Author's Note: This isn't a regular story, but a series of drabbles from twenty different characters in A Song of Ice and Fire. Each is exactly 100 words long, and consists of one paragraph. I haven't put the names for each POV, because I hope that I've written them well enough that they can speak for themselves. Enjoy!
He dreamed of flames every night. They licked at his face and melted his skin. When he awoke, he was always drenched in sweat, as if his body was trying to extinguish the fire his own mind created. During the day, he could push the thoughts away, though they always danced behind his eyes. His only relief was the thrill of fighting, of death, of killing. Then, if only for a moment, there was a sense of calm, an instant where he can think. He sought out arguments like a dog searches for companionship, and welcomed the smell of blood.
She brushes her hair with extra care today, knowing that the guests will be arriving, and admires how it shines when she peers into the mirror. Her father is distracted, and has told her that things may be changing. It will be welcome, to leave this dreary place, and be a lady at court. She will have attendants to brush her hair for her, and lovely dresses. It is a fairytale wonderland that waits for her. Sighing happily, she smooths a stray lock of hair back and pinches her cheeks. This is the first day of her happily ever after.
He stares at her, a silver-haired wisp standing alone. She is not dressed in the Dothraki manner, but is still meant to please him. He stares at her body, and she looks down in shame. Behind the shy gaze is the look of a stallion, frightened and captured, yearning to be free. There is something to be done with her. Without another word, he gallops away. The women of the dosh khaleen foretold that silver would beget The Stallion that Mounts the World. On his steed, he is confident he bear a part of the coming of this great khal.
Since the Lord of Light entered her heart, her mind, her body, she had never had reason to doubt anything. The power was awesome: she could see the truth in every flame, and feel it fade away in the wisps of smoke of extinguished fire. Some didn't know the power she held in her very blood; those who crossed her learned the burn of her righteous anger. She had learned herself fire worked in unexpected ways, so trusted the visions she saw as absolute truth. Fire had its own way of completing its goals, and she would create the trail.
He loved the sound of the stamp hitting the paper, the smell of melted wax. Sometimes the candle tried to burn him, but he always pulled his hand away just in time. His mother would get mad and scold him when the wax dribbled on the papers, said it wasn't kingly, but he didn't see a way around it, the wax was drippy when it got hot. There were so many papers, so many things to stamp, sometimes they kept him doing it for hours. He didn't mind, it was so much more fun than sitting on the Iron Throne.
She had never fucked a dwarf before. Short men, fat men, yes, but never a dwarf. He kept her in the dark, under the ground, surrounded by old and scarred men, eunuchs, men whose faces frightened children, but he didn't need to bother. She could be surrounded by beautiful oiled men with lust in their eyes and deny them then and there. From the first time he fucked her, she couldn't stop thinking about his cock. She hadn't thought much of it when she first saw it, but he filled her like no one else had. Nothing else could compare.
Some said that he was made of stone, like the castle he lived in. Strong and proud and unyielding, forthright and unchanging. Others said that he was like the sea, calm and deep, but able to raise a fury when it was needed. Only she said he was like the fire, strong and hot, grasping at opportunity, engulfing what he needed to survive. Perhaps all this was true, but he didn't feel like any of that. He was just a man, bound by honor, to do what was right. He would win the war and rule, it was his duty.
No one else understood the constant danger she was in, the spying eyes all around. Even high above the world, they were there. Watching. She posted guards, hid away, demanded her banner men train to defend her home, but nothing could make her safe. To keep herself occupied, she kept tabs on the sky cells, the moon door, for ways to stop her enemies. She held her plan close to her heart, waiting and watching for the right moment, for him to come. One day, it would all be worth it, and he would be there to protect her. Forever.
Every time he came back, he could tell something was lost. He knew he should have memories of childhood: his mother, playing with friends, working in the fields. He knew none of that now, didn't even know if he had any siblings. There was always a sacrifice to be made. The full use of his arm was gone to him, and he knew his vision was graying around the edges. No longer could he make the same detailed plans, instead relying on his men. He was nearing the edge of what could be done, and he couldn't come back again.
She had seen more winters than she could count. The cold was once again creeping into her bones, harsh and piercing, making it was harder and harder to stay warm. She knew she would not see another summer, but did not mind. The old gods had seen fit to let her live this long, but they would call her back soon to a resting place in the godswood. She knew their truths would fade away without her stories, their knowledge would slip even further away. She had done all she could, served as she was needed, and she was tired.
The heat of the East did not agree with him: the unyielding sun, eternal sand, and endless grass was foreign and uncomfortable. However, it was all the home he had now, protecting his khalessi in this strange place. She felt she had to dress in the local clothing style, which he had protested until she saw her in the dress, breast bared. For a time, he did not mind at all, but hated the sight of other men being privy to her body like that. He was always near, in case of danger, and she was all he lived for.
It was difficult to live in constant fear, knowing that one wrong move or word would bring punishment. She had been bleeding for only a few short months when he came to her the first time and took her as his wife. He was quickly distracted as another of her sisters came of age soon after, and his attention was divided. He didn't stop coming to her sleeping pallet until she was with child, then gruffly dismissed her when she began to swell. Every night she spoke to the life growing within her, praying for safety that would never come.
A man could be anywhere and anything, if he knew how to be. A man's face can change, a body contort to move differently. With no past and no future, there is only the present, and a man can do anything in the present. A skill can be learned and unlearned, as it is called for, and a body can travel great distances without care. There is much a man can do. There is only one thing a man can not have. That is the hardest thing to learn, as it is the most basic concept of being. A name.
She did not know the first time she knew she loved him as more than a brother; it had been a constant her entire life. When she decided to make him her own, she did not have to plan, because he was already hers. She knew the thoughts in his mind and the way his body would react, as it would be in the same way as hers. The first time she kissed him, she saw the same emotions she felt inside, and knew without a doubt this was the right choice, the only choice. Nothing would keep them apart.
Food had always been a comfort to him. It reminded him of being with his mother, running towards her at suppertime, and the pleasant feeling after he had eaten. Those moments were few and far between after she died, and left him cold and alone. It was hard being on the road, but at least he had company. In some ways, working in the kitchen was the best thing that could have happened to him, even if Harrenhal was truly terrible. He can make himself feel better with just the smell of yeast now. Baking bread was his now home.
Being kept hidden away, she decided, wasn't so bad. When she was out with her father, the people wouldn't say anything to her, but she could feel their stares as she passed them, and hear the whispers begin as she walked away. There was a certain amount of respect due for the lord's daughter, but her appearance trumped that politeness. Her mother never seemed to have time for her, wanting to pray to whatever gods would listen to bring her a son. It was much better being in her quarters, with Patchface by her side, singing songs and reading stories.
An old man was due his vices, he was sure. His chain proved his diligence to his order. The links were heavy around his neck, dragging it down to the floor, causing him considerable pain. He felt justified, therefore, when he had one more glass of wine than perhaps he should, or found pleasurable company with one of the ladies of the town. Never mind that he would sometimes break the vows he had sworn, in pursuit of knowledge. His first duty was to the citadel he served, not to the order he had studied with so many years ago.
Kissed by fire. All her life, that had been what was said of her, and she did all she could to live up to the words. She had been stronger, smarter, better than all the rest. She had survived an encounter with the Crows, made one of them one of her own. She had claimed him, broken his ties, and he was hers. He saved her on the Wall, it had been more harrowing than she would admit, and she knew then and there he could never leave her. Until he had. Perhaps she wasn't truly kissed by fire, then.
Power, he had decided, was the only thing that mattered. Power came with his name, of course, and the power of his mother's house. The might of the lions combined with the strength of the stags was nothing to be trifled with. But that wasn't his power. His power came from control of that simpering girl, showing her that she was his pawn to do with what he wished, whenever he wished. If she respected him, he could show his pleasure, or else she would know what happened to those who displeased him. It was good to be the king.
Robert had loved the idea of her by his side…or simply in his bed, while he had his whores. Her brothers had put her on a pedestal, someone to be protected. She had never wanted any of that, could never be what they expected. She wanted to run and fight and be free, but had been deterred from doing so by her father. But it was only when doing this she felt free and alive. Until, that is, she met him, and she felt complete for the first time in her life, and he gave her one last gift…a son.