Hollow Crown ↬ Daenerys Targaryen

33

SURPRISE! I bet you're shocked :) I am!!

Enjoy!!!

¤¤¤

The wind whistles sharply in the night sky, no longer permeated with smoke. Rather, the stench of death and the melody of screams more present than ever before. Despite the army of the dead having fallen moments ago.

Bodies litter the ground for miles, ghostly expressions of horror forever etched into their lifeless features. Blood seeps into dirt as if it's nourishing, and rolls over stone like streams of crimson. Swords and shields, bows and arrows, spears and maces can all be seen by the thousands, glinting in the breaking moonlight. Signifying the fall of so many warriors, protectors and heroes.

Rubble and debris lay in haphazard mounds all around, the stronghold that was once the capitol of the North, Winterfell, now a mere few stone structures held up on fragile foundations that bear the risk of collapsing any second. Smoke and flame billow into the sky like demons en route to lay siege to the heavens, explosions sounding off periodically, followed by either deafening silence or distant shouts of terror and pain.

The Godswood, which just days before stood as a holy place of prayer and faith and hope, now crumbles aflame with the glow of hellfire.

A scene out of the darkest of hand maiden's tales and witch's prophecies, now made true in the aftermath of the great war between the living and the dead.

It's difficult, Percy thinks fleetingly, to deduct whether the damage was caused by the overwhelming numbers of the dead men and their mindless assault, or the vengeful fury of the dragons as they breathed fire onto their enemies from above. Was the destruction purposeful or collateral? Enacted by friend or foe? Likely both, a voice that sounds an awful lot like the ever pessimistic Cersei Lannister, bitterly echoes in his mind.

His own weapon, the very spear that he had used to pierce the Night King's impenetrable skin and end a millennia old war, lay inches away. Cracks marr the blade and part of the handle has broken off, but it's no less mystifying than when he first laid eyes on the cleansed weapon. It glows a faint yet vibrant white, illuminating the snow around him, or more accurately, the blood that stains it.

His or others'? Again, likely both.

A hiss escapes his chapped, bloody lips as the thought snaps him back into reality. A harsh, damning reality, he's reminded as his eyes flutter into focus. Slowly trailing down to the sight of the Night King's sword jutting out of his chest.

A shaky breath is inhaled into his lungs, momentarily choking him up at the expected yet unsettling sight.

More blood - gods, how he's starting to hate the sight of the red liquid - seaps around the edges of the wound, though not as copiously as it would if the sword wasn't obstructing it's path. The area in which it resides is surprisingly numb, cold ice freezing his body instead of blinding pain.

Awareness finally catching up to his mind, he feels his eyes widen and hands begin to tremble. Panic - raw, instinctual panic begins taking over his thoughts, darkening his vision at the edges and leaving him breathless. Fight or flight kicks in, but he can't flee from this situation and fighting a fucking magical sword, which is currently brushing against both his spine and his ribcage, isn't quite an option either. So, he foolishly allows the haze of alarm to take over his mind.

Percival Lannister has had no small abundance of wounds before, minor and major. From scratches, scrapes and bruises to broken bones, gashes and burns. He couldn't possibly name every one of them without giving himself a migraine and a few unpleasant flashbacks.