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Chapter Text

Brienne looked upon her lifeless foe with guilt, their wooden body maimed with large cuts and gaping wounds caused by the steel of her blade and the ferocity of her attacks. She had not intended to be so vigorous, this one-sided battle was only meant to have been a training session, a light sparring exercise conducted upon a wooden target. But she had let her despair get the better of her, the state of her mind exposed by the deep scars etched into the skin of her opponent, a display of brutal aggression. 

She had been told to make herself at home and to occupy herself until the appointed time of her pre-arranged meeting. But how could she? Dorne was home to the military might of the Dornishmen and she was in their capital, the famed city of Sunspear. Where else would she have gone if not the training ground, the one place where she could find peace and revelation in the arena that had been home to the most famous warriors Westeros had to offer.

Yet even here her mind wandered, distracting her thoughts and beckoning her worries forth, spurring her to pick up a sword and deal out enough damage against an unarmed and incapable victim in the hopes of achieving some kind of resolution. But fear is an immovable dread, an emotion that can latch onto your own heart and tear you apart from the inside, leaving you shattered and broken. And Brienne was so close to breaking that she could almost feel it gnawing at her soul, squeezing out every last bit of hope she had left.

It had only been a week since she had been told of her father’s condition, a fearful reality she had refused to face until now. Though was common with men his age, Lord Selwyn Tarth was starting to take a turn for the worse, his health slowly declining due to the absence of his daughter, the waning of his heart and the consequence of time. In his better years perhaps seeing her again would’ve healed his fractured soul, but with rumours of a possible invasion by the Golden Company, the sight of her only increased his worry and his parental desire of seeing her safe.

And so she was sent to Dorne, a kingdom greatly different from her own and yet so familiar. Surrounded by the sea, it made the region a sight to behold from the ocean, especially with the two famous towers reaching beyond the city walls, daring to touch the heavens. Upon her arrival in Sunspear, Brienne had thought about visiting the renowned structures and seeing if there was any truth to the rumours of being able to touch the stars from its roof, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.

After winning Tyrion Lannister his innocence in a trial of combat, Prince Oberyn had become the most praised and feared man in all of Westeros. For the defeat of The Mountain was more than just a task that many had deemed impossible, it was a monumental victory against Tywin Lannister, one that sent a message across the Seven Kingdoms. Now everyone was desperate to seek his favour, whether by marriage or concubinage; lords of the most prestigious houses sent their sons and daughters to Dorne in the hopes of forming a potential alliance. But luckily for Brienne her father deemed her with more respect and sent her as a representative of Tarth, an envoy on a mission to persuade the Dornishmen to lend their troops in the upcoming battle against the Golden Company.

But it had been an hour since her arrival and she had not yet met with the Prince. She figured that he was preoccupied meeting with the many nobles that she had seen gathered in the hall of the throne-room, or perhaps even enjoying their company in a more salacious manner (he did have a reputation). Either way, Brienne was growing tired of waiting and her mind was fret with fear and worry about her father in her absence. So she thought it best to find the Prince herself, if anything it could prove far more successful in distracting her thoughts than the sparring did.

  “Leaving so soon?”

Brienne felt her heart jolt against her chest, the sudden presence of another putting her in a momentary state of panic. The voice belonged to the very man she was about to seek, the Prince of Dorne and the most desired man in all of Westeros, Oberyn Martell. He stood behind her with a mischievous smile across his lips, an obvious amusement to her startled reaction. But as she turned to face him, she found herself enamoured by his appearance, a man unlike any she had met before.

Dressed in a canary yellow robe that dipped in the centre, Oberyn’s chest was exposed to her gaze, daring her to look beyond the golden medallion that hung below his neck and further beyond to what lay beneath his garments. But Brienne was stronger than most, or at least she fooled herself into thinking she was, for she quickly diverted her attention away from his tantalising physique and forced herself to meet his stare. But even that was a difficult task, for his oak-brown eyes were like jasper in sunlight, or was in citrine? The harder she looked the more difficult it was to discern, his gaze held her captive like the stars had done to so many poets before, holding her prisoner and refusing to let go.

Despite being in King’s Landing during his stay, Brienne had never crossed paths with the Red Viper nor had she ever thought about meeting him. But now that she was in front of the Prince, she could not deny the allure of his manner or the attraction of his good-looks. She was human after all, weak to the temptation of skin and flesh, but she had not yet known the dual desire of such a rush nor did she ever believe she would.

  “Your Majesty,” she greeted as she adjusted her stance and bowed before him. “I was just-”

  “Destroying my equipment?” he interrupted, his eyes fixed on the devastation behind her.

  “Making use of it, sire,” Brienne corrected as she straightened her form, desperate not to give away the tinge of embarrassment that was evident across her face. But her uptight demeanour betrayed her intentions, making plain the truth of her heart and the vicious rage that was responsible for her actions.  

Oberyn surveyed her slowly, curious. “Are you always this formal?”

Furrowing her brow, Brienne stuttered before answering him, confounded by his remark. “Sire?”

The Prince clicked his tongue, a clear show of his disapproval. “It bores me.”

His remark left Brienne astounded, for she had always been taught to act with grace and honourability, especially if she desired to become a knight, but never had she been told that such etiquette was tedious. “It is common courtesy, sire.”

  “And it bores me,” he reiterated, jadedly.

Brienne folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, rattled by the bizarre nature of his comment. “And if I in turn chose to be uncivil and address you by name, what then? Would you not take offence?” 

Oberyn smiled devilishly at her retort, stirred by her protestation. “No, I would simply close my eyes and savour the sound of it from your lips.”

She felt her cheeks flush after that, his words just as shameless as they were bold, a provocation of something alluring that lay below the surface, an forbidden invitation that she would not succumb to.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Brienne said as she sheathed her sword and straightened her posture. “But as an envoy and representative of Tarth, I cannot adhere to such a command, nor will I ever consider it.”

  “But you are not just an envoy, are you?” he goaded before bowing his head dramatically. “ My lady .”

Brienne scoffed at his exaggerated display of gallantry, a mocking show of courtly manners that she found to be somewhat amusing. “I thought we had forgone such formalities?”

Oberyn smirked, enraptured by her reminder of his initial jibe, a clear participation in their game of submission and compliance. 

  “I may have been inclined to if you had not tarnished my property,” he teased as he approached the wooden target and traced his fingers across the crevices made by her sword. “But I could be persuaded to forgive you.” 

  “Then allow me to put forward my case,” she requested and so Oberyn did. 

Leaning against the wooden post he fell silent and listened carefully to her verbal presentation, a plea for help that he did not expect to be made aware of.

  “Tarth has been a seaport for many regions across Westeros throughout the years. An alliance with us could not only bolster your trade of wine, spices and cloth but give you a permanent and well-respected trade centre where you could sell your goods and develop other regional connections. And in turn for this, all we ask is that you offer the might of your military in an upcoming battle against the Golden Company. We are not strong enough to defend ourselves from sellswords alone, especially one of such calibre and strength,” she stated, proficiently. “So…will you help us?”

The Prince pondered on her appeal quickly, his mind seemingly made up from the moment she finished her speech, one that was clearly rehearsed. “No.”

  “Why not?” she asked, dumbfounded.

  “Because I see no reason to send soldiers to defend an island that means nothing to me.”

  “Our ports-”

  “I heard you but it makes no difference,” he reaffirmed. “Tarth currently holds nothing of value that could coerce such an action.”

Brienne felt her heart sink into an ocean of desolation and misery, her soul drowning deeper and deeper into an abyss of sorrow that she would never be able to escape. Everything was riding on this alliance, the fate of her home, the safety of her father, everything depended on her being able to make this a success. Yet Oberyn’s rejection brought her hopes to an end, his dismissal worse than any loss or defeat she had ever endured.

  “You are not very good at this, are you?” he teased, drawing a scowl from her ladyship. “Because if you had really thought this through, then you would know that there is only one way that you could make this work.”

Suddenly, Oberyn pushed himself off the wooden post and approached her slowly, a deliberate measured stride towards a woman caught off guard by his advance. Then when he stood before her, Brienne’s frame towering over him, he cupped her hand delicately in his and raised them to his lips before planting a soft kiss against her fingers, a sweet display of his affections with the insinuation of something more.

Brienne stared at him blankly, shocked by his impudence and the gall to touch her in such an intimate yet gentle way. But suddenly she realised the implications of his gesture and quickly retracted her hand, her mind fraught with confusion. 

  “Marriage?” she said, aghast. “You propose that we wed?”

  “If you desire a partnership that is not only capable of keeping your lands safe but powerful enough to be recognised across the Seven Kingdoms, then I regret to inform you that marriage is the only way of making that possible,” Oberyn explained.

  “I hardly know you!”

  “Nor I you,” he acknowledged. “But how could I resist such a pact when the prize is a beautiful woman.”

Brienne looked at him with bewilderment, his implausible offer dredging up memories that she would much rather forget. “I am not some conquest that you can prey upon! If that is what you desire, then there are many nobles who would willingly satisfy such urges waiting for you in the throne room!”

  “They already have.”

His brazen confession only added more fuel to the fire that raged within her, a disdain for the man that would so boldly ask for her hand in marriage yet refuse to act in accordance with its principles.

  “I will not marry a man who would wilfully betray our union without remorse.”

  “Even if that man pleases you in turn and gives you the freedom to love and fornicate with anyone that you so wished?”

Brienne furrowed her brow, perplexed by his inference. But as she pondered in thought, she suddenly began to realise to whom he was referring.

  “I know that your heart belongs to another, Brienne. I know how you feel about the infamous… Kingslayer . But my intention is not to hold you down or to restrict you from pursuing who or whatever you desire,” Oberyn admitted. “I need a wife and you need protection, that is all.”

Then she cocked her head, curious. “And what need would you have for a bride?”

  “Perhaps I have my own desires that I would like to pursue, ambitions of which I would require… legitimacy .”

Brienne felt her lips part as she studied the gleam in his eyes, a wild flame that roared with a burning hunger. “The Iron Throne.”

Oberyn only smiled at that, his silence inferring more than words could ever convey.

  “Besides as Princess of Dorne and Lady of Tarth, your influence would carry tremendous weight across the Seven Kingdoms,” he persuaded. “Maybe even make you a knight.”

It was difficult not to grin at such a notion, an ambition that she longed to achieve. To become a knight was all Brienne had ever wanted since she was a little girl, if such a dream could ever materialise into reality she would thank the gods twice over.

  “So, what say you?” he asked, a smug expression on his face.

Brienne tried hard not to expose her true feelings about the offer, it was in actual fact rather inciting and would accomplish the very mission that she was sent here to do. But there were so many other reasons why she felt opposed to such a proposition, one of which lay back in King’s Landing. “I am afraid I do not have an answer for you, sire.”

Oberyn backed away at her response, his feet taking him further and further away from their place of conversation and towards the rack of weapons that were stored on the other side of the arena. “Then you leave me with no other choice.”

Picking up a single-bladed spear from the array of weapons, the Prince twirled the staff in hands and approached the centre of the coliseum.

  “I once heard a rumour that you would only accept an offer of marriage if the man asking could defeat you in combat,” he said before tucking the spear under his arm and bowing deeply. “Allow me to put that challenge to the test.” 

Brienne could not stop herself from grinning, his provocation reminding her of an oath that she once made to herself so many years ago. “You have no armour on, sire.”

  “Neither do you.”

He was right, the garment she wore was a cerulean robe embellished with two flaming suns and two crescent moons, the emblem of her house and an outfit ill-suited for sparring let alone a duel. But Brienne was never the type to back down from a fight, especially when so much rested on the outcome. So she unsheathed her sword once again, a weapon given to her by a man that she felt so much for and yet could not be sure if such sentiments were reciprocated, and approached the man that was untamed by society and audacious enough to show his feelings without shame. 

As they circled around each other, Oberyn studied her form, his eyes slowly undressing her as he trailed his gaze across her body, adding an impassioned intensity to the battle that Brienne could not ignore.

  “How many of these have you lost?” he asked. 

  “None so far.”

  “Then you have been deprived of the greatest pleasure in the world.”

Breinne furrowed her brow, confused. “And what is that?”

The Prince grinned devilishly at her question, his mind wrought with vivid imagination. “Being laid flat on your back.”

And without warning he lunged at her, leaving little room for her to fully grasp the innuendo of his retort. So as he thrusted the blade of his spear wildly, Brienne quickly deflected his attacks, the Red Viper clearly determined to see the victory of this battle delivered in his favour. But Brienne was more than just the daughter of a noble house, she had fought many men, most of whom underestimated her abilities. So if he believed that this would be an easy fight, then he was sorely mistaken.

After evading one of his strikes, Brienne switched to the offence and swung Oathkeeper with such a mighty force that even Oberyn thought that she would break him. Then with the Prince now focused on avoiding her attacks, Brienne swept his legs, catching him off-guard and sending him crashing to the floor. But before he could reach for his spear, she mounted his waist and pressed her hand down on his chest, the tip of her blade raised above his neck, pinning him to the ground.

  “Whose on their back now?” she taunted but to her surprise there was no fear or disappointment in his eyes, in fact this predicament seemed to be exactly what he wanted.

  “Like I said,” Oberyn recalled as he brought his hands around her waist, a physical touch that sent a ravenous sensation coursing through her body. “ The greatest pleasure .”

Brienne fought hard within herself not to be consumed by such a desire, one that had raged in the pit of her soul only once before. But there was no denying the power of its influence, a bewitching force that could turn the tide of this battle. So adamant on remaining in control of this outcome, she pressed the steel of her blade into his neck, forcing him to remove his hands from her hips and heed the following declaration.

   “To enjoy that privilege you would have to be my betrothed,” she asserted. “Shame that your loss prevents that.”

   “A great shame indeed,” he confessed, his voice low and tempestuous. 

Then she leaned down towards him, her lips only a breadth away from his own, an enticing prize that he yearned to savour. “But on this occasion, I might be willing to make an exception.”

And with that Oberyn brought his hands back to her waist, his fingers trailing a line down her lower back. “Are you accepting my proposal?”

Spurred by his touch, Brienne gave into her desires and guided herself to his lips, locking them both in a passionate kiss that was led and governed by her will, its pace and aggression determined by her hankering thirst. This was the first time that Brienne had ever been in control of such an exchange, one that she had never imagined that she would be subject to but she relished it nonetheless.

Finally, breathless and overwhelmingly satisfied, she pulled back and drank him in, the Prince’s eyes wild with a craving hunger. “Yes I am.”

Still drunk from the taste of her, Oberyn cupped her face in his hands and led her back down towards him, but Brienne quickly pressed her finger to his lips, halting such a daring venture.

  “But you must send your troops first,” she reminded before getting up and standing to her feet, leaving him laughably dismayed and severely disappointed. “Then we can talk about the wedding arrangements.”

Looking up at his betrothed, a woman so fiercely committed to her duties and ardently conscious of upholding court etiquette, Oberyn found her demeanour to be quite amusing, even if her decorum did inspire impatience. “Must you always put business before pleasure?”

  “Depends on the day, or my mood,” she teased. “Something you will have to get used to.”

And with that she turned around and took her leave.

  “I shall see you in, Tarth, Your Majesty-” she said, bidding him farewell. But as she realised the obvious change in their relationship and the clear connection that they now shared, she stopped for a moment before readdressing him. “ Oberyn. ”

And there it was, his name on the tip of her tongue, sensual and sweet just as he imagined it would be. So as she walked away from him, leaving the Prince alone in the centre of the arena, he closed his eyes and savoured its sound over and over again in his mind, yearning for the day when he would hear her say it again.

Chapter Text

The battlefield has no place for merriment or the euphoric elation of victory in the midst of an ongoing conflict. In fact, if one was not careful such an unusual expression of gaiety could be mistaken as a perverted pleasure, a sadistic mirth spurred by the thrill of violence and total carnage. But to the confoundment of many soldiers, both ally and foe, there was a more comforting reason behind Brienne’s jubilant smile, a grin so warm and delightful that you would not be a fool to assume the current circumstances to be one of fiction or fantasy.

But reality was painted in blood, a crimson river that dampened the aureate shores of Tarth’s golden coast. For here, at the edge of the world, upon the bank of an isle treasured with nature's most exquisite sapphires, a fierce clash of titans was taking place, an all-out war for the occupation of one of the Seven Kingdoms’ most richest islands.

Ships anchored near the shoreline brought in most of the rival forces, troops belonging to the Golden Company, sellswords renowned for their discipline and expertise in combat. But smaller units managed to sneak in through the caverns, grottos accessible by sea, a known back entrance into Tarth that was commonly used by lurking pirates looking to pillage and plunder. Regardless, there was a reason why such a security risk had never been resolved, a means of entry that was still currently available to those with nefarious intentions, a consequence they discovered far too late.

Upon their exit, they were met with knives at their throats, steel belonging to the regiment of the Coastal Watch, men assigned by Lady Brienne to guard and kill anyone who made use of the forbidden passage. On another day, they might have been more lenient and brought the perpetrators to the Hall of Evenfall to receive judgement, but they had been notified prior to such a possible occurrence and they had their orders. So without a second thought, they slit the necks of their enemies, their blood spilling onto the stone and gravel, a clear warning for those that dared to follow of their fate should they enter this land without permission. 

However, despite such a significant triumph, back on the beach the main forces of the Golden Company were beginning to bear down on Brienne and her men, their humble garrison greatly outnumbered. Even if they could hold out and resist, exhaustion was inevitable and soon their fatigue would severely affect their ability to withstand any attack. But just as all hope was beginning to fade, out of the horizon their salvation was emerging. 

Beyond the skyline, a fleet of numerous ships donning the banner of a red sun came into view, a naval armada unseen since the days of Princess Nymeria and her force of 10,000 ships. Such a spectacle was so inconceivable that it drew the attention of everyone on the beach, particularly Brienne, because she more than anyone knew the magnitude of such a sight and the aftermath that would follow. 

So as the fleet reached the Golden Company’s ships, their small convoy vulnerable and unprotected, they launched a bombardment of cannon fire, a devastating onslaught that immediately caused their naval force to sink, along with the optimism and arrogance the sellswords once possessed. But it was only when their soldiers made landfall that it became clear to anyone who remained doubtful about the enemy that they were facing.

After a legion of boats brought their forces to the shore, a phalanx of spearmen exited the rafts and assumed a rectangular formation, frightening the Golden Company and cutting off their retreat. Even some of Brienne’s men quivered at the sight of their unusual positioning, a military strategy that spurred fear into the hearts of the most gallant of warriors. But their leader was deserving of his own terror, a legendary fighter unrivalled in the art of combat and skilled beyond measure. He stood in front of them, his leather armour scaled like a python’s skin, rigid but flexible enough to grant him speed and mobility. 

As Brienne met his citrine gaze, a stare powerful enough to command the submission of his enemies and the adulation of his comrades, a smile curled onto her lips, an earnest moment of relief and gratitude. In an instance she felt her courage return, a strength that had begun to fade before his arrival. But now she was ready, for with the might of the Dornishmen on her side, the result of his battle was certain, victory was at hand. So for the last time, she led her men into one final assault, a definitive attack supported by the forces of her betrothed, a man who kept true to his promise, upholding the vows of their engagement. 

*****   

Death had never disturbed Brienne, with numerous battles under her belt she had learned to accept it, for death came with the occupation, its stench unavoidable. But she had never seen Tarth like this, her golden isle bathed in rivers of blood and piles of corpses. It would take weeks for them to rid the land of its putrid odour, a foul aroma brought about by the cost of war, but she would not complain too much for such an aftermath indicated the results of their victory, an irrefutable triumph. So as she became lost in the odd serenity of the view before her, she allowed the ocean’s stillwaters to spur a soothing solace within her soul, withdrawing any worries that remained.

  “You fought well today.”

The sudden sound of such an amorous voice sent a jolt of panic to surge through her body, diverting her attention towards her unannounced visitor, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

  “Sire! I mean, Your Majesty-” she greeted, tripping over her own words, a display of sheepish timidity that entertained him greatly. “I almost mistook you for foe.”

  “Surely you can discern the difference between a foot soldier and your Prince,” he queried, edging closer, the space between them almost non-existent, increasing the tension caused by his allusive tone.

  “On the battlefield, it is easy to confuse the two,” she stated, meekly.

Prince Oberyn smirked at her answer, a falsehood clearly devised to distract him from her current state. “I could always take my armour off.”

Shooting him a disapproving glare, an act provoked by her own bashfulness, Brienne tried to hide behind her decorum and propriety but his brazen desires caused her cheeks to flush, revealing her true sentiments. Nonetheless, she believed herself to be clear of any speculation, the verity of her heart sealed behind a strict code of honour and courtly formalities. But who knew that all that would fade with a single touch, the soft caress of the Prince’s hand against her cheek breaking down her walls and forcing her feelings to surface.

  “You look tired,” he said, his eyes full of concern.

As he trailed his finger above her brow, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Brienne became lost in the warmth of his touch, a show of endearment that she hardly expected from the Prince. Such affections should be reserved for private moments, yet here on the beach, in the presence of their respective armies he displayed no sign of embarrassment or humiliation, his voluntary fondness without shame or pity. 

But how could he offer her such tenderness? With her face grimed with blood and dirt, she resembled a barbarian rather than a noble lady, one that would inherit her father’s title and fortune. Nonetheless, that did not seem to phase him, for his citrine eyes held a gentle kindness beyond their gaze, along with an evident attraction, a notion she was still uncertain of.

So, as she broke free of his trance, she turned her cheek and returned her attention to the sapphires that gleamed upon the ocean’s surface, the crown jewels of her kingdom. “It was a long and arduous battle, Your Majesty, I am certain that our men suffer the same exhaustion.”

Prince Oberyn furrowed his brow at her dismissal, her physical rejection scathing him much worse than her verbal one. But her actions conveyed her sentiments quite clearly and so the Red Viper followed in suit. Crossing his arms, he began walking towards the edge of the shore to where their soldiers were clearing the beach of the deceased, the rotting corpses loaded into horse-drawn carts.

  “I should thank you,” she blurted out, hastily, stopping him in his tracks. “Our victory is beholden to your fleet.”

  “I did not do it for your thanks, my lady, though it is welcome,” he clarified, frankly. “My actions are concurrent with our agreement…one to which you seem oddly remiss.”

Guilt-ridden, Brienne tried to find the words to explain her restraint, an austere impertinence towards someone that had become her betrothed, someone to whom she gave that honour to willingly. “Oberyn, I-”

At that, the Prince raised his hand, commanding her silence. But when he turned around to face her, Brienne realised that his order was not one of displeasure but satisfaction, for his eyes were closed, an evident enchantment spurred by the sound of her lips. “Now that is why I travelled all this way.”

His euphoric delight drew a smile from Brienne, her address seemingly evoking the fulfilment of his wishes. But such a pleasure could not be enjoyed for too long, for the sound of footsteps disrupted their conversation, announcing a visitor known to both parties but more so to her ladyship, to whom their guest shared a relation. 

  “Father!” Brienne called, troubled, her face wrought with distress as she rushed up the steps to meet him.

Dressed in multiple layers of fur, it would have been easy to mistake him as a vassal of Winterfell or even a member of the Starks, but in truth he was Lord Selwyn of Tarth, the Evenstar and a stormlander. Though from the thinning of his hair and the haggard figure brought about by old age, he could no longer be attributed to such a title. In fact, the lord had become so bed-ridden that he was unable to govern the affairs and disputes of the isle, such duties had now fallen to his daughter.

  “Father, you should not be here!”

  “Oh, you fret too much, my dear,” Lord Selywn reassured as he took her hand, the aides that escorted him following closely behind. “The battle has long been decided thanks to your efforts.”

As he surveyed the beach, Lord Selwyn observed the multitude of slain Golden Company soldiers scattered across the sand, their bodies covering almost every inch of the shore.

  “What a sight. It must have been a resounding defeat.”

  “Indeed, it was,” Brienne confirmed. “But I could not have achieved such a victory alone.”

Directing his gaze towards Prince Oberyn, who seemed content enough to keep his presence unnoticed, allowing the two to converse with one another undisturbed, greeted the lord with a warm smile. But Lord Selwyn could not permit such a discourteous omission and threw himself before him in shame. 

  “Your Majesty!” he hailed with great veneration.

  “Father!” Brienne dissuaded as she tried to lift him up from the ground.

But it was only when the Prince lowered himself before the old lord, offering his hand in a show of respect, that her father obeyed and rose to his feet.

  “Please, Lord Selwyn, I am not worth your civility, your daughter will tell you as much,” Oberyn remarked, his comment reminding Brienne of their verbal exchanges, something that seemed to be a common occurrence.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, I am old and my sight is not what it used to be. Regardless, I have not known royalty to be on my shores since the age of the Tarygaryens, it almost feels like a dream seeing you here in person!” he lauded in astonishment. But then, by no fault of his own, his gaze was drawn by the grandeur in the distance, an imposing display of power that rested on the sea’s surface. “Are those your ships?”

Turning his attention towards the ocean, the Prince’s eyes settled upon his grand fleet, a majestic spectacle incomparable to any military might or affluent wealth. “Yes. Would you care to admire them up close?”

Lord Selwyn gawked at his offer, his proposition almost spurring him to grab a boat and row himself out with the tide. But on second thought, he became disinclined to the idea, his current health already much of a concern. “I better not, Your Majesty, I do not want to vex my daughter and believe me, you do not want to see her when she is vexed.”

  “I am afraid that I have already been subject to such temper,” he divulged, attracting the jesting scorn of her ladyship. “Brienne almost chopped my head off during our first meeting.”

  “I assure you, Father, my actions were not unfounded or irrational in any form. His Majesty arranged for us to have a duel, I would not have attacked him otherwise,” she quickly explained, her testimony baffling Lord Selwyn.

Prince Oberyn watched with amusement as his admission spurred an argument between them, one common amongst a father and his daughter. As a man who had children of his own, he understood Lord Selwyn’s dismay and worry towards his daughter’s actions, for if the Prince had been another monarch, Brienne would have faced imprisonment or worse execution. But Oberyn was not like other royals, he saw courage where others saw discourtesy and it entertained him greatly to wound her up from time to time.

  “However, since we are speaking of my daughter,” Lord Selwyn pointed out, his tone much more austere. “I must confess that I was surprised when she informed me of your engagement. My daughter has never conceded to the idea of marriage and as her father, I have tried for years to find someone worthy of her hand, but it seems that she has found such a suitor on her own terms.” He continued. “Have you both agreed upon a date for this union?”

  “A week.”

  “A month.”

Their conflicting statements gave rise to a rattled bewilderment, one that increased after the Prince noticed Brienne’s own reluctance to meet his gaze. For her desire to delay their wedding until the following season, when spring would blossom into summer, was hardly an aesthetical choice but one influenced by her own hesitation.  

  “Maybe it is best that we talk of such things after the feast,” she insisted, anxiously. “Come, there is much to celebrate and enough wine to go round!”

So, as she fled the scene, forcing her father into a full retreat towards their castle, Oberyn was left to his own thoughts, his mind restless with questions. Had he travelled all this way to fulfil his oath, only to be blindsided by his betrothed and her apparent fidelity? If such a case was true, then that would be a first for the Prince, a man known for always being one step ahead of those that hoped for his demise. But Brienne’s intentions did not appear to be one of maliciousness, though at the moment he could not ignore such a notion, for she was clearly defying their agreement, one he had upheld honourably. 

*****

As night fell, the Hall of Evenfall rose to life, the sound of vibrant music and cheerful conversation echoing off the walls and ringing out into the city, making those uninvited to the festivities jealous of those in attendance. Dornishmen shared their liquor with their newfound allies, a red wine famous for its exquisite taste and unrivalled by the sweet flavour of Arbor gold, an alternative that is found in the southwest part of Westeros. 

But placed across the tables were plates of unique fish selected from Tarth’s vast array of lakes and rivers, and a selection of meat that was personally hunted down by various lords of the stormlands and presented as a gift to their new comrades. However, despite the joyous mirth that enveloped the room, there were two guests that did not mimic the general delight of their environment.

Despite the announcement of their betrothal, both Brienne and Oberyn sat adjacent to each other in silence, their focus straight ahead. Lord Selwyn could hardly believe what he was seeing, nor could he understand it, for such rigidness implied friction between the couple, a tension that contrasted the affection he saw between them on the beach. Had he been observing them wrong all this time, only believing what he wanted to see? But if that had been true then why had Brienne agreed to such a union? Why did she form such an alliance if she did not at the very least enjoy his company? So many questions and none granted an answer, a cycle that would continue after his daughter stood to her feet.

  “Forgive me, but I must be excused for the remainder of the night,” she said before departing from the hall, neither waiting for her father’s permission or her betrothed's.

Turning to the Prince, Lord Selwyn could only beg for mercy, his daughter’s action spurring much guilt. “Your Majesty, I hope you will not take offence, she is my only child, her impudence is no fault of her own but mine as her father-”

But Prince Oberyn raised his hand, unwilling to listen to the rest of his petition. Instead, he too rose from his seat and followed after her, this dissonance between them only capable of being resolved by his own methods. So as he gave chase, Lord Selwyn could do nothing but watch and pray, for selfishly this union was something that he wanted to succeed, not only because of its benefit to his house but also to his daughter’s solitude.

****

Evenfall was a large castle by many means, though it did not boast such grandeur like the Old Palace in Sunspear or the ancient keep of Sandship, it was an impressive place of residence and an even stronger fortress, one that was capable of withstanding a siege. But Prince Oberyn did not suspect that it would have been this difficult to find Brienne considering that she left before he did, her exit just as unexpected as it was brisk. However, after searching through countless halls, he finally located his intended bride sitting on the balcony, the terrace overlooking Shipbreaker’s Bay, one of the island’s natural harbours.

He observed her upon approach, her attention fixed on the wild tides that crashed against the rocks, the waves brutal and unrelenting. 

  “The seas from here to Storm’s End are famous for their untamed waters,” she explained as she heard his footsteps, her gaze still drawn to the ferocious current. “Many have tried to anchor there in the past and suffered the consequences, their ships still prisoner to the deep.”  

Leaning against the wall opposite her, Prince Oberyn surveyed the aquatic expanse, the dreadful ocean spurring an unusual tranquillity. “Our Red Mountains in Dorne carry the same fate. Some paths could lead to your death others to your salvation, it all depends on your guide and their knowledge of our deserts.”

  “I would love to see them one day,” she confessed, hopeful at the thought. “I hear the dunes are like golden rivers, lakes of sand sculpted by The Smith himself.”

  “I would take you there personally,” he proposed, his kind offer drawing her attention. “But a private escort through the mountain pass requires you to be my consort, otherwise I cannot guarantee your safety.”

His insinuation forced Brienne to meet the Red Viper’s stare, his expression both cryptic and hard to discern.

  “So, are you my consort, Brienne? Or should I consider this an improper request from a nobleman’s daughter?”

Upon hearing his query, a display of disgruntlement hidden behind his royal demeanour, Brienne found herself at odds with soul and her current disposition, her true character sullied by the cowardice of her own actions. But she had much to say, the cause of her behaviour motivated by reasons still unclear to her own heart. Nonetheless, she owed him the truth, even if such a reality caused friction and strife to fester between them.

  “I must appear quite childish to you,” she languished, chastising herself. “But you must know that my conduct today was not performed with the intention of sabotaging our union, but out of fear of it.”

Her revelation caused Oberyn to soften, his gaze mellow as he listened to her unveil the secrets of her soul, baring herself before him both figuratively and emotionally.

  “My mother died when I was six, a loss that greatly impacted my father. After her death, he wed a new mistress every year, balladeers who entertained our court and taught me the songs of our isle,” she explained. “They were nice but they had to be if they were going to keep my father’s affections, which in truth shifted with the ever-changing tide,” she continued. “Even as a child I understood the fickle hearts of men and as I matured I faced the harsh reality of loving such a person. I do not want to suffer that same pain once more.”

  “I cannot promise you my fidelity, Brienne,” he confessed. “My heart already belongs to another, as does yours.”

  “And you gave me the freedom to love them as publicly and as privately as I so wished,” she recalled. “But what if that love is not reciprocated? You have your paramour, your needs and desires are fulfilled even if I chose to neglect my duties as your wife. But I…”

She stopped herself, refusing to allow her deep well of emotions to rise to the surface.

  “Has Ser Jaime not-”

His question hinted at more than one possibility, numerous prospects that Brienne herself had dreamt about and even prayed for, but none of them had materialised into reality, a reminder that forced tears to stream from her eyes, transforming her sapphires into oceans of cerulean blue. 

  “I cannot wait for him, nor will I imprison myself to a lifetime of hopeless yearning,” she avowed, returning her attention to him. “But that does not mean that I am free of wanting more, of wanting love .”

Prince Oberyn cocked his head and crossed his arms, intrigued by the meaning of her comment. “Something you do not believe me capable?”

  “Are you? Is it truly possible to love more than one person?”

Such a profound question left him in a state of shock, bereaving him of speech and thought, for he had never pondered on such a matter nor did he ever need to. Ellaria Sand, his beloved paramour and trusted confidant, had been at his side for several years now, his beautiful daughters fed by her breast and cradled in her womb. Since the inception of their relationship she had kept him happy and satisfied his every need, all his wants and wishes fulfilled by the warmth of her heart. But there was one ambition that she could not accomplish, one that he would need another in order to obtain. Could such a union give rise to the same sentiments that he shared so strongly with her, or did the gods only bid our hearts to love exclusively?  

  “Truthfully, I do not know,” he admitted, much to Brienne’s disappointment. “But what I do know is that I came here today because you asked me to, because you made a promise. If love blossoms from that promise, then we should count ourselves favoured by The Maiden herself. But if it does not…then all I can offer you is my spear, my name and my house and hope that it is worth such a price.”

Then Prince Oberyn pushed himself off the wall and approached her, his daring advance causing her chest to tighten, her breath hitching with every step.

  “But I will tell you this, I have yet to find a reason not to marry you,” he confessed, bringing his finger to her cheek and caressing her skin softly. “Though our verbal spats could become rather tedious.”

Brienne gaped at his playful remark, a grievance that she knew was unjustly projected upon her. “I only finish what you start.”

  “Even more reason to push your buttons.”

Standing to her feet, her tall stature towering over him, a calculative smile curled onto Brienne’s lips, a mischievous display accompanying her slow advance. “So that is why you insist on vexing me.”

  “Your temper is rather titillating,” he professed, revealing one of his secret pleasures, one that intensified as she forced him to walk backwards. 

  “And what about my compliance?”

The Prince was against the wall now, his back pinned to the stone, there was no escape from her tenacity now not that he wished for such liberation, not when he was bound in such an enthralling position.

  “If I told you that your offer was something I still wanted, would that interest you, in spite of today's events?”

There was a vulnerability in her eyes that he had not seen before, her azure gaze full of desperation and guilt. But as the Prince brought his finger to her lip and traced the curve of her mouth slowly, such feelings were replaced with craving hunger, a hidden want rising to the surface.

  “Address me as your betrothed and see for yourself.”

His request evoked an enticing delight, the knowledge of such power being bestowed upon a single word intriguing Brienne, even more so because it was to be uttered from her own lips, her mouth more potent than the spells used in the old city of Valaria. So, eager to see the results of such verbalism, she drank him in and uttered it slowly. 

  “ Oberyn …”

Without warning he was at her lips, his hands enveloping her waist as he pulled her into a deep and passionate kiss, one spurred by the euphoric sensation brought about by her voice, a spellbinding enchantment that forced him to submit to his own desires. But Brienne too would be satisfied by this, the emptiness that once submerged the innermost parts of herself was slowly filling with light, an ever-bright flame that refused to dwindle. If this is how it felt to be kissed by a man that honoured his commitments and remained honest even when the truth could hurt, then perhaps a union with him would not be so dismal. Besides, it was by a kiss that you could tell how well a man knew a woman, and considering how such an embrace made Brienne feel, she could tell that this was not the only pleasure that she would experience during this marriage.

Chapter Text

Brienne had long known of the peace that followed after war, its hopeful tranquillity permeating the subsequent days as fallen cities rebuilt itself, and those affected returned to a normalcy that existed before the ensuing violence. Sometimes the resulting harmony would spur a ceasefire, peace talks that would lay the groundwork for generations to come, ending years and even decades of bloodshed. On other occasions, victory would result in the annihilation of the opposing side and the annexation of their lands and crown. But this was the first time that she would witness a wedding post-battle, a ceremony in which she herself was to be married, a notion she unbelievably agreed to.

Nonetheless, Brienne had made up her mind and she was fixed on her decision. Besides, she made a promise, a solemn vow to the man that would become her king that in return for his help against the Golden Company, she would become his bride. And considering the peace that now followed such an alliance, the shores of Tarth devoid of ships bearing gold banners, she believed that such a price was more than worth the means.

So, shortly after their resounding triumph, both his house and her own came together to organise the festivities, preparing the ceremony in accordance to the wants and desires of both parties. One request that was greatly important for Brienne was her wish to be married at home, a demand motivated by her father’s condition and fear that he would not be able to witness such a pivotal moment in her life. But Oberyn was more than happy to adhere to her request and therefore suggested that they have two services, one in Tarth and another in Dorne, the first to accommodate father and daughter and the other to publicly announce their betrothal, an idea that she gratefully agreed to.

And so it came to pass in the following weeks that the Hall of Evenfall, the seat of her house and family castle, was transformed into a luxurious reception, the grand estate that had once been the host of King Aegon himself now the site of celebration and merriment. Although it was a private ceremony attended only by her father and his close friends, as well as representatives of Dorne, the hall had been decorated with the most majestic of ornaments, decor that boasted the wealth of Tarth and their very own Evenstar.

Wreaths composed of daffodils and lilies hung from each pillar, their arrangement reminiscent of the colours of their two houses, signifying the union of their families. The windows were replaced with stained-glass art, paintings of the bride and groom drawn as divine beings, representations of the sun and moon, a callback to the sigils of their own banners. A carpet made of silk led to the altar, a gift from their Dornish allies and one that bore detailed embroidery of their joint victory over the Golden Company.

But the real jewel was the bride herself, a notion that her husband-to-be felt most congruent with as he watched her approach. She was accompanied by her father, the great Lord Selwyn Tarth who was donned in the full attire of his rank, a military uniform that echoed the days of the warrior he once was. Brienne, however, wore a large blue gown, the back of her dress adorned with roses of sapphire, flowers native to Tarth that grew only in shadowed vales of the island. Now Oberyn had never seen such a flower before and remarkably was surprised that she never mentioned it to him. But as he surveyed the beauty of her dress, the roses glimmering like stars in the moonlight, he understood why there might have been such secrecy behind it, for the petals shone like gems of azure and kyanite, nature’s most prized treasure on Earth.

Regardless, in truth Oberyn had not expected her to wear a dress, in his defence he had never seen her in such an attire and assumed it was something she detested. But as he saw her smile, her grin equivalent to the sun’s rays that streamed into the hall, he realised that it was a sign of comfortability, proof that she felt safe enough to express this side of herself amongst those present, something he took as an honour. 

So as her father placed her hand in his, an act signifying the exchange of her protection into her husband’s care, Oberyn planted a kiss on the inside of her palm, its gentle intimacy declaring such responsibility to be true, a silent vow of his own affections that caused a warmth to bloom within her soul. What followed next was the proclamation of oaths both sacred and pure, words spoken by the presiding septon and repeated by each other respectively, until finally they were named man and wife, companions in this life and the next.

Such a testament was sealed with a kiss, one enacted by the Prince and much welcomed by his betrothed, a woman that now held no shame in returning the favour, guilt and embarrassment fading with the reality of her newfound title.

*****

There was something about the way the ocean looked at half-light that Brienne found to be almost magical, a religious experience of some kind that could convert even the non-believers into servants of the Seven. She watched in awe as the rays of the waning sun danced upon its cerulean surface, lulling the tides into submission as they settled into a trance-like stillness, the waters relenting to the will of the gods. 

It was in this moment that Brienne finally realised why they called her home the Sapphire Isles, not only for its striking blue hue during the day but the shades of pink and orange that painted the ocean before nightfall, a final burst of colour before the sun retreated into obscurity. But there was only one reason why she was thinking of this now, her mind permeated with details of Tarth that often went overlooked despite her many years of living there, and it was because she was leaving, her departure seemingly more permanent on this occasion.

But before she boarded the Prince’s ship, a magnificent vessel that would take them south towards the Dornish peninsula, her father had walked her to the coast, a heartfelt tradition of theirs that they conducted whenever either of them would leave the island. But this time the act felt final somehow, as if Lord Selywn knew something that she did not, something that he was keeping hidden.

  “You are a man’s wife now, Brienne, understand that,” he had told her, his tone quite stern. “You cannot serve your own ambitions any longer, you must know when to submit and when it is proper to stand in defiance.”

  “He is not that type of man, Father. He does not adhere to such rules and conventions-”

  “It does not matter what his values are or how he perceives your role as his partner, you have married the Prince of Dorne, the very man that humiliated Tywin Lannister. Such a betrothal does not come with the usual pressure that most newlyweds face, more eyes will be upon you, higher expectations.”

Brienne examined him with concern, his expression wrought with dread. “Why do you speak like this, as if you are worried that I cannot handle such a task?”

  “I am not worried, Brienne…just anxious,” he confessed, his hands holding tightly onto her own. “I never thought there would come a day when my daughter would no longer be under my protection, it is difficult to let go of such a responsibility, let alone to a man I hardly know.”

At that she caressed his cheek, her finger tracing the wrinkles on his skin, age and weariness riddled over his face. “Is that not the truth of all marriages?”

  “I suppose so,” he agreed, forcing a warm smile to his lips. “Perhaps in time, I will learn to accept it…to finally let go.”

There was something about that final statement that Brienne couldn’t shake, a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about her marriage but something else. Its deeper meaning weighed on her heart as she watched her home fade into the horizon, the Sapphire Isles nothing more than a mountain on the sea, a distant paradise.

  “Missing home already?”

His sonorous voice was followed by loud footsteps, the wooden boards of the ship creaking under his weight. Brienne did not have to turn around to know who it was, his presence was so distinct at this point that she would have known him by sound alone. But as she felt a woollen blanket being placed upon her shoulders, wrapping around her arms until warmth claimed her skin, she found it difficult not to face the perpetrator, his citrine eyes studying her slowly.    

  “It is hard not to,” she admitted as she clinged to the red shawl. “I have never left home under such circumstances…I doubt I will ever see it again.” 

  “I have no plans to keep you from your father, Brienne,” Oberyn stated, leaning his back against the edge. “My ships are yours. If you wish to see him, all you have to do is ask.”

Brienne furrowed her brow at his declaration, confused beyond reason, her father’s words echoing in the back of her mind. “But I am your wife. Is not my place by your side, in the nation of your people?”

  “And as your husband, is it not my duty to care for you and your family? Besides, I have already left my best physicians with him, I cannot recall them now,” he explained before feigning a remorseful demeanour. “But if you think my actions were improper-”

  “No!” she shouted, hastily, garnering the attention of the ship’s crew and causing her to flush with embarrassment. “I would be grateful if you kept them in Tarth.”

The Prince smirked at her bashfulness, a recurring trait of hers that he found quite amusing. “As you wish.” Then he extended his hand towards her, a silent offer to accompany him indoors. “Come, the night air will soon descend upon us and I would not recommend being out here when it does.”

  “I do not mind the cold, Your Grace, I have withstood much harsher weather.” 

  “Suit yourself,” Oberyn said as he closed the gap between them, his lips a hair’s breadth away from her own as he neared her face, his eyes filling with an amorous hunger. 

 “But I must warn you, when the moon rises and the oceans become still, mermen swim to the surface in search of a lover. I have heard some say that they prefer those that are newlywed, others believe that they enjoy the company of women not yet experienced. But if you think that you can resist such temptation then by all means you are welcome to stay.” Then he trailed his finger up her arm, his touch rendering her breathless, inciting a hidden want. “Or, you can seek refuge in my cabin. My hearth is warm and my bed empty and with my door under close guard, I am certain you will find it safer than here.”

Brienne found herself immobilised upon hearing his proposition, his offer much more direct than he had been in the past. But though his words were laced carefully with ardent intentions, it wasn’t his forwardness that had caused her cheeks to turn red but the reminder of a sacred ritual that they hadn’t yet completed; the consummation of their marriage. 

Now Brienne had never lay with a man, so the idea of these mermen on the pursuit of such a woman, whether there was truth in such claims or not, frightened her a bit and made her even more cautious of the ocean beneath her. But following Oberyn into his chambers, royal quarters that also belonged to her considering her newfound title, was even more daunting and not something she was ready to entertain, even if the thought had captivated her imagination.

So as Oberyn left her on the deck, his offer like breadcrumbs leading her astray, Brienne remained where she was, adamant on staying awake for the rest of the journey, or at the very least sleeping below deck with the rest of the crew.  

*****

It felt odd arriving in Sunspear, almost like she was coming home, the coastal city vastly different and yet similar to Tarth and Evenfall. For one, their kingdom was surrounded by the sea, making it much cooler at the shoreline than she presumed it would be when they travelled inland. It also meant that it resembled many of her beaches at home, for numerous ships were docked in the harbour and trade caused the ports to be packed with merchants and buyers eager to purchase their goods.

But gathered at the city walls were large crowds of people, many of them desperately keen for a first look at their Prince’s bride. It made Brienne feel on edge, as if she were a freak in a circus, a brand new exhibit for the spectators to gawk at. For the manic craze seemed to have confirmed everything her father had warned her about, the eyes of the people consumed with fascination and narrowly fixed on her every move. But luckily for her, she did not have to greet them publicly as it was custom for unmarried brides to be hidden until after their wedding, and since Oberyn and herself agreed upon two services, then to the Dornish people she was still considered his betrothed.  

So after they made landfall, Brienne was escorted off the ship by four pole bearers, all of who carried her in an extravagant palanquin, a large box that served as a wheeless carriage. Inside, the interior was furnished with bedding and pillows and decorative curtains hid her from the rest of the world, enclosing her within her own little sanctuary. She could hear the fervent crowds outside as they passed through the streets, speculation and gossip about what she looked like filling her ears. But there were also shouts and praise for Oberyn, their Prince receiving much of a hero’s welcome and many congratulations.

Nonetheless, soon they reached the Old Palace, the seat of House Martell and the ruling Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell. Brienne had never met the man on her previous visit as he often kept himself away from the public eye, but she wondered if such an occasion would bring him forth, or if she would ever be given the chance to introduce herself. Regardless, whether she saw him or not did not matter now, for their auspicious ceremony was shortly due to take place and she had to get ready.

So, with the help of her maids, women that accompanied her from Tarth, she was dressed in her ceremonial garments. Loose wide pants that flared out from the waist and acted almost as a skirt of sorts covered her legs, an unconventional dress that allowed her to retain her own style of femininity. And a long pleated tunic covered her upper body, creating a train that snaked behind her, a subtle reference to the man she was about to marry - again. Upon her head she wore a crown of blue roses, flowers of sapphire that she brought with her from home so that a piece of Tarth would always be with her, a piece of her father. 

Then finally, with her preparations complete she was escorted to the sept, a majestically tall building within the Old Palace, a temple with seven walls meant to represent the protection of the Holy Faith. Inside, a multitude of guests awaited her, some new and some familiar. Among them were many noble houses, highborn lords and ladies who had travelled long distances to attend the event, the most highly anticipated in all of Westeros. 

But as she walked down the aisle towards her Prince, she was surprised to see him so formally dressed. A heavy robe made of samite covered him, a silk fabric interwoven with red and gold accents that made him appear regal, befitting his royal status. Across his shoulder was a golden sash, a decorative cloth that was attached to a cloak branding the sigil of his house. And upon his head was a crown of gold suns, a beautiful diadem that was engraved with elaborate details. 

Seeing him like this, Brienne could almost fall at her feet in reverence, the man before her inspiring fealty and worship. But soon he would become her king as well as her husband, two titles that would eventually become one in the same, and for that she would not only give him her solidarity but her respect as well. 

So as she took his hand and walked to the altar atop the steps, the statues of the Mother and the Father looking down upon them, they recited the vows that the septon spoke loudly.

  “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you as my lord and husband,” Brienne declared before planting her lips upon his own, enveloping them both in a tender kiss.

  “And with this cloak I place you under my protection and take you for my lady and wife,” Oberyn swore as he removed his cape and wrapped it around his bride, the sigil of his house now donned by Brienne, House Martell a kindred dynasty that she was now forever a part of.

With their vows publicly proclaimed, the septon announced their union to the congregation. “As you have both sworn before the Seven, I hereby declare you to be of one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

As they turned to face their guests, a servant nearby presented the Prince with a tiara identical to his own, a crown fit for a Queen. Then after placing it upon the head of his bride, he exalted her in front of the conclave, making it known to everyone in attendance the significance of such an act.

  “From this day forth, Brienne of Tarth will be my wife and as such will share my name as well as my title. Not since the Lady Nymeria has there been a Princess of Dorne with such valour or accomplishments in battle, and I myself can attest to witnessing such skill firsthand. So let this mark the day that Dorne received a new sovereign, one that will allow our nation to flourish under her sword and shield. Let this be the day that we return to the fold of Westeros and make good our place amongst the Seven Kingdoms!”

At that, all the nobles rose in agreement and a chorus of cheers filled the sept as they shouted in unison, their voices ringing out in harmony.

  “All hail Princess Brienne! All hail the Lady of Dorne!” they shouted. “All hail Prince Oberyn! All hail the Lord of the Red Sun!”

Brienne could do nothing but stand in silence, her mouth agape at the spectacle before her, a display of fealty incited by her husband, her lord and Prince. To be applauded in such a manner and be the recipient of such adoration was so foreign to her that she did not know how to react, her eyes staring blankly at the crowd. But whether such reverence was real or artificial it did not matter, for suddenly Oberyn stood in front of her, his hand cupping her cheek as he wiped away her tears, an act of compassion that warmed her soul and made her whole again. 

All her life she had been made to feel less than and undesirable, a beast in human clothing. Yet, ever since she met Oberyn, she had finally known what it felt like to be sought-after, to be craved and cared for. How could she be the beneficiary of such pursuit, since when did the gods believe that she deserved such a man? The contradictions were beginning to overwhelm her, making it difficult to understand and even more challenging to block out. 

Ever since their talk on the balcony, she had promised herself never to mistrust his affections but for fuck’s sake it was hard not to. Never had she received such attention, let alone a genuine proposal of marriage. And although she understood that such a union was made to benefit both his house and her own, everything he had done on top of that had made her question if there was more to such an alliance, if his feelings were purely respectful. 

At once she resisted such a notion, her mind travelling to thoughts of Jaime, the true captor of her heart. Regardless, with the ceremony now at an end, soon the celebrations would begin and she hoped dearly that such festivities would provide her with a much welcomed distraction, or at the very least proof that she was overthinking such sentiments.

*****

The feast ran into the night, gaiety and mirth filling the palace gardens as their guests revelled in the pleasure of Dornish food and entertainment. Much of their cuisine was terribly spicy, dishes topped with mustard seeds, dragon peppers and even sauces that had a slight amount of snake venom in it. Brienne could hardly savour them, her taste buds not yet used to such fiery foods. But Oberyn believed that she would soon come to relish them, their foods sometimes matching her irritable temper. If not for their occasional quarrels, most of which he initiated, Brienne might have disagreed with him. But nonetheless, for now she decided to stick to the more palatable dishes - sweet desserts and fruit-based entrées.

For the majority of the evening, they were presented with many wedding gifts, grand offerings that flaunted the wealth of the noble houses in attendance. House Tyrell gave them a basket of fireplums and a bottle of Arbor’s gold, vintage wine that was renowned in the Reach and much sweeter than the Dornish wine that she had been trying to drink. 

  “You should not have brought this, Your Grace, I doubt there will be much left before the night is through,” Brienne joked, trying to hide the truth of such a statement behind jestful banter. 

Margaery smiled jovially, her grin equal to that of the golden flowers that bloomed in Highgarden and much of the Green Realm. “I thought of you when I picked them, Your Highness.”

  “Please, just call me Brienne.”

  “I cannot and I shan’t,” Margaery refused, gleefully. “You are a Princess now and the most beautiful bride and I shall address you as such.” Her protest made it hard for Brienne to oppose such civility, something that she was always taught to uphold. But considering the kindness that Margarey had shown her when they last spoke, she thought it proper to offer the same respect. “But I hope that once you are settled, you will come to visit us in King’s Landing. I am sure that you both would be most welcome.”

  “Would we?” Oberyn finally interjected, his legs crossed and fingers tapping slowly against his thigh.

An uneasy silence followed after that, a tense quiet that put Brienne on edge for she understood the reasoning behind such a question, her offer more like a bear trap than a friendly proposition. 

  “Yes, Your Highness, I would make certain of it.”

Oberyn smiled knowingly, his demeanour suddenly repose. “Then we have no choice but to accept your invitation.”

  “Excellent!” Margarey exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement. “Then I shall eagerly await your arrival.”

As she made her exit, a sea of jade emeralds trailed behind her, their banners bearing the insignia of the Queen Consort. She had gained such a title after her marriage to Joffrey and retained it long after his death. But with her betrothal to King Tommen, many believed that the Tyrells could very well succeed in making their family the most successful if not the most influential house in all of Westeros, a feat not seen since the Age of Heroes. But Brienne couldn’t help but feel antsy after their conversation, the authenticity of her words difficult to discern.

  “Do you really intend on going to King’s Landing?” she asked him, her mind troubled.

  “I see no reason not to.”

  “I see plenty.”

Oberyn cocked his head, amused by her apprehension. “Why, are you afraid?”

  “Should I not be?” she remarked. “The Lannisters have made you their enemy and you would openly walk into their domain?”

  “It is because they are my enemy that I even bother to enter their neck of the woods. See, lions may look fearless even mighty to most creatures, but to a snake they are dumb if not foolish. Their cubs get too close and their lionesses can only stand and watch as they succumb to their fate.”

Brienne took a moment to digest his words, a prideful analogy that demonstrated the strength of his house against their western counterparts. But perhaps there was some truth to his statement, he had beaten and killed their most feared warrior and in doing so had raised his popularity across Westeros, a feat that even brought her to his doorstep. But such an act had also made him enemies, something that became quite clear after their conversation with Margaery, a woman whose husband she once served. As his wife, such threats were now hers to deal with, his actions also representing her own. She had to behave as her father instructed her, she had to support him.

  “Fine…then I will accompany you,” she finally declared. 

  “I did not realise you had a choice.”

  “No you did not realise that you had a choice,” Brienne asserted, much to Oberyn's surprise. “I would not have allowed you to leave if I was not certain that you had a plan or at least some air of confidence about you, and it seems that you have more if not some hubris where that is concerned.”

At that Oberyn grinned devilishly, enamoured by the firm candour of his bride, a quality that she had not yet revealed to him. So as he leaned back into his seat, enthralled by the woman before him, she became slightly bashful under his heated gaze, his lustrous eyes forcing her to turn away.

  “Now, shall we eat these plums or can I take them for myself?”

  “I thought I had little choice in such matters,” Oberyn teased, spurring Brienne to smirk knowingly at his callback to her previous assertion.

But as he stood to his feet and sat on the edge of the table, his back facing their guests, his words took a more alluring tone, a provocative vow that he whispered privately for her ears. “Or maybe I do have a choice...at least where your pleasure is concerned.” 

His boldness made Brienne so tense that she almost forgot to breathe, her body suddenly incapable of the composure that she had managed to put on throughout the entire evening. For there was still a part of her that was reeling from the audacious proposition that he made on his ship, but now his brashness was truly going to send her over the edge. If this was any other woman, she imagined that they would be able to turn such a moment into a flirtatious game, an opportunity to take control of an enthralling dance made for two. But she was not like most women, for she had never experienced such fleeting affairs or amorous nights, she didn’t even know if this was something she would enjoy. 

Nonetheless, she would be lying if she didn’t admit that this was something she wanted, though she never thought such a day would become a reality, let alone with a man that wasn’t Jaime. But if the rumours were true and the stories that had flagrantly been revealed by his paramour were veritable, then Brienne had no reason to worry where pleasure was concerned, for that much was guaranteed.

But speaking of his paramour, Brienne had not seen Ellaria at the feast nor had she been at the ceremony, and if she was honest with herself she was glad for her absence, for it would certainly have made matters more awkward. Regardless, she knew that at some point she would have to meet his courtesan, the woman that held his heart just as much as Jaime did hers. However, she understood that her circumstance was different to theirs, for their marriage had created an imbalance in their relationship, forcing him to care for two when before he only had to cherish one. Brienne wondered if such a change angered her, or if she was aware of the politics that spawned such a decision. Nevertheless, none of that mattered now, getting through the feast was her main priority and she decided to put that to the forefront of her mind.

So as the night deepened and their guests soon began to take their leave, the palace gardens were left empty, with the exception of the mess that they left behind and the wedding gifts that were stacked to the side, many of them unopened. But towards the rear of the grounds where two large fountains sprung with water, flowing into a pool that cascaded down a flight of stairs and into another garden below Brienne stood quietly, her figure silhouetted by the rising moon.

In this light she looked like a goddess Oberyn thought as he watched her from their table, in this light she could be one of the Seven, deserving of the highest worship. But although he planned to do so privately, his act of reverence only suitable for the enclosure of their chambers, he could sense her nervousness towards the idea as the night unravelled, his wife becoming more reclusive as the festivities went on. Perhaps he would have to treat this matter more delicately and address the subject with a more gentle approach.

  “Beautiful is it not,” Oberyn proclaimed as he walked towards her, his wife musing at the gardens below as she ate a fireplum. “Some say that our Water Gardens are the real beauty of the Old Palace, perhaps even Dorne itself.”

  “I might be inclined to agree,” Brienne lauded, her stare fixed on its grandeur, the intricately designed waterworks captivating her attention. “It is truly a wonder.”

Noticing her trance-like fascination, an idea probed Oberyn’s thoughts, a proposition that he was certain would bring her much joy and possibly even slight amusement. “May I take you to see it in person?” 

His offer was enough to finally deter her away from the opulence that caught her gaze, the riches and wealth that spawned such a magnificent creation demanding her silence and admiration. But in that moment her eyes lit up, her husband’s proposal granting her a much needed reprieve from the chaos of the night and making her feel seen and heard without ever having to air such grievances. 

  “Yes,” she said softly, her tone almost a whisper.

So with her approval, Oberyn took her hand into his own, entwining their fingers into a tight grip. But then, a cheeky smile began to curl onto his lips, a forewarning toward something he had planned, something Brienne suddenly felt concerned about. Then without warning, the Prince sprinted towards the rear of the grounds taking his bride reluctantly along with him before jumping off the edge and sending them both into the gardens below, the two crashing into the large pool beneath them.

At once the palace sprung to life, servants and maids rushing into the grounds desperate to help their fallen masters. But while they felt panic-stricken toward their current predicament, Oberyn and Brienne were laughing uncontrollably, the two finding much regalement as they splashed water onto each other, the Prince and Princess playing like children unburdened by decorum and responsibility. 

Now thankfully the pool was deep enough to embrace their fall or Oberyn wouldn’t have attempted such a daring feat, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that it was an adrenaline rush, something Brienne would also agree with once the shock of the fall left her. This most certainly was one way to see the Water Gardens, a hellish one at that, but Brienne had been uptight since she left Tarth and such a brainless act allowed her to be a kid again, the same little girl that used to play with her brothers in the lakes of the Sapphire Isles. It felt good to know that she could do the same with her husband, her Prince showcasing a playful side to him that she hadn’t seen before.  

  “Your Majesties, you must come out before you catch cold!” one of the elder servants exclaimed, frightfully. “Please, Your Highnesses, I beg you!”

If not for the maid’s insistence, Oberyn and Brienne would’ve stayed longer but soon Brienne began to feel bad for the woman looked as though she might faint from such worrying. So she took Oberyn’s hand and swam to the rim of the pool where dozens of servants gathered to pull them out and covered them both with dry towels.

*****

The Prince’s chambers were fashioned in vermillion red, a colour that seemed to paint every part of his room, submerging anything that wasn’t of its nature into its scarlet embrace, heightening the sense of danger and allure that lurked within. Brienne found it quite daunting as she examined the space around them, the only aspects that weren’t red being the golden ornaments that decorated his quarters and the golden frame of the bed that was behind them. But as they sat in front of the fire, satin robes concealing their nakedness from the other, Brienne revelled in the warmth of the furnace, a much needed comfort as their bodies shook off the cold that consumed them.

  “When I was a boy I used to play in those gardens,” Oberyn revealed as Brienne listened closely to his tale. “And there was a game we used to have, a jousting contest of sorts, in which two teams composed of a horse and rider would battle to unbalance the opposing side. But I would knock off the other children with such speed, boys much larger than myself mind you, that soon they grew tired of playing with me and I stopped visiting the gardens altogether.”

  “Well if there is one thing that I have learned in life, it is that boys are much more galled by loss than girls, especially ones that are swift and conclusive,” Brienne added.

At that Oberyn leaned forward, sensing that there was a story to come of such sentiments. “Go on.”

  “Well there was this one man, Ser Humfrey Wagstaff; though he was less of a man than most knights I know and I have fought with many a knight throughout the years,” she stated, becoming more animated as she recounted the event. “And he and I were going to be married, but he insisted that I wear only women’s garbs and relinquish any thought of a knighthood after we wed. I refused of course and said that I would only take such instruction from a man who could defeat me in combat.” 

Oberyn smiled knowingly as she brought up the familiar ultimatum, one that he himself had heard about and offered to challenge in exchange for her hand in marriage.

  “And not only did I break his collarbone and two ribs,” she continued. “But he also spread gossip about my character to the rest of the lords at that feast, thus warding off any potential suitors in the process.”

  “So you were holding back on me,” Oberyn teased. 

  “Well I had no intention of harming you, just as you had no intention of beating me,” she criticised, playfully, reminding him of his own devious gambit, one that had left him flat on his back and her mounting his waist.

But while she expected the Prince to refute her claims with his usual seductive remark, she was shocked to feel his hand against her cheek, the gentle nature of his touch forcing her true feelings to surface, sentiments that were amplified by his following proclamation. “That is because I saw the value in losing…and I still see that value today.”

Such words did not help the conflict within Brienne’s heart, one that had started to find root since his speech in the sept, a similar declaration that he had made before the Seven and those in attendance. Were these his true feelings or poetics used to trick her into dismantling her walls, protection that she had put in place since the cruelty she experienced by those she was previously promised to? Quietly she scorned herself, there was no use to this line of thought when her present and future sat before her, his manner seemingly true and authentic. So she decided to act in accordance and disclose her own truth, something she had kept hidden from him.

  “Oberyn, I know that I have been slightly remiss since we left Tarth and although our weddings have been more beautiful than I ever imagined they would be, I have felt taut as the hours have waned down to this moment. As husband and wife I know that we have a duty to consummate our union but I have never…” Her words trailed off as she bowed her head in embarrassment, ashamed of the reality of her confession. But soon she pulled herself together and forced her eyes to meet his own, her gaze unwavering and resolute. “I think I am ready now…so if you must take me, then take me. I am yours this night.”

The Prince fell silent after that, an act that made Brienne question if she was right in revealing such truth. But she soon realised that his silence was not motivated by displeasure but bewilderment. 

  “Do you think that I have craved you solely for martial duty? Your body alone inspires such impatience that I must fill my dreams at night in order to satisfy my hunger. Your lips tease me every time you speak that I must restrain my desire to consume them during every conversation. You, Brienne, have imprisoned my thoughts and beckoned my desire since the first day I laid eyes on you.”

Brienne’s heart began to beat wildly against her chest, his impassioned affinities catching her off-guard. But she was no fool, she knew how men were after they tasted what was once forbidden, their attentions no longer within reach. “And after tonight, what happens then? Will you still maintain such compulsion?”

Finally Oberyn stood to his feet and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, his body boxing her in and trapping her under his beckoning gaze. In this position, the looseness of his robe revealed his chest, teasing at the muscular physique that lay underneath his garments, bringing forth a fervent desire that she held within. 

  “After this night and every night that follows, I will be yours just as much as you will be mine. Your body mine to hold, your skin mine to kiss and my worship yours to accept until it is no longer warranted,” he promised as he pulled at the ribbon holding up her robe, her skin bare to the heat of the fire and the lust of his eyes. “So, tell me when to begin.”

Almost instantly she was at his lips, her hands wrapping around his neck as he kissed her passionately, the taste of his mouth igniting a deep hunger. But soon his hands were at her waist, the intensity of the moment spurring him to lift her up and place her on her feet, their fervent thirst bringing them closer together, their bodies separated by nothing but their own skin. So as they found themselves moving further away from the furnace and toward the frame of his bed, Brienne let herself go and gave into the call of the night, her desires controlling her every move, stirring up the cravings within. Tonight she would forget what it felt like to be unwanted, tonight she would know what it was like to be worshipped and if Oberyn’s words held truth, then this wasn’t the only time that she would experience such pleasure, for they both had a lifetime of satisfaction to look forward to.

Chapter Text

For Brienne, most mornings began at the crack of dawn, the familiar tune of a lark’s song declaring the day anew as golden rays and amber hues ignited the heavens, an open invitation to witness the world at its most beautiful point in time. But at such an early start, Brienne would not usually be concerned with such opulence, a natural grandeur that only the Seven could conceive. No, on a typical morning, Brienne would be in the training grounds practising her swordsmanship and refining her skill, working tirelessly until it was of the highest standard that she could possibly achieve. 

But such an arduous routine, though useful it was when it pertained to the development of her prowess in battle, in truth was an excuse to escape the loneliness she felt following nights forlorn, the emptiness of her room a reminder of her unbearable solitude. Yet somehow, on this occasion the gods had deemed her worthy of a change, her years of being a maiden finally rewarded with the company of another and the sensuous experience of being loved by a man to whom one was promised.

Now many women in her position would not have known of such a night, for most marriages were purely of convenience, contracted only to form alliances that would benefit both parties politically or socially. But although that was the very foundation of her union with Prince Oberyn, Brienne would argue that something else had begun to blossom between them, a fondness or mutual attraction that could potentially develop into something more if they willed it. 

Nevertheless, no matter how they felt or the truth of their hearts, such affinities did not need to be uttered last night for their bodies spoke before their mouths were even opened, sharing secrets and insecurities to one another through passionate kisses and intimate devotion. Brienne could feel her lips curl into a smile as she caught herself remembering their consummation, his touch so tender and so strong that despite her inexperience she felt safe under his care, his verbal assurances and physical acts guiding her through something that had long been a novelty.

But such private thoughts could not be withheld from her other half, not when he lay beside her, his skin bare to the warmth of the rising sun and her own silent adulation. Brienne attempted to hide her brief enthrallment by meeting his citrine gaze, believing that her momentary distraction was not caught by her lord and spouse. But Oberyn had been watching her just as much as she had been watching him, his eyes fixed to her own, trapped in the depths of her sun-lit currents.

It was the same look that he had given her yesternight, his amorous stare spurring her oceans to rise with the tide, a magnetic allure that had swelled within her soul during their intimate moments, its fervent pull causing her body to relinquish herself to her innermost desires. But with his hair dishevelled and unkempt from the night’s activities, there was a boyish charm to his appearance, revealing an unguarded and defenceless side of Oberyn that Brienne never thought she’d see.

  “There are storms in your eyes,” he said softly as he studied her, his allegorical observation illustrating her feelings to be one of folklore and legend, as if her emotions were sentient.

Brienne felt her soul stir after that, his ascertainment moving her heart beyond its usual rhythm and toward an inspired tune, one full of hope and buoyancy. “I call her Serenity.”

  “ Serenity ,” Oberyn echoed, the name like a hymn of worship upon his lips. “I do not believe I know her.”

  “She was born yesterday, I have only begun to know her myself.”

Oberyn smiled knowingly, her confession undoubtedly referring to their impassioned night together, a union of souls joined in matrimony by the sacred convergence of two people, a hallowed ceremony where spirits and minds become one. 

  “ Serenity ,” he recited slowly as he placed his hand upon her back, his finger coursing a trail down her spine, a riveting sensation. “And what of this river that arches and bends at my will? How should I come to know her?”

Brienne closed her eyes as liberty abandoned her body, forsaking her to his volition and the irrefutable pleasure that came along with it. But there was a tinge of merriment that also surfaced, the feeling of his skin against her own spurring a tingling sensation, her body sensitive to his caress.

  “She is nameless just like the rest of me,” she revealed, prudently, her eyes open once more. “Every line and every curve awaiting your inscription.”

At that, Oberyn immediately shifted his weight and rolled onto his side before arching himself over her, his lips committing silent worship and prayers upon her back, his mouth painting scriptures atop her altar. Brienne grew tense as his kisses travelled from her hips to the top of her shoulders, each delicate placement delaying the inevitable. But when he reached her neck his touch became ticklish, his lips inciting a knowing torment that he had discovered last night, one that Brienne couldn’t help but fall victim to. 

So as her pleasure turned into childish delight, bashful laughter enveloped the room as she turned over to face him and pressed her fingers against his mouth, halting his wilful offence.

  “It is unjust to exploit my weakness when I do not know your own,” she remarked, gleefully. But Oberyn was too entertained by her reaction to offer a counter-argument, his gentle kisses against the tips of her fingers offering an enthralling distraction. “Care to make us even?”

  “Is not the mystery more alluring?”

  “Perhaps,” she concurred, her fingers tracing the curve of his mouth, beckoning the wilds of his eyes to tame, his submission just as arresting as it was breathtaking. “But I would like to master you so that I may be proficient in your language, your values and principles mine to learn and understand,” she confessed, hopeful. “That was the pact we made inside the sept, was it not? We should at least try to honour it.”

Feeling the magnitude behind her request, Oberyn retreated to his side of the bed, the absence of his touch spurring a cold chill to fester between them, forcing her body to seek warmth from the sun’s distant embrace. But Brienne could not understand his withdrawal, her proposition did not seem entirely unfair, she was his wife after all, surely that meant something.

  “And what of our own pact?” he reminded her, cautiously, alluding to the offer he made upon their first meeting. “Do you no longer require it?”

Brienne wringed her lips, her hesitance to answer conveying more about her present disposition than she was willing to admit. “I do not know-”

  “Be certain.”

  “Why? Would the truth frighten you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why raise concerns, why are we discussing this?”

  “Because we belong to other people!”

They remained silent after that, their eyes locked in a battle of the soul, their emotions caged below the surface, truths unspoken and verbalised without words. But despite the verity of his statement, Brienne found such honesty too harsh to adhere to, her heart torn between vows made before the gods and those she made to herself. Nonetheless, there was little time to dwell on them, for a knock at the door suddenly broke them from their trance, forcing their attention towards the visitor who dare not venture into their sacred abode. 

  “Speak,” Oberyn demanded, his gaze unbroken from her own.

  “Forgive me, Your Highnesses,” the maid apologised, her voice timid and meek. “But Prince Doran requests your presence in the Water Gardens.”

  “He can wait.”

  “It was not an invitation, Your Majesty,” she warned, hesitantly.

Oberyn scoffed at her retort, a reminder of his brother’s irritant qualities. But despite his usual inclination to defy him, he knew that the circumstances were different on this occasion, insubordination would not benefit him nor his bride. So reluctantly he yielded, an act that he was certain his brother would never allow him to live down nor forget so easily. 

  “Summon our aides, we should like to get dressed.”

Upon his orders footsteps echoed down the hall outside, the maid fleeing with urgency to see his instructions carried out. But in their quarters silence still reigned, instilling an unnerving atmosphere in the air around them, one that Oberyn was adamant on clearing.

  “Our bodies are temples, Brienne, our spirits altars. The sanctity of the two can only be forged in a union such as this, one coveted for our own ambitions,” he explained, plainly. “But your heart is like the sun, it burns only once and solely for another…I am not the one who should receive that blessing.”

  “That is easy for you to say. I am a novice in these matters, my experience limited to pitiful yearning and unrequited affections,” she retorted, almost incensed. “But you are my first ; my first kiss, my first companion…my first night of passion. How am I expected to distance myself from that?”

She lowered her eyes following such a confession, her earnesty spurring shame and embarrassment to the point where she could no longer look at her husband. For Oberyn had long revelled in the many flavours that Westeros had to offer, his palette widened by various experiences, not only in the bedroom but through the countless courtesans he had met. But for a woman unfledged in such affairs, a lady to whom many had ignored throughout her life, love and lust could be misconstrued as identical emotions, both of which she had felt for him - it was almost pitiable.

  “I am not asking you to,” Oberyn assured as he reached out to caress her cheek, but Brienne turned away, his touch too doleful under these circumstances. “But would you truly be content to give me all that you are when your heart is yet to be satisfied by another?”

He was referring to Jaime now, though oddly he did not utter his name. Perhaps he felt it too improper to mention in such hallowed grounds, their quarters the sole place where their own names could be amplified beyond the ether. But Brienne knew his question came from a place of goodwill, they had made this arrangement after all to allow each other the freedom to love other people and the security of a union that permitted such a dalliance. So these feelings, though merited, contradicted everything they had discussed prior to their marriage, a notion that made Brienne feel foolish.

But before she could voice such sentiments, another knock sounded at the door, signalling the arrival of their aides and the end of this conversation. Oberyn knew it too, he could see her withdraw slowly, her vulnerability now closed off behind a wall of fragile strength and feigned fortitude. So he decided to cease their discussion there and direct their attention to the current situation at hand.  

  “Come,” he finally said as sat upright and extended his hand towards her. “My brother does not like to be kept waiting.”

*****

There was no mistaking the infallible beauty that nature carried when admired under a clear sky, the cascading sunlight spurring hues of vivid colours to bloom with the season, painting the world anew every morning. The Water Gardens were no exception, despite being a private retreat for House Martell it was clear that The Mother had casted her favour over these grounds and bid the gift of life to the foliage that grew here. 

For one it stood near the Summer Sea, the warm ocean breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees that provided shade from the sweltering heat. Blood oranges grew upon its branches, their aroma fragrancing the air with a sweet smell that one could almost taste on their lips. Pale pink marble paved the courtyard and large terraces overlooked the numerous pools and fountains that filled the enclosure. Brienne could even spot the one that she and Oberyn dived into last night, the temptation to do so again fading as quickly as she recalled the moment, her mind occupied with other thoughts.

But as she followed her spouse through the open plaza, their arms intertwined, he soon led her towards the small hedge maze located at the rear of the gardens, an area cordoned off by household guards. Upon entry Brienne felt a shift in the environment, the sound of water gushing throughout the grounds becoming quieter, replaced by the tranquil chirping of small birds, a harmonious melody. 

Yet, despite the serene landscape, Briene couldn’t help but feel like someone or something was watching her, waiting for the right moment to strike. Considering her overwhelming nerves toward meeting Prince Oberyn’s brother and the dispute that occurred prior, she nettled her sentiments down to paranoia. But deep down she could not mistake such a notion nor refute her own convictions. There was something out there, someone lurking in the shadows.

  “Nervous?” Oberyn finally asked as they turned another corner, breaking her away from her own perilous thoughts.

They had not uttered a word to one another since they left their quarters, the silence between them viewed by onlookers as proof of a successful consummation. But while that was true, the words that they exchanged thereafter formed the foundation of their current disposition, an imposing reticence upheld by both parties, childish perhaps, but necessary for them both to navigate their feelings alone before expressing them to each other. 

Their clothing also reflected their moods, as while it was custom for the woman to don her husband’s family colours after being wed, Brienne remained in the famous blues of the Sapphire Isles, her loose dress made of linen adorned with flowers native to Tarth. Oberyn on the other hand wore his notorious open robes, his chest bare to the sun’s lustful gaze and her own admiration, a delight she quickly detracted herself from.   

  “Yes,” she admitted, reluctantly, still adamant on appearing somewhat unshaken before him.

But as Oberyn caressed her arm she felt the facade strip away, leaving only her vulnerability behind, exposing her true feelings.

  “Most people are,” he consoled, gently. “But although my brother may be sovereign, he does not impose such a title onto others…unless it is me of course, he seems to find my submission somewhat amusing.”

Brienne almost made an indecent quip about his docility after that, his subservience something she experienced and found pleasure in behind closed doors. But she restrained herself and maintained her civility, the conduct and manner of a lady that she had always been told to uphold, even more so after becoming the wife of a monarch.

  “Nevertheless he is a Prince, I must greet him accordingly-”

But before they could go any further, Oberyn stopped in his tracks, his sudden stagnation catching her off guard. Ahead of them was the final leg of the maze, a straight path to a small pavilion that led to Prince Doran and yet her husband would not permit them to move forth, his body blocking the route beyond.

  “Oberyn, your brother-”

  “Not like this,” he refused, staunchly. “ Not like this .”

Brienne sighed at his rebuttal, his unwavering choice to halt their approach confusing her just as much as it made her uneasy. For she knew why he stopped, the atmosphere between them so taut and perturbed that it made it impossible to face Prince Doran feigning the light of a happy couple. But what else was there to say? Brienne felt foolish enough for bringing up such a mindless request and ruining their first morning together as a husband and wife, but if he made such a point any more clearer she’d likely retreat home out of embarrassment.

But there was something off about Oberyn’s demeanour, his usual confidence and intensity replaced by indecision and incertitude, as if he was pondering on the words to say, his own mouth tongue-tied.  

  “Last night-”

  “Oberyn, please…” she interjected, expecting his usual poetics, her emotions too callow to hear such balladry.

But Oberyn placed his fingers upon her lips, ceasing her speech and forcing her to listen, proof of the power a true man can wield upon a woman who is willing to let him lead and allow him to take control.  

   “Last night I experienced a pleasure so raw and so sincere that even now its feeling is unbeknownst to me,” he confessed as he traced the curve of her mouth, inciting a fervent want. “Under your touch I submitted myself to you and to your own desires and I found it…inexplicably freeing, a euphoria I had not yet known.”

Despite Brienne’s stubbornness, she could not help but melt under his caress, her body and spirit weak to his touch, her soul elevated by his free-spoken sonnet, a confession that reflected the truth of his heart.

  “I say this to give clarity to my words this morning. I am not a man who concedes to others, I am always at the helm, distinctively in the bedroom,” he explained as he reached down to her hands, their fingers interlocked in their own embrace. “And yet I could not do that with you, I did not want to . Your will was mine and I was in service to your every desire…that is unlike me.”

  “Then I apologise-”

  “Stop,” Oberyn commanded, closing the gap between them, his lips a hair’s breadth from her own. “ Just stop .”

With her husband this close, Brienne did not know how to function, her head was swarming with thoughts that discouraged any act of unity but her heart spoke loud with urgent passion, her mouth yearning for a taste of him. For the revelation of his true sentiments did more than just disclose his finer feelings, but gave light to the conflicting emotions he had felt this morning, feelings that also weighed on her own mind. But to hear him confess them now made her feel less foolish, his rejection of her request understandable under these circumstances.

So against her better judgment, she surrendered to the will of her heart, their strings leading her hands to his cheek, the warmth of his skin beckoning her closer until his mouth was within reach, provoking her to taste the heat of the sun.  

  “Lover.”

There it was, the call of the hunter in the woods, the hiss of the snake hidden in the reeds, their identity bare for their prey to perceive. She stood a few metres away from them, her posture still as stone, her hand cast out for the receiver to attain, bait on a hook. For a woman so beautiful she had many names: paramour, mother…home . Brienne imagined that Oberyn had called her all those things and more, for those titles were expected for Ellaria Sand, her heart the keeper of his love and everything he truly desired.

So compelled by instinct, Brienne conceded and withdrew herself from him, not because she was afraid although that much was certain, but because she suffered the same afflictions that had spurred her arrival. For who could withstand the heartache of seeing the one you love keep company with another woman, their bond more than just a brief liaison but a permanent fellowship, one sanctified before the altar of the Seven.

But her sudden distance did not sit well with Oberyn, his initial worries flooding his thoughts once more.

  “Go,” Brienne encouraged, bravely. “She needs you.”

  “Brienne…”

Now it was her turn to cover his lips, her touch powerful enough to immobilise him, his silence providing her with enough time to piece together her own confession. “Do not mistake her boldness for strength, it is a facade that she can scarcely preserve let alone maintain, it would not be honourable to let her falter here.”

Oberyn cocked his head inquisitively, her words seemingly expressing her own temperament as well as her counterparts.

  “In this moment duty permits us to adhere to our own vows, ones made in private and in veneration of our own desires. If I hold you from them now I cannot truly honour this marriage much less call myself your wife,” Brienne proclaimed, her voice strong yet gentle in its enunciation. “So go to her…I shall still be here when you return.”

With her plea made with such sovereignty Oberyn felt compelled to oblige, his submissive nature brought forth by her divine presence, unwilling to defy her own volition. So after planting a kiss upon the tips of her fingers, the same hands that left an imprint on his skin yesternight, he silently bid her farewell as he accompanied his paramour out of the maze, his absence leaving a sharp coldness behind.

But Brienne did not allow herself to wallow in her own disaccord, her mind fraught with self-contempt and condemnation towards her own actions. Instead she marched on forward, her eyes fixed on the pavilion ahead that Prince Doran had been sitting under patiently, observing their dramatic spectacle. 

Perched in a wheeled chair, the Prince seemed content with waiting as though he had been doing it all his life, time like the passing seasons, here to be enjoyed not squandered. He wore tight-fitted robes that hid his figure and large blankets covered his legs and feet, concealing the sight of his ailment from curious onlookers. His thinning silver locks framed his face and his eyes held a weariness that made him appear much older than he was. All this Brienne ascertained as she approached him, her nerves building with every step.

  “Your Majesty,” she addressed reverently as she reached the open structure, the large roof providing shelter from the torrid heat.

Prince Doran watched as she bowed deeply, her hand positioned over her chest in accordance with Dornish tradition. “Princess.” Then his eyes wandered past her frame and toward the empty pathway behind her. “I suspect my brother has made other arrangements.”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she apologised, candidly. “It was I who permitted his absence.”

Doran narrowed his eyes at her reply, her explanation for Oberyn’s truancy rousing much curiosity and bewilderment. Brienne felt herself cower under his pensive gaze, not because it frightened her but because she could not discern the meaning behind such an expression. Had she offended him or was he surprisingly amused?

  “How bold of you. I shall make a note of that when I summon him henceforth.”

  “Forgive my tongue, Your Majesty, I meant no offence-”

Suddenly the Prince chortled with laughter, no longer able to keep up such false pretences, his amusement baffling Brienne. “It is I who should ask for your remission, my lady, I can be quite the trickster when meeting new guests,” he admitted, humorously. “Besides, in all honesty it was you who I desired to meet, so I am not wholly aggrieved by my brother’s absence.”

Brienne released a dithery breath upon his admission, the knot in her stomach still causing her much apprehension.

  “Please, take a seat.”

Without hesitation, she quickly obeyed and sat on the chair opposite him, immediately refining her posture in the hopes of not betraying her own frail disposition. But Prince Doran noticed the cracks in her mask just like he noticed her need to sit down, it was almost prophetic, as if he could foresee her every move.

  “How are you finding Dorne, Brienne?”

  “It is a beautiful place, Your Majesty.”

Doran smirked, regaled with her swift response. “That is what people say when they are trying to be polite, lest the truth cause offence.”

  “I am trying to maintain civility, Your Majesty, I have insulted you once already,” she pleaded.

  “And I am trying to gauge who you are,” he disclosed, his expression much more serious now. “So be honest…I want to know.”

Brienne hesitated for a moment, attempting to decipher if this was a ploy to give him justification for her execution - you know, rational thoughts. But once she calmed down and studied the candour of his gaze, she realised that if Doran wanted her killed he would have done so after her first offence. The captain of his guard was standing close by, nothing would have stopped him. Yet he did not, her head remained attached to her neck and their conversation resumed. So if she did by mistake insult him once more, what was the worst that could happen? 

So as she relaxed her muscles and slouched slightly in her chair, she reflected her true manner, a discourteous irritation spurred by the morning’s events and the overwhelming burden that plagued her spirit.

  “I miss my father,” she confessed, frankly, the admission almost pushing her to tears. “I miss his warmth, his kindness, his wisdom…I could use it now. He always knew what to say to help me strengthen my resolve, to see reason,” she continued. “But he will die soon that much is certain, his body is weak and his health has taken a turn for the worse, these days I suspect he will not see the winter.”  

Doran listened attentively as she persisted, her demeanour becoming more riled and resentful. “Yet here I am entertaining games of court for the betterment of my people, an alliance that my father himself pushed me to pursue. I cannot tell if I am brave or foolish, the result is still the same as it always was.”

  “And what result is that?”

Brienne bowed her head, humiliated by the reality of her answer. “I lose, everytime.”  

  “But the definition of such a word entails that you had something to begin with and yet I still see your marriage intact. I witnessed my brother, a hedonist, refuse to forsake your side for the call of his courtesan and I find you standing here defending his lack of attendance. So if that demonstrates the meaning of loss then for a mind as educated as mine perhaps I still have much to learn.”

Brienne furrowed her brow at his counsel, his lecturing reminding her very much of her father’s extensive rambles.

  “You see, although your father may have encouraged you to pursue this marriage, it was Oberyn that persuaded me to ordain it,” he divulged as he leaned back, a witting smile on his lips. “Now perceive it from that perspective and tell me what you have lost.” 

The Prince’s revelation left Brienne astounded, her heart and mind unable to comprehend such a notion. But upon reflection she could see the signs of his persistence: his ships arriving in Tarth, his challenge of combat in the training grounds, even the decision to have two weddings was testament enough of his dedication to their union. But it was his uncompelled affections that warranted her suspicions, actions that made her believe that something more could be flourishing between them. 

  “Your marriage is a unique one, I know that. For a man like my brother, how could it not be,” Doran said, plainly. “But you must navigate it together or this union will never succeed. I am married, I should know. My wife lives in Norvos much to my displeasure but we could not exist in the same space, our egos would swallow us whole and everyone along with it, it was not wise to continue such an arrangement.”

He continued. “So I permitted her leave, the same way you did, because I understood that in order to co-exist sometimes we have to make sacrifices. We may not like it but that is marriage, yielding to our partner’s desires is a constant battle, victory will not always be sweet.”

Prince Doran leaned forward after that, as though his next words were sanctioned for her ears alone.

  “I say this because I have a task for you. I was informed yesterday that Queen Margarey attended your wedding and invited you and my brother to King’s Landing,” his tone was austere now, laced with a tint of hostility. “Now I initially felt inclined to hold off your duties until after your honeymoon but unfortunately I am no longer that patient. I want you and Oberyn to leave for the Crownlands tomorrow morning.”  

  “So soon?” Brienne asked, baffled.

  “For you perhaps, but I have waited a long time to enact this gambit and if your union with my brother is as strong as I think it is, then he will inform you why. Perhaps you already know.” 

He smiled knowingly again, a simpering grin that made Brienne uneasy, as if he knew the thoughts that swirled in her head and the influence they would have over her actions.  

  “You may leave now.”

His sudden dismissal made Brienne flounder, sending her heart spiralling out of control as she tried to find her composure. But once she collected herself, she immediately stood to her feet and bowed deeply, making sure that her exit was not as discourteous as her introduction. But as she walked back into the maze she couldn’t help but ponder on Doran’s command, his decision to send them to King’s Landing most perplexing.

Nevertheless, for a man that seemed to know her every move, this ruling could not have been made on a whim. There was reasoning behind this appointment, a concealed design behind such ambitions and if Brienne knew the story of the Martells correctly, it may pertain to the tragedy of his sister, Elia. But if vengeance was their goal then hadn’t The Mountain’s death quenched that thirst, or was Twyin’s head next in line? 

If so, then agreeing to this marriage had just dragged Brienne into a blood war that she herself was now tied to, her involvement inescapable. What consequences would her participation bring, what horrors would she be forced witness to? Was she ready to honour her vows this devoutly? Only time would tell as her future lay in the hands of her husband, his decisions on this royal embarkment now governing her fate. Would he be willing to trust her with his family’s retribution or would she become a thorn in their side? Time would show her hand.