A Dragon In Wolf's Clothing ~A Game of Thrones fan fiction~

Chapter Sixty Four: Snows

The heads lined the walls of the Red Keep, decorations on spikes, the smell of the decaying flesh filling her nostrils. 

They were all faces that she knew, knew and loved. The one furthest away was Margaery's, her pretty face blood stained, her hair dangling limp. Next to her was Garlan, his eyes already pecked out by the birds, whilst Loras next to him had already began to rot, his once strong jaw now corroding away.

Next to the Tyrell's was her own family. Her sisters, Sansa whose face was beaten and bruised, Arya, sporting a savage haircut. Then her brothers, Bran who'd already been eaten at by the birds, who left him with a gaping red hole on his forehead like a third eye, Rickon, his head featured on a much smaller pole than the others, Jon, tears of blood flowing down his face, and Robb, who's own head had been replaced by Grey Wind's.

Her father's head was there too, merely just a skull, except his hair remained, and his eyes, staring into her soul. Surrounding him were the heads of his household guard; Jory, Cayn, Fat Tom, Alebelly, Desmond, Mollen, Harwin, Alyn, Porther, Poxy Tym, and even Vayon Poole the steward.

Standing in front of her was Willas, seemingly fine, even without his cane, Brandon in his arms. Then, as he opened his mouth to call out to her, he instead spewed up blood, his eyes rolling back into his head as he bled through his nose too. Brandon began to bleed too, his small white shirt showing the exact point in his chest where he should have been stabbed, and just as if it was a fresh injury, blood began to pour out as the two turned to rot in front of her eyes.

Just as she was about to scream, Lyanna felt an arm grab her around the neck, strangling her round her throat. Turning her face she saw Joffrey grinning at her, as he began to force a small sharp blade through her stomach repeatedly. Eventually, his face shifted like a Faceless Man of Bravos until he became Ramsay Bolton. He kept stabbing her until she found her legs becoming limp, and just before she fell to meet death, he whispered in her ear.

"Come and see, bastard, come and see,"

Lyanna woke up, paralysed in fear. She felt her heart pounding and her throat constrict as she gasped for breath. Her throat stung as she swallowed and her chest ached.

Slowly she got up from where she had been sleeping and looked down at her stomach. It hurt, as if she had really been stabbed, but she was seemingly unharmed. Running her hand over where she had been stabbed in her dream, she bit her lip as it ached, especially where she had been gaining weight, but she put it down to the dream still fresh in her mind, and the weight to the fact she'd eaten more than usual since raiding the Twins meant an increase in her crew's food supplies.

Sighing, Lyanna closed her eyes, running her hands through her hair, though when she had her eyelids shut, all she saw was the severed heads again, and the decaying corpses of her husband and son. It all had seemed so real, and it made her feel sick.

The image still in her mind, Lyanna felt herself heave, and so she ran to the corner of her cabin to throw up. This was the third time this week she'd had a nightmare, and her second time she'd thrown up since the Twins. It was just nerves though, she had decided as they grew ever closer to the wall, to Jon. She'd thought about this moment for so long, and now it was nearly upon her and she could barely contain her nerves and excitement.

As if she was in a hurry, Lyanna changed out of her night dress and into her battle dress, the one she'd worn as she destroyed the Twins, draping a thick grey cloak around her shoulders. She braided her hair back tightly into two long plaits that she then twisted into buns at the back of her head, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. Then she attached her swords to her belt, sliding her dagger into her boot, slinging her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She was ready.