Game of Thrones: The Legend of Quentyn Martell

POV: Oberyn Martell

King's Landing.

As the gates of King's Landing opened to let Oberyn Martell's group through, he couldn't help but wrinkle his nose. The air was thick with an overpowering smell — a blend of sewage and something unmistakably foul that clung to the city like a shroud. Oberyn glanced around, noting the bemused and disgusted expressions of his soldiers, who looked just as repelled as he did. Exchanging a glance with Ellaria, who stood beside him, equally unimpressed.

"By the Seven, how can my sister stand living here?" Oberyn muttered, shaking his head. The sight of the bustling city was overshadowed by the reality of its scents, and he felt a twinge of pity for Elia, who had to call this place home.

"If this is the scent of kings," Oberyn remarked dryly, smirking, "I'd much rather have the scorching sands of Dorne."

Ferran, chuckled, visibly more comfortable with the prince's bluntness. "They say it's the smell of wealth, my prince," he replied, just as playfully. "But if this is wealth, I'd prefer the scent of Dornish wine."

The other soldiers laughed and nodded, relaxing as they realized the prince was just as easygoing as ever. Oberyn noticed the hint of relief and ease among his men, and he smiled — he liked that they felt at ease around him.

Ellaria, wrinkled her own nose , placed a hand on his arm, interrupting his observations of the city with a mischievous smile. "Whether it's the scent of wealth or rot, it's certainly an exotic mix," she said, casting a teasing look at the prince. "But what shall we do now that we've finally arrived?"

"Simple," Oberyn replied, a glint of mischief in his eye. "We should enjoy the night that the capital can offer. Surely even a city with such odors can provide some… pleasures."

Those nearby heard his remark, exchanging glances — some murmuring in anticipation, others pretending not to hear. For many of the soldiers, this night would be a rare chance to explore the bustling, unfamiliar life of the capital, and they knew the prince would lead them into a memorable adventure.

Ellaria raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Ah, I see. A little indulgence before we journey to Harrenhal, is it? Very well, lead the way, my prince."

They walked through the narrow streets, a cacophony of sounds surrounding them. The cries of merchants hawking their wares mingled with the laughter of children, and somewhere in the distance, the clang of metal against metal echoed from a nearby blacksmith. Despite the stench, there was a raw energy to the city, an undeniable pulse that drew them in. Oberyn navigated the winding paths confidently.

Finally, they reached a lively establishment, its door adorned with red fabric that danced gently in the warm breeze. Oberyn opened the door, and a wave of laughter and music washed over them, mingling with the scent of fine food and sweet wine. The atmosphere was intoxicating, and Oberyn felt the familiar thrill of anticipation surge within him.

Oberyn entered the establishment with a commanding presence that seemed to draw everyone's attention. The women glanced his way, eyes lighting up at the sight of the charismatic prince. He grinned, taking a moment to soak in the ambiance.

"Come, my dear," he said to Ellaria, pulling her into the heart of the tavern, while his guards follow close behind. "Let's enjoy the night before the chaos of the tournament."

Once they settled at a table, Oberyn scanned the room. Soon, his gaze fell on a woman with dark hair and lively eyes who was expertly serving patrons. He raised his hand, summoning her with a smile, and she approached, balancing a jug of wine with grace. 

"Welcome to our humble tavern," she greeted with a playful tone, her eyes moving from Oberyn to Ellaria. "What can I bring you for pleasure tonight?"

Ellaria exchanged a glance with Oberyn, clearly enjoying the interaction. "An unforgettable evening, perhaps?" she suggested with a soft laugh.

The woman let out a warm chuckle. "In that case, you've come to the right place."

As the night wore on, Oberyn and Ellaria found themselves increasingly charmed by her company. Oberyn shared stories with her, asking curious questions about life in the city, and she responded with a sparkle in her eye, clearly captivated by the dashing Dornish prince. There was a natural chemistry between them, a dance of glances and smiles deepening with each sip of wine.

When Oberyn finally pulled her closer, leaning in for a kiss, he did so with utter confidence and sincere desire. Ellaria watched with a satisfied smile, almost as a silent accomplice to the moment. After all, pleasures shared between them felt as natural as breathing.

As the tavern began to empty and the night grew late, Oberyn found himself lost in a swirl of bodies and laughter. He stole kisses from Ellaria and engaged playfully with another beautiful woman who captured his attention. The night blurred into a haze of wine, warmth, and the sweet scent of jasmine and rose.

At last, exhaustion settled in, and Oberyn and Ellaria made their way back to their lodgings. "A well-spent evening, wouldn't you agree?" he murmured to Ellaria as they left".

"Far more than just well-spent," she replied, a mysterious smile on her face. "You, my prince, know how to make any moment unforgettable."

As they collapsed into bed, their limbs entwined, Oberyn couldn't help but smile at how the night had unfolded.

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The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, casting warm light over the room. Oberyn awoke to find Ellaria still asleep beside him, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like a cascade of silk. He watched her for a moment, admiring the tranquility of her face, the way she looked unguarded and beautiful in the morning light.

Once he had dressed, he nudged Ellaria gently. "Wake up, my sleeping beauty. We have places to be."

She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. "Where to, my prince?"

"To visit my sister and see how she fares. We should also meet my niece," he replied, feeling a pang of excitement at the thought of seeing his family.

They left their lodgings, walking through the bustling streets of King's Landing. The sun hung high in the sky, illuminating the grand architecture that surrounded them. Even with the stench still lingering, Oberyn felt a surge of pride for his sister, who had shown resilience in a place that often felt suffocating.

As they approached the Red Keep, Oberyn couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Elia had once been a bright light in their family, a flower blooming amidst the chaos of their lives. He hoped to find her in good spirits.

When they arrived at her chambers, he knocked gently on the door, and it opened to reveal a servant. "Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria," the servant greeted with a slight bow. "Lady Elia is expecting you. Please, come in."

Oberyn stepped into the room, and the first thing that struck him was the delicate beauty of his sister. Elia sat on a cushioned chair, her long hair cascading down her back. She looked up, her face lighting up as she saw him.

"Oberyn!" she exclaimed, rising to embrace him. The warmth of her hug wrapped around him, and he breathed in the familiar scent of lavender that she always wore.

"Dear sister," he replied, pulling back to take a good look at her. "How are you? How is the little one?"

"She is well, growing strong every day," Elia said, her eyes shining with maternal pride. "And how are you? I hear tales of your adventures."

Ellaria stepped forward, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "It's wonderful to see you, Elia. I hope you don't mind my company."

"Of course not! The more, the merrier," Elia replied, her expression softening. "Come, sit with me. I want to hear everything."

As they settled into the room, Oberyn filled her in on their travels, recounting tales of the road until he arrived at King's Landing. Elia listened intently, her laughter brightening the room as she enjoyed the stories.

The conversation flowed easily until Elia's expression turned thoughtful. "And what of Doran? How is he? How are his children?"

Oberyn hesitated, feeling a knot form in his stomach. "Doran is well, as is his family," he replied carefully, his thoughts drifting to Quentyn. "He's preoccupied with politics, as always."

Elia nodded, her eyes searching his. "And Quentyn? How is he? he doesn't have that much difference in name day with Rhaenys".

Oberyn's face softened at the mention of Quentyn, but beneath his confident exterior, a flicker of discomfort stirred. He had been haunted lately by a prophecy he'd once heard whispered in Dorne, one that spoke of Quentyn's journey and hinted at darkness ahead. As he looked at Elia and thought of the children, a knot tightened in his chest, despite the warmth of the moment.

A thought lingered in his mind — a subtle reminder of the battles and shadows ahead but for them all. Oberyn couldn't shake the subtle chill that settled over him as he looked out over King's Landing, a city he knew all too well to be both beautiful and deadly.