ZIRTYS PERZYS → podrick payne

CHAPTER NINE | dirt

She breaths a quiet thank you and smiles tightly at Gray, turning back to her horse and strapping her belt to her waist. Grays eyes don't leave her back.

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With the horses are tied securely, Garlan and Podrick are left to watch them as Elia follows Brienne and Garrett into Castle Cerwyn. Gray follows closely behind her, not close enough to touch but she can feel warmth of his body.

It's comforting, she supposes, as comforting as it can be when she's surrounded by the gloom of the castle. Even Winterfell, in all its dark walls and cold brick, is warmer than Castle Cerwyn.

The castle is as empty as the streets outside of it, the walls are tall and cracked and Elia runs a hand over the old stone. Her fingers sip between the cracks and she hisses when the jagged stone scratches at her skin. She shoves her red finger in her pocket as Gray nudges her from behind.

The feeling in her stomach coils tighter.

Distracted, Elia smashes her nose into Brienne's armour when she stops abruptly, the cloak does nothing to soften the blow. She rubs her aching nose and leans around Brienne's wide shoulder to peek at caused her to stop but Brienne turns and forces her back.

"We need to leave." Her voice breaks and that should have been the first sign that Elia shouldn't have looked past her but she does. "My lady, you – Elia, no!"

She could smell it first, it almost smelt like the rotten meat she'd sneak to the stray cats at the Inn. She barely noticed it; the crinkle of her nose was familiar to her. But it's the blood that freezes her. Its dry, a dark brown splattered on the ground. She wishes she could pretend it was only dirt. 

There's dry blood everywhere, it covers the arms and legs, it splatters against the board where the finger and toes should be. The head is next to the body, tip of the spike peeking beneath the blood-soaked hair, the eyes are gone and only dark holes stare at her.

She doesn't hear the sob that slips from her mouth, or the swear from behind her. Her ears are ringing, hands shaking when Gray pulls her away. She can see the maggots falling from the flayed muscle and her stomach flips.

She stumbles, knees smacking the stone when she ducks into an alley. Her stomach heaves but nothing leaves her mouth.

It's not real. Not real. Fake. Dirt. Fingers are tangled in her hair. Her nose stings. Her face is cold. Blood. Head. Dirt. Bolton's. Not real. Not real. Not real.

"It's not real. It's not real." Stop thinking. Stop it! Stop! Stop!

"We ... to leave ... now!"

"It's not real. It's not real." Dirt. Dirt. Dirt. Body.

"She's not ... right now. Look ... her, Brienne."

"It's not real. It's not real." Blood. Blood. Blood. Bolton's.

"Elia ... Get up ... Elia."

Their voices fade in and out of her focus, the hands are still in her hair but she'd moved. She's no longer hunched over. She's leant against a wall, legs curled to her chest and she's staring down a dark alley. Elia's not listening to Brienne argue, she ignores Gray breathing heavily next to her and presses a shaky hand to her chest.

It's wet and burning. Tears, it takes her a moment to realise and then she'd scrubbing angrily at her cheeks. She's tougher than this, she rips the hands from her hand and stands, collapsing against the wall halfway, she – she's not. She can't do this.