- Tyrion -
He had a hardness in his chest. A sinking feeling.
Could not think straight, everything had happened like in a dream. After watching the city burn he just stood there, surrounded by charred black bodies, hearing the screaming pleas of hurt women and children. The smell and the ash burned his nose. Explosions were happening inside the city, were he could see Drogon burning away what he knew were the markets and streets of the town filled with innocent people. Families. The realm.
Yet he could not bring himself to think clearly, to move. He was horrified. And he knew then the dimension of the mistake he'd made.
Somewhere, somehow he started moving. Saw in his field of vision a northern wagon, walk straight to it, grabbed a couple of bags not even sure of what was inside them and kept moving towards the lonely horse who saw out of the corner of his eye.
The sensation of being in a dream came back to him as he climb on it and started riding like in a trance, aimless, hearing in his head the muffled sounds of confusion and despair.
This was it all along? This? For what he was fighting for? The cause he had put infront of his own life, of the lives of his friends. How could he not have seen it? Was too blinded by the hope he found so quickly in Daenerys, thinking of her as a just ruler, wanting to believe in her word, in her view of a better world?
He tought of Varys. He was right of course. And so was Sansa.
Sansa.
Suddenly his head cleared and started thinking straight again,. He had to see her, he had to warn her, had to speak to her one last time. To tell her she had been right all along, she, in her infinite wisdom, despite her age and the influence of her older brother.
Jon sure felt betrayed as well, he wonders what the course of action of the son of Rhagear Targaryen would be after witness the madness that bled from Danyerys.
For a fleeting moment he imagined Jon putting and end to her. Did not know for sure if he would have the strenght to do it.
He put a cloak on top of him, make sure that covered him well and starting riding as fast as he could, avoiding the King's Road. And marching North.
All he could see was her face, her hair, her eyes. He heard his name on her lips and for a moment it almost silenced the screaming sounds of horror behind him. For a moment it almost gave him hope. That not everything was lost.
Would she accept him? He wasn´t sure he deserve it after all he had done, all he had caused.
As he went straight ahead he searched in his chest until he found the badge that marked him as Hand of the Queen, took it off and threw it on the ground. Quickly the dirt and the loose grass flew on top of it until it was completely covered, almost buried.
