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sixthiterationlogs2017-05-13 10:55 pm
iron_beneath_beauty) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-05-13 10:55 pm
That's When All the Smiles Died
WHO: Lyanna Stark
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn
WHEN: May 13th
OPEN TO: Jon, OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, childbirth, war, blood
STATUS: Open
"Promise me, Ned." "I promise, Lya."
The Fountain - Closed to Jon
The fever had turned the world hazy around Lyanna as she had clasped onto Ned's hand, as though the touch of him would be enough to hold her in this world. The heat of Dorne slowly filtered from her consciousness, disappearing until suddenly it felt as though she were surrounded by cold water. Her body ached as it felt like it was being pulled down against a current, adrift and weightless. Had she lost so much blood that her body was nothing but a husk as light as any feather?
It was only when she went to take a sharp breath that an influx of water filled her nose and lungs. Instinct took place of terror. Despite the pain in her body, her legs kicked fiercely and pushed towards the surface. There was a shimmer above her of light as the surface seemed to be speckled with constant collisions. Raindrops?
She grabbed hold of the ledge and with the last ounce of strength she possessed, she hauled herself over the side of the fountain. There was no mistaking it now. Her feather bed was replaced with a wilderness that she didn't recognize and didn't seem to look like any place she had heard of before in Westeros. Her face and body were pelted with hail that fell sharply from the sky. With a small groan, she turned to her side to shield herself. Her legs still ached and felt useless beneath her, her body exhausted from her earlier ordeal. The bleeding had stopped, but the fever was still there and the pain hadn't lessened.
Death was supposed to be an end to all of that. So why did she still feel as she did when she lived?
It took only a minute for her to recognize that her clothes had changed as well, to a flimsy green pant combination. There was a pack next to her, but was largely forgotten. She was alone in this place, no weapon and unable to move fully on her own. Death would be too simple in a feather bed, apparently the Seven Hells had something else in mind. In the distance, she could see someone running towards her, a man as far as she could tell.
As the figure steadily approached, hazy to her eyes, Lyanna grabbed at her pack and threw it limply at the stranger. It rolled pathetically before his feet, spilling out a few more pairs of clothing.
She showed him.
The Inn
Not the Seven Hells, some place that pulled people from different worlds. She had to keep repeating those words to herself as she rested in front of the fire. Jon had helped her home, letting her rest and recover what little strength she could. The ache and fever were still there, but it wasn't as great a concern as it had been in the Tower. She wasn't dead apparently and this place was real.
With a bit of assistance, she was taken to the inn, surrounded by more people than she had been in over a year. The noise around her was soothing and the fire was warm. In only a year, she had grown used to heat and felt repelled by the cold. So much of her life had been snow and ice, she missed the dragon's flame.
Others moved around her and spoke, but they seemed separate from her consciousness. She felt so tired and run down, emotionally and physically. The fire cast shadows around her, the crackling as soothing as any lullaby. Just as she started to doze, someone took the seat next to her, murmuring some words at her. She turned her head, bringing the person into focus. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
WHERE: The Fountain, the Inn
WHEN: May 13th
OPEN TO: Jon, OTA
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, childbirth, war, blood
STATUS: Open
The Fountain - Closed to Jon
The fever had turned the world hazy around Lyanna as she had clasped onto Ned's hand, as though the touch of him would be enough to hold her in this world. The heat of Dorne slowly filtered from her consciousness, disappearing until suddenly it felt as though she were surrounded by cold water. Her body ached as it felt like it was being pulled down against a current, adrift and weightless. Had she lost so much blood that her body was nothing but a husk as light as any feather?
It was only when she went to take a sharp breath that an influx of water filled her nose and lungs. Instinct took place of terror. Despite the pain in her body, her legs kicked fiercely and pushed towards the surface. There was a shimmer above her of light as the surface seemed to be speckled with constant collisions. Raindrops?
She grabbed hold of the ledge and with the last ounce of strength she possessed, she hauled herself over the side of the fountain. There was no mistaking it now. Her feather bed was replaced with a wilderness that she didn't recognize and didn't seem to look like any place she had heard of before in Westeros. Her face and body were pelted with hail that fell sharply from the sky. With a small groan, she turned to her side to shield herself. Her legs still ached and felt useless beneath her, her body exhausted from her earlier ordeal. The bleeding had stopped, but the fever was still there and the pain hadn't lessened.
Death was supposed to be an end to all of that. So why did she still feel as she did when she lived?
It took only a minute for her to recognize that her clothes had changed as well, to a flimsy green pant combination. There was a pack next to her, but was largely forgotten. She was alone in this place, no weapon and unable to move fully on her own. Death would be too simple in a feather bed, apparently the Seven Hells had something else in mind. In the distance, she could see someone running towards her, a man as far as she could tell.
As the figure steadily approached, hazy to her eyes, Lyanna grabbed at her pack and threw it limply at the stranger. It rolled pathetically before his feet, spilling out a few more pairs of clothing.
She showed him.
The Inn
Not the Seven Hells, some place that pulled people from different worlds. She had to keep repeating those words to herself as she rested in front of the fire. Jon had helped her home, letting her rest and recover what little strength she could. The ache and fever were still there, but it wasn't as great a concern as it had been in the Tower. She wasn't dead apparently and this place was real.
With a bit of assistance, she was taken to the inn, surrounded by more people than she had been in over a year. The noise around her was soothing and the fire was warm. In only a year, she had grown used to heat and felt repelled by the cold. So much of her life had been snow and ice, she missed the dragon's flame.
Others moved around her and spoke, but they seemed separate from her consciousness. She felt so tired and run down, emotionally and physically. The fire cast shadows around her, the crackling as soothing as any lullaby. Just as she started to doze, someone took the seat next to her, murmuring some words at her. She turned her head, bringing the person into focus. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"