Blackwater

His eyes shot open with a gasp as he snapped awake. He lunged forward to a sitting position. Almost immediately he began to squint and reel from the blinding light of day. He brought his hands to his face to block the offending rays of sun, only to find them still bound. He wiggled his feet and found that they were also bound tightly by rope. The bright blur of light slowly began to show him shapes and blurs. He realized quickly that he was outside but also that he wasn't alone. The fuzzy red blur in front of him was unmistakable. His empty stomach dropped. The blur shifted slightly. The woman was turning around.

"Oh good," she beamed. "You're awake." He fought the urge to retch, as always.

"Wh-where are we?" he stuttered.

"King's Landing," she replied nonchalantly. His vision continued to slowly sharpen. The red blur was now a red blur with a blue sky behind it. He struggled to come to his senses. King's Landing... King's Landing...

"Branton," he blurted. "You mean Branton. Why? Why are we here? Are you finished with me now?" he pleaded. The blur sharpened again. Now, a blurry patch of pale flesh appeared at the top of the red blur. Her face.

"No, good doctor," she answered. "Not quite. Soon, I hope. Your companionship has been increasingly frustrating," she sighed. "I liked you rather better when you were stubborn." She turned around again. He reached down to his feet and tugged at the rope. He could almost make out the details of the knot. A pair of hands suddenly reached down from behind him, cold and pale. One of them. He froze in fear. The knot came loose. The White Walker stared down at him. He could only make out the white blur of a face and two pitch black dots where the eyes should be. He scrambled away from it; his feet freed. The woman stopped him with her boot. He screamed as she reached down, the blurry figure holding a knife. She gripped his hands and cut the rope, freeing him entirely.

He rubbed his wrists carefully, his vision almost redeemed. He could see that he was sitting on grass in front of a large building. Around him was a wall and beyond that, towering buildings. The breeze felt cool on his skin. The sun felt warm and welcoming. For the first time in a year, he almost felt comfort. He closed his eyes and rubbed them gently with his fists. Upon opening them again, he realized that his vision had stopped improving. The months of darkness and the stress of the worlds' predicament had prematurely aged him and taken their toll.

"This is the Royal Museum," he said to himself as he looked around, straining to make out any details he could. The red woman turned to him and nodded.

"The Great Sept," she agreed. "I remember when it was right there," she went on, pointing. "'Til that crazy bitch destroyed it." With that, she began laughing, making his skin crawl. She turned to him and yanked him off of the ground and onto his knees. The White Walker stood silently behind him, motionless. He struggled to keep myself upright. She kept a firm grip on his shoulder. "Look," she commanded. He strained his dulled vision and noticed what appeared to be a helicopter resting on the grass, only a few dozen yards away.

"A helicopter?" he questioned, confused. She released his shoulder, causing him to fall forward onto his hands. He winced as his weight landed on his frail, malnourished wrists.

"Whatever it's called," she sighed, exasperated. "It brought your friends here. Now, your role in my final victory will reach its pinnacle." He flinched at the word final.

"Wha-what...?" he trailed off, abandoning his question after a single word. It didn't matter. She wouldn't answer him, most likely. Instead, she would just laugh or insult him or ramble on about nonsense... He began to laugh in between fits of light sobbing. It's over! It's finally over!

"My dear doctor," she cooed, venom dripping from her words. "I do believe you've finally lost your mind." He laughed louder, causing her to frown. She glanced at the White Walker, who remained motionless, before looking back down at her captive.

"No point in dragging this out, then!" he cried. "Let's be on with it!" With that, he rose back to his knees and took a deep breath, tasting the air. She crouched down to his level.

"Have you ever been to the Royal Museum before?" she asked, anger evident in her voice. He grinned maniacally, knowing that he was finally getting to her.

"Plenty of times," he chirped. "Lovely place! The Blackwater family has even donated some of our heirlooms as a private collection from time to ti – "

"Enough!" she spat, sending him careening into the grass, her voice ringing in his ears as his stomach tied itself into a knot and his newfound courage evaporated. She knelt over his head as he trembled on the ground. "We're not here for your useless trinkets," she hissed. "We're here because this building sits on top of the final resting place of a great family of Westeros. Have you ever heard of the Tyrells?"

"Yes," he croaked, genuine tears streaming down his face. "But only the name. Only the name." She frowned, standing to her feet and staring at the ruins of the old Sept.

"Your ancestors stole everything from them," she explained. "Your home, your lands, your title of nobility... Your thieving family built their fortune on their bones."

"They ruled Higgart?" he asked, closing his eyes and begging for release in his head. She grunted.

"Highgarden," she corrected him. "No big loss," she added. "They were cowardly scum and were replaced with cowardly scum. Funny how that all works," she spat. She motioned to the White Walker, who stepped forward and picked him up back to his shaking knees. "And now the circle will be complete."