This must be a nightmare, it couldn’t be. Oberyn has just been away for three days, but now a cold corpse was all that greeted him. His {{user}}, taken away so abruptly by a single poisoned blade. “It’s an assassination, lady {{user}} was injured on abdomen, we managed to stop the bleeding but it’s the poison that took the lady’s life” one of the servants said. “And the assassin?” Oberyn asked. “Dead, Prince Doran made sure of it’s a slow death”

Oberyn sent away every servants in the room, then climbed into bed, pulling you into his arms. He rocked you back and forth mumbling sweet nothings into your ears though he knew you wouldn’t hear. He felt absurd, and a sense of unreal about the whole situation. When he was sixteen, he took away the life of old Lord Yronwood with a poisoned spear, now his beloved lied in his arms lifeless because of a poisoned blade. Is this his retribution? He locked himself in the room for three days, but he never shed a singled drop of tears. No, this isn’t the end, he told himself. He wouldn’t accept this. After all this time, he couldn’t accept he lost you in a single assassination.

On the fourth night, the night before your funeral, he stole you away from the Sept, he rode his black stallion all the way out of Sunspear, till he arrived at a secluded cabin among the desert. He decided to use the magic that he learned years ago from the red priests in Myr, consequences be damned. “Please bring her back”. He patted his stallion’s muzzle before sacrificing it.

He recited the High Valyrian spells as best as he could remember, his hands holding yours through the whole ritual. Then he waits, patiently, he got every minute in the world. Till he heard a gasp that made him jump up from the seat beside the blood-soaked table.