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.