this is a portrait of a tortured you and i

Images so many images. Blood. Flesh. Teeth tearing and pulling as rivers of blood seem to flood the land. So much chaos he is unsure what is happening. He is there, standing along the edge as orange eyes can do nothing more but watch as strange wolves battle before him. Children scream and whimper as the adults roar and rage against one another. For a moment he thinks he is back home, where kings were made of those they killed. Where his throne still reigned, waiting. Then without warning he is falling, a hard hit to his side as he tumbles down with the weight of another on top of him. And then it is as if he is no longer on pause as his head jerks and teeth latch on to flesh as the sound of a victorious bite whimpers in his ear. Yet he cannot stop. As his back hits the bloodied dirt he rolls, placing himself a top of the one who dares challenge the scarred one. As jaws latch upon the throat and gnaw until teeth meet bone. Orange eyes are dancing in a fire he cannot control. As blood fills his mouth and spills out. Then he cannot stop. One after another he charges head on. Teeth against teeth. He can feel fangs ravish his face as his own find flesh and tear. A deadly dance as one by one they fall. Until silence.

Bodies are scattered everywhere, pools of blood staining the earth as he stands, heaving for a breath as orange eyes witness the carnage he had been apart of. Blood dripping from his face, his own and others. Painted along his body like war paint. Brows furrow as he ignores the pain that ignites at the act. Where was he? Was this real? This was not right. He was no longer there, so why was his past here, now? A whimper. Jerking his head at the sound, orange eyes fall on a small pup. It's little limbs shaking with fright as wide eyes take him in. For a moment he wants to retreat, run away from that fearful look he is given by the child. Until he freezes, watching as that child looks to his side and his own eyes cannot help but follow. For there close by is a smaller wolf, one who closely resembles the child even when blood stains her coat. He swallows at the sight, bile rising in his throat. Had he done that? No. No. He couldn't have, could he? Turning back to the pup lips part to ask yet no words escape at the sight that greets him.

Orra. His mother cowers over the child, baring fangs and snapping at a wolf he knows all too well. Watching as he dances around her, toying with her, provoking her. He just reacts. Charging head on as his head collides with his chest and his muzzle fights it's way up to latch upon the neck and tear. Cruel laughter burns his ears but no matter how many times he makes contact with teeth, he is untouched. Hackles are raised until they are like spikes upon his back, saliva dripping from his lips as the force of his growl vibrates his chest. Pure rage and hate filling him until he thinks he will explode. For he was the one who killed his mother, the one whose head he took. Yet here he stands unfazed by everything he throws at him. And then once again he is paused, left immobile.

Orange eyes watch him, every shift, every breath. Planning every way he can imagine to torture this demon from his past. Another whimper causes him to lose focus and turn to look back at Orra, but it is no longer Orra. It is Daenerys. For a moment his heart stops. Gravity pushing him down to his knees as he whimpers at his own demon, begging for him to stop. He watches as the monster snaps and pokes at his silver queen as four little shadows cower below her belly. No! No! This isn't real!! Then why did it feel so real? He knows he killed him, for he remembers the putrid smell his head had given off days after his decapitation. Then why was he here now, and how would he save her when he couldn't even save Orra. Screams filter into his ears. As red stains the silver. As he strains against invisible bonds that tether him immobile. Acid churns up his throat as he swallows away the distaste. He would not be weak, he would not let him take another. Today he would save her.

A low growl starts within his throat growing with each breath as he slams against the invisible barricade. Yet nothing changes, with each struggle the more he inflicts on her. And then a flicker. The first step, however miniscule; it is there. The monster turns to look, as he takes another. Black eyes seem to widen and then everything shatters. Glass ricocheting as it cuts along his flesh, there is no pain as he collides like a freight train into his demon, as they begin to plummet off a cliff that had not been there before. He cares not of his death that will meet him at the bottom all he cares about is the pain he will ensure on this one until his last breath as he tears flesh from bone in free fall. Spending his last moments in this life making sure never again will Daenerys fear him, for he had taken Orra and now him, she would be safe now. As they hit the bottom, bones break.

"Daenerys!" He gasps, as his lungs heave for a breath. Orange eyes tear open to see the interior of the den yet that does not ease his fears as he stands shakily. "Daenerys!" Her name contains an urgency he has never felt before. As the fears of his dream drive him into the cusp of madness. He had saved her but at what cost? She had been bleeding. Was that even real? It had felt so real, still yet he can taste his blood so heavy on his tongue as he attempts to swallow the vile liquid even as his stomach protests. The children? They were fine right? Not even his mind could ease his fears it would take nothing but sight and touch to prove to him that it was nothing more than a dream for not even god could help them if it had not been.

Jericho

All of the laws I've broken, loves that I've sacrificed