#wihtcloak

❝  and what will you do, boy ?  ❞  thunder is heard rumbling as she puts forth such a challenge   —   whether in the distance,   beyond the blue hills,    or here in the depths of her lungs,    one cannot say.    she stands at the window,    surveying the land as gloom & rain descends on the waking & sleeping alike.    THE SKY MAY WEEP,    but not them.    ❝    this is no time for mourning,    nor fearful words & haggard breaths.    ❞    she turns,    her gaze burning in firelight as it catches on his,    still so young.    THE RED DEATH APPROACHES,    nearing his space & rounding his sphere as if examining a prize.    at his side,   she grips the hilt of his sword & pulls it from its scabbard.     & even in this hardness,     where tsaritsa becomes inseparable from that which may be defined as RUTHLESS TERROR,    there is a softness that soothes the air between them.    ❝    do not forget the oath that binds you,    jaime.    this sword is not only your blessing,    but a curse against those you strike down.    DON’T LET THAT CURSE TURN AGAINST YOU.    use it.    the world does not have to burn.    ❞

gods be good but it was a strange world they lived in. the last time he’d seen jaime lannister he hadn’t been allowed to so much as sit at the same table as him. now they stood as equals, a man with his sword hand stolen from him and he with half his soul gone it felt, the pair of them fallen from grace again and again. 

they cast me out too, he thinks, drinking the bitter dregs of his death. but my sins weren’t half so terrible as your kings’.

“ you’d do it again. ”   not a question. his grey eyes meet with lannister’s green, and there is some calm understanding there, something like a smile hinting grimly at the corner of his mouth.   “ they ask so much of boys desperate to prove themselves men, all the different vows and oaths. ‘n then spit on ‘em when they have to choose which one’s most important.  ”

a quiet pause to reflect on the winter wind whistling outside of the walls and inside of his chest. he looks even more a king than he had when he’d first seen him, the lion. still handsome but graver now, lined and silvered. 

“ what did it feel like, when you did it? ”

❝      and you’ve every right to be.     ❞     dany  felt  black  thoughts  wrap  about  her  shoulders,  her  words  the  only  chill  that  leaves  her.   he  was  the  kingslayer.   a  proud  title  for  a  lion.    for  a  moment,  viserys  crosses  her  mind   –    bumps  pimple  her  skin.   she  revisits  two  nightmares,   all  at  once.     ❝      my  brother  wanted  you  dead.       ❞      he’s  never  killed  a  man   ;   but  he  fantasized  long  &  deep  of  drawing  jaime  lannister’s  last  breath.        ❝      he  was  angry.   he  claimed  he  had  a  dragon  inside  of  him  in  slumber.   his  fury  was  loud   &   comprised  of  empty  threats.       ❞    in  a  daze,   she  calls  to  mind.        ❝      MINE  ARE  NOT.      ❞

❝       you  could  be  interested  in  anger  all  your  life,   kingslayer.      ❞     she  spits,     ❝       but  let  it  be  known  that  my  anger  is  not  your  weapon.   my  anger  is  mine.   &  when  you  come  to  see  her,    unclench  your  fist  &   let  go  to  what  you  know  of  anger.    while  you  bare  your  teeth   &   sink  your  claws,   i  will  be  breathing  fire.      ❞