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fandomweekly2019-05-26 12:44 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2019-05-26 12:44 pm
Entry tags:
[#015] THE DEATH OF DUTY (GAME OF THRONES)
Theme Prompt: Prompt: #015 - Fever dream
Title: The death of duty
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating/Warnings: PG, Spoilers for Seasons 1-7
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jon's battle against the army of the dead is far from over.
Davvos pulled desperately at the frozen furs than encased Jon's body. How he'd made it out was beyond comprehension, let alone found his way back to Eastwatch on horseback.
The furs cracked with each burst of effort, trying to prise them away. 'Get more blankets!' Davvos barked at the men hovering in the doorway. 'Steal them from the Queen's own bed if you have to!'
True to their orders, they found more furs, piling them heavily over Jon's pale body. Satisfied, Davvos took a step back, survey their efforts.
'Will he survive?' came a gentle voice behind him. He turned to find Danaerys watching silently from the door.
'There no telling, Your Grace,' he admitted, 'but I know Jon Snow and I know he won't give up without a fight.'
Jon found himself lying in the snow. He must have fallen from his horse. He'd been so cold he could hardly breathe let alone feel the mount underneath him. He pushed himself up and the sight that met his eyes forced the breath right out of him. There was a sea of black as the army of the dead had him surrounded, countless thousands of them crowding him in. They'd found him and they weren't going to stop until he was dead.
All around him, dead things chittered as they drew closer. Bones clicked against one another with no muscle or sinew to silence their movements. Steel and bronze clinked in rotting sheaths or dragged heavily through the snow. The winter winds whistled and echoed through the holes in corpses. Everywhere was the sickening scent of death.
There was a subtle movement as one vile creature stepped forward from the pack. It was no butchered Wildling. Though it was black and rotted and mangled, there was no mistaking that he knew who it was. Lord Commander Mormont.
When he looked down at his belt, he found Longclaw gone. Now it rested in the hilt at the Commander's side, the pommel carved in the shape of a bear, just as it had been before.
'Lord Commander Mormont.' He didn't know what else to say. He should have been there at Craster's Keep when Mormont's own men turned on him and murdered him. If he had been, then Jon might still be his steward, might have learned how to lead men and command their respect.
The Old Bear looked more disappointed then anything. 'I told you not to do anything stupid, boy. I had high hopes for you. The Long Night will come and who will be there to guard the realms of men? Not me. Not you. We are his to command now.'
With a speed that belied the Lord Commander's age, he swung Longclaw and sliced open Jon's abdomen, leaving him on his knees, grasping at the long bloody wound.
When finally the pain subsided enough for him the glance up, he found Pyp and Grenn standing there, looking down at him. 'We trusted you,' Pyp said, a jagged crossbow nail sticking out of his neck, forcing his head to lean awkwardly to one side.
'You were supposed to be our leader,' Grenn added. 'All you did was lead us to our deaths.'
The pair of them parted and let Ollie through, his tiny bow nocked and drawn. 'For the Watch,' he said, loosing the arrow as it dug painfully into Jon's pectoral muscle.
Jon gritted his teeth, struggling to close his numb hands around it. He tugged it out and a small spray of red flicked across the snow. A heavy boot kicked the bloodied snow away. 'Lord Snow,' it grumbled menacingly. Ser Alliser's eyes glowed even more intensely blue than ever, though the hatred in them hadn't changed one bit. 'What a surprise to find you North of the Wall.' He stepped so close that Jon could smell the rankness of his breath, passing through the jagged teeth and fleshless lips as he snarled a smile. 'You'll rot in hell, bastard,' Thorne promised him. 'And then you'll become one of those dead Wildling monsters you love so much.' He pulled his knife from his belt. 'I'll do my duty for the Watch a hundred times over,' he declared, shoving it deep into Jon's side.
'He's mine to kill,' a female voice announced, stepping forward. Ygritte's body was charred black, her furs fallen away in places where the flames had destroyed them completely. One blackened and blistered breast hung out between the tattered remains, but her hair was still as red as the fires that had consumed her.
'I burned you,' Jon said, his voice wavering in disbelief. 'You shouldn't be here.'
Her face soured as she approached. 'Didn't I warn you I'd put an arrow through you if you ever betrayed me?'
He sobbed. 'We should have stayed in that cave.'
'We should have,' she replied, gripping one of her hand-fletched arrows and driving into him.
Jon coughed, struggling for each breath. When next he saw who stood there, he wished he were dead already. Seeing his father broke his heart.
Ned grimaced sadly. 'You are an oathbreaker; a deserter from the Night's Watch. No man is more dangerous. A deserter knows his life is forfeit.'
That wasn't what he'd done, but he had too much respect for his father to argue with him. All his life he'd wanted to carry the Stark name and make his father proud, but now he knew that could never be.
'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,' Jon replied. It felt fitting that his father should end it. Perhaps he should have done so years ago when Jon was nothing more than a screaming babe in arms. He bowed his head, readying himself.
Ned raised the sword, but it was an upwards thrust through the chest rather than the downward one he'd been expecting to remove his head from his shoulders. Ice earned its namesake, plunging into him with a ice cold fury that stopped his heart dead.
Title: The death of duty
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating/Warnings: PG, Spoilers for Seasons 1-7
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jon's battle against the army of the dead is far from over.
Davvos pulled desperately at the frozen furs than encased Jon's body. How he'd made it out was beyond comprehension, let alone found his way back to Eastwatch on horseback.
The furs cracked with each burst of effort, trying to prise them away. 'Get more blankets!' Davvos barked at the men hovering in the doorway. 'Steal them from the Queen's own bed if you have to!'
True to their orders, they found more furs, piling them heavily over Jon's pale body. Satisfied, Davvos took a step back, survey their efforts.
'Will he survive?' came a gentle voice behind him. He turned to find Danaerys watching silently from the door.
'There no telling, Your Grace,' he admitted, 'but I know Jon Snow and I know he won't give up without a fight.'
Jon found himself lying in the snow. He must have fallen from his horse. He'd been so cold he could hardly breathe let alone feel the mount underneath him. He pushed himself up and the sight that met his eyes forced the breath right out of him. There was a sea of black as the army of the dead had him surrounded, countless thousands of them crowding him in. They'd found him and they weren't going to stop until he was dead.
All around him, dead things chittered as they drew closer. Bones clicked against one another with no muscle or sinew to silence their movements. Steel and bronze clinked in rotting sheaths or dragged heavily through the snow. The winter winds whistled and echoed through the holes in corpses. Everywhere was the sickening scent of death.
There was a subtle movement as one vile creature stepped forward from the pack. It was no butchered Wildling. Though it was black and rotted and mangled, there was no mistaking that he knew who it was. Lord Commander Mormont.
When he looked down at his belt, he found Longclaw gone. Now it rested in the hilt at the Commander's side, the pommel carved in the shape of a bear, just as it had been before.
'Lord Commander Mormont.' He didn't know what else to say. He should have been there at Craster's Keep when Mormont's own men turned on him and murdered him. If he had been, then Jon might still be his steward, might have learned how to lead men and command their respect.
The Old Bear looked more disappointed then anything. 'I told you not to do anything stupid, boy. I had high hopes for you. The Long Night will come and who will be there to guard the realms of men? Not me. Not you. We are his to command now.'
With a speed that belied the Lord Commander's age, he swung Longclaw and sliced open Jon's abdomen, leaving him on his knees, grasping at the long bloody wound.
When finally the pain subsided enough for him the glance up, he found Pyp and Grenn standing there, looking down at him. 'We trusted you,' Pyp said, a jagged crossbow nail sticking out of his neck, forcing his head to lean awkwardly to one side.
'You were supposed to be our leader,' Grenn added. 'All you did was lead us to our deaths.'
The pair of them parted and let Ollie through, his tiny bow nocked and drawn. 'For the Watch,' he said, loosing the arrow as it dug painfully into Jon's pectoral muscle.
Jon gritted his teeth, struggling to close his numb hands around it. He tugged it out and a small spray of red flicked across the snow. A heavy boot kicked the bloodied snow away. 'Lord Snow,' it grumbled menacingly. Ser Alliser's eyes glowed even more intensely blue than ever, though the hatred in them hadn't changed one bit. 'What a surprise to find you North of the Wall.' He stepped so close that Jon could smell the rankness of his breath, passing through the jagged teeth and fleshless lips as he snarled a smile. 'You'll rot in hell, bastard,' Thorne promised him. 'And then you'll become one of those dead Wildling monsters you love so much.' He pulled his knife from his belt. 'I'll do my duty for the Watch a hundred times over,' he declared, shoving it deep into Jon's side.
'He's mine to kill,' a female voice announced, stepping forward. Ygritte's body was charred black, her furs fallen away in places where the flames had destroyed them completely. One blackened and blistered breast hung out between the tattered remains, but her hair was still as red as the fires that had consumed her.
'I burned you,' Jon said, his voice wavering in disbelief. 'You shouldn't be here.'
Her face soured as she approached. 'Didn't I warn you I'd put an arrow through you if you ever betrayed me?'
He sobbed. 'We should have stayed in that cave.'
'We should have,' she replied, gripping one of her hand-fletched arrows and driving into him.
Jon coughed, struggling for each breath. When next he saw who stood there, he wished he were dead already. Seeing his father broke his heart.
Ned grimaced sadly. 'You are an oathbreaker; a deserter from the Night's Watch. No man is more dangerous. A deserter knows his life is forfeit.'
That wasn't what he'd done, but he had too much respect for his father to argue with him. All his life he'd wanted to carry the Stark name and make his father proud, but now he knew that could never be.
'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,' Jon replied. It felt fitting that his father should end it. Perhaps he should have done so years ago when Jon was nothing more than a screaming babe in arms. He bowed his head, readying himself.
Ned raised the sword, but it was an upwards thrust through the chest rather than the downward one he'd been expecting to remove his head from his shoulders. Ice earned its namesake, plunging into him with a ice cold fury that stopped his heart dead.
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