Hakuna Matata

The winds of the Narrow Sea spread the intense fragrance from the gardens swimming in lilacs throughout the whole palace, bringing the sweet scent of summer along. The last rays of sunshine toned the clouds that ruled over the sky, painting them a vibrant maroon color. For the first time in such a long time, Tyrion embraced the lifeful, little details the day brought along, allowing himself to give in to the comfort, embracing the peace all around him. For the first time in such a long time, there were no certain wars in his near future, no thrones to win, no enemy strategies to predict, no cities to conquer, no armies marching towards the walls of this city... or any other city for that matter. There was only here and now . And it was magical.  “Are you lost?” a voice distracted him from the breathtaking view of the sunset over Blackwater Bay. He needed not turn around to know the Warden of the North was standing beside him.  “Jon Snow… I was hoping you’d show. Tomo...

The scorching fire bathed her, cleansing her off mistakes, regrets and insanity. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms wide, embracing it. As she stood up from the melting throne, its magma of steel drowned her bare feet, twirling around her toes, sending electrical jolts through her whole body. Dust and ash blurred the air, the burning smell swallowed the room. The heat soothed her, painting a notion of freedom like none she had ever known. The world around her ceased to exist. When the torn pieces of her dress finally finished their dance through the air, falling on the ground, the fire revealed her blackened bare skin underneath. She turned her body and opened her eyes to the gazes of those before her. The dwarf freed his frightened face, unwrapped his arms and dropped his jaw at the sight of the godlike being in front of him. “It takes a great leader to realize their mistakes, but it takes an even greater one to admit them. I know you are all here out of fear ...

Longclaw felt heavy in his arms, slashing his way through gold cloaks, ironborn and dornish alike. His feet were leading him forward, but his mind kept forgetting his intention. Yes, the Red Keep, I need to find Tyrion. Blood mixed with the water dripping from his hair and clothes, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. When Hodor   entered through the burning gates of the wildfire, sailing inside this mess, the docks were all but destroyed, so Jon Snow swam ashore to join the war of the three armies. The scorpions powerful enough to drop a dragon from the sky, filled the holes in the walls of King’s Landing, slashing through everything that stood in their way. He has seen war before and this was not it. There was no telling friend from foe, sides seemed to matter no more, it was a fight for survival and no longer a victory. His rapid heartbeats muted the pain of his fresh cuts, his arms felt sore, but his legs guided him forward. The ground was painted in red, blood was the theme ...

Even her ironborn, the sea-born warriors, could not stomach the way the massive, rogue waves were hitting the hull, fiddling with the galleys as they wished. It seemed as if the wind of the whole world had gathered just to gash over this narrow strait, stirring the waters of the Narrow Sea. Utmost sailors of Westeros they may be, but the waves did not care for it, rebelling against them. Some saw it as a sign of the Drowned God, telling them to turn their sails around and point their bows towards home. However, Yara Greyjoy’s stubbornness was well known amongst her people. Besides, the loss of ships and men was already too great to abandon this quest now, their feet hadn’t touched land in months, their bellies hadn’t tasted decent food in weeks and their eyes hadn’t seen the sun in days. But in Yara’s experience, aiming for a great reward, usually meant accepting greater risk. So, when the news of the King’s death arrived, all of her advisors agreed with the Lady of the Iron Islan...

The small council chamber was completely empty. There, at the head of the long wooden table was only him, slouching in the seat, and a jug of wine right in front of him. He could feel it staring back… calling… tempting him, could even feel the sweetness on his tongue without tasting it. Resisting the urge to reach its bottom in only a few sips, proved more challenging than he wished to admit. Lately, the alcohol was his only friend and giving it up was not easy. After a good time spent wrestling against insatiable cravings, consciousness won. The well-being of a whole realm was in his hands after all and when drunk, those hands were useless. Few days passed since the King‘s eyes drowned into the whiteness he considered an amenity, a comfort. He sank so deep, that Tyrion feared they had lost the King in the abyssal mind of another for good. Since this was not Bran’s first attempt, Tyrion assumed the King had yet again, dared taking control of the roaring beast that to this day, m...