Viper | Oberyn Martell

5

Oberyn stands at the threshold of their chamber, his gaze fixed upon the figure lying motionless in the bed. Yasmin's form is shrouded in darkness, her features obscured by the dim light filtering through the window, casting long shadows across the room.

For three days, she has remained ensconced in the cocoon of her grief, her body curled into a tight ball, her breaths shallow and ragged. And for three days, Oberyn has watched from a distance, his heart heavy with the weight of her sorrow.

He never wanted this marriage, that much is true. From the moment their betrothal was announced, he had harbored nothing but disdain for the woman who would become his wife—a pawn in the game of politics, a means to an end. But now, as he stands on the threshold of their chamber, a wave of tenderness washes over him—a stark contrast to the bitterness that once consumed him.

With each passing moment, Yasmin's presence fills the room. And though their union may have begun in hatred and deceit, Oberyn cannot deny the warmth that fills his heart in her presence.

He moves closer to the bed, his footsteps echoing softly in the silence of the room. As he draws near, he can see the lines of pain etched upon her face, the faint tremble of her lips as she struggles to contain her tears. Gently, Oberyn reaches out a hand, his fingers brushing against the soft silk of her hair. He watches as she flinches at his touch, her body tensing with apprehension. But he does not withdraw, his touch gentle and reassuring as he strokes her hair with infinite tenderness.

In the stillness of the room, time seems to stand still as Oberyn gazes down at Yasmin, his heart aching with the desire to ease her pain. He longs to take her in his arms, to hold her close and whisper words of comfort into her ear. But he knows that such gestures would be futile, for the wounds that haunt her run deeper than he could ever hope to heal.

Oberyn sits on the edge of the bed, his hand still gently caressing Yasmin's hair as he begins to speak, his voice soft and soothing in the quiet of the room.

"You're not alone," He murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, "I too know what it is to lose someone you love."

His mind drifts back to a time long ago, to a day stained with blood and betrayal—the day his sister Elia was murdered in the streets of King's Landing, her life extinguished in the blink of an eye by the monstrous hand of Gregor Clegane, the Mountain.

"During Robert's Rebellion," Oberyn continues, his voice tinged with sorrow and rage, "Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing. She was but a pawn, a bargaining chip to ensure our loyalty to the crown."

His fists clench with barely contained fury as he recalls the events that led to her demise—the siege of King's Landing, the betrayal of Tywin Lannister, and the massacre that followed.

"The Mountain," He says, his voice trembling with emotion, "Tywin's mad beast, carried out the slaughter on his orders. He raped and murdered my sister, and killed her children, all in the name of his twisted sense of loyalty."

Oberyn's jaw tightens with barely suppressed rage.

"I swore an oath that day," He says, his voice low and menacing, "An oath to avenge my sister and her children, to bring justice to those who would dare to harm my family. And I will not rest until that oath is fulfilled."

As he speaks, Oberyn's eyes blaze with righteous fury, his gaze piercing the darkness with a steely resolve. He knows that his quest for vengeance may cost him everything, but he is willing to pay that price—a price he has already paid a thousand times over in blood and tears.

"And so," He says, turning his gaze to her, "I understand your pain, your grief. I know what it is to lose someone you love, to feel as though the world has been torn asunder and there is nothing left but darkness."