He was all alone in a room that was on
fire. He was alone in a room with
something that could, something that would
And he never stood a chance.
He was Jon Snow, the King in the North.
He had seen corpses walking, fighting like soulless warriors. Men of ice with piercing
blue eyes. Battlefields burning and the hope of hundreds crushing down right
before his feet. And hell had he seen women. Beautiful, strong women. But never
had he imagined that the sight of one could precipitate him into ruin.
She was taking his breath, holding him
hostage without so much as a single word. God how he
hoped that she would not speak. Otherwise he knew that this was his final
battle. And oh how he would loose.