Tyrion

           Hedreamedofacrackedstoneceilingandthesmellsofbloodandshitandburntflesh.Theairwasfullofacridsmoke.Menweregroaningandwhimperingallaroundhim,andfromtimetotimeascreamwouldpiercetheair,thickwithpain.Whenhetriedtomove,hefoundthathehadfouledhisownbedding.Thesmokeintheairmadehiseyeswater.AmIcrying?Hemustnotlethisfathersee.HewasaLannisterofCasterlyRock.Alion,Imustbealion,livealion,diealion.Hehurtsomuch,though.Tooweaktogroan,helayinhisownfilthandshuthiseyes.Nearbysomeonewascursingthegodsinaheavy,monotonousvoice.Helistenedtotheblasphemiesandwonderedifhewasdying.Afteratimetheroomfaded.

           Hefoundhimselfoutsidethecity,walkingthroughaworldwithoutcolor.Ravenssoaredthroughagreyskyonwideblackwings,whilecarrioncrowsrosefromtheirfeastsinfuriouscloudswhereverhesethissteps.Whitemaggotsburrowedthroughblackcorruption.Thewolvesweregrey,andsowerethesilentsisters;togethertheystrippedthefleshfromthefallen.Therewerecorpsesstrewnalloverthetourneyfields.Thesunwasahotwhitepenny,shiningdownuponthegreyriverasitrushedaroundthecharredbonesofsunkenships.Fromthepyresofthedeadroseblackcolumnsofsmokeandwhite-hotashes.Mywork,thoughtTyrionLannister.Theydiedatmycommand.

           Atfirsttherewasnosoundintheworld,butafteratimehebegantohearthevoicesofthedead,softandterrible.

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