My second fanfic (one-shot). Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones. HBO does.
The cold biting wind of the North was never inviting in Winterfell, even in summer, let alone winter which was coming, as the season of harvest was coming to an end. However, the merciless chill in Winterfell was nothing compared to the climates when one stood on the Wall, and Jon did not need to go through winter to know that.
But, tonight it seemed the cold was worse than before. The stars that littered the night sky mocked him as he carried out his duties upon the Wall, just as Ser Alliser Thorne had always ordered him to. As much as Jon wanted to hate that unforgiving man who always held a grudge against him, he could not help but admire the courage and leadership he had shown during the Battle at Castle Black. Many brave men died, and hardly a handful survived the ambush of the wildlings.
Jon let his thoughts drift to Tormund Giantsbane, who was chained and incarcerated in one of the stockhouses of Castle Black. Most of the wildlings who survived the battle were captured and imprisoned, including Mance Rayder who was immediately captured the moment Stannis Baratheon, who styled himself as the 'One True King' of Westeros, intervened the battle of the wildlings.
Stannis Baratheon. A harsh and bitter man. Whose brows were always knitted in a frown. His scowls and frowns made him hard to look upon. Next to him was his loyal right-hand man, Ser Davos Seaworth, whose fingers were maimed and was said to be a smuggler. Jon Snow remembered the roar and cry of anguish of the wildlings, who thought they were sure that they had the upper hand on the battle upon the Wall, until Stannis and his troops swept in on all sides and slew men who tried to attacked them. Seasoned warriors upon horses fought mercilessly, and it was obvious that Mance's troops could never best Stannis' men.
A sudden gust of cold wind caught Jon off guard, and he staggered backwards until Ghost nudged him on the back to help him keep his balance. Jon smiled. He knew his direwolf would always have his back.
Jon focused on the scenery before him, mountain ranges that were black under the moonless night and the silver gleam of frozen lakes and rivers. The haunted forest with its vicious and vile-looking trees with gnarled branches. It took him a while to realize that this was the spot where Ygritte and him had been moved by the scenery before them, under the bright shimmer of sunlight. This was the spot where they both had sealed their love with kisses after the perilous climb to the other side of the Wall.
Ygritte, with hair kissed by fire, but now that fire had been put out. By an arrow straight through the heart.
He remembered her cold and cruel gaze when she nocked an arrow and aimed it at him during the battle, right after he had smashed a hammer right onto the head of a Thenn. The arrow was aimed at him, and he knew if she wanted to kill him, she could have done it then.
But she didn't.
Despite knowing he was taking a step towards death, Jon could not help but smile. He had missed her so much and her passionate and fiery personality. Memories of the cave flooded his mind. At that moment, he did not care if she kills him or not.
Much to his surprise, he saw something else behind those cold and vengeful eyes. He knew she wanted vengeance after what he had done to her. He had betrayed her trust and love for him. But at that moment, he saw love and recognition in her eyes as well, and her lips curled up in a vague smile.
An arrow whistled by and went right through her heart.
She had died in his arms that night, her last words to him were 'You know nothing, Jon Snow'. But those words meant more to him than promises of love. Because to him, those words had already proven their relationship and their journey together.
Their journey had been short, but Jon would always cherish those moments. That was what he said to himself when he built her pyre and lit it north beyond the Wall. She looked so serene and beautiful even in her death, lying in her funeral pyre. When he walked away from the burning pyre, his eyes glistened. Yet he told himself that it was because his eyes stung from the smoke of the flames.
If she had been alive, could things be anymore different? He knew that Ygritte would remain defiant and refuse to kneel before Stannis. He knew she would be disappointed with him if she found out that he had admitted Stannis as the king of Westeros.
That's what you kneelers do, y'all take orders from a man just because he has more power and gold than you. After all, he's just a man. He could almost hear her voice snapping at him in his mind. We are the free folk, we live as one. We kneel not to anyone.
That's why you and your free folk died a meaningless death, Ygritte, he thought, If only you have knelt, you might still be alive right now. Why are you so defiant?
Defiant? she snorted. Would you rather defy and live a free life, or to spend the rest of your life taking orders from men like they own you? Life is too short to spend it meaninglessly, Jon Snow. You may not realize it now, but when you're old and too weak to even stand or eat or fuck, you'll remember the times we spent in that cave. Remember how good freedom felt.
Being free doesn't mean you have the rights to threaten the realm, to threaten us by bringing down the Wall.
There are far worse threats than us, you crows know that, Ygritte said.
But what can we do? How do I convince Stannis to believe in what he may thought as children's folly? Even so, how do I bolster our forces? Your kind will never fight with us, they'd rather die. The Night's Watch is crumbling, and we are without a leader. Jon asked Ygritte, hoping she had an answer for him, but all that was given was silence. What can we do? What can I do?
Oh, in his mind, Ygritte's voice mocked him playfully, he could almost imagine that mischievous grin hanging from ear to ear, the grin she would flash for him when they made love. You know nothing, Jon Snow.
The rocking motion of the ship made Tyrion's mind swim and it hurt his head. He knew he should stop drinking, but he continued anyway. He groggily grabbed the bottle by its neck, and chugged its contents down his throat.
If Cersei was going to put a bounty on his ugly head and go after him until she reached the edge of the world so she could kill him herself, he might as well spent the rest of his life drinking and living in a drunken state. But no matter how many times he drank, he could not get drunk. The sound of the bolt releasing from the crossbow when he shot Tywin still rang his ears, and how Shae gasped for air as he strangled her with the golden chain.
She'll never love you, Tyrion. Don't be foolish.
Shut up, Tyrion retorted. You're dead.
If there was one thing Tyrion was curious about, it was Cersei's reaction when she found his cells to be empty on the next day. He could almost imagine her face purple with rage, yelling at her brother to find him, going to her father for his aid, only to find him dead in the privy, two bolts stuck in his bladder. Tyrion snickered.
"Cunt," Tyrion muttered. "Brotherfucker," he took another swig of wine and burped, before a huge lurch from the ship sent him tumbling in the cramped space of the crate. He held out his hands against the wall to brace for impact, forgetting the bottle in his hand and smashed it against the wall of the crate. Tyrion yelped in pain, wondering if anyone would be curious about the noises he heard in the crate. He waited for a few moments. The silence was thick.
Tyrion could not see how bad his bleeding was and he ignored it. He had no desire to staunch it anyway. If he was going to die by his sister's hands, he might as well die now, bleeding out in a crate on a ship heading to where-in-the-seven-hells. Unless the ship was heading to a whore house, maybe he would bandage his hand in the dark.
Whores, Tyrion chuckled in the dark. That's what they're for, an illusion for freaks like me, to tell me that love is possible.
Look at you, my lion. A familiar voice spoke so suddenly it startled Tyrion, making him gasp. Look at what a mess you are.
The rational part of Tyrion would say that the voice was only a fickle of his imagination, that he made it up because he drank too much. But Tyrion could not think properly. All he could remember were the sounds she made when he slowly choked him. Forgive me, he had said after that, even if he knew that she had reached for the knife, trying to murder him.
Have you given up, my lion? There was pity in her voice. He could almost imagine her shaking her head. Have you run out of ideas? Or are you going to find yourself another whore to fuck? A whore like me?
"You betrayed me," Tyrion mumbled. His voice cracked, and he didn't like it. "You lied to everyone. I did not kill Joffrey, neither did Sansa. You told me you loved me once. You lied to me,"
I betrayed you? You sent me away. You said you did not want me anymore, that I was just another whore. Who is the traitor?
"I..." Tyrion choked on his tears. He furiously wiped his eyes, only to feel his blood smeared across his face. "I sent you away because my sister knew about you, she will kill you when she has the chance. I sent you away, back to Lys to keep you safe from harm. I told you it was a dangerous place, you never listened!"
We could have left together to somewhere across the Narrow sea. Somewhere your sister and your father would never find us, where we could live out the rest of our days. But no, you wanted to stay. You stayed to play the game which everyone wants you dead. The game which took your nose. Made you into a monster.
"I know the way the game is played," he whispered, suddenly feeling tired.
You do. But you'll never win against your sister and your father. I loved you, and you threw that away.
"Love?" he said. He shook with anger. "You laid with my father. Have you forgotten that? You let that hypocritical old fool bribe you and fuck you. And you call that love?"
There was only silence afterwards. His mind was fogged with anger, grief and remorse. He felt confused and battered, yet there was no wine to cheer him up. Blood continued to trickle in his palm. Good, Tyrion thought, squeezing his palm. Let this be done with. My bitch sister will never have me. Never.
Look at you, another familiar voice appeared, this one deeper and more solemn. Pathetic. You bring nothing but shame to our House.
"Fuck off, you're dead," Tyrion muttered.
And who's responsible for that? Tywin chuckled. Now you're both a kinslayer and a kingslayer. After all you've done and you think you can escape by taking your own life? You think that whore of yours truly loves you? Don't be ridiculous, Tyrion. No one could love an ugly, scarred dwarf like yourself.
"You're right," Tyrion fired back. "I should have killed you earlier. And Joffrey. That incestuous bastard. You have always known about Jaime and Cersei, you always have. Yet you pretend not to notice. Who's the pathetic one? You paraded your father's whore throughout Casterly Rock, yet you bedded one yourself. You and I are no different, father,"
And what are you going to do about it? he mocked. Nothing. You can't kill a man twice. I will haunt you for the rest of your life, to remind you of who you are. An Imp, a whoremonger, an empty shell left in this world. Until you're driven with madness that you take your own miserable life.
"Delight me then, lord father," Tyrion sat up, torn his sleeve and wrapped it around his bloodied palm. He had decided that he would not die today. If he ever had the chance to go back to Casterly Rock, he would step on Tywin's grave and burn it. Then laugh at it.
It may have been a fickle of his imagination, but Tyrion felt himself playing a dangerous game with his father. He would not let the ghost of his past haunt him, let alone drive him to the edge of sanity. Because the moment he hanged himself or cut himself on the wrist, Tywin would win.
The view of the night sky from the Pyramids of Meereen had always been spectacular, but tonight, Daenerys could not find herself to enjoy it. She drank wine to help her forget about what she had done that day, yet her mind kept drifting back towards the catacombs where she had locked Rhaegal and Viserion in the dark. For how long, she did not know.
She thought of summoning Daario Naharis for company, then thought better of it. It wasn't as if Daario was going to enlighten the situation any further. It was the truth, it happened. What was done could not be undone.
Dany held the goblet of wine and leaned against the balcony, gazing across the wide span of the city of Meereen. She knew that somewhere down there, some people were plotting an assassination, a scheme to take away all her efforts as the liberator of slaves. Yet, she could do nothing about it.
She thought about her good and loyal friend, Jorah, who betrayed her from the beginning and sold secrets to the Usurper. If Viserys had promised him a home once we returned to Westeros, would Jorah turn his back on the Usurper?
Perhaps not.
That man had confessed to her that he loved her. Daenerys knew it was impossible, how could she love a man who was thrice her age, old enough to be her grandfather? She had always thought of him as her most trusted and loyal friend, a good ser she could rely on. And it turned out it wasn't what she had expected. The truth had been painful, and it fueled her anger immediately when Ser Barristan informed her of his treason.
Dany lifted her gaze to the star-filled sky. She noticed that one of the stars were unusually bright, and remembered stories that her handmaidens used to tell her about the Dothraki. The Night Lands, where all the brave warriors rode after their death. She wondered if that star was Drogo, riding his bloodred stallion while leading a fiery khalasar.
She wished for nothing more than the company of a loved one. A family. But all her family members were dead. Aerys, Rhaella, Rhaegar, her niece and nephew, then Viserys, Drogo and her own unborn son. She thought she could regard Jorah as her own family, since he had been with her since the day of her marriage to Khal Drogo. A shame that he was just another of the Usurper's dogs.
I have killed for you, his words echoed in her mind.
If you have told me earlier, Dany said sadly. If you have told me earlier about your betrayal instead of letting Ser Barristan find out that document, I could have forgiven you. There's nothing I can do. You took my trust for granted.
I have loved you. his voice was remorseful.
You know I could not marry you, even if I do return your feelings, which I don't.
You do not belong here, a vengeful, vindictive voice snapped at her. This one belonged to her brother, she would remember his voice until the day she dies. Sweet sister, you are a foreigner here. Your place is in Westeros, in King's Landing. Have you forgotten the cruelty done against our family? Why do you still linger here, you fool?
If I leave, my children will be bound in chains again. If I leave, all I have worked for would be lost.
Children? Viserys laughed. They were already in chains, or have you forgotten? You chained them yourselves. While another one is missing. Yet you call yourself a mother?
Daenerys lifted the goblet to her lips. Her hand was trembling, and she took a huge gulp of wine. as much as she hated it, Viserys' words held truth.
You traitor. He snapped at her. You let that savage kill your own brother. Your brother who brought you up and kept you fed. I was to be king!
You sold me. You threatened my son.
A son which was not a true Targaryen. You should have carried my son. My son. Silver-haired and purple-eyed. If that fat fool Illyrio had not secured your chambers, I would have been the first to take your maidenhead. It should have been me. You whore.
Daenerys returned to her bedchamber, trying to block out the voices in her head. She had had enough. She must be strong. Her children needed her. She must be their pillar of strength. At the same time, she thought about her dragons, the only three left in the world. She killed both her dragons' freedom, and she failed to control the other one. Drogon, where are you?
Moon of my life.
Perhaps I told the Great Stallion to go fuck himself and came back for you.
If this is a dream, I would kill the man who wakes me up.
Rhaego, is a good name. My wife. Moon of my life.
"Tell me, Drogo," Dany sighed, her eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm lost. What do I do?"
Reviews are very much appreciated.