Prince Oberyn Martell commanded attention wherever he ventured. Tall and slender, his form exuded a graceful athleticism that belied the lethal prowess he possessed as a renowned warrior. His countenance, etched with lines of experience, bore the mark of saturnine wisdom, while thin eyebrows arched over piercing black "viper" eyes that seemed to penetrate the souls of those who dared to meet his gaze. A sharp nose and tanned skin, complemented by a widow's peak framing his lustrous black hair, singled him out as having typical Dornish features.

Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, he was known as the Red Viper, and Oberyn's reputation preceded him. Lord Tywin Lannister himself spoke of Oberyn's reputed madness, a trait that only added to the mystique surrounding the enigmatic prince. To some, he was a force to be feared, his very presence evoking a sense of danger and unpredictability that left no man untouched. Yet, amidst the whispers of his infamy, Oberyn revelled in the rumours that surrounded him, half-truths and embellishments that only enhanced his legendary reputation.

For those who dared to delve deeper into the annals of Oberyn's exploits, the tales of his prowess in both battle and bedchamber rang true. A libertine in every sense of the word, Oberyn embraced the pleasures of the flesh with an ardour matched only by his skill with a spear. To him, the boundaries of desire were to be explored, transcending the constraints of gender and convention. Men and women alike found themselves drawn to his charismatic allure, each encounter, a testament to the prince's insatiable appetite for carnal indulgence.

Yet, despite his general preference for the company of women, Oberyn's dalliances with men were no less fervent. His time was divided amongst a myriad of admirers who sought to bask in the glow of his fiery passion. And though the prospect of marriage had never crossed his mind, Oberyn's legacy as a father was undeniable, his progeny scattered across the sands of Dorne like seeds sown in fertile soil. Four of his daughters were with his long-time paramour, Ellaria Sand, a woman whose allure matched his own in both wit and beauty. Together, they epitomised the essence of Dornish sensuality.

Today, after a long ride to King's Landing, they desired to explore that sensuality; they craved intimacy; they craved not only each other but to share the fun with others. A day in a comfortable bed spent fucking was Oberyn's idea of enjoying life to the full.

Oberyn and Ellaria had visited a few of the brothels on the infamous Street of Silk, but they hadn't found exactly what they were looking for. They possessed discerning tastes and were willing to pay to close the place down until they were finished. However, the establishments on the Street of Silk weren't as upmarket as they'd hoped. Therefore, they had been directed to Littlefinger's infamous brothel, closer to the Red Keep and far more discreet.

Guided by a redhead who called herself Ros, they were led into one of the rooms. The centre of the floor was dominated by a large bed surrounded by a heap of cushions. Silk and net veils in red and gold adorned the ceiling and walls, while the glass windows were shielded from prying eyes by intricate latticework and red veils.

"Is Littlefinger here?" Oberyn inquired, observing a handsome, dark-haired man entering through the back entrance and disappearing through a door. He wondered if the man was one of Littlefinger's employees, perhaps even one of his courtesans. Oberyn would pay well for such a fine-looking man.

"He's been out most of the morning, but he returned not long ago," Ros replied. "Would you like to see the girls?" she offered.

Oberyn nodded. "Of course."

Ros left the room, leaving Oberyn alone with Ellaria.

"I take it you noticed the boy," Ellaria smirked, pouring herself some wine and reclining, awaiting the arrival of the girls.

"How could I not?" Oberyn chuckled as Ros returned with three girls, who lined up for his inspection.

"You want him?" Ros inquired. Oberyn shrugged and redirected his attention to the girls before him.

He circled the three girls, akin to a cat stalking its prey. They were all beautiful, and they could afford to take them all, but only if they were worth the price. He halted beside the one farthest from the window. She wore a beige garment, yet despite that, with her long golden tresses, she exuded beauty.

"Look at this one. How lovely is she?" Oberyn ran his fingers through the whore's soft hair. "At least she's nice and clean," he thought.

"Beautiful. But pale," Ellaria commented.

"They like them pale in the capital. Shows they don't work the fields," Oberyn explained as he removed her tunic, causing her to flinch. "Do I frighten you?" his voice softened.

The whore shook her head while looking down at her feet. Either she was lying, new, or intimidated. Some liked them that way, but not Oberyn and Ellaria. He knew what his paramour would say before he even asked. "You like?"

"Timid," she said. "Timid bores me." Ros gave the whore a look, signalling that she wasn't wanted. The girl scuttled away to dress herself.

Oberyn moved on to the whore next in line. Dressed in similar attire to the first, she was shorter with strawberry blonde hair. Unlike the first girl, she had been meeting the gaze of both Ellaria and Oberyn. He knew Ellaria would like her. "You're a bit of mischief, aren't you?" he teased, as the whore smiled. "I think she likes you, Ellaria."

"She has good taste," Ellaria laughed, as Oberyn removed the dress she wore.

"You're not timid, are you?" Oberyn's voice lowered, knowing this was the one.

The whore sauntered forward, smirking, and balanced on her left foot while pulling her right foot behind her to touch her head to prove how bold she was.

Ellaria laughed. "Not timid."

"Do you like women?" Oberyn asked the girl.

"When they look like her, my Lord," the whore replied, staring at Ellaria, captivated by her dark beauty.

"This one will do nicely," Ellaria told Ros.

"Very good, my Lady," Ros smiled and nodded her head.

"Oh, I'm not a Lady," Ellaria smirked.

"A term of courtesy in this establishment," Ros explained.

"A lie anywhere. Why not use the right words? I'm a bastard. She is a whore. And you're what? A procurer?" Ellaria asked.

Ros cast her eyes down before responding. "Any of the others?"

"The two other girls can leave," Oberyn told her.

Ros glanced at the other two who were waiting in the doorway and turned to leave.

"Do you have any boys?" Oberyn asked, prompting Ros to turn back to him.

"I would need to check with Lord Baelish. We have one, but I'm afraid he's not on offer, my lord. He works behind the scenes, and helps to run the establishment when Lord Baelish is away," Ros replied.

"Everyone who works for Littlefinger is on offer," Oberyn said, however, he wanted the dark-haired boy he'd seen a few minutes ago. "What about the one I just saw?" Oberyn asked. Ros frowned in confusion. "Dark hair, beautiful and graceful. Does he work for Lord Baelish? I would pay handsomely for him."

Ros seemed to realize who he was referring to and chuckled. "Wouldn't we all, my Lord," she sighed wantonly. "But I'm afraid he's not an employee. He is here on business. That's Lord Whitestark."

Oberyn tried to think if he'd ever come across House Whitestark before, but the name was unfamiliar. "I have never heard of a Lord Whitestark."

"Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son, or not. It turns out he was Lord Brandon's bastard with Lady Ashara Dayne. Lord Stark gave him land in the north and married him off to his eldest daughter, Lady Sansa. It was quite the scandal in the north. It was said King Robert wanted Lady Sansa to marry Prince Joffrey, but Lord Eddard chose to marry her to his nephew, Jon, instead. They were raised as brother and sister, you know," she said, twirling her red hair around her finger.

Oberyn frowned, knowing that the story was nonsense. Ashara had a child, fathered by Brandon Stark, but he couldn't be their offspring. This made him even more curious to meet the handsome Lord.

"Go fetch Lord Baelish. And tell him to bring Lord Whitestark with him," Oberyn said. "Take the girl with you for the moment," he added.

"My Lord," Ros bowed her head and scuttled out of the room with the whore, closing the double doors behind her.

"Mm," Ellaria pouted. "Why did you send her away, my lover? Do you want the boy so much?" she asked.

"He's not Ashara's boy," Oberyn told her.

"How do you know?" Ellaria asked.

Oberyn raised an eyebrow in exasperation. She, of all people, should know how he would know this. "I know for a fact Ashara lost her babe. Three moons early. My nephew, Prince Aegon, was born only two moons before."

"Maybe it was a lie?" Ellaria suggested.

Oberyn shook his head. "Elia told me. Ashara's babe was a girl."

"So what? He is a nobody," Ellaria shrugged. "Another bastard."

Oberyn didn't want to share his suspicions with Ellaria until he'd taken a good look at this Lord Whitestark. For now, Ellaria would just have to wait. This was far more important.

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Oberyn and Ellaria didn't have to wait long before Littlefinger and Lord Whitestark appeared, both looking confused and apprehensive.

"Lord Baelish, what a pleasant surprise," Oberyn turned to the boy whom Ros had called Jon. "And we have not been formally introduced," he glanced back at Ellaria, who smirked in approval.

"Prince Oberyn, what a pleasure to have you visit my esteemed establishment," Littlefinger said, then turned to Lord Whitestark. "This is Lord Whitestark."

Oberyn looked Jon up and down. "I know every house name and sigil in the Seven Kingdoms. Why have I never heard of you before?" he asked.

Lord Whitestark swallowed. "Mine is a new house, my Prince. My fa... Lord Eddard Stark awarded me the lordship and lands in the gift." His voice was young, yet gruff, and his accent was very northern.

"Please, ignore the formalities, call me Oberyn, and your name is?" Oberyn inquired.

"Jon," Jon replied.

Oberyn appraised the man. His long hair was tied back, but he could see the curls trying to break free. Jon was clean-shaven, with delicate features and a long face, a typical Stark trait. Oberyn couldn't discern the colour of his eyes in this light, but they were dark. The northerner was slight of build but dressed in dark silks, more like a southroner. At his hip, he wore a sword, with a white wolf pommel which had red eyes.

"Why are you here?" Oberyn asked.

"To do business," Jon replied.

"Business? With Littlefinger?" Oberyn laughed.

"I was given a rundown town to rebuild. It lacks a whorehouse. Lord Baelish has offered to set one up, with the help of Ros. Can't have a town without a whorehouse," Jon shrugged.

"For you?" Oberyn raised an eyebrow, giving the boy a suggestive look.

Jon shook his head. "No, I'm a happily married man. When a man's wife is one of the most, if not the most, beautiful women in all the Seven Kingdoms, one tends to stay faithful," Jon turned to Ellaria. "Sorry, my Lady, no offence given."

"None taken. And I'm not a Lady. I'm like you, a bastard. Isn't that right, lover?" she turned to Oberyn.

Oberyn glanced over to Ellaria and then turned to Littlefinger. "Ellaria, Lord Baelish. Could you leave us for a moment? Jon and I need to chat in private."

Ellaria huffed as she got up to leave with Lord Baelish. "I'll be with our little friend in another room," she cooed.

"Don't wear her out," Oberyn winked, as his paramour left him and Jon alone.

Jon remained standing as Oberyn prowled, drawing closer to his prey. If he was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar, for Elia had told him Lyanna was with child, then surely the dragon left something behind in the boy.

Oberyn's gaze lingered on Jon. "You have the North in you," Oberyn began, his voice smooth as silk, "but that pommel there, on your sword," he pointed to the sword on the boy's hip. "Are you sure it should be a wolf?" he asked.

"The sword is Longclaw. And the pommel is carved because I have a white direwolf called Ghost who looks very much like this," Jon told him, which made Oberyn pause.

"Can I have a proper look?" Oberyn asked. Jon gave him a curious stare before unsheathing a dark grey sword. "Ah, Valyrian steel. You are becoming more and more interesting."

"Why? What am I to you?" Jon asked.

"Where were you born?" Oberyn inquired.

Jon took a deep breath. "In the south, Dorne."

"See, we are kinsmen. You are Dornish like me," Oberyn gave Jon a false smile, but the boy remained resolute. "Who are you, Lord Whitestark? Who are your parents?"

"My father was Lord Brandon Stark, and my mother was Ashara Dayne," Jon replied.

"Liar!" Oberyn whispered into Jon's ear and pulled back. "Do you know who my sister was?"

"Princess Elia, the wife of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen," Jon replied, his dark grey eyes staring at Oberyn. There was no outward sign of anger, but Oberyn could have sworn he saw a flash of indigo. The more he stared at the boy's face, the more he felt like he was staring at the face of his dead good-brother. It was an eerie feeling.

"Do you know who Elia's best friend was?" Oberyn asked, but before he gave Jon the chance to reply, he answered his question. "Ashara Dayne. It is true, that Ashara fell pregnant with your uncle's child. But she lost her daughter three moons early. Ashara never recovered from her grief," Oberyn sighed.

Only then did a flash of fear show on the boy's face, which was enough to satisfy Oberyn that the boy knew who he was. Which meant Jon was putting himself at significant risk by being in the capital. Oberyn glanced down at the sword once more and handed it back to Jon, who sheathed it in its scabbard. "Ought it not be a dragon?" he asked. "The wolf mother and the dragon father," Oberyn mused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yes, I see it now. You are the living legacy of a love that shook the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon stiffened, the weight of Oberyn's words settling upon him like a cloak. "How could you know?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Oberyn's smile didn't waver. "Elia knew. She knew of the child Lyanna carried. I was too consumed with grief to realize who you were when Ned Stark claimed you as his own. And now, seeing you, everything falls into place."

"What do you want from me?" Jon asked, his voice sounding aggressive for the first time since their introduction.

Oberyn gestured to one of the chairs. "Sit," he ordered. "Wine?" he offered. "Dornish red, only the best."

"It's not poisoned, is it? You have a reputation and have good reason to hate me." Rhaegar's boy was smart enough to know the danger. But Oberyn couldn't hold it against the boy. Instead, he was more curious than anything else.

"Wise to think that, your grace," Oberyn teased.

"I'm not..." Jon argued back.

Oberyn interrupted, but kept his voice low. "Not the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms? Not trueborn? Don't lie, you're bad at it. Elia told me Rhaegar annulled their marriage and married Lyanna. Aerys had already disinherited my niece and nephew. They were too Dornish, he claimed," Oberyn sneered at the memory while pouring the wine. When he turned back to Jon, the boy was looking at the floor, his face full of sadness, before taking the proffered wine.

Jon looked up at Oberyn. "You're the first person I've met who is related to them, other than me," he said. Oberyn remained silent, waiting for the boy to continue. "That war killed both my parents and my siblings. My mother died from birthing fever, but had she been somewhere more accessible to better care instead of the middle of nowhere, then she might have lived. I wish I could bring them back, but there isn't enough magic in the world for that," Oberyn watched as Jon clasped the goblet so tight, that his knuckles were white.

"And now you want revenge for a family you never knew," Oberyn surmised. Jon nodded his head, confirming his suspicion. "Good, that means we are working towards the same goal. Let us drink on it," he raised his goblet, as did Jon before they took a large drink.

"Did Lyanna give you a real Targaryen name?" Oberyn was curious to know.

Jon nodded and looked sheepish. "Aegon," he replied.

"She named you after your brother," Oberyn felt a surge of emotion well up inside him. He should be angry with Lyanna and Rhaegar. His sister would be alive if it weren't for them. Although the mad King was a threat and could have ended her life at any point. He just wished she'd never married the Prince in the first place.

"So, how do you plan to get revenge? By taking the Iron Throne?" Oberyn joked, but when he saw the look on Jon's face, he knew the answer was no laughing matter. "You're brave to take on the Lannisters. I suggest you don't go to the Red Keep, if anyone should spot you, I can't say whether you'd be recognized. You have the look of your sire."

Jon nodded. "I know, Ser Barristan told me. What do you want with me? Are you going to tell the Lannisters?"

"Why should I tell them? I want revenge on Tywin and that monster Ser Gregor Clegane for what they did to my family," Oberyn told him.

"Here, here!" Jon smiled. "At least that we have in common. I take it after that you want to kill me."

Oberyn shook his head. "I don't blame a child for the sins of the parents. But tell me, why do you want the Iron Throne? Personal gain? Revenge? Or something else?"

"What I want is irrelevant. It is the needs of the realm which are important. Should we examine the contenders? Cersei's children are all Ser Jaime's bastards. The next Baratheon is Stannis. He, along with his wife and daughter are to be executed for the royal wedding. That leaves us with me or Daenerys Targaryen, who has three dragons and isn't afraid to use them. She has no army and no cultural knowledge of Westeros. She'd either destroy the Seven Kingdoms or be destroyed herself. Which leaves me."

"Can you lead?" Oberyn asked.

"Lord Stark ensured I had the correct education for the task at hand. I've already negotiated peace with the Freefolk and am setting up a refuge for them south of the wall. There is good farmland in the gift and it would be a waste to not prepare for winter. I have established a new town already. The part about taking Ros north to set up the brothel was the truth."

"Are you here to cause mayhem at the wedding?" Oberyn was getting excited, but his anticipation was soon dashed when the boy shook his head.

"I'm here because the capital is full of the great and the good. I've been finding out who I can look to when the time comes."

"Were you going to ask Dorne to fight for you?" Oberyn asked.

Jon shook his head. "I didn't think you'd want to after what happened with Elia," he shrugged.

Oberyn sat back and folded his arms. "I cannot vouch for my brother, Doran. But I will help. Doran will probably keep Dorne out of the war."

"The Lannisters are planning to betroth Myrcella to Prince Trystane to keep you loyal," Jon told him.

"We shall see," Oberyn doubted his brother would be happy with the betrothal once he found out who Myrcella's father was. "So that is why you are here with Littlefinger. He is your spymaster," Oberyn smiled and Jon nodded at the clever deduction. "How else is he helping?"

"Lord Baelish has ties to the Vale. He has offered to talk them into supporting my claim. It would benefit him to do so," Jon gave a sly smile.

"So you have the backing of the north and the Vale. It is not enough," Oberyn shook his head.

"My wife is half Tully," Jon smiled.

"Alright, the Riverlands. This is looking better."

"If all goes to plan, I will have the backing of the Stormlands. I also have the support of a hundred thousand wildlings."

Oberyn was surprised by the numbers. "Impressive. I will see what I can do to help. We have no naval capacity, but we can raise fifty thousand soldiers. But that is only if my brother agrees."

"Not siding with the Lannisters would be a great help to my cause," Jon said. "Even better if your men can fight. But I won't count on it."

"Which means you only have to worry about the Westerlands, the Reach, the Crownlands and the Iron Islands," Oberyn said.

"There are houses in those lands who would still side with house Targaryen," Jon said. "It will even up the numbers."

"The only stumbling block is Tywin Lannister," Oberyn warned. "You need to get rid of him."

Jon nodded. "I know. I will struggle to win the war while he lives. I'm not that stupid. There are plans, but they can go wrong," he admitted.

"When do you leave?" Oberyn asked.

"The day before the wedding," Jon replied. "Why?"

"I would have liked to travel north with you. I have never seen the Wall. I hear it is astonishing."

"Aye, it is something to behold," Jon gave a wistful look. Oberyn wondered what the story was, but he didn't want to press on too much. "When were you planning on leaving?" Jon asked.

"A couple of days after the wedding," Oberyn replied.

Jon looked thoughtful for a moment. "Can I trust you?" he asked.

"I think it is a little late to ask that question," Oberyn laughed. "But yes, you can trust me."

"Alright then. I'm sailing for Dragonstone the day before the wedding. I've been overseeing a mining project. Send me a raven the day afterwards and let me know if you still wish to sail north. If so, I will wait for two more days to give you a chance to get there. If you cannot get to Dragonstone before I leave, you will find me in Gulltown. I will give you the address of the establishment. It may be quicker for you to sail directly to Gulltown as opposed to going via Dragonstone," Jon said. "But whatever happens, you must keep this to yourself."

Oberyn smiled. He knew Jon was up to far more than he'd let on, but he would wait and see. The boy seemed earnest and clever. He might make a decent King. His eye was drawn once more to the wolf pommel at his hip.

"Do you like to fight?" Oberyn asked. "Or do you prefer to fuck?"

"I enjoy fighting, but I care little for killing, although it is an essential part, and I am a little too good at it. But in truth, I'd prefer to spend my day in bed with my wife than on a battlefield. She smells and tastes far better."

Oberyn laughed, as did Jon. "Never have wiser words been said," he raised his goblet once more. "To the King, long may he reign," Oberyn smirked.

Jon mimicked him by raising his goblet. "To the King, long may he reign."