CEDRICK
Keep calm. You're fine. You have to keep moving for Hazelle. Cedrick thought.
The night rolled over with the threat of a storm. The weather was still and dense, thick clouds obscured half of the sky. The icy breeze was sweeping the alienated path. Owls swept overhead quietly. Even the shadows were eaten up by the encroaching darkness. Cedrick remained concealed in the darkness, feeling every beat of his heart. The alleyway was as silent as it was dark, with only one sound to be heard; the sound of his own heart throbbing in his ears.
The darkening sky bellowed restlessly. The dense blackened clouds were drawn down by the heavy rain in its fragile frame. The clouds, which struggled to endure the weight of the storm, soon gave in. The rain poured down over the city. The sound of emptiness was interrupted by a loud gregarious thunder boom. The harsh, freezing rain pierced his pale, wet skin. He raced over the slippery road, his stance weakened by the weight of his clothes.
Clutching the hilt of his longsword, Cedrick shivered miserably, exhausted and lost. He hobbled along the rough cobbled streets. His hand firmly on his deep wound. The blood did not gush in a steady flow, but in sync with the rhythm of Cedrick's heart. It was thick and heavy at first, flowing through his fingers as they clasped the torn flesh. He felt the blood flow through his side, a thick stream that was neither warmer nor colder than his own skin. After a few more seconds, the blood was still leaving his increasingly pale body, but his heartbeat was slower and weaker. The pain seared through his left arm like a branding iron, his mind conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion. He wanted to be spirited away with his sister. Spirited away to an island of bliss amiss this endless sea of misery. But yet an otherworldly sensation of doom, growing every blacker, had now firmly taken a merciless hold of his heart.
Breaking the pandemonium of pain and terror came a fervent feeling that Cedrick has never experienced so intensely before. Hatred. Hate and enmity welled up in his heart, fury itself burning him up. It was the fuel that keeps his heart pumping and brain ticking over. He hated the Unsullied and Dothraki and the dragon, himself. It was all his fault, he should have done something different that day. Anything that would make a difference.
And most of all, he hated Daenerys Targaryen. The harbringer of death and chaos. The woman who spilled the blood of thousands to merely sit on a chair. Merely thinking of her name made Cedrick's blood boil. He wanted her dead, her dragon, her army, every last one of them. He wanted revenge, he wanted justice. That woman has rounded us like cattle, lambs to slaughter, and she thinks she can do whatever she pleases with us. We are livestock.
He gazed down at his gleaming sword, washed by the rainfall, it is clean and polished as if it has not been plunged into a child's gut. His mind filled with macabre thoughts. He imagined himself killing the woman. He didn't know what she looked like, but he assumed she is as heinous on the outside as she is on the inside. Plunging the sword into her cold heart, ending her rein of terror once and for all. Her men all dead and bloody, her dragon slain.
Justice. Cedrick thought. Justice in it's purest form.
Despite all the pain, Cedrick pushed himself to run blindly down the alleyway and into another, down a long stair, across a cross-street, around a corner, and through a low narrow path that led him down to the Street of the Sisters.
He was so weak and disoriented that he did not care if the Unsullied saw him or not.
Staggering down a long and dark alley, Cedrick slipped into a pitch-black cellar, hoping it would lead him to his destination. He hunkered down in the darkness against a hard stone wall and took a deep breath.
His fingertips brushed to his left against the rough wall. He followed the wall, his hand skimming along the floor. He heard sounds from somewhere far below him. The voices of women. The scratching of shoes.
He could make out the voice of a woman praying to each of the members of the Faith of the Seven.
Listening to the praying woman made him remember Jana. Her clear, bell-like voice singing The Mother's Hymn to him when he was small. The hymn resounded in his mind as he leaned against the cold wall, drawing his breath.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
save our sons from war, we pray,
stay the swords and stay the arrows,
let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, strength of women,
help our daughters through this fray,
soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
teach us all a kinder way
He knew exactly where he was now. The Great Sept of Baelor. One of the few intact buildings that stood among the ashes of King's Landing.
Ever so slowly, he crept down the tunnel and into a room. A room of bubbling bottles and potions. All of them planted in wooden racks, trusting the natural cooling of the soil behind thick stone walls. There's a line of lantern brackets every few feet.
The pain in his arm intensified in waves, the tiny lulls offering the false promise of an end. Every peak deprived him of his ability to think, sending him back to the hard floor. It's as if his blood has turned acidic, seeking to kill him from the inside out. All Cedrick can do is writhe, the occasional whimper echoing off the walls.
Cedrick stared miserably at the ceiling, wondering how Hazelle was faring.
No. No. You can't be idle. Move, Cedrick. Cedrick willed himself to stagger to his unsteady feet. He ignored the sharp pain coursing through him and staggered to the long staircase.
He hobbled up the stairs and made it to the door. The door resisted a moment until it slowly started to swing inward, with a creak so loud that Cedrick was certain that it could be heard all over the area.
When he opened the door ajar and crept onto a marble room cast in shadows. One by one, holy women and men meandered to their chambers, all dressed in cloaks that ranged from white to brown.
Cedrick's spirits lifted tremendously. Although Cedrick never thought much of religion, he has seen members of the Faith in Flea Bottoms. They would march through the streets, all dressed in robes and clutching wooden crosses. For a litany of hours, they would preach the faith to anyone who would listen.
Cedrick walked into view, knowing that the holiness of the Holy Sisters and Brothers would never toss an injured child to the streets.
Very little seemed to notice him. It was almost midnight with only the silvery moonlight gleaming through the glass windows and the members were heading into their chambers for slumber.
He was struck with the delectable aroma of baked goods. His stomach growled noisily as he took in the aroma. Cedrick cast a brief glance to his right to see a golden glow spilling out of a room across the narrow room. He followed the aroma, mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent. He came upon a wooden door and without thought, he peered inside of the ajar gap to see a spacious kitchen. Cedrick absorbed in the radiating heat. He was still cold and wet, but not as cold and wet as he had been a short time ago.
Without thought, he pushed the door open, there was a moment of blinding pain. His abrupt movement caused his wound to tore.
He hissed in pain and attracted the attention of the two people inside.
In his blurring vision, Cedrick could see a blue-eyed boy with a mass of uneven golden locks, dressed in a white apron, his hands covered in white powder. Standing shakily in the center of the room. His skin chalk-white, wide eyes, his mouth was open in a silent scream. Beside him was a strange-looking red woman that seized Cedrick's full attention. The red woman didn't resemble any of the other Holy Sisters; young, buxom, and oddly beautiful, with an oval-shaped face, flaming red hair, and unearthly red eyes. Her scarlet gown moving like flames as she stood.
"Wh...who are you?" The blonde boy squeaked. "How did you get in here? Who are you?" His voice was as brave as a mouse. In his left hand, he held a long wooden spoon drenched in a brown batter.
Cedrick was in too much pain to react. He suddenly felt the freezing surface of the floor and heard the boy scream.
Then the red woman was looming over him, holding a tiny potion, whispering, "Drink up, Boy. Milk of the poppy, for your pain." He remembered swallowing and that was the last he knew.
Unbeknownst to Cedrick, this moment would be the precursor of the beginning. Under the spell of the Milk of Poppy, he slept for the two half nights, his mind intoxicated and riddled with dreams.
He dreamt. He dreamt of the strangest dreams. Dreams stranger than his little sister's.
His first dream was the red woman. He smelt a prominent smell of blood thickening in the air. He saw a woman on her knees, her hair saturated with a crimson hue. She wept ever so pitifully, her broken sobs breaking through Cedrick's eardrums.
Then he found himself standing in the snow. A screaming blizzard encompassed him. The flakes fall slowly and the air is almost still, but it is so thick that it almost obscures his sight completely. All he could see was the same woman screaming and writhing in pain. A screeching, bloody baby white as chalk spilling out between her legs. Something was moving through swirling silver, something wicked and terrible was hurtling. Cedrick didn't know the woman at all. But yet he felt a irresistible urge to kill her, to slit her throat, to behead her, and end her miserable existence, but his muscles felt rigid and frozen. And the pitch-black fog washed over the woman and the newborn, and the woman let out a strangled cry, and the child wailed.
Suddenly, Cedrick felt something warm and wet in his hands. He looked down to see a crying baby girl with silver-gold hair and purple eyes looking up at him.
A warm hand as small and soft as Hazelle abruptly touched his.
In his next dream, he saw the red woman once more. Ever so softly, the woman spoke in her thick accent.
The skies will fall, blood will fall, mountains will be reduced to rubble, the snow will descend on all. Ash will consume the old and anew will resurface.
The dream ended as quickly as it began. Cedrick found himself falling, falling deeper and deeper into the sea of darkness. Faster and faster the visions came one after the other.
Cloaked shadows of men surrounding him with red-glowing eyes.
Rising from a mountain of ash ascends an eternal bird of fire unveiling a meadow of blue roses.
A blue-eyed wolf with silk black fur washed in blue petals. A gray castle cloaked in the snow. A dragon black as night, releasing out an ear-splitting roar. The piercing red eyes of the woman beckoning him to come to her.
A glowing red sword basking in the scorching sun.
Finally, he saw Hazelle. Smiling with overflowing tears, holding up a handful of blue roses covered in icy frost.
REVIEWS AND THOUGHTS. FAV/FOLLOW.