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[versigny]

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[versigny]

[ the way he speaks is blunt and refreshing, inviting Margaery to examine her own compass for honesty after tiptoeing so delicately across the stones of the Red Keep for months on end. it is an invitation she accepts gladly, but she remains careful. whatever displeasure the Lannisters may have from losing an ally in the Tyrells is nothing compared to the scandalized ripples amidst the rosebushes that is her own family. familial loyalty, forever rooted in the past, where the pastures have been watered and fed by years of assumption and resentment.

ridiculous, as Willas would have gladly made the journey himself if time was not of the essence. ]

And if I tell you that I do not know who I am without my obligations? Would that displease you, my lord?

[ her tone is wry enough that despite the sharp quality of her lopsided smile, she appears to be speaking entire truths. ]

What I do know is I would be pleased to consummate these vows, that I find you very attractive and the variety in your experience thrilling. Beyond that, I also hope for us to become friends, at the very least, and work together for the combined benefit of our families. That is no obligation, but my true wish.

[ she pauses in her steps, turning to look up at him with her smile fading into a far more sincere expression. her hand remains where it is, curled around his arm.

a breeze from the sea gently sifts through her hair, cooling her bare skin as it makes her skirts billow. her dress is in more of a Dornish style, and while she's always found them to be beautiful, she appreciates the airy quality of their fabrics even more now. ]

As my husband, your happiness counts as much as my own. I know I am far from who you would desire to bind yourself to, if you ever carried that desire at all. But women of my position are used to making the best of our circumstances, and I can tell you now that I am more elated to be standing here with you, than in the Great Sept once more, to another golden-haired child.

[adorne]

[ The Game of Thrones was a game Oberyn never held interest in. A leader and a ruler were two very different things. His time at the citadel, and his time as a sellsword diversified his ideology. He was both a scholar and a soldier and met both activities with the same measure of passion he kept in the bedroom. No lands were uncharted.

Her open honesty brings a smile to his face that betrays his measured responses thus far. The gardens are beautiful, and he breathes deeply in the aroma around them of foliage native to his homeland, the spirits, and the spices that surround them. Grateful, despite their circumstances such as they were ruled gives way to more difficulty to be weighed. ]

So, I see the reputations of Dorne were not sullied by the hands of young Lannister men and their machinations of power.

It would be a lie to say that I had no interest in bedding you, my lady. I could split you open and find your sweet center, the peach pit you hide, and in that maybe vocate you to a truth that lies outside of those obligations.

[ Her allegiance to her family, though, is mirrored by his own. He and his brother were hotheaded and fought as a form of love, loud language, both vocal and physical but things often ended in an embrace. The way of the world for the Dornish was vastly different from the other lands in Westeros which most knew but not intimately, not in the ways that she would soon come to find.

Oberyn brings the back of her hand to his lips and places a chaste kiss on the surface of her skin. His fingers trail over the same place on his way back up, and he traces that pattern up toward the delicate features of her wrist.

She is a sight to behold in the Dornish dress tailored for the wedding, her hair pinned into rivulets with a sun-shaped broach. Bold makeup for her face, deep reds, golden hues. ]

It is no secret I would desire to not be bound at all, but speaking of your circumstances while touting your position is the heart of the matter I was trying to address. Those lions and their gilded cage cannot reach you here, so take all the time you need to find yourself as a Dornish woman proper. You can study whatever you like here, be it the old gods, alchemy, or arms. The world away from the Lannisters and their keep is open to you.

[versigny]

[ Oberyn offers her the world so casually, it takes a moment for his words to sink in - even to someone who is trained to be quick on her feet and quicker in wit like her, the sudden flood of possibilities so generously given requires a moment of adjustment. nothing in his words, or his demeanor, demands duty. her eyes search her husband's face for a moment, lips parting despite her tendency to hide surprise.

and yet, her heart is already thrumming with excitement, with long-forgotten desires suddenly alive with surges of intense energy. is this happiness? it's been so long since she's felt such a pure strain of it that it almost aches - and yet, she keeps herself as calm as ever, too cautious to put all of her faith in one private conversation. what he offers might not even come to pass, depending on how the war continues.

but here, in this sunny, beautiful place with a man who touches her so gently, who asks for her for nothing but honesty, and holds the most grounded conviction in his eyes - Margaery finds herself beginning to hope. ]

You're so very kind, my lord. Forgive me for being the instrument of your chains, while you give me freedom.

[ her smile is soft, as she takes his touch as an invitation to step closer, making room for herself so her arm can curl around his waist, as natural as a seasoned lover. ]

But I do not intend to ask you to change anything about your life, only that I become a part of it. I would very much like to meet your paramour, and your daughters, and everyone else who has the privilege of having your attention and affection.

[ standing so close, she has to tilt her head up to look at him, doe eyes in full effect with her smile. ]

Would that be alright?

[adorne]

[ It's strange, to be called 'my lord,' in a tone of reverence and gentility and not with undertones of lust or a gasp of elation. Oberyn is getting used to it, but his expression rises and falls with the strangeness of it. Kind is also not something he's often been called, cruel, mad, foolish, inbred, and more but kind rarely met him with earnestness. He's quiet for a moment as they walk arm in arm, a warm wind blows through his hair and billows her skirts and though he can feel his people's eyes on him his focus remains on Margaery a wellspring of new revelations. ]

Ellaria has not spoken to me since the announcement of our betrothal.

[ Though he has tried to reach out, his interest has been in remaining respectful for the sake of his girls, and their shared respect for both Ellaria and himself and their duties to Dorne. Ellaria was a hotheaded and proud woman, and Oberyn's choice to wed her out of duty to his country and family was met with the disdain he expected from her, though he hoped she might relinquish it over time. ]

But I will introduce you to my daughters, they are as sharp of tongue as I am and almost as deadly.

[ Oberyn leans into her advance, gently like a wave lapping at the shoreline. This was new, tentative in a way that physicality had never been for him but the body responds in kind and her curvature pairs nicely with his form, two half moons making themselves whole.

His jasper eyes find hers with some presentiment; they barely knew one another, but one thing he was certain of was that Margaery Martell was more than the sum of her parts, or as appearances would have a man believe. If he was the snake, she might well be the mongoose, unseeming but innocuous at a glance but just as capable. ]

[versigny]

[ Ellaria's response is unsurprising - Margaery remembers her and Oberyn both at her first wedding, eyes wandering separately but always so close together, hand in hand. she'd not thought much about them then, but even that small sliver of memory is enough for her to know that their love and history is not one she should seek to break for her own gain, that it would be her undoing instead. besides that, the last person she wants to be like is Cersei, who very clearly suffered a deep darkness at the state of her marriage to Robert Baratheon.

she hopes the paramour will reconsider her position, in time. she's always wanted to participate in a threesome.

just one of many fantasies she will divulge to her new husband, in due time. ]

Are you warning me because you plan to see how I fare against them?

[ it doesn't escape her notice that he praises their deadly talents, but in a country like Dorne, even royalty can't escape the need to be sharp at all times. and if she hopes to be true friends with his daughters, then she must find a way to maneuver herself so she's not dancing on the edges of their blades.

not for the first time, being Olenna Tyrell's granddaughter has prepared her for the most unexpected circumstances. she can only hope to pass on the same legacy for any who would consider her their guardian. or mother, if he's so inclined. ]

I promise I do not wander without baseless confidence, my lord. You needn't worry for me, as soft as I might look. Roses have the advantage of drawing admirers close to prick them with their thorns.

[ her eyes are glittering with amusement as she raises her brows, watching him watch her, smile suddenly mischievous. ]

Would you like a demonstration of how dangerous I can be?

[adorne]

[ Women of Dorne were proud and strong, and were they not both, they were at the very least unwilling to forgive a blight upon their self-image or their standing. This was both to Ellaria, who was now a mistress and not simply a chosen paramour.

Oberyn can still feel the sting from her open palm when he'd taken the time to tell her, her other hand in between his two palms. Regardless of the nature of how it came to be, it still wounded her ego, and he'd expected the resentment, but not the silence nor the careful avoidance. ]

I am warning you so that you can be prepared for the swiftness of their words, should they have judgments or reservations, or merely no need for formalities.

[ Another thing not often done in Dorne, but in her time spent in his home, he has noticed her opening up to the idea, blossoming like the rose she happened to be. Exposing herself to the sun and the warmth of it despite the softness of those petals.

Even now, when she basks in that glow, it surprises him so far from the woman he'd met before, in King's Landing. His quiet introspection peels up at the sides to unveil a lecherous smirk; he stalls beside an ornate topiary, fitting considering the verbal discourse between them. ]

A rose or a sundew? [ She was no longer a Tyrell, after all, and there was more than one kind of deceptive plant that she could parallel herself to. His amber eyes sparkle like mead under a sun dipping low over the horizon, tired of blessing their union with its rays. Oberyn had always been curious; he'd always had a taste for knowledge, danger, and the unknown, and she played right into his desires, despite their surroundings. ] Show me.

[versigny]

Thank you for your warning.

[ she means it sincerely: it would be easy, even understandable, if Oberyn were to leave Margaery on her own entirely after their wedding out of spite, to keep her vulnerable in a place she doesn't know well with culture that runs more deeply than the pretty utterances and superficial displays of King's Landing. many men have done worse with their intentional carelessness for a lot less.

when he stops, so does she, eyes narrowing under that same playful smile. this time, instead of keeping a respectful distance, she moves closer, owning the space between them as if it's entirely hers; not unlike a cat when it looks for a place to rest, especially when imposing itself on others. her hands travel up his arms, resting lightly on his biceps before moving up to wrap together around his neck. ]

Patience, my prince. I'm not so arrogant as to think I could be any danger to you when you're already on your guard.

[ the press of her body against his is deliberately slow, meant to be a distraction that pulls anticipation as a physical response. even if he can see through her ploy - and he most likely can - she doesn't care. after a day of careful formalities and being delicate, it's much more gratifying to indulge in a bit of harmless fun.

if he lets her continue, one of her hands will rake through the hair on the back of his head and tug with a gentle fist, meant to tilt his head up, exposing his throat. and there, she'll place a kiss - so soft that it might mimic the whisper of a blade. ]

ooc: sorry for the delay i hurt my hand

[adorne]

[ Her sincerity is a lecherous as her next move, and were he not so wise a man, he might be surprised by her cat that ate the canary enthusiasm now. The sun has fallen into the sky, a blood red casting shadows of blue, gray, and orange over the land. His homeland.

As much as he loved Dorne, he'd been traveling so long he didn't realize how much he'd missed it. Being here, even because of another wedding, filled him with a lust for life and rekindled an inner flame to a cresset long since extinguished.

The way 'my prince,' rolls off of her tongue peels his eyes from the sunset building on the skyline and to her angelic face. His mouth quirks up at one end, a smile in the face of her exploration, measured and therefore more memorable. Oberyn slides his hands down the silken back of the gown to reciprocate, splays his fingers out in five points as far as they will reach.

The tips of his fingers work toward the pursuit of tender tissue, moving past the landscape of supple flesh with intent to feel the musculature beneath, when Margaery grabs at the length of his hair. He grunts, for the first time too preoccupied with his desire and exploration to see it coming, and his chest rises to allow her the moment, eager to see where the softness and sharpness might meet. ]

I'm not known for my patience, Princess Martell. Few have deigned me with that virtue. Or any virtue for that matter.