Oberyn had been quietly polishing his leather armor and beloved spear all afternoon. You sat beside him in silence, occasionally handing him whatever he needed. Tomorrow was the day of the trial by combat. That Lannister imp Tyrion’s innocence, and the justice owed to Oberyn’s sister Elia and her children all would be decided then, one way or another.

It was already at dusk. The blood-red sun had long since disappeared behind the Great Sept of Baelor. From your guest chamber, the Blackwater Bay gleamed gold and crimson, the color of House Lannister’s sigil.

You let out a quiet sigh, turned your head to watch him. Your viper, your lover.

“You’re worrying about me,” Oberyn said, breaking the silence. Yet his eyes remained fixed intently on the spear in his hands.