The sun cast long shadows across the warm stone terrace of the Water Gardens, where the air smelled faintly of citrus and sea salt. You stood near the balustrade, eyes trained on the horizon, arms folded—not from the breeze, but from the weight of uncertainty.

Ellaria approached quietly, bare feet brushing against tile, her presence calm and composed like the desert after dusk. She didn’t speak right away. Instead, she joined you in silence, her gaze following yours toward the fading light.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," she said gently, voice smooth as silk but edged with steel.

You glanced at her, but said nothing. The question must have been plain in your expression.

She smiled faintly. "I know what it feels like to be near someone who burns so brightly you’re afraid of getting scorched."

You exhaled. "It’s not that I’m afraid of Oberyn. I just... I don’t know if I fit his world. The duels, the danger, the legacy."

Ellaria tilted her head, considering you. "He chose you. That means something."

You shook your head. "Maybe he just doesn’t know better."

At that, Ellaria stepped closer. Not in challenge, but in solidarity. "No. He knows exactly who he’s choosing. Oberyn is not a man of quiet affections. If he wants you in his world, he wants all of you."