A Dance of Shadows

A Man in the Snow II

There was blood on his hands, today. More than yesterday, maybe. Hot, sticky to the fingers. Reassuring in a way. Not his. But those of the meat he had eaten. Raw, juicy, sticky and warm on his touch.

He was fond of birds, these days. Black specifically. He couldn't afford to cook it, for setting a fire might alert others. But he found that he didn't mind, actually. The more he stayed out there, the more he found himself lose everything that once defined him, little by little, like a fire consuming wood until there's only ashes left.

Ashes... He remembered the ruin of King's Landing. How they were falling like snow on the city, each petal of it flying away and recovering everything with white sheets of dust and destruction.

He had almost forgot about the blood, then. About the burned corpses, how they smelled when he passed right next to them. And the survivors, screaming in agony, waiting for release.

He had almost forgot about these soldiers in line, waiting for their queen to come out the ruins, and cheering for her as she talked.

He had understood nothing then. Nothing but the smells of the blood and ashes that were here.

His purpose had been meaningless, he had learned as he looked at his companions that day.

Except for one thing. One image. The image of his queen, of the memory of her perfume, warm and fruity, flowing right at him, and then, suddenly, piercing his heart with its sweetness and beauty. He could see her anywhere, looking at him with blue ice in her eyes. Could they not be warm again? Why that color was following him that way, as well with the snow that stuck to his skin?

So he returned and he saw her one last time before going home and rebuilding all that had been lost. But still, there was this hope to meet her again.

If he needed to survive, it was to see her again. And for that, he was ready to do anything. Forsake every vow, every law. 'Arise, my lord' she had said once to him. And he had every intention of obeying that order. But this time, being a lord wasn't enough.

He would be her savior. He would keep her safe from harm...

Like you kept these villagers safe, the voice, the stronger one in his head said, cold, hard.

He shivered, then fell on his knees, taking his head with his hands as if to take the pain away. And to shut this voice, always harassing him since he went far north. Since he met beasts and monsters on his way.

Sometimes, it had the accent of a man he knew and admired. Sometimes it was like his beloved's voice. Other times though, it was one of a stranger.

For him, it was still one, taking different forms. And even if it wasn't, the thought was too much terrifying for him to comprehend. It was his. Until that point.

But it was when these voices were fighting each other that he wondered if he was wrong the whole time. Chaos reigned in his head, and he could only scream at the insanity of him.

That's not me, he wanted to shoot. It's someone else, someone stronger. Someone stranger.

"Leave me alone," he whispered. This was not his objective. This was not his destiny. They all told him about what had been done. Not about what he wanted to do.

The voices were stronger since he fled the battlefield. But then, what could he have done?

'Fight with your friend' One of the voices said, coldly. 'Die with your friends'

He shook his head.

No, no. That was not that.

" Get out. GET OUT!"