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themotherofblood · 1 year

Note

I saw you opened your requests again, so to finish off my series of requests inspired by Bollywood songs, can I please get Daemon x poc fem reader inspired by "Laal ishq" with lots of angst and nsfw please? (feel free to ignore)

you asked and I shall deliver!! I love the song, even though it’s melancholic. So to go with the theme of estranged lovers. Reader and Daemon have been friends for years, that eventually blossomed to love. Daemon is being forced to marry Rhea. There is no age gap since both have grown up together (also a really disgusting twist, fuck Jaeheryes!) THERE IS A PART TWO WITH SMUT I PROMISE!

Daemon Targaryen x Reader | WC: 5003

Masterlist

tw: mentions of incest, pregnant people and crass language

Daemon’s blood boiled anew since he was knighted the year before and was handed his ancestral sword. Dark Sister. He flew Caraxes faster, he trained harder. While one-half of his time was spent being a more valiant warrior than he already was, the other half was spent with you. Head in your lap, as he fawned on your beauty over and over again. It wasn’t right, you were a noble lady - a princess at that; you were to be chaste and untouched. Yet the walls of the Red Keep often turned a blind eye to your and Daemon’s ongoings. Everyone expected it so, seeming how Daemon always got what he wanted. The court expected that you would be wed to the young prince before Baelon would sit on the throne.

The door to the Godswood slammed open with a thud, and gruff sounds of huffing followed by clanks of armour filled your ears as you smiled to yourself. Almost enjoying every time your lover, pouting and broody demanded your affection after a long day of being consumed with his knighthood. You looked up to find Daemon placing his helm on the wooden table of refreshments before yanking out a leather flask of Flea Bottom’s finest moonshine, growling from the back of his mouth as the burn coated his sore throat. He huffed before plopping down next to you. The stench of mud and sweat filled your nostrils, much used to the muck as you kept working on your embroidery. Lip tucked between your lips as you passed a red string through the fresh patch of linen.

Daemon’s demeanour shifted, without having said a word as his attention was drawn to your nibbled fingers working over the delicate patches of thread. The designs of a story rather than the simple florals most ladies wore at court.

“Who bested you this time?” your voice caught his attention, your eyes still fixated on your work and yet the frustrations bubbling within him were apparent. Daemon narrowed his eyes at you before taking three large swigs from his flask.

“No one, every one of them has tasted dirt by my hands today,” he quickly replied, his mind toiling with a different malady altogether, like a plague. Clinging to the crevices of his head. How does one ask a lady such a thing?

“Then what’s got you pouting today?” you mused at him, this time placing the cloak down and turning to look at his defensive expression. His faded brows pulled to a tight-knit and his mouth parted with no words dancing over his lip. You raised your brow at him, knowing him far better than he realised.

Back in the yards, young lords with Daemon sparred away their mornings. Determined and raging as they charged at one another or dummies. Sparking conversations of bloody war fantasies and of comely girls at court. Out of the few closest to Daemon, five were already married - even his brother. Not that the notion of marriage had him praying like the fanatics at the Sept but even as stories of Old Valyria painted his dreams. He pictured his sweet lover, you in the grab of his house. Muttering words of Valyrian as his love for you would be legitimised by the eyes of dragons and the Fourteen Flames. Perhaps as his own sister-by-law, Aemma swelled full of her first child. He pictured little white-haired children of his own, perhaps enough to put his grandsire’s abilities to shame.

Daemon was sure if he would bring the matter up with his father. That perhaps his Jahereys would offer his hand to your father. There was much to be gained politically, and he would soil the sheets with his blood to cover for the lack of your maidenhead. The plans in his mind were crystal, already insistent of you becoming his lady wife. Though it was a matter of if you’d wish it so, or if your family would approve it.

“I- I asked father to have your hand in marriage,” he replied in one quick breath, his ears ringing from the silence that followed. A blank expression that spread through your features didn’t help his turmoil either as he waited for you to say something or refused him outright. “Fuck’s sake, say something?” he frowned, taking hold of your shoulders and shaking you.

The words wouldn’t reach your lips as you blankly stared him down, blinking profusely back to reality as his worry turned into disappointment. You straightened yourself, folding away the cloak on your lap before gently laying in on the grass, your chest pushing against your corset from how hard you were breathing. Abruptly, you launched yourself at him, knees catching at your gown uncomfortably that you didn’t care for as you straddled his lap to kiss him. There was a fire in how your lips connected, Daemon was truly taken aback for a moment before chuckling and giving into the onslaught, hands caressing each other’s cheeks. You rested your forehead against Daemon’s, “You want this? Marriage?” you had to ask to be sure, that perhaps this wasn’t another one of his spurts of passion.

He nodded “Would you? Be my lady wife?” his eyes, wider than the Septa’s when she heard crass remarks. Bursts of anticipation flooded Daemon’s heart. You would be his, to have and to hold. The colours of his house staining the mustard silks adorning your skin, there would be no reason to conceal such ardour for one another, a flame concealed by forbidding it air. Young souls afraid of its fire would see all but the world, perhaps diminished before it could swallow you whole. The embers would finally take flight, burn anyone who would question Daemon’s affections for you. It was way past time that the two of you should have been wed, every lord was afraid of approaching you from the fear of being eaten by Caraxes, and the ladies stood ten breaths away from the fear of being poisoned by you.

You, a Princess of House Martell, Darmon a Prince of House Targaryen and yet your names for one another held not houses or titles but otherworldly, cosmic - cathartic titles ones of adoration and the rest, not High Valyrian, Ryonish or the Common Tongue could describe. Oftentimes than not it felt unreal, fabricated that perhaps it was the joy of having another, the thrill of breaking statues or perhaps it was finally a sense of home. You saw him for who he was and he, you, not within the wild inclinations but perhaps the calm hidden behind the mirror.

The elation of your supposed oncoming betrothal spread cheek to cheek, the corners of your eyes crinkling (even be fair to say teary-eyed) yet you purse your lips. Still lingering on the question on Daemon’s lips, it was yes - such agreement you could scream your throat sore from Rhaenys Hill - mischief however clouded your mind as you pulled back from him, scrunching your brows in deep thought. A look of offence adorned Daemon’s sharp features; a minx through and through. “Fly a piece of the moon back to me and I shall think about it,” a mere jest, followed by a giggle to seal the line. Daemon’s eyes flickered with another opportunity but for now his work was done.

The tunnels in the Red Keep had stood witness to the damning celebrations that followed after, sneaking baskets of blankets, spiced wines, lemons, and plum cakes being carried from the kitchens to your solar. Even if you were caught, there wasn’t a fret or consequence. You were to be married. Far too intoxicated to do anything by the end of the night, as the vulgarities whispered by Daemon against your ear as his fingers rested against your blushed lips, feeding you pieces of purple grapes to muffle the deep bellied giggles pouring out of your mouth.

The morrow bloomed in with you sprawled atop furs by the dying embers of the hearth, skin sticky from no doubt the sweets consumed last night as your chambermaids poured in to tidy your chamber and you make princess-like once more for the respectable court. Though comely and courteous charm oozed out of your every pour, you let out dishevelled groans and grumbles as you pulled yourself awake. Finding an indent in the furs where your lover had nestled with you the night before and now he fluttered away like every morning. Pristinely dressed in your riding clothes, your schedule today consisted of visiting Lady Aemma, avoiding the snarky air headed ladies and court and paying your precious steed and visiting the Kingswood.

Aemma Arryn, already swelling from her first babe, wore her discomfort with much grace. Hoping to birth a boy for Viserys but in her heart she knew the babe to be a bumbling girl. “I’ve heard something about you… and Daemon,” her lips curled in a sly smile. Yet you being devoid of romantical theatrics, heat still evaded your composure and flared across your cheeks. You shuffled onto the chaise next to her, giggling as you hesitantly held your arm out. She meekly nodded at your gesture, grabbing your palm to place over the bump, the skin firm yet softer under your touch. Living with dragons mere breaths away from you and yet an entire person being inside your friend fascinated you, perhaps such would be your fate without the lemon heads in your environs while engaging in the salacious acts with Daemon.

Your eyes crinkled at the corners, much aware of what Aemma had heard - from Viserys no doubt - the older Targaryen brother hid not one thing from his sweet wife. Both brothers were highly hen pecked by the women they took as lovers. “What could you have possibly heard, I swear I poisoned no one,” your lips curled to a wry grin making her tap your thigh mischievously with her foot. You pulled them onto your lap, kneading your fingers into the mass of her foot, alleviating pressure from her overbearing weight.

“Viserys overheard Prince Baelon talking with the King… Can you imagine us, sisters!” her smile widened cheek to cheek, already pictured dressing you in ivory herself like you did her.

“Whatever you have done to my brother, I applaud you,” Viserys’s voice chimed from behind you, leaning against the door frame, admiring his glowing wife with a graceful smirk on his face “The Street of Silk shall mourn his absence,” he teased making Aemma glare at his antics

“Do not listen to him,” she scoffed, “Have you told anyone yet?” You shook your head, wanting to keep this joy just between the people you trusted the most before the vultures found a way to make profit of such an event yet again.

“Do you know where he is?” you turned to Viserys who pointed out the window to the skies.

The air crashing against your skin as your hair followed free of its braided constraints, purple leather hugged your skin, shielding you from the chill of this day’s climate. The trees mere green shadows in your periphery blend all as one, just your own breathing echoing in your ears and the quicked hoof beats of your night black mare Nysa. While she couldn’t fly, her legs were no less than being afloat in the clouds, brushing past the dirt road at speeds incomparable to the naked eye. She neighed at a halt, right at the end of the meadow. The greenery reached as far as your eyes could see, you lingered in the quiet for a moment, the bird, the grasshoppers and even the leaves melodically sang a song for your ears.

The winds tore past the stink of the bustling livelihood of King’s Landing, amidst the rain that was sure to follow within the end of the week, the forest smelled of leaves, of warmth and damp. You shuffled off your horse, your own personal guard no doubt still catching up to the rampage that tore you through the thick tree lines. Deep breaths of fresh air flooded your lungs, you often dreamed of riding all the way home, to bask in the crisp sunshine at the Old Palace.

You walked holding onto Nysa’s reigns, finding a spot to sit with your legs over the rocks looking down into the ditch, while your marriage would bring forth much joy in your life. Perhaps a blissful life at Dragonstone, a cat, Caraxes and him. Mostly you’d enjoy being a royal lady-wife, perhaps it would make the ladies at court fear you more than a poisoning, Dornishmen - salacious varmints.

Higher above from where you were sitting, Daemon flew past the clouds, higher every moment. A feat encouraged by your jest but in reality a grace question, why hadn’t the Targaryens ever touched the moon? The dim witted Septons nor the droll Maesters had an answer for it. He took matters in his own hands, clipped to Caraxes as he rode the Red Wyrm to newer heights. The air around him was much colder and yet he kept climbing. Taking in large gasps of breaths, however lungs simply couldn’t get enough. A piece of the moon - he could do that much for his sweetest wife to be, a wedding gift better than any silk gown or golden necklace. What completely overshadowed the struggling mount underneath him was you. Caraxes fought to climb, the sky growing a deeper shade of blue, as Daemon’s mind fantasised his way through the journey; the lack of air in his lungs slipped right past.

Knocking him unconscious first, Caraxes yet climbed heights above than before until he realised Daemon slumped backwards on his saddle; severing any control the prince had on his dragon moments before. Such exhaustion consumed the Red Wyrm too, while still within his prime his wings tucked tight as he fell from the skies like the stories of angels the High Septon preaches.

The striking red of the dragon’s body clashed against the bright and clear skies that graced King’s Landing today. Just as you lounged at the edge of the meadow, a falling red figure wasn’t hard to miss. You stood to your feet immediately, fascinated at what it might have been. The Blood Comet in the scrolls wasn’t due for another decade or two. Only instead of gliding across the horizon of the sky, it grew bigger by the moment; until you saw the flutter (no book said anything about fluttering rocks falling from skies above). The dark membranes outline the red made you gasp “Oh gods,” this had been either a sick thrill Daemon had decided to partake in or he was truly falling from the heavens.

You mounted Nysa, rushing towards the falling figure from the skies. While to others the moment seemed fleeting but it felt ages as you neared the falling dragon. Caraxes spread his wings, in desperate attempts to halt the descent as he gained consciousness. Daemon, still attached to his saddle but nowhere near coherency. A loud crash accompanied a mushroom cloud of dirt blasting through the woods, Nysa nearly throwing you off her back as she neighed, startled to shit. You jumped off her, your personal guard merely catching you in time as Ser Alysen gripped your arms. Warning you of the dragon that laid huffing and curled, he would eat you, he would eat you.

You screamed from the back of your throat, pushing Alysen off your back and rushing towards Caraxes. “Do not fucking eat me,” your mind toiled, yet you had to know if your lover was alive or if you were widowed before you even had the chance to step on the alter. The red dragon’s nostril flared, low bellied chirps echoing through the settling dust, please - let me see him. You weren’t sure how you would fight a creature four times your size but perhaps his bigger mind sensed your harmlessness, putting up no protest as you pulled yourself onto Daemon’s saddle, him still slouched, breathing.

“Daemon, Daemon wake up,” you cupped his cheeks. Shaking him profusely, the behemoth he was growing into. You couldn’t carry him off the dragon even if you wanted to. “Come on now, wake up!”

Most of King’s Landing already witnessed a mythical creature falling from the heavens. Half of them ran for the Grand Sept, howling of the end times and the people in the Keep knew it to be Daemon. Within minutes more riders arrived with aid, the others contemplating the possibility of an attack. They found you on top of the Red Wyrm. Distraught and holding the young prince’s body hugged onto you, getting him off the mount proved a far harder challenge than anything the Stranger would ever test them to. A crying princess and an unwilling dragon.

You had raced behind the wheelhouse carrying Daemon back to the Red Keep. Maesters were already alerted and awaiting the prince in his bed chambers. While you had no business being in his quarters, even you had found him. You paced like a mad woman outside his bed chambers, if he died you swore to torment him in the afterlife as you counted every brick placed in the wall you were staring at.

Prince Baelon soon after burst through his quarters, hearing about his son as his conversation with father seemed to have turned quarrelsome. Both him and Viserys had raced down the corridors, the sight was none for relief but you sat on the floor. Knees bobbing in anxiety as you chewed through your nails. Having realised what Daemon might have been doing as dread and anger was replaced with guilt. You made him do this.

The questioning look on the princess’ faces was replied with one meek sentence “I asked him for the moon,” your eyes welling once more. Yet for the sake of your dignity and name you turned away.

After much waiting, yet not having left Daemon’s quarters. You waited patiently for him to awaken, for reasons other than to either press grateful kisses all over his face, or grovel at his feet for his blessed romanticism. Flattered (truly - completely) for broken bones set straight, and bruising along the side of his shoulders and two fat sheep, the cost of the moon on land. When Daemon grumbled awake, his family were the first to receive him until Baelon - being the true supporter of your union - ushered you in after demanding that the Maesters and attendants all leave. The father in him refrained from yelling at his son’s recklessness but you dutifully performed that right for him.

Daemon grinned, loopy from the milk of poppy no doubt. “Princess!” he dragged, very likely expecting an embrace or a pat on his shoulders for his efforts as he sat perched by pillows against the stone headboard. He instead was met with a swift and ringing slap across his cheeks, your eyes and nostrils flared.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!” the rage of a true Dornish woman radiating through your words, unbothered that the Heir to the Iron Throne stood witness to the crisp smack you had landed on his son’s face. You tilted your head, demanding an answer - palm stinging and yet itching to land another sharp smack on his other cheek as he grinned once more. While his cock nearly twitched seeing his sweet princess so ferocious about his life, your eye would soon begin to twitch as he kept up his antics.

“You asked for the moon,” he trailed away, clearly aware of the blunder he had created.

“A joke Daemon! A joke!” you dug your fingers into his cream tunic as you climbed on his bed “If I asked you to jump off Maegor's Holdfast, would you?” you scolded, Daemon’s mischievous glint now turned soft as your anger gave way to your concern. He nodded in agreement, nodding away like a spring headed doll. You smacked him on the shoulder once more, your bottom lip trembling as you remembered the terror you had felt as he laid unconscious in your arms “I thought - you moron,” your voice broke. “I thought you were dead,” you whimpered, making Daemon shuffle up higher.

He pushed stray hairs away from your face, his eyes soft as he glanced over your scrunched face. His thumbs caressing your cheeks before pulling you into him. You sobbed, near incoherent as relief washed over your fright. Daemon shushed you, apologising for scaring you, he looked up to where his father stood in his receiving chambers with a sheepish yet apologetic smile on his face. Baelon’s eyes glinted with knowing sadness, smithing Daemon wrote as disappointment for the stunt he had pulled. Baelon nodded knowingly at Daemon, reassuring him that you and him not to be disturbed before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Daemon milked his injuries for all they were worth, the warrior in him laid to rest as he demanded care from you at all times. From having you snuck through the tunnels to lay with him curled under the furs to insisting that you change his bandaging for him, read for him and braid his hair. The reality that Daemon was the younger sibling had never been more apparent than these past two moons as his bones realigned themselves, even Caraxes shared Daemon’s temperament during this time. Refusing to hunt and gobbling through the horde of sheep the dragon keepers would bring for him.

Whatever announcements of nuptials were to be made were postponed until he healed whole. So here you lay in the Godswood with Daemon oddly chirped than before as Prince Baelon’s feast begins tonight, having him affirmed as heir yet again as Jahereys health began to decline. Barely being able to speak more than a cough or two. The Old King’s time neared to an end, something that had deeply bothered all the Targaryens in the family. Bringing nearly the end of the century of dragons, even Aemma near the end of term. Much was to grace House Targaryen in the coming moons, so sitting here under the red leaves in the glaring warmth of the afternoon - there was silence, there was tranquillity.

You mindlessly sectioned Daemon's hair, braiding it far better than the handmaiden did for him. “You are going to be the prettiest Prince tonight, have women drooling and what not,” you giggled, knowing very well he found your teasing amusing but it often came at the price of having your rear smacked out of the blue.

“I shall escort you tonight,” Daemon whispered, lost in the sensations of your finger tips fiddling against his scalp, consequences and rules meant little to him now, let the world know and have the bother be done with, you were his. What else was there to say about it

“No, you may not,” you shook your head, tongue poked out as you dismissed him. He moved his head to look up at you, you shook your head once more “We cannot, not just yet,”

This one dismissal would result in a knight of pawing and pouting, you were sure of it. A prince of six and ten and yet he couldn’t behave like one. Your gown for tonight already laid awaits in your bed chambers, a gorgeous mustard and gold gown to compliment the symbols of your house. While Daemon often insisted you wear black or perhaps even red, in his head the two of you were already wed; it was only a matter of formality. What courting a woman that has been with him since his toddlerhood.

The Throne room once more had been decorated to charm the guests travelling from all over the Known World, to pay respects to the Old King and to find allegiances with their soon to be King, Prince Baelon. Many noble ladies of courts far and wide, dressed in their finest gowns, hoping to catch the eye of a Targaryen prince, perhaps the heir or perhaps his son. Prince Baelon appeared mellow, almost irked as he made his rounds. You greeted him upon arrival but his usually courteous smile to you seemingly turned to a grunt of an acknowledgment. You found solace within your known friends as they gushed over each other’s gowns while feasting over candied apples and cake. Daemon arrived later, a quirk of his as he walked in head held high and nonchalant, lips curled in a smirk as ladies began to hound him with questions of his well being.

The Kingsgaurd made their presence known as the crowd simmered to whispered conversations, everyone resumed their seats on either side of the Throne room. You sat with a few Dornish delegates and your brother Quentel Martell, he was rather chirpy about being housed by Targaryens, and odd joy or perhaps understanding bubbling in his chest as he socialised with the other heads of houses. The grand titles of the king were read out as his silhouette crowded your vision, the Old King stood in his regalia. A dying dragon yet stood commanding an entire room, people erupted in cheers as he walked to his Throne, his heir and son stood by the spiking swords by the ground.

The grandeur of the feast continued through the elaborate evening, tables coated in food and spilt wine drying sticky. Daemon and you made your rounds, inquiring of the latest salacious gossip and giggling over the older maidens that swooned over his father,when in was unsaid yet apparent that no woman in all of this court would ever be what Alyssa Targaryen was, her fire: her passion were truly unmatched. Another round of announcements were to be made, a grand toast to proclaim Baelon Targaryen as heir once more.

“It is with great pride, I once again affirm,” Jaeherys looked to his son admiringly, Baelon shuffled uncomfortably where he stood and yet you held a sorrowful smile, he truly deserved to have Alyssa beside him, she would have been a far valiant Queen than Westeros had ever seen. “My son, Baelon Targaryen is Heir to the Iron Throne and to be the future King of The Seven King,” the crowd applauded in unison as you joined them, Daemon nudged Viserys as he would be King after his father. As the applause died down, Jaehereys continued “I also with great pleasure, announce the betrothal of my grandson Daemon Targaryen,”

Heat creeped onto your cheeks as you caught Daemon’s lilac eyes across the room, crinkled at the corner as he smirked at you; both of you already aware of the verdict. Daemon contained all his animalistic happiness within him as he mouthed “my wife” to you. For moments, the hundreds of nobles and servants around you disappeared, all the remained were your eyes and his, separated by the wall from the watching gallery where you stood, here where you would be married, anointed by the King himself or the High Septon.

“With the noble lady Rhea of House Royce!” King Jaehereys’s voice boomed through the hall following thunderous applause. The crowds either turned to direct their applause at Daemon or turned to find the bronze dressed house and clapped.

Daemon's betrayed frown turned to his grandsire and his father, this couldn’t be - he was told otherwise, he wished otherwise. Lady Rhea, the great brown haired beauty she was - had already approached the makeshift altar, shuffling her way past the chairs to the Iron Throne; she stopped by Daemon, waiting from him to approach her. Daemon stood his ground, a deceived scowl began to tear through his princely composure and yet he had no choice over the demanding glare Jaehereys had fixed upon his grandson. Daemon felt the urge to empty his contents right onto the stone floor as Lady Rhea and him bowed in honour. Rhea, unaware of Daemon’s inner discomfort began to soak in the outpour of love for the new Targaryen wife to be.

While Daemon began to contemplate ways to weasel his way out of this, he found you standing at the gallery. The wine cup in your hand king dropped as you stool colourless and frozen. Not a blink nor a twitch as you stared at the window behind the throne, bile covered tongue as the sweet wine in your mouth turned bitter. The night was far from ended.

“With such auspicious news, my son, Baelon Targaryen presents you with your future Queen. To secure another reign of dragons, the Prince is betrothed to the Princess of Dorne!”

Another round of shivers jolted you from your trance, this time your reddening eyes shifted to look at the King - he who searched for your mustard clothed figure in the sea of people. Baelon had sooner caught your eye than him as he approached the stairs leading up to the gallery. People all around you are cheering and you hear muffled chatter. His hands tucked behind his back as he waited for you to come to him, how do you marry a man who held nothing but fatherly admiration for you wit, how do you marry the father of your lover. You eyes hadn’t dared meet Daemon’s just yet, refusing to look at the woman that stood next to him as you pulled away from the steel railing of the gallery. Your feet mindlessly carrying you to the unchosen prince, your palms shaking as you took his hand. Any lady in your position would quake with blushed prospects, “she’s just shy” you were terrified, betrayed and above all bleeding.

There will be a part 2 :)

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councilofcastamere · 4 months

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MASTERLIST

AEMOND TARGARYEN

UNDER HIS SKIN [AEMOND X BIG SISTER!READER]

SAINTLIKE [AEMOND X BIG SISTER!READER]

ADORNMENTS [AEMOND X LITTLE SISTER!READER]

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

no fics yet… but requests are always welcome 🪐

BILLY LOOMIS

no fics, but please feel free to request 🔪👻

JACAERYS VELARYON

ASHORE [JACAERYS X AUNT!READER] COMING SOON

TRYSTANE MARTELL

THE SUN AND THE MOON [TRYSTANE X STARK!READER] COMING SOON

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lionlena · 1 month

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Leave… (Oberyn Martellxreader) ANGST - one shot

Warnings: ANGST, I wrote this to break my own heart, Oberyn is unfaithful, pain, sadness, heartbreak…

Leave

I wanna take you somewhere so you know I care But it's so cold and I don't know where I brought you daffodils in a pretty string But they won't flower like they did last spring

You stood on the terrace and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm. Lately, the evening air had been growing colder each day, as if the cold breeze off the sea itself was trying to make you realize it… Your time with Oberyn was coming to an end. The fire of love was growing weaker and weaker.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek and quickly wiped it away, almost angrily. You promised yourself that you wouldn't cry and despair, after all, you knew from the very beginning that this would be the end. You knew who Oberyn Martell was. No one wins the title of Dorne's Best Lover by being with two, three, or even ten women. He never hid his passion and desire for orgies from you. And you told yourself that it wasn't a problem, because: You would always be first in line… But recently something has changed. Your nights were shorter. Your days together are less joyful. The prince seemed more distracted. Even as he stroked your hair, he seemed to be somewhere else. Or rather, with another one.

When you asked him about it directly, he didn't even pretend, he didn't deny it. He said he met a special woman. The woman he wants to make his paramour. That he can't stop thinking about her. This woman consumed his thoughts. Your heart tightened in pain. You knew perfectly well that he felt the same way about you at first. You asked what happened to you then. He replied that you could stay… But did you want to?

You were brought out of your thoughts by the touch of a warm, large hand on your back. Something that used to bring you comfort. Now it made you shiver.

"Let's go inside. You're cold." He said softly, touching your hair with his lips.

You wanted to scream for him to stop showing you so much care and affection. If he were rude and aggressive, at least it would be easier for you.

"I made my decision." You said and moved away a bit.

The prince looked at you worriedly. He sighed and nodded, encouraging you to continue.

"I want to leave you. I will take the gold you offer me and go somewhere far away… Maybe I will live in the Free Cities."

Oberyn was silent for a moment. He dipped his head down and took your hand in his. His thumb gently stroked your skin.

"You don't have to…"

"But I want."

Oberyn looked at you sadly and whispered:

"I love you…"

You smiled nostalgically and stroked his cheek. His love changed nothing. His love didn't help you share him with another woman.

"I know… And I love you. But you know what is the most beautiful thing you can give to someone you love?" Oberyn looked at you carefully, waiting for your answer. "Freedom…" You whispered as the first tears rolled down your cheeks. "And that's what I'm giving you, Oberyn Martell… And I'm asking you to give me the same."

The prince wiped the tears from your cheek with his thumb.

"I wish I was different… But I can't."

You nodded. You wanted him to be different too, but obviously, the gods didn't create him for marriage.

"I understand that. Goodbye, Oberyn."

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The prince embraced you and hugged you tightly.

"I will miss you."

One thing you knew was that you would never love someone as much as you love Oberyn. You won't be able to give the same love to any other man. You won't sing and dance for anyone else. And for no other man will you cry as you cry for Oberyn. But you also knew that no other love could hurt you as much as your love for Oberyn. So you looked into his beautiful brown eyes one last time and left.

You weren't the only lover he left behind, but you were the only one who made his heart tremble painfully as he watched you leave.

And I wanna kiss you, make you feel alright I'm just so tired to share my nights I wanna cry and I wanna love But all my tears have been used up

*Tom Odell - Another love

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell #prince of dorne #prince oberyn #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #lots of angst #i cry so much #so sad

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msmorningstaarr · 7 months

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Holy and Heathen - 6 (Defiance.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Warnings: domestic violence;

ao3 | masterlist

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

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

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

Before you read: I'm so sorry taking so long to update. Life has been a mess lately but here I stand! Thank you all who wished me well on my last post. <3

Melara

“You look marvellous, my princess.” Melessa finished braiding the last section of her lady’s hair in front of the mirror. Melara touched her skin gently, feeling the slight sensation of overheating.

“Thank you, Melessa.” Melara said, still looking at her own reflection. The heat burning her skin provoked the flush on her cheeks due to the intense sun of Dorne. The princess stood up, pushing the fabric on her tail so it wouldn’t get stuck on the small bench in front of her vanity.

“The dornish climate agrees with you, princess.” Lys grinned, joining her hands in awe with Melara, who nodded calmly.

“I fear I’m not as accustomed as I thought I would be with the weather, in truth,” Melara replied, caressing the silk covering her body. Her garment was red with a silk that came from Qarth, no sleeves and a cleavage bigger than usual. Although her curves were often praised, Melara felt uncomfortable with so many parts of her body on display. One way or another, Oberyn expressed his desire to see Melara with more dresses that exposed her body and wearing jewellery with pendants in the shape of suns. The princess found his request reasonable and wore it to honour him, even when he was not around.

The marriage so far was not the worst thing that could happen to her. Oberyn lavished her with gold, gifts and dresses to amend their complex beginning and his current absence. He sang for her in the nights they coupled and was slow in the moment, never taking her clothes off or trying to do the things that made her feel distressed. He penetrated her with ease, spreading her legs and eagerly going in and out between the apex of her thighs, making Melara forget for some brief moment all the thoughts in her mind. The dornish Prince seemed slightly annoyed by the incessant wish to not do bedding on his way, but he had no other option but to respect her.

“It is only a matter of time, my princess.” Megga said, applying some lavender oil in her lady’s fists and behind her ears. “We seem to be living inside the sun, but Dorne is beautiful.”

Melara nodded and curved her lips on a coy smile. “I am not sure if my skin will handle the weather. Oldtown was not as warm as Dorne is.”

She missed the wind. Even in the Water Gardens, where she was surrounded by exotic trees, their shadows and pools, the heat was overwhelming. She missed the Starry Sept, her simple attire, her small window and the matutine breeze she would feel when she was praying before her chores. Even missed Lya spilling a handful of words. Even missed Hightower, with Lynesse and Alysanne laughing at her when she missed a stitch on an embroidery lesson and their Septa slapped her hands until Melara would do it accurately. She missed Septon Lowan forgetting about her former choice of joining the faith and asking her to go back home. Now, she felt homeless, drowning her body in the dunes of sand.

“We will make sure you keep your beauty intact, princess. ‘Tis we assure you.” Lys guaranteed, giving Melara a glass of water.

“Thank you.” She said, after drinking a sip of the fresh liquid. And then, the girls heard a knock on her door.

“My lady, may I come inside?” It was Ysilla on the outside. Melara nodded at her handmaidens and Lys headed towards the chambers’ door to open it, proceeding with a bow at the princess in respect.

“Mother.” Melara left her goblet over a small table and approached her mother by law. “Is very pleasing to have your company today.” Then, the young princess signed for Lys, Megga and Melessa to leave the two alone.

Ysilla raised her eyebrow and expressed some confusion while her eyes travelled Melara up and down. “My lady, is that Elia’s dress that you are wearing?”

Melara looked puzzled at Ysilla and immediately changed the look on her face to embarrassment. Why would Oberyn present her with a dress that belonged to another lady? A sudden ache hit her heart.

“Mother, princess… I had no idea it belonged to Princess Elia…” Melara replied, nervously. “Oberyn presented me with this dress. I can switch right now and return it to Elia’s former chambers…”

Ysilla grabbed her hands gently and smiled, cutting her words. “No need, princess. My princeling son values his sister too much and I am sure he had the very best of intentions in presenting you with one of her dresses. You look splendid.”

Melara noticed a strange feeling coming from Ysilla’s eyes. Growing up around Lady Rhea made her quite sensitive to mood swings and Melara could sense something about her new mother not being happy about the dress. The young princess felt anxious and fiddled her hands behind her back, lowering her head.

“I have a letter for you.” Ysilla changed the subject, delivering her a small envelope. “From Bear Island.”

Melara raised her gaze and narrowed it, eagerly holding the piece of paper. She exhaled and felt relieved that Lynesse replied to her last letter. “Lynesse.”

“Would you mind reading it later? I have a few things to show you today.” Ysilla headed to the door, expecting Melara to follow her. The young girl nodded and left the letter over her desk and walked alongside Ysilla through the hallway.

“Can I trust the statement that Oberyn is treating you well?” She asked, caressing her own nails.

Melara nodded. “He is very kind, my lady. I could not ask for a better husband.”

Ysilla sighed and looked at a blank spot. “Good. I hope that you give me more grandchildren very soon.” More. Melara had forgotten the fact that Oberyn had two bastard daughters. She had mixed feelings over this, but none of them could be considered to be good. Melara knew from the beginning that the dornish had other approaches when it came to bastards, however, raising them inside the castle as if they were trueborn children was something beyond her understandment. The blonde princess had no wish to meet them and neither had any sort of interest in knowing their names. Her lips curled on a pout and nodded gently as Ysilla spoke. She discreetly frowned and agreed. “Yes, mother. I will provide for more children.” Her words carried a hint of bitterness and felt ashamed for it, but her mind found this situation distasteful and concerning. In a land where women can inherit, Melara feared one of them could try to claim and steal her future son’s birthright. Melara knew she needed to be wise.

“Which leads me to another subject,” The mother sighed. “I believe you spent too much time retreating in the Water Gardens, my lady.” Melara narrowed her eyes. “It is time for you to return to Sunspear and be prepared besides Oberyn. Your absence is already being noticed at court.”

“Oberyn commanded me to stay in the Water Gardens.” The girl replied, muttering.

“And I command you to return to Sunspear, my dear.” Ysilla smirked. “I already demanded that the servants take all your things to your new chambers at the Old Palace. I have no wish to interfere on your marital agreement with my son, but I do hope you understand your role as his wife.”

“I promise to improve my demeanour, my lady.” Melara said, looking at a distant tree.

“In the future, your child will marry Elia’s child. Which means that House Martell will maintain our strict bond with the Iron Throne,” Ysilla caressed her good daughter’s back whilst they walked. “You must be aware of politics to teach your children as well.”

Melara went mouth dried and disconcertedly agreed with her. “Of course, mother.”

"It may seem daunting at first, my dear, but you have the intelligence and strength to control these intricacies. And you will not be alone; I'll be here to guide you.” Ysilla smiled, assuring Melara.

And after an awkward silence, Ysilla spoke. “Are you well acclimated with Dorne? Is the cook of your liking?”

“Yes. The food is rather spicy but I am growing quite fond of it, although I miss a few things from the Starry Sept.” She replied, numbly. The food was one of her favourite things so far. Melara never considered liking spicy foods and the sweetness of the dornish wine, however, the first time she tried a roasted lamb covered with a special pepper and potatoes, she knew food would be the least of her problems. Melara also enjoyed being left alone in the Water Gardens, seeing the bright pools and the sea of Dorne by her window. Now, the bright princess had to go back to Sunspear and live her duty by Oberyn’s side. She could not help but feel insecure about Oberyn. She was unhappy to be married at all and scared Oberyn would be bothered by having her back on a regular frequence. Melara wanted to bury herself into faith once more and live her invisible life. Being a lady was an overwhelming existence.

“You are indeed committed to the faith and I can see it. It is quite admirable, my lady.” Ysilla said, raising her eyebrows.

Melara curled her lips and joined her hands, exhaling before her words came out. “The Gods are good, my lady. We must spread their words and values to our next ones.”

“I am not a religious woman myself, I must admit. But it’s quite impressive to see your commitment to faith. It is inspiring.”

Melara blushed and joined her hands. “Your words honours me deeply, mother.”

“You and Oberyn may not come to realise it yet, but you have needed skills. Involuntarily, Oberyn got the best match for him when he sent your sister away.” Melara felt a warmth, similar to a heartburn and her feet seemed to fly above the floor in pride for all she just heard. Ysilla was the only person she felt as closest to a true friend she ever had. “Religion speaks volumes when it comes to influencing people, my lady. You’ll learn to use it in your favour and Oberyn as well.”

Ysilla continued leading Melara through the castle, her eyes keenly observing the young princess's reactions. Melara could not send away the uneasiness that had settled within her since the mention of Oberyn's daughters. She wondered about the dynamic they would share if they ever cross paths.

As they walked through the corridors adorned with tapestries and the rich colours of House Martell banners, Ysilla began to discuss the responsibilities and expectations that came with being the Lady of Sunspear. Melara listened intently, trying to absorb the information that was being imparted to her. The weight of her role began to dawn on her, and she felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Ysilla spoke of diplomacy, alliances, and the delicate balance of power in the region. Melara nodded along, realising the entanglements of her position. It was a far cry from the days of her childhood in Oldtown, where the concerns were more dull and shallow. She missed the cold, crisp air at that moment.

The two women entered a room adorned with maps and scrolls spread across a large table and enormous walls filled with books. That library remembered the one from Hightower and her eyes were lost in the moment, mentally praising the beauty of that place she never visited. Ysilla gestured towards the various documents, explaining the strategic importance of certain locations and the history of past conflicts in the region. Melara couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, her mind racing to grasp the complexity of it all.

Ysilla, sensing Melara's apprehension, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her and suddenly, a stormy presence opened the doors suddenly, revealing a child. She was dressed with a yellow mustard robe, similar to the ones Oberyn used to dress. Her hair, although, was messy and loose. The young girl possessed that tanned olive skin and his widowed eyes and fastly ran to Ysilla’s arms.

“Grandmother!” Melara’s heart stopped for a moment when everything made sense. Behind her, a servant walked ashamed and apologised repeatedly for the girl’s behaviour.

“My princesses, my apology. As soon as Obara heard you were here she wanted to see you…” The girl spoke, fearing for her lady’s disapproval.

“Not at all, Myriah. You may leave, Obara will stay with me for a moment.” Ysilla said and the girl left. Obara stood still, hugging her grandmother and Melara had no expression but utter discontent with the presence of the infant right in front of her. She had no manners nor any ladylike demeanour, walking with a wooden sword and small spear on her hand.

“I missed you, grandmother. Why did you not come to see me and Nymeria?” Obara asked, impatiently. Ysilla caressed the little girl’s face and smiled widely whilst Melara watched the scene.

“I missed you too, sweet girl. I just could not have enough spare time to be with you and your sister.” The older princess replied, holding her granddaughter’s hand.

“Look what father brought me from aunt Elia’s wedding!” She proudly showed the wooden sword and Ysilla giggled, watching Obara dance with the sword.

“That is certainly a proper toy for a proper fighter.” She replied to Obara, who put her small sword back on her sheath.

“Can I see father’s wife?” Melara could hear from afar the request from the child and it made her hands sweat and feet retorse inside her shoes.

“As a matter of fact, your step mother is right here. Would you like to see her?” Obara nodded her head quickly and started walking towards the distinct figure that was Melara.

The blonde princess closed the book and finally could look at the young bastard in front of her closely. She was the perfect image of Oberyn in all aspects, appearance and temper.

“Obara, this is Princess Melara. Princess, this is one of Oberyn’s daughters.” The six year old child stares deeply at her step mother with stern eyes, roaming her and raising one of her eyebrows. Melara stood still and remained cold in response to Obara.

“She is pale as father told.”

Melara's gaze met Obara's unyielding stare, and a small pout tugged at the corners of the princess's lips. She crouched down to meet Obara at eye level, maintaining a calm and collected demeanour.

"Pale, am I?" Melara said, her voice carrying a playful edge. "Well, it seems your father has been sharing stories about me. I assure you, Obara, there's more to a person than the colour of their skin."

Obara continued to study Melara, seemingly unimpressed. The young girl crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking a gesture she must have seen from her father countless times.

"Father says you come from Oldtown," Obara stated matter-of-factly, her gaze unwavering.

“Is that true?”

“It is.” Melara replied, replacing the book back to the shelf. “I come from House Hightower, the guardians of Oldtown.”

“I come from Oldtown too. My mother is a whore.” Obara replied simply. Melara had to admit to being impressed about how well developed Obara was in her speech, but distantly shocked with how naturally the girl spoke about her true parentage.

“I see.” Melara replied, uninterested and Ysilla watched everything.

"Are you my new mother?" Obara asked, her gaze fixed on Melara. The question hung in the air, laden with a complexity that Melara understood all too well. She took a moment before answering, measuring her words.

"I am your father's wife, Obara." Melara replied, firmly. Obara continued to study Melara, her expression unreadable.

Ysilla sensed the tension and knelt down to be at eye level with his daughter. "Obara, Princess Melara is now a part of our family. I expect you to treat her with respect," She said, his voice carrying a motherly authority that brooked no argument.

The young girl sighed, a mixture of defiance and acceptance evident in her demeanour. Melara felt a weird sickness on her stomach and a knot forming inside her belly, standing up swiftly to stay away from Obara. “My lady, I need to be excused from your presences.”

“Is everything alright, Melara?” Ysilla asked, concerned.

“I am not, in fact. But I must prepare myself to arrive in Sunspear as you commanded, princess.” That interaction with the bastard was everything she had no wish to experience, at least not that day. As Melara excused herself from the presence of Obara and her grandmother, she felt a strange mix of emotions. Jealousy, anger, sadness, outrage. The encounter with Oberyn's daughter had left her unsettled, and the realisation that she was now not only beaconing the intricate politics of Sunspear but also the complexities of family dynamics weighed heavily on her mind.

Ysilla, perceptive as ever, watched Melara with a concerned expression as she sent Obara away with her nurse once more. "Take your time, my dear. Family can be challenging, but it's something we all must learn to navigate."

Melara nodded in acknowledgment, offering a clumsy nod before making her way back to her quarters. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort that clung to her like a stubborn shadow.

As she prepared for the journey to Sunspear, Melara couldn't help but reflect on the challenges that lay ahead. The courtly intrigue and political machinations were one thing, but the dynamics within House Martell were proving to be just as complex. The young Obara, with her bold demeanour and piercing gaze, was a constant reminder of her husband’s impulsiveness and lack of respect for her. How could he take a bastard into his lady wife’s life?

With a heavy heart, Melara started her small journey to the political seat of House Martell. The journey ahead held uncertainties, not only in the realm of politics but within the walls of her newfound family. She understood that the role of a stepmother carried its own weight, however, she refused to see herself as a motherly figure to a child born out of wedlock.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Sunspear, Melara made her way to the courtyard where her chariage awaited. The journey to Sunspear awaited, and with it, Melara knew she would face not only the ramifications of court but also the challenges of forging familial bonds in a land where loyalty was as shifting as the desert sands.

Her new bedchambers were adorned with Dornish tapestries and intricate patterns that spoke of the region's rich history. Melara moved toward a window, gazing out at the sun-drenched landscape of Sunspear. The city, with its spires and domes, seemed to hold both promise and peril. The letter from Lynesse lay forgotten on her desk, overshadowed by the weight of her new responsibilities.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the Dornish sky, Melara couldn't help but feel a sense of isolation. She missed the familiar faces of the Starry Sept, the simplicity of her previous life. Little did she know that the journey she had embarked upon would challenge not only her role as Lady of Sunspear but also the very core of who she was. The blonde decided to open the letter and opened the paper at a slow pace whilst she could feel fragments of sand beating her face as the wind breezed inside her private room.

Dear Sister,

It has come to my acknowledgement that you had married my former betrothed to replace me as his wife. It surprises me, once I believed you took the vows on your sacred life. My husband, Sor Jorah is rather affectionate and handsome, a fearsome knight, therefore, there is nothing to worry about my safety. The lands of Bear Island are too wild and cold, though. Nonetheless, my husband lavishes me with gold and the fairest wools and fur coats I have ever seen. Please, send my regards to your Lord Husband for me as an insignificant attempt to thank him for his infinite kindness in discontinuing our betrothal and making my marriage possible. I do hope to read if Prince Oberyn is treating you properly. I also believe he will be the one who will finally make a bright smile rise on your face.

Father told me in a letter you were present at the royal wedding of Prince Rhaegar. What is he like? Did you become acquainted with Our Graces? I am eager to know your experience on King’s Landing.

Your beloved sister,

Lady Lynesse of House Mormont.

Melara embraced the letter with a longing tear scrolling down her eyes. Lynesse and Alysanne were the closest of her age of all her siblings and shared the same mother as well. Besides the constant mockery over Melara, Alysanne was rather protective and often told stories about their mother to Lynesse and Melara. The elder sisters often made Melara feel excluded, more of an outsider, for Melara was a quiet person and did not share the interest of playing with dolls and playing with other children of the castle. Still, Lynesse would climb to Melara’s bed on every storm and just laid by her side in silence, holding her hand while they slept because she knew how scared of lightnings and thunders Melara was. Lynesse understood how important the silence was for her. Melara sat on a chair in front of her desk and grabbed two pieces of paper and a feather pencil and began to write.

Sister,

I am glad to know that your Lord Husband treats you well, it earnestly makes my heart relieved to know that you are safe and sound by his side. I pray for the Mother you write me with news that I am to be an aunt, for I truly hope for your happiness. I imagine how cold the North might be, but tales of its beauty always come to my ears. I am sure you will recognise it when the time has come. I will make sure Oberyn knows about your gratitude towards him.

As for me, life in Dorne is not as difficult as I thought it could be. My lord husband is not cruel nor violent towards me. However, the laws and costumes of the country are something beyond my understanding. Oberyn is handsome and a fearsome knight as well, but dismisses any kind of affection, being rather distant from me. It does not bother me, once I still did not find in my heart to love him, but he treats me respectfully and this is more than enough for me.

And I indeed met Prince Rhaegar and Our Grace the Queen. Both of them are ethereally beautiful, but I sense they were slightly sad, even on a wedding day. Princess Elia is a very bright person and very close to Oberyn. I wish I had some sort of clue to his heart and make our relationship as affectionate as yours. King’s Landing would suit you well, once the city is full of eventful streets and the royal castle is full of adventures worthy of the eventful person you are.

I always figured I would never miss our moments in Oldtown, but here am I, shedding some tears as I think of how much I miss you and my former life. I wish I could remain in Oldtown as a Septa, but the Gods are good and knows best about my future. I truly hope to read your response soon.

Your dear sister,

Princess Melara of House Martell

Melara melted the wax and covered it with the sigil of House Martell as she sealed the first letter she wrote. Then, she took the second paper and started writing once more.

My good sister,

It has come to my mind that I never exchanged letters with you and for thus, I must apologise. Since I married your brother, I had a hard time adapting to the intense dornish heat and life as Lady of Sunspear, therefore, I was not able to write for anyone. I pray for the Mother every day your womb will be blessed with a new heir to the Iron Throne very soon and your marriage to Prince Rhaegar grows peaceful and full of love as the days go.

I write this letter with the intention of establishing communication with you on a regular basis, for I wish to nurture a friendship with you. I sincerely hope you found my request reasonable.

Your good sister,

Princess Melara of House Martell.

As she dropped the wax on Elia’s letter to seal it, she heard a knock on her door. “Who is it?” Melara asked, standing and fastly finding something adequate to dress herself.

“It’s me, wife.” Oberyn said behind the door. Melara raised her eyebrows in desperation and tried to look more presentable for her husband, wiping some traces of sweat and braiding her hair .

“Let me look presentable for you first, husband.” Melara said while finishing lacing her dress.

“Melara, there is no need…” His words were quickly shut off once his princess wife opened the door for him.

“Please, come inside.” Melara said, making space for him. He smirked and walked inside her new chambers with a jar and two cups.

“I heard mother has established Sunspear as your home.” He said, walking with his arrogant stride. Melara could see how much Obara resembled him and wondered if her own children would ever resemble Oberyn this much. The princess also rumined if her lord husband was discontent with the new arrangement of her living.

“Is it of your dislike, husband?” Melara asked, calmly trying to disguise her fears.

“In fact not. I suppose it is far easier to have our weekly moment while you are not with child.” He said, placing the jar and cups over the table. “I also agree with mother. Leaving you in the Water Gardens was a mistake. You need to learn how to administrate our household.” And then, he served her a glass of wine. He would never let her serve him and it undeniably confused Melara, for she always believed in the female role of submitting and serving to the husband, not the opposite. “Drink with me.”

Melara nodded and raised her goblet after Oberyn. “To your new chambers.” She drank a sip of her wine, which gave her a slight sensation of refreshment in that hot weather. “I see you wrote letters.”

“Yes,” Melara replied, walking towards the table. “To Lynesse and Elia.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Have you two been exchanging letters?”

“Not quite,” Melara admitted. “But I am trying to establish communication with my good sister. It was rather insensitive of me to not send her any letter.”

“Elia is not the type of person who would hold a grudge over such things, my lady.” Oberyn advertised, sitting on a sofa leaned by the wall. “But it is good to know that you are trying to bond with my sister.” His eyes were lost somewhere. Melara knew very little about Oberyn’s emotions, but she knew more than well that Oberyn was a high spirited person, always mischievous and playful before the marriage. After that he became someone else. Melancholic, distant. At least with her. But when she mentioned Elia, Melara could see his pupils dilate and his eyes felt to be at a loss. The blonde asked herself if Oberyn was that numb around Obara and his other daughter.

“Lynesse thanked you over her letter. She said she is safe with her lord husband and is glad for your kindness in ending your betrothal.” Melara said, standing up in front of him.

Oberyn smiled. “Lynesse is a good woman, she deserves to be cherished by a loved husband.” He stood up, left his cup on the floor and touched Melara’s lips, something he would do anytime he wanted to initiate intimacy. Melara was tired and still thinking about how offended she felt by his bastard’s presence, but complied nonetheless. Oberyn started kissing her neck, involving his arms around her waist and undoing the lace of her dress, guiding her to the bed. He was silent the whole moment, but his lips were eager. Kissing her collarbones, squeezing her breasts over the thin fabric of her underwear.

Melara, however, could not stop thinking about what happened at the library earlier. Her mind recollected Obara defying her and telling about her life proudly, being the image of a major threat for her future bloodline. “I saw one of your daughters today.”

The tension between them had been building ever since the encounter with Obara, Oberyn's eldest daughter. Melara had made it clear that she harboured reservations about being around Oberyn's children. Oberyn, however, was fiercely protective of his daughters and resented any implication that they were less than deserving of Melara's respect. As he stopped kissing her, he narrowed his eyes and sat on the bed, intrigued.

“You did so?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I did.” Melara replied, sternly. Oberyn laughed.

“The eldest or the youngest?” The salty prince asked once more.

“She seemed to be around five or six years of age.” The young lady replied, facing down the wooden floor.

“Obara is her name. She resembles me too much.” Oberyn carried a certain proud tone of voice that sickened Melara to the stomach.

“She is a bastard.” Melara pointed out. Oberyn’s grin disappeared.

“And what would exactly change here?” Oberyn asked, trying to control his annoyance.

“How could you allow such disrespect to my person?” Melara frustratedly asked.

Oberyn closed his fists in an act of anger. “Why would my children represent some sort of disrespect to you?”

“It is unacceptable to have your bastards being raised alongside your lady wife.”

Oberyn stood up, his voice carrying the weight of his frustration. "Melara, you knew I had children when we wed. You cannot expect to separate me from them."

Melara dressed in a satin robe as he stood away, her voice cold as ice. "I knew, Oberyn, but I did not expect to be thrust into a family where the bastard children lack any semblance of manners and rub their bastardy on my face."

Oberyn's eyes flared with anger. "They are Dornish, Melara. They are strong, free-spirited, and unapologetic. Just like their father."

Melara gritted her teeth, demonstrating a passive aggressive demeanour. "I did not sign up for this. I am your wife, not their nursemaid."

Oberyn's expression hardened. "They are my blood, Melara. You will show them the respect they deserve." Melara's frustration boiled over, and she covered her eyes with her hands in rage, which surprised Oberyn.

"Respect is earned, Oberyn. It is not granted simply because of blood ties."

The Red Viper, renowned for his quick reflexes, swiftly grabbed Melara by her arms. His voice is low and dangerous. "And what about the respect you owe me, wife? I am your husband, and my daughters are a part of me."

Melara's eyes flashed, and she tried to retreat with fear but it was too late, she had to carry on with her fiery determination. "I owe you respect as my husband, but that does not mean I must blindly accept everything that comes with it. I will not be forced into a role I did not choose."

The clash between husband and wife continued. Oberyn, getting back to his senses, pushed Melara back. She held her arms where he grabbed her and felt the instant pain but stood her ground, swallowing her tears.

"You will not dictate who is a part of my life, Melara. These are my daughters, and you will find a way to coexist with them."

Melara, fueled by her own determination, leaned on her window. "I did not marry you to become a pawn in your familial disputes. I will not be subjected to the chaos of your children. Our future children…"

“Our future children what?” He yelled, infuriated.

Melara had to stand up for herself. “This is an utter disrespect to my person and our future, trueborn children. How can you allow your bastards to grow up here as equals? And if the lords recognise her as your true heir instead of my children?”

Oberyn smiled bitterly. “You would have to be with child first. Something you were not even able to become all this time as my wife!” The fight reached its peak, both Melara and Oberyn locked in a struggle for dominance. Melara let a single tear fall from her eyes in the moment, letting him know he had her weakness. In the end, as the dust settled, they stood facing each other, chests heaving with exasperation from both sides.Oberyn immediately sensed the weight of his rude words to his wife and buried his face in his hands. emotional distance that had grown between them. Melara, her eyes ablaze with defiance, refused to back down.

Melara walked away from the window, a somber expression on her face. "Enough," she said, her voice cutting through the tension. "This is not the way to resolve your differences."

Oberyn, still seething with frustration, fixed up his garments fast. "We will discuss this later," he said, his voice a low growl.

As Oberyn dispersed, he left her chambers in an uneasy silence, the rift between Oberyn and Melara lingered like a shadow over Melara’s head and heart. Melara laid on her and cried silently. She wanted to be closer to Oberyn, but his children out of wedlock were something almost unforgivable to Melara. That was the first time he ever raised his voice and laid his hand on her and it scared Melara, making her wish to be back in Oldtown more than ever, so she would do what she always does when in need: kneel and pray with the seven crystals in her hand, begging for the Father to reason justice in Oberyn’s head. The conflict had laid bare the challenges of blending their lives and families, and the road ahead seemed fraught with uncertainty.

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sunsetstarrogue · 8 months

Text

MASTERLIST

Rhaenys Targaryen-Centric

Series:

Right Where You Left Me: Rhaenys Targaryen x Robert Baratheon (political)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47853796/chapters/120642637

Ptolemaea: Sequel to Right Where You Left Me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49559608/chapters/125082418

You're On Your Own, Kid (You Always Have Been): Rhaenys Targaryen x Robb Stark

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47853451/chapters/120641746

One-Shots:

Ghost: Rhaenys Targaryen & Elia Martell

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47809972

Fires Of Fate: ASOIAF & SILMARILLION crossover

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49634185

Elia Martell-Centric

Series:

Baelon The Cruel And His Queen Of Love And Beauty: Elia Martell x Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell x Original Male Character

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48693688/chapters/122831365

You Were My Crown (Now I'm In Exile): Elia Martell x Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell x Baelor Hightower

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49660279/chapters/125341699

#a song of ice and fire #elia martell #asoiaf fanfic #rhaegar x elia #prince rhaegar #rhaegar targaryen #rhaenys daughter of rhaegar #rhaenys targaryen #asoiaf #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfiction #house martell #house targaryen #dorne #princess of dorne #elia of dorne

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jaenaravelaryon · 1 year

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Princess Meria Martell (the daughter of late Princess Arianne) with her children Willam and Ellaria

As well as Willam & Daenaera Targaryens daughter and heir, Nymeria.

#house martell #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 #asoiaf #ts4 edit #game of thrones #dorne #princess of dorne #Prince of dorne #arianne martell #house nymeros martell #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfiction

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katshuya · 3 months

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If Elia and lyanna's positions were reversed

If Rhaegar left his willful, tomboyish, and not like other girl wife for assumingly more feminine, Elia, would the reaction be the same?

Would R x L shippers say it's not their fault and we shouldn't blame R or E because R's marriage was forced to Lyanna?

That we just hate Elia being a girl who chooses who she wants to be with?

Or was it going to be a man who can't bear a woman being independent and strong and feeling challenged because Lyanna has a strong personality?

Would they say that Lyanna wouldn't mind as long as her child is heir and she gets to be queen and get rid of her jerk husband? or would it be humiliating for her?

Or maybe they would say Lyanna wouldn't mind because she is Brandon's sister as Elia is Oberyn's sister, and she is too independent her rough northern self doesn't care if her husband left her ? since she absolutely doesn't love him and because complicated relationships mean zero attraction/love and zero attempts to love each other

Would they say that it is alright because Rhaegar and Elia can be together? or are they going to blame Elia's Dornish nature for thinking she can be with a married man because she sees nothing is wrong with having bastards nor being with a married man? Are they not going to slut shame Elia?

Would they blame Lyanna's impulsive and more tough self for Rhaegar leaving her? like how it's justified that since Elia isn't as fiery or healthy as Lyanna for Rhaegar to leave her? or would they blame Elia for seducing Rhaegar with her more feminine and more allegedly submissive AND her seductive Dornish nature?

Would they write fanfiction about how Rhaegar prefers more feminine delicate desert flower than willful impulsive winter rose like how they do with Elia? Or maybe in their fanfictions, Elia's thrones would represent the stings she caused for Lyanna?

Would they accept the North not being angry and hateful with the Targaryens like how the Dornish shouldn't because the Dornish understand true love and don't mind mistresses or second wives at all in all scenarios?

Would people think Elia was kidnapped and raped? or are they going to be sure that it was consensual since Elia was adult and the sterotypical seductive Dornish, who doesn't mind mistresses and taking married man as lover?

Would they be it's fine because True Love! ? Or would they be furious for Lyanna because she helped and gave Rhaegar everything only to end up overshadowed by Elia?

Would they accept it if George's made it thay Lyanna was fine with Rhaegar having Elia because Lyanna was forced to marry Rhaegar and she and him have a very understanding paltonic love to the point Lyanna care not for her dignity nor all that she gave because she only cares for her child to be king and herself to be queen? Maybe Arthur Dayne, the knight who took his vows seriously, would break them to be Lyanna's lover in this scenario, so everything is ok?

Would they doubt that Rhaella ever cared deeply for Lyanna and Ashara was actully never close to her and just one of many handmaidens, as they do with Elia? Would they say it is because Lyanna is so minor and just a plot device for the North to hate the Lannisters, like how they did this with Elia and Dorne?

Or perhaps Lyanna would be fine because she wants Elia too?

Would the fandom be as apologic with Elia as they are with Lyanna in case she eloped willingly and say that she was totally faultless? and shouldn't be held accountable because of "girl's girl" and "don't put woman against woman," so no accountability? Or that Elia was manipulated by Rhaegar?

And Rhaegar, would the fandom see him as blameless/not that guilty as they see him when he left Elia? Would they also sympathize with the melancholic prince and say: let the poor man have a break and be with his true love! ?

is it a work of art and star-crossed lovers between Rhaegar and Elia in their eyes now? And as someone said, a progressiveness?

Or Would they criticize George for doing this to the cool willful not like other girls Lyanna?

Anyone associated with polygamous culture knows how unrealistic it is for Elia to accept a second wife without being upset about it and has no other choice. And we all know that most will not just be unbothered by it. Women in polygamous/polymorous culture do/would not simply accept it, and when they do, they aren't happy and ok with it. We are humans, and the Dornish are humans, too.

That's just in George's head.

#asoiaf #elia martell #game of thrones #anti rhaegar #anti rhaegar x lyanna #elia deserves better #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #lyanna isn't faultless #a song of ice and fire #anti rhaelya #anti r x l #anti rhaelya stans #GRRM critical

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nerdieforpedro · 7 months

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The Viper longs for foliage

Oberyn Martell x plus size female reader

Fanfiction 18+

Summary: The Viper of Dorne has taken issue with a current trend spreading across his land. A solution must be found, Lord Martell will not remain unfulfilled.

Warnings: Oberyn Martell (his own warning), threat of bodily harm, sex work, cursing, toxic family member, hair kink, public sex (a few dashes), body worship, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected P in V (wrap it up people), praise kink, breeding kink, aftercare

Notes: First time I’m writing Oberyn Martell. I conferenced with @iamasaddie and @pedrodascal to get the Prince’s voice initially.

I had planned it to be out in October for Kinktober but it was not ready. 🤣 The fic is better for it honestly.

Special thanks to Miss Mel @avastrasposts for editing 🥰 She also helped me see he’s a bit more benevolent than I thought.

Masterlist

“Are there no grown women anymore save for midwives and grandmothers?!” The frustrated Prince threw a glass after emptying the wine it held. The new trend over the last six months had spread throughout the region of Dorne. He had thought it amusing at first because mainly noblewomen were participating in the latest trend, and he had his pick of them and commoners. Enough to where he thought he could avoid it. Much to his chagrin, commoners were now participating in the obnoxious idiocy as well.

The aide to the prince finches slightly at the glass but asks one of the maids to clean it up and bring him some more wine. “Sire, they are all grown women. Just…erm…just less bristly as you prefer.” He knew his lordship’s tastes well, since the prince had been finding more and more women conforming to this new social norm, he had been tasked with finding a woman, noble or common, that did not. The aide had brought his liege some gentlemen, but they too had succumbed to making themselves clean-shaven as well. It frustrated the aide nearly as much as The Red Viper of Dorne because the aide was the one that had to suffer through his tantrums when he was discontent with his partners.

“The trend is utter madness. Why would you remove part of what The Seven have given you? It makes no sense to me, and I cannot properly finish if not motivated.” The Red Viper slumped over in a chair, being a bit dramatic but he needed to drive home his point. The aide nodded as the maid who cleaned up the glass brought the prince his wine, he wrapped an arm around her small waist and pulled her close. “My pretty maid, you have not succumbed to the masses, have you?” He asked her, she was rather confused and shook her head. The prince smiled and let her go. “Raise your dress, I must check.” Letting out a squeal, she continued to shake her head.

“My Lord, I cannot. I am due to be married soon. My fiancé prefers I…” she stammered. His golden robe slipped out of his chair as he stood. His face darkened, suspecting her of indeed conforming to this god-awful new standard. The maid raised her dress and pulled down the cloth that covered her hairless mound. A long sigh came from his lips, and he waved her away.

“Damn it all, I need to find whoever the demon is responsible for this trend and run them through with my spear.” Oberyn Martell had spoken.

The prince’s aide knew he had to keep looking; soon, instead of trying to feed his sexual appetite, Lord Martell may demote him to being a practice dummy for the soldier’s aim. Maybe they would hit their target, maybe he would be the target. His lordship wouldn’t be so cruel as to kill him and leave his family fatherless, but he wasn’t above maiming someone either.

The week comprised of meetings and training for The Red Viper of Dorne, thankfully for his aide, this gave him more time to track down someone who had hair in places the prince wanted it. Early in the week was when the pleasure houses were slower, husbands needed to work, sons apprenticed with their fathers and uncles and went home to families. In these places, the aide searched, finding men and women with less and less hair. The proprietors swore that it was what their patrons wanted, which judging by what was requested when the aide continued his search in the evening appeared to be true. The aide even poked around the barracks but in keeping with the times and to impress their own women and men, Martell trained or beat more like it, the soldiers that appeared to be clean shaven, the beginnings of his resentments boiling over. The aide knew he was on borrowed time in his position.

It was at Madam Daisy’s Blossoms that the aide traveled to in the middle of the week that he had a glimmer of hope. The hulking man that was guarding the door had a full beard, he recognized the Viper on the aide’s tunic and shook his head, stopping his question before he even started. With his shoulders slumped, the aide entered the establishment and was greeted with women and men in various shapes, sizes and shades but all appeared to only have hair on their heads and eyebrows. He spied Madam Daisy and bowed to her slightly before following her to an office.

“Madam, I appreciate the varied selection of ladies and men, but they are lacking what my lord requires. Please, at least one of them must have some, any hair elsewhere on their body. Please, I may be dead soon.” He pleaded as sat down, the Madam patted his head and poured him wine, handing him a glass as she leaned on the edge of his chair.

“Kind sir, it is what the people want. Most people it seems. I cannot be blamed if the prince has his preferences.” She tilted her head. There was no one of her girls or boys she could picture for the prince. Forming a relationship with him though one of her blossoms would be a boon for business but she didn’t have what he required.

A small chest on top of a leather-bound ledger was carried in your soft hands as you made your way to the Madam’s office. You were late with last night’s count and book update which the Madam wanted to review each morning. It had been difficult to sleep since a few of the men who came in last night were rather loud with their exclamations of pleasure, they had been soldiers who came in with injuries that they wanted to be soothed with flesh. That was the nature of this place, and it was fine with you. That was not your role here. It had been decided early on since you were the Madam’s niece that unless she was down to her last girls and boys, you would not be selling your flesh. Instead, you were taught to read, write, and count. The Madam’s eyes had gotten poor over the years, and she needed to make sure everything added up, especially after the last of the Madam’s lovers had stolen from the chest and threatened to leave the Blossoms without a place to perform their services. Thankfully, the Madam was able to reach a deal with the landlord through other means, her skills and jaw had not diminished, only her vision.

Knocking on the office door, you opened it and set the chest and ledger on the table and chirped a “Good morning, Madam!” You weren’t allowed to call her aunt, no one must know of your relation. The story was that you had lost your betrothed at a young age, and it scarred you for other men, a second story was circulated that you were the madam’s personal girl, attending to her needs in-between her lovers. The second one bothered you the most, but it kept you safe from engaging in work you did not want to do. You were older than a majority of the girls but did not look it, your thick eyebrows raised. Turning around, you were greeted with a puzzled look from a slight man and a scowl from the Madam. “Ah…I did not realize you were entertaining. Excuse me Madam.” You bowed and moved to exit, but the Madam grabbed your arm. The aide stared at your face, noting that you had thick eyebrows. He had not seen you with the others and you were not wearing a flowing dress, but a simple tunic and rumpled pants with boots on your feet. You looked like you bathed though, just your clothes had seen better days. He decided that you were much plumper than what he normally delivered to the Viper but at this point anyone would do to prevent him from being swallowed whole. He was going to make a point to speak to you after whatever conversation you might have with the Madam. The aide may remain whole this week yet.

“Kind sir, please allow me to speak to my girl here, in the meantime, please enjoy the company of those outside.” The Madam ushered the man out of her office and closed the door, beckoning you over to her desk and exhaled deeply.

“My foolish sweet little pip, why did you have to come now…” The madam leaned back, you remained silent, you knew you were supposed to bring the money and ledger, she had scolded you before and withheld your small wage when you were late before. “That man has seen you and he has…a certain agenda for a very important man.” The Madam leaned forward and set her elbows on the desk, her cheeks in her hands. “The man is the most important in Dorne. The prince, you understand?” You nodded but didn’t understand what it had to do with you, you counted, recorded, and helped clean up the flowers on occasion when the patrons would be too rough. The Viper would have multitudes of people to do that. “Our prince Viper is looking for something particular. He desires a lover with hair in the natural places, not what most of our customers prefer. I would not ask this of you, but the Viper’s aide has seen you and your face.” The Madam pointed to her eyebrows, she too had thinned them as occasionally she performed as well, some men, especially those who had been soldiers for a while or those who had been married for quite a while wanted a mother-like figure, sometimes for carnal desires, oft times just for companionship, they paid quite well but were hard to come by. You felt your own eyebrows, not worried about your appearance in the least, they were thick and arched perfectly above your eyes. You had let one of the other girls practice using this rough sugar substance under your arms just to see what it was like. It hurt a bit, but your underarms did feel cleaner. The girls recommended using it on your whole body, but you rejected that idea. No one was going to see it so it did not matter, the idea of dying as an untouched old maid was quite favorable in your eyes. It made you wonder what the flowers would do once they were too old to be working here, having seen some of them over the years disappear and never hear from them again.

“Madam…” you whispered, “Aunt please…I’ve heard of the Viper, he is a great ruler yes, but…I don’t want to be used and thrown away. I just want to count and write…please…” Your eyes started to water, but you knew above else, your aunt knew how to survive, even if it cost someone else their happiness as it had in the past when some flowers wanted to leave. It could be that your aunt was behind them disappearing. “Who else would you trust with the money and books? I have never stolen from you. Please…” You grabbed her wrist, pleading that she reconsider, you would rather hide in some dark hole then go to the Viper, his appetites were well known, what good would you be to him, you knew nothing of those ways.

The Madam stood and took you in her arms, giving you a strong hug. “I have loved you as my own. Your privileged life so far has been due to me. I have protected you as long as I can. If I do not send you, they will raid my garden to take you by force and I will not have that. Go gather your things and let the girls find you something suitable to present yourself before the Viper. Perhaps you shall bear him a child. He is good to the women that do. That way you will be safe. Little pip, your luck has run out. May The Seven keep you.” When the two of you parted, she had started crying as well, you were the closest she had to a daughter and now just because of the Viper’s whim, you would be gone. You wiped your tears and left, ignoring the aide trying to get your attention and headed to your room. You had a few books, three pairs of pants, three tunics, another pair of boots and your small chest of twenty silver and fifty copper pieces. It was all you had.

The aide worked out the price for you, two-hundred gold pieces, expensive, but it was worth it to live. It appears you did not have a dress or even basic shoes. He rolled his eyes and took you to a noble’s bathhouse, the pair of you drew eyes, but he turned you over to a different woman, Lady Myrrh, who looked you up and down. She took you into a private bath and told you to strip. Doing as instructed, she called two other women to wash your hair and scrub you head to toe, you knew you washed a few times a week, so you felt clean normally but this scrubbing, multiple washings made you feel like you hadn’t ever washed properly. After you were washed and dried, they applied rose oils to your skin, making you glisten. Lady Myrrh frowned at your underarms but commented that the Viper should be pleased with your arms, stomach, legs and especially your own well bristled garden. You had suspected what the prince was after that would cause him to reject noblewomen and commoners alike and that confirmed it, he preferred his lovers with natural hair, it didn’t seem that important considering the sexual acts people did and most of them did not focus on hair. Far be it from you to try and understand such a depraved mind. The two women with Lady Myrrh brought in different colors to see what went best with your skin, they settled on a deep violet and brought some flat shoes for you to put on instead of your trusty boots. The aide said you would be able to keep your things and hurried you onto the back of his horse, though it felt like you may pull him off given he was a slight man. Arriving to the Viper’s Den, the high walls felt like they were closing in on you, the castle was even more stunning up close, supplies were being moved inside, the aide explained that the Viper was having another banquet to try and find another woman, but it would likely fail as the other in the last months had. You would be at the banquet to view the life you would now lead and then if the Viper did not come to you himself, the aide would take you to the prince’s bedroom. Your things were placed in a room, bigger than yours at the pleasure house, but smaller than some of the ones you had seen.

The banquet had more food and people that you had ever seen. Everyone was in elegant dresses and clothes, there were some soldiers, but they were mainly drinking and eating. A few of them appeared to be having their manhoods sucked by a few of the women while there was dancing and some fort of singing or chanting going on. You strode in the hall, your violet dress draped about your round figure, one of your legs shown through a slit in the lower part of the dress, your thighs jiggled as you walked and found a nice spot between a table of food and a wall. Unsure of who to talk to or what to do, you sampled some of the pork. A woman came up to you, her hand traced up your arm and she giggled, made she had some of the wine or it could have been the haze of smoke that stung your eyes slightly. “You look like you’re from a tapestry, can I taste you?” A mouth full or pork prevented you from answering as she chewed quickly and swallowed, before you could speak, her lips were on your cheek. “You’re so cute, are you nervous? It doesn’t bode well for your canvas, relax. Our Prince Viper wants us all to enjoy.” The woman blew away through the sea of people, toward the Viper himself who sat atop his throne. He removed a young man’s tunic and appeared to be disappointed by what he saw, the same with a young woman from which he withdrew his hand from under her dress, shaking his head.

The Viper had engaged in more training with his troops, sharpening his spear skills and testing his men’s close quarters acumen that was lacking, thus his soldiers were more battered than usual due to the Viper’s foul mood. His aide had also been absent save for meetings, he presumed he was continuing his search, but the prince had not heard any good news. Aides were supposed to support and provide were they not? If they cannot, then what good are they? He left his throne and stepped out onto the balcony, looking forward to some fresh air, but instead found one of his soldiers fucking a woman bent over the rail. The sight causes the prince to lick his lips and keep watch only to see the soldier’s back, ass and legs, the woman’s legs, smooth and reflected well in the moonlight. The prince tossed his wine on them and returned to his quarters, more evidence of this trend being too popular disturbed him greatly.

The aide saw the disappointment on the Viper’s face on his own throne. He had been assured by Lady Myrrh that you did have the hair the prince wanted, for his sake you had to. He found you against the wall, wiped your mouth of the pork and pulled you to a bedroom that looked like it could fit the entire pleasure house.

“Wait here. Do not move. Do not speak unless his lordship tells you otherwise.” You were sat on the bed and instructed by the aide who released his grip on your wrist. “I apologize for being so curt, but you must understand the Viper must have what he needs. You are what he needs right now. You shall be fine….er…what did the Madam call you?” He paused for a moment. “Little pip, correct? It shall all be fine. According to the mothers of his eight daughters, he can be quite gentle when it calls for it.” The aide gave you a weak smile before leaving. You watched him leave in disbelief. You knew why you were here, the purpose, but the same things you saw in that banquet hall, is that what would be required of you? You felt nothing as you watched. The girls had told you watching can cause you to have a heat yourself, but you just felt uneasy. Maybe you could just lay there, and the prince takes what he needs from you and then you can go back to your room and sleep. If you slept, maybe you’d wake up in your small room on time and deliver the small chest to the Madam before the first light broke.

Your delusion was soon shattered.

The prince was met with the aide he had not seen since their daily morning meeting to go over the state of affairs and any urgent matters. The aide assured the Viper that he would be pleased with what he found in his bed.

“You best not lie to me.” Martell reached into his robe and pinned the aide against the wall, stabbing the wall next to his head. “If this one does not, please me, demotion will be the least of your worries. That I can promise.” The aide nodded furiously and ran away, the Viper made his way to his bedroom, noting that more candles were lit than usual, he removed his dagger from his waist and set it on the table and removed his boots as well.

He saw a silhouette sitting on his bed, plump and round. So, far, he was pleased, a dress draped the body he assumed to be female, not too many men wore dresses and the fabric seemed too light for a man’s robe. It had been quite some time since he had felt the weight of thick thighs as he was between a woman’s legs. “What is your name, woman?” He asked, not pulling back the gray sheer curtain that was between them. She had hair on her head, long, eyebrows could be well formed, but he’d need to pull the curtain back to be sure. Bountiful bosoms, always welcome, soft delicate hands that seemed to be shaking. She was anxious, how adorable, maybe his aide would keep his position after all.

“I..I-I am called little pip.” A quiet voice answered, it was beautiful, his hand pulled back the curtain. A woman sat before him, fear set in her eyes and above broad eyebrows. Her round face was complimented by her equally round shoulders and forearms that had…hair as did her legs. It could be that more of her has hair, the Viper wanted to know now, but he must ease her into it.

“Is that really your name, my muse? I do not believe so. If you will allow me, let me touch you. You may call me Oberyn.” He bent down to where he was looking up at you, he took your hands with his and rubbed circles on the back of them, helping you to relax slightly. You nodded and told him your name to which he smiled widely. “A name worthy of such a picture of divinity.” The Viper took your hands and kissed each one, then released them and ran his hands up your forearms, the vellus hairs on your arms encouraging him to kiss your cheek as your body tensed, trying to anticipate when he may tower over you to take what is now his. Martell, notes this and runs his hands down onto your thighs. “You have heard many things, I am sure, about what I do and what I am. Many of them are true my muse.” He pushes the dress away exposing more of your legs and places a hand on each thigh, “However, I have forced no one into my bed. They come of their own accord. Have you known a man my dear?” Martell did find a certain thrill in deflowering lovers, being their first introduction to pleasure and knowing that they would know no other lover as attentive as him, so he told himself.

“No, I have not Lord Viper, I was hoping never to. It doesn’t seem to be worth it. Please do as you like and let me be, I would like to sleep.” You responded. There was no doubt that Oberyn Martell could have anything and anyone he wanted. He was ruthless, merciless and had the allure of an incubus, able to tempt anyone he came across into his bed. He was very pleasing to the eyes, his voice sounded as silky as his robe. He then decided to remove his signature robe and left himself bare before you, fully at attention and ready though you wondered, was it just because of hair? You hadn’t even removed your dress? Is it also because you’re untouched as well? He’s one of those that likes to deflower but given he’s a prince he’s likely had many virgins. His shoulders were wider than you thought, and it made you wonder if you might even be able to walk straight after he finished with you.

“As I said, I will not force you my muse, but I will have satisfaction, as it has eluded me for quite some time.” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “Take off your clothes. We shall bare ourselves to each other.” He stood back to his full height as he waited. You stood and slowly removed the dress, closing your eyes as you dropped the small cloth that covered your womanhood. You took a deep breath, focusing on the man before you so that you wouldn’t think of his starving eyes drinking your form in. The little hairs distributed on your belly and the glorious bush he spied between your legs, made his length drip. “By The Seven, a celestial being you are indeed. Muse do not be afraid, I will satisfy you as well, teach you the ways of pleasure. I can guarantee it.” The prince stood before you, placing a hand on your hip, his warm hand contrasted with your cool skin, you attempted to recoil at his touch, but the Viper’s fingers sunk into the flesh of your hips to hold you in place. He used his nose to trace a circle on your shoulder, the touch was sudden, but the rhythm was welcome. You released a small hum as he did, using his hands to sway your hips with his, the prince replaced his nose with his tongue in the same circular motion. His hands on your hips started to move in a circle as well, it went wider, down to your thigh and around to your ass, the sensation caused you to buck away from his hand toward his hips and his reddened member and he chuckled. “You appeared not to be excited my muse, has that changed?” You placed your hands on his biceps, running your fingers up and down them, you didn’t look at his face though, it didn’t make sense what you were feeling. Hot, but more than that expectant of what was to come, were you actually excited about the act you were going to perform with this prince? Oberyn did not take kindly to being ignored and used his nose to run up your neck and chin, forcing you to look up at him. “I asked you a question my dear.”

“I don’t know. I think you’re bewitched me somehow, my prince.” You stated, he licked his lips and pecked your lips, then your cheek. The Viper walked you toward the bed and gingerly pushed you back, making you land with a small bounce on the mattress. He pointed toward the head of the bed, instructing you to scoot back. “Lord Viper, are you going to take me now?” You asked, anxious, it outweighed the warm feeling you had moments ago. The prince smirked and crawled on the bed next to you before grabbing the sides of your head and running his thumbs over your eyebrows.

“You did not listen, dear. It is time to show what I meant by teaching you.” Oberyn pecked your lips again as his fingers trailed upward, combing through your thick hair, you turned away from, and the tip of his nose traced your right eyebrow. “Such a glorious crown you have my muse. Untouched brows. I wish to see more. Touch more.” He straightened his back, his palm roaming your round shoulders and toward your breasts. He took one in each hand and was glad to see that not all of them could fit in his grasp. The Prince started massaging them, pressing his palms on your nipples, the friction felt odd to you, it made you push your chest forward against his hands. A soft whimper crept from your lips, and he grinned, lowering his head to place his cheek on your plush stomach. “Such lushness boggles the mind. I wonder how much more creamy you would feel with my child growing inside of you? You may be the one to bear me a son.” The Viper licked your belly, his tongue grabbing the fine hairs on it. Your legs opened to bend your knees and scoot away from him but you were already at the top of the bed. There was nowhere to go.

“It feels….Lord Viper it feels strange, I feel…” Your words were failing you, it felt like you might wet yourself and you had to pee. There was a sort of pressure you were feeling. It was making you breathe harder, and your nipples had hardened, unlike when you were cold, they felt hot, everywhere felt hot even though your skin was still chilly from the night air. Martell chuckled at your reaction, releasing your breasts and massaging your stomach next.

“My beautiful muse. Do you feel warm? Hot even?” His hands ran over your hairs again, watching him look down at you, admiring your body, it made you concerned that you may like the way he’s looking at you. The desire, the slow movement of his hands, exploring your lumps and crevices. Another sound came from your lips, it was deeper than a yelp but not a growl rather, “My, my dear, you moaned sooner than I thought you would. Sweet woman, I shall give you more to make you scream my name.” The Prince’s lips touched the skin between your breasts then pecked his way down to the part of your belly that hung above your wet core. He started to rub his check on the hairs that dotted your stomach. His facial hair scratched wonderfully on your skin and had you shift your hips, trying to make for more contact. A soft chuckle came from The Viper’s throat, your thighs were parted by his forearms as he descended to face your heat. You attempted to close your legs, but Martell remained immovable.

“My Prince, please don’t stare like that. It’s…I need to clean…” You tried to pipe up and looked down at the top of Martell’s head, his cropped chocolate hair was all that you saw until he met your gaze, his eyes wide, then they narrowed. He bit your inner thigh and you winced, grunting.

“My pet muse, I see nothing dirty. In fact, such sweet nectar is so pure, I wonder if I might be struck down by the Gods when I partake in it. Let’s find out, my muse.” Oberyn used two fingers to part your slick lips, exposing your slit to more air, you pressed your feet into the bed from the sensation, The Prince leaned in, expanding his lungs to absorb your scent into his nostrils. Fingers from his opposite hand danced through your pubic bristles, Martell purred. Your fluffy mound was perfect to The Viper who had longed to see any proper body hair on a woman let long, the follicles that were plentiful on your body. His tongue dove in, darting around your outer ring of muscle, your hips shot up and you screamed for your prince. As swiftly as he had inserted it, he removed it. “My pet, I told you, my name. You must use it as I provide you pleasure.” Your hands pressed into the bed, then pulled on the sheets. Why? Why would he make you experience this? It was maddening, such elation could be had with these acts. This was why people fought, killed, stole and gods only knew what else. You never needed to know this; life was better without knowing such things. A thumb grazed your entrance, and you hitched your voice.

“P-Prince…Martell…ahh…is your…n-name…” You moaned, your legs opening wider for your prince. His thumb moved a bit faster, and entered to his knuckle, moving slowly. Fingers kept massaging your fringe covered mound and moved downward toward a tiny area that when the pad of his index finger touched it, you screamed. Martell’s hands then came to a stop.

“That is not the half of my name I want you to use, my muse. Say my first name and not my title. I will remain still until you do.” The Viper commanded. Your hips buckled but the prince moved with you so there was as little friction as possible. Your groans went unanswered, he had given an order and you had not complied yet.

“O-Oberyn, please continue…please…” You cooed. Gasping as his fingers touched that tiny spot that shot electricity upward through your body. “M-M-My Lord, Oberyn that place, touch it more Lord Viper.” Between staggered breaths you asked, pleaded with him to give you more. The Viper bit his lower lip before pressing his chin into your pubic mane, humming so his jaw would vibrate on your spongy morsel. Your thighs closed around his head as you raised your hips so his chin would press into you more, to give you more.

“My muse has quite an appetite for me. Who am I to deny her?” His grin was felt through her mound, he lowered his face, so his nose tickled her sensitive bud and moaned the Prince’s name. His mouth gathered around your supple folds before flicking his tongue along the entrance to your warm lagoon. The Viper lapped, slurped and swallowed your core. Screams didn’t begin to describe the sounds coming from your body. Salacious noises came from below your pelvis, Martell’s brow was dewy with a combination of his sweat and your fluids as he dined on your succulent center. The cracked howl that left your lungs broke across the air, your shoulders pressed into the bed as your back curved, the feeling before paled in comparison to this, the scorching taut pull of your muscles, your head felt like it was floating away from your body. Waves ascended from your hips forcing your legs to wrap even tighter around the Prince’s head. An uproariously loud gaffe trembled against your soaked folds. As your body began to slack, Martell slowly rose and crawled to your side, wrapping an arm around your shivering belly.

“My sweet Pet, I shall allow you a short reprieve before we continue. You’re doing beautifully, continue to give me tender sounds and growls. I shall pull them from your body until you can only speak your kind Prince’s name.” A devious smile draped his face, his lips pecked yours as they remained slightly parted, your chest was starting to heave less. Fluttering eyes watched Oberyn’s glistening face, the candles flickered making shadows dance on his face, your arm raised off the bed, trying to reach for The Viper, to touch him. Your body was so heavy, all your muscles sore, how could you use all of them? Another chuckle left Martell’s soft lips. He took your hand in his to hold it, then circled his nose around your areola, not touching your nipple. You felt the warm exhalations from his nose, a small whine left your throat. “Lovely muse, with tunes such as this, your reprieve will end now. Are you prepared?” His voice felt poised to pounce upon her, he settled on his knees still beside her wide frame, but his head was over her breasts, he was biding his time as he did before until you answered him.

Summoning the little strength you had, you propped yourself up on your elbows, searching in the Prince’s eyes, hunger laid bare in them but something else…affection maybe? It was leagues ahead of what you expected when you first arrived at this place.

“Oberyn. Enter me. I know not if I can bear you a child, but I am now yours.” The room became silent, maybe you said the wrong thing, how else should you have said it though. The Viper’s eyes appeared like they glowed for a moment with the same gold from his robe. Swiftly, he slithered between your legs and ran his length along your warm folds coating himself in your glistening nectar. A feral groan left the Prince’s lips as he slowly entered you inch by inch until his scrotum tickled your buttocks. Your hands took hold of his forearms and dug your nails into them, the expansion of your narrow passage hurt at first then dulled into a mild ache. Oberyn remained still, studying your face, its contorted form gradually relaxed as your body adjusted. When your lip only quivered slightly it was when he drew back, the ridges of his velvet passion dragged against your walls as they tightened around him. The measured sweeps continued as the Prince spoke, leaning forward to kiss between your breasts. His name left your lungs with each stroke, your eyes closed to focus on the sensations, trying to keep track of all of them but failing miserably as he kept giving you more.

“My lovely muse, you feel as though I have ascended into the heavens. I require more of you. Experience your high again and draw me deeper into you. Accept my desire.”

Martell’s thrusts gradually became quicker, his hands took hold of your hips and raised them, his strength surprised you and made you gasp in between your moans, he was focused on the satisfaction he had been denied for the last six months. You represented what he had craved, a natural beauty, bountiful in both flesh and hair. Precocious to the ways of the world, yet innocent of its true pleasure. Creating your descent into lust brought him an extra layer of fulfillment, The Viper paused momentarily to pull your heavy frame toward his chest, having your forehead rub his chin, one arm wrapped around your back, his sturdy zeal never left your soaked cavern as he then started driving his hips upward, your arms enveloped his shoulders as you climaxed, your eyes fluttered and you screamed again, your voice cutting out toward the last waves of your high. Martell then pulled your chin back down to face him, commanding you to keep your eyes open.

“Beautiful, you must watch me as I will you, give me more, for I am an insatiable man. You take the seed I give you.”

Oberyn grunted as he pumped, his warm milk laced your trembling walls. Both of your backs curved, making your stomachs press together as your eyes glossed over, you fell back first as the Prince fell on top of you. His member becoming softer inside of you, he did not pull out. He wanted to stay inside of you as long as possible. To ensure that both his seed took and that he could continue to have his fill of you. As he panted, he nuzzled into your shoulder and his nose sniffed your hair, burying his face in it. All of you was abundant, hair, flesh, wit, and he was curious what else. When he finally looked at your face, you were barely awake, muttering his name softly.

“Oberyn…Oberyn…what happens now?” You asked, barely above a whisper. Your voice was nearly gone. A thumb traced along your bottom lip. You saw a soft smile followed by a kiss to your forehead then lips. A sudden chill overcame your cunt as the Prince slowly pulled himself out of you. A sheet was placed over your body, Oberyn moved to the edge of the bed and your hand shot toward him.

“My muse, you already don’t want me to go?” His laugh made your heart swell. He’s not a Viper, he’s a thief and possibly using some dark magic. “We must wipe each other down. I would very much enjoy you to stay in my remnants as I yours but the chief physician assures me it is healthier not not. Bah, it’s all natural and given to us by the Seven is it not?” He stood and beckoned one of the maids for cloths, towels and a bowl of warm water. He then helped you up on your wobbly legs and had you sit near the large balcony seat with him.

“My L-er Oberyn. Must we wipe down here?” You asked, he dipped the cloth in warm water and started with your face, shoulders and chest, taking special care to pinch your nipples. “Aahh, please…” You squealed, leaning into his large hands. A snicker followed a second cloth to your stomach, back and ass. When he used a third cloth to wipe down your core, you flinched as it was sensitive.

“I shall stop teasing you for now my muse. I cannot say the same of tomorrow.” The Prince stated and finished with your legs. You began to wipe him down gingerly, especially when you got his chest and shoulders, the moonlight displayed the red marks you had left on his cheek and back. Your hand froze especially on his back where the red and pink lines overlapped. Feeling you stop, he hummed. “Sweet scars I shall bear with pride rather than the ones I have from battle. Much more pleasurably earned.”

“I endeavor to please Oberyn.” A playful slap from you to his back made him wince, even more curious, through physical play? He could indeed accommodate that. You changed out the cloth and washed off his stomach and then his dense member. A soft moan came from the Prince’s lips. He moved your hand to clean his legs.

“Be careful my muse. This is your first night, entice me too much and I shall not let you rest.” You swallow the saliva that had been building in your throat. Rest would be appreciated. Drying each other off, you turned to head back to bed as Oberyn wrapped his arms around you, turning once again toward the moonlight.

“I thought we were to rest?” Placing your hands over his, you looked up at him as he met your gaze and then turned back to look over his land.

“We will. Take in all that lies before my beautiful muse. You shall become a part of this. You may even replace that bumbling page I have. You certainly are much more fetching to gaze upon.” As Martell spoke, you sighed. Maybe being here was truly a blessing only time would tell.

Le tag list:

@fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviincii @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23 @beabliss @alwaysmicado @daddy-dins-girl @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @megamindsecretlair

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #oberyn martell #prince oberyn #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martel x reader #Oberyn Martell x plus size reader #writing #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell smut #late kinktober #a late request

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bee-a-garbage-shipper · 5 months

Text

Game Of Thrones Fanfiction List

Bequeathed from Pale Estates By Author376

In a Westeros where Soulmates are bound and Marked by the Gods to bind Houses together and pay blood debts, Lyarra Snow and Oberyn Martell are about to get a shock…

Winter Thorns of Highgarden (FF | AO3) By Madrigal_in_training (FF | AO3)

The knight's supposed to save the princess from the dragon but here, the princess is a dragon, the knight is a bookish lord, and the greatest threat is either the old lady in the blue wimple or the honorable warden with the Ice sword. Because no one thought a second Stark girl would be kidnapped for marriage or that the sensible Willas Tyrell would be the one to kidnap her.

Incandescent (FF | AO3) By Madrigal_in_training (FF | AO3)

In a moment of grief-stricken madness, Catelyn Stark attempts to murder her husband’s bastard. Yet her entire worldview shatters when Lyarra Snow refuses to burn. Fem!Jon, Lyarra x Robb

A Golden Age By margotdavid (FF | AO3)

At her father's request, Alysanne calls the banners and marches south. For what reason, she is not sure, but as she meets the lions on the field, Alysanne finds that she was more fire in her blood than she though. Tywin Lannister is seeing his house crumble to the ground because of his daughter. Worse, a wild girl just defeated his army. But when the face of Rhaella Targaryen appears in front of him, he makes a gamble that might just save his legacy.

A Song of Vengeance (AWOIAF | GOT | AO3) By IWantColouredRain (FF | AO3)

15 years ago, the Targaryens were forced into exile by the rebel alliance of the West-Stormlands-Vale-Riverlands... and Dorne. To ensure the loyalty of the hostile North, Aly Stark was wed to King Robert's closest friend, Oberyn Martell. Now, after 15 years, the wolves and dragons' pieces are in place, and they will have revenge. (Role Reversal.) Martell Centric. Hiatus

A Song of Marked Souls (AWOIAF | GOT | AO3) By IWantColouredRain (FF | AO3)

In a world where magic remains strong and the Old Gods keep active in the lives of their followers, Alyssa Snow and Oberyn Martell bear Marks that, according to the ancient gods that lurk in the weir woods, destine them for greatness. (Fem!Jon Snow. Not for Tully fans. OOC!Characters)

Princess of Wolves, Prince of Snakes (AWOIAF | GOT | AO3) By IWantColouredRain (FF | AO3)

After the Lions' coup, Aegon VI flees with his wife, mother, uncle and cousins in search of allies and safety in order to regain his throne. But there is only one place to go: The Winterlands, the only part of Westeros to remain independent of the Iron Throne. Hiatus until summer

The Star of the North (AWOIAF | GOT | AO3) By IWantColouredRain (FF | AO3)

Just when Lady Alarra Stark feels she has no escape other than death, she finds another option in the form of a Dornish viper and his elegant paramour.

There and Back Again (FF | AO3) By Naerys Blackfyre (FF | AO3)

After the events of season 8, Jon of House Targaryen is sent back in time to fulfill his destiny as the prince that was promised. Jonsa, Gendyra, RhaeLya, Anti-Dany, Dany fans beware. AU! NOT ANYTHING LIKE CANON!

Father of Dragons (FF | AO3) By Naerys Blackfyre (FF | AO3)

"How did you know of this chest Sam?" Jon's eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. "Hummm…oh uh well Maester Aemon told me to give this chest to you when he died. He said that you would most likely be in need of them." Sam answers with a shrug. Jon stared at Sam with a frown painted on this face. What could Maester Aemon possibly wanted to give him? Jonsa, Gendrya, Braime, RhaeEliaLya, Anti-Dany

Lost Girl By prussianblues

She leaves the Seven Kingdoms a bastard and returns a queen.

Or, Joanna Snow is in King’s Landing when Cersei seizes the city, and Varys sneaks her out to meet her brother. A meddling Magister later, she meets Daenerys as well.

A story told in drabbles.

To Go Forward By togo

Jon Snow wakes up in Winterfell, two years in the past. He struggles with his knowledge of the upcoming wars, the mystery of his mother's forgotten letters, and the prophecy of the Prince That Was Promised. How much time does he have until the Others invade Westeros?

A Second Time Around By ratclanqueen

"I know this is hard for you to understand but we have already lived this life once. The Gods are blessing us. I saw this before the Night King broke through the Wall. We have been reborn into our bodies before Jon Arryn's murder with our memories and knowledge of what could possibly lie ahead," Bran told them.

When all of House Stark wake up one morning with their deaths being their clearest memories, the wheel begins to turn. The game has a new player in the form of Sansa Stark, the Red Wolf of Winterfell and the Queen in the North before her death, who is determined to see her family grow old and happy in Winterfell and the Iron Throne melted to a puddle of metal at her feet.

Dragons of Red, Dragons of White By NightDrake

After the Duel on the Trident, there are ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.

Manners and Misunderstandings By mostlyclouds

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls.

Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage.

When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

The Conquest By DolorousEdditor

An AU of grand scale inspired by a prompt by Oblongata.

Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.

Amidst all this are a prince and princess who fear themselves ruined by the horrors they've endured. Together they might be the hope their people are looking for. More importantly, they might be the dream both abandoned long ago.

A Caged Songbird By bikadoo

“I will be a silent, and dutiful wife,” Sansa spits. “I will be their pretty little songbird, and wear their ugly crown, and sit on their painful throne. I shall give him a babe, and my love, and I will wait until he thinks that he has won. And then I shall take his life."

Shae goes still. "You ... you plan to kill the King?"

"No," Sansa says. "I plan to kill my husband."

A Knight's Watch By DolorousEdditor

Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.

All of this in the shadow of the War of Five Kings and the coming of the Others.

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la-pheacienne · 1 year

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so i have to go to work soon and am feeling quite scatterbrained so im sorry if this doesn't feel coherent. But I've been thinking for the last couple days about Elia Martell.

I understand that Elia Martell is supposed to be dead. that her narrative role is to be dead. but i keep wondering about if she had lived. (i have severe difficulty believing that Tywin actually wanted her to live, despite his "regret" over the Mountains actions. i think his regret literally comes from the fact that Dorne is a pian in his ass and not because of anything ehtical or even Strategic*)

*how would it have been strategic to let the princess consort of the previous regime live and go back home after killing her husband and her children? she would probably have been a political hostage tbh, to ensure Dorne's behavior, forcibly remarried by whomever Tywin chose. have no idea who that would be tho. but thats besides the point.

to be honest, I'm too scatterbrained to get all my thoughts in order, but if Elia had lived (and was aloowed to go back home), I have genuine doubts that Dorne would have enacted the same type of long lasting revenge that they do in canon. probably Doran and Oberyn would want the Mountain dead, and Tywin as well, but in this case their sister is actually "alive and well" and while children are precious, at least they have their sister back with them safe. and of course, probably Elia probably would be "broken" in this case. little more than someone wracked by grief. (tho maybe not. proably suicidal, or maybe the fact that shed be grief stricken, "broken" would drive them to revenge)

anyway, if Elia was going to live, i keep thinking that shed very likely become hard, after being the woman of sweet wit once. and I dont know, but if she wanted revenge, would Dorne really help her get it? i know that mysoginy is real, and Westeros seems to have a hard time allowing women to get their own revenge. I dont doubt the depth of Oberyns feelings, but its been almost fifteen years and its clear that he put Elia on a pedestal, (probably seeing the real woman would be truly difficult for him) and Doran clearly wants political vengeance in the story.

GRRM said that Elia and Rhaegar had a complicated relationship, and it seems to me that She probably loved Him more than He loved her. so its questionable whether she would want revenge on purely on his behalf, which would lead to very complicated feelings of vengeance and scorn intermixed, naturally.

probably shed be a heavier inspiration to Arriane, if Elia wanted revenge against Robert but her brothers dont exactly listen, with Oberyn wanting the glory of the act and Doran's never ending patience.

I wont lie, i couldn't help think on this because i Know that the Stansas tend to wrack Elia Martell's description like a corpse doll for whatever shit they're snorting atm, but i think that if Elia had lived, theres a small chance that she would want to go to Daenerys.

Daenerys fitting the description of the Prince that Was Promised- which Elia would probably know about since Rhaegar told her the song title-and also bringing Dragons Back, which probably Rhaegar spoke pf repeatedly.

I dont think Elia would feel only scorn for Rhaegar, even his actions probably hurt her a lot, especially because over the years she too would, alos view him through a lenses of grief. but i think that if Elia knew that Daenerys seems to be the one Rhaegar was waiting for, she'd want to be at her good sisters side, either for vengeance, or because she too, wanted to see the dream of spring-the hope- that no doubt Rhaegar had shared with her.

what do you think?

So, thank you for asking my opinion on this, but this is really not my thing. I believe I'm fairly good at analysing written text, but I am not good at speculation and imagining alternative endings and what ifs. Maybe you should adress this question to someone in this fandom who writes fanfiction or generally likes speculation, AUs, etc. I will tag @ladyalianora for a pro-Rhaegar approach and @alethiaii for a not so pro-Rhaegar approach.

Having said that speculation is not my thing, I don't really know what would have happened if she had lived, cause she died, and her death is a pretty important part of the story and definitely the most important part of her story. But if i want to speculate, Elia surviving without her children in my opinion wouldn't have changed things so drastically. Her house would still want revenge over the dead children. It is not only Elia that would want revenge as you say, it's her entire house, and in my personal opinion, in universe, I think the children were actually more important than Elia herself for the house Martell. Not for her brother maybe, but for the house and the legacy of Dorne, the children are the most important. Let's be real. These children were Martell children and they were the heirs to the throne, they were supposed to succeed their father and grandfather and they would have if Baratheons and Lannisters hadn't killed them. This new order of things didn't just erase Targaryens, it erased Martells as well and the power they held because of their affiliation to the Targaryens. Yes Rhaegar left Elia but her children were always going to be the Targaryen heirs and nothing in the world would change that. It's Robert and the Lannisters that killed them and usurped their father so for Dorne they will always be the actual enemy, always. Plus they would really dislike the Starks because of their alliance with them and because of Lyanna, realistically.

So yeah Dorne would definitely want to avenge the children.

As for Elia, she would be a shadow of her former self, abandonned by her husband who is now dead, and with her children killed. Her attitude towards Rhaegar would be really complex cause he did abandon her but at the same time, strangely, tragically, her interests were tied to him, his death was the catalyst for the death of her children. She would definitely had mixed feelings, bitterness, betrayal, scorn possibly, she would definitely accuse him for being the cause of this entire rebellion but at the same time she would, I believe, feel intense grief over his death and usurpation. As GRRM said, their relationship was complicated, I personally believe there was some sort of understanding between them before he left, there was some sort of closure, cause I believe this possibility is way more in tune with Rhaegar's canon characterization. They were in an arranged marriage after all, it was a marriage of duty. But I'm 100% biased in Rhaegar's favour so maybe you don't agree. Also her negative feelings for Rhaegar would be largely covered by the disgust she would obviously feel for anyone involved in the new regime, the Lannisters, the Baratheons and the Starks.

To sum it up, her mental state would be very interesting to write, very complicated and tragic, just an endless sea of grief and disgust directed towards many different people, her husband, and his usurpers. An Andromache type of character.

As for her attitude towards Dany, I really don't know cause I never thought about this. Maybe she would go to her maybe not. I feel that Dany would be the one to go to Elia and not the other way round. Dany would absolutely want to meet her and talk to her, she would be the only hint of family she has left after all and they could have a connection over their common loss of their families at the end of the Rebellion.

"Daenerys fitting the description of the Prince that Was Promised- which Elia would probably know about since Rhaegar told her the song title-and also bringing Dragons Back, which probably Rhaegar spoke pf repeatedly". Now I do believe it is a possibility that Rhaegar had shared with Elia the prophecy but I am not so sure. Maybe he was very solitary in his visions. And also I don't believe he spoke repeatedly of bringing the Dragons back. I actually don't buy this and I think the fandom has severely misinterpreted his "obsession" with the prophecy. The line "the dragon has to have three heads" was spoken in Dany's dream and it was spoken to Dany. Rhaegar in the dream looked directly at Dany when he said that, and as we know, Dany was most definitely not present in the real scene, if we supposed it was real (it wasn't). It was Dany's vision, not Rhaegar's. All we know about Rhaegar himself was Aemon saying :

"He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet".

That's it. He first believed he was TPTWP and then he believed his son was TPTWP. Period. So I really do not get how we concluded from this that Rhaegar was obsessed with having three children and that he even talked about it all the time. All this comes from Dany's vision, where Rhaegar was talking to her. And this theory is directly promoted by Targ antis who believe the Targs are just a bunch of self aggrandising assholes starting with Dany herself.

So no at this point I don't vibe with what you say. I do believe, however, that Elia would recognise Rhaegar's visionary and idealistic personality in Dany, along with other specific traits, and she would probably believe that Dany may be able to achieve what he did not.

#this got too long #Elia Martell #rhaegar targaryen #daenerys targaryen #asks #asoiaf #i hate hate speculating hate it #but it was an interesting question #a song of ice and fire #au #is au appropriate for this?#game of thrones #aspa rambles

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gojuo · 10 months

Note

Having to witness Ragged Tarpits and Becky with the Blue Roses fraudulent ass wedding ceremony in fucking DORNE of all places was borderline vomit inducing, but the fact that production got two of the most mid looking actors to play them was most pleasing to me. Ragged especially looked like a foot in Viserys' old, musty unwashed 2 dollar wig. Never getting over it lmaooooooooo.

Anyway, I do not acknowledge any of that shit as canon and D and D better pay for their sins. Inshallah.

IM CRYINGGGGGGG cuz you wanna know why? Bc that RxL wedding bullshit was so obviously D&D dog ass fanfiction because they wrote themselves into a corner by erasing Young Griff from the show, the guy the entire Southern Plotline is going to revolve around in TWOW and ADOS. I mean they literally split his storyline into four and gave it to other characters:

The legitimate heir part and most of the Westerosi lords' support being with Aegon against Dany went to Jon.

The Golden Company + being King of Westeros once Dany arrives and having the people's love and support against her and the final showdown with her went to Cersei.

Varys + Tyrion + JonCon's trauma of the bells went to Dany.

Jorah got JonCon's greyscale.

Jon's arc has never been about being "the rightful hidden heir". Those are the fantasy trope cliches GRRM has always been subverting. It's Aegon that is the legitimate heir, and what you'd expect is for him to save the day and live happily ever after ... but that's not going to happen. The legitimate heir, the true hidden prince, is going to die, horrifically. And so is the other legitimate Targaryen (Daenerys). But the one that will come out on top is the bastard.

Now, I don't want to make it seem like Jon's character purpose is being a bastard, because that's the wrong conclusion in my opinion. The point and most important aspect to Jon is being Ned Stark's bastard. And then he's going to find out the man he believed to be his father is not his father at all. The issue with this is that people conflate that with legitimacy which is also the wrong conclusion because that's exactly Aegon's plot, not Jon's. The point of R+L=J is the fact that Jon Snow will no longer be Ned Stark's bastard son, which will devastate him.

However ... how-fucking-ever ... D&D decided to forgo this important facet of Jon and did decide to not write the THIRD HEAD OF THE DRAGON into the story but give the part of Aegon's plotline of being the legitimate heir in the books to show!Jon, which left a very big problem: How were they going to justify why there was a legitimacy battle going down between Jon and Dany when Jon can't even be the legitimate heir if his parents are not married? Which they weren't. Because Rhaegar only needed a Visenya for his already-there Rhaenys and Aegon, and as would-be king he could just legitimize his own bastards without any trouble. So he did not need to marry Lyanna to have a child with her per se, especially not the Visenya she was supposed to bear him. And I especially do not believe Lyanna was in any way or form in love with him or that she went with him willingly, considering what we know of her.

Besides, when Rhaegar returned from the Tower of Joy after making sure he raped a baby into Lyanna to King's Landing to ride off for the Trident, he said this to Jaime about Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon:

“And the children, them as well,” said Prince Lewyn.

Prince Rhaegar burned with a cold light, now white, now red, now dark. “I left my wife and children in your hands.”

“I never thought he’d hurt them.” Jaime’s sword was burning less brightly now. “I was with the king … ”

ASOS, Jaime VI.

So you see how he still refers to Elia as his wife, meaning no damn annulment took place? He can't even fucking annul a marriage that is fully legal and totally consummated, and prophecy-obsessed Rhaegar 100% would never cast away his two children HE DEEMED TO BE 2/3 HEADS OF HIS THREE-HEADED DRAGON and he sure as fuck did not make Aegon, literally the son he believed to be the PTWP (as seen by Dany's vision in the HOTU), a bastard. D&D just shot themselves in the foot because they gave Young Griff/Aegon's book storyline of being the legitimate heir to Jon and had to make sense of why it would be him to be the legitimate heir when Rhaegar's legal wife was not Lyanna but Elia.

The entire bullshit way RxL went down in the show was just more proof to me that Young Griff is the real Aegon since D&D just had to make Jon a legitimate son. LMFAO.

#be rest assured babes rxl wedding will not exist in the books. sadly we will never get the finished product :(#anti rhaelya #jon snow #aegon vi #rhaegar #elia #asoiaf #lyanna #anti got #anti d&d #anonymous #answered

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ladamedusoif · 2 months

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hi rose! hope you are having a wonderful day. :)

i really like your fics (+ you seem like a very sweet person) and was wondering how long have you been writing fanfiction? do you think your writing style has changed since you started? and one more question, (besides mr ben :D) who is your favourite pedro character to write?

if you have already answered these questions (and i have missed them), feel free to ignore.

Hello anon! What lovely questions and kind words, thank you so much!

I have been writing fanfiction proper for just under a year - Visiting is my first fic proper - but I’ve realised this is just another instalment in a lifelong love of making up and writing stories. Sometimes as a kid I’d base these on characters in shows, in novels, or even on history (I have always been that weird nerd, truly). I didn’t realise that this was a form of fanfiction but I guess it was!

I think what I’ve noticed is that my style is evolving depending on the story and the form. I probably have a similar style across my stories but I think there’s a slightly different narrative voice in Tempered? I’m also really inspired by those little posts about writing - prompts, ideas, even just how to vary vocabulary. I write professionally as part of my job - not fiction, research papers - so I find all this really interesting and even useful for work… ahem.

Apart from Ben, my beloved, I love writing for Din - whether canon as in the one-shots I’ve done or in the historical AU in Tempered. I suspect my versions of him are quite different to others in some cases but I think the way he’s been written, ranging so widely, is amazing and says a lot about the character and the impact of how he’s performed. (I’m nearing the end of S4 of GoT right now, though, and the urge to try to write for a certain Prince of Dorne is huge….)

Thank you so much for your ask and for being a lovely reader!

#asked and answered #lovely readers #ask me ask me ask me

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asongofstarkandtargaryen · 1 year

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Hey, I saw your post about an au where Rhaenys and Aegon survived and lived in King's Landing with Jon. There is a similar fan fiction called The Hostage Prince. Where Jon is kept in King's Landing as a Hostage to the North. He is the Prince of Dragonstone since Aegon is his brother and king. The difference is that Jon grew up in King's Landing while Aegon and Rhaenys grew up in Dorne with their mother's family (Elia also survived). It has a lot interesting dynamics that are different from the original series.

Hello !

Interesting concept ! Well, I'd like to think that if all Rhaegar's kids survived they would like grow up in Kings Landing because it makes more sense for the King and his heirs to be in the capital. But in fanfiction I'm willing to overlook such details as long as it's a well written one.

Thanks for the recommendation, I'll definitely check it out. I'm in need for more Targaryen & Jon stuff.

#jon Snow #house targaryen #aegon vi targaryen #princess rhaenys

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lionlena · 2 months

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I Hold You (Oberyn Martellxf!reader) one shot

Summary: Oberyn has a nightmare about his sister's death, which makes him fear that he will lose you too.

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, canonical death of a character, tragic death, blood, mention of rape…

Title inspired by the song: CLANN - I Hold You

A/N: I am obsessed with thinking, how tragic and terrible was the fate of Elia Martell.

Also, watch this: Robert's Rebellion by Oberyn Martell

Hot air blew across their faces as they ran through the courtyard filled with the Dornish sun. From time to time, the shadow of the palm trees growing along the courtyard fell on them. Her dark hair bounced on her shoulders and her bare feet hit on the ground.

She held his hand tightly. With strength so contrasting to her petite body.

And she laughed. Oh… What a sweet sound that was. Like the nectar they drank for breakfast in the morning.

He didn't resist her as she pulled him towards the fountain. He never resisted her.

Even though she was weaker and so delicate, she was able to capture anyone's heart, especially his. She walked gracefully among the vipers and knew that no one would dare to hurt her. And if someone like that was found, he would make sure that such a fool suffered unimaginable torment.

Oberyn loved her like no one else. His sweet sister. Elia Martell. His friend, confidant of secrets, and comforter. He spent so many long hours with his head on her lap as she ran her hand through his raven hair and explained to him that not everything could be solved by force. And that he can't be mad all the time. She taught him how to read poetry. For her, he began writing poems.

She wasn't just his sister. She was part of him. An integral part of his wild soul. It was like a cozy, cool hole in which an angry desert viper hid when the desert heat was deadly.

When she jumped into the fountain and started splashing water on him, he laughed happily and his dark eyes sparkled. She took a step back so that the water flowing from the marble snake's mouth soaked her head. She waved her hand at him, encouraging him to do the same. He wanted to do it and feel the pleasant coolness of the water. But when he took a step forward, the water flowing down his sister's head turned red. His heart stopped and she looked at him in surprise, as if she hadn't realized that her face was turning red with blood.

She extended her hand towards him. With a heavy heart, the prince took a step closer but stopped when he noticed the bodies of two children floating in the red water. He heard his sister scream as she was now holding her dress covered in blood. She lifted the material up, revealing her thighs covered in slippery goo and blood.

He felt bile rising in his throat and struggled to find his voice.

"Elia," he croaked. "Do not leave me!"

His sister looked at him with eyes full of suffering, and suddenly her face turned into yours. The prince suddenly stretched his hand towards you, grabbed your dress, and shouted:

"NO!"

Oberyn woke up and sat on the bed, breathing heavily. His body was covered in sweat, his hair was stuck to his forehead, and he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He glanced sideways at you and his heart tightened. You looked so peaceful as you slept next to him, still with a blissful smile on your face after he took proper care of you and brought you to multiple orgasms.

He carefully leaned over you and brushed your hair away from your face. You lived, you breathed and you were fine. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that your life was as fragile as his sister's was. You reminded him so much of her. You were delicate and intelligent, sensitive and full of empathy. It was both a blessing and a curse for him. Sometimes he even thought that it was his sister's spirit that put you on his path. To remember again what it's like to have someone he will trust with all his heart and who will surround him with care and love.

Oberyn sighed heavily and moved away from your warm body. He sat on the edge of the bed and was lost in his thoughts. He was the best warrior in Dorne, and yet he failed to protect his sister. What if he fails you? Would you be safer without him? No... He shook his head. The thought of not knowing where you were or what was happening to you was even more terrifying to him.

While he was lost in his thoughts, you woke up and immediately realized what the problem was. This wasn't the first time he had nightmares. Your sweet prince was full of life every day, full of jokes... He was also arrogant, conceited, and proud, but when nightmares came, he was sad and needed support. His entire demeanor changed and you saw a side that few people saw.

You carefully stood up and sat down behind him. You hugged him from behind and placed your chin on his shoulder. You didn't say anything, you just waited for him to speak.

Oberyn sighed, feeling the comforting warmth of your body against his back. In moments like these, he was grateful for your love and understanding. You were a special woman to him. He had never opened up to any other lovers like he did to you. And maybe that's why, paradoxically, he had nightmares more often than before.

He placed his hand on top of yours, which was resting on his belly.

"I'm fine... You can go back to sleep... I'm sure you're still tired from what we did." He tried to make his voice sound convincing, but you could hear the note of sadness and desperation.

You nuzzled his neck as a signal that you weren't going anywhere and tightened your grip. For a moment, a small smile appeared on his face. Then he sighed and took a few deep breaths. And finally, he whispered:

"I saw her again... First it was a memory from our youth. Happy life at Sunspear. We ran to the fountain to cool off..." His voice suddenly became quieter and trembling. "When she entered the water... The water turned to blood, and then... Her face... Her..."

You noticed a tear rolling down his cheek and hugged him even tighter. You pressed your lips against his cheek, feeling the salty taste.

"Her face turned into yours…" Oberyn finished and you sighed softly.

Sometimes you would give anything to take this pain and these terrible memories away from him. Not only were you hurt by your loved one's suffering, but by poor Elia's suffering. When you first heard her story, you cried. You didn't know her, but it seemed so unfair what happened to her and her children. And even though House Lannister had done nothing wrong to you, you hated them as much as Oberyn did.

However, you knew that no one in the world had the power to undo what had already happened. Living in memories led nowhere. So instead of thinking about the past, you focused on the present and comforting your loved one.

"But I'm here... And I'm holding you. You feel my warmth and my breath."

Oberyn nodded.

"But what if one day I can't protect you from the horrors of this world?"

You thought for a moment. His question was one that had no easy answer. Neither of you could promise that nothing bad would happen. You finally answered slowly.

"If something bad happens to me, I will be sure that you did everything to protect me. And I will die with the feeling that I was loved... And that I will be mourned."

Oberyn took a shaky breath and gripped your hands tighter. Your answer was honest, painful and... somehow comforting. But... No, he didn't do everything to protect you. Suddenly he turned towards you and cupped your face in his hands.

"Be my wife."

"What?"

His sudden reaction took you by surprise. The candlelight reflected in his brown eyes, and you could see the sincerity in them. It definitely wasn't one of his jokes or teasing.

"Be my wife." He repeated, his voice becoming more confident, almost demanding, even though you knew he would never force you to do anything.

"I thought that... That you didn't want this... That you were comfortable with our relationship."

Oberyn smiled softly at you and rubbed his thumb against your cheek.

"Because it suits me, but... As strange as it may sound, since I found you, I no longer need other women and I want to provide you with even greater security. And this will happen when you gain the title of princess. Hurting a prince's lover is not the same as hurting his wife. Everyone will think twice. Besides, if something happens to me, you will be left with my estate and under the full protection of the Martell family."

You frowned and looked away from him, and he didn't understand your reaction. He thought you would be happy.

"What happened, my love?" He asked tenderly and gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"You talk about marriage like a business. Something that will make you sleep soundly at night."

He finally realized what the problem was and immediately kissed your forehead.

"Oh, forgive me, my desert flower. It wasn't meant to sound like that. Your safety is important here, but... I want you to be my wife because I love you like no one else. Because you are part of my heart and the air that I breathe. Because I can't imagine a day without your kiss, without your look. I just want to make official what I have known for a long time... I am yours and only yours."

Even if you tried, you couldn't stop the smile that appeared on your face. His words easily warmed your heart and all you could do was whisper:

"I agree."

Oberyn smiled and kissed you gently on the lips. However, you could see that he still hadn't fully recovered from the nightmare. So you stroked his jaw and pulled him towards the center of the bed. You knew that in the morning you would want to discuss your wedding and that you would have many questions, but you knew that you both needed to rest.

"Let's go back to sleep. You're tired."

You could tell he wanted to argue with you, but you had a trick up your sleeve. You laid on your back and patted your belly and you knew he would always take him up on that offer. It was his favorite way to fall asleep after a nightmare. He always wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his head in your lap as you stroked his hair soothingly.

It was like that this time too.

He snuggled into your body and you started stroking his dark hair.

"Rest now, my love. It's all right. I'm here and I'm holding you."

Oberyn closed his eyes, listening to your calm voice. The fear of losing you was still there in him, and he squeezed you a little tighter as if hoping that the gods wouldn't be able to break you free from his grasp.

"I've got you." He whispered and slowly fell into sleep, hoping he wouldn't have another nightmare.

Rest now, my love It's all right The dark is gone I am here I hold you

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #oberyn martell #oberyn nymeros martell #prince of dorne #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones #my fic #little angst #hurt/comfort #elia martell

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