#(oberyn: thread)

[snakeknown]

@musenssang​​ from here

“Within the last two decades we’ve had three dynasties: Targaryen, Baratheon, and now Lannister. Or is it Hill? I’m not certain.” Oberyn spoke with the same flagrant disregard for delicate words and polite lies he was known for. Few dared to outright call Joffrey Baratheon for what he truly was. 

Yet, it was also a sign of the trust Oberyn had in the Tyrell lord, despite the enmity between their families. He did not fear his words making their way to the King or his spies. Humming, he tapped his fingers on the table, “I’d say I’m surprised your father is marrying Lady Margaery to the butcher boy, yet, it would be a lie. If rumors from the capital are to be believed, I’d be concerned for her.” 

[snakeknown]

@dracharenae liked for a starter

There were days where it burned to look at Rhaenys. As she grew older, she became a greater shade of Elia than ever before. It wasn’t simply her looks. It was in the little habits, the same expressions, the same reactions to anger, to sadness, to love. She was Elia come again, and Oberyn swore that one day, she would be the greatest Queen to ever sit the Iron Throne.

It was Ellaria who constantly tempered him, reminded him that despite the similarities, Rhaenys, Adara, was her own woman. In truth, it had made him concerned that he and Doran were forcing their own agenda on her. In the last two decades, he had done all he could to give her a parent, treated her as one of his own daughters, despite them both knowing the truth. And yet, unlike his daughters, he had also planned her entire future out for her. It was one thing to want justice for Elia, and entirely different think to force Rhaenys into a position she did not truly want. A position that, for all their teaching, he feared she may not be fully cognizant of, unaware of the strain a crown could truly put on one’s self.

“Come darling, play a game of cyvasse with me.” Oberyn called her over, “Discuss the world with me, hmm?” Things were beginning to shift, become unsteady with the usurper’s death. If Rhaenys did want a throne, the time was near to enact plans to take it. If she did not, then Oberyn would fight to keep her here in Dorne, as nothing other than Adara Sand, a bastard but free. 

[snakeknown]

@game-of-thrones-villains

Oberyn was not made for marriage, for monogamy; he had known that since he was a young boy. And yet, here he sat, at the head of the table, next to his stunning bride. Alas, even he could not deny that Cersei Lannister, nay, Cersei Martell, was gorgeous, for all that he did not wish to marry her. 

It was taking all of his willpower to avoid poking fun at her, for she was so obviously unhappy, despite the courtly facade she was effecting. And why shouldn’t she be? She had been promised a dragon and had received a snake instead. She would be a Princess, but never a Queen. Bah, he wished she had taken Rhaegar, perhaps that’d mean that Elia would still be in Dorne.

Yet, he could not help the amused tilt of his lips as he leaned closer to her to catch her ear, “How are you enjoying the festivities, wife?” He imagined them quite different from Westerland celebrations, as colorful and free as the Dornish were compared to their Northern counterparts. 

[snakeknown]

@vivitanima liked for a starter.

Oberyn’s impatience had struck again. Doran had urged him that the time still wasn’t right, yet had grudgingly agreed that they needed a better knowledge of what was happening at King’s Landing. Especially with the old Hand dead and a new one arrived to take his place, alliances would shift and things would change. 

“The King cannot come to greet me himself? A shame, but alas, I imagine he’s a very busy man.” In truth, the Hand was probably more busy than the King, if rumor was to be believed. Eddard Stark was a confusing man. On one side, he was the Usurper’s best friend, his pet dog. On the other, this was supposedly the first time in near two decades that the two spoke. If rumor was to be believed, he had walked out enraged after the death of Oberyn’s niece and nephew. 

Did he include the man on his list of people to gain vengeance upon? Robert Baratheon, who laughed at their deaths, Gregor Clegane, who raped and murdered his sister and nephew, Amory Lorch, who killed his niece, Tywin Lannister, who gave the orders. Ned Stark, who had seemingly been horrified by his sister’s death and who, by all accounts, was honorable. Perhaps he’d find out during his visit.

Seemingly random, Oberyn continued, “You loved your sister.” A pause, “I loved my sister too. And my sister’s children. I heard your King laughed at their bodies, called them dragonspawn. They might have been dragons, but they were Martells too. And what did we get for their deaths? Justice? I think not.” From behind, fingers snuck between his own, a comforting squeeze but also a warning. He could almost hear Ellaria’s voice, don’t reveal your hand too early. He forced his expression to relax from whatever snarl is had twisted into, truly curious, “Have you found out yet, that whatever honor you cling to will get you killed in this stinking cesspool of a city?”