Hi everyone!

Yes, I wanted to write on GOT for once. Some change is always good for us.

This little fiction runs through my mind since last week. Since the last episode, all in all. I wanted to adapt some serious scenes from it by detailing Jon and Dany's sensations or thoughts. There'll be several chapters, I think. I'll specify each time the point of view detailed in each chapter, the first two chapters being Jon Snow's POV.

It won't be long chapters, not this one, at least. I hope you'll like them. Let a review if you want (it'll help me to see if I'm totally wide of the mark or not, given that it's my first GOT fanfiction).

The characters and story do not belong to me, of course. They come from GOT series (HBO) from the books of G.R.R. Martin.


Warning - SPOILERS S7E06!

Jon's POV for the first chapter.

Happy reading!


DEATH IS THE ENEMY


He was sinking.

Even further.

Even deeper.

Every part of his being hit, tortured by the freezing water in which he was tirelessly going down. No more sound could reach him from now on, except for his own deadened sounds while he was struggling against the fierce grip of the dead around his legs.

He could no longer hear the piercing roar of the dragons on either side of the frozen lake. Nor the nightmarish screams of the dead who had constantly attacked them on this insignificant rock of ice.

Neither the ravaging flames, nor the screams, nor the strong breath of wind.

Jon couldn't hear anything, except his own terrified heartbeats.

The brutal touch of the cold against his skin – a cold that he had never felt in his lifetime – took his breath away, his lungs seeming to freeze instantly inside his body. Each part of his anatomy slyly frozen by this stifling freezing embrace.

A sharp embrace, as pleasant as a thousand needles deeply dug into his epidermis could have been.

Jon opened his mouth, his lips letting out a cry deafened by the opaque waters of the lake. He swallowed some of it, his body jumping more against the scrawny and strong hands of the dead who held him. The cold water burned his throat, his heart missing another beat as the young king of the North sank further into the freezing depths.

The few movements he still managed to make into the unwieldy water weakened noticeably, the cold seizing his limbs, his eyes, his thoughts. He couldn't' tell if his eyes were closing or if he was just too far from the top to distinguish any outside lights.

Did it really matter?

He was going to die here. Alone. Far from any living being.

He had already die before. A death filled with solitude, too. Why fear this outcome he already knew?

Death was peaceful.

Easy.

Life was harder. Fighting was harder.

So why keep fighting?

Jon was useless. He couldn't prevent anything, even if he had the will to do it or not. He was nothing but a man. Risen from the dead, of course, but nevertheless a man.

A man unable to protect his people. Unable to protect anyone against the Night King. A man who only could watch Viserion's death.

Helpless. Useless.

Death was easy.

So easy.

He could feel it around him, in that freezing touch. An almost comforting touch now.

" Death is the enemy. "

Jon opened his eyes, as if struck by lightning. Struck by a momentum. A momentum of life, of will. A simple vital momentum. Essential.

" The enemy always wins. But we still need to fight it..."

Fight.

Fight.

The young King struggled feebly first, then more fiercely against the grip of the dead around his legs. He could feel, beyond the prickly touch of the water, several bony hands scratching the fur that covered his left thigh. He beat his legs, trying to drive them out while also frantically beating his arms to rise to the surface.

He had to reach the surface.

Reaching Life.

Reaching Daenerys.

Right now.

The dead were still holding him firmly, though. Jon felt his sides, frantically looking for a way to free himself. His sword had fallen not far from the edge. Out of reach, just like the surface and the air that was so missing in this fatal moment. His hand met something hard.

Not a bony hand. Not fur.

Something metallic.

His dagger.

Jon closed his stiff fingers around it, the few sensations remaining in his extremities making him doubt about the success of this action, looking simple or not. Dazzled by cold, pain and lack of air, Jon could only follow his gut. A dim light in the darkness which threatened to submerge him shortly. He pulled the blade out the sheath, slashing roundly the space close to his legs with all the strength of which he was still capable of. The dragon glass blade met something, a cry deafened by the stuffy water resounding beneath him. A cry quickly followed by a slackening of the grip around his leg.

Jon beat arms and legs as fast as possible, his heart thumping painfully against his rib cage with every movement made. He didn't feel anything. Apart from this deafening heartbeat in his chest, in his temples. Just this heartbeat increasingly weaker, in favor of an increasingly violent cold along his body.

Death is the enemy...

Death. Is. The. Enemy.

Every heartbeat, every movement made in this freezing darkness revived this simple sentence in Jon's mind. A sentence that prevent him to give up. To abandon. He couldn't give up now.

Never.

Another movement towards the surface. This distant surface. Almost imaginary in his mind paralyzed by cold and pain. A fragile hope strengthened with each move, with every crossed inch taking Jon Snow away from the depths.

A hope.

Life overcoming Death.

His head finally emerged from the abyssal blackness, the cold air marbling his moist face as he opened his mouth in a desperate gasp eager of air.

The sharp touch of life against death.

Jon expelled the water from his throat, the air rushing into his lungs, intense pain ripping his chest as he struggled to grasp the slippery edge of the icefield in front of him. Each noisy and painful inhalation awakened his senses in the same way as the pain hitherto silenced by the sweltering mass of water around him. The tingling into his limbs became more intense than before, his left hand sliding on the frozen ground. He saw his sword not far from the edge, the pommel - looking like a white wolf – almost taunting him with its blank eyes.

Wheezing, the young King stretched swiftly his right hand towards Longclaw, his trembling fingers closing on the dark handle of the mocking sword.

Closing on this spark of life.


So? What do you think? Good? Not at all?

Time to review! XD

Have a nice day and until next time!