The Great War- Oberyn Martell

9. cardigan

Vaenera was cold, so cold.

She had kept her legs glued to her chest for hours now, but the freezing wind coming from every hole she could see was making her shiver uncontrollably. There was also rain. She knew that because she could hear the droplets coming down on the roof. A thunder struck outside. It was the fifth one in the span of the last ten minutes.

She was cold, so cold.

She didn't have the courage to light a fire. She used to do this often in her chamber at Winterfell. The nights were unpredictable there, and thick walls, even though created to protect from the cold, were unreliable. The coldness could wake her up even when lying under a stack of furs.

But it was not Winterfell.

There were no furs to hide in nor thick walls surrounding them. Only cold ground, a roof made out of leaking boards, and her small figure bent in the corner near the legs of a man lying beside her.

A lightning struck again, and Vaenera jumped in her place. A dagger appeared in her hand. She waited a few seconds, but no one came crashing through the door.

She was cold and afraid.

The events of the last three days kept replaying themselves in her head constantly, keeping her company.

She still heard the voice of the man sent by Cersei saying that Este was captured, probably raped multiple times, and surely dead by now. She still saw the red she was seeing when she decided to jump on him from her hiding place. She still felt the cold steel pressed onto her throat and his filthy hand on her body.

And she was still seeing the face of the man who saved her.

Oberyn Martell not only saved her life. He saved her. All of her. He could have left her the moment the man told him he was free. But he didn't. He stayed there, ready to do what should have been done. And somehow, he saw an opportunity and saved her, paying for it with his own life.

Her eyes moved to the man lying on the makeshift bed. He looked so peaceful. Just as if he was sleeping. No one would say in that moment that he was the most dangerous warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms who barely escaped death a few days ago.

After Oberyn killed the man, she felt... weird. It seemed that in her life, death used to follow her wherever she went. Starting with her mother and brothers all the way up to the Starks, ending on Este. She thought that when the Stranger was to come after her, she wouldn't mind. She would just greet him like an old friend, having no doubts and regrets like so many before her.

She felt the same even when she shouted to Oberyn to kill her. She knew he had understood her, and that relieved her. She was ready. The Mountain was dead, Tywin Lannister was dead, and so was the Stillwood boy. Her mother was avenged and at peace.

But when the dagger hit the man's throat and not hers...

She was happy. Happy to be alive. Happy that they both were alive and free. And safe. But that didn't last long. It was a moment. A second. One of the men who she thought was dead stood up and with his last breath attacked Oberyn from behind.

When Vaenera pulled her second dagger from her pocket and killed the man, it was too late. The blood from Oberyn's side splashed all over the trees, and he tripped, falling down on the ground. His head landed on some kind of stone. He was unconscious ever since.

Vaenera's hands were so cold she could swear they had become warm when she knelt down near her savior's body and pulled the material of his shirt. The wound wasn't bleeding as the bandage was as clean as it could have been in those circumstances.