I have recently been inspired to write some Game of Thrones fan fiction. It is set thousands of years before the show, soon after the first men arrived in Westeros. I am feeling confident that I have developed an interesting story with a lot of twists, however, I am new to writing fiction so I'm unaware if I have the creative talent to make the story come alive.
Below is the first piece of writing I have done and I would love some insight into what I can do to improve my writing skills.
Today was warmer than usual. It was almost as if the rays of sunlight were materialising and forming a blanket of heat, snuggled tightly around his skin. It should have been a welcome feeling, so why was it bothering him so much? Perhaps it was because the sensation of heat on his bare skin reminded him of her embrace. He did not want to think about her today if he could help it. Still, he could not help but find himself wondering why her skin was always so warm. It was something that he had wondered more times than he could count. She was adamant that it was the Lord's light that kept the fire in her blood burning but, Joma knew better than to believe in divine beings. He knew all too well the horrors of this world and loathed to entertain the thought that there may be a God that allowed such travesties to take place. Could it then be some sort of sickness? He could not think of any other logical reason for her to always have such a feverishly high temperature. The thought made him anxious but, then he remembered that she had taken care of him a couple of times in the past when he had been troubled by sickness. Yet, there had never been a need for him to return the favour. She was always bursting with energy and in the most gingery of moods. He scanned his memory and couldn't recall a single time that she had ever even appeared to be unwell. He found some peace in that realisation. Surely it could not be sickness or there would have been other symptoms that he would have noticed. Perhaps it wasn't sickness at all. Perhaps her skin wasn't even warm. Perhaps it was just the love they bore for one another that ignited his soul and caused some sort of bio-chemical reaction that provoked the sensation of heat every time they touched. She truly was a remarkable woman, he thought. For a moment, he allowed himself the privilege of diverting his mind to thoughts of the Lady Yessinya. For a few seconds, the heat on his skin was not that of sunlight, it was the summery arms of his love, embracing him tightly.
An interrupting voice cut his reverie short. "It's time, your Grace"
Grand Maester Marcho's voice was always a tad unsettling. It sounded older than his 80 years, by about 80 years. There was also a slither to it, as if his tongue was too long to fit in his mouth. The contrast of hearing such a ghastly voice in the midst of a pleasant daydream of the Lady Yessinya made that voice all the more hideous. It sent a chill up Joma's back that jolted him back to reality. It was at this moment he knew there was no turning back. Joma wondered if his bride-to-be had as many reservations as he did. He considered that she may be as reluctant to marry him as he was to marry her. Oddly enough, that thought brought him some solace. He did not want to disappoint her by being unable to return his love. That belonged to Yessinya, forever. If Lady Lara was commiting to this union simply for the political benefits, like Joma, then he wouldn't have to worry about disappointing her. She may even encourage him to continue seeing Yessinya. That would be a blessing. "Your Grace?", Grand Maester Marcho inquired.
"Yes, yes. I will be out shortly." Joma replied unenthusiastically.
"Very well, your Grace. Everyone is waiting." Marcho said as he walked back down the corridor, the jingles of his Maester's chain echoing throughout the hallway.
Joma wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. He had been so consumed by thought that he had neglected to see just how beautiful the courtyard surrounding him was. He took a moment to admire it. A shallow pool lay in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by tall trees that seemed to arch inwards over the pool, as if they were reaching out and trying to touch each other. It reminded him of how he longed to touch Yessinya. Through the crystal clear water which filled the pool, he could see elegant flame-like designs carved into the inner surfaces of the pool ,painted yellow and red, symbolic of the fire of the Red God. His mind wandered again. That was her God, as it had once been his and his fathers before him. The sunlight glistened throughout the courtyard, illuminating almost every corner, crack and crevice. Joma found it odd that he could not even find his own shadow. The only shadows he could see were the ones being cast by the trees overhanging the pool. The shadows, cast by leaves and small branches at the peak of the trees, danced around the pool with the wind. They complimented the design in such a way as to make it appear that the flames were flickering under the water. Joma wondered if that had been intentional. If so, the architect must have been a truly exceptional man. As he gazed deeper into the flickering flames he thought only of Yessinya, and how her fire burned only for him. He was betraying her by commiting to this union. Despite her telling him that she understood why it must be done and giving him her blessing, it did not make things any easier. He tried to summon the image of her face. She was always smiling, when she was with him at least. However, the only image that he was able to conjure was one of her weeping. He hoped that he was being arrogant and that she was shedding no tears for him. He would rather know that she cared little about him and whom he marries, than to be cursed with the knowledge that she, in this very moment, was weeping for the love that had been lost to her. The love that should have been hers. Joma felt nauseous. Was he really going to go through with this? The sun snuck quietly behind a cloud, bringing with it an end to the luminosity of the courtyard and a greyness to the surrounding atmosphere. The sun left him, just as thoughts of his love left him. He stood up, rising back into reality, and walked to the door. Yes. He must do this, he thought. The fate of the realm depends on it.
Please don't be gentle with your criticisms. I am eager to earn because I want to bring this story into fruition. Thank you for reading.