ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴏɴᴇss ʀᴀᴍᴘᴀɴᴛ || ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇs ғᴀɴ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

A truly strong person does not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep.

Vernon Howard

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Coming north from the Dornish heat was refreshing for the young widow of Ser Gulian Qorgyle of Sandstone and her two children. The blonde woman was eager to return to King's Landing to rejoin her family and introduce her children to them. Her eldest Myriah was two namedays old, a little cherub beauty that was a mix of her parents with her father's dark hair and her mother's green es. Her second was Olyvar at one nameday old, with dark brown hair and the soulful brown eyes of his father. Her youngest was her unborn child, currently in her womb for two moons now, conceived shortly before her husband's death.

She was disgruntled at the fact she had to ask permission from her father-in-law, but the sooner she was away from him the better. He had never approved of her, only agreeing to the match because it was ordered by the king. To refuse would be a great insult to the royal family, and would cause more strife than Prince Doran Martell would want. So the wedding happened in 295 AC, and while they didn't love each other, the new couple learned to respect one another.

Right now they are currently in the Reach, riding past Bitterbridge after staying with the Tyrells for a week in Highgarden. Her guards were a little on edge being in the land of their long-time enemy of Dorne. She and Margaery have been dear friends since they were children, sharing their love of helping other children. They kept in touch, often exchanging witty banter as they discussed their charity organization that they both started in King's Landing and Highgarden, and later in Sandstone as well. It would be another week until they make it to the capital, barring any complications with bandits on the roads.

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Stopping in Tumbleton for the night, the party of twenty stayed at a local inn, hardly paying attention to the citizens around them as they tiredly walked to the bed. Syrina Baratheon took her two children with her as she placed them in one of the two beds in the room they paid for. Smoothing the hair on their heads, she gave each of them a kiss on the cheek as they slept away. Turning to her bed, she rubbed her slightly swollen belly as got as comfortable as she could in the remaining bed.

In her dreams, the blonde woman looked around at the cold, harsh wilderness around her. All around her were trees, with a large Weirwood in the center on a hill. She watched as strange humanoid creatures, who looked like part of the forest itself, roam around as they tended to the trees. They didn't seem to see her as she walked past them, going toward the large tree in a trance. Standing in front of it, she raised her hand to touch it...

...only to be transported somewhere else. This place was colder, with a darkness that she had never felt before. All she saw was ice, covering the land in harsh sight that would be frightening to all who would witness it. She wondered if this was the Land of Always Winter the books talked about. She was always fascinated with the history of the North, as one of the oldest kingdoms in Westeros.

In the distance, she could make out figures in the snow walking toward her. Feeling threatened, she turned to run away from them. Fighting against the snow, she tried to lengthen the distance between them, but no matter what she did, they continued to get closer. Close enough to see them, her breath stopped. They were Night Walkers! She thought they were just legends, but to see one is more terrifying than she ever thought possible. The one in front could only be the Night King, the unnatural crown on its head different from the others, as well as the shrewd and apathetic intelligence in its eyes. Just as he reached for her...