“Fire consumes. It consumes, and when it is done, there is nothing left. Nothing.„
— Lord Beric Dondarrion the Lord of Blackhaven
I havent been posting recently, but i found a small piece that I wrote a while back. I dont know if it’s called a fanfiction or a little backstory but it’s a little paragraph that I wrote about Beric’s resurrection. It’s the interpretation of the feeling the book gave me, hope you like it.
'He woke up. First thing he felt was the taste of ashes in his mouth. Although he was not able to identify, he knew he did not like it. His memory was empty as a newborn's. He slowly opened his eyes, and there was a face hovering over him. But whose face was that ? What was a 'face' even ? He was not even able to control his thoughts yet, let alone his words. “Who ?” he blurted out unintentionally. “It's me, Thoros.” replied the face. It did not mean a thing, at all. He was exhausted, broken. That was what he was, a broken glass. Every passing second felt like an hour, then all of a sudden it all started coming back, rushing, like water filling up the glass. He was able to mutter a sentence this time: “Thoros, are you my mother ?”. Thoros was able to bring Beric back once more. All he did was putting the pieces back together, but no matter what, neither the glass nor the water was ever back completely. And that's what Beric was anymore, what he is, and will ever be… incomplete.'

I havent been posting recently, but i found a small piece that I wrote a while back. I dont know if it’s called a fanfiction or a little backstory but it’s a little paragraph that I wrote about Beric’s resurrection. It’s the interpretation of the feeling the book gave me, hope you like it.

'He woke up. First thing he felt was the taste of ashes in his mouth. Although he was not able to identify, he knew he did not like it. His memory was empty as a newborn's. He slowly opened his eyes, and there was a face hovering over him. But whose face was that ? What was a 'face' even ? He was not even able to control his thoughts yet, let alone his words. “Who ?” he blurted out unintentionally. “It's me, Thoros.” replied the face. It did not mean a thing, at all. He was exhausted, broken. That was what he was, a broken glass. Every passing second felt like an hour, then all of a sudden it all started coming back, rushing, like water filling up the glass. He was able to mutter a sentence this time: “Thoros, are you my mother ?”. Thoros was able to bring Beric back once more. All he did was putting the pieces back together, but no matter what, neither the glass nor the water was ever back completely. And that's what Beric was anymore, what he is, and will ever be… incomplete.'

How it feels like waiting for the Winds of Winter