Chapter Text
When she woke up from her 8 hour long sleep, she didn’t expect to see a man standing in her bedroom. Nor did she expect the man to look exactly like Pedro Pascal... or to sound and look like him from the game of thrones show.
I mean, she vaguely remembered leaving game of thrones on before falling asleep. She had specifically left it on the episode of Oberyn’s death-- “the mountain and the viper.” (season 4, episode 8). She had always hated that damn episode and the way he died. This was her third time re-watching Game of Thrones and each time she saw his death, it made her tear up.
Honestly; she hated him for it, blamed him for his own death. He was so wrapped up in his pride and wanting the mountain to admit his wrongdoings that he let himself get killed. Plus, the way he died was disgusting.
Who wants to get their head literally squished in by the hands of Gregor Clegane???
She could only imagine what Elia had gone through considering they never showed her death on screen. Gregor had also raped her, squished her head in and then left her body on the steps leading to the Iron Throne.
She realized now why they never showed her death.
“Well... this uhm.. this isn’t what i expected..”
She grimaces as he turns his head to look at her; eyes narrowed like that of a viper. He certainly didn’t seem happy and she didn’t know how to remedy the situation! She was just as confused as he was; It wasn’t like she had superpowers..
..that she knew of.
“Who are you and what have you done with my paramour?”
She lets out a squeak, shuffling back as he points his very sharp looking spear in her face.
At least she had an idea of what “time” they were in.
Considering he was wearing his fighting attire and he had his spear.
Though they had never showed Dorne funeral practices, she assumed they were similar to that of the North. You build a funeral pyre, lay their body on it, cover their mouth and eyes with coins and set it on fire. For important people, they’d put them in a boat and push ‘em down the river; surrounded by things they loved when they were alive.
Then, they’d set it on fire.
It was fairly reminiscent of the roman funerals.
“i- wait, just, hold on!”
She puts her hands up, fearing that if she moved towards him, or really anywhere, the tip of the spear would pierce her.
He really wasn’t letting up on it either.
“i don’t have ellaria, and i don’t know how you got here either! this is my house-- my bedroom.”
He quirks an eyebrow, obviously confused and obviously not believing her.
“What sorcery is this? What land is this?”
She presses her back against the wall, turning her head to the side as the tip of the spear pierces her neck.
It’s only a flesh wound but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a bit.
Sort of like a paper cut.
“N-no sorcery, p-please just let me explain?”
She squeezes her eyes shut as silence washes over them.
She wanted him to believe her-- truly she did! --she was no threat to him and, at this point, wanted to figure out a way to get him home.
Well, maybe. He was dead in the series now so could he even go back?
She feels the tip of the spear leave her neck, a growl leaving his throat as he glares down at her.
She didn’t know how to feel about his hostility but it was justifiable. He was in a strange place, with a strange girl, in a strange house with things he’s never seen before. She couldn’t really blame him. If it were the other way around, she’d most likely act the same. Maybe not with that much hostility (because she's never held a weapon in her life!) but she wouldn't be trusting right off the bat.
“Explain yourself then.”