Game of Thrones: The Legend of Quentyn Martell

POV: Oberyn Martell

Harrenhal, Riverlands.

The days leading up to the tournament of Harrenhal flew by, a fever of anticipation and curiosity that seemed to consume every noble, knight, and commoner present. Oberyn had awaited the tournament's start for so long that even the colossal sight of Harrenhal, with its haunted towers and vast walls, seemed to lose some of its mystery as the days passed. But now, as the opening ceremonies began, he felt the familiar thrill of excitement coursing through his veins.

The ceremony hall was buzzing with the elite of Westeros, their attire reflecting the splendor of their houses and distant lands. Oberyn wore a tunic in the colors of Dorne—yellow and orange—symbolizing the sun and desert of the south. As he moved through the crowd, he recognized familiar faces and legendary figures, each one representing a piece of the intricate puzzle of the Houses that made up Westeros. He greeted them with nods and smiles, his expression betraying the excitement he felt.

But his attention was captured when a young man, only fifteen years old, was announced with great reverence: Ser Jaime Lannister, the newest member of the Kingsguard. Oberyn observed the young knight, impressed with his confidence and posture, though he noticed a certain tension in the boy's eyes—a shadow, perhaps, of the weight of such an honor. The hall erupted in applause, shouts of admiration echoing off the imposing walls. He saw the pride gleaming in the kid´s eyes. Beside the Throne, Aerys II smiled as though each cheer was for him, completely unaware that the excitement was truly for the young lion.

Oberyn leaned toward Ellaria, who was beside him, and murmured, "The king seems to think the cheers are for him. Typical Targaryen, no?"

Ellaria smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Who could convince him otherwise?"

As the ceremony continued, Oberyn spotted Elia in the hall. She had finally arrived, and a wave of relief washed over him. Striding over to her with wide steps, he allowed himself a brief moment of tenderness, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

"Elia," he said, his voice gentle, "it's good to see you here. And it's a relief to know the worst of the journey is over."

She returned his smile, her eyes bright with affection and nostalgia. "And do you think I'm here to watch you fight or to honor the tournament?" she teased, though both knew the truth was somewhere between.

That night, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths was alive with the guests' excitement. In the hall's center, tables laden with meats and wines reflected the occasion's opulence, and Oberyn sat beside Ellaria, keenly observing the dynamics of the groups around them. Lord Robert Baratheon, unmistakable with his booming presence and dark beard, was already drinking wine and talking animatedly with Ser Richard Lonmouth, the Dragon Knight and known friend of Rhaegar. Oberyn watched the interaction, laughing softly at Robert's thunderous laughter, which seemed to shake the walls.

Next to him, Ferran nudged his elbow. "I think we already know which opponent will be the most inebriated in the arena, my prince."

Oberyn grinned. "Let him drown in wine. It'll make the work easier for anyone who crosses his path."

Nearby, a young girl with curious eyes was watching Ser Jaime, a look of admiration on her face. Oberyn recognized that look—the bright-eyed expression of youth encountering the glory embodied in a knight. Pia, he heard her called—a young maid, seemingly captivated by the newly named Kingsguard Knight. Oberyn couldn't help but smile. It was the kind of admiration only young knights could inspire, and he imagined how many other hearts that Lannister boy would break in the future.

Suddenly, the music changed in tone, and the first notes of a ballad began, shifting the lively atmosphere to one of solemnity and reverence. Oberyn turned to see Rhaegar Targaryen himself stepping forward, silver hair gleaming in the firelight as he took up a harp. The hall fell into a hushed silence as his fingers plucked the strings, delicate yet sure, each note casting a spell over the crowd. The prince's voice, low and haunting, filled the space, carrying a sense of longing and sorrow that reached into the hearts of all who listened. Oberyn observed the scene with a raised brow, fascinated by the quiet power that Rhaegar commanded without armor or sword—an unusual strength, yet undeniable. Here was a prince, not conquering by force, but captivating by song.

Nearby, he caught sight of Benjen Stark nudging his sister, Lyanna, with a teasing grin. The young woman's eyes were glistening, and though she tried to hide her tears, her brother had noticed. The girl glared at Benjen, cheeks flushed, before grabbing her goblet and pouring its contents over his head in retaliation. A burst of laughter erupted among those close enough to witness the exchange, momentarily breaking the spell that Rhaegar had cast over the hall. Oberyn's lips quirked in amusement as he watched the Stark siblings' antics. A reminder, he thought, that even in the somber halls of Westeros' nobility, laughter and spirit still found a way to shine through. And as Rhaegar continued to sing, Oberyn felt a peculiar mix of admiration and intrigue for the prince—this elusive, haunted dragon who, unlike any warrior, wielded not steel but sorrow, with an audience ensnared by his quiet fire.

When the bards started play an attractive song to get the dancing started. Oberyn spotted Lady Ashara Dayne, a graceful and captivating presence who, even among so many nobles, stood out with her enchanting smile and enigmatic gaze. He approached her, offering a practiced bow and a mischievous smile.

"Lady Ashara," he said, bowing slightly, "would you grant me the honor of this dance? I admit it's good to see another person from Dorne here; the reminder of home makes everything more bearable."

Ashara smiled, accepting his hand with a grace that made Oberyn feel like a true prince. "It would be my pleasure, my prince. Perhaps I can remind you how we dance in Dorne."

They began to dance, moving across the hall as if they were at a celebration in Sunspear instead of in the heart of Westeros. Oberyn felt almost at home, enchanted by the music and the company of the lady before him. He whispered kind words and compliments, always with a flirtatious edge to his voice. Ashara smiled and replied with sharp comments, a wit he admired deeply.

"You will be missed in Dorne when the night ends," he murmured, spinning her one last time before releasing her.

"Distance only makes longing stronger," she replied, before stepping away, her eyes gleaming with something that could have been a challenge.

Watching them from a distance, Brandon Stark laughed and approached Ashara, convincing her to dance with his shy brother, Eddard. Oberyn noticed the tension and nervousness on Eddard's face as Brandon practically pushed him onto the dance floor. He gave a small smile, admiring how Ashara seemed to ease the young Stark's tension with a gentle smile.

With a contented sigh, Oberyn took in the hall, capturing every moment of the night. Westeros felt a little less cold, a bit more alive that night.

But as the music softened and the crowd began to disperse, Oberyn felt a hand gently tugging at his arm. He turned, meeting Ellaria's intense gaze, her eyes glinting provocatively. Without a word, she led him out of the hall, her steps light and quiet as she guided him into the darkness of the woods surrounding Harrenhal.

Under the shadowed trees, far from prying eyes, she stopped and looked at him with an intensity that made his heart race. "And now, Prince of Dorne?" she whispered, her lips curling into a playful smile.

Oberyn ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her close. "Now, we enjoy the freedom the night gives us."

They kissed, losing themselves in each other under the starry sky, forgetting for a moment their duties, and the tournament still to come.

"You´re really great kisser my love". Oberyn commented making Ellaria smile. Then he put a finger in her mouth. Causing her to nipped his finger with her lips. 

Oberyn put her to the ground and started kissing her lips, her face, her neck. Ellaria left her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling Oberyn closer to her. 

"Your neck taste wonderful my love," Oberyn declared. 

"I'm glad you like it my prince," Ellaria reply.

"But I prefer the taste of another place." Oberyn moving down, pulling her dress as he went. He got her naked and spread her thighs open with his hands.

Ellaria felt her pussy gushing jast at the thought of Oberyn future action. He was so good at making her come with his tongue that the anticipation alone got her halfway there. Was he moving his tongue thorugh her slit, from her entrance uo to her clit, the he went back. He´s started sucking her clit, making her climax. Ellaria had to clapping her hand over her mouth to not screaming.

"So good my love...." she maneged to murmur her satisfaction. 

Oberyn continued to touch her. Fingers thrust into her with the perfect rhythm and a new orgasm was building. He laned back over her still throbbing clit, delivering another realease. 

"Take your pants off, my prince" Ellaria voice was almost breathless.

"Oh yeah?" Oberyn reply if a small smile.

"I want your cock so badly," She admitted what she need. She whats him inside her. 

Oberyn unbockle and unbutton his pant and take off his hard cock." How do you want me to take you, love?" Oberyn asks while giving a corner smile. 

"Right there", she told him. Oberyn lifted her legs up to his shoulders and slid his cock through her slit, and started to move back and forth if more power with each penetration.

Ellaria was close to came again, Oberyn could feel it bulding inside her. He picked up seed, nearing his own orgasm, but held of until Ellaria was shaddering again.

"Fuck", Oberyn growled, his cock pulsing as he unloaded into her womb. When he finished he brought her legs back down, then leaned over her, kissing her again. 

"Well... Ready for the second round my love?" Oberyn asked with a smirk.

Moans were heard all night in the forest until dawn.