Hollow Crown ↬ Daenerys Targaryen

11

You guys I'm so sorry for not posting yesterday. I could give you a hundred excuses (trust me, there are that many, this week was hectic) but I'm just gonna say I forgot and I'm so, so sorry!

I hope you enjoy!!

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A

n angry groan slips from between Percy's lips as his foot gets caught in an icy crevice. His already dampened mood worsens as his feet dig into the snow, his boot nearly coming off.

Taking a glance up, he catches the amused eyes of Jon Snow, whom of which gazes around happily as he walks a few feet ahead. This was his natural habitat after all, but Percy wants to punch him for his mood.

The wind around them howls loudly in his sore ears, the North singing it's song of ice. Percy stops for a moment, attempting to see past the thick snow. Miles and miles of cold North lay ahead of them, and he scolds himself for not wearing extra padding.

He continues on nonetheless, his obligation pushing his feet on front of the other one step at a time. In front of him, a wildling named Tormund Giantsbane leads the raid, followed closely by the hound, whom glares at Percy on occasion.

Behind them are a group of worshipers of the Lord of Light, a false god in the eyes of the seven. Percy had never been very religious, but he's almost positive he hates the man, whom was the influence of his cousins death.

Gendry Waters is the one that catches Percy's eye though, his curiosity skyrocketing at the reminder of Robert Baratheon's last living bastard.

Percy finds it slightly absurd that Jon didn't consider bringing more Northern men, people who know the land and could survive the cold, but he says nothing as his mind drifts back to Daenerys. A place it has been most of his journey beyond the wall.

Their moment--if you could even call it that--at Dragonstone had sent an odd feeling through Percy. It was a much of excitement and something else that he just can't seem to put his finger on.

He knows that he has felt it before, he just doesn't know when. It both confuses and angers the youngest Lannister, his mind having grown accustomed to knowing what he, as well as others, are feeling.

Percy just can't seem to shake off the feeling of her soft, almost begging touch as she held his hand for those few fleeting moments before his departure from the island. The way her face, her eyes, seemed to plead a silent hope as they gazed at each-other. He refuses to believe that it was his mind imagining it, though it would be logical for his brain to find a form of coping after watching the love of his life be blown up.

His thoughts are cut off as Tormund speaks in a loud voice, looking directly at him. "What about you princess, you a good fighter?"

Percy's eyes narrow slightly, not liking the man's teasing tone. "I suppose you'll find out soon enough won't you. Whether or not it be with the dead is entirely up to you."

"Do you want to know what I think?" The wildling takes a step in his direction, and Percy's back straightens as the man smirks at him. "I think the only thing you know how to beat is your tiny little Lannister meat, boy. Don't worry, the free-folk will show you how it's done."

Percy glares at him harder, matching his pace as he takes a step toward the man. Tormund's towering frame doesn't intimidate him as he speaks. "Say that again. I couldn't quite understand you, I think you had too much free-cock in your mouth."