#'make it yourself doran!' listen
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YSC: A Game of Realities
It’s only fitting that the month of love is dedicated to the man who chooses love instead of choosing sides, right? This is a dramedy to make up for the dark January fic. Thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging my nonsense.
Summary: An unexpected turn in a battle with The Mountain has Prince Oberyn end up in a situation that he couldn't have imagined, and you have to help him through it. The ride is bumpy until you discover something that will change your perception of yourself, of Oberyn and of reality, forever. This is part 1, more to follow!
Part of the wonderful @yearofcreation2023 challenge!
Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader
Rating: Mature - language, later chapters will be explicit.
WC: 1835
Warnings: Language, battle scenes, mention of death and burial, shaky boundary lines between sci-fi and fantasy, smells and Olympic-level sass because I'm three raccoons in a trenchcoat. Reader has no physical description, and uses she/her pronouns. Whole fic not beta’d.
Author Masterlist | Taglist in bio.
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Doran is seated in the centre of the plush sofa in his receiving room. The intricate patterns and warm, rich colours sit beautifully with the high-ceilinged space, giving it an air of grandeur, fitting for the royal family of Dorne. In the corner a lush palm sways in the light breeze, in stark contrast to the tense atmosphere between the dark-haired brothers.
“I have been more than fair, Oberyn. You have visited the capital, said your piece - this unquenchable thirst for retribution will drag the people of Dorne into the fire if it does not end with you.”
Oberyn scoffs at his older brother, bitterness simmering in his words. “Words alone will not bring Elia back.”
“Neither will violence.” Doran snaps.
He is tired. His younger brother has always been fiery, passionate to a fault. With vengeance blowing this kindling into an open flame, he has little hope of discouraging the man from his course of action. But he has to try.
“Reconsider, Oberyn. It will not change what happened in the past, and you could lose your life in the process. Will you have me put both of my siblings into the ground?” he intones softer.
His brother continues to pace the floor like a caged viper, seething with a rage so deep-seated that he himself doesn’t know where to go with it. His beloved sister had died at the hands of the Lannisters and it seemed like his brother was ready to break bread with them.
“I am not retracting my challenge to the Mountain. I will spill his blood the way he did hers.”
With one last look at Doran’s pained expression, he flings the door open and starts down the hall to his quarters.
Concealed behind a corner close to Doran’s rooms, Ellaria stands stock still. She had stopped to listen in, having heard the loud exchange from the hallway. The Mountain’s reputation as a killer is known far and wide, and she is worried. She trusts Oberyn’s skill in a fight, but with the Lannisters you never know what surprises are hiding in the wings.
“I won't allow you to leave me alone in this world, lover.” she whispers into the darkness before she turns on her heel and makes for the Maester’s chambers.
When she exits hours later, she is holding a black elixir which promises that Oberyn will come out of the fight unscathed.
As she stalks to her private room, the glass vial burns in her hand - is new, otherworldly and unseen by anyone outside of the inner circle of Maesters. Oberyn will see it as a betrayal but she will keep him alive no matter the cost.
The Maester had warned her several times during the consultation.
“You are absolutely sure you want to play with dark magic, dear?”
Ellaria nodded, watching him take down different bottles from his shelves.
When he started pouring the contents of one into a mixing bowl, she gripped his arm hard.
“A mere potion will not do, Maester, it needs to ensure that Oberyn stays alive.”
He simply raised an eyebrow at her, continued and then swung round to heave a large grey grimoire off the same shelves.
“And so it will.”
Ellaria now clutches the vial closer to her as she increases her speed. She can’t help feeling unsettled about the liquid in her possession, even though she requested it. The Maester was insistent with his instructions.
“Stand clear of the arena, and when the time is right, throw the vial onto the ground, so it breaks near the opponent. He will be transported by magic to a place where he can never harm anyone."
She regards him carefully, and he answers the question she doesn't ask.
"It is dark magic, and the price will be exacted for such a request."
She knows he does not mean coin.
Reaching her chambers, she closes the door behind her and places the vial among her jewels.
As she hides the glass object, she hears the clanging of spears outside her window and a growling laugh from Oberyn, who seems to have bested his opponent, undoubtedly not for the first time.
She closes her eyes and fervently hopes that this will work.
—-
The Dornish procession proudly walks into the arena, parting like a golden, shimmering sea to allow their second-born prince to move to his place. Ellaria is already waiting for him there, where he fastens the last of his armour. He kisses her passionately before gripping his spear, and although there are tears in her eyes, she can’t bring herself to utter any words of warning or apology.
He enters into the fight, spear twirling in the air, a fanciful prince intent on taking what was taken from him. Oberyn taunts the man, goading him into admitting to his crimes, while the clanging of metal echoes into the surrounding mountains.
Ellaria knows Oberyn, she sees the minute gritting of his teeth while The Mountain fights the man she loves with sheer strength; he does not give an inch between them and does not give Oberyn the satisfaction of responding either.
She recognises her lover’s white-hot anger, unspooling like a tethered ball of thread dropped into an abyss, making him reckless.
The mountain’s spear catches the edge of Oberyn’s and with a sickening crackle of wood, the tip is snapped off.
Ellaria gasps out loud, panic rising in her throat and stealing her breath before she can take it.
She reaches into her thin mustard-coloured cloak, retrieves the vial and…throws.
Her throw causes the vial to sail briefly on a gust of wind, and instead of hitting The Mountain, the vial crashes in front of Oberyn’s feet, creating a vortex of black smoke in front of him. It fizzes and crackles like sparklers set alight.
The vortex lurches sickeningly towards him and the next moment Oberyn is gone.
As the black smoke dissipates rapidly the only sound heard is Ellaria’s anguished screams.
—-
With your chin resting on the heel of your hand, you marvel how it can feel like 19 hours have passed, when in reality you just cracked hour 5 of your shift.
You are in a bad mood to boot. An earlier table had given you the run around and then didn't tip on a huge bill. Now you just want to get the hell out of the place, put on some pajamas and watch a series.
You're about to get up when a loud clanging sound comes from outside the restaurant. The open area behind the restaurant is known to attract some troublemakers so this isn't exactly a surprise.
Pete, the smarmy manager on duty stops in front of you."Go tell those kids to stop messing around here or we'll call the authorities."
Heaving a deep sigh, you get up and walk to the back of the restaurant, throwing the metal door open in front of you.
You listlessly stomp to the dumpster, and stop, hands perched on your hips.
"Okay dillholes, enough fun for today, get a move on."
You hear a plastic ruffling inside the dumpster.
Rolling your eyes, you check your watch. Good lord, the last 30 minutes of your shift is starting to feel like several lifetimes.
When you look up, you see a leg swung over the side of the dumpster, followed by a brownish thing, which materializes into a human as it climbs out of the big metal container.
The man shouts at you, looking around. He's clearly aggravated, his hair sticking up in all directions.
"Where is The Mountain?"
You stare a long time before your brain manages to make your tongue move.
"You're in the city buddy, there are no mountains here."
The man, seemingly satisfied that the geographical feature isn't close by, sniffs himself and pulls a face.
"This place smells like week-old waste" he yells at you from where he stands, somehow managing to make the statement drip with distaste.
The cheek of this guy is unbelievable and you feel your hackles rising at how rude he is.
"Yeah? We'll that's rich coming from someone who looks like a fancy fuckin' armadillo!"
For a moment Oberyn is speechless. He's no shrinking violet but no one has ever dared speak to Dornish royalty like that. When he finds his tongue again, his hands automatically go to his hips and he cocks his chin out at you.
“Come over here in your peasant clothes and say that to my face."
“I can see your damn face from here, and these are not..”
You look down, taking in the uniform and apron with a few food splatters.
“...okay I’ll give you the clothes. What….were you dumpster diving then?”
Finally taking a moment, he looks around, but everything seems wrong. Out of place.
"This does not look like King's Landing, even if it smells the same” he says, now a little more subdued than when he first yelled at you.
"Ummm…no. You're at the back of a restaurant and you were in the trash a minute ago. Listen, I don’t know what your deal is but you gotta go.”
Oberyn spins on his heel, looking around. "I would gladly, but it would appear I am not in any recognisable part of Westeros."
The name sounds like something you’ve heard before but you shake it off, trying to focus on the man in front of you instead.
“What’s your name?”
The man seems to be thinking about something for a while, then replies.
“Oberyn, Prince of Dorne.”
“Okay, Oberyn, Prince of Dorne, as the song goes - you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. My shift is pretty much over, is there someone I can call to come get you?”
He looks at you blankly. The man cuts a ridiculous sight standing next to the dumpster in his leather outfit, just staring at you like he’s trying to work out some impossible math problem.
You sigh, throwing your hands up. With this one it seems to have devolved into a process of elimination when it comes to getting any information, because he’s either coming off some insane drug-induced bender or he has memory loss. Either way he’ll need to be checked out, or at the very least take a goddamned shower.
“Look, are you dangerous? Are you going to try to kill me if I take you somewhere in my car?”
The man’s expression morphs from blank curiosity to disgusted.
“We do not hurt women and children in Dorne. You will be safe in my company, but where are we going?”
“Home, my home. You can’t stand around out here like you just came from Comic Con or a Leather Daddy convention, and you don’t seem to have a clue where you are so…unless you have a better idea…” you jerk a thumb over your shoulder and start turning around to clock out.
As you walk back to the restaurant, you hear the crunch of his books on the gravel behind you and idly wonder if this is how those true crime episodes start. Finding a mildly threatening guy and loading him into your car.
This might be a huge mistake.
#oberyn martell fic#oberyn martell x you#oberyn martell fanfiction#oberyn martell x reader#prince oberyn#oberyn martell x female reader#game of thrones fanfiction#oberyn martell#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#year of science fiction#year of creation
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WIP tag game
I saw this on my dash! I wasn't tagged but I'm not going to let that stop me lol. Rules of the WIP Tag:
List the titles of your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)
An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing
Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!
Then tag 10 writer friends!
Titles of my top 5 priorities for WIP updates:
Throne Of Lies - the third book in my Death's Embrace series
the unmaking of lily luna - HP fic, sequel to the seven lives of lily potter
Io Station - the next novella in my Tales from the Jovian Empire anthology series
Tacita - a standalone fantasy novel
Strike Force - the first book in a sci-fi series set in the Jovian Empire universe [feat. an extremely slow-burn lesbian romance]
Upcoming scene/event/detail in each fic I'm looking forward to writing:
1. Throne Of Lies
“You were a feral little thing, weren’t you.”
Grace opened her mouth, to no doubt give him a piece of her mind for the egregious offence of being called a ‘little’ anything – then she closed it and huffed. “Doran told you about the mollusc, didn’t he.”
“You must have driven your mother spare.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
“I cannot imagine she wanted you to be anything other than yourself.”
“Don’t,” Grace snapped, “presume to know anything about her.”
Nathaniel was silent for a moment. “When I was boy in the Helvetic,” he eventually said, “I used to roam the streets after dark with an unsavoury crowd. We would all dare each other to sneak into abandoned houses infested with chimaera spiders, find a nest, and –”
“What makes you think I care about your childhood?”
“I didn’t particularly care to hear about yours, but I listened politely when Doran shared the details; the least you could do is return the favour. We’re stuck here until dawn, at any rate. Have you anything better to do?”
Grace sniffed, which he took as tacit permission to continue.
“When my mother found out what I was doing, she hauled me through the condemned alleys by my ear until we found a corpse of someone who had succumbed to the chimaerachnid’s bite. She sliced open the arm and made me look at the eggs infesting every single vein, artery and muscle until I threw up.”
“That’s awful.”
“I was an awful child. Moody, reckless, always getting into trouble.”
After a heavy silence, Grace murmured, “You must have driven her spare.”
2. the unmaking of lily luna
(Maybe you were supposed to. Maybe you weren’t meant to survive that first time. What if that’s why you kept dying? What if that was the universe’s way of telling you that you were supposed to stay dead?)
But more than that:
The smartest, bravest man you have ever known – a man who has been more of a father to you than your own has, a man who has saved your life time and time and time again – will be gone forever.
(And that – that is unacceptable.)
You slip your trembling fingers under the bloody, shredded collar around his torn throat and you feel it, the weak thready pulse of a man about to die.
You don’t understand. He survives, you know he survives. He’s been there your entire life, he lived. Harry defeats Voldemort and returns after the Battle and finds Severus Snape clinging to life, everyone knows that – it’s in all of the history books, it’s what Harry said happened in all of those post-War interviews he gave, it’s what is taught in the History of Magic classes at Hogwarts. But these wounds – how can anyone survive these wounds? He can’t die, this isn’t how it happened, this isn’t how it happened –
“Wake up,” you beg, touching a shaking hand to Severus’s ice-cold cheek, his skin as white as marble. “Wake up – please –”
His lips move. His breath rattles in his chest. He whispers your name. Then Severus Snape breathes his last, and –
3. Io Station
She has existed long before the Empire rose, and she will live on long after the Empire falls. She is as beautiful as she is grotesque; cruel as she is kind. She is old and tired, but she never sleeps, determined to endure for the two million souls who reside within her walls.
She is Io Station.
She is my home.
4. Tacita
“Wanted for the murder of Legate Adriana Lucia!”
The woman peered down at her – not with disgust or horror, but with curiosity. “A serious crime, child.”
A crime! The only crime was that the Legate thought it her right to beat her slaves so savagely in the first place. The only crime was that Adriana Lucia had dangled the girl’s pendant before her eyes and laughed, cruel and mocking, and threatened to melt it down for an arrowhead unless the girl behaved. The only crime Tacita had committed was that Legate Adriana Lucia’s death by her hands hadn’t been on purpose.
Oh, sure, she’d fantasised every day how she would kill the Legate. Slowly, Tacita had imagined while rubbing the Legate’s calloused feet with oils. Maybe she would drug her nightly milk and tie her up in her bed, and slowly pry off each of her fingernails as revenge for the lashings. Or she would have increased the temperature in the Legate’s bath so slowly she wouldn’t realise it until she was boiled half to death, right in the middle of the long dark eclipse for irony.
Whether or not Tacita would have actually done it was hardly the point; the point was that she’d never imagined it happening so quickly. Without thought. She’d lunged for her mother’s pendant with a screech and collided with the Legate’s body with such force that the Legate staggered backwards, lost her balance, and split her skull open against the corner of a marble table as she fell.
She had been dead before she hit the ground.
“It was an accident,” Tacita snarled.
“You don’t sound terribly sorry for it,” the woman noted.
“Why should I?”
“Does the loss of a life at your hands not upset you? Do you feel no guilt?”
Tacita shrugged. “Will it change what happened?”
If the woman was disturbed, she did not show it. “An accident, you say? Suppose I believe you. No doubt it was a tussle over that remarkable pendant around your neck.”
Tacita’s hand gripped it tightly. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying,” she snapped. “It was my mother’s."
5. Strike Force
Ten years ago, Jocelyn Carver of the Jovian Armies brutally ended the Ganymedean Insurgency and restored law and order to the Jovian Empire - but earned herself a cruel moniker: The Butcher of Ganymede.
Professor Catriona Ballard, professor of politics at Conamara University on Europa, has ridden the wave of fame delivered by her damning expose on Carver - but with the release of a new article exposing unsavoury practices within the Jovian Empire comes not fame, but vilification. Stripped of her accolades, titles and security, Ballard finds herself arrested and forced to serve out her sentence as a Petty Officer in the Jovian Armies - and under the command of the very woman whose name she slandered a decade prior.
Ballard loathes Carver with every fibre of her being, and expects Carver to return the sentiment - but the Captain is nothing what she expected her to be.
A slow-burn lesbian romance set against the backdrop of the cruel politics of the Jovian Empire.
Tagging: @thisgingerhasnosoul @missdreawrites @wittyusernamed @crowbito @athingofvikings @merulanoir @buffyfan145 @amazinmango @adeadratiswatching @misakikaito @wantonlywindswept @exalok
+ anyone who sees this on their dash and wants to do it!
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HE DOESN’T EVEN HEAR HER. HE BLATANTLY IGNORE HER INFRONT OF HER BROTHER AND UNCLE
"By marriage. Yours, to begin with."
It came so suddenly that Cersei could only stare for a moment. Then her cheeks reddened as if she had been slapped. "No. Not again. I will not."
"Your Grace," said Ser Kevan, courteously, "you are a young woman, still fair and fertile. Surely you cannot wish to spend the rest of your days alone? And a new marriage would put to rest this talk of incest for good and all."
"So long as you remain unwed, you allow Stannis to spread his disgusting slander," Lord Tywin told his daughter. "You must have a new husband in your bed, to father children on you."
"Three children is quite sufficient. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not a brood mare! The Queen Regent!"
"You are my daughter, and will do as I command."
She stood. "I will not sit here and listen to this—"
"You will if you wish to have any voice in the choice of your next husband," Lord Tywin said calmly. When she hesitated, then sat, Tyrion knew she was lost, despite her loud declaration of, "I will not marry again!"
"You will marry and you will breed. Every child you birth makes Stannis more a liar." Their father's eyes seemed to pin her to her chair. "Mace Tyrell, Paxter Redwyne, and Doran Martell are wed to younger women likely to outlive them. Balon Greyjoy's wife is elderly and failing, but such a match would commit us to an alliance with the Iron Islands, and I am still uncertain whether that would be our wisest course."
"No," Cersei said from between white lips. "No, no, no."
Tyrion could not quite suppress the grin that came to his lips at the thought of packing his sister off to Pyke. Just when I was about to give up praying, some sweet god gives me this. Lord Tywin went on. "Oberyn Martell might suit, but the Tyrells would take that very ill. So we must look to the sons. I assume you do not object to wedding a man younger than yourself?"
"I object to wedding any—"
"I have considered the Redwyne twins, Theon Greyjoy, Quentyn Martell, and a number of others. But our alliance with Highgarden was the sword that broke Stannis. It should be tempered and made stronger. Ser Loras has taken the white and Ser Garlan is wed to one of the Fossoways, but there remains the eldest son, the boy they scheme to wed to Sansa Stark."
Willas Tyrell. Tyrion was taking a wicked pleasure in Cersei's helpless fury. "That would be the cripple," he said. Their father chilled him with a look. "Willas is heir to Highgarden, and by all reports a mild and courtly young man, fond of reading books and looking at the stars. He has a passion for breeding animals as well, and owns the finest hounds, hawks, and horses in the Seven Kingdoms."
A perfect match, mused Tyrion. Cersei also has a passion for breeding. He pitied poor Willas Tyrell, and did not know whether he wanted to laugh at his sister or weep for her. "The Tyrell heir would be my choice," Lord Tywin concluded, "but if you would prefer another, I will hear your reasons."
"That is so very kind of you, Father," Cersei said with icy courtesy. "It is such a difficult choice you give me. Who would I sooner take to bed, the old squid or the crippled dog boy? I shall need a few days to consider. Do I have your leave to go?" You are the queen, Tyrion wanted to tell her. He ought to be begging leave of you. "Go," their father said. "We shall talk again after you have composed yourself. Remember your duty." Cersei swept stiffly from the room, her rage plain to see. Yet in the end she will do as Father bid. She had proved that with Robert
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A Gaelic Blessing #647
Many blessings to you from the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast #647.
Seán Heely, Faoileán, Olivia Bradley, Ben Doran, Mànran, Beltaine, Hanneke Cassel, Irishtown Road, Blame Not the Bard, Strings & Things, Brian Quigley, Screaming Orphans, Low Lily
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0:02 - Intro: Emily Huffman
0:10 - Seán Heely "The Dram Circle / Quarantune / The E - B - E Reel" from Dramagical
6:45 - WELCOME
8:26 - Faoileán "The Coalminer" from Far Hills
11:12 - Olivia Bradley "A Gaelic Blessing" from Misty Morning Shore
13:00 - Ben Doran "Medley: i For Ireland, I'll Not Tell Her Name; ii Marbhna Luimni; iii Cradle Song" from Ceol an Chroi II
23:51 - Mànran "Latha Math" from Mànran
27:16 - FEEDBACK
29:10 - Beltaine "I'm A Rover" from Mercy
32:11 - Hanneke Cassel "Lime Hill / Banks of Spey / Lexy McAskill" from Dot the Dragon's Eyes
36:39 - Irishtown Road "Rattlin' Bog" from On the One Road
42:23 - THANKS
44:41 - Blame Not the Bard "My Son John / Follow Me up to Carlow" from Now and Again
55:24 - Strings & Things "Hurtful Souls" from The Unsolicited Dance
59:34 - Brian Quigley "Lilacs in Springtime" from Tales of Distant Shores
1:02:59 - Screaming Orphans "The Limerick Rake" from Paper Daisies
1:06:19 - CLOSING
1:07:28 - Low Lily "Adventurer" from Low Lily (EP)
1:12:21 - CREDITS
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Hi, it's me who wrote this long text sharing my thoughts and you posted lying Kermit in your answer. Previous chapters were basically everything I hoped for to have strong Sena, let her transform into Visenya, but this one truly disappointed me. Her giving herself to Aemond that easily? Sorry, just no. I know she was supposed to be the peacemaker, but I wished for Aemond to make a lot of effort after all his behaviour towards her and I was so upset, reading her sharing all these plans with him like he always treated her with respect. Her thinking that he could stop right here is basically so stupid, I can't. I was so ready for her to escape from prison, Vermithor rescuing her, Aemond watching as she escapes, I wanted her to be strong on her own, without need to lean on him (as if she ever needed it) and instead she gave herself to him that easily. You wrote you wanted my thoughts and I also felt the urge to be completely honest, why on Earth would she be a service to him like this? She is Daemon's daughter, I know he failed as a father, but as much as she hates it, he is her father and I wanted her to see her kind of activating his genes that she inherited, freeing herself, leaving Aemond, seeing her as a Player not a pawn. She could basically free herself and did many other things and she just stayed with Aemond instead? Sorry, I can't even write, I was basically never so excited reading about Daemon's daughter and her story and my disappointment is too big. I never expected her to turn out like this. Planning all of these, like her father and Rhaenyra will agree on peace terms? She is still a child who knows nothing about war, not even half of what Daemon knows. She will pay for this naivety, she could play smart, free herself, try to gain some power in King's Landing, pretend to be on Blacks side and then backstabbing them at the end, like many paths to show how smart she is and instead she talks about all of it as she really believed high born lords will ever listen to a woman who wants peace while they want war. If you want to end this war you need to get rid of those who started it, who benefit from it, who never wanted peace. And yet she is standing there, planning and of course none of this will come to fruition, because she is just not a politician, she doesn't know how to pull the strings. Girl, your naivety is really out of these world. Where did you get that from? I wanted cunning Sena, not saying any of those "for greater good", I want her to fight for herself and she just has sex with Aemond. Gods, as I said, I have never been that excited only to end up being completely disappointed. And I guess she will be beaten by her father and he will treat her like a silly girl she is. I got flashbacks from books where Arainne Martell wanted to avenge her uncle Oberyn and her father saw through all of her machinations and just said "You think that is how the game of thrones is played? Sit there child and listen to your father, because you are too arrogant and thinking too much of yourself." And it happened in Dorne where women can have real power and Doran clearly loved his daughter. But with Sena and Daemon? She won't come alive out of it. She could play smart and win, opting for bloodshed only to bring peace at the end, but no, she came up with the stupidest plan ever and she will pay the price for it. She is basically giving Daemon reason to kill her. I was never that disappointed. She could prove that she is her father's daughter while being better than him as a person and instead she is naive and stupid and giving herself to Aemond without him doing anything to prove how much she means for him.
DKFJDKFJ fair enough I guess?? I’m sorry the story isn’t going to way you wanted it to but I remain very happy with what I have written! To me, she was never a girlboss character and I never wanted her to achieve her means through violence. I’ll be honest, I doubt you’ll like the ending if you didn’t like that chapter, so I would definitely get it if you don’t want to keep reading!
I don’t think Sena is leaning on Aemond at all in that chapter, I think it is quite the opposite. She finds him low and desperate and she helps him up. It’s not Aemond’s plan, it���s hers, and he just so happens to have the armies to accomplish it and the love for her to stop fighting, to protect what they have left. It’s not easy for him to lay it all aside, to put aside his anger and his hatred and the grief he is feeling for his losses, but he does it for her and for Helaena, Alicent, his brothers. I can only apologise if that did not come across in the chapter, but alas, I never claimed to be as good as George!
I think I wrote the love scene AS an apology, as Aemond making it up to her, apologising to her in the way he could. Because let’s be real, he’s NOT sorry about Luke, not really. He’s maybe sorry it went so far, he’s sorry he lost control, he’s sorry it started a war, but he’s never going to be truly sorry Luke is dead, he hated him far too much for that. That’s Aemond! He’s not a hero! He’s far from it. And she loves him anyway, warts and all, same way he loves her despite finding many many things about her bloody infuriating. That’s kind of the beauty of love in my mind, someone seeing all of you, all of your ugliest parts, the parts you can’t or won’t apologise for and loving you anyway.
He’s withheld sex from her for a long time on the grounds of what would her father say, what would their families say, all these ridiculous ideas based in misogyny that a woman is not pure unless she is a virgin, when all she has ever wanted was to have him completely and express her needs, her urges as a fully grown woman. I’m sorry you read that as some loss of agency on her part or giving in to him! I wrote it as her taking BACK her agency. That’s what that entire scene is, and the talk with Alys. Stop caring what everyone will say, stop asking to be pulled around on a leading string and act for yourself! Take what YOU want, because nobody is going to hand it to you.
Sena does not want to win the war, she wants to STOP it. She doesn’t want a crown or a glorious victory over Daemon, she wants to protect the realm her family is sworn to, she wants to keep the people she loves alive. she cannot accomplish that by taking the fight to Daemon, the last person in the family who is going to break bread with her at this point. She has to work up to that and she has to have practically won by the time they come face to face again, because Daemon is only ever going to give in in the face of futility, and even then, there will likely be a fight.
Again, I’m sorry you didn’t like the chapter but I’m not sorry for how I wrote it! I won’t act like I’m the best writer in the world and this is the absolute best plot I could have created and I have foreshadowed future chapters perfectly. But I think there are already plenty of stone cold badasses in the Dance, and that’s why it ended as violently and sadly as it did. I wanted Sena to be what the family is actually lacking at that time - a conciliator who is sharper than Viserys, more forgiving than Rhaenyra and Alicent, with a heart big enough to love and be loved by her entire family. That’s the kind of character I love and that’s the kind of character I wanted to write.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me ❤️ it really does mean the world, and to see my writing invoke such strong emotions, whether it’s positive or negative is really heartwarming and helps me improve myself. I totally get it if you don’t wish to keep reading but thank you so much for coming up to this point with me! And I hope you find a fic that you like better than mine ❤️
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Listen, I say this every time.
But if I don’t start seeing some edits/gifsets of Elnor from Picard as Vax’ildan soon, I’m going to riot.
#critical role#vax'ildan#you bet i'm tagging it#'make it yourself doran!' listen#misc: text#tv: picard#series: star trek#series: critical role
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for a moment [robb]¹
summary: the king in the north interrupts the martells as they have dinner with hopes of forming an alliance with dorne and falls in love while navigating southern politics before returning to war.
author’s note: [ᵖᵃʳᵗ ²] i’ve been compulsively rewatching game of thrones and need to write something for my boo plus dorne deserves some love so yeah lmk if y’all like this im losing the ability to produce serotonin ,, requests are open :)
tags: description of reader (vague dornish features), westerosi politics,
Traveling to Dorne while in the middle of a war was not easy for Robb. It was his mother that suggested he seek aid from Prince Doran Martell. When the Lannisters defeated Stannis at Blackwater with support from House Tyrell, Robb acknowledged he needed to make alliances with other Great Houses. So, he sailed for Sunspear.
"You must forgive us, we started without you,” Prince Doran says lightly.
The first thing Robb notices of the aging prince was the wheeled chair he sits in. His mind goes to Bran, which fills his heart with sadness. Robb misses his brothers and longed to return home, with his sisters.
“Prince Doran,” Robb bows.
“Your Grace,” Doran smiles as a servant pours wine into his cup. The Martells were having dinner. “Please, take a seat,” Doran invites Robb.
“What are you doing in Dorne, Your Grace?” Robb takes a spare seat and turns to the source of the question — a breathtaking Dornish beauty, with hair black as death and skin kissed by the sun. He’s instantly drawn to your entrancing catlike obsidian eyes. “Your Grace?” You call.
“Patience, little viper,” Prince Oberyn speaks, smiling. “Let the boy admire your beauty,” You roll your eyes. "Then he can tell us why he has illegally entered our country in the middle of the night,”
“Well, I can think of two reasons,” Your Dornish drawl is heavy and alluring. Robb could listen to you speak for hours. The smirk on your lips is somehow both playful and terrifying. "A terribly-planned assassination attempt or treaty talks,”
“Apologies, Princes, Princesses,” Robb clears his throat. “But we could not trust a raven or envoy to deliver our proposal,”
“Proposal of sending thousands of Dornishmen to die in your war?” The fire in your voice reveals the love you have for your country. “Well, you certainly have our attention,” You drink your wine, eyeing him.
“Each raven that comes north tells us about your victory against Tywin Lannister,” Oberyn comments.
“You’ve proven yourself to be a gifted commander,” Prince Doran praises him.
Robb scans the faces in the room; the Martells favor a Stark victory, that much is obvious. So, half of his mission is complete, the easiest part. Robb would have to play the game carefully to ensure support in his southern campaign.
“But, battles do not win wars,” You interject. Doran smiles. “So, you’ve come to us,” You grin and lean closer to him. “In hopes that your enemy is also our enemy,” You smile is bright and enthusiastic; it reaches your big dark eyes, and Robb knows he wants to see it again, everyday for the rest of his days. “Smart boy,” Your tone softens and eyes focus on him. A grin threatens to break his face.
“He is not a boy,” Theon’s voice sounds angry, insulted at the princess’s diction. Robb doesn’t turn to look at his oldest friend; he can’t tear his eyes away from you. “His Grace is Robb of House Stark, King in the North,”
“We know who he is, boy,” Princess Arianne bites at Theon with a smile on her lips. “And we are honored to host His Grace,” She bows her head.
"And we thank you. We understand how dangerous it is for you to meet us—”
“And yet you still came,” Oberyn interrupts.
“There are few Houses in Westeros that have suffered at the hands of Lions,” Robb says, choosing his words carefully. Even his tone could help determine the future of his people. “When Joffrey was crowned king, Dorne did not bend the knee,” In fact, Dorne pledged complete neutrality in the War of the Five Kings. “Why?”
“Why do you think, Your Grace?” Prince Doran smiles softly.
“I can only presume that you understand how dangerous it is for a thing like Joffrey to sit on the throne,” Robb hopes that the Martell’s passion for dead Lannisters extends to committing treason against the Crown.
“Oou, a thing,” Arianne chuckles. “Much nicer than what you called it, sweet cousin,” The princess smiles at you. “What was it again?” She asks.
“Enough. There is no need for such language while we eat,” Doran prevents you from revealing your name for Joffrey. It is clear he has grown frustrated. “His Grace and his party must be tired. Aero, escort them to their rooms,” The prince orders his personal guard. “I will have hot meals delivered to you,” He smiles.
“I hope you slept well, Your Grace,” You link your arm with Robb’s as you stroll through the gardens. Robb chuckles at your confidant move. A woman of action. “Was the heat an issue?” You slightly turn to face Robb. He can feel your wandering eyes on his lips, and from the corner of his eye, Robb can see your tongue sweep over your lips. It was a small quick flick of your tongue but cemented your interest in him.
“It was,” Robb smiled. “But once I got all those furs off, I felt the ocean winds,”
You hault. “Hm, yes I found that sleeping naked is the only way to sleep in this heat,” You turn your body, and Robb moves to face you. You close the space between you and him. He swallows hard. You grab his arm and your fingers graze the sleeve of the coat.
“Thankfully, it won’t this heat won’t last,” He smiles.
“Oh, right, ‘winter is coming’,” You mimic his northern accent and wink at him.
He laughs. Your smile makes him feel warm.
“You are so pretty, my princess,” Robb hears a boy’s voice not too far away. “And you are going to be my wife,” The boy laughs.
“You’re going to be my husband,” A girl says.
Robb looks at you, curious about the voices. So, you grab his hand and drag him through the intricate garden, turn after turn, until you reach the boy and girl. You release Robb’s hand before approaching the pair.
“Trystane,” You say happily. “I thought you were at the Water Gardens,”
“Myrcella likes the Old Palace,” Trystane tells you.
Robb looks at the gold-haired princess. Myrcella Baratheon. No. Myrcella Waters. Her brother killed his father. Her father, her true father, shoved his brother out a window. Her mother holds his sisters hostage.
“Who is your friend?” Myrcella takes Trystane’s hand and stands beside him.
“Ah, a northern bastard,” You lie to the princess. Robb furrows his brows, confused as to why you would lie. “Jory Snow,” He cracks a smile.
“What are you doing so far from home, Ser?” Myrcella asks kindly. Trystane holds Myrcella close, his fingers playing with her hand.
“The war has displaced a great many people,” You tell the princess. The warm smile on Myrcella’s lips slowly fades.
“My deepest sympathy,” Myrcella says. “I hope your country can find peace,”
“And what do you think peace would look like?” Robb asks.
“Well, Y/N tells me the North wants to be free,” The little princess looks to you, and you smile at you. “With what my brother has done...I think they deserve it,”
“Your grandfather thinks otherwise,” You tell the princess. “Fighting a war against the Young Wolf,” Your eyes lock with Robb’s ocean eyes.
“Wars are pointless,” Myrcella states, rolling her eyes. “People suffer and die because a few lords can’t act civil,”
“Not all lords are civil, princess,” You warn her. “Do you think your brother is good and chivalrous?” You ask.
Myrcella lowers her head, “No,”
“Enough politics, please,” Trystane begs his cousin. You smile at the boy. “I have an idea! Let’s leave,” He tells Myrcella. You laugh loudly at your cousin’s annoyance of you. “Y/N, leave us alone,” Trystane says, walking away with Myrcella in hand.
“She is marrying your cousin?” Robb asks you. You nod in confirmation. “So my visit to Dorne trivial,” If Myrcella is to marry Doran’s son, Dorne has secured an alliance with the Lannisters.
“No, your visit has not been trivial, Your Grace,” He wants to hear you say his name, not his title. “Your visit has been a gift,” He feels your soft hand take his. He’s never felt such warmth, and then he thinks of hugging you, holding you in some intimate way. “But I need to know if I can trust you,” Your soft hand cups his face. He hitches his breath and holds it — holding a gaze with your pleading, night-dark eyes.
“No, your visit has not been trivial, Your Grace,” You assure him. “Your visit has been a gift,” You take his hand in yours, desperate to touch him, any part of him. “But I need to know if I can trust you,” You cup his face, feeling his facial hair softly brush against your palm. You gaze into his gorgeous ocean eyes.
“And how can I trust you?” Robb asks.
You pull your arm away, and you see the faintest sign of disappointment in Robb’s face.
“What do you want to do with Myrcella?” You ask him. Despite your attraction to Robb, you cannot ruin your uncle’s decades-long plot for revenge. Your loyalty will forever be with your family, but if Robb’s heart is true, then perhaps Dorne can offer assistance.
“What?”
“Would you kill her? Her entire family is responsible for all the terrible things that have happened to you and your country,” You tell him. “Or would you take her away and bargain her life in exchange for your sisters? What would you do?” You demand an answer.
“Nothing,” Robb answers bluntly. “She’s a child. Children shouldn’t be punished for the sins of their father, or mother,”
“Or grandfather,” You say.
He smiles, “Or grandfather,”
The mood turns sour as reality sets in. Robb clears his throat and his face hardens. “My mother released the Kingslayer,” He confesses. You sigh. “She hopes the Queen regent will trade my sisters for her lover,” Him telling you this only makes the war real.
“She won’t,” You tell him, speaking to him plainly. “Having your sisters gives them power, an advantage in the game,” You explain. “Do you know what Tywin Lannister had the Mountain do to my aunt and her children?” You ask him. He shook his head, a stern look on his face. You sigh and touch his face again, cupping his cheek. “You —
“Princess!” Aeros shouts from not too far. You quickly move away from Robb. Aeros approaches you. “Your dancing master is waiting,”
While waiting for Prince Doran to call for him (or for you to drag him away elsewhere), Robb strolls throughout the palace. He’s never been good at waiting. Even in battle, Robb had never felt so worried. He certainly felt more confident with a sword in his hand. Westeros is at war, yet there are regions in the continent where there is calm.
“Robb!” Theon whispers. He stops and turns his head to see his friend waving at him. "Where have you been?” Theon asks, walking towards him.
“With the princess,” Robb answers honestly.
Theon smiles, “Well, look at you,” He chuckles. “Taking after your namesake after all,”
“None of that,” Robb shakes his head. It is true King Robert was a far better whoremonger than king. Robb could never be like that, and he’d never disrespect you in such a way. “And where have you been?” Robb asks Theon.
“Princess Arianne took me to the bazaar,” Theon says. “With a tour of the docks,” There was a hint of excitement in Theon’s voice. “Dorne has 100 ships ready to sail,” He whispers with a smile. “With a hundred more almost done,”
“You saw them?”
“I saw fifty ships near the bazaar, and Arianne tells me more wait along the coast. They’re ready to fight,”
“They plan to marry Princes Trystane to Princess Myrcella,” Robb informs Theon. “I saw the two in the gardens,” He says. “They seemed in love,”
“They’ve secured an alliance with the Lannisters?” Theon questions.
“Afraid we’ll inform the queen about your visit?” Your voice booms through the halls of the palace. Robb looks to you. He admires the attire that elegantly draped your body — a pale-orange dress with motifs of deep orange suns with a matching cape of silk cladded on your right shoulder . There is a playful smile on your lips, easing Robb’s nerves. “Have no fear, sweet boys,” You say, approaching Robb and Theon.
“Good news?” Robb hopes.
“My uncle wishes to speak with you,” You inform him. You extend your arm and wait for Robb to take it, “I’ll take you to him,” You smile. Robb takes your hand in his and feels a thrilling rush. You sprint away from Theon, farther into the palace.
Doran sits overlooking the gardens, with the sun slowly disappearing from the sky.
“My niece is a bright girl,” Doran speaks. His back is to Robb and yourself. “I trust her with my life,” The prince tells Robb. “With the lives our people,” He asserts his confidence in you. Feeling you pull away from him, Robb squeezes your hand in hopes you’ll stay. “What could you give us in return for our support?”
“Our enemies are the same, my prince,” Robb says. “Help me defeat the Lannisters, get revenge for our families, and you can have the Reach,” He promises, looking into your eyes, two pools of black ink. “Fight alongside me and you’ll have the most fertile land in Westeros,”
“You have proven yourself a capable commander,” The prince compliments Robb. "I will give you forty thousand men,” Doran pledges. “I trust you will put them to good use,”
“You have taken the Crag?” You ask Robb, who nods in return. “We’ll make the Westerlands rain with the blood of lions,” You say with fire in your eyes.
“My niece will command the southern front, twenty-thousand Dornishmen to protect our border, and then she’ll march north,” Prince Doran demands. You pull away from Robb and walk closer to your uncle, resting your arm on the back post of his chair.
“My niece will command the southern front, twenty-thousand Dornishmen to protect our border, and then she’ll march north,” Doran reveals to Robb. You let go of Robb’s hand and approach Doran’s chair. You smile and reach for your uncles hand, happy that you convinced him to help Robb.
If the Lannisters are beaten, and Robb helps you take the Reach, then when the Targaryens arrive to Westeros, Dorne will be able to supply their army with good crop. The downfall of Tywin Lannister will come one day, and you have faith Robb will continue to be victorious in battle.
“You honor me, my prince,” Robb says. “I thank you,” You can feel his eyes roaming your body. Your face feels hot, as it always does when you’re so close to Robb. You need to have him. A powerful commander with a pretty and youthful face — a king that entered your country asking for aid in a war that is hundreds of leagues away.
You want to feel his arms wrapped around you and feel his beard between your legs, but accept that your lustful desires are second to getting vengeance for the blood Tywin and his beast split.
“Gather your party, Your Grace,” Doran says. “Fifty ships will be ready to sail you back to the Crag when the moon is out,” He adds. Your uncle refrains from pledging Dorne’s entire military, which is sixty thousand strong with almost two hundred ships ready for battle. “Better hurry,”
“My prince, princess,” You hear Robb walk away, his footsteps echoing on the tiles of the Old Palace.
“It is difficult to see you leave, Your Grace,” You admit to Robb. He turns and sees you standing at the doorway. You grin and sprint towards him on the balcony overlooking the sea.
“You don’t have to call me that,” He tells you as you reach him. “I’m King in the North,” He reminds you. “We aren’t in the north,” Robb smiles walking towards you.
“It is out of respect,” You bow. “Robb Stark, the Young Wolf,” You say dramatically, and he finds your accent charming. “Wouldn’t want you to eat me,” You smile. He smiles. He’s never met quite a woman like you.
You look stunning in this last moments he has with you under the stars. He so desperately wants to kiss your lips, just once. “I will miss you,” You whisper, he takes steps closer to you.
“We will be together again soon, I promise,” He cups your face, holding you gently in his hand. You look at him with soft and loving eyes, like a kitten. “My kitten,”
For a moment, Robb wasn’t a king at war. He wasn’t the King in the North fighting the Lannisters. He wasn’t worried about rescuing his sisters from the lion’s mouth; because for a moment, Robb was a foolish boy in love with a princess.
#robb stark x reader#robb stark one shot#richard madden x reader#robb stark x you#game of thrones fic
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Burning Bright, Chapter Thirteen
Characters: Oberyn Martell and F!Reader and Ellaria Sand
WC: 4429
Other Pieces: This is part of a series.
CW: Language. Lady loving (smut). 18+ only.
AN: The usual disclaimer that this is fan-service fan-fiction, a veritable jumble of the books, the shows, conspiracy theories, and my own wacky brain.
________________
If anyone thought you would take your new role as ambassador to Dorne at a leisurely, unhurried pace, then they didn’t know you very well. You didn’t even relax during your welcome feast – you used the moment to meet with the assembled lords and ladies of Dorne, chatting with them seriously as everyone else around you celebrated.
It was just like your time in Dragonstone, Ellaria thought with an amused smile. You rushed back and forth, skipped the typical Dornish rest hour in the afternoon. You sent ravens and letters, you took notes wherever you went, and you explored Sunspear.
“We promised to look after her,” Oberyn remarked one day, irritable. “But she’s impossible to find. Impossible to hold up for a moment to talk with her. She comes into small council meetings a moment before they begin, and then she leaves the moment they end.”
“She’s taking it seriously,” Ellaria replied. She didn’t want to add the obvious, though it may not be evident to Oberyn, who didn’t always see what was in front of him. You took your role seriously because you wanted to leave a good impression on them. Doran, Arianne – your almost-family. And Oberyn most of all.
Ellaria had the barest bit of insight. If Oberyn couldn’t quite corner you in the past month, Ellaria had stolen moments here and there. You were in the habit of walking in your lemon grove, just as you had all those years ago. Ellaria, when she discovered you there, took to walking with you. Just as she had back then.
Only before, when you had haltingly talked about your wedding planning, now you spoke of your role as ambassador. The anxiety was the same though, and though you never said it, Ellaria guessed its source. The same source as before: would you measure up to everyone’s expectations?
Would you measure up to Oberyn’s expectations?
Being back in Dorne seemed to set you back on your heels. Ellaria realized that it likely dredged up bad memories, like the water in a clear lake turning cloudy when the silt at the bottom was agitated. She noted how, when you were in the palace, you took the longer route to avoid your old suite of rooms. She noted how, at palace dinners, you sat apart with the minor lords and ladies instead of insinuating yourself on the dais with the Martells.
You were like a dark little shadow moving amongst the Dornish. From what she had overheard, the common people loved you. They loved that you listened to them, that no complaint was too small or insignificant. They loved that you took notes and asked questions and made gentle suggestions to make their lives and work easier. They loved that you were interested in their lives, whether it was the work of the olive-grower or the craftmanship of the seamstress.
That was a route in, at least for Ellaria. Even after a month, you still hadn’t found more appropriate clothing for the climate of Dorne. You still wore your high-necked, long-sleeved war wear, dark and heavy. The heat didn’t seem to affect you as it might other northerners, but even you seemed a little wilted by the end of the day.
Oberyn could whine and complain all he wanted. The war was over. You had lived through terrible battles. You had been handed right to them thanks to your sister’s desire to have a united, equal kingdom. If Oberyn wanted to spend time with you, he could put in the effort instead of relying on his paramour to do all the hard work.
Ellaria had waited long enough. Now she was going to put in the effort, and she would reap the reward.
-----
It was easy enough to plan. Your movements were as regular as the passage of the sun in the sky (save for the week where you went out on the boats with the fishermen, learning of their trade and their host of complaints). You left your villa at the same time every morning. You took the same meandering path to the palace where you worked in an antechamber off of the throne room.
Seven hells, you even ate the same sweet plum every morning as you walked to the palace, the juice sometimes trailing down your hand and wrist until you glanced around surreptitiously to make sure no one was watching before you licked it off.
So it was easy for Ellaria to wake with the sun too (disentangling herself from Oberyn’s heavy limbs, not even bothering to be quiet, since he always slept deeply until the sun was well into the sky). She pulled on her gown and went outside to intercept you.
She saw you first, and she watched as you approached. When you noticed her, your stern face relaxed into a warm smile, and it always made Ellaria’s heart twist a little to know that she could coax you into a grin. Just from the sight of her.
“Ellaria,” you said in greeting. “It’s early. Do you have business to attend to today?”
The Dornish woman nodded and threaded her arm through yours, a familiar gesture now. Together, the two of you walked back to the palace, though Ellaria slowed you a little. Made you take a more leisurely pace.
“You’re my only business today,” she told you. When you snorted softly, she added, “or rather, your wardrobe is my business.”
You paused in your steps and looked down at yourself. “What’s wrong with my clothing?”
Ellaria didn’t bother to answer. She only laughed and tugged you alongside her, back to the palace as you repeated your question in first a plaintive tone, then a defensive one.
-----
You barely fought her on it, which made Ellaria wonder if you were perhaps lonely. You’d been ambassador for a month, and you held meetings and met so many people, but you still went home alone to that little villa. You still held Oberyn – and by extension her – at arm’s length.
You mentioned that you had ravens to send out, that you had work to do, but Ellaria waved off your concerns and you didn’t press it. She had brought you to her own quarters – rarely used, in truth, since she almost always stayed with Oberyn. But she had her own rooms for when she wanted a bit of privacy.
Like now.
Servants brought a more substantial meal for the two of you to break your fast – certainly more filling than a lone sweet plum – and the two of you ate and drank and chatted companionably. The conversation was light. Ellaria talked about her daughters; you talked about Umbrax and the latest letter you’d received from Daenerys.
“She is using the standing army to improve upon King’s Landing,” you told her around bites of a pastry. “Parts of Flea Bottom were destroyed during the Lannister occupation. Dany is taking the opportunity to build it better. Wider streets, sturdier buildings. Green spaces.”
“She is uniquely focused on bettering the kingdom,” Ellaria said. “The ambassador roles were a master stroke.”
You nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Are you happy here?” Ellaria pressed.
You nodded, but your face took on a guarded look as you formulated your answer. “I’m happy to serve,” you said blandly, a political statement if Ellaria ever heard one.
“You seem distant,” she said. “You seem to be avoiding Oberyn. Avoiding me.”
You were silent a long moment. You picked at your half-eaten pastry until it was a tidy pile of crumbs in front of you.
“It’s hard to know exactly who I am anymore,” you finally said. “I’ve been so many people now. A Marbrand, a Goldenfyre, a Targaryen.”
“A Martell.”
You pursed your lips in a frown. “I was hardly a Martell. I’m just waiting for…” You trailed off, thought for a moment. “You know, there’s a moment when I’m on Umbrax and she takes off. It’s the moment, just a second really, when I can feel the difference between being on firm ground and being in the air. It makes my stomach drop. That’s what I feel like. I’m just waiting for that feeling, that stomach-dropping feeling.”
Ellaria gazed at you. You met her eyes for only a moment before dropping them down to study your hands.
“Do you think this won’t last, little bird?” she asked softly.
You raised your gaze to hers as you replied. “Nothing ever lasts.” And you held it for a long beat until you shook yourself out of your own sad reverie and said, in a brighter tone, “so what’s this business with my wardrobe?”
-----
Ellaria had made the arrangements days ago. The seamstress had brought chests upon chests of Dornish gowns for you to try on, and you gazed down at them in obvious horror.
“Pick one and try it on.” Ellaria took a sip of her wine and gave you a wave of her hand. “They won’t bite.”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
The Dornish woman sat down her glass and walked over to you. She studied the heap of fabric in front of you, and she reached down and grabbed one – a deep green gown of samite. She handed it to you, but you only shook it out and turned it around and around in your hands.
“Do you not know how to dress yourself, little bird?” she teased, and if Ellaria guessed that you had a spark of passion in you, she knew that you had one that blazed up quick when you were teased.
“Obviously,” you retorted. “But I’ve never had to choose my own clothing before. My septa took care of that at Ashemark. In Asshai I had a uniform. And in the army, I had a uniform.” You looked down at the dress in your hands with a faint hint of distaste. “And none of them had such….complicated closures.”
“It’s not complicated.” Ellaria took the dress from you. “Get undressed. I’ll help you put this on.”
You narrowed your eyes at her but then did as you were bade – but you stepped behind the silk privacy screen to remove your heavy black tunic and trousers. It made Ellaria laugh. She remembered at the brothel in King’s Landing – even injured, half-mad, deep in grief – how you had ordered her and Oberyn not to look at you as you undressed.
So shy. So unsure of yourself.
Ellaria went slowly.
She let you try on the first chest of clothing. Sometimes you stepped out from behind the screen to show her, and sometimes you muttered ‘absolutely not’ to yourself, tearing out of the gown before she had a chance to see it. Sometimes you stepped out and shyly asked for help, and Ellaria would lace you or button you into the dress, allowing herself the occasional graze of her fingertips along the soft skin of your neck or sides.
For Ellaria, love-making was always a complicated dance with set steps. Men – Oberyn included, sometimes – could happily skip straight to fucking, but Ellaria preferred gentle movements beforehand, careful touches. Lingering glances. Wine that was well-aged always went down smoother. Love was just the same.
And with a virgin, who’s entire history of love lay in a handful of kisses and tame touches? Ellaria wouldn’t rush it for all the world.
She eased into it. She let her hands stay on you longer, loving how you flushed under her, not even really conscious of how you were responding. You were so focused on the gowns you were trying on, you barely registered at first what she was doing. How she adjusted a silken strap here, how she let her fingertips ghost over your shoulder there.
“I like the way this one feels,” you told her. You stood and frowned in the large looking glass mounted on a nearby wall. “But it looks terrible on me. Gold is not my color.”
Ellaria came to stand behind you. By Dornish standards, it was a modest gown. Compared to your usual dour black uniform, it was downright sensuous. The underskirt was light and pleated, and the long, sleeveless over-tunic in embroidered gold samite was cut to reveal a generous portion of your neck and upper chest. She could see your collarbones, the column of your throat. Your arms, toned from years of sparring and warfare and commandeering dragons. The small, silvery scar on one shoulder.
She laid her hands lightly on your upper arms, hooked her chin on your shoulder, and caught your gaze in the mirror. “The seamstress can make it in another color. Blue, to bring out your eyes. You look divine in blue.”
That made you duck your head and blush, and let us be honest – how many times had Ellaria pictured just that? More times than one could count.
She released you and then handed you another gown. “Try this one,” she said.
You were more relaxed now, and you barely stepped behind the screen to change into the new dress. Ellaria caught a tantalizing glimpse of you – the soft swell of your hips – and then there was a flurry of movement. And then you stepped out to show her.
This one was a blue gown, a light, gossamer thing the color of the sky at noon. It was embroidered with silvery vines, and the waist was cinched in with a wide, silver belt.
Best yet, it revealed far more than anything else you had worn that morning. The bodice was low and loose, showing off nearly all of your breasts. You frowned in the mirror and tried to cross your arms to cover yourself, but Ellaria reached out and held your arms down gently.
“Don’t you dare try to hide such beauty,” she whispered. “Look at you.”
You fixed your own reflection with a fierce scowl. “It’s not practical at all,” you told her. “What if I need to fly on Umbrax? I can’t take to the skies with…with everything…hanging out.”
“The war is over, little bird,” she replied. She reached out to adjust your neckline, to drag her forefinger along the line of fabric where it met the curve of your breasts. You rewarded her with a hitching little breath, but you didn’t reply.
“You should have at least a few gowns like this,” Ellaria continued. “For feasts. For…other moments.”
“I couldn’t wear this to a feast. Everyone would look at me.”
“They would,” she agreed. She turned you away from the mirror, glaring as you were at your own reflection. She made you face her as she studied you from the top of your head to where the hem of the skirt grazed the floor. “Everyone would see the Targaryen princess and wonder why she hid herself away under all that black wool. Especially when she is so lovely.”
“I’m not – “ you started, but Ellaria cut you off by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours. Drawing another one of those hitching little breaths of yours, as if you were surprised – despite your few, past dalliances with her – that Ellaria wanted you.
She could feel the reluctance in you, the reserve that had sprang up since you returned to Dorne. But she could also feel your need – how you kissed her back, how you slid your fingers to the back of her neck to hold her fast just as she held you the exact same way.
You broke the kiss a long moment later, and Ellaria thrilled to see the look on your face. Your eyes were darker than usual, your pupils wide with desire. And your lips were parted as you took a steadying breath.
“You can’t do that anymore,” you told her quietly. Your hands had shifted to her upper arms, and you held her a bit away from you. “It’s not fair.”
“Why isn’t it fair?” Ellaria asked.
You sighed, and when the Dornish woman tried to lay her hand on your cheek, you turned your head away as if you were irritated.
“You kiss me,” you told her haltingly, and your face flushed hot and embarrassed. “And then I spend the rest of the day…angry. Or not angry, exactly. Tense. Aching. I can’t concentrate and it takes so long to get my feelings under control.”
I’m so stupid, Ellaria realized suddenly. She saw so much that it was easy to forget that she didn’t see everything. She had thought, incorrectly, that after your few, tame moments of kissing, that you went and took your own pleasure. With yourself, she assumed, where she had channeled that erotic energy directly at Oberyn.
But it wasn’t so. You hadn’t done any such thing. How could you know how to? So Ellaria had been coaxing you up the mountain towards pleasure and then just….abandoning you before you could fall off of the cliff.
Ellaria had thought she was teasing you. Turns out, she was torturing you. It was no wonder that you had been avoiding her carefully. You probably saw that painful aching need lurking in any corner of the palace where Ellaria may be.
“I’ve been very cruel to you, little bird,” she said solemnly. “I did not intend to be, but I will make it right.”
You shook your head at her words, protesting at her use of the word cruel, but she let you get not further.
*****
You did protest, at first. It was a weak, half-hearted protest. Maybe it was embarrassment, or some misbegotten fear of Oberyn, borne out of your northern upbringing. Ellaria had pulled back and told you, her voice firm, that she would stop the moment you told her too.
The problem was, you didn’t want her to stop. Even if it meant that the painful ache would settle between your legs, unable to ease it until enough time passed. So when the woman gazed into your eyes and asked if you wanted this, if you wanted her, you could only tell her the truth.
You did want this. And you wanted her.
Before, in the middle of the war, you had to be content with stolen moments. In Aegon’s Garden in Dragonstone. In the night garden at Highgarden. Now, you had something you never thought you’d have: time. And Ellaria made use of it.
You let her lead you to the bed in the next room, and if you were clumsy and unwieldy as she laid you down across the silk sheets, she didn’t mention it. She moved so assuredly, you felt like a lumbering giant. But she hushed you when you tried to apologize for your lack of experience.
She kissed you for a long, long while. It was just as before, that falling feeling, that growing ache between your thighs. She tasted like the berries she had eaten for breakfast, and when you grew bold and nipped at her lower lip, she reared back and stared down at you with a look that was nearly feral. And then she leaned down, kissed you fiercely, her tongue sweeping into your mouth and pulling your breath from you as if she wanted to breathe your very spirit into her.
“Ellaria,” you panted as you broke away. You didn’t finish the statement, barely able to gather your thoughts. You felt dizzy with how badly you wanted her, but you weren’t quite sure what that meant –
“I’ve got you,” she muttered. It was as if she could read your mind. She moved that wonderful, clever mouth of hers across your face – gentle, teasing pecks on your scarlet cheeks, then longer, open-mouthed kisses on your neck. She found the spot where your pulse thundered in your throat, and she laid her teeth there, nipping at you until you yelped. And then she ran her tongue over the mark to soothe the sting.
Then lower. Her hands pushed the silken straps of your gown aside. When the bodice of your dress shifted to reveal yourself to her, you tried to cover yourself. But Ellaria was quicker, and she grasped your hands in her own. Pinned them alongside your head as she climbed on top of you. From that vantage point – you lying underneath her, her hovering above with a purely ravenous look on her face – you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen anything quite so beautiful.
Or painful. The tension low in your belly was nearly unbearable. If she released you now, if you were interrupted, you felt as if you might die, and unbidden, your hips bucked up underneath her. Desperate for something.
That made her smile, and she leaned down to kiss you. Gently. She murmured against your swollen lips. “I’ve got you,” she repeated.
You had a million questions. Was love always like this? Were there other ways of making love? There had to be, with men it had to be different, but with Ellaria – at least this first time…
She stretched out alongside you, half of her body pressed against yours. Pinning you to the bed. Holding you down. You felt so light-boned that you worried you might float away. Her mouth never stopped – she drew her tongue along your collarbones, dipped into the hollow between them. Then even lower, and the first time she put her warm mouth on the pebbled tip of your breast, you cried out so loudly that she chuckled against you. That drew a groan out of you that never quite let up as she nipped at you, soothed the prickle of pain with her tongue. Shifted her head to give your other breast the same treatment.
“What,” you started to say, but your thought was cut short by her laving tongue. “What should I do?” You would feel stupid if you weren’t so blissfully out of your head, but you wanted to make her feel just as good. Your hands didn’t know where to settle –
“Just enjoy yourself, little bird,” Ellaria replied. Her voice was low and husky, and she gazed up at you from her place against your breasts. “We have plenty of time to learn each other.”
So you let your hands land where they wanted. You tangled one into the dark chestnut curls of your lover’s head, alternating between stroking her head and pressing her closer to you. When you did the latter, she moaned against your skin, as if she enjoyed your tiny moment of taking charge. Your other hand found her hand, and you threaded your fingers through hers.
Her hands, though? You held one fast, but the other was stealthy. You were so distracted by her wonderful mouth that you didn’t notice how her hand drifted down, found the split in your skirts. She spread your legs gently. Her fingers trailed, feather-light, up the soft skin of your inner thighs until they were touching you just where you ached the most.
You could feel the slickness that had been pooling between your legs, and you turned your head away in chagrin. But Ellaria tugged her other hand out of your hold, and she grasped your chin firmly so that you had to look at her.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” she growled, and she captured your mouth with her own. You would have flushed at the praise, but just as she slid her tongue into your mouth, she also slid one of her shapely fingers into your aching core.
There was no way it could always feel like this. If it were, if every coupling felt this wonderful, people wouldn’t bother with war or anything other than chasing this feeling. Because kissing Ellaria felt like falling, but this felt like dying, in the very best way. How it stole your breath away, pulled tortured whines out of you. How her hand worked against you, playing you like some instrument, her fingers stretching you almost to the point of pain, her thumb working circles against some swollen, slippery part of you that made you want to laugh and weep at the same time.
And that tension was there, growing and growing, and you didn’t know how to handle it – it felt like some part of you would break – but Ellaria shifted her head to whisper in your ear, praise and entreaties both.
“You look so beautiful,” she told you. “So needy, just for me. Let go, little bird. Come for me.”
You didn’t know what she meant, but your body seemed to know – that tension coiled in you, tighter and tighter until you pressed your hips up to meet her hand, and then the tension suddenly snapped. It did feel like dying – you wailed out her name – and you trembled so hard under her that you felt like your spirit might dislodge from your body and float away. Ellaria didn’t slow her ministrations right away. She worked you through that good/dying/falling feeling.
And just as she had promised in Highgarden, she didn’t let you fall. She eased you down gently. She removed her hand from you, kissed you gently, her mouth no longer urgent but soft. Soothing.
You felt boneless. Moreover, you felt sleepy, and you never felt sleepy. Tired, yes, but sleep was ever elusive to you. You had bad dreams, and you rarely got more than a few hours a night before the shades that haunted your sleep harried you back into wakefulness.
Ellaria seemed to sense the torpor that was sinking into your bones. She reached down to undo your belt. She eased you out of your gown and you were so tranquil, you could barely care that she was seeing you naked.
She only tucked you into her bed, and she shed her own gown and joined you. She pulled you to her and pressed a closed-mouth kiss on your lips before pulling you into a warm embrace. To sleep.
“It’s only midmorning,” you pointed out, but you didn’t add more. Instead, you yawned widely, your jaw popping at the involuntary action.
“You’ve been working hard,” she whispered back. She reached up to stroke your hair, and the gesture eased you even deeper into impending sleep. “Rest.”
That was the last thing you remembered. Asleep, you curled in against Ellaria’s warmth, allowed her to hold you. Something about it seemed to hold the nightmares at bay too, because your sleep was deep and dreamless.
~~~Tag List~~~
@ayamenimthiriel @dudeodin @agingerindenial @maharani-radha-writes @ace-fiction @thesadvampire @gingerbreadandpaper @graniairish @captn-andor @rpcvliz @deliciouslyclassytrash @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @persie33 @lostinwonderland314 @xsadderdazeforeverx @terrormonster55 @evee87 @omgsuperstarg @imspillingcoffee @blxckhearthood @talesfromtheguild @grogusmum @dreamingfanficsmasher @googiebeankat @mikariell95 @littlebopper96 @wondergal2001 @evyiione @isvvc-pvscvl @mrschiltoncat @danniburgh @stillshelbs
#Oberyn Martell#oberyn martell x reader#oberyn martell imagine#oberyn x reader x ellaria#game of thrones
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5e Gangplank, the Saltwater Scourge build (League of Legends)
(Artwork by Joshua “HUGEnFAST” Brian Smith, made for Riot Games.)
I feel like I could title this post “how to play Matt Mercer” and it would get way more clicks.
Gangplank is one of those champions that everyone knows about but no one really plays. I doubt it’s controversial to say that barrels are weird and GP as a whole is one of the higher skill-cap champs in the game. But Ruined King game got me interested in GP again (spoilers by the way, I guess) and both the expansion of his lore and the impact he has on the game are great. I mean listen to his battle theme. (Can’t embed it anymore lol.)
Doesn’t mean I couldn’t stop hearing him as Matt Mercer doing a pirate voice. Oh and I’m also pretty surprised that I couldn’t find anyone online (Dorans & Dragons) who’s already done a build for Gangplank, so I guess that makes me the first!
GOALS
Barrel! - Line up a few powder kegs to blow them all to high hell; we’ll need to pack enough explosives to sink any ship.
They're not just oranges; they're blood oranges - You may be facing many dangers, but then you can just eat an orange and it’ll be k.
Pistols or blades; don't matter to me - Be it handguns, ship cannons, or just a flaming sword we need to have an arsenal of assorted weapons on demand.
RACE
Gangplank is a human, and man after eight whole builds it kinda feels nice to return to Variant Human. You get +1 in two Ability Scores of your choice so grab a bit of Intelligence and Strength. You also get a skill of your choice like Survival (which is rather important to avoid dying in an explosion), and a language which you can pick as you fancy.
But the main appeal of Variant Human is obviously the free feat at level 1 and you’re not tough enough yet to survive being blown up, so grab the Tough feat for 2 extra hitpoints every level.
ABILITY SCORES
15; INTELLIGENCE - You don’t become the (former) King of Bilgewater just by swinging a sword around well: you need smarts to overpower your foes.
14; CHARISMA - Having Charisma to lead loyal men is also a good quality of a leader.
13; STRENGTH - You do still ultimately need to swing a sword around.
12; CONSTIUTITION - It takes Constitution to survive nearly being blown up... which is why we have it so low... Put simply we needed all the other stats more but +1 to CON saves still helps.
10; WISDOM - Look we had to dump something. Gankplank is brash enough to (DO SPOILERS) in the Ruined King game so it’s pretty clear that hindsight is his fatal character flaw... among many others.
8; DEXTERITY - Gangplank is a slow melee toplaner in-game, but feel free to swap this out with Wisdom if you want better initiative but worse saving throws.
BACKGROUND
Man if only there was a background for being a Pirate... So anyways take the Pirate background for proficiency with Athletics and Perception as well as Navigator's Tools (which would normally be someone else’s job) and Water Vehicles, because every good ship needs a captain!
Your background feature Bad Reputation will make sure that everyone in Bilgewater fears the name Gangplank, and won’t try to stop you unless they want a sword through their ribs. I mean, as long as you don’t do anything too crazy obviously.
(Artwork by Alex “Alexplank” Flores. Made for Riot Games.)
THE BUILD
LEVEL 1 - PALADIN 1
Starting off as a Paladin not for Saving Throws this time, but so you can actually put on Dead Man’s Plate. But proficiency with Intimidation and Insight is also helpful for a captain.
You also get Divine Sense to help discern friend from foe on the Shadow Isles in ways I don’t want to bother describing, and Lay on Hands to eat an orange to both heal yourself and remove diseases.
LEVEL 2 - PALADIN 2
Second level Paladins get the main meat of this class choice. For one you get to choose your Fighting Style: if you want more damage then grab Dueling, but if you want to be the party tank instead Defense works just as well.
More importantly you get Spellcasting! You can prepare a number of spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level (rounded down.) To give your enemies a Trial by Fire grab Searing Smite, and yes this is about 80% of the reason I took Paladin levels. To keep in the fight with Grasp of the Undying Heroism will keep your health up as you make trades, and for a quick heal Cure Wounds will let you munch on an orange more efficiently.
These are all Concentration spells so if you don’t want to go through the trouble of casting them and making sure you don’t lose them just opt for Divine Smite to skip the “fire” part of Trial by Fire, pumping them with Radiant Damage instead equal to the level of the spell slot used (up to 4th) plus an extra d8. And if you happen to be in Grey Harbor Divine Smite does an extra d8 to undead. (So [d8 x level] + 2d8)
LEVEL 3 - PALADIN 3
Third level Paladins get to choose their Sacred Oath, and the Oath of Vengeance will let you take back what’s yours by force. You get two Channel Divinity options: Abjure Enemy will let you instill fear in your foes, and Vow of Enmity makes top-lane trading easier with guaranteed advantage against the chosen foe. You also get Harness Divine Power if you don’t want to use your Channel Divinity for anything other than more Smites.
You could also use your spell slots for your Oath Spells: you get both Hunter’s Mark and Bane added to your list, which are good to make foes weaker to either your sword or your barrels. And finally you get Divine Health, because an orange a day keeps the diseases away.
LEVEL 4 - PALADIN 4
4th level Paladins get their first Ability Score Increase and I’m going to suggest an increase to... Charisma, instead of Strength. I promise there’s a reason for this beyond being a better captain and more spells.
Speaking of more spells you can prepare more spells, but I’m going to wait for...
LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 5
5th level Paladins get an Extra Attack, allowing them to swing their sword twice in a round! More importantly however you get access to 2nd level spells: your Oath Spells includes Misty Step (for Flash and I won’t lie Misty Step is half the reason I took Oath of Vengeance) and Hold Person (to hold people in place.) Additionally grab Branding Smite to ignite your foes for vision, and
Lesser Restoration to cleanse some crowd control off yourself (or an ally.)
LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 6
6th level Paladins can be very good captains with the help of Aura of Protection and that’s why we took the Charisma increase. Keep oranges in your system to add your Charisma modifier to any saving throws, and share in the citrus with allies within 10 feet of you to boost their saves as well!
You can also prepare another spell like Protection from Poison for more tools to prevent scurvy, but remember that Paladins are prepared casters so you can take spells that you think will be more useful in the moment. Which is my way of saying you should really be taking Aid instead. Also remember that as your Charisma increases you can prepare more Paladin spells, which will be important later.
(Artwork by Sperasoft Studio. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 7 - ARTIFICER 1
Now that we can swing our sword around how about we get our gun? 1st level Artificers don’t get a gun (it takes awhile for Miss Fortune senior to craft them for you) but they do get Magical Tinkering, which is kinda hot garbage. You can read what the ability does for you on your own but in essence it’s shitty Prestidigitation.
Much more importantly however is that you get more Spellcasting! Artificers get cantrips but you could be fooled into thinking they don’t because they only get two: anyways take Firebolt for a not-quite gun and Mending to keep your ship in tip-top shape. You can also prepare a number of Artificer spells equal to your Intelligence modifier plus half your Artificer level (rounded down.) Take Absorb Elements for some magic resistance, Catapult to ready your cannons, and... I dunno. Purify Food and Drink? Look we don’t need much from 1st level of Artificer and we’re in it for the long haul.
What’s cool about multiclassing two half-casters is that your spell progression is essentially the same, so you’ll still have 5th level spell slots by the end of this. You can refer to either class to see your spell progression instead of getting confused with multiclassing
LEVEL 8 - ARTIFICER 2
2nd level Artificers get Infusions, allowing you to have the best hardware Bilgewater has to offer. You can learn four infusions (and make two) but I’m going to tell you right now: make the Enhanced Defenses and Enhanced Arcane Focus infusions. There’s other good infusions you can take (Mind Sharpener is never a bad one; you can maybe give it to an ally until you actually get decent casting) but having high AC and a nice gun will be of peak importance.
Also depending on your DM you may be able to use the Enhanced Arcane Focus as a focus for all your spells, as opposed to just your Artificer spells! Along with boosting your Paladin spells nicely this also means you won’t need multiple focuses!
You can also prepare another spell which we definitely need from 1st level.
LEVEL 9 - ARTIFICER 3
Third level Artillerists get to choose their specialty and what I love about Dungeons & Dragons is that you often get a champion’s ultimate before their basic abilities, because getting cannons is somehow easier than getting a pistol. We shall be taking the Artillerist subclass to summon an Eldritch Cannon. I’m not going to go too in-depth with this feature (please just read it yourself) but if you want the general jist here it is:
You can either make a handheld “cannon” (for a pistol) or a medium-sized cannon that can move around and fire wherever you aim it.
Firing the cannon takes a bonus action.
The most accurate to your abilities would be the Force Ballista, which can make a ranged attack within 120 feet and also pushes foes back a bit when it hits.
You can also make a flamethrower and a shield generator, which are both odd but definitely useful, and there’s no reason why you can’t make them just because Gangplank doesn’t have them in LoL.
The Flamethrower and Force Ballista do 2d8 damage, and the Shield generator gives everyone Temporary hitpoints equal to a d8 plus your Intelligence modifier.
Oh and your cannons can be destroyed if your enemies shoot at them instead of you, which is why we have the Mending spell (to heal them.)
Oh and they last for 1 hour. You get one for free and have to use a 1st level spell slot to summon more of them.
You also get Shield and Tunderwave added to your spell list as Artillerist Spells (one of which you’ll use far more than the other), and finally you get proficiency in Woodcarver’s Tools because you aren’t making guns despite the fact that they look like guns and sound like guns. And if you’re lacking tools you can make The Right Tool for the Job out of thin air with an hour of work.
LEVEL 10 - ARTIFICER 4
4th level Artificers get an Ability Score Improvement, and since we’re in Artificer town you should get more Intelligence to make your Artificer abilities better.
You can also prepare more spells, but in a level we’ll get 2nd level spells so...
(Artwork by Kienan “Knockwurst” Lafferty. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 11 - ARTIFICER 5
Are you sick of your “gun” only being available for 1 hour without using a spell slot? Well here’s an actual Arcane Firearm that will let you add a d8 of damage to one target of any spell, including Firebolt!
You can also prepare second level spells! As an Artillerist you get Scorching Ray and Shatter (the latter of which can act as an early barrel) and you can also prepare spells like Enhance Ability to help your crew man the ship, Heat Metal for some more trial by fire (as long as they’ve got metal on them), and Pyrotechnics, which is bad but very in-flavor for Gangplank.
LEVEL 12 - ARTIFICER 6
6th level Artificers get more Infusions: grab the Cloak of the Manta Ray in case your thrown overboard (maybe some audacious redhead blew up your ship?), Lantern of Revealing for wandering the Shadow Isles, and a Spell-Refueling Ring which is probably the one you should be making. Get back a third level spell slot for more volley fire or more Smites!
You can also prepare more spells like Grease from 1st level which I somehow forgot until now, and you get Tool Expertise for expertise with tools. Yup.
LEVEL 13 - ARTIFICER 7
7th level Artificers make sure their crew doesn’t fuck up with Flash of Genius. When another creature you can see within 30 feet (or yourself if you feel like it) makes an ability check or saving throw, you can use your reaction to add your Intelligence modifier to the roll.
You can do this a number of times equal to your INT mod and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest. Obviously the best way to do this is to save your crew from devastating damage and obviously the most in-character way to use this would be to save your own hide, so do as you wish captain!
LEVEL 14 - ARTIFICER 8
8th level Artificers get another Ability Score Improvement and seeing as we just got the ability that works off INT mod and gains uses off INT mod clearly capping off that Intelligence is in your best interest.
This does mean you can prepare more spells, but I’m going to wait for...
LEVEL 15 - ARTIFICER 9
Total level 15 isn’t too late to get your barrels, right? 9th level Artillerists get Explosive Cannon which along with making your cannons do an extra d8 of damage also lets you blow them up, dealing 3d8 Force damage to anyone nearby who fails a DEX save (with half as much on a success.) You can only have one barrel up and won’t be hitting any barrel combos, but if your foes try to swarm your barrels you can shoot them away from your foes!
Additionally you can now prepare 3rd level spells! Wind Wall may belong to the Ionian helping your arch nemesis, but Fireball is very in-character for a big explosion to blow away your foes! Fireball is one of those spells that is intentionally overpowered so getting it this late honestly isn’t that bad, although I still probably wouldn’t recommend upcasting it.
Anyways you can also prepare Create Food and Water for all the supplies you could need out at sea (although this spell does not provide oranges; and here’s the part where I remind you that you don’t need to listen to my recommendations, especially since Artificer is a prepared caster), and Ashardalon’s Stride to try everyone by fire!
(Artwork by Kelly Aleshire. Made for Riot Games.)
LEVEL 16 - ARTIFICER 10
10th level Artificers get more infusions and you’ve probably noticed our fairly low Strength. Well with Gauntlets of Ogre Power you can put on Dead Man’s Plate and actually swing your sword well! Now I do realize that total level 16 is a bit too long to actually get a decent sword swing which is why I’ll likely be posting an errata to this build if you wish to play it in a low level campaign, but I would consider this to be near the peak of how to play Gangplank efficiently.
Other than that the Cloak of Protection is probably your best infusion, but you have other good choices too: the Helm of Awareness (which is Artificer specific), Bracers of Archery for the party gunner, Headband of Intellect if anyone dumped INT (the lower their INT the more value this has!), Winged Boots... You have more than enough Infusions to choose from and the only question is which ones you’ll have prepared! Because you also get Magic Item Adept which allows you to attune to more magic items (and craft some of them faster I guess.) And to top it off your Enhanced Defenses infusion becomes a +2 to AC!
You can also prepare another spell and holy shit you can get another cantrip. For your spell if you don’t have the Cloak of the Manta Ray on (which you really shouldn’t have) Water Breathing is a good utility in case your ship sinks, and for your cantrip Acid Splash is good if your foes are clumping up or if they have high AC and low mobility.
LEVEL 17 - ARTIFICER 11
11th level Artificers get their Spell-Storing Item, and normally I go into this long paragraph about how “2nd level damaging spells aren’t that great at this level so you should prioritize more utility-based spells” and how Vortex Warp from Strixhaven is ridiculously useful but this time I won’t. Just stick 10 charges of Shatter into that shit and line your barrels up in a row.
LEVEL 18 - ARTIFICER 12
12th level Artificers get another Ability Score Improvement: since your Intelligence is maxed out go get more Charisma for a better Aura of Protection and more Paladin spells.
Speaking of spells you can prepare more Artificer spells, but in one more level we get...
LEVEL 19 - ARTIFICER 13
13th level Artificers get 4th level spells and that’s literally it. As an Artillerist you get Ice Storm to summon a cannon barrage and Wall of Fire to blow up a bunch of powder kegs! You can also prepare spells like Freedom of Movement to be completely CC immune (sorta) thanks to the power of oranges!
LEVEL 20 - ARTIFICER 14
14th level Artificers can make 14th level Infusions! I’d say make the Arcane Propulsion Armor to have a prosthetic arm but that infusion is kinda... bad? So I’m instead going to suggest you grab the Amulet of Health for a big boost to your hardiness and a Ring of Protection for even more AC. I’d also suggest replacing your Gauntlets of Ogre Power with a Belt of Hill Giant Strength because it’s objectively better, and will give you a proper +5 to your attack rolls. And sure you could grab a Ring of Free Action but then that completely invalidates our not-oranges, which would suck.
In any case you also get Magic Item Savant which gives you a 5th attunement slot, and also allows you to attune to any magic item even if your classes normally couldn’t take it! So grab some dark trinkets from the Shadow Isles and send in a harrowing!
You can also prepare one last spell and I’m going to suggest Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere to stop your enemies, protect your allies, or protect yourself while your ship explodes. Are there better spells to choose from? Yes, but Artificers are prepared casters and if I told you the use of every single Artificer spell I’d basically just be RPGbot at that point.
FINAL BUILD
PROS
You haven't seen blood yet - You have a very nice mix of damage with both your action and bonus action, being effective both in melee and at range with versatile options to dish out damage no matter how your enemies fight.
Dead men tell my tale - Aura of Protection gives both you and the Jagged Hooks a nice boost to saving throws, and +2 Plate Mail will put you at an easy 20 AC (22 if you grab a shield on top of it!) If death didn’t take you the first time what makes them think you’ll die now?
Hits the spot - Nothing that a few oranges can’t help. You’ve got a nice bit of utility spells to keep yourself in the fight without having to deal with pesky debuffs or the whole “health” problem.
CONS
The smell of powder sets my blood to boil - A good captain always has options but do you really need them when you’re just going to stab ‘em? All the spells and attack options in the world can quickly overwhelm your choices, and a lot of your lower level Concentration spells become rather pointless in higher-tier play.
Forged in blood and bile - A good score in 3 stats isn’t that great when the other 3 stats are notably lacking. Being a Paladin saves your Wisdom saves but both Dexterity and Constitution saves are extremely common, and all you have is your Aura of Protection to help with those. Hell your CON saves in particular being so low means that Concentration will be dropped rather frequently.
I'll take back what's mine! - 16 levels to swing a sword midway decently isn’t great, and 20 levels to swing a sword well isn’t good either. Like I said your Paladin levels are more ceremonial than functional and exist almost entirely just to give you your Passive. Again expect another post detailing how I’d make a low-level version of Gangplank that still captures the same feel without being as MAD nor as level-dependent.
But if you were weak you would’ve drowned long ago. Gather enough black powder to sink the entire island and show the world what happens when you mess with Gangplank. Just remember that there are still men willing to swear allegiance to you, and a captain is only as good as his crew.
(Artwork by SixMoreVodka Studios. Made for Legends of Runeterra by Riot Games.)
#dnd#dnd 5e#dnd build#dnd guide#League of Legends#Gangplank#League of Legends Gangplank#Matt Mercer#dnd paladin#pirate#barrel#more powder
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Light Me A New York Torch
Pairing: Oberyn Martell/GN! Reader
Word Count: 2,045
Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of gore, ghosts
Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell
The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog, and the masterlists are created by @clydesducktape.
You couldn’t remember when it started. When you began to see the people no one else could see. But it had been going on for years, and it was no longer as unsettling as it had once been. Instead, the slightly faded people wandering through the crowds of Sunspear were a comfort, coming with the knowledge that after death, there was still some kind of life.
The ghosts never bothered you, and they never bothered others. They mostly kept residence where they’d been buried, never venturing past the wrought iron gates of their respective cemeteries. But occasionally, especially whenever you made visits to the castle, you would see ghosts, their silver fog trails and oozing injuries marking them as some of the valiant dead. They liked to sit in on meetings, especially the important ones. You never cared, always nodding a brief hello if you were alone.
But it was the Princess of Sunspear who you spent most of your days with.
Elia Martell was buried just outside the castle, in a cemetery dedicated to members of the Martell bloodline. Her name was etched beautifully into a tombstone, her two children beside her. You never met the kids, but Elia loved to spend time in the sun with you, listening to stories you told. Now, you sat on a small bench, waiting for your ghostly friend, a bag of fabric beside you as you worked on a new robe for the Prince.
“Is that for Oberyn?”
You looked up, smiling at Elia. Her face was near ruined, the color faded with death, but her smile was still beautiful, even if it was streaked in blood.
“Of course,” you said, examining the neat backstitching you’d been working on all morning. “Who else wears fabrics this expensive?”
Elia laughed, sitting beside you and looking out over the sea. “How is he?“ she asked softly. “Is he doing well?”
You nodded. “He is.” You set down the sleeve you’d been holding in favor of focusing entirely on Elia. “Doran fell ill, so Oberyn is going to be heading to King’s Landing for him. He leaves in a week’s time.”
Elia hummed. “Travel will do him good,” she decided. “He’s grown too comfortable here in Sunspear.”
“Comfortable?” You asked with a laugh. “How so?”
“He’s like a cat,” Elia said, echoing your laugh. “A cat who’s found an awfully gullible human to leave it a bowl of cream every night.”
You laughed, your project abandoned in your lap. “Unfortunately,” you said once you’d regained yourself. “I think this cat is soon to be declawed. Did you hear what Doran was planning on doing?”
“Please, enlighten me.”
You and Elia both jumped at the new voice, and you turned to see the last person you wanted to see right now. Prince Oberyn.
“Ah, my Prince,” you said, bowing your head. “I didn’t see you there.”
Oberyn smiled, looking at the bag at your feet. “Who were you talking to?” He asked, entirely unaware of Elia sitting beside you, her bloodstained eyebrows turned up in worry.
“Old ghosts,” you answered honestly, knowing he wouldn’t believe you. Most people never did. “Elia likes the castle gossip.”
Oberyn chuckled, laying his hand atop his sister’s tombstone. “She always did,” he hummed, and Elia stood, standing beside her brother. She gently reached out to touch his face, her thumb gliding over his cheek.
“Tell him he’s too thin,” she said softly, her voice full of worry. “He looks too sad.”
You sighed. Elia, no matter how long she remained youthful, would always be Oberyn’s older sister. She would always harbor that deep flame of concern in her belly. “Elia’s worried about you,” you said, not bothering to stand.
“I suppose she would be,” Oberyn said, turning back to you. “Mind if I sit?”
You shifted your stuff over, allowing Oberyn to sit beside you. He peered into your bag, smiling a bit. “Fabric looks nice.”
“Well, it is for you,” you said, drawing the half finished sleeve out of the bag again and picking up where you’d left off. “I figured you’d like the color.”
“It’ll suit me well,” Oberyn agreed.
Elia looked from you to Oberyn, her face lighting up. “Oh gods!” She said eagerly. “He likes you!”
You ignored her, not wanting Oberyn to assume you were out of your mind. “Are you bringing Ellaria to King’s Landing?“ you asked, picking up your needle and continuing to rhythmically backstitch the hem of the sleeve. “I don’t think she’s been yet.”
“She hasn’t,” Oberyn said. “I will bring her when I leave. She’s grown bored here in Dorne. She’s never truly left the kingdom, and I promised her travel.”
You nodded. “Does she need a new robe?” You asked. “I have some beautiful sheer fabric that I can’t wait to use.”
Oberyn smiled. “You work too hard,” he said lightly. “Ellaria is not in need of a new robe.”
“I work just hard enough,” you countered. “I’ll make her a new one when you return.” You tucked your things into your bag, the waxed spool of thread falling gracelessly on top of the pile of fabric. “I’ll see you tomorrow Oberyn.”
Elia followed you all the way to your sewing room, which was shocking, considering she almost never left the cemetery. The entire time, her face practically glowed, and as soon as the door was shut, she squealed with happiness. “He’s in love with you!”
“Who, Oberyn?” You asked, dragging the wooden dress stand towards your desk and beginning to put fabric pieces onto it. “That’s like saying I’m in love with expensive fabrics. It’s a damn near daily occurrence. Oberyn being in love with me means nothing.”
“Mhm,” Elia hummed, sitting up on the windowsill and watching you pin the half-finished sleeves to the body of the robe. “Do you like him?”
You almost stabbed yourself in the finger. “No!“ you insisted, grabbing a pin cushion and sticking the head of a pin into your mouth. “He’s funny and kind and, sure, maybe a bit handsome, but no! I’m not in love with him!”
Elia’s cat-like grin told you that she didn’t believe you in the slightest. “You love my brother,” she said happily. “Oh! This is amazing!”
Rolling your eyes, you threw an empty spool at Elia, watching it soar through her chest and out the open window. “Hush up,” you said firmly. “I need to focus.”
Seven days of focus later, you were presenting Oberyn with his new robe, Elia by your side.
“How does it fit?” You asked, smoothing the fabric between Oberyn’s shoulders, watching it stretch as he shifted. “Too tight, too loose?”
“It’s perfect,” Oberyn promised, turning. “I’m sure I’ll be the envy of everyone in King’s Landing.”
You smiled. “Be careful on these buttons,” you urged. “If you lose any of them, I might just cry. They were very expensive.”
Oberyn chuckled. “If I have time,” he said. “I shall look in the King’s Landing marketplace. They might have some nice fabrics and things for you.”
Your belly heated. “You don’t have to,” you said, sending a minuscule glare in Elia’s direction as she grinned wildly.
“You deserve a thank you,” Oberyn insisted. “I know you must’ve worked many long nights to finish this robe.”
“It truly was not that bad.” You didn’t disagree with him. You knew just how long you spent awake to put that robe together.
Oberyn’s smile never faded as he turned to his horse. “I’ll be back,” he promised. “Tell Elia I’ll visit her when I return.”
Elia hovered her hand over Oberyn’s. “Stay safe little brother,” she said, and although he couldn’t hear her, you swore Oberyn’s eyes shone brighter as he turned his horse away and rode off.
Two weeks later, after many boring days, you were met with a surprise. The cemetery had not one waiting figure, but two. Elia, ever the permanent fixture, and then another horribly familiar body.
“Oberyn?”
The second figure turned, and you gasped. Oberyn’s face looked as if someone had torn it to shreds. His eyes were no more than rusted red craters in his face, and his mouth was stained in blood. His hair was sticky and matted to his temples, where two identical injuries lay. He was in his leather armor, and you were desperate to know what happened.
“So you weren’t joking,” Oberyn murmured. “You really can see ghosts.”
“What happened?” You asked desperately, not caring if anyone heard you seemingly talking to yourself. “Who did this to you?”
Oberyn sighed. “I was the Imp’s champion,” he said. “In a trial by combat. I fought The Mountain, and lost spectacularly.”
You wanted to scream. “Why?”
Elia shifted on her tombstone. Oberyn took a breath. “Revenge,” he admitted. “For Elia.”
You let out a watery sob. “You bastard!” You screamed, swinging your fists as Oberyn, who merely took the fist to the face, allowing it to pass right through him. “You stupid bastard! I can’t believe I’ve lost you! You! I can’t-“ you fell to your knees, sobs wracking your body. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Who says I’m going anywhere?” Oberyn said, crouching beside you and letting his fingers glide under your chin. The chill racing through your skin forced your head up, so you were looking into his face. “I’m not going anywhere, my little seer. You’re stuck with me for as long as you live.”
You reached out, thumbs ghosting over Oberyn’s bloodied cheeks. “You’re a mess,” you mumbled. “A bloody fucking mess.”
“Well,” Oberyn hummed. “I did just die yesterday.”
The rest of the day, you lay in the cemetery with Oberyn and Elia, occasionally joined by two children Elia admitted were hers. The leaves on the surrounding trees were finally beginning to fall, peppering the ground with dots of vivid orange until the once green grass was hidden beneath a blanket of autumn. It was peaceful, even when silvery clouds rolled through the sky and bells began to toll in the city. Shouts, too far off to decipher, split the air, and wails followed shortly after.
“It seems the world has learned of my death,” Oberyn murmured.
“It seems so,” you agreed. “The common folk have lost a good man.”
Oberyn smiled. “But not you,” he said. “You’ll never lose me.”
You laughed. “I do believe I am stuck with you forever,” you said. “Wanna head into the market tomorrow? I need to make you a funeral robe.”
Looking up at the fog silver sky, the breeze making the leaves dance on the air before they fell to the ground, Oberyn nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly, watching Elia play with her children. “We can make it a date.”
“A date,” you repeated. “Of course.”
#game of thrones#Oberyn Martell#oberyn martell x reader#oberyn martell x you#Pedro Pascal#My writing#writer wednesday
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The Fox and The Viper - Part 1
WARNING: 18+, blood, wounds, fighting, slight angst
Pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC
Wordcount: 2.9K
Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own.
Every year a tournament to crown the second champion of Alryne is held, but this year, the tournament is interrupted by the prince of Dorne.
Part 2 | Part 3
Masterlist
Cheers and howling reached the outer corners of the small city as the annual competition was held. A competition for glory and to be crowned the second champion of Alryne.
The arena, seating approximately 700 people, were filled to the brim. At the front, was the royal family; Vallie, seated comfortably in their chairs and shielded from the sun. The King: Orwen Vallie was watching the swords clash and shields break as the competition closed to an end.
The fighting had been going on for two hours, not only entertaining the royal family, but the people inhabiting the city as well. To watch other fight would make anyone’s blood rush and hearts beat rapidly.
The princess and daughter of King Orwen was not as entertained as everyone else. She was resting her head in the palm of her hand, at the brink of falling asleep. She didn’t care much to watch other people get hurt for just a title. It did give one some benefits in regards of housing and money, but the people of Alryne was not poor. She knew the people thrived and the difference in rich and poor was little. The only thing sticking out of the city, was their castle, but the people of Alryne didn’t mind. In fact, they liked the building, as it was the symbol of protection and safety and it had – a long time ago – housed its people before the city was fully built.
“Father, may I leave?” She asked, not trying to hide her obvious boredom.
King Orwen turned to look at her, his bushy brows furrowing deep. “Why would you want to leave, dear?” He asked, but he knew the answer already.
She sighed, lightly shaking her head. “I believe there are better things for a princess to do than to watch men injure each other for little profit.”
King Orwen was fully aware of her views of these tournaments and competitions, although it didn’t quite resonate with her hobbies.
Princess Alessia was a woman known for her thirst of knowledge, she was also the sole heir to the throne, which meant she had to be the protector of the city when her father would pass away.
The royal family of Alryne was known for their swordsmanship and their knowledge of war. Not once had the city lost a fight against their enemies and every war, the ruler of the city would join in the fight. It had been so for a long time and it would continue to be for the future. This meant Alessia had to learn to use a sword and so she had done.
“Little profit?” He scoffed. “There is an honour amongst men to be crowned the second champion. There is glory to be allowed to protect the royal family. There is strength and power to those standing last.”
“But father, I have seen this year after year and no one seems to be able to defeat our current champion. It is a waste of my time and I would like to return to my room for further studies.”
He contemplated it for a moment, wondering if letting her leave was the better option. He knew she made a fair point; studying was probably more beneficial than sitting here watching men grunt, sweat and bleed. Some believed it was ruthless to let her even watch it, but there were so much the people didn’t know. Besides, he didn’t want to hide the true world away from her. This was how life went, spilling of blood was necessary to move on in this world.
Her stubbornness and intellect reminded him of her mother and his late wife. The thought tore at his heart, but happiness fluttered in his chest.
“Fine, you may le-” He was interrupted as he watched his daughter’s eyes slide away from him and onto the arena. The sound of metal clashing together had faded and a hushed silence washed over the place as he turned to look at an unknown man enter the small arena.
He was dressed in light brown armour, a mix of mostly leather with a flexible chest and shoulder armour made of metal, chainmail on his arms and everything was coated in brown to match the leather. In his hand, rested a long staff with a wavy double edged blade on one end and a small spike at the other.
He strode confidently across the arena, but was stopped halfway by some of the contestants, three guards and the current second champion.
The man held King Orwen’s gaze as a warm breeze blew through the arena. Princess Alessia leaned forward in her chair, fascinated by this mysterious man. He didn’t bear any sign or mark to show where his allegiance lied, which made him even more interesting. But what truly peeked her interest, was the two golden snakes wrapped around and adorned on the wavy blade of his staff.
“Present yourself, stranger.” The second champion demanded, a threat lingering at the back of his throat.
Silence.
“Who are you?” The champion barked, taking a step closer while holding his sword high.
It felt like time stood still and the only sound was the sound of their heartbeats and shallow breaths.
“Stranger, you have interrupted a most important competition.” King Orwen started. “For this, you will be punished according to my will. Therefore, you will be sent to the dungeon to stay for a week without food. To this, what do you say?” His voice boomed through the rows of watching citizens.
All eyes rested on the stranger who still hadn’t moved from his spot where he was stopped. He hadn’t taken his eyes off King Orwen since he entered the arena.
“Guards, take him away.” King Orwen ordered and the guards approached the man.
“I am Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne and a member of House Martell. Brother to Doran Martell and Elia Martell.” His authoritative voice made everyone stop in their tracks.
A prince? Alessia gasped, sitting at the edge of her seat. Of Dorne? She had heard of the city, but never been there. It was his brother, Doran, who ruled the place after their father passed. And of course, the tragic death of Elia Martell during the devastating assault on the city of King’s Landing.
“I have heard rumours of the champion of Alryne and I am here to request a duel against him.” The prince continued, still not moving from his spot.
The second champion turned to look at the King, who seemed speechless at his request. He turned back to Oberyn. “You have no authority to come in here, to interrupt a big tournament, to make such demands from our king.” The champion’s voice rose with each word. “I should slay you where you stand.” He snarled.
“Enough.”
Everyone turned their heads to Alessia who had risen from her chair and now stood leaning forward on the railing of the balcony.
“Prince Oberyn Martell, please let me correct this first meeting. It is an honour to have you visit our city.” She smiled kindly, carefully dipping her head in respect. “If we would have known, we would have reserved you a seat.” She scanned his form while turning her smile more into a leer. “But considering your choice of clothing, perhaps a spot to enter this competition would have suited you better.”
Silence.
She noted a slight smirk play on his lips as she spoke. She glanced over her shoulder at her father, who seemed stumped by her sudden presence, before turning back to the arena to address the prince further. “We would love to honour your request, but to face our current champion, you would have to win the very competition you have rudely interrupted.” A hint of venom dripped from her last words. The smirk disappeared from his face and she noticed the guards fix their grip on their weapons due to the change in her demeanour.
She found it surprising her father hadn’t interrupted her yet or taken over her little display of power. A slight thrill played inside of her as she looked down upon the man. It was satisfying to put in place a cocky prince.
“Since I find this competition boring and you are obviously ready for a fight, let’s make this more interesting.” Now, everyone was listening and all eyes were on her. Even the guards surrounding the prince was staring at her. “Face off three guards at the same time. First to draw blood wins. This means you will have to draw blood from all three guards in order to win and not be harmed yourself. If you win, you will have to face off our second champion for first blood as well. Win and we will grant you your request to face off against our current champion.”
Gasps and whispers filled the rows of the watching audience and tension filled the arena as they waited for the prince’s response.
She kept her eyes on him, watching him contemplate it for a moment.
“I accept.” He finally replied and the murmurs grew among the people.
“Wonderful.” Alessia smiled and gestured for everyone to back off. She turned to the two guards standing to her side. Two of the greater guards they had. “Would you do me the honour?” She asked, not wanting to push them to it.
“It would be an honour, princess.” One of them answered and bowed to her.
“We will fight to win, princess Alessia.” The second replied and bowed as well.
She couldn’t help but feel her stomach flutter. “Bring one of the guards in the arena with you.”
They both gave her one nod and marched down the steps and into the arena, walking up to one of the guards.
Alessia turned to look at the prince, who had taken a few steps back and readying himself for a fight. She couldn’t help the excitement dance within her and she barely noticed her father stand up next to her.
“Don’t you think it was a bit too much with three guards at the same time?” He asked as they both watched the guards ready themselves and face against the prince.
“Not at all.” She replied, her eyes resting on Oberyn. “I actually expect him to win.”
The second champion signalled for the fight to begin and the guards immediately charged for the prince. Being calm and collected, he blocked all their attacks and made sure to keep them all in front of him, not allowing them to surround him.
The people watched in anticipation, expecting the young prince to lose quickly, but the cheering of crowds slowly grew with each block from Oberyn. The realisation of the young man winning heightened the tension and excitement as the sound of metal clashing grew faster.
Alessia leaned forward, watching the snake adorned spear dance between the fighting men. How it gracefully swung to block and turn to hit. The metal shimmering in the sun, blinding some of the watching people. She saw the pure focus in the prince’s eyes as he fought to win.
She was so deeply enthralled she didn’t notice Oberyn had already defeated two of the three guards. It was only when the crowd ruptured into full celebration, she saw streaks of blood coated on his blade and Oberyn had just swiped at the last guard.
Glancing at the three defeated men, she found nothing but shame and disappointment as they took off their helmets and knelt in front of her. Their feelings were not mirrored as she looked down upon them. She was proud of their efforts to fight against the prince,
“Well done, prince Oberyn.” She praised the young prince, who bowed to her compliment. “Most would find it foolish to test you further, but there is a reason this man is the second champion.” She gestured to her champion. “Raoul, has been the ruling champion for years now. If you defeat him, you will be granted a duel against our main champion. Are you ready to face him?”
The prince simply nodded to her question, not breaking the gaze he had locked with her. He seemed confident and strong-willed to see this through.
The three defeated guards stood up and made their way out of the arena. Alessia knew they needed to be praised for their valiant efforts, and so she would go to them later. She would have to come up with a repayment for the fight. But that would come later. Right now, she was more focused on watching the prince fight her second champion. She knew it would be a challenge, as Raoul had stayed on top for several years, undefeated by all. His armour would be hard to get through as well, as he relayed on strength and the weight of not only his body, but his sword and shield as well.
Raoul slid on his helmet, knowing the only way to penetrate and get a streak of blood from him, was the small cracks between his armour, which he needed for mobility. He knew one good swing would surely give him a swipe of blood from the cocky prince.
Both, standing ready in a stance, the fight begun as Raoul approached Oberyn with sword and shield held high.
The first clash of their weapons sent a shiver down Alessia’s spine. She leaned forward as she listened to the men grunt and weapons crash. The crowd was mostly silent, nervous and excited to see who would win. Even Alessia wasn’t sure who would come out as the victor.
“I will break you, prince.” Raoul barked as he knocked his shield against Oberyn, making him fall back. As he swung his sword to hit him, the young prince rolled to the side, flipped up to his feet and kicked Raoul. It wasn’t enough to make him fall, but at least make him lose his balance.
Raoul turned to the prince once more and they stood staring, both gasping for air. “Second champion? Must mean you are defeated after all.” Oberyn pointed out, a smirk painting his lips as a drop of sweat ran down his forehead. “How does it feel to be the second best?” He leered. “And soon to be third.”
Raoul charged towards the prince, eyes filled with fire and blood rushing through his veins. His shield collided with Oberyn’s spear, which then blocked his sword swing. Raoul swung his sword once again and Oberyn thrusted his spear forward and blood was drawn.
The two men stood still as the wind blew through the arena once again. Raoul turned to look at the young prince standing tall behind him. His eyes rose to the blade of his spear, watching his own fresh blood trickle down the snake heads. Dropping his sword and shield, he suddenly realised his arm was wet and he pulled off his helmet. Looking down, he saw a small pool of blood next to him, only growing bigger by the stream of blood running down his arm and dripping off his fingertips.
He pulled at the leather strap of his arm and yanked the armour off. The metal clashed as it landed in the sand and the leather around his arm was soaked. It was then he noticed the small tear in the leather on the underside of his upper arm and accepted his defeat.
Alessia looked at Raoul, the shame and disappointment painting his face tore at her heart. The silence in the arena was suffocating as all eyes were on her.
She turned to her father for words. He stepped up next to her and looked down upon the two men.
“Well fought to the both of you and congratulations prince Oberyn. A promise is a promise, and we will let you face our first champion. However, this will have to take place tomorrow.” King Orwen explained. “We will be happy to welcome you to our home to rest up.”
“That is most gracious of you, king Orwen, but I think I will find a more suiting accommodation for me.” He bowed his head, looked up, glanced at the princess before walking away.
As soon as the prince had turned his back, Alessia stepped down from the podium and briskly walked over to Raoul.
“Alessia-” Orwen called after her, almost in protest of her walking down.
She ignored her father’s call.
Raoul hadn’t moved since he had ripped the armour off his arm. The pool of blood next to him had grown and when he noticed the princess approach him, his eyes widened in horror. “Princess, no.” He took a step back.
Alessia didn’t heed his warning and walked up to him. She grabbed his arm and inspected the tear in the leather. Her hands turned red and the blood felt warm. The tear wasn’t big, but enough to cause concern.
“We need to get this fixed.” She mumbled, not realising Raoul was staring at her in shock. “I’ll get you the finest healer in the city.” She looked up at him and noticed him gulp.
“I’m sorry, princess.” He murmured, sweat trickling from his forehead. “I failed you.” Guilt and shame painted his face.
She shook her head with a gentle smile. “You have not failed me, Raoul. Quite the opposite.” She waved over two guards. “Now get this fixed and we can talk later.”
(Wanna be added to my tag list for Pedro Pascal and his characters? Let me know and I will happily add you)
@cynic-spirit, @lililolli, @notabotiswear, @sara-alonso, @blankmooon, @xoxo-callie, @mamacitapascal, @thewaythisis, @greeneyedblondie44, @stevie75, @mswarriorbabe80, @evyiione
#Oberyn Martell#Oberyn Martell x ofc#game of thrones#the red viper of Dorne#Pedro Pascal#fanfic#fanfiction#writing#ao3#18+
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