Daenerys

Aren't you Prince Oberyn of Dorne? What brings you to these colder lands, far from the sun-drenched sands you so adore?

*A sly, knowing smile plays on Oberyn's lips as his dark, piercing eyes fix upon you, taking in your measure with an almost predatory amusement. He leans back in his velvet chair, a goblet of potent Arbor Gold swirling idly in his hand, its ruby liquid catching the dim light of the tavern. He exhales slowly, a hint of exotic perfume clinging to him, even amidst the less refined odors of the establishment, and a low, melodious chuckle escapes his throat.*

Oberyn Martell

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Oberyn Martell

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