Blackwater
He awoke in the back of the squad car, laying on his side. The car was moving. He quickly snapped up, looking at the driver. His skin began to crawl. She hummed slightly to herself as the cruiser sped down the country road. Her brown hair was shortly cropped, with the red shawl draped over her shoulders and the ornate, metal choker across her neck. His lips began to quiver. She glanced at the rear-view mirror and smiled.
"Good morning, doctor," she greeted him in a thick accent that he couldn't place. He instinctively recoiled into the bench seat, placing as much distance from her as he could. The iron grate separating the front seats from the back gave him only the smallest amount of comfort. "Did you sleep well?"
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice shaking.
"Tsk," she began returning her eyes to the road. "You're in no position to be asking questions," she warned him. He looked around. No other cars were on the winding, mountain path. Out of the left, he could see the sea.
"You're the woman Dr. Stone is looking for," he concluded. She glanced at him through the mirror.
"You mean the woman?" she mused. "She might be the smartest of you." He frowned.
"If you're going to kill me, you may as well answer my questions first," he goaded. "After all, you seem firmly in control of my fate at present." She laughed.
"Listen to yourself," she sighed. "You've already resigned yourself to death when you have no imagination as to what is happening."
"I'm trying to gain some understanding so that I can better plan for whatever resignations I need to make," he countered. "So, if you would be so kind as to introduce yourself? I'll go first – I'm Doctor Alton Blackwater, ranking physician of Higgart Central Hospital. And you are?"
"You're the greatest-grandson of a cutthroat bastard," she spat. "I've no interest in you beyond your blood." He grimaced.
"So, I am going to die," he confirmed. She rolled her entire head with her eyes.
"Nobody said that, you bloody idiot," she hissed back at him. Every word she spoke made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine. He felt nauseous just speaking to her.
"What's all this about my blood, then?" he continued.
"You may descend from a cutthroat bastard, but that bastard was a High Lord and there's power in the blood of Kings, Lords, and Noble Ladies," she admitted. He stared at her blankly. She snickered. "You'll see."
"Okay," he allowed. "I'll see. I still want to know your name," he pressed.
"No one," she snapped. "I'm nobody."
"Who were you, then?" he asked, rubbing his wrists. "Did you have a name before?"
"Before what?" she asked, amused.
"Before you didn't." She laughed.
"I did," she agreed. "But after so long, I have to admit... I can't remember it," she added wistfully. She's insane. And dangerous. The car passed a passenger van. He watched for road signs. She continued watching him. "Lannisport," she finally announced.
"What?" he asked.
"We're going to Lannisport," she repeated slowly, as if he were simple. He cocked his head.
"I don't know where that is," he admitted. She sighed.
"Oh, what's it bloody called... Gold Coast," she corrected herself before snorting. "Stupid name."
"Gold Coast was called Lannisport in the past?" he asked. She nodded. "How long ago?"
"A long time ago," she admitted. "Look at you!" she cooed. "You, who were so against the idea of the reality of what is occurring and now you have an interest in why," she condescended. "It's a bit too late for all of that," she muttered.
"So, you're saying that the Long Night and the Army of the Dead – it's all true?" he pressed. She looked at him again and smiled, saying nothing. Her smile caused him to dry heave, which in turn made her laugh. He found himself unable to talk as the car entered the small town of Gold Coast. She drove to the docks. The town was unnaturally quiet as the police cruiser came to a stop in front of a warehouse.
"We're here," she stated as she exited the vehicle. She moved as if she were floating to the rear of the car before opening the door and stepping to the side. "Get out," she commanded him. He slowly edged towards the open door, his body flinching against his will as he did so. He fought the command, but he was unable to disobey. He finally made it out and stood shakily against the cold breeze. She closed the door behind him and began walking to the side door of the warehouse. He felt compelled to follow.
Upon entering the small office, he noticed that they weren't alone. In the warehouse, through the glass, dozens – if not hundreds – of glowing blue eyes stared him down, exactly as they had in the hospital. He stepped towards the windows and looked at them. An enormous group of people, packed to the brim, stood silently, motionless. Men, women, even children. Some appeared to be normal, excepting their eyes. Others were quite clearly corpses – recent corpses and old ones. He shuddered. They were right.
"Come, doctor," she urged, opening a door to the back of the office. He turned and followed her compulsively. In the room stood an old man with long hair that should have flowed freely had it not appeared frozen. His wrinkled skin was pure white. His eyes were bluer than the others. He wore ornate armor of black and silver, with ice caked onto it. A long sword hung at his waist, the hilt and pommel made of ice. The doctor froze in his place, fear taking him. He began to shake. The woman turned to him and laughed. "What, does he frighten you?" she mocked him.
"Who... what...?" he stammered. She turned back to the white man.
"It's almost time," she instructed. "This one will be the first." With that, she approached a steel drum in the corner and placed her hands over it. She spoke words that he couldn't understand, and a fire leapt up from the depths, licking her hands. He stared in terrified awe. How? She smiled and turned back to the doctor. "Now, doctor," she announced. "If you would be so kind."
The white man turned towards the doctor, a knife in his hand.