snow villiers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oathbranded) wrote2014-05-24 04:03 am
oathbranded) wrote2014-05-24 04:03 am
(no subject)
The room was dark when Snow woke. He groaned as he tried to shove back against the pull of consciousness, but there were some fights that even the Lord of the Mountain couldn't win against. Sighing, he shifted back against the mattress and cracked his eyes open. The waking world returned to him slowly, and he felt no sense of urgency to meet it halfway.
His sheets were still slightly damp against his bare skin, lightly coated with both his sweat and hers. They were tangled uncomfortably around his waist and left more than half of his body exposed to the night. Other than him, the bed was empty. The realization was met with a sense of muted panic as the wrongness of the situation began to sink in. Orange light flickered in through the open window, and the world outside was silent.
He hadn't been asleep very long. Gray wisps of smoke danced from the dead wood in the fireplace. The flame in the hearth had been put out only seconds ago, but the far side of the room was too dark for Snow to see if the person who'd put it out was still in there with him. There was a heavy scent of fire in the air, tinged with something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was sharp and sour, like the smell of rotting meat in an incinerator.
He sat up slowly, leaning back on his forearms for support. Every movement he made was an effort -- oppressive -- as though he was disturbing the very air in the room, forcing it to shift and reform around the positioning of his body. As he scanned the rest of the room with what little light was available to him, he caught sight of the plush carpet in the center of the floor. From where he was sitting, it almost looked mutilated. The edges were burned and melted to the stone floor, and the glue that'd held the fibers together bubbled and oozed like congealed fat over a fire.
There were words scorched into what remained, written in what seemed to be a disjointed and hasty hand.
He blew out a shallow and shaky breath as anxiety closed its hand around his throat. With care and caution, he untangled himself from the bedsheets and stepped barefoot onto the floor. The stone beneath his feet was smooth and cold as he made his way to the open window.
Before him, the city built around the castle was aflame. Fire danced and crackled up into the sky, which was lost within the inky stain of black smoke. Creatures shambled out of the collapsing buildings and headed in the direction of the castle -- knights in broken and tarnished armor, their faces half burned off in their assault. Their skin slogged off the sides of their skulls as they marched forward, some with awkward, jerky movements where their limbs were broken. Commanders followed not far behind, dressed in the finery of nobles and issuing orders with raspy, warbled voices. They were even worse. Some had no features at all on their puffed, melted faces, as the skin bubbled and breathed as though it was alive. Others had flesh pulled too tight, or their heads were caved in completely. Even still, they all seemed like people that Snow should have known -- people he should have recognized, that he'd known for years, but he couldn't put names to any of the individual horrors that they'd become.
A figure stood in Snow's periphery, pale and slender, with long blonde hair loose and cascading around her shoulders. He turned to look at her, but she was already gone -- moved in an instant to the other side of the room, where her blurred image could only barely be seen from the corner of his eye again.
"Snow." The queen's voice was small and distant. A whispered concern in the darkness of the night. "What have you done?"
The silence from the fire outside was deafening. He turned back to stare at it with a fixed gaze and a set jaw. Entire buildings were swallowed up in the inferno without fight nor protest as the blackened earth beneath them began to sink. Was she blaming this on him? Could she have thought that he was the one who'd ordered the razing of the city?
"I..." he hesitated. "I haven't done anything."
"Exactly," she said.
The word stabbed at his heart. He hadn't held the torch, but his inaction had allowed this to happen.
She took a step towards him. This close, he couldn't see her anymore, but he could feel her presence behind him, peering out from around the side of his arm to look out the window.
"I can never go home."
"We can put out the fires," he told her. His voice was strained and cracked. Even as the words left his mouth, he didn't believe them.
She wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her forehead against his back. Her palms pressed against his bare chest, one hand over his heart as she held him close. She only stood as tall as the center of his shoulder blades. Every inch and curve of her body was just as familiar to him as it was foreign, as his mind struggled with the conflicting thoughts that he was sure they'd been intimate earlier in the night and many times before, even though it felt like they had never been this close so much as once.
"No," she said. He could hear her fear, and when her words shook, he felt it in his own chest. "I can never go home. They'll take it from me."
Snow opened his mouth to respond -- to try to say something encouraging -- but his attention was torn away by the sound of clawing and pounding at the door. He pivoted on his heels to face it with a violent jerk, and the specter of the queen disappeared the moment he moved. Seconds passed, and what had started out as one person on the other side of the door turned into two. Then three. All determined to get in. He could already see them in his mind's eye, those disfigured creatures in a mockery of man's clothing and armor. At least he didn't have to hunt them down, now. They'd brought the battle to him.
"Monsters," he sneered to himself.
He grabbed his battleaxe from its place resting against the wall behind him and swung the massive two-handed weapon over his head, already poised for a fight.
"You're too late!" he shouted at the door. "I'll kill you all!"
His sheets were still slightly damp against his bare skin, lightly coated with both his sweat and hers. They were tangled uncomfortably around his waist and left more than half of his body exposed to the night. Other than him, the bed was empty. The realization was met with a sense of muted panic as the wrongness of the situation began to sink in. Orange light flickered in through the open window, and the world outside was silent.
He hadn't been asleep very long. Gray wisps of smoke danced from the dead wood in the fireplace. The flame in the hearth had been put out only seconds ago, but the far side of the room was too dark for Snow to see if the person who'd put it out was still in there with him. There was a heavy scent of fire in the air, tinged with something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was sharp and sour, like the smell of rotting meat in an incinerator.
He sat up slowly, leaning back on his forearms for support. Every movement he made was an effort -- oppressive -- as though he was disturbing the very air in the room, forcing it to shift and reform around the positioning of his body. As he scanned the rest of the room with what little light was available to him, he caught sight of the plush carpet in the center of the floor. From where he was sitting, it almost looked mutilated. The edges were burned and melted to the stone floor, and the glue that'd held the fibers together bubbled and oozed like congealed fat over a fire.
There were words scorched into what remained, written in what seemed to be a disjointed and hasty hand.
SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE SHE'S NOT HERE
He blew out a shallow and shaky breath as anxiety closed its hand around his throat. With care and caution, he untangled himself from the bedsheets and stepped barefoot onto the floor. The stone beneath his feet was smooth and cold as he made his way to the open window.
Before him, the city built around the castle was aflame. Fire danced and crackled up into the sky, which was lost within the inky stain of black smoke. Creatures shambled out of the collapsing buildings and headed in the direction of the castle -- knights in broken and tarnished armor, their faces half burned off in their assault. Their skin slogged off the sides of their skulls as they marched forward, some with awkward, jerky movements where their limbs were broken. Commanders followed not far behind, dressed in the finery of nobles and issuing orders with raspy, warbled voices. They were even worse. Some had no features at all on their puffed, melted faces, as the skin bubbled and breathed as though it was alive. Others had flesh pulled too tight, or their heads were caved in completely. Even still, they all seemed like people that Snow should have known -- people he should have recognized, that he'd known for years, but he couldn't put names to any of the individual horrors that they'd become.
A figure stood in Snow's periphery, pale and slender, with long blonde hair loose and cascading around her shoulders. He turned to look at her, but she was already gone -- moved in an instant to the other side of the room, where her blurred image could only barely be seen from the corner of his eye again.
"Snow." The queen's voice was small and distant. A whispered concern in the darkness of the night. "What have you done?"
The silence from the fire outside was deafening. He turned back to stare at it with a fixed gaze and a set jaw. Entire buildings were swallowed up in the inferno without fight nor protest as the blackened earth beneath them began to sink. Was she blaming this on him? Could she have thought that he was the one who'd ordered the razing of the city?
"I..." he hesitated. "I haven't done anything."
"Exactly," she said.
The word stabbed at his heart. He hadn't held the torch, but his inaction had allowed this to happen.
She took a step towards him. This close, he couldn't see her anymore, but he could feel her presence behind him, peering out from around the side of his arm to look out the window.
"I can never go home."
"We can put out the fires," he told her. His voice was strained and cracked. Even as the words left his mouth, he didn't believe them.
She wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her forehead against his back. Her palms pressed against his bare chest, one hand over his heart as she held him close. She only stood as tall as the center of his shoulder blades. Every inch and curve of her body was just as familiar to him as it was foreign, as his mind struggled with the conflicting thoughts that he was sure they'd been intimate earlier in the night and many times before, even though it felt like they had never been this close so much as once.
"No," she said. He could hear her fear, and when her words shook, he felt it in his own chest. "I can never go home. They'll take it from me."
Snow opened his mouth to respond -- to try to say something encouraging -- but his attention was torn away by the sound of clawing and pounding at the door. He pivoted on his heels to face it with a violent jerk, and the specter of the queen disappeared the moment he moved. Seconds passed, and what had started out as one person on the other side of the door turned into two. Then three. All determined to get in. He could already see them in his mind's eye, those disfigured creatures in a mockery of man's clothing and armor. At least he didn't have to hunt them down, now. They'd brought the battle to him.
"Monsters," he sneered to himself.
He grabbed his battleaxe from its place resting against the wall behind him and swung the massive two-handed weapon over his head, already poised for a fight.
"You're too late!" he shouted at the door. "I'll kill you all!"