel bellows like he’s had the air punched out of his lungs, jumping up from his seat only to pull himself back down again immediately when he realizes his hand isn’t going anywhere. “You goatfucking cunt!”

Her eyes flash and her own dagger comes out, pressed to his Adam’s apple just enough to knick the skin. “I fuck a prince, not a goat, you limp dicked bastard.”

“Aye!” He would nod if it would not impale him on her blade, instead his eyes flit between the two weapons in panic. “Oo—of—of course!” He squeaks with his watery eyes landing on her face again. “Wh—whatever you say!”

“Now.” Satisfied that she had gotten her point across and manners would be observed, she pulls the dagger away and resheaths it inside a pocket of her dress. “There is the matter of payment for Cal and Leyth’s freedom from this establishment.” She hums conversationally, a small smile playing on her lips. “I think we can come to some agreement?”

Scrambling for anything to stem the flow of blood sends the man halfway across the room for a length of fabric that was surely hanging in one of the brothel rooms only yesterday. He wraps it around his hand furiously, crying out in pain and groaning in frustration. Littlefinger will have his head for losing Leyth. “Together they are expensive,” he warns, hoping to discourage the desert dwelling bitch.

“More expensive than the price you put on your cock?” She asks, arching a perfect brow and pursing her lips. “Perhaps you would rather I tell the prince that you are unwilling to deal with me?”

“No.” Being unwilling to deal with the second Prince of Dorne could see him dead as well as cockless, and he shudders. “Fifty gold for them both,” he bargains, knowing that Littlefinger paid far less. The least he can do is make his employer a tidy sum.

She knows that he is trying to strong arm her and she crosses her arms. “Your boss has fled the city, he is not coming back. Change is coming to King’s Landing. Thirty gold and be glad to have two less to feed.”

If he were not currently bleeding out through his hand he might fight harder. He might bargain and deal. He might even see his way to getting his own profit out of this deal. But it’s either his life or Littlefinger’s whores. “Fine.” He huffs, Nearly snarling at the pain in his wound. “Pay now and take them today. They are no longer my problem.”

“Done.” She muses, turning on a charming, if somewhat sharp, smile. From another pocket, she pulls a purse of coins and opens it. Dumping the amount, forty coins, onto the desk. “Our bill is settled and we will be leaving your fine establishment. I do hope you have a good day.” She purrs, holding out her hand. “Their keys.”

Frowning heavily, the man pulls a heavy ring from his pocket and fumbles with it for a moment before thrusting it at the woman with a huff. “They are twenty-two and fifteen,” he tells her, referring to the numbers etched in the keys. “Cannot work the fucking latch with one hand.”

Ellaria plucks the keys from his hand and quickly unlatches it to retrieve the keys that she is looking for. “Pleasure, I’m sure.” She snorts, tossing the rest of the keys down on the desk and turning around to sashay out of the room. “Do have someone look at that hand.” She calls over her shoulder.

******

Cal is in the halls when Ellaria emerges around a corner again, having been sent to Please other guests when he was not desired by the prince last night. “My lady,” he bows her head to her respectfully, having heard the screaming coming from the office just minutes ago. “I…trust everything is well?”

“Everything is marvelous.” Walking up to him, she curls her hand around his neck and pulls him in for a soft kiss. “If you have any belongings, or wish to say goodbye to anyone, do it now.” She tells him, handing him the key to his bracelet. Rather than garish chains, Littlefinger had decorative bracelets on the wrists of the people in his brothel.

“Are we going somewhere?” He asks, rather bewildered. Cal had already become very comfortable with the prince, it’s true, but Littlefinger would never send anyone away for more than an errand. It is not as though he was in the habit of lending out his whores.

“You are free from this place.” Ellaria explains. “You are free to come with the prince, princess and I, or you can leave at your discretion.” She pauses, placing her hand on the man’s arm. “Although the prince would love for you to stay with us. Come to Dorne.”

“Leyth?” She is his only hesitation, and he knows that Ellaria Sand understands. That she would not say such things and offer freedoms lightly. There is a catch. There always is. But a whore to a prince is still better than a whore to Petyr Baelish. All he cares about is that his love will not be left alone in this place.

“The other key is for Leyth.” Ellaria smiles, understanding the deep affection and love the two have for each other. She had not missed the subtle touches that are not shared with their patron for the night. She holds up the other key to offer it to him. “Do you wish to give it to her?”

“She is upstairs. With the princess.” He nods and accepts the two keys as the precious items they are. The only times he’s seen bracelets come off of Littlefinger’s whores they were usually headed for the gravedigger’s cart.

“Cal.” Ellaria stops him with another serious tone. “We are offering – not commanding.” She reminds him. “We will need you to act as servants at the Red Keep, but we do not own you. You own yourself.”

“Will the prince pay us?” He asks quietly. No one here ever saw a single coin of what they earned their employer and certainly were never asked for a single damn thing. It was always commanded. “Shelter us? See we are fed?”

“The prince has already demanded quarters for you in the palace and he is a fair man.” She nods. “You eat the same foods we do, and your coins earned are yours to keep. The Dornish crown pays their servants well.”

“Would…” he hesitates, but Cal has felt more comfortable and cared for as a person by the prince that paid for his company than by his own family. “Questions will keep for later,” he decides. “Let us tell Leyth the good news.”

“Delightful.” Ellaria beams, wrapping her hand around the man’s forearm as if he was a lord escorting her through a garden. She feels like he will come with them if Leyth agrees.

The quiet conversation coming from the prince’s quarters is muffled by the usual sounds from the other rooms, but it stops entirely when the door opens. You have been very careful with what you say and to whom today, meaning that you have ceased speaking altogether anytime a new person has come to the rooms. Seeing Ellaria makes you sigh with audible relief. “Have you been successful?” You ask, hoping that the appearance of Cal beside her means the answer is yes.

Her self satisfied smile is answer enough but she nods. “I have. We are ready to leave as soon as we are packed.”

“Nearly.” With Leyth’s help things have gone quickly. “Very nearly.”

“We will be sorry to see you go.” Leyth admits, looking to the elegant Ellaria fondly. She loves Cal very much, that is true, but she has developed a quick affection for the prince’s paramour in addition.

Ellaria looks to Cal and nods. “Why don’t you tell her?” She asks the former brothel worker. She feels like it would be much appreciated coming from the woman’s lover. Sliding away from his side, she walks over to you and takes your arm, turning to watch.

Cal nods, struggling to find words enough when something so momentous is within reach. Leyth was sold to Littlefinger in her twelfth year and has now lived as many years under his thumb as she had in freedom. “My love,” he murmurs, taking both of Leyth’s hands in his and pressing his forehead to hers gently. “The prince and Ellaria, they have…they have offered us a new path.” Placing her key in the palm of her hand, Cal closes his love’s fingers around the metal and nods when he sees the water rise behind her eyes. “She says we are welcome to follow them to Dorne and that there is room for us in the Red Keep as their servants if we wish it.”

“You would be most welcomed.” Ellaria assures the other woman. “But if you choose to go elsewhere, the prince will give you enough money to settle. As payment for the pleasure of your company over the past days.”

“Servants as in…a lady’s maid?” Leyth looks to you with hope in her eyes. The four of you have always been kind to her and to Cal, and she has begun to learn you over the last few days.

“If you wish it.” That would certainly be helpful to you, at the very least. Leyth is clever and very beautiful, and seems to be quite good at reading people’s needs. “But if you should ever find that it does not suit you, or you dislike it, I promise to release you from it with no malice. You should be free to choose your own path.” We all should, is the end of that thought, but you do not add it. It is best to remain unsaid in a room full of people who have not often had that option.

Cal holds her hand and squeezes it gently. “They offer us more than we can ever hope.” He murmurs softly. “It is a most gracious gift we have been handed.”

“Where you go, I go.” There is no question for her in that. Leyth squeezes Cal’s hands tightly and pushes up on her toes to kiss him softly. Normally it is an act that would see them scolded if not punished. Now, for the first time, they are unafraid.

Ellaria hums, pleased by their apparent agreement and she turns to smile at you. “We will need to dress them in something more appropriate, let us give them a moment and dig through our trunks?” She’s meaning hers and Oberyn’s, guiding you to the other room.

“What did Baelish say?” You move straight back to packing, bringing the things that were bought yesterday in the market over to your trunk to secure their safety. The necklace, books, and other trinkets are precious, of course. But the ring that Oberyn chose for you specifically sits on your finger right where it should. The most precious of them all.

“Baelish has fled the city.” Ellaria murmurs. “Apparently with Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion’s wife.” She moves to her trunks and kneels down. Just like Raeden will wear Dornish colors, so will Cal and Leyth. “Amber for Leyth.” She murmurs to herself as she pulls out dresses.

“He will have gone home. The Fingers of the Vale hold little appeal for Petyr Baelish, but Lady Sansa is a niece of Lysa Arryn. I would wager my favorite boots that he has taken her there. To safety.” Carefully extracting a length of cloth to use as a wrap over your dress is the last order of business before locking your trunk. “Does Oberyn have more clothing to be bestowed? For Cal?”

“He does.” Ellaria motions towards his trunk. “Open it and find something for him. Will you?”

The freedom to simply explore your husband’s belongings is strange, but worth Ellaria giving you permission, you feel secure enough that he would not be upset. “He will be happy that they are coming with us.” For assistance as much as for pleasure, you are sure of that. “I only hope that things are not as dour at the keep as he predicts they may be.” A packet of clothing in the prince’s trunk looks to be similar - if a bit finer - to what the carriage driver was wearing the few times you have ridden at the prince’s side. “These will do well, I think?”

Ellaria glances over and nods. “Cal will look good in that.” She agrees with an approving smile. “Once we are back in Dorne, they will be free to wear what they wish. But while we are in King’s Landing, Oberyn would want them to wear symbols of his house.”

“He knows which rules to play by.” And which to disregard or flaunt, of course. But that is a part of his charm. “I will learn the rules that are different in Dorne. As quickly as I can.”

“Dorne will not be hard for you to master.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Despite the reputation they like to perpetuate here, we are civilized. And have greater respect for most under our care.”

“Dorne will expect their princess to have a spine.” The most you can do about that right now is shrug. “I seem only to find mine when my mother is being horrible or when someone I care about is endangered.”

“When you have been expected to be a pretty ornament, it is easy to be cowed.” Ellaria reminds you. “Yet when it counts, your spine is stronger than the Wall. You will do well when you realize your full potential.”

“I hope your faith in me is better founded than my own fear.” Faith which makes you bold enough to lean over and place a kiss on Ellaria’s cheek. “Thank you.”

She turns her head and presses her lips to yours firmly. Reaching up and holding your arms to hold the kiss for a long moment before she pulls away to stare into your eyes seriously. “The last thing I ever wish for you is any kind of hurt.”

“I feel the same.” You can promise her that, although you are reasonably certain that of the two of you, you are the only one left dizzy after a shared kiss. “You are a gift I did not realize that I needed.”

A cloud of doubt passes through her eyes but it’s blinked away and she smirks at you. “Of course I am.” She teases with a wink. “Let us see how the lovers are dealing with their change of fortune.”

“We have found you some new things.” You report with a smile when the door to the other room opens. “Symbols of a new life.” There are tears in Leyth’s eyes and she looks towards you and Ellaria with fear and joy in her expression. “There is no reason to cry.” Immediately stepping forward, both of your arms come around Leyth and you hug the younger woman to you in earnest. “I was scared at first, too. But you know the prince will treat you well. And I promise that I will, too.”

“There–” Leyth shakes her head and bites her lip. “There is something that I must confess before I accept your offer.”

“Tell me,” you insist, your hands moving to her arms to clasp her close. “Whatever it is, it cannot be as bad as so many tears.”

“I….cannot have children.” She admits with a sob and shake of her head. “If– the prince wanted to– I could not give him a child. Or anyone a child. Littlefinger made sure of it.”

“He made sure of it?” Your forehead pinches and your eyes narrow a little, trying to understand her meaning. “The prince will not be upset with you for not being able to bear his child. There are many women without that ability through the decree of the gods. But he may be very angry with Lord Baelish if he has hurt you in some way.”

“I was taken to a man when I was first bleeding.” She explains, looking between you and Ellaria. “He– I woke up in pain and was told that I would not bleed again. And I have not since then. Littlefinger appreciated that I would not have to rest the week of my bleeding like others.

“You have not bled since the first time?” That seems rather impossible to you. Or at least you have never heard of it.

“He took her womb.” Ellaria rasps through gritted teeth. Fury is etched into her face as deeply as your own confusion is. “To avoid losing profit.”

Leyth nods, relieved that Ellaria understands what she is saying but she shrinks back from the fury on the other woman’s face. She hates thinking that the beautiful woman would not find her worthy now of saving. “Yes. I– I am sorry. Littlefinger forbade me from speaking of it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” As horrified – and yes, confused – as Ellaria is angry, you reach for Leyth again instantly. “A terrible thing was done to you by a man who, I am sure, has done the same to countless others. It is despicable but it is certainly nothing for you to be sorry on.” Ellaria advances too, sure steps that have her sweeping the young woman up in her arm as surely as she is putting her other hand on your back. “There is nothing to fear from Oberyn,” she promises, all but coping softly the way a mother might to a frightened child. “There will be children enough in Dorne for you to be surrounded by if you wish it, and if you do not then send them off to their mothers or fathers or their ten thousand Sand siblings. You need not fear us, lover.” The last she promises with a sealed kiss, as tender as could possibly be from a woman who just moments ago looked ready to walk through each of the seven hells.

Leyth’s lips trembles against Ellaria’s, she had been so sure that the prince and his paramour might want to sire a child off of her, the idea had been proposed by several who had come to the brothel. She had no wish to disappoint the one pair she would have wished to do that for. Cal knew, but their love would have never been able to result in a child. Not here. She pulls back and looks towards both you and Ellaria. “I would be honored to be your lady’s maid.” She tells you both quietly. “I can serve you equally.”

“I am not a lady.” Ellaria reminds her, brushing her fingers over Leyth’s cheek.

“You are far more of one than you think.” Though you will never question her role in Oberyn’s life or her sense of self, you can certainly recognize that. “We will be honored to have your assistance, Leyth. Though the things we require your assistance for may differ slightly. And if you ever decide that service is not the life you wish to lead, you have only to tell us.”

Looking over at Cal, she nods. “You have treated us better in the few days we have been together than probably any other time in our lives.” She gushes, reaching up and covering Ellaria’s hand with her own. “The Seven surely sent you.”

“The Red Keep will not be an easy place.” Ellaria warns them. “Oberyn will be strict, but he trusts you both.”

“Of course he must be strict.” She knows that, especially because of the tensions have been rising around the city with the king’s murder. “It cannot be any worse than the brothel with the worst customers.”

“Far less, I should think.” Whatever small comfort you can manage to offer, you’re certainly going to. “Whatever packing you have to do or goodbyes you want to say, go and do them. We cannot be sure when the prince will return and our move to the Red Keep will be swift.”

“Yes my lady.” Leyth beams and bows respectfully before turning and grabbing Cal’s hand to disappear.

“That is one less issue,” you sigh softly. Leyth and Cal seem positively eager for their change in fortunes now that Leyth’s fears have been allayed. “What else is there for us to do here? Only finish packing?” Ellaria knows more of the prince’s belongings than you do and will know of anything is out of place.

“Finish packing and pick out outfits for us to arrive to the Keep.” Ellaria tells you. “He will want to make a statement.”

A statement from Prince Oberyn could be any number of things, but you nod. He had mentioned that there were gowns in his trunk that were meant to be gifts for you. It seems like now would be the time to look for them.

“They will not be as scandalous as you could wear.” She assures you. “However, they are bold dresses.”

“I think anything bold would be scandalous from me,” you half joke, pulling out a gown of fine silk that shines with the same orange as fire. The skirts flutter like leaves on the breeze and the sleeves are no more than glistening gold chains that cling to a cuff to hold their shape. It is nothing like the structured gowns you have worn in the past and would show your body’s natural figure to advantage even while being modestly covered. “Do you have a necklace like the one the prince gave me?” You ask Ellaria, holding the dress up to the mirror in the wall. “The more delicate version of what he wears around his neck?”

“I do.” Ellaria nods. She rarely wears it, as it is meant for the official Martell royals, but he had insisted that she have one after the birth of Elia. “What is your clever mind thinking?”

“That we ought to appear as united as possible.” It is only too bad that there is not also one for Raeden, but perhaps in time. “The three of us would look quite the formidable party if we arrived wearing them together.”

“Of course we will.” She hums happily. “And Raeden will look resplendent in his Dornish colors.”

"He will. That is – he already does." You fluster slightly, as if you feel guilty for being caught not mentioning him quite enough. "I wish we had time to commission a banner for him. For House Stone. But that cannot be done in just one day."

“No, he will need to make sure his banner is something impressive.” Ellaria agrees. “One that he can build a legacy with.”

“I know it is not the name he thought he would make for himself.” Smoothing the dress in your arms, you hesitate for a moment but turn to drape the silk over the nearby bed. “But what he has wanted, more than anything, is to make his family proud. Whether that family will be his parents or this new House, I cannot say. It is only that…I wish for him to have the entire world of happiness. The Seven have surely heard his prayers, and I hope they have heard mine as well.”

“You do understand that he might have to marry?” She broaches the subject carefully. “As a new, emerging house, he would need to have legitimate children.”

“I…am not anxious to think about it. Which is unfair, as he was made to stand by and witness my own marriage.” Being able to admit that to Ellaria is both surprising but also a circumstance that makes you sick to your stomach. “It is surely not a thought for this immediate moment, is it?”

“Of course not.” She smiles and nods, reaching out to pat your hand. “We must get through our challenge of staying in the Red Keep first.”

“Although I am certain the thought will fester now that it has a voice.” You shake your head and step back toward the bed, willing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“I– apologize.” She murmurs softly. “I should not have spoken on it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She, of all people, understands your own distress at knowing your soulmate’s marriage is now inevitable. “After all…whoever the woman will be…is she not to me, exactly who I am to you?”

“Perhaps.” She nods slightly, not giving voice to the thought that had already passed. She could not break your heart that way and still has not come to terms with it herself.

“I should be lucky if I like her even half as much as you seem to like me.” That is, you should think, too much to even dream of. Whoever Raeden ultimately gives his name to — that wonderfully lucky woman — you can see yourself disliking her in principle. Like some pride-driven mad woman who masks her grief with seeming greed.

“I should hope you would.” Ellaria admits quietly and then changes the subject. “Let us get ready for our latest challenge and face it, putting away these issues.”

“Practical and wise.” The smile you offer her this time is genuine. Unstrained and earnest. “Would you like me to help you change?”

“No.” Ellaria quickly shakes her head and her smile turns sultry. “If you help me change, then we will will get too distracted to manage anything else. Since I put a dagger in the hand of Littlefinger’s man, I feel like we should abandon this place with as much haste as we can muster.”

“You—?” That is unexpected news indeed, and you very nearly snap forward to attention. “Yes, I think you are very right. We should be ready to go just as soon as Raeden and Oberyn return.”

Relieved that you believe the potential reason for her denial, she motions towards your room. “Go change and finish packing. I will join you soon.”

The air seems thicker around the Red Keep than it did in Flea Bottom despite there being fewer people and less activity. The world stands still here, in a way, though most lives continue as usual even in the wake of the king’s passing. The cloud of grief around the keep seems almost tangible, though. As if it were its own living and breathing entity. When the carriage stops at the steps of the fortress that your party will now call home, the collective inhale you take with Oberyn and Ellaria feels like sailors waiting for their ship to capsize. None of you wants to be here and it is each for your own reasons. At least - mercifully - the hand that helps you out of the carriage is Raeden’s this time. He had insisted on riding ahead of the carriage to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Now he squeezes your hand as you step down onto firm ground and offers you a subtle nod that is a promise: Nothing is going to harm you. Not while he is around.

Raeden nods respectfully, his dark eyes on you for a long moment before he finally withdraws his hand to help Ellaria from the carriage. Oberyn will come out last and the carriage behind you with the luggage, Cal and Leyth is already being unloaded. “My ladies.” Raeden bows as he backs up and then stands tall to place his hand on his sword hilt.

There has not been a time since your very first visit to King's Landing that you have actually enjoyed spending time in the Red Keep, and now you feel your own dread run parallel to the prince's. There are people here you would both prefer to avoid and places you would rather not revisit. While Cal and Leyth spirit your trunks away with footman and the prince's driver takes the carriage away to be stored elsewhere on the grounds, you find yourself grateful that Raeden is at your left while Oberyn is on your right. Ellaria on the prince's other arm makes the four of you a veritable wall of formidability. Or it would, if not for the powder-white specter of Queen Margaery waiting to receive you just inside the walls of the keep.

“Prince and Princess Martell.” She smiles graciously, although she is still adorned in head to toe black and then clasps her hands together as her eyes flutter towards Ellaria. “And esteemed guest.” She doesn’t know Ellaria’s name officially, but she nods respectfully. “Welcome to the Red Keep.”

The situation is...precious. To term it gently. And though Margaery was married to the king and she is being hailed as queen by many, it was abundantly clear to all present that the new couple did not have the opportunity to consummate their vows -- which technically renders the marriage void now that King Joffrey has died. Still, you bow your head in respect. "Ellaria Sand, your Majesty." It is a choice, to acknowledge her as queen, and you make it because you know it will annoy Cersei Lannister which will in turn amuse Oberyn. "And Ser Raeden Stone." Your left hand waves to the man to your other side. "Of House Stone."

“House Stone.” Her brow arches in surprise and her eyes fall down to the newly carved signet ring. Her eyes flicker over to Oberyn and understanding flashes in their depths. “Well Ser Stone, I have a feeling you will be very welcomed at court.” She purrs with a small smile. “It has been a long time since there has been new blood.”

As proud as he is - as the title and the reality of it makes him - Raeden draws up just a mite taller despite knowing how many ill intentions truly lurk within the halls of society. "Thank you, your Majesty," he intones with an appropriately deep bow. If only his father could see him now. Speaking to the queen as a peer. Even with Oberyn between you, you can feel the sheer effort it takes Ellaria not to look over at you. Considering the conversation you so determinedly agreed not to have earlier today, your stomach nearly drops with dread. A fact which you hope does not cause the poised and placid expression on your face to waver. "You are very kind to welcome us, your Majesty. I am sure the day has been most trying for you."

“It is not how I expected to spend my first days as a Baratheon.” She admits before she turns to Prince Oberyn. “The rooms you have requested have been prepared and I will inform the servants that Ser Raeden is amongst you. Oberyn shakes his head, unwilling to let go of either of you. “It will not be necessary.” He tells her. “We have decided not to impress your staff with more work and brought our own servants. Ser Raeden is my hand to see about making sure all I wish to accomplish in King’s Landing is done.” He smirks. “It will be good lessons for setting up his own noble household.”

Never mind that Raeden has always lived more amongst servants than he has any experience in ordering them about, he does not fidget or flinch at your side when royalty speaks directly about him. It will be plenty to wrap his head around later on, out of sight. "Perhaps your Grace would enjoy a walk through the gardens later?" Remembering what Oberyn had told you about fostering a friendship with the queen, you are not about to disappoint him now, and you step forward to offer her your hands. "This time must be so trying for you and you have been so kind to me. Allow me to return the favor."

“It seems as though you have robbed the Vale of the kindest woman amongst them.” Margaery looks as though she’s been saved from a hanging noose and reaches out to clasp your free hand. “Perhaps your– Ellaria, would also like to join us?” While she is not one that normally visits with mistresses, this will upset Cersei and she knows that the woman is very close to the prince. To bestow her kindness would only be looked upon favorably and she needs allies.

Unsure what Ellaria might answer to that, you know better than to accept or deny the invitation on her behalf. "That decision would be entirely up to Ellaria, but I think it might be a marvelous way to lift your spirits."

A silent conversation passes between the prince and his paramour before she turns to the queen. “I cannot comprehend turning down an offer from the queen.” Ellaria proses elegantly. “The Princess and I will rally your spirits in such a desperately sad time.”

"We will certainly do everything we can." You squeeze the queen's hands gently before letting go of them. "Thank you for the kind respect of being here to greet our party, but we will not take more of your valuable time this afternoon." Being seen, being received, and then making yourselves scarce will make you worth talking about. It is a tactic taught to you by your oldest brother. "We will call on you tomorrow morning for our garden walk, if that is convenient for you."

“Perfect.” She nods and smiles before she turns away and tries to walk away with her head held high, but there is a nervous tension that was not there before.

You turn back to your group with an expression of bewilderment and reach to grasp Ellaria's hand as if in apology. It is not as though you could tell the queen 'no'. "I think tomorrow morning will be very eventful for us."

“She is scared.” Ellaria watches the path the queen had skittered away on and turns to you and Oberyn. “She is looking for protection if needed.”

"We will see what we can divine tomorrow?" Rather than the statements of surety you had shared with the queen, with your husband you are more inclined to ask questions. To make sure you are doing things that fall in line with whatever his plans might be.

Oberyn nods and he slides his hand up to both of your cheeks. “Get into her confidence. We will need to know what is happening that isn’t being brought before the small council.”

"I will." You would do practically anything he asked of you but simply had not realized it yet. What you do consciously is nod into his hands as though he has given you the most precious instruction in the world.

"Good girl." It is not meant to be demeaning, just praise. Oberyn's eyes soften towards you and his fingers curl slightly, admiring your willingness to enter the games of intrigue and subterfuge that most nobility insisted on playing. He played it as well, but only when it suited him. Leaning in, his kiss is not demanding, but it is a statement to any who pass through the bailey of the keep.

You let it linger longer than you should, you know that. But the infatuation you have with your husband only seems to grow and he is the first person you have ever been allowed to show affection for in public. In fact, he encourages it. Something which you now take full advantage of and let this kiss last as long as it naturally wishes to before pulling away.

“Go settle into our rooms.” He urges you softly, turning to Ellaria. “I will have a meeting with the small council and don’t know when I will be back.”

Ellaria’s own kiss for Oberyn is deeply passionate, and she nods when she pulls away. “I will be waiting for you, lover.” The small smile on her lips twists in your direction. “But I cannot promise that your bride will not have ensconced herself in the library already.”

“Then we will have to drag her away come time to dine together.” Oberyn chuckles. “I imagine there will be several books laying around.”

Your cheeks burn with the teasing but you grin, and even Raeden chuckles softly. “It would not be the first time she has missed a meal for the desire to continue reading.”

“I wonder if she will be so inclined to read her book if her cunt is being licked.” Oberyn muses.

“Gods, Oberyn!” Despite the curse, and the obvious embarrassment, the smile on your lips is pleased and affectionate. It is as if the days of doubting you could care for him have evaporated into air.

He chuckles and steps back, looking towards Raeden. “We will be back soon.” He promises, “but you will be in the small council meeting with me. As my hand.”

“I have never heard of a prince having his own hand.” Raeden’s eyebrow raises, making a smirk. “We will surely be the most talked of arrivals. Although I gather that was your plan all along.”

“Always make an impression.” Oberyn advises seriously, though his own smirk plays on his lips. “It will keep them guessing.”

“As you say, my lord.” Both men look as if they might end up giggling at any moment when Raeden nods and steps back for the prince to lead the way.

“It is good to see that Raeden has become more comfortable around Oberyn.” Ellaria observes, dropping the ‘your’ from her normal description of the man.

“I think perhaps we are all a little more relaxed than we might have been at first.” Certainly you are, though your gratitude for Ellaria and admiration for her are entirely mixed up together.

“It is a new situation for all of us, some discomfort was to be expected at the beginning.” She links her arm through yours and leans into you. “I know my lover did not disappoint you.”

“I—” Embarrassment burns Your face as you begin to walk together, and you have to scold yourself not to look down at your feet. The prince wants you to make an impression but surely not one of an embarrassed schoolgirl. “I should not be surprised that you heard. I imagine those down the hall did as well…”

“He is good at dealing either pleasure or pain.” She hums in amusement. “You should have seen him in the fighting pits. Bloody and sweaty coming out victorious and then ready to fuck all night.”

“Somehow I have no trouble imagining that.” And yet the idea of the man you have married being in the fighting pits at all now terrifies you so you change the subject immediately - landing on a topic that makes you only mildly less sick. “Raeden prefers lovemaking.”

“He is a sweet lover.” Her eyes cut over to you and she flusters slightly. “I hope that our own interlude did not cause any offense?”

“That would be horrifyingly hypocritical of me.” There will never be precisely a good time to breach the subject, but you clear your throat softly and lower your voice. “It had been discussed— that is, between the prince and myself — that..” Desperate to be discreet, you look around you and lower your voice again to barely murmur to Ellaria. “That I will no longer take my tea in the mornings…”

Eyes widening slightly, Ellaria lights up. “A new babe.” She breathes out, almost dreamily. “The entirety of Dorne would be celebrating their birth. A new prince or princess.”

“Then I hope they are swift in their arrival and possessing wonderful health.” Having the first person you tell be the woman who has already borne four of his children makes you nervous in a way you had not expected. As though there may be some part of the creation of the babe that you do not yet know of. “I am anxious for it, but also excited. At the moment I am not sure which is more dominant.”

“It will be strange and wonderful.” She promises, smiling softly. “Oberyn was a most attentive partner while I was carrying all four of my own Sand Snakes. I have no doubt he will be equally enamored with your changing body.”

"It...does mean that I ought to lie with him often..." Something which does exactly present you with any kind of hardship but it does affect the dynamic of your small group.

“Of course.” She knows that. “But it also means that Raeden shouldn’t spill inside you.” She cautions.

“I know.” Biting your lip as you turn another corner and begin to ascend a flight of stairs with Ellaria, you chance to look over at her and keep your voice low. “There are…other ways to enjoy ourselves. Some of which he is better acquainted with than I.”

Your name, your real name comes off her lips and she pauses as if she is about to tell you something before she shakes her head and chuckles. “All will be well.” She assures you.

“Did something happen?” Ellaria has not called you by your name since the first night you met, and though that was only days ago it still brings you concern to hear it. “Have I said something wrong?”

“Nothing.” She squeezes your arm tighter and hustles you along. “I do not believe you could be more perfect if the Seven had created you for our lives.”

She pulls you along beside her with a smile on your lips and though you go willingly, there is an ache in you that you cannot name. Perhaps it is doubt, more than any other thing, but there is something tinging it that makes your smile falter. Nothing about you is perfect. Especially not for people as wonderful as Raeden, Oberyn, and Ellaria.

______

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #reader x m!oc #female reader x m!oc #female reader #m!OC #Ellaria Sand x m!OC #Game of Thrones #Soulmate au #arranged marriage #polyamory

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