Hollow Crown ↬ Daenerys Targaryen

18

Aaah I didn't have time to edit this!

If you can, tell me if you see any mistakes. Thank you!

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When Percy wakes, it's to distorted flames dancing across the walls of his temporary room in Winterfell. They flicker and flare from the fireplace like crimson waves washing the shore. It's a rather peaceful sight, one that allows his overloaded mind to relieve itself from the stress and strain.

He attempts to piece together the events that happened before he fell unconscious, but only manages to catch faint images and sounds before they fade. His eyebrows furrow in annoyance and slight aggravation at his lack of memory, and he dares to push harder when even those start to fade. Though he soon gives up as a headache threatens to exhaust his already throbbing brain.

His hands are wrapped in bandages to his wrists, ribbing uncomfortably against his skin. He frowns at them, wondering what happened when flashes of crimson liquid spilling and wood splintering beneath his fingertips invade his mind. Laying back, he pushes them away with confusion.

It stays that way for the greater portion of an hour, with him laying silently while accessing the room, an occasional sigh escaping his lips as he waits for his head to catch up with his body. He can faintly hear people shift by his door every once in a while, most likely the guards Daenerys would have had stationed there. For what reason, he can't name a single one for sure, but it makes his stomach swarm nevertheless.

After a few more minutes of silence, Percy finally decides that he's had enough rest and slowly pulls himself from the bed. His muscles take little time to adjust to the movement, but his vision takes longer to clear before he can move around. Once he's dressed himself in the appropriate winter attire, he carefully makes his way to the door, slowly as to not test his still wavering balance.

Greeting the two Unsullied outside of his room with a nod and a subtle eye roll, he orders them not to bother Daenerys - as she probably told them to inform her when he awoke - and continues his path. They look unsure whether or not to follow his order instead of Daenerys', but ultimately nod at the order. He has no doubt they'll tell her anyway.

The halls of Winterfell aren't too hard to navigate considering he's only been in the castle a handful of times, but he does wish that he had taken Sansa up on her offer to give him a tour upon arrival. But other matters had been more urgent, and he personally would rather use the opportunity for some quiet time to himself, or maybe even a walk with Daenerys when they both get the chance.

Reaching two large double doors that sits slightly ajar at the end of a corridor, Percy debates for a moment whether or not he should be outside, but decides that it might help clear his head a little. Pushing one of them open, his ears are met with a quiet creak as the snow covered, forested area greets him. His eyebrows raise at the sight in the middle of the trees, or more so, the boy in the middle.

He's sitting beneath a weirwood tree in the very center of the godswood, not seeming to care about the freezing temperatures or the storm raging around him.

Bran Stark isn't someone Percy necessarily feels comfortable around. It's not that the boy is intimidating, quite the opposite actually, but something about the way he presents himself makes Percy's skin crawl. His posture is constantly stoic and static, which could be blamed on the paralyzation if it weren't for the fact that only his lower half is immobile.

His eyes are the most chilling though. The way they seem to stare at nothing but see into everything at the same time. What once was a soft grey iris on a boy filled with life, is now but a cold black void filled with the burden of knowledge. Percy can remember what Bran was like the first time they met when Robert was still King, when the Starks and Baratheons were still allies, and when the boy was still a boy. Or even human, for that matter.