ā all the fear and the fire of the end of the world ā
( multiple x fem!oc)
(mature themes!)
(doesn't really follow the HBO show
or the books, but has elements)
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▬▬ ▬ 𝟐𝟗𝟎 𝐀𝐂
In the dim glow of the dying fire, she nestled against her mother's breast, the elder's fingers weaving through the chaos of pale, knotted hair that framed her daughter's weary face. A persistent frown had taken residence upon the girl's visage, a shadow that had grown only more defined with the passing moons.
"Will you tell me a story?" the words slipped from her lips, more an invocation than a query. The weary sigh that met her request spoke of long days spent beyond the safety of their hearth, toiling in realms the girl could scarcely comprehend. Though the grown folk oft mistook her quiet nature for simplicity, she bore no fool's mark; rather, she had mastered the art of silence, a shield against the harsh winds of adulthood.
"Very well," her mother's voice, tinged with fatigue, broke through the chill. "Shall it be a tale of princesses, then?" Her tone carried a playful lilt, though the jest found no purchase.
"I care not for such tales," the girl protested, her pout steadfast as she turned to study her mother's time-worn features.
With a tender grace, her mother's finger traced a path over her brow, down the slope of her nose, lingering upon the violet fleck that marked her iris—a secret hue unseen by most, save her. Outside, the winter's fury unleashed itself upon the north, snow dancing wildly with the gales that besieged their humble refuge. "What of an ice dragon, then?" the mother proposed, a hint of warmth bleeding through the cold air.
"An ice dragon?" Wonderment lit the girl's face, her earlier sullenness forgotten.
"Aye," the mother's voice lowered to a whisper, as though invoking the beast could summon it forth from legend. "Long before even the oldest songs, the ice dragon ruled the skies near the Shivering Sea and the vast White Waste. Towering above the greatest dragons of old Valyria, wrought from frost and living ice, its eyes shimmered like pale blue crystals, its wings vast sheets of translucent glass stretching from the Wall to the distant south."
The room grew colder, the fire but a whisper of light against the encroaching darkness. The girl shuddered, her voice a frail note against the howling storm. "I dislike the cold," she murmured, a cough punctuating her fear."Yes," her mother drew her close, a bulwark against the icy night. "It appears you are fire made flesh, after all."
