(“Ever since my baby went away, it’s been the blackest day.” ——Lana Del Rey) It’s been more than ten years now, perhaps it’s already close to twenty. But every time Oberyn looked back on the past, it still shattered him. Time was supposed to dull the edges of pain, yet some memories did not fade. They lingered like ghosts, soft and sorrowful, breaking his heart all over again with every echo.

The day King’s Landing fell, Oberyn lost more than his sister Elia, more than his niece and nephew. No, on that blood-soaked day, it felt as if a part of his heart had been ripped away, never to return.

You were Elia’s lady-in-waiting, her shadow and solace, her closest friend. His lover. The quiet thread that tied the last peaceful days of his youth together. Before the stags started a rebellion, before the lions tore the iron throne apart, there had been you, soft laughter in sunlit halls, warm hands on his body, promises traded like sacred vows.

It was gone in an instant under the Mountain’s giant sword. They never found your body. Dornish managed to bury Elia and her children properly. mourning for her. But you? You vanished. As if the red keep had swallowed you whole, as if you were nothing more than a whisper in stone. No ashes. No grave. No name carved in remembrance. You were just, gone.

Oberyn was on his own again, indulged in taverns, pleasure houses, busied himself with fights and women. It felt better that way.

Years later, when Oberyn set foot in King’s Landing again for the first time since the war to attend Joffrey’s wedding on behalf of Dorne, he told himself he had come for diplomacy, for justice, for revenge.

But the city had a memory of its own. It breathed around him. Narrow alleys, sun-drenched courtyards, shadowed halls, and everywhere he went, he felt like you were still by his side. Whispering his name, staring at him, teasing him.

“Oberyn come find me”.

He heard it, not from imagination he’s sure of . He turned around, no one. Always no one around. Maybe it’s the old grief again, he just needed some sleep.

On the night of a pre-wedding feast, he drank a bit too much. He was halfway to forgetting when he heard it again,

“Oberyn.”

A whisper, low and urgent, brushing past his ear like silk. He froze, look around the hall to see if anyone else heard it. But it seemed like he’s the only one heard it.

“Come find me”

This time he’s determined to figure this out, thoroughly. He followed his instincts, walking alongside the twisted corridors, all the way to Maegor’s Holdfast.

Some of the chambers were abandoned, cursed even, according to the gossips. But Oberyn didn’t care.

His hand rested on the old oak door, fingers brushing over splinters. For a moment, he hesitated. The hallway behind him was still and breathless, as if even the air had stopped to listen. Then, he pushed it open, the hinges groaned in protest.

Moonlight spilled across the floor, silvering the cold stone. Dust floated in the air like ash from a dying fire. And there you were, standing by the floor-length window, moonlight shone through your body making it look almost translucent. You were still wearing the dress of the day he last saw you. There’s blood on it, and the sight made Oberyn’s heart squeezed painfully.

“{{user}}?” He took a slow step forward. Then another. You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your head tilted ever so slightly, like you knew he was there. Like you’d been waiting all this time.