battlewrought:

_{burn them all. it still sounds in his skull like a SONG, like a vicious song that never seems to end. blood still coats the glimmering blade of his sword & the rushing sensation of ANXIETY coats his fingertips. blankly does he stare ‘pon the body at his feet, smelling of shit & IRON as crimson seeps out unto stone steps. THE KING IS DEAD. despite the act of murder, an almost exhilarating sense of FINALITY fills him to the brim. yet despite the waves of relief that coat his bones & make him feel STRONGER, panic crushes his lungs & breaths leave him as he nearly TOPPLES to the ground beside the king’s corpse.}

_{i killed him, he thinks, i KILLED the king. fingertips splay against hilt of sword & he rises, one step, two steps, three steps, & then a fourth. lips purse as heart beats ERRATICALLY within cage of bones & breath shutters from his lips in raspy attempts at regaining the will to breathe. he wheezes & sits, ‘pon the throne with sword in hand, the smell of BLOOD filling his nostrils as easily as the smell of his twin’s fine perfume. emeralds glance to the dead body at his feet & he blinks several times, as if doing so would ERASE the image from his mind. but it does no good, he has done it, he has SLAIN the very king he swore to protect & for a moment he feels TRIUMPHANT. like the saving of billions would erase the punishment he would receive in due time.}

_{edge of blade is pressed unto stony floor at his side, he watches the door, a LION waiting for his prey. a mask, a stoic, aged face of a man covering that of a BOY’S as he awaits the claimation of a new king, a STAG king. minutes feel like hours & fingertips anxiously beat against the hilt of his sword, armor feeling suddenly too heavy for his slender frame & muscles feel WEAK, as if the might to will his blade through the back of a maddened king had struck the very STRENGTH from his bones. when the doors open & a shadow appears with golden hair, he knows her. he exhales & feels unwept tears sting his eyes, his approach slow & SOLEMN.}

_{❛                                                        mother. ❜}

ladywiife!

‘ do not leave this room, ‘ tywin had said. ‘ it is not safe out there. ‘ and she had
  believed him wholeheartedly ;  OF COURSE it wasn’t safe. not until the war was
  over.  ( would it ever TRULY be over ?  she was beginning to have her doubts. )
  but perhaps that was what had compelled her to leave —- the fact that, while she
  remained smothered between four walls, her SON was out there in the MIDDLE

  of it all.

  he was a man grown now, she knew. taller than she was and thrice as strong.
         none of that changed the overwhelming desire to keep him SAFE. 

  she does not think before she acts ;  feet carry her to the throne room before
  she can stop them, before she can think to go ANYWHERE ELSE. the doors
  open at a slight pull, and she peeks inside … only to see him, her flesh & blood,
  her SON, seated upon the throne that has been said to rip kings to BITS. but it
  was not the throne that killed AERYS TARGARYEN ;  green hues find him NEXT,
  and it’s as if she hears every whisper ever spoken about the two of them, sees
  every LUSTFUL GLANCE he stole at her, watches tywin’s gaze drop every time
  she ever mentioned him. her heart seems to stop beating for a split second, bile
  rising in her throat only to be swallowed back once more.

              “ ———— jaime ? “ 

   her son’s name falls from her lips barely louder than a whisper. 

   he is dead. aerys targaryen is finally DEAD. he will never, ever look at her like
   that AGAIN. 

   eyes find her son’s once more, and she can not help but think that he looks as
   if he has aged a decade if he has aged a DAY ;  she steps towards him, slowly,
   as if the bones of her feet have turned to lead. 

        ( he is safe. he is SAFE. )

          and the lioness, the lady of casterly rock, begins to WEEP. 

                          “ jaime, jaime ———— “