there is love in her breath
and fear in her eyesWhen death lingered, a sweet pungency filled the air, thick and cloying, a scent that whispered of unsatisfied desires—whether they be carnal conquests or the desperate clutches of prized possessions. In King's Landing, however, the fragrance that enveloped Hermione was unlike anything she had ever encountered, a heady mix of sweat and fear that hung over the city like a shroud.
Perched upon the sill of an open window in a deserted corridor, she gazed down at the chaos below. The streets of the capital thrummed with life, though it was a life steeped in depravity; men and women fell upon each other with frenzied greed, robbing and raping as if the very air they breathed were the last breaths they would ever take.
"An odd sensation, is it not?" came a voice, deep and sardonic, slicing through the tumult.
Hermione turned to find Lord Tyrion Lannister standing beside her, clad in the red and gold of his house, the glimmer of his armor stark against the grimy stones of the castle. Though he rarely graced her with his presence, tales of his cunning had reached her ears; he was a man of sharp wit and sharper insight, suited for the mantle of Hand of the King.
"What do you mean?" she replied, a tinge of irritation flaring in her voice.
"Being an observer of the human condition," Tyrion said, gesturing grandly at the scene below. "From this high perch, we watch as they flail about in their struggles, like marionettes dancing to a tune only they can hear. It's almost godlike, is it not? We, the rulers and the observers."
Hermione shook her head, a flicker of disdain crossing her features. For a man of his intellect, it was a shockingly naive sentiment. They were not gods, merely fortunate souls who had been born into wealth and privilege, while others clawed and scraped to survive. Their power lay only in the belief of the people below; without that, they were nothing.
A thin hiss escaped her lips as discomfort coiled in her belly. Her child was restless, stirring with an unsettling vigor that intensified with the setting sun. This was no time for such disturbances.
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POPPY | A Game Of Thrones
Fanfiction[IN THE PROCESS OF REWRITING!] ❝ I just don't find you dangerous. ❞ ❝ Well, I find you lethal. ❞ GAME OF THRONES - SEASON 1-3 THE POPPY SAGA - 2 THE MORTAL GODDESS SERIES © diaryofhungrygirls