The Company of the Rose was pitiful.

"They're not real Northerners anymore," said Oberyn, the two standing over their home's balcony as the fifty-strong men and women marched in, guided by Ahyad and Vazim. "They've been here so long, they lost that strength. I think you'd like the North, if you went. I've always wanted to see it."

"Perhaps we shall go someday," said Brynhildr, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "If only to bed a Northerner."

Oberyn winked. "I'll transform into one for you, and you need not travel so far."

With a playful roll of her eyes, she leaned over the railing as the group filed into the lower courtyard. The leaders, one man and one woman– supposedly a pair of siblings– stepped out from the crowd and looked up at them. They were tall, but not as tall as her, nor did they look as strong. In fact, all the fighters seemed as though they'd been lacking in proper meals for the past months.

"Welcome," said Oberyn in the Common Tongue. "I am Prince Oberyn Martell."

The man bared a set of uneven, yellow teeth. "I am Osric, and this is my sister, Shyra. The Company of the Rose is here to discuss your offer of a merge under our banner."

"You are mistaken," said Oberyn. "We are not merging under your banner."

Shyra spoke in a deep and raspy voice, though it sounded less intimidating and more like she'd screamed her lungs out every day of her life. "And why not? We've more fighters than you. I counted six guards on our way in and all I see now is two of you."

"My company's men– and woman– fight with the strength of ten of you," said Oberyn curtly. "I believe that puts us at eighty-to-fifty, doesn't it? Five of us could kill all of you while the other three cheer."

Osric sneered, "If you called us here for a fight, you'll find your victory not so easy to attain."

"I did not ask for a fight," said Oberyn, furrowing his brows innocently. "You misunderstand me. We are not merging under my banner, either." He gestured to Brynhildr, "I present to you the Princess Brynhildr of House Lothbrok."

"I've never heard of a House Lothbrok," said Shyra, nose turned up. "Where did you find her? I suppose everyone calls themselves 'Princess' these days."

"In the fighting pits of Meereen," said Brynhildr, not insulted only because she wasn't a Princess in these lands– Oberyn only liked to refer to her as such. "Before then... well, I'll tell you that if you pass my tests as warriors. I've much to teach you of the land I hail from. It is far from here, even further than where you all originated from."

"A test?" demanded Osric. "Come down here and I'll test if you're even worthy of our presence here. You seem to think highly of yourself, foreigner."

She strode down the staircase and into the courtyard, taller than all present. She unsheathed her sword and pressed it over the bulge in his throat, his fighters immediately drawing their own swords. Brynhildr was ready, ripping her knife from her belt and pointing it in Shyra's direction the moment she twitched.

"Say it again," Brynhildr prompted Osric. "Tell me what I am worthy of and I'll see if I deem you worthy of mypresence."

"You've chosen single combat, then," said Osric, eyes flickering to his sister, who stepped away from Brynhildr's knife. "Fine. We fight to first blood. You defeat me, I will listen to your proposal."

Oberyn let out a loud laugh as the Company of the Rose began to step back, forming a circle and giving Osric and Brynhildr room for their battle. "What?" demanded Osric as Brynhildr took her sword from his throat, twirling it in her hand. "What are you laughing at, Dornishman?"

"You won't last very long against her," said Oberyn, running his tongue over his lips as if to make another insinuation.

"Save it, Oberyn," said Brynhildr, holding out her sword. "He wouldn't get me in bed even if he tried. He'd last even less there than he will here."

Osric made the first attack, barreling towards her and slashing up at her face. She tucked the sword up, blocking, and with ease cut downwards as she shoved him back with her knee. He shouted out when her sword nicked at his upper thigh, blood dripping onto the stones. Unsatisfied, Shyra lunged at her. Brynhildr stepped out of the way and flicked her sword behind Shyra's neck, dragging it back enough to make a small cut beneath her hairline.

"That's two points for me," said Brynhildr, pointing the bloodied sword at the others. "Anyone else wish to add to my tally?"

"Know when you are beaten," said Oberyn, leaning back and forth over the railing as if playing a game with himself. "My company is new. Yours is old and still failing. You haven't been hired for a job in months. You walked away without fighters at the pits in Meereen. You could not afford to purchase them. And you would do nothing good to train them. You're all weak swordsmen and swordswomen."

Shyra breathed heavily, tracking Brynhildr's movement as she skipped back up the stairs to join Oberyn. "Fine. You've drawn our blood and our interest. But why do you call it your company under her banner?"

"I'm trusting her to hold the company for me, as I will sometimes need to be in Dorne and in other places. I believe you can all be whipped to shape and she wanted female warriors to turn into shield-maidens. I want you to submit to her as your captain and let her teach you how to return to your former glory. She will be the one to make this a strong company with a good reputation. I am simply her means to this end. Now, will you be helped or not?"

The siblings turned to each other, and finally nodded. "Fine," said Osric. "Let us see what we can learn."

They stood to learn much. Which was both a good and bad thing in Brynhildr's eyes. It meant they knew next to nothing, a blatant certainty when she tested them in swords and saw they weren't even all that good at the one weapon they all specialized in. They'd taken the word 'sword' in 'sellsword' and run poorly with it.

For the next week, she evaluated every single person in the Company of the Rose and tested them with different weapons. Some, it seemed, were better suited for battle with axes or clubs. Some were great archers or wielded spears as if it were an extension of their body. Few kept to swords and shields and them, she beat at until they learned their weak spots. Oberyn watched her curiously, ever so often adding his own input. It came less and less frequently as the days went on.

Only after Osric and Shyra openly admitted to there being a benefit in sticking around did Oberyn pose a proper job for the group. Together, they sailed from Tolos to the nearby isle of Elyria, where they would be finding and defeating a group of prisoners hiding within the city with the apparent goal of assassinating the man who'd put them in the dungeons and had intended to send them to Meereen.

Brynhildr led the sweep of the city, placing her mercenaries in balanced groups with a mixture of skill with both weapons and perception, allowing them all to keep a good watch for clues of where the prisoners had gone. She taught them to use their senses, to find traces the way an animal would in the woods to locate food. Within two days, they found a cave in the mountains and brought them back to the dungeons, where a large sack of coin was given to the Brave Companions for their troubles.

Upon their return to Tolos, Oberyn make the call to the next group– the Wolf Pack, similarly formed by Northerners. They, too, had about fifty to their name, and fewer women, but stood to gain about as much as the now-extinct Company of the Rose had. Once more, Brynhildr began her training regimen, with the added benefit of helpers of all skill types and levels, until she'd whipped the much older Wolf Pack members into shape.

"It was exhilarating," she told Oberyn after their second job under the banner of their company, guarding a Toloshi merchant who was transporting golden artifacts from the other side of Slaver's Bay. "How we led him up to his house, how he turned to me and asked me to distribute my men and women around the house for the week he sold his items. I'd never felt more... more proud. And when that group of thieves came, I cut through them like they were nothing. Shyra listened to me when I told her to string them up at the gates for other would-be thieves to see."

"You are someone the people have come to look up to," said Oberyn, stopping in her doorway as she went to set her weapons down beside her bed, presumably about to bathe and bid him goodnight as she always did. "They see your strength and they are eager to follow it. I knew I made the right choice with you." He crossed his arms, seeing how she tucked her hair up, not undoing her braids tonight. "Who is the most beautiful goddess in your religion?"

Brynhildr removed her belt, "Well, Freyja is the goddess of love and war. Her beauty is second only to Odin's wife, Frigg."

"Love and war? Two... very different things."

"In a sense," said Brynhildr. "Her war chariot is pulled by cats. I suppose, in a sense, I love war and need to love to want to go to war. That's my best way of explaining it to you. She is the goddess of other things. Beauty, gold, fertility, even magic."

"Magic?" Oberyn was intrigued, and stepped into her room, shamelessly seating himself at the edge of her bed. "What magic?"

Brynhildr sat beside him, grinning as she always did when he asked about her people. "She is the goddess of seiðr. There are two types of magic we practice– seiðr and galdr. Seiðr involves... altered consciousness, seeing. Manipulating fate, divination, and also healing. It is practiced by women, who we call seiðkonur."

He scooted himself closer as she continued, "Galdr uses runes for spells. We sing songs to make storms, to determine how a battle ends– they say galdr can even blunt swords in these critical moments. This is typically done by men. My mother, she was a völva. She could see bits of the future. The seiðkonur mostly did this, produced prophecies more often than casting spells. They were seers while those who practiced galdr were singers– there are even songs that make childbirth easier."

Oberyn reached out to cup her chin. "And what of a song to make a beautiful woman– who must surely be the goddess Freyja– give into her curiosities with me?"

Brynhildr blushed. "I am not Freyja. Nor do you need to sing a song for that." She became serious, tucking one leg up on her bed. "Oberyn... I have considered my curiosities. But I am not sure they are a good idea."

"Why not?" He furrowed his eyebrows. "What are your worries, Princess?"

She shrugged, trying to find the words to say it. "I have never been in love before. I don't know what it entails. I worry it will distract me, I worry I won't like it because I know nothing about it. I don't understand it. And... I do not wish to carry your child. I do not think I am ready for that, or marriage."

"I have never been in love, either," said Oberyn. She narrowed her eyes accusingly, and he insisted, "Truly, I have not! I did not sire my daughters because I loved their mothers, I sired them because I felt passion and so did they. It is not the same as love. We can explore this passion without creating a child. We do not need to fall in love for this to happen. Only if you want to."

"I am not sure I want to. But I want the curiosities to find their end, I want to know."

"What is it that scares you about it?"

"Not that it scares me. It is simply that... I am not sure I want to commit to it. Committing to love means... missing you when you go. It will be soon, that I am sure of. It will mean... being vulnerable to another. For the sake of our company, I do not think I let myself be romantically involved with anyone. Not until there is stability."

"You can decide how involved we become," he offered. "We can be in love, or we can not be. We can marry, or we can not marry. We can sleep together, or we can not. If you wish to only use me for your pleasure, then I am at your service. And if you were to wish for me to be devoted to you and only you for the rest of my life... I would."

Brynhildr leaned towards him. "Even if it holds you back from having a fourth daughter?"

"Even so," he confirmed. "It is your choice and your choice alone. I will do as my Princess asks of me."

Brynhildr pursed her lips. "Is it... wrong to want to... test you before I consider love and marriage further?"

Oberyn thought of it for a moment. "Test me how?"

"I want to see if... I like it. The feeling you will give me when we bed each other. I want to see how it will feel to be around you afterwards. I want to see how I will feel when you go back to Dorne and when you return. Only then can I know if I am ready to take the next step."

"I think this test is perfectly fine," agreed Oberyn. "Does that mean you wish to, then?"

Brynhildr began to smile. "Close the door and take off your clothes."

-

A/N: Going to be a *little* more detailed than my fics are usually. I stopped writing blatant smut years ago because people used to bitch about it, so if it bothers you... literally don't read it. Both Vikings and Game of Thrones have super vivid sex scenes and it felt right for these two characters, so...

-

He stood leisurely, giving her time to begin removing her armor. She went to her prepared bath, the water no longer warm, and let him watch from the doorway as she slid into it, completely bare, but facing away from him. She washed herself carefully, listening to the rustle of his own clothes, until he'd come to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders.

She swirled her hand at the water, silently asking him to get in with her. Brynhildr drank in every inch of him, and he smirked down at her until he sank into the tub, extending his legs over hers. Oberyn held onto the sides, flicking a finger as if to beckon her towards him. She slithered over to him, steadying her breathing as he grabbed her hips and pulled her to sit on his lap. The feeling was strange– she'd never been pressed up to anyone while naked. Really, never been pressed up to anyone at all.

He leaned close and she stood still, allowing him to press his lips against hers. It took her several seconds to react, then another few to understand that she was supposed to make the same motion back. Oberyn massaged her hips the whole time, her hands moving from his face to his shoulders, not sure what she was supposed to grab hold of. He didn't correct her, which must have meant either one was fine.

After some minutes, she felt she understood what her lips were supposed to be doing. Oberyn was guiding her by tilting his head, sucking in her bottom lip, switching sides and using his tongue to press until she opened her mouth just enough for him to slide it in. She didn't know people kissed like that; perhaps that was a Dornish thing.

She started to feel more comfortable with it, no longer worried that Oberyn had moved one hand up to knead her bare breasts, the other between her legs and bringing a pleasurable sensation she didn't know existed. No wonder people liked having sex so much– they weren't yet at the part that made children and it already felt wonderful.

He moved his lips away from her mouth and kissed her neck instead. Then, he lifted her up using the hand between her legs and had her kneel in front of him, until he was able to kiss her chest. Her fingers became tangled in his hair, and she worried she'd hurt him when he groaned. When she stopped, however, so did he. She went back to it, letting the strands curl around her fingertips, until at last she realized the noises he made were noises of pleasure.

There came a point where she started to feel lightheaded. Oberyn seemed to sense that and stood out of the bath, pulling her with him and laying her on the edge of her bed. She was sure this was going to be the part everyone spoke of– the one that was painful at first– but Oberyn simply left her at the edge, parted her legs, and knelt in front of her. She sat up on her elbows to look down at him, the sight not unlike how he was when he watched her fight. Worshiping every inch of her. His tongue was wicked in more than just speech.

Brynhildr gripped the bedsheets, back arching and moans escaping as Oberyn finally reached his goal. She lost feeling in her toes, her thighs tingled, and she had the sensation of relief flooding her, a warmth that filled her and made her feel as though she was floating. As she tried to catch her breath, eyes shut as if the dim light of her candles had become too much, she felt Oberyn crawling onto the bed with her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice teasing.

"Very alright," she murmured. She gathered her bearings enough to slide herself away from the edge, holding his shoulders and pulling him down to kiss her again.

She felt him parting her legs, settling himself between them. She knew this part might hurt and braced herself. There was pressure, then only bliss. Brynhildr couldn't even kiss him anymore– she had to draw away to manage some air. Oberyn's fingers gripped tight to her thigh, which he tucked around his waist as he began to drive inwards and outwards, hips rolling like a dancer.

He buried his head in her shoulder, whispering for her to keep making noise, to let him know if she liked it, and she knew then why he did this. Oberyn wasn't the sort of man who wanted a quick fuck, who sought only his relief, the way many Vikings did. He did it because he liked eliciting these reactions from his partners. He only enjoyed it if his partner enjoyed it.

Finally, once he judged her stable enough, he lifted himself up, placing his hand around her throat. He began to move with more force, and she knew as he stared down that it was a challenge to see what she liked and how much she could take. With a grin, she reached her hands onto his shoulders, digging her nails in as hard as she could. That, he liked.

He withdrew, turning her onto her stomach. "With your permission, I'd like to finish within you. I'll make you a tea if you do not wish to have a child."

"A tea would be nice," agreed Brynhildr, still panting. "Though, even without it, I bet the gods would not want your seed to take."

"One day, when you are ready, I will take that as a challenge." He lifted her hips to meet his, and took her breath within the next second. She gripped at the pillows, whining as he tugged hard at her battle braid, curling her back until she saw stars flash in her eyelids. One day, she'd have to ask for a detailed explanation of what differences these things he did made, for she imagined many men must not know them.

He drew away only after he finished, leaning down to kiss between her shoulderblades. As she laid down, pulling her sheets over herself and trying to rest her trembling legs, she watched him– still unclothed– reach for her case of herbs and begin to mix them in a bowl.

"What is that called?" she asked curiously.

"Tansy tea," said Oberyn, taking a candle and placing it beneath one of his strange tubes. He poured water into it, then let it heat up. "In Westeros, we use it to prevent pregnancy. It can sometimes work even after a woman is pregnant."

He sat beside her, taking her hand. "How do you feel? Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

"No," she said, smiling up at him. How did she feel shyer after he'd seen every inch of her body? "I enjoyed that. My curiosity is sated."

"Good," said Oberyn, kissing her knuckles. "I am glad. Now, you know what a person should be capable of giving you before you marry them. It is not a prerequisite for love, but I've heard it feels better to do this with someone you hold that intense feeling for. Though, while you should not use this to decide if you love someone or not... you should expect that a person who loves you or wants to love you to be able to understand and fill your desires. Otherwise, they are not right for you."

"So, I must only love a person who can fuck me this way?" she teased.

"Not exactly. You see, if you wish to love a person who does not like sex while you do, then it is unlikely it will work because the physical does matter as much as the emotional. And if you wish to love a person who does not do sex the way you do... then you can only love them so much. It is the truth many do not understand. They marry by arrangements and they wonder later why they are unhappy. These carnal desires, we were given them for a reason. We should indulge them and not let them be taken for granted."

Brynhildr thought of that for a moment. "I think I could love you, if I tried. If I learned more about it, if I finally found exactly where I am meant to be. It would... hurt us both if I started to love you and then one or both of us wasn't able to be around for it. I assume the gods mean for me to stay here, but I am not certain. Is that... alright?"

"Yes, it is. If you wish for that... you need only tell me. We will both try. If it does not work... then it was not meant to happen. And if it does... then I think we could be happy together. We never need to marry or have children of our own."

She smiled. "Then, I will consider it and tell you once I know it is what I want. Until then... I imagine we can each do as we please. Bed whoever we want... in your case, sire whatever daughters you want. If we come to love each other, I will treat your daughters as if they were my own."

Oberyn's gaze softened, and he dipped down to kiss her forehead. "Though you are not ready for it, I will tell you this much– I would be honored to be loved by you. Whoever the gods have sent you here to love– for I think only through love would you bear a burden and change history in a land your people were not meant to see– is a lucky person indeed."