My take on season 8 of #GameofThrones.
Winter is coming to Westeros as Daenerys and Jon go North to fight the great threat.
The Night king's army grows larger and stronger, the days get colder and the nights darker.
Arya, Bran and Sansa struggle to...
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Bran didn't wish to attend the meeting. Understandable , since he didn't need to be there to know what have been said and knew the outcome before it had even happened. The burning fire in the chimney only managed to warm the surface of his skin, failing to get past the high wall around his heart.
This heart of his was blind now, but his eyes, they could see anything. His pupils rolled back and he began to watch.
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Jon stormed out the Great Hall and took a deep breath. Even the air here felt different, in a better way. He looked up at this place that sheltered his dearest memories, where the slightest detail seemed perfect. The raven flying over, the shadow of the battlements over the yard, even the creaking of the door had a delightfull ring to him.
A snowball hit the back of his head pulling himback into the present and bursted into an infinite amount of flakes that sprinkled over his curls and crumbled down beneath his cloak. Goosebumps ran all over his body, from the cold undoubtebly, but mostly from the sheer bliss he felt. For a moment he closed his eyes and didn't move a muscle, took a deep breath to let it all in.
He knew.
He knew who threw it. He knew what was about to happen, he's been wishing for from the moment he walked out the gates of Winterfell, eight years ago. Clinging to this moment kept him from falling all these years. It held his hand when lonliness was the only company he kept. It was a soft blanket that warmed him up in the hostile country North of the Wall. It was a lit candle in the night when all he could see was darkness
He turned around in a sudden move and looked around with avid eyes. The rush of adrenaline highned his senses so much he could hear the sound of the snowflakes settling on the wooden handrail of the stairway in front of him. He turned back around and headed straight forward, tilted his head up and took a look at the broken tower then made a turn the opposite way in the narrow alley that lead outside the castle. A way out few knew about.
There was a little door at the end of the path, and when he pushed it open, the milky coat laying over the hill on land was mesmerizing. Even the sky seemed white. He came back to his senses after a couple of seconds and stepped over to the side , his eyes still stuck on the view. The door slowly closing behind him after a push of the hand, revealed a smalish silouhette, though slightly taller than he expected, leaning against the wall. A sweet dream blown into reality by a gentle wind of winter that caressed both their faces.
