I'm Sorry for Today/Ramin Djawadi (GoT S4)
Author Note: I own nothing, but I hope you enjoy.
There's snow outside of the window. No, I'm mistaken. It is not snow, but ash that fills the dark, storming sky, slowly raining down. Its falling reflects the red of the adjacent city as it is taken, dying wails audible in the very air that surrounds me, in the fire and blood. I can hear the dying all around me, from within me, and know that escape is improbable.
But should we have been allowed to escape, my love? We, for who thousands will, are, perishing, because we loved one another? Even as I lay here, my intuition foreboding and my heart fading fast, the overwhelming thought that I have already seen your face for the last time plagues me. The pain at my side is comparable not to the ache in my chest that has burned my throat and torn tears free at the fact and a gasp catches in my throat at the memory of your kiss, our last as you left the face the flames and hammer.
The taste of salt on my lips is met with fingertips, mixing with the taste of iron upon them. And all the songs come back. All the tales of heroes and men and maidens whom knights would offer their lives to in exchange for only their favor. The chants of children, naïve of the trials of love and sacrifice, sound in the far off footsteps beyond the door and I know I am to be found soon.
Again, a heave of breath escapes my lips, as if choking on the spirit leaving me, and I can only think to those I hold dear. My mother, long dead and resting under the catacombs of our frozen halls, too young did you leave from this beautiful, wretched world of man. My father and brothers, undoubtedly worried and searching for my remains, if any do persist; I contemplate the trials I have laid upon them, for my own selfish desires, though I regret none. My heart lifts one last time as my thoughts wonder to you, my love. My Prince. There will never be songs written in our names, of the love shared between, but only of the lies muttered of the rebel. And finally, our little one, safely taken to hiding should the worst of our fears be confirmed.
"If only," the soft utterance of a whisper escapes my lips. But there is no time for such thinking and my eyes slowly glide back to the small window. I can only reflect back on the choices I've made and pray to the old gods. I find comfort in it, somehow. I cannot determine if the forthcoming darkness that fills the room is due to the oncoming night or my imminent loss of consciousness, but a crash just beyond the door cuts the silence, followed by subsequent yells and screaming.
The fear that should've gripped my heart holds no power over me as I find rest in the image of his face, his smile. I am ready. Let them come. Let them take me. Not even the horror stories of war told to us by Nan when we were children can reach me now. Patiently, I wait for the barrier to break and my blood to flow for the last time.
As expected, the door gave way with a crash and a heavy heave of a large man, if their footsteps were of any indication. Inwardly, I clenched at the sound of sharp iron as the footsteps quickened to the bedside.
"Lyanna…"