POV: Oberyn Martell
Sea of Dorne.
A few weeks had passed since Oberyn, Ellaria, and their entourage had left Sunspear. The long, sun-drenched journey through the Dornish deserts and over rough trails had led them north to Ghost Hill, where they boarded a modest yet seaworthy vessel bound for Mistwood in the Stormlands. The ship, "The Salt Serpent," cut smoothly through the waves as it made its way along Dorne's eastern coastline, its crew seasoned and the captain well-versed in navigating the turbulent waters that separated Dorne from the Stormlands.
Oberyn leaned against the rail, his gaze fixed on the darkening horizon. Beside him, Ellaria stood with an air of quiet anticipation, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of the sea under the setting sun. It had been a journey of shifting landscapes, of endless sands giving way to the endless blue, and Oberyn found himself both relaxed and restless, as if the very ocean was awakening something primal within him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ellaria murmured, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves.
Oberyn turned to her, his eyes alight with the same energy. "Aye, but not half as beautiful as what awaits us." He gave her a mischievous smile, his tone layered with both charm and anticipation. "Power, pleasure, and a city full of pretenders—I can hardly wait."
She laughed softly, leaning into him. "Just remember, we're there for more than just entertainment, my love."
His grin widened. "Of course. But does it hurt to mix business with pleasure?"
As he spoke, a tall, broad-shouldered guard with thick, sun tanned skin, with black hair and dark brown eyes, approached them, nodding respectfully. His name was Ferran, a man with whom Oberyn had crossed paths on a few of his escapades around the Free Cities. Ferran's presence brought a wave of nostalgia, and Oberyn took the chance to banter with the guard, his usual light-hearted mischief evident in his eyes.
"Ferran!" Oberyn called, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me, has the sea turned your stomach yet, or are you too busy admiring the fine Dornish sun?"
Ferran chuckled, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. "I've crossed more waters than you have, Prince Oberyn. This little trip doesn't worry me."
"Ah, but can you handle the company, I wonder?" Oberyn teased, eyeing Ellaria with a suggestive raise of his brow. "It's not the waves you'll need to watch out for."
Ellaria rolled her eyes, though a smile played on her lips. "My prince, must you torment the poor man?"
Oberyn laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "Oh, he loves it, don't you, Ferran? Tell us, how many hearts did you leave broken on your last voyage?"
Ferran rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a roguish grin spreading across his face. "Too many to count, my lord," he replied, casting a sly glance toward Ellaria. "Though I have to say, none can match the beauty of Dorne."
Ellaria tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Flatterer."
As they continued to share stories, Oberyn noticed the captain approaching. Captain Myles was a wiry man, his skin leathered from years at sea, with a salt-and-pepper beard and keen, observant eyes that scanned the horizon with the instincts of a seasoned sailor. He wore a loose tunic and a weathered hat, his movements sharp and precise as he joined them by the rail.
"Captain Myles," Oberyn greeted with a nod, "I trust business is good on the eastern route?"
The captain nodded, glancing at Oberyn with a hint of curiosity. "Aye, as good as it can be with the tides changing. Pirates roam these waters more than usual. Lucky for you, I know the way, and we'll keep a sharp eye out."
Oberyn leaned in with a grin. "Pirates? Now that could make for an interesting evening."
Captain Myles raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. "Only if you fancy a fight, Prince Oberyn. They're no jest."
Ellaria placed a hand on Oberyn's arm, giving him a warning look. "This isn't Sunspear. We should hope for a peaceful voyage."
"Peaceful?" Oberyn shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?" His gaze shifted to Captain Myles. "But fear not, Captain. I'd happily welcome a pirate or two for a little… exercise."
The captain shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "With respect, my prince, let's hope we don't need to."
"You two don't know how to have fun". Oberyn replied after entering the ship to get something to eat.
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The voyage continued smoothly for the first day, but on the second day, Oberyn's hope for "excitement" found an answer. The sky had turned dark, clouds gathering like a menacing cloak, when the lookout cried, "Ship on the horizon! Closing fast!"
Oberyn moved quickly to the bow, his gaze narrowing as he spotted the sleek silhouette of a pirate ship, its black sails billowing ominously against the stormy backdrop. Beside him, Ellaria's face had grown tense, her eyes locked on the approaching ship.
"Oberyn," she whispered, "this is no jest."
He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "I know, my love. You should go below deck. Take shelter in the cabin. This is place It won't look pretty soon."
"But—" she started, only to be silenced by the calm, fierce determination in his gaze.
"Please, Ellaria," he murmured, squeezing her hand. "Let me handle this."
Reluctantly, she nodded, casting a lingering look before disappearing down the narrow stairs to the cabins. Ferran and the rest of Oberyn's guards had already gathered, their hands on their weapons, eyes sharp and ready. They needed no further orders to understand the impending threat.
"Ready yourselves!" Oberyn commanded, his voice firm. "These pirates may think they've found easy prey, but they've no idea what kind of Viper they've come upon!"
The men smirked, nodding as they took positions along the rail, weapons at the ready. Ferran stationed himself close to Oberyn, his gaze cold and steady as he studied the pirate ship's approach.
Moments later, the pirate ship closed in, and a volley of arrows arced through the air. Oberyn grabbed a shield, ducking behind it as the arrows clattered against the wood and the ship's deck. He gave Ferran a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at his lips even as he hefted his spear.
"Shall we give them a warm Dornish welcome, Ferran?"
The guard grinned, brandishing his sword. "Let's show these dogs how a true Dornishman fights."
Oberyn cast a steely gaze upon the advancing ships, feeling the surge of adrenaline in his veins. "Archers! To your posts! Release arrows before their ships are close!" His voice was a command cut with authority, steadying the nerves of those around him.
With practiced urgency, the archers took their positions along the ship's rail. The moment was electric, a cauldron of tension ready to boil over. As Oberyn raised his hand, the sharp whistle of arrows sliced through the air—the first volley raining down upon the pirates with deadly accuracy. Screams erupted from the deck of the nearest vessel as the arrows found their marks, thinning their ranks before they even reached the boarding lines.
The pirates' grappling hooks latched onto the rail of The Salt Serpent, but Oberyn was ready. He leapt forward, his spear a blur—a graceful extension of his will—piercing the chest of the first pirate who dared step onto his ship. The man's expression froze in shock as he crumpled to the deck.
Ferran followed close behind, his sword singing through the air, carving arcs of defiance as he cut down two more assailants. "They thought we were a simple merchant ship," he panted, the thrill of battle igniting his spirit. "Seems we've surprised them."
"Good," Oberyn replied, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I was getting bored."
A burly pirate charged at Oberyn, brandishing a wicked-looking mace, his demeanor brimming with overconfidence. But as the pirate swung, Oberyn sidestepped, countering with a swift twist of his spear that splintered the pirate's wrist with a sickening crunch. The man howled in pain as Oberyn lunged, driving his spear deep into the heart with a triumphant twist.
"Not so easy, is it?" Oberyn taunted, the humor in his voice a stark contrast to the brutality of the scene.
Each clash echoed like thunder, and soon the tide began to shift. The pirates, realizing they faced the notorious Red Viper of Dorne, faltered and stumbled, their bravado evaporating faster than the blood soaking into the wood beneath their feet. One by one, they fell or fled, a disorganized retreat unmasking their cowardice.
As the last of them scrambled to disengage their ship, Captain Myles emerged from below deck, relief etched across his face. "Prince Oberyn," he said, bowing slightly, admiration lacing his voice, "it seems the tales of your skill were not exaggerated."
"Merely a reminder," Oberyn replied, wiping the blood from his spear with satisfaction. "Let's ensure we reach Mistwood without further interruptions."
Descending to the cabin, Oberyn found Ellaria waiting just inside the door, her tension palpable. But when their eyes met, the worry melted away, replaced by the warmth of love. He pulled her into an embrace, breathing in her scent like a balm against the chaos outside.
"It's over," he assured her, reveling in the momentary peace. "They didn't stand a chance."
She smiled, yet unease flickered behind her gaze. "I told you this wasn't Sunspear."
Laughing softly, he brushed a stray curl from her face. "No, but there's still Dorne in my heart. We'll be safe."
Together, they returned to the deck, watching the wreckage of the pirate vessel fade into the sea. Though challenges awaited them in Harrenhal, but they had the flames in they heart and the sun watching them, they ready to face whatever came next. The open ocean stretched before them, filled with promise and danger alike, but for now, victory tasted sweet on their lips.