one passing night

the evening is spread out against the sky

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01 ❄ winter is coming
ofwinterfell wrote in onepassingnight
[ Standing in the middle of a red stone room stands a young girl; within her hand is a wooden sword and here is a look of fear across her face. While she is in the room alone,there is blood all over. Pooled on the floor and even on the walls. She glances around her, turning in a circle and the moment she looks back at her sword it has been replaced with a thin blade. One that she knows well and grips in her left hand.

Outside the room come the rustling of bodies moving and the clanking of armor hitting against armor. A voice with a heavy accent is heard, dislocated from its body.

And what do we say to the God of Death?

Not today.


[ With those words, she runs into the hall behind her, grabbing a torch as she does. She's now running down the darkened hall. The light of the torch lighting the walls and elongating the shadows. The sound of a person falling behind her makes her run faster. Her legs are screaming, but she pushes on. She seems to be running an endless loop. A paradox. The same length of hall over and over again until suddenly she stops and quickly turns around. Her sword drawn up, the torch falling to the ground, and she's ready to attack. ]

Stay back.

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couldn't resist - hope this is okay

[he's dressed strangely. The clothing is still black but it's... more. More cloth, more leather, fur lining on a cloak he's kept because it serves as much as armor as warmth. Everything feels almost rougher in its fabric. His great sword is still a reassuring weight across his back though and the wolf emblem is still proud and only slightly bloodied on his shoulder. There's been fighting - and there will be more fighting still - his gloves are coated with blood but he can't remember if it was from one or many. He just knows that his job is to find and protect. He wipes at the blood dripping down over his eyelashes and smears it, the cut it comes from superficial above his eyebrow but head wounds always bleed more.

where is she?

And then there's the sound of soft feet and harsh breathing and he's spinning, hand going to the hilt of his sword. But - no. He knows without knowing. This one is the one he's been looking for. She's his duty.]

It would be better instead to keep moving.

[ Arya whirls around and Needle is drawn again. Raised like she was taught, but her grip on the torch isn't as tight as it should be. She's too focused on keeping her grip right on the hilt. ]

Keep moving so you can push me into a trap?

[he steps forward into the light and his gloved hands are open in front of him, fingers spread to reveal he's carrying nothing in them. In the shifting light, his eyes glint unnatural blue before the firelight shifts them to a more normal color. But he's wearing the silver wolf in snarling metal on his shoulder and incongruous with the house symbol is dressed in all black. Don't ask him. He can't explain what he is himself. But he knows he's been called and he knows it's for her alone.]

No one is trapping today. They're killing. My duty is to make sure they fail when it comes to you.

[ She lowers her sword upon seeing the house symbol and her eyebrows furrow together. ]

Who sent you?

[it's the smart and logical question. Unfortunately - Cloud can't answer it. It only calls up the need inside him, not any reason for that need to have been planted there and he raises a hand to rub it against the back of his head, only to have himself flinching, his hand coming away blood coated.

A blow to the back of the head? Did that explain why he couldn't remember... so much?

But then why did it feel as if there was nothing to remember in the first place...?

A shoulder moves, a vague rise and fall and somewhere distant but still too close there's the echo of voices. He doesn't even know enough to lie. He just knows what his drive is. There's still a flicker of vulnerability in his fire reflective eyes as he admits:]

I don't know.

[ He seems harmless enough, but Arya isn't going to let her guard down completely. She raises the torch once more and looks down the hall where he came from and starts down the one she was heading down before. ]

How do you get your hair like that?

[he's far from harmless but to her - yes, he is. When she starts to move he follows her lead, close enough so that she is, indeed, leading - and he's only a half step behind and to the side of her, a dark, protective presence. His hand does go to his hair at her question though and his eyes shift from watching the shadows they're passing through to her for a minute, looking suddenly young in that blue. His answer is calm and flat however.]

I was born with this hair.

[and - after a moment more:}

Do you know where you're going?

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