A Dance of Shadows

Larence III

Here he was. Finally. The hero coming home, rescuing his queen, sweeping her off her feet before being crowned before the crowd. A knight by his own right, with a renewed strength building in his heart, in his body, in his soul. The fated king who returned with the dawn.

The sword was heavy in his hand, its wolf-shaped handle glaring at him with its bloody eyes. He used it with apparent pride on his enemies, reveling on their blood spilling on the soil.

"Winterfell!" He cried. "Winterfell!"

And they cried with him, thrilled by the kills and the copper taste on their tongues.

This world was here for the taking, and he would make it his song. A song of love, of glory and redemption. They would remember him even as his bones come to dust.

When it was done he ran to the tower, feeling her near, so close and yet not enough. He could almost see her waiting at her window, her hair flowing like a banner with the wind.

Come to me, my knight.... Come claim your victory...

Four by four the stairs were climbed. Ignored were the broken ornaments and the gory of the battle. Only one mattered. The one his heart beat for.

It seemed he knew the way too well. Memories of following her at distance came to him, filled with the secret and painful pleasure of knowing she was unaware of it.

He was her guardian. He was keeping her safe. Now and always.

He stopped in front of the door, hesitating a little, until finally he pushed it.

This was the chambers of his queen, of his beloved. Her haven, her sanctuary. He took each detail in, making it its own, for it seemed everything was set up for him only. The heavy, majestic bed, beautifully carved in ironwood, the darkness of the material contrasting with the light grey of the wolf pets covering it. The sheets were opened, but he could see clearly no body had been laid on it that night. Still, there was her scent, her intoxicating perfume of lemons and mint, and he found himself touch the rich materials that had had the honor to graze her white skin.

He closed his eyes, letting the sweet scent enter him all, warming his body with her essence. He felt his blood run low, his head wild with the thought of her, laying on this bed. He could almost see her angelic figure, the blood of her hair straying with the whiteness of her skin. Her lips, barely moving from a soft dream, and finally her eyes opening for him, only him. Ice becoming water as a smile drew from the tiny red mouth. A soft opening, and a sensual invitation...

He berated himself. Such thoughts were impure. He was not worthy of her. Not yet. He had to prove himself to her. Again and again, if need be.

She was his life and she was his death; she was the poison and the antidote in his veins. She was the glory in defeat, the grace in surrender. She was a vision of beauty and grace in the darkness. A light that he wanted to make his own, to hold it in his hands preciously, like a treasure, and to put it inside him, so that he may never be afraid again of the dark.

How he loved her. How he craved her. Time after time, he couldn't help it. He wanted to embrace her until her body melt with his, until her bones cracked and her soul, now free from her fleshed cage, joined him in oblivion. How they would fly then, out of this wretched world, how they would finally be free.

She would make him good again. She would make him alive again.

She was the light, she was the hope, she was...

She was... gone.

Unreachable. Once again she was away from him. Once again he was alone, and the shadows surrounded him.