elephant eyelash

ghostofharrenhal:

Part Six | Parts One-Five can be found here

She finished another wineskin by herself, nestled in the crook of some tree. She drank until it felt like the fire was surging through her, until she was like to burn up and leave behind only a pile of ashes. They’d get blown away, and then no one would be able to find me. The words gave her a hollow feeling, and she closed her eyes against it. And I’d never get back to Winterfell. And Jon will never muss my hair and call me little sister again.

It doesn’t matter. Everyone’s dead. Everyone died, in the end.

She didn’t know that for certain though; all the smallfolk she had asked scoffed at her, telling her that the games the northmen played didn’t matter to them when there were fields to be planted, buildings to raise, lives to live. But she knew they had all died, she could feel it.

Her eyes closed again, and she tried to call back the way the stones at Winterfell burned if you left your hand on them for too long, or the way Sansa had laughed when Robb pelted Jon with snowballs. She tried to remember her mother working a brush through her hair and sighing, or how her father’s eyes would soften whenever he looked at her. Something deep in her snapped when she couldn’t, when she could only remember pictures, like memories of another live, of a dream fast fleeting.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

***

Her hands found the hilt of her sword and she lurched to her feet, cutting at the air. This sword was heavier than the last, broader of blade, and sharper. Another sword flashed into her mind, a sword she had childishly called Needle, and she slashed harder.

This new sword didn’t have a name, not yet, not ever.

A nameless sword for a nameless girl.