The viper

Written by LUCAS (HE/HIM), 31 years old. Due to my own age and the nature of this blog, I will not write with anyone under the age of 18. I prefer 21+ , but that is not set in stone. I fluctuate in activity but try to be here as much as possible. This is a highly PRIVATE and highly SELECTIVE blog and priority will be given to close friends. Do not interact with me if we are not mutuals. Oberyn will be low activity as I have a plethora of other blogs, my main one being Captain Hook at @piraticalwit. 

                                                  ** RULES **

@halfmadviper​​ liked something for a starter at some point

     He brings with him an insult from the pit of Dorne, perhaps in the hopes of drawing out the queen’s temper. His mother must not have told him not to toy with fire– but then again what could be expected of the southern savages. She hears they’ve frequented establishments outside the Red Keep, the little birds had told the queen his thirst could not be satisfied. She only hopes the viper catches disease and she can be rid of him– the sooner the better. 

     Cersei Lannister did not like the way the snakes slithered down her halls like an infestation. She had all too many of those recently, first the thorns prickling at her and now her honorary guests from Dorne. She did not like the chokehold they had on her and she would not rest until she held her daughter again. So when she asks the Martell to join her for supper she has an intent of the selfish kind. Wine to loosen his forked tongue and chicken yet on the bone for him to CHOKE on.

    ❛We’ve yet to exchange pleasantries since your arrival. – - How have you found King’s Landing?❜

The stone walls hold nothing he considers a threat to his person - no caged beasts to stalk the shadows at night, no lions to frighten a man with their roar - Only meek men who reek of the capitol, smelling of sweat and fear of the restless kittens that claim to be their rulers. The absurdity of it has brought the shadow of a laugh to the viper’s expression from the first moment they stepped into the den of King’s Landing, an invigorating mirth that blends with the thrill of possibility when it comes to toppling the arrogance that is Tywin Lannister. So it’s with a widening smile that he joins the former queen regent for a meal, relaxed easily in his seat as if perched across from no one of importance.

“I find it full of a great many places to relieve one’s stress.” Fingers pluck a piece of fruit into ready lips, sucking the lingering juice as if in careful consideration. “The people here are so welcoming. Ellaria and I find most days that it’s near impossible to part from their company.” Brows arch in Cersei’s direction and Oberyn shifts his weight, leaning ever further into his seat as one boot crosses over his thigh - brown eyes darkening as he studies her with feigned concern.

@halfmadviper

     Across the street lives a woman who must think the new residents of their precious Wisteria Lane live in sin. Ellaria is sure she’s seen her cross her heart as she goes out for the mail. She finds it a little amusing, for she found GOD whenever he laid his hands upon her. 

     Ellaria had always been a passionate woman and perhaps her greatest virtue and equally her greatest flaw was to feel so strongly. That, she thinks, is what originally drew her to Oberyn who was a force of nature in his own right. He doesn’t hinder her, instead fuels the fire that is her soul. So, in honour of the woman across the street, when she hears footsteps against their driveway, she goes to open the door wearing nothing but a silken robe. Her figure leans against the doorframe– what a reception.

     ❛Welcome home❜

White picket fences frame even the darkest of secrets - shadows dancing across closed curtains as if simple walls are enough to hide the lies within - and as brown eyes catch the inquiring green of their precious neighbor, he can’t help but allow himself the smallest of grins. Perfect, she’d have them believe. Picturesque. But the most gilded of prisons are the ones more apt to break in their fragility - and as much as that lonely, old, tired woman might hope otherwise - her gold and silver are nothing more than a fool’s wishful thinking. And, if life has taught Oberyn Martell anything, it is that wishing for something does not make it so.

But now, now, she awaits - his paramour - and palms slide so easily against her hips as nose nuzzles into the hollow of her neck. How reckless would it be to take her here and now, to show the residents of Wisteria Lane just how potent a drug lust could be...? The thought brings a slow smile to chapped lips as a low huff of warm laughter follows the delicate curve of shoulder, a love letter sealed with a kiss.

Ellaria.

Lithe form leans against the rough stone wall - so ugly, this King’s Landing - dark gaze meeting the woman’s own as she makes her way down the corridor in which he stands. Lady in Waiting is what they call her - but the sway of her hips and the pout of her mouth compose an entirely different song in the prince’s thoughts. “It must be so hard to wait on Lady Sansa...no doubt the droll is tiresome for you.” Weight shifts as he pushes off his perch, slow smile playing across rough lips. “You seem a woman who has many other well-practiced skills to offer. A shame they are not going to use, no?”

“ Vampire sounds like such a charming tale.” Brown eyes take in the man before him, running the length of him as if weighing his worth until a slow smile crosses the prince’s lips. “I have heard tales of their allure -  of magnetism that is impossible for us mortal men to resist.” Tongue sweeps over a wine flavored bottom lip as the man’s name falls from a grinning mouth, wrapped in a sound akin to a purr. “Astarion, no?” One finger sweeps across a tendril of white hair that falls across a seemingly youthful forehead. “The color, and the name, both suit you, I think.”

The Pearl is truly a jewel amongst the depraved and muddy streets of Denerim - reportedly one of Ferelden’s finer cities (troubling, that) ... and as the Crow lounges against the bed, surrounded by pillows (charming, but lacking all the same), he can’t help but quirk a brow at the newest member of the clientele. “Ah, Grey Warden.” Easily does form rise to its feet from where it lounges in bed, head cocking askew as brown eyes take her in. The prince of assassins has heard many rumors about Miryn Brosca..it will be a pleasure seeing if they are true. 

“Such a shame about Ostagar, no? Fables heroes, the betrayal of a king - it makes quite a tale to carry home to the diamond that is Antiva.” One stride of bare feet and the distance between them shortens, words low and laced with an edge of disappointment. “And a shame that Zevran did not manage to kill you. I so hate it when my leisure is interrupted by bloodshed.” A heavy sigh passes between them, telling of a man who is already bored by the situation ahead. “It would have been nice to see a dwarf save the world.”

       “ She is. ” Josephine was stood behind her desk as he spoke, still in the middle of sorting through her various papers to find the offers of land and titles that she had written up in order to elevate the Du Paraquettes and persuade them, in the process, to annul the contract on her life. Leliana, of course, had suggested an entirely different course of action, one that only further cemented Oberyn’s observation that she was not only adept, but confident in the abilities of her spies, too. “ Though you could have made me aware of your arrival sooner and I would have talked her down from her impromptu interrogation. ”

        Though, despite her own words, she had known that Oberyn Martell would arrive like this after penning her letter to him: without warning, and without care for who stood in his way or offered suspicion as to the reasons for his arrival. It flattered her, truly, that he would come all this way merely at her word, but then, he was one of her oldest friends. The years might have separated them in approach: where he had once known her as an aspirant bard, enchanted by the thrill of the life, she had then gone on to renounce the life in favour of diplomacy, even as he still remained a chief figure within the Crows. But for all Oberyn’s outward bluster, they were both still careful, still precise, still exacting, whether in the art of killing or of politicking, and both appreciated that in the other.

         “ Oberyn. ” The name is gently, fondly chastising — spoken in a way that few other than she would be allowed to address him, she was certain. She knew that he was trying to help, trying to lighten her mood with humour, but she had found it very difficult as of late to relax and talk so blithely of such things. She too spoke in a low voice, but did not believe that they would be overheard. “ You know I no longer play the game that you do. All I want is to see my family’s name restored in Orlais, and I do not wish to meet the edge of an assassin’s blade in order to accomplish it. Not when the contract was signed more than one hundred years ago by someone that I do not even know. ”

Her answer, though expected, is a boring one - and a heavy sigh escapes curved lips as he leans back into his perch once more. The room is all but barren, a stark contrast to the wealth and finer things that had once surrounded them in Orlais, and Oberyn can’t help but gaze at Josephine with a critical eye. She is changed from her youth, treaties and alliances a far cry from the game they used to play - but behind warm eyes remains a fighting spirit, and the Crow is glad to see that, at least, remains unaffected. 

“But you do not object to possible death from the freezing cold?” Mouth twitches the slightest bit - the question, like so many other things he has said, meant as a teasing jest. “And if not from the snow - what of this monster your inquisitor seeks? This Corypheus.” Tongue savors the name, rolling it around as if to judge its flavor. It is not one the prince turned assassin has heard before, and still he finds his knowledge of it lacking. The people in Skyhold gossip in hushed whispers, seemingly afraid that if spoken aloud, such terrors might swoop from the skies upon them - but still he has gathered much, stories he only half believes. But Josephine Montilyet is no fool, and if she sees worth in this new order, this inquisition, then he can do nothing more but allow it some credence.

“I doubt any blade would so easily catch you.” A huff of breath akin to a laugh passes between them as Oberyn rises to his feet, tucking his dagger away so he might rest palms upon the edge of her desk and lean forward. “The House of Repose is not something we Crows take lightly, my friend. Not even for one who holds our hearts like you. But  - “ Weight shifts as he pushes himself from her desk, tone shifting from serious to something akin to lightheartedness once more. “ - it just so happens I am no simple Crow. Not one to be expected to fly to another’s whims.” Dark eyes sober as they hold ones so much like their own, brow quirking as if weighing her worth. It is a test she will pass, a test she will always past - for, renowned assassin or no, Oberyn Martell does not so easily forget the bonds of youth.