Oberyn Martell²

You and Oberyn had shared countless moments of laughter, quiet conversation, and unspoken understanding over the years. Though the bond between you was undeniable, it was never meant to be more than that—not in his eyes. Yet, deep down, he had long wished for it to be. But those desires were buried beneath the weight of your marriage to Lord Whitehead of House Whitehead, and now, as you labored to bear your husband’s heir, the ache in his chest only grew.

When he heard your cries echoing from within the chamber and saw that your lord husband was nowhere to be found, Oberyn’s temper flared. The old customs that forbade men from entering the birthing room seemed foolish to him. He pushed past the nursemaids, brushing them aside with a fierce determination, and made his way to your side.

He knelt down beside you, his hands gentle but firm on yours as his eyes met yours with an intensity that held more than words could say.

“I am here,” he whispered, his voice a comforting rasp. “You are not alone. All will be well.”

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