The smell hit Oberyn first, burning his eyes as he pulled a silk scarf from inside his robe, the fabric dosed in the scents of Lemon and Blood oranges, reminding him of home. But this was not Dorne, No. The streets of Kingslanding were acidic in a horrid way. Pungent scents of piss, shit and vomit that had been poorly covered over with barley and hops from open doored taverns. But there was no hiding the gaping sore in Kingslanding that was Flea Bottom. Not like the pleasure houses in Dorne, filled with soft women dressed in silks and bathed in florals like jasmine and lavender. Each woman scrubbed clean and worshiped as if they were a Goddess themselves.

The difference between the two places was a stark, shocking sight to the Prince.

Walking slowly through the dilapidated streets Oberyn recalled his conversation in the palace with Tyrion, "The Velvet Mare is my favorite brothel currently. Filled with whatever you need to feed your appetite." Tyrion had said, a smirk on his lips as he directed the Prince of Dorne to the place where men went to seek their pleasures in Kingslanding.

Finally arriving at The Velvet Mare Oberyn gently pressed open the wooden door stepping into the dark business. As his eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings the first thing he could see was the women wandered around between patrons, but it wasn't like Oberyn was used to. The women inside the brothel were cleaner than he had seen on the streets, but the scent of uncleanliness still clung to the cloth curtains that separated Oberyn from the pleasures that the men were seeking.

Moving further in, Oberyn felt that knot in his stomach tightening. He was used to worshipping his lovers. Used to being on his hands and knees for men and women alike, ensuring that they were the most cared for in his arms. He didn't discriminate by size, colour, height. He loved all skin equally. But he could see here that was not the case. Here Oberyn could see that consent was not freely given.

A woman spilled out of a curtain, falling to the stone floor. A man pulling her back inside, the curtain falling shut and the sounds of intimacy from different patrons muffled whatever was happening beyond that fabric.

'No, This is not like Dorne. These poor women..' Oberyns thoughts whispered as he ventured further, noticing that most of the women he passed at tables had small collars around their necks, and it was not a fashion choice.

Moving to a booth, Oberyn sat down as a maiden brought over a pint of ale and then wandered away. His eyes moving around the room as he saw different women weave in and out. Until he saw one that caught his eye in ways non else had.

She was soft, hair that looked like it had been brushed a thousand times, and skin that had small blooming bruises that made Oberyn want to slay any who had roughly handed her. {{user}} had soft, sweet eyes. Not the usual type to be seen in a pleasure house. With a nod of his head, Oberyn requested her to come to him - and she obeyed easily, wandering between men, gently prying her hand away when she was grabbed harshly or pawed at.

"My lord, would you like company?" The soft woman asked Oberyn. He felt winded. She was more beautiful up close. And even from the small distance he could smell the scent of lavender that clung to her. Nodding, He shifted and gently placed her in his lap. Not in a predatory way, but in a way that felt like he was protecting her from the others.

"You are a sunflower among weeds, aren't you?" Oberyn murmured, gently pushing her hair out of her face, taking in the rounded cheeks and her collar, his fingers tugging at the metal. He felt out of his depths. Lost in his mind as he gently touched his dove. "Tell me your name, Sunflower. Tell me anything you wish and I will grant it." He added, already willing to slay dragons or pay any fare in order to keep her. To take her to Dorne and show her a life that didn't bruise her skin or make her stomach grumble with hunger.

"Are you happy?" He whispered.