Carliene Stark

III Chapter 7

Carliene

I stood in the throne room, surrounded by greater beasts. Perched on the iron throne, as though it was some terribly misshapen nest was a white dragon. Red eyes darting around frantically, saliva spilling from in between its yellow teeth.

At the foot of the steps leading up to its nest stood a bold wolf, barking and snarling up at the terrible thing, with only lesser beings at his back. The dragon roared once and the wolf crumbled away like disturbed dust.

Outside the sun ran its tireless path, rising and falling and rising again. Until, once again, the throne room was filled. It was the old wolf that faced the dragon this time, calmer, more collected, but no less fierce to protect and defend his kin. The lesser beings were slaughter without question, young and old alike. But the old wolf.. he was a high lord and allowed a trial, with the dragon itself standing judge. Treason was the crime. Death would be the punishment.

The old wolf called for a trial by combat, knowing his hand would bring him more justice than the mad dragon ever could.

"Fire is House Targaryen's champion. So it is fire you shall face"

And so the old wolf was strung up. Hung like a suckling pig above a pool of wild fire. Far enough above it to not burst aflame immediately, but close enough to heat up his armour. The bold wolf was brought out to witness it, tied up like a dog, with a thyroshi around his neck and a sword placed just out of reach. As his father began to howl, he reached for the blade, struggling against his restrains, thinking he would only need a few inches more and they would be free. But the knot, once tightened would never loosen again. And a few inches was all it took to strangle the bold wolf. 

And I could only watch. As the silence in the crowded hall was nearly deafening. There was only the roaring of the flames, the laughter of the dragon and the howls of death. And when they ceased, only the laughter remained. I could feel hot tears gather on my chin and drip down onto the polished floor. I looked at Brandon Stark, blue faced and swollen. A purple tongue bulging from his mouth and the green flames still gleaming in his now empty grey eyes.

"My father always said he had the wolf blood in him" I could still hear Ned's voice. "Him and Lyanna too, which is why I think they perished before their time"

Someone stepped up beside me and for a mad moment I expected my father to be standing there. To teach me another lesson, to have some words of wisdom. But my gaze fell on white shinguards and white pants. A white lion stood at my side, studying Brandon's corpse with an expression I could not identify as the Mad Kings laughter finally calmed.

I woke in a bed cold with sweat, shivering under the furs as darkness surrounded me. I was glad for it. In ted darkness I was safe from that awful green glow. I tried not to too much about my dream, but ether is nothing that inspires the thoughts to drift and wander than lying awake at night. I had heard the story enough to know what had happened, and yet witnessing it with my own eyes was a different kind of terror. It felt like someone reopened a wound I had yet been unaware of. A wound that as not entirely my own. A wound I had been born with. 

Knowing that I would never be able to fall back asleep I silently rose, changing out of my sweat drenched shirt and underclothes and wrapping myself in the warmest clothes I owned. It felt especially cold today, but that could have just been the night. 

It is not going to get any warmer, nor brighter. 

Making sure not to wake Lady Lyra or Val I packed my few belongings for travel and then left the tent. Outside I realised where the great cold was coming from. It had been to snow again. Wet and heavy flakes that stuck to every surface and gathered thickly everywhere they landed. A few inches and already gathered on the roof of our tent.