POV: Oberyn Martell
Stormlands, Rainwood.
The ship rocked gently as it docked in Mistwood harbor, and Oberyn, emerging from his cabin, squinted at the shoreline. It had been a brief journey, yet one that had fed his appetite for both thrill and anticipation. By his side, Ellaria joined him, stretching gracefully, her gaze drinking in the unfamiliar coast with curiosity. They exchanged a glance that held the shared satisfaction of having overcome yet another trial together.
Captain Myles, now wearing a more relaxed smile, approached, bowing respectfully. "Prince Oberyn, I'm in your debt. Without your intervention, those pirates would have done far worse. I'm grateful for your protection."
Oberyn chuckled, giving the captain a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Oh, think nothing of it, Captain," he replied with a smirk, then added, in his usual irreverent tone, "Besides, I exerted myself more last night than against that sorry lot." He threw Ellaria a mischievous grin, his eyes flashing.
Ellaria swatted his arm, though her laughter was audible even as she shook her head. "Incorrigible as ever," she teased, her tone one of affectionate amusement.
The captain let out a hearty chuckle, evidently entertained by Oberyn's jest. "Safe travels then, Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria. And may your journey to King's Landing be smooth."
With a final nod of thanks, Oberyn turned, and the group disembarked, making their way onto the grounds of the Stormlands. The green fields stretched out, framed by tall trees that dotted the landscape. They mounted their horses, which they paid through a merchant, and Oberyn led the group at a comfortable pace. Ferran, riding nearby, kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings, his hand ever-ready near his sword, though his expression was one of ease and confidence after the battle at sea.
As the day stretched on and the sun began to lower in the sky, Oberyn turned to Ellaria, a spark of excitement in his gaze. "What do you say, my love? Shall we ride ahead to catch a better view of the sunset?"
Ellaria nodded with a smile, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of adventure. "Lead the way, my prince."
Without waiting for a response, Oberyn urged his horse forward, and the two of them sped off, leaving the rest of their group momentarily behind. The wind whipped through Ellaria's hair as they galloped toward a rise in the landscape, where the horizon was awash in shades of fiery orange and crimson, casting a warm glow over the forests and the rolling hills of Stonehelm.
"It's beautiful," Ellaria breathed, taking in the sight with wonder. "The Stormlands… it's so different from Dorne, yet enchanting in its own way."
Oberyn nodded, his gaze fixed on the sun dipping below the horizon. "Indeed. There's something almost wild about it. Like a land untamed." He glanced at her, his expression softened. "But nothing compares to the deserts and dunes of home."
Ellaria smiled, leaning in closer as she gazed at the fading sunlight. "True. Though, being with you, Oberyn, makes anywhere feel like home."
They shared a moment, the world around them quiet, until the rustling of bushes nearby shattered the peace. Five rough-looking men emerged from the thicket, their faces shadowed but their intentions clear. They held swords with a mixture of confidence and desperation—raiders who believed they had stumbled upon an easy mark.
"Look at what we have here," sneered one of the bandits, his gaze lingering on the rich clothing and weapons of Oberyn and Ellaria. "A pair of lovebirds with more coin than sense."
Oberyn sighed, giving Ellaria an apologetic glance before dismounting his horse. "I apologize, my love. It seems these fools don't realize they're about to lose more than they could ever gain."
The rest of their party was catching up, and Ferran spurred his horse forward, ready to jump into the fray with his sword drawn. But Oberyn held up a hand, stopping him.
No need, Ferran," he said, his voice calm yet carrying a note of excitement. "I'll take care of this. It's good to get in a bit of practice for the tourney."
Ellaria gave him an indulgent smile as he raised his spear, his form relaxed but alert. The bandits looked at one another, seemingly amused that he intended to face them alone.
"You think that little stick of yours is enough to take on all of us?" one of them mocked.
Oberyn's eyes narrowed, a dangerous smile spreading across his lips. "I think this 'little stick' has tasted more blood than all of your swords combined."
Without another word, he advanced, his spear moving with a deadly grace that was almost hypnotic. The first bandit lunged, sword raised, but Oberyn sidestepped smoothly, his spear thrusting forward to pierce the man's chest with swift, brutal precision. The bandit gasped, his body dropping to the ground as Oberyn spun to face the remaining four.
The others hesitated, glancing at their fallen comrade with a mixture of shock and anger. One of them snarled, charging with his sword held high. Oberyn met him with a quick sidestep, twisting his spear to knock the man off balance. With a fluid motion, he drove the spear into his side, the blade finding its mark effortlessly.
Two more bandits attacked in tandem, swinging their swords in a desperate attempt to overpower him. But Oberyn was faster, his movements a dance of controlled power and finesse. He parried one blow, spinning his spear in a wide arc that cut across both men's defenses, and with a quick thrust, dispatched them one by one.
The final bandit, who appears to be the leader by the clothes he is wearing, stood frozen, the terror evident in his eyes as he looked at Oberyn, who was now covered in splatters of blood, his expression calm and almost bored.
"Please… have mercy," the man stammered, taking a step back.
Oberyn tilted his head, studying the trembling figure with mild interest. "Mercy?" he echoed, as if the concept was a foreign language. "Perhaps I can offer you a deal instead."
The bandit's eyes widened, hope flickering in his gaze. "What kind of deal?"
"If you manage to make me bleed," Oberyn began, his voice low and steady, "you can leave with all our coins." He smirked, the challenge hanging in the air.
The bandit hesitated, weighing desperation against the absurdity of the offer, but bravery emerged like a last gasp of air. "Very well!"
With a grunt of determination, the bandit lunged toward Oberyn. But it was no match for the prince's practiced skill. All at once, Oberyn moved; the spear glimmered in the dusky light as he sidestepped again, sweeping the bandit's legs out from under him with a deft flick.
The man crashed to the ground, panting heavily. Lifting his spear once more, Oberyn looked down at the defeated bandit, his brow furrowed in mock disappointment. "You should have known this was not a fair fight."
Before the bandit could plead further, Oberyn lunged forward, ending him with a swift thrust of his spear. The man fell to the ground, lifeless, joining the others in the dust. Oberyn wiped his spear clean, turning back to Ellaria and Ferran with a satisfied smile.
"Not much of a challenge, but a decent warm-up," he remarked, placing a light kiss on Ellaria's forehead as he returned to her side.
Ferran shook his head, admiration mixed with humor in his eyes. "You make it look effortless, my prince."
Oberyn shrugged and smile. "If you want I can give you lessons on how to use a stick Ferran. But for now, we celebrate."
They continued their journey, and as dusk settled, they found a small tavern near the outskirts of Stonehelm. It was a simple establishment, the smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filling the air as they entered. They secured a table near the back, and Oberyn ordered a hearty meal and a round of Dornish wine.
As they waited, Oberyn reached for Ellaria's hand, bringing it to his lips with a soft smile. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across their faces, heightening the intensity of the moment as they looked into each other's eyes.
This night," Oberyn murmured, his voice a low, rumbling whisper, "reminds me of the first time I saw you. That same fire in your eyes, that fierce spirit."
Her fingers tightened around his, and she leaned closer, her voice just as soft. "And you've been my joy, Oberyn. In a world of stone and steel, you are my passion, my freedom."
He moved closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. Slowly, he closed the distance, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss, one that spoke of promises both old and new, of adventures yet to come and memories they cherished. Around them, the noise of the tavern faded, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other's embrace.