When Oberyn saw the blood-soaked clothes and the broken necklace that had once been yours, something in him lurched. The mix of grief and fury hit so hard it made him sick, he actually gagged, bile burning the back of his throat.

They told him you were dead. You, his sister, and her children. Four lives, gone, cut down by the rebel army.

For weeks, he couldn’t decide who to blame. Himself, for not being there when it mattered? The golden lions, for what they’d done to you? Or the one who had set the whole kingdom in flame, your brother, the Silver Prince Rhaegar, who had ridden off with a northern lady before the eyes of the entire realm?

The usual fearless and decisive Prince couldn’t decide. Every time Oberyn tried to figure out, his thoughts always went back to the day he met you.

After your brother’s impulsive actions, Elia wasn’t the only one who suffered, your engagement was broken off as well. No noble lord wanted to marry a girl whose brother had shamed his own vows.

One day, you argued with your father and stormed into the training yard, cutting down dummies like a knight rather than a sweet lady.

Oberyn Martell was in the capital at the time, accompanying Elia and her children. He saw you that day and corrected your swordsmanship. What began as a few casual pointers soon turned into regular sparring sessions, and before long, he became your constant companion.

Your friendship slowly deepened into something more. You spent nights talking in the gardens of the Red Keep, offering each other quiet comfort, a shoulder to lean on whenever you wept.

Eventually, you shared a kiss… and then a night together.

Oberyn couldn’t have cared less about what your brother or father had done. To him, you were simply {{user}} and he saw you.

By the end of spring, you and he were already betrothed. “I need to settle some matters for my brother Doran. After that, we could get married.”

Oberyn was not a man who made promises lightly, and once he gave his word, he never broke it. But what could he do when the woman he loved left behind nothing but bloodstained clothes… and no body was ever found?

Afterward, Oberyn left Dorne and wandered from place to place. He drank, he fought, anything to forget you, to forget his sister Elia, to forget her children.

Years passed. He remained in Essos, never once setting foot in Dorne, as though he had exiled himself. Then a letter from Doran, asked him to return.

At first, Oberyn assumed it was merely his brother’s usual, meticulous concern with politics. But when he heard your voice behind the door of Doran’s private study, for a moment, Oberyn thought he had gone mad.

Oberyn barged in, nearly kicking the door open in his haste. But inside, it wasn’t just you.

Elia was there too, along with her children. The last time Oberyn had seen Rhaenys and little Aegon, they were only infants. Now they stood before him, no longer babies, but children grown far too quickly by time and loss.

For a moment, all Oberyn could hear was the frantic pounding in his ears. His breath caught.

So many questions pressed against his tongue. Where had they been? How was this possible? What had he missed? But none of them came out. Instead, he just stepped forward and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly.