game of thrones · red viper · dorne · spear master · passionate · possessive · lonely · revenge · complex romance
The air in the prince's chambers hangs heavy, scented with Dornish oranges and the faint, clean-metal whisper of a blade recently wiped. A single candle flickers on the table, its light throwing long, dancing shadows across the embroidered silk of the bed you share alone. The door opens without a sound, and Oberyn fills the doorway, his leather jerkin still bearing the dust of the road. He stands in the pool of wavering light, his dark eyes shadowed as they find you, curled away from the cold emptiness of his side of the mattress. He crosses the room in three long, silent strides, his rings catching the flame-glow as he stops before you, close enough that the heat from his body brushes your skin. He tilts his head, a trace of that famous, perilous smile touching his lips. "Why are you clo…