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DEATH was peaceful. Death was a sense of comfort, you had lived your life long enough to make a difference in at least one persons life so God decided to pluck you from the cruel world you once endured.
Death was quiet, so much that you could hear a pin drop. It was cold like ice but not enough to freeze you because well . . . you were already dead.
Alys knew in her heart that something was wrong. The boat hit the dock of Dragonstone as Criston lugged his sword from the box and pulled her alongside her, up the narrow steps of the Dragons home.
A sick feeling had settled in her stomach when herself and the Knight found themselves trapped in the formers chambers — having spent the night together like they had many others.
Alys knew, she always did. Daemerys and her were alike in that way, dreamers but not from Targaryen blood. Greenseer is they were often called over the years but not many lived — held captive by others so they could tell them their future, killed when they weren't complicit.
In a sense, she knew that the Cole Knight knew. She couldn't help but notice the silent tears forming in his eyes when he noticed her face change — sympathy. Sympathy for death. Fucker.
It wasn't until they reached the castle did they notice the dreary silence that surrounded the building, not a single dragon to be heard. Nothing. Alys pushed open the door, Knights immediately held up their swords, "We are friends of the Princess".
"Criston Cole", the Dornish man spoke and the men put away their swords. Small patters of feet made their way down the steps making the two turn around to see the young Jacaerys — eyes swollen red, yet he remained stoic.
"Come", he spoke and went back up the cobblestone steps to a open lit room, the seems of material blowing in the wind from the beach bellow, the sky had darkened though it wasn't night yet.
