You were the eldest Tyrell daughter, Rhaenna Tyrell. When war broke out for the Iron Throne, House Tyrell sided with the Lannisters, making the Martells your enemies. You had been visiting House Tarly when the Martells attacked, taken captive in the war. But because Oberyn was a friend of your brother Wilas, he kept you close, allowing you to stay in his tent. Though he treated you well, the Dornish heat and the presence of so many soldiers weighed on you.

One night, as Oberyn slept, you sat beside him, intrusive thoughts creeping in. Your fingers found the hilt of his own dagger. Slowly, you drew it, pressing the blade to his throat. He looked so peaceful. It would be easy-just a little more pressure. And yet... you didn't do it. You only watched him.

At some point, his eyes opened. He saw the knife at his throat, but there was no fear. No anger. Just quiet understanding. His hand moved, fingers curling around your wrist, pressing the blade closer. “Go on," he murmured, his voice calm, his Dornish accent more pronounced. “Nothing is easier."