Broken Wheel

Blood. Ash. Dust. He could feel it everywhere. On his skin, his nose, his lungs. He had still the taste of it on his mouth, bitter as it should be, with that warmer undertone that chilled his bone.

Jon was clean of it, though. Two days since that bloodshed, it was. Two days that seemed like two seconds ago. It was still all so clear, the feeling, the mess, the smells of bodies burning, their owners crying for a mercy that never came, or for a death that was taking her time, slowly roasting them alive.

He felt like throwing up.

He felt disgust. Pain in his head, his eyes, his hands that were shaking. Pain in his stomach, that growled for lack of anything solid since these two days. Nothing solid, but still he felt full. Full of filth. Full of hate. Full of rage.

All of this. All the burning. All the bodies.

All because of her. Daenerys. The Dragon Queen.

The one who burned them all.

The one who accompanied him for the Great War and fought beside him. The one who shared with him her dreams, her hopes, her losses, her love...

He shook his head, his pulse still throbbing.

No. It couldn't. She was his aunt. She was a murderer. It was madness.

She was madness.

Outside, Inside, they were crying for a riot. For the killing of the new queen, he heard them. They had enough, they didn't want to suffer again. He didn't want to suffer again.

He had to end it.

And here he was, in front of her door, with Grey Worm guarding him.

He did not say anything; Grey Worm looked at him, hostile, as if he already knew what he was about to do. I'm going to kill my queen, he was tempted to shout at him. Try to stop me. End me. End her.

Madness. All of it. The way love was tainted with hate, with doubts, with fear.

It had to end now. He was prepared to kill the soldier if he had to.

But then he let him in. Reluctantly. He even caught his arms once, as if trying to stop him. But then he looked resigned, like following an order that hadn't been heard from no one else but him.

"Come in" came the treacherous voice of his temptress.

He entered and came closer.

She was here, the Mad Queen, her back on him, looking at the reddish sky coming little by little to darker shades. Red like fire, like blood. A fitting sky for a bloodshed.

He could easily sneak behind her, kill her quick. It wasn't the honorable thing to do. But it was what he should do, before hesitating.

Because he would. He was. Even now, seeing her, seeing the moon reflects on the silver of her hair, the cream of her skin...

He was a fool, he knew. The Mad Queen and the Fool. They would sing songs about it.

But it will certainly be bitter and hard as the taste of ashes rolling on his tongue.

"I knew you would come"

It was dust, and now the smell seemed even stronger than before. And the voices, they still screamed in his ears even if he knew they were gone now. It was silent, but that silence was filled with ghosts.

Everything was broken. Everything was gone.

He said nothing. He couldn't. Not now. He looked at the horizon. Drogon wasn't here.