The Red Viper and the Tempest.
An unlikely match from the beginning.
A moment of attraction, fleeting and memorable.
A hint of vulnerability, strong and lasting.
A spark of a flame, inevitable and ruining.
In the midst of storms and poisons, tw...
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Cassandra was no stranger to death.
That much was true.
She had watched her parents die as they were caught in a storm. She had seen Rickard and Brandon Stark lose their lives at the Mad King's command. She had been in the same room when the Mad King perished and rightfully so.
But she no longer wanted to face death for a good many years. She refused to.
Yet she could not help but feel fear inflict itself upon her when Oberyn's eyes shut before her, his hand falling from her face as he succumbed to his wounds.
Things passed quickly from then. Men came to carry Oberyn's body but she refused to leave him, holding his hand as they brought him to the palace. She ignored how his hand began to feel cold in her grip, only holding on to him tighter.
Faces and hallways blurred into one mess as they carried him to their chambers, the bed having not been slept in with its neatly folded sheets and the bedside table's contents not being moved from when she was last there.
That detail went unnoticed by her as maesters entered the room to assess her husband for his injuries. She could vaguely recall Ashara pulling her back by her elbow but all her attention had solely been on Oberyn.
She did not want to look elsewhere for fear that something might happen when her gaze was not on him.
She could only watch as they stripped him of his bloody tunic and removed the arrow from its place on his body, the blood gushing out like rivers of foul wine.
'Poisoned.' She heard the word leave the maesters' lips as they looked at the broken-off arrowhead and the broken skin on his shoulder.
It was almost ironical. Many times in the past, Oberyn had been accused of using poison by his enemies and now he was suffering from such an infliction. She hated it.
Cassandra held on to Ashara as she remembered the moments that had brought them to the present.
That arrow had been meant for her. That poison had been meant for her. It was supposed to be her lying on that bed, not Oberyn.
Instead, he had taken her place and he was the one now fighting for his life as the call of poison threatened to drag him further away from her and deeper into the arms of death.
She ached to be nearer him but knew that she could not be a bother to the maesters, not when they were doing all they could to keep Oberyn alive.
Ashara tapped her gently on the shoulder, shaking her from her reverie. "Cass, Prince Doran wishes to speak with you."
Cassandra could only shake her head in adamant refusal. "I don't want to leave him."
What if something were to happen while she was gone? She did not think she could bear not being here for him when he most needed her.
