THE DEAD [1]

In which a God decides to turn to his luck, tell it to fuck off, walks through the Veil of Death, and finds it waiting on the other side, fucking up his life again, like the bitch she is.

CONTENT WARNING:
mentions of rape, lynching, slaves, incest, burning people alive, dismemberment, disembowelment, plotting of murder, and of character death (obviously).

Aelyx Targaryen, first of his name, was once a boy who gave his life for his family. He gave his all to the people, his soul to his cause, and his weapon for their survival. He fought their war for them, and he won it. And then, he got, surprisingly, betrayed. I hope you've noticed the sarcasm in that sentence. It was quite heavy.

What found him in the afterlife wasn't a judgement chamber. It wasn't God, it wasn't the big pearly gates, and it wasn't the Devil and his fiery pit. No. What found him was an army of the dead, whose sole purpose was to follow his orders and answer his questions.
The boy knew not his old name. Not the names of his betrayers. He remembers his life, but never their names. He was simply called Thanatos now. Some called him Reaper, some deemed call him Death. He just called himself Boy. He need not other names. He was a boy who became a God, of the dead maybe, but it was a calming job. Watching and guiding the few quiet dead to their path of passing. The boy never spoke, not the dead that spoke or to the dead that didn't. He observed and he smiled beneath the thick black hood. The boy so loved the dead whose stories he heard.

The dead whose parting was quiet, painless and quick, who lived to see old age and feel the life's gifts for the kids whose passing went too soon, was too quick and too painful. The stories were melancholy, soft and always told with that special kind of sweet, fond of tone. The Boy so adored the dead. Because the dead were his, as he was of the dead.

Then one day, a man came. He was living, with eyes of ice and platinum for hair, looking almost an imitation of silver. He told the Boy to kill the nonmagical. He told the Boy to slaughter them, to bloody the streets and make cities scream. Instead Boy strung the man up before the Magicals, bore the man's soul to their filthy, tainted world and painted the pebbled ground crimson with the man's own muddy blood. For all his status of fine breeding had done, even cattle would have cleaner blood to that of the Man. For the cattle is free of his sin, free of his disgusting, vile taint and free of his sick thoughts and his marred soul.

The Boy left, but the Magicals did not leave the Boy. They called upon him, time and time again. Until one day, the Boy tore them bloody, strung their intestines like decoration within the Ministry of Magic's halls, and let his beloved dead feast upon their ungrateful souls.

Then one day, when the world shook, and the bombs fell from the sky, the Boy smiled in melancholy, and turned a blind eye. His luck was always inevitable. Wherever he was, there would be death. And so the Boy attempted to escape his gift, only for it to return again.

Aelyx Targaryen was 5 name days old, and his soul was of millennia old. His father was the Crown Prince, his mother a princesses of Dorne. Aelyx was born with a crown of silver with streaks of black throughout, with skin that was kissed by the sun and eyes the exact shade of amethyst. The King, mad as he was, still looked upon his grandson, the next heir after his own son, and it was clear to all the Seven Kingdoms that the King loved Aelyx beyond any other inhabitants of their world. And it was, to the world's greatest surprise, to hear of the King sending his grandson to the Isles of Dragonstone, to become as educated on their monstrous history as Aerys himself was.

Aelyx was 9 name days old, when Dany had been birthed, and the world had screamed in storm, the dead whispering to their God of the madness of the Dragon Queen, who shall never come. Viserys had fallen, becoming one with his nephew's dead, and Aelyx grew to ten and four name days, when the Queen, his grandmother Rhaella, passed and was welcomed into his horde of dead.