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invisibleinorange · 3 years

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A Different Ending 1/?

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: Only be forewarned that this is an AU from the Adrift saga but Colin actually died in this one, so if he’s mentioned he’s actually gone. Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington (past feelings), Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Hastings Characters: Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Phillip Crane, Benedict Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Penadict (do we have a ship name yet?)

Summary: There were some requests for an alternate/Parallel word to "Bridgerton's Adrift" where Benedict and Penelope actually did get married. So this is the result of that peer pressure. Still not sure whether this will be a bunch of connected one shots or a full-blown fic project but here we go.

Anthony and Violet had gone above and beyond to help make sure that the church was immaculate. It was unseemly to be extravagant on moments of great spiritual weight but after everything they’d been through in recent months he felt they deserved a moment of happiness. Despite anxiety he might have had about the gravity of the situation, he was happy.

It was hard to believe that his word could turn upside down in such a short amount of time. He’d gone from seeking this engagement as a means to honor his late brother to seeing the potential in the match. He’d grown to respect and enjoy Penelope’s company more than he could say that he enjoyed most.

As he gazed around the church, it meant a lot to have his family there to support this choice. It was nice to see everyone smiling, finding something to look forward to. Time was marching forward and they were all moving on. They were figuring out how to live in a world without Colin Bridgerton. Perhaps, he had been a catalyst to this marriage but he was no longer the soul reason for it.

It felt surreal in a way. Benedict had never quite been able to quite put a face to his future. It had always been a blur but it all seemed so clear now. It was almost shocking how Penelope Featherington who had always disappeared into the background was front and center. She had captured his attention and now he was eager to help her reach her potential; A potential that so many other had failed to see.

They could reach their potential together.

As nervous as he was, he was excited to see her. He was eager to see what was going to be next because the last few months had been utterly unpredictable and he was quite happy with where he was in this given moment.

His pulse quickened at the sight of Anthony at the entrance, then there was envelope beside her brother. Anthony took her in his arm and led the way and he knew he was absolutely shook. His appreciation and affection toward the girl had been generally mentally based but in that moment, he appreciated the physical just as much.

His smile widened despite his nerves, meeting her eye as she crossed the distance of the church to him and when she was near he took her hands in his try to and still the shake. He quietly leaned near playing it like he was brushing back a red curl but it was just an excuse to whisper in her ear.

“It’ll be okay,” he told her.

And it was. It was going to be perfectly okay.

She squeezed his larger hands, focusing on him instead of the sea of eyes watching and undoubtedly waiting for him to come to his senses and run away. That was the outcome Penelope saw in her nightmares; the whole Bridgerton family turning away from her. Sometimes she even saw Colin there as a ghost whispering in Benedict’s ear, laughing at the thought that she was worthy.

Benedict wasn’t running away though and as the Vicar read from the Common Book of Prayers she was grateful for it. Admittedly, she did grow anxious as the Vicar reached the part where he had to ensure no one had a reason why the wedding should be stopped.

She chanced a glance back toward Eloise who gave her a reassuring nod.

When no objected, the Vicar continued and her focus moved back to her groom. As the questioning moved from the audience to them, it was pretty clear that this was going to be one of the last moment’s they had in which they could turn back. There were no secrets of the heart to be shared though. There was nothing that hadn’t been shared or said. Benedict knew about Lady Whistledown. He knew how she’d felt about his brother. Those things hadn’t made him turn away from her though. They’d only brought them closer together.

“Benedict Bridgerton, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” the vicar asked as he moved from the gloom and doom, threats of burning in Hell to vows.

There was a pause and in that pause, Penelope was certain she forgot to breath.

“I will,” he said after a moment and she remembered again.

“Penelope Featherington, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” the Vicar asked of her.

Penelope had thought long and hard about this and while she’d struggled to imagine saying these words to Benedict before, they were there now and she meant them. She wasn’t one to enter into an obligation lightly.

“I will,” she said back.

There was then passing of hands. Even though she’d been holding Benedict’s hand through the majority of it, she was required to let go long enough to let Anthony pass her to him and then there were more vows. There were Words that she had to repeat and those that he had to repeat in order to make additional promises to each other. It all went off without a hitch and then Benedict was required to kneel and he did, presenting a new ring to her symbolic of their marriage.

The ceremony was becoming a bit tediously long at this point but they were still required to pray before declaring them wed and even then he had to give them a blessing. By the time, they ceremony was complete and they were allowed to move to sign the Parrish register to masses were restless and moving around, ready to get to the events that would follow.

“I hope you’re famished and ready to eat after that,” Benedict said with a hint of a smile while he watched his new bride sign. “Daph’s created quite a spread at Hastings House.”

A late breakfast feast was the tradition but Penelope wasn’t sure she could eat a single bite.

“Once my stomach returns to itself I might be able to eat something,” she confessed.“I know what you mean,” he said with a laugh, extending an arm to her so that he might properly escort her toward an awaiting carriage and to the fete. “You were a beautiful bride though and we never have to do that again. We can literally hide away from the vicar and his promises of Hell fire for the rest of our days. I'll protect you just like I promised.”

She accepted his open arm. “The scary thing is that was apparently the easy part,” she couldn’t help but tell him, keeping her voice low between them as they moved past people to try and get where they needed to go. They could socialize more there. “The rest of it is supposed to be much harder.”

“At risk of offending my new wife, I assure you that you have nothing to be afraid about."

#benedict bridgerton #penelope featherington #bridgerton

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sneykat · 4 years

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You matter to me - Dashingfrost fic

Rating: Teen and up audience

Fandom: Thor (Movies)

Pairing: Dashingfrost, Fandroki, Fandral/Loki

Characters: Loki, Fandral, Thor

Tags: Pre-Thor (2011), Romantic Fluff, Fluff, Flirting, Secret Relationship, Loki needs a hug

Summary:

Loki is sad. Fandral tries to comfort him. All in all a little piece of them referring to their secret relationship and their current feelings.

Notes:

This is kind of an excerpt of a background story I am imagining for Fandral and Loki in which they share a secret relationship. It is more of a snippet than a real story. It is un-betaed. Sorry, if there are mistakes but English isn't my mother tongue and I haven't found someone willing to beta for me, yet. Aaaand: there will be snow. I wanted some snow to fall in Asgard.

“Thor, your stories are the best of all Asgard! Tell us how you’ve slain the beasts in Vanaheim!”

“Yes, do that, Thor! Wasn’t it in the blink of an eye that you wielded your hammer against their battle hog?!”

“I’ve heard it was your bare fist.”

“I’ve heard Loki assisted you by causing a fire storm.”

The men and women in the ceremonial hall were cutting in on each other in all their excitement about the return of Thor and his warrior friends. Their burning desire to listen to yet another glory story about victory and battle fueled them on. Loki could hear their shrill laughter and the praise from the hallway as he was about to make an entrance. It was Thor’s voice, which stopped him.

“Oh, you know how that works: some do tricks, others fight battles.”

There was mockery and ease in Thor’s amused voice and the joy and pride of a warrior, who was well used to claim the recognition for his achievements. To Loki these words felt like yet another stab, which was causing his heart to wrench in pain and anger. It wasn’t the first time for his brother to deny the importance of the part Loki had played in battle. It had been his magic which had given Thor and the Warrior Three the needed barrier of protection from the enemy to make their attack against the opponents work without getting hurt during battle.

With his own feeling of pride regarding the new magic trick and its success Loki’s mood had been in lighter spirit than usual and against his aversion of taking part in feasts he had had decided to take part in the one held that evening. It proved that once again all it needed was another sting coming from his own brother to ruin his mood.

Loki hoped that no one had noticed his appearance as he quickly slid to the side to hide between two colons.

He felt anger and sadness burn inside of him over the words, which he had overheard without the intent to. The combination of these two feelings was a dangerous mix for it turned into desperation if only it lingered long enough within the heart of a person – and the storms within Loki had had too much time to build up during the last years of constantly feelings of rejection and mockery put upon him. The despair he felt wanted to lure him into giving in to his hate of situations like these and the people who he blamed for them. The young Trickster tried to think about a way of teaching Thor and his audience respect. Nothing fancy. All he wanted was to scare them a little. However, it was hard to come up with a decent thought while tears were burning in one’s eyes and one’s heart was aching.

It was no other than Fandral, the Dashing, who made Loki snap out of his thoughts. He had just excused himself from the celebrating crowd for a moment to take care of his personal business as he caught Loki in his hiding spot. Sure, Loki could trick some people and hide well, but Fandral was an experienced Warrior and he had seen enough of Loki’s games and disguises to fall for a quick attempt of getting out of line.

“I see you are trying to yet again avoid another feast,” he spoke up to Loki with a teasing voice as he was nearing in on him.

Damn Fandral for finding him in a condition like this!

Loki quickly tried to blink away the burning tears as the warrior stepped closer. He bowed and gave Loki a charming smile. “Will you allow me to guide you wherever you plan to leave to?” Fandral’s voice still held a little tone of mockery, but it was also gentle and respectful. It was a mixture only a few men could pull off without being annoying and Loki sighed. “If you must,” he agreed. His acceptance of the offer made Fandral smile and he wrapped his arm around Loki’s lower back way too easy-going for the fact that he was talking to a prince. “I’d like to show you something, Loki.” Since there was no protest coming from the young prince, Fandral took the lead and guided Loki closer to the entrance of the patio farthest away from the celebrating people. Loki was everything but surprised for the warrior to seek a moment of peace for them to share without witnesses.

It was a cold winter’s day and snow had befallen the Realm of The Gods. On contrary to Jotunheim there still was a golden glow above the layers of snow which were covering the land. Loki adored the scenery of winter in Asgard. It made Asgard’s beauty look even brighter and, in a way, also more peaceful.

Once they had stepped out of the warm hallway Fandral took the fur he was wearing off his shoulders to place it around Loki’s. It wasn’t like Loki would feel cold but Fandral was a gentleman regarding things like these and he also felt responsible for the wellbeing of the princes when he was hanging out with them. He felt especially protective of the younger prince. Loki knew about that and he didn’t protest but rather accepted the act of kindness. Fandral gently pulled on Loki’s shoulders to make him turn around and face him. He then cupped the prince’s cheeks with his warm hands and gently wiped the barely visible trace of tears from Loki’s eyes with his thumbs.

“What has caused these tears, my dear?” Fandral asked gentle-voiced and looked directly at Loki while he was waiting for an answer. He knew the young prince. He knew that he hated feasts like the one celebrated tonight but a brief glance at Loki’s well-chosen attire had proved that the Trickster indeed had planned on attending the celebration anyway. While it was common for Loki to hide whenever he felt like it, it was uncommon to do it in a not very thought through way like in which Fandral had found him.

Loki gave a little sigh as he pondered about what to say. He didn’t want to reject Fandral, but he also wasn’t very fond of portraying himself as vulnerable.

“You stink,” was the answer of choice he came up with and Fandral chuckled. “I’ve had some mead as you would well expect me to during a celebration like this,” the blonde man replied kind of unimpressed, yet with a tone of affection. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I will get you a fair share of it, too. It tastes wonderful tonight. It is an exceptionally fine serving of your father’s distillery.” Loki considered the offer for a moment and nodded his agreement a few seconds later. Fandral gave him a bright smile. “I’ll be right back, my prince.” Again, he bowed before he left both – the patio and Loki.

Upon Fandral’s return his arms were packed with furs, blankets and a basket. He gave Loki yet another bright smile. “If you would follow me, my dear.” He took the lead and Loki did follow as Fandral was searching for a quiet corner, well hidden among some sculptures, flowerpots and snowed in bushes. On a bench which was carved into marvel walls he created a warm nest for them and gave Loki a smile as he reached out his hand to offer it to the Trickster. Loki accepted the invitation and let Fandral guide him to take a seat on the furs. The warrior took his seat close to Loki and wrapped them up in the blankets and furs before he pulled a candle holder from the basket. He attached a fitting candle. Loki noticed very well that it was one of the candle holders from the ceremonial hall. He grinned and so did Fandral.

“I’ll return it later,” he promised, and Loki chuckled. “I don’t mind you stealing from my father.” “I would never steal from anyone,” Fandral emphasized and Loki chuckled. “I know. But you would borrow a candle holder if you would want to impress your date.” “If that means that you are willing to be my date for tonight, I will have to agree.” Fandral smirked and it was the kind of behavior which made Loki’s spirit rise again.

“You are way too desperate for my attention, dear Fandral,” it was Loki’s voice which held a mocking tone but also a hint of affection by then. He used his magic to light the candle and it was enough of an answer for both.

With a smile on his lips Fandral poured them some mead from one of the bottles. “Not only a candle holder but also mead and festive cups,” Loki noticed seemingly amused. “You deserve the best, my dear.” Fandral laughed and Loki watched him with a gaze, which was brighter than he would want to admit. They clanged glasses and Fandral brought his lips close to Loki’s ear to whisper right into it: “You are not less of a prince than your brother, Loki.”

Fandral had quite a good guess on what had made Loki feel upset earlier on and he disliked seeing the young prince troubled so all he wanted to do was to help him get back to a more cheerful spirit.

“You better tell Thor and my father,” Loki replied bitter-voiced. “Thor can be mean and selfish if he brags about his achievements in battle, and your father will see how wonderful his youngest son truly is,” Fandral replied and added a hesitant “eventually” after he had noticed Loki skeptically raising his eyebrow. Loki pressed his lips together for a moment. He then raised his cup and had a sip from the mead, closing his eyes as the wonderful warmth and sweetness spread in his mouth and his throat.

Fandral kept on watching the young prince. He knew a troubled and pained expression if he saw one and even more one of a young man who tried to drown his worries in alcohol.

“You know that Thor’d rip your head off your well-defined shoulders if he’d figure out how much you’re trying to get into my pants,” Loki spoke up eventually. The usage of contractions usually indicated that Loki was beginning to either be drunk or be in too much inner turmoil to still care for a more formal usage of language.

“I rely on my trust in you and the idea that you probably won’t give away our secret after all we’ve been through,” Fandral whispered into Loki’s ear as he started to nibble on the prince’s earlobe.

“I don’t know who is playing with whom any longer,” Loki admitted after he had another sip from the delicious mead.

“I can assure you, that I will never play with you, my prince. It was in all honesty when I told you I’d wait until you have made up your mind about how far you want to go with me.”

Loki felt how gently Fandral was playing with his hair. The warrior let his digits cart through the hair tips on Loki’s neck and did not hesitate to caress as much of his skin as he could reach. He noticed how his prince leant into the touch with the slightest of movements. It had been like that for a while: both sharing intimate gestures, which often resulted in Fandral trying to cheer Loki up. He held honest feelings for the young prince, and he was sure that Loki too had feelings for him. It seemed a lot harder for Loki to admit to them, but Fandral could live with that. If the warrior could be close to Loki, he did not care about hiding what they shared from the rest of the world.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the only one who understands me, Fan,” Loki sighed. Fandral noticed the usage of the nickname Loki accentuated as sweetly as no women he had ever bedded. He loved it when Loki relaxed enough to turn into his softer and more open self.

“It is not easy to understand the complexity of your mind, my dear, but I sure notice when you’re not feeling well.” “How? How is it you notice when no one else does?” “Because you look beautiful even when you’re sad and I cannot take my eyes off you.”

Fandral’s words reached Loki’s heart and his lips turned into a little smile. “You really think that”, Loki replied. He had understood that much during all the time they had shared together. “Yes, I do. And I always will think that. You are most beautiful, my prince.”

“Will you ever stop courting me?”

A soft laughter from Fandral was the reply to Loki’s question and he held him a little tighter. “No. Unless you want me to.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Well, in this case, my prince, I will never get tired of telling you that you mean the world to me.”

“Will you tell me about this when I forget?”

“You will hear it as often as you need to.”

Loki watched how fresh snow started to dance from the sky. He wondered whether his soul would ever come to find peace. Meanwhile Fandral wondered about his beloved prince. He was concerned about him. Loki’s loneliness seemed so big and consuming that he could only hope that the young prince would find a way out of his misery someday. Fandral was willing to help as much as he could but it was not the first time, they shared a moment like this, and he had understood that a lot of what troubled Loki came from within the prince himself. Fandral could not take away Loki’s pain but he might as well help to soothe it.

After a while of just sitting together without a word spoken, it eventually was Loki who found his voice first.

“If I’d ask you to sleep with me tonight, would you?”

Fandral took a deep breath at that question. He had waited for bedding Loki for so long that naturally he wanted to push forward. However, he also knew about the meaning this question had for Loki.

“I would. If that is what you genuinely want. It is your first time after all and the alcohol…”

Fandral could not finish his sentence for Loki put his fingertip over his lips and watched him so intensely that he felt like his stomach would jump up and down.

“I want someone to make me feel like I matter,” Loki tried to explain. He seemed somewhat embarrassed as he spoke. Fandral started to smile and he gently grabbed Loki’s wrist to take his fingertip of his lips. He held Loki’s hand and placed a tender kiss on its back.

“I will prove how much you matter to me, my prince, and I’ll make sure you’ll never forget about it.”

***

the end

#pre-thor #fandroki #dashingfrost #fandral #loki #fandral/loki #fic #loki needs a hug

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madefantasy · 3 years

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AN INQUEST — JOANNA STARK

— REQUIRED QUESTIONS

WHAT IS YOUR FULL TITLE / OCCUPATION ?

“ — oh, I need to do one of these ? well, alright.” she plops down on the seat unceremoniously. “ joanna margaery stark, princess of the north, lady of winterfell, I’m sure you know the rest.”

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS / LOVED ONES CALL YOU ?

“ jo, but most everyone calls me that. even you call me that! i’ve also been called jojo or anna or annie. i quite like those, but jo’s my favorite. ”

WHERE WERE YOU BORN ?

“ right here — no, not right here exactly. but in winterfell, like all the other starks. ”

DO YOU HAVE SIBLINGS ?

“ yes ! there’s eddy and ellie and freyja and — well, you know. far too many wolves ‘round here, but it makes for terribly fun family dinners. ”

DO YOU HAVE CHILDREN ? DO YOU WANT THEM ?

“ why ? are you offering to be the father ? i’m afraid i’m betrothed, but i’m looking to get out of that mess. ” she says with a wicked smile. “ oh ! don’t blush, i was just joking, i promise. i i would like to have children, one day. i think. ”

DO YOU HAVE A POSITIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR FAMILY ?

“ i do. i wish i had the words to describe how much i love them & how much they mean to me, but i was never any good at writing poetry. they’ve always been there for me and i them. i can’t imagine being seperated from my family.”

DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY TRADITIONS / MEMORIES THAT YOU VALUE ?

“ oh, so many ! but one of my favorites is the day we all received our direwolf pups. ”

HOW DO YOU TYPICALLY SPEND A DAY ?

“ mostly trying to get out of my duties — i mean, i mostly spend my days adhering to my duties. i take them very seriously, as you know.” she nods. “... that wasn’t very believable, was it ? well, i mean it doesn’t help that you lot have seen me sneak out of the castle more times than anyone can count. ”

ARE YOU RELIGIOUS ?

“ how could i not be ? my gods are the north. the rocks, the streams, the birds, the beasts, and when you’re standing in the middle of the wolf woods & hear the sigh of the wind or the rustle of the leaves, you know they’re listening. ”

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH ?

“ i’m quite determined when i set my mind to something. ”

YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS ?

“ probably my mouth. that’s gotten me in quite a bit of trouble. my father says — i. . . forgive me, he used to say it was that i didn’t like being told ‘no’, that my impulsive nature would be my downfall. terribly morbid, but he was a stark. it’s kind of our thing. ”

DESCRIBE A HIDDEN TALENT / LITTLE KNOWN SKILL YOU BELIEVE YOU POSESS.

“ i can shoot an apple off of someone’s head from twenty paces. five and twenty paces if there’s no wind. would you like a demonstration ? let me get my bow ! ” she leaps out of her seat in excitement. “no ? — please ! ugh, alright.” she flops back down, arms crossed.

DO YOU FALL IN LOVE EASILY ?

“ i think i fall i love with everyone, just a little bit. i haven’t meet my great love, like they have in all the songs, if that’s what you’re asking. ”

DO YOU HAVE SOMEONE YOU WOULD DIE FOR ? WHO?

“ my family, of course. without question. ”

DESCRIBE YOUR LIFE FIVE YEARS FROM NOW.

“ i’ll be right here in winterfell. — what about my betrothal? what about it? ” an easy laugh escapes her lips. she’d broken three betrothals. soon, that number would be four. “ i’ll be here in winterfell, still causing all kinds of trouble i hope. i’m afraid you won’t be rid of me yet.”

DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A SECRETIVE PERSON ?

“ not particularly, but everyone has secrets i think. and i’m entitled to my own. ”

IS THERE A SECRET RELATED TO YOU THAT YOU HIDE FROM MOST PEOPLE ?

her mind flickers to the letter tucked in her trunk, the bag lying beneath it. “ no.”

DO YOU PUT YOURSELF BEFORE OTHERS , OR OTHERS BEFORE YOURSELF ?

“ contrary to what everyone else seems to thinks, i do try to put others before myself. i just don’t want to limit myself from all that this world has to offer.”

DO YOU LIKE YOURSELF ?

“ i like myself as much as well as anyone likes themselves, i suppose. ”

DO YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON ?

“ i don’t know. i hope i am. ” do you think i am? she almost asks. “ i try to be.”

ARE YOU A VENGEFUL PERSON ?

“ i don’t... think so ? i’ve been told i can be awfully mean when i fly into a passion. and i do things i find myself regretting later on. ”

EVENT / PLOT DROP RELATED QUESTIONS -

WHY DID YOU ACCEPT THE INVITATION TO THE CORONATION ?

“ i heard there would be cake at the feast.” she deadpans.

WHAT ARE YOUR IMPRESSIONS OF THE NORTHERN RULERS ? THEIR HOME ?

“ well i quite like it here. it’s beautiful, in it’s own strange & cold way. and i suppose my rulers are passable. ” she breaks out into a small smile. “ joking. can i have no fun ?”

WERE YOU PARTAKING IN THE FESTIVITIES AS AN INVITED GUEST , OR SOMEONE IN SERVICE TO AN INVITED GUEST ?

“ well i think it would have been quite strange if i hadn’t been invited to my own brother’s coronation. ”

DID YOU ATTEND BOTH THE CORONATION & THE FEAST ?

“ i did. it was lovely. you know, up until the attempt on my sister’s life. that put a bit of a damper on the mood.”

IF SO , CAN YOU ACCOUNT FOR YOUR WHEREABOUTS PRIOR & DURING THE ATTEMPTED POISONING OF QUEEN FREYJA & KING EDRIK ? CAN ANYONE VERIFY THIS ACCOUNT ?

“ i was standing right besides them with my brother, eldyn, on the dias. he could verify that. as well as frey & eddy, sorry, queen freyja & king edrik.”

DID YOU SEE , HEAR , OR OVERHEAR ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS THAT MIGHT BE USEFUL IN THE INVESTIGATION ?

“ no, but the goblet that was in the boy, tomas’ hand. the wine looked... almost purple ? the wine in edrik’s goblet looked red. could it have been the strangler, do you think ?”

WHAT MOTIVE MIGHT SOMEONE HAVE FOR SETTING THE MAESTERS TOWER ABLAZE ?

“ losing maester rybeck was awful. he was always very patient with me during lessons, even when i was being a little terror.” jo quickly swipes her sleeve across her eyes, folding her hands back in her lap. “ i don’t know any motive, the maesters are meant to serve the realm aren’t they ? not any one king. do you think that there was some sort of information in the maester’s tower that someone didn’t want getting out ? ”

DO YOU BELIEVE THESE ATTACKS WERE / WILL BE AN ISOLATED INCIDENT ? EXPLAIN.

“ i want to say that it was an isolated incident , but that would be wishful thinking on my part. and if whoever did this was brazen enough to attack my family at a coronation, in front of great houses from all three kingdoms, then . . . i’m quite afraid of what they’re planning next. ”

WHO DO YOU BELIEVE TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE LATE KING STARK’S MURDER ?

“ can i skip this, please ? i don’t particularly want to think about it. ”

IF YOU WERE ASKED TO LAY BLAME UPON ONE OF THE HOUSES, WHO WOULD YOU HOLD RESPONSIBLE FOR SUCH A HEINOUS ACTs ?

“ i mean... the sigil of house targaryen was at maester’s tower. it’s not as though one needs to leap across a gaping chasm to come to the conclusion that that alone is suspicious, at the very least. ”

IS THERE ANY OTHER INFORMATION OF NOTE TO SHARE WITH THE INQUISITOR ?

“ no, not particularly. but how’s your husband ? is he faring well ? oh - wonderful ! i’m happy to hear it. am i free to go? ” she was practically bouncing in her chair. “ yessssss ! i wish you luck ! i’m going riding.”

#broken.task #♛ musings — (joanna)#♛ drabbles — (joanna)#im counting this as a drabble idc

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coyotesongwriting · 5 years

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When It Rains, It Pours, Ch 3

Avengers - Bucky Barnes/Reader

Chapter 3 - A Fresh Start

Chapter Summary: It’s time to start over in a new world. What will you do as your pregnancy moves along?

Author’s Note: Thank you guys for reading this! All mistakes are my own!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Tag List (if you want to be added or removed let me know!): @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @queenoftheunderdark @samsgoddess @redfoxwritesstuff @iheartsebastianstan @alexakeyloveloki @fookingmuffins @yasnooshka24 @redfoxwritesstuff @amazon-belle @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @kinkywitchy

Not sure why tumblr is bugging out but it won’t let me tag @avengemari, I’ll keep trying to tag ya though!

Previous Chapter

It had been three weeks since Bucky had broken up with you and your life imploded. You’d been nervous when Heimdall first brought the two of you to Asgard, but that didn’t last long. Just as Thor had said, you’d been welcomed from the start. Thor had immediately settled you into a guest suite next door to his own rooms and you’d quickly begun to adjust to life there. Apparently, Thor had regaled his fellows with tales of the battles you’d all fought in and many wanted to hear the tales retold by you as well.

It hadn’t taken long for you to fall into a routine. In the mornings, you’d train with Lady Sif in archery and knife throwing. At first, she’d tried to get you to practice hand to hand combat with her, but you’d managed to convince her that you were recovering from an injury so you weren’t quite ready for that yet and she’d let it drop. The two of you had quickly become friends and it was clear from the start that you were two peas in a pod!

In the afternoon, Thor joined you for training and with the help of him and the Warriors Three, you were able to practice using your powers. They’d take turns trying to ambush you, and you’d do your best to defend yourself. You were pleasantly surprised to find out that you could decently hold your own, and your powers were actually beginning to grow stronger thanks to them.

After four days of pleading, you’d managed to convince Loki to teach you all about Asgard. Your evenings were spent in the library with him, learning their customs, rules and history. Loki was a surprisingly good teacher, and he made it easy to learn. Your knowledge grew in leaps and bounds as you learned courtly manners, holidays, and the tales of battles long past.

While you’d never quite been Loki’s biggest fan, you were quickly learning to think of him like a brother. He’d been sullen and uncomfortable around you, but after you stood up for him when others had been mocking him, he’d begrudgingly begun to care for you as well, although he wouldn’t admit to that out loud. It definitely helped that you guys were spending hours locked together in the library each evening.

During the day it was easy to pretend everything was okay. You were always surrounded by your friends, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like death was waiting behind every corner. When you retreated alone to your room each night though, it was like a punch to the gut. You’d grown so used to sharing a room and bed with Bucky, that falling asleep alone was foreign. You often spent hours tossing and turning, wondering where everything went wrong before you fell into a fitful sleep.

Morning sickness was beginning to hit you hard, and even Thor was starting to worry. You hadn’t told anyone here you were pregnant, and you were nervous about how they’d react. Soon, you’d need to see a doctor to make sure everything was on track, and you weren’t sure that they’d be able to help you here. Perhaps Midgardian pregnancy was too different from Asgard? You needed to find that out, and soon.

One morning, after a particularly brutal training session with Sif, you decided it was time to do something about. It was time to stop hiding, and tackle the situation head on, you couldn’t pretend forever.

“Lady Sif, I have a favor I’d like to ask of you” your voice was steadier than you felt, and you fought to meet her gaze.

“Of course, [Y/N]. I’d be glad to help you if I can” she watched you curiously, it was clear something had been bothering her for weeks and she was hoping you’d finally tell her.

“I am… I am pregnant. On Midgard, we typically see our doctors routinely throughout the pregnancy. I was hoping perhaps you could help me figure out the customs here, and perhaps find a healer or midwife or whoever would be most appropriate?”

Lady Sif said nothing for a long moment before she burst out laughing, a smile gracing her face, “Here I was worried you were dying, you looked so serious!” After a pause to catch her breath, “Congratulations, and I’d be glad to help you. I do have to ask though, who is the father? Is it Loki?” she’d noticed the two of you spending time alone in the evenings, and you seemed close.

You blanched at her suggestion, “God no, Loki? He’s just as much a brother to me as Thor. The father is back on Midgard, and is not a concern of mine anymore. In fact, he’s why I left.”

She nodded, putting her hand on your shoulder, “Then we shall speak no more of him. There’s a midwife in town who should be able to assist you. Have you told Thor or Loki yet?”

“No, I haven’t. Truth be told, you’re the first person I’ve told” you smiled softly at her, “I know I need to but with everything that happened, well, I’ve been a bit nervous.”

“I appreciate the trust you have in me. I’ll keep your secret, but I’d recommend you tell them before you start to show. It will be much easier that way. I can assure you however, they are your friends and they will be just as excited for you as I am.” Lady Sif draped her arm over your shoulder and began to lead you into town.

As you walked, she explained the customs and technicalities of pregnancy on Asgard. Luckily, from what she said it sounded rather similar to Midgard. She brought you to a stern, older woman who introduced herself as Bitra. She was a well trusted midwife, and she was happy to discuss everything with you. Bitra explained that she’d be happy to assist you, but since she had no knowledge of Midgardian pregnancies she could only do what she could do.

Later that evening after your lessons with Loki, you asked Thor and the trickster if you could all speak privately. When you’d all arrived in your room and shut the door behind you, you motioned for them to sit and you began to pace. Despite Lady Sif’s reassurance, you found you were still exceedingly nervous. The two watched you as paced back and forth, shooting each other curious glances as they waited for you to speak.

“I’m pregnant” you blurted finally, turning to face the two of them.

An odd look quickly flashed across Loki’s face before he schooled it back, it was so quick that you half doubted you had seen anything at all. However, he said nothing and as the silence dragged on, you began to wring your hands.

“Is this why Barnes ended your betrothal?” Thor’s voice was cold, dangerous.

“No, Thor” you quickly explained, “Bucky didn’t know I was pregnant. I was going to tell him that night but, well, he dumped me before I could.”

Thor got to his feet, you’d never seen him look so angry and for a long moment you worried he was angry at you until he spoke, “I’m going to murder him for hurting you, Lady [Y/N].”

“Woah, hey now Thor. You can’t do that” you stepped directly in front of him, placing your hand on his chest.

“Why in the worlds not? He can’t just have his way with you and get away with it!” he growled.

“Hold on bud. It takes two to tango, Thor. I wanted it too. Bucky did nothing wrong. He doesn’t even know” you sighed, hating that you had to have this conversation at all.

Thor looked at you shocked for a moment, “Then you must tell him! Perhaps that is the thing that will make him come back to you!”

You snorted, “Having a baby together does not fix a relationship, Thor. This is my choice. My child. He doesn’t know, and he can’t know. You can’t tell him. That goes for you too, Loki.”

Loki nodded once in agreement after a long pause, “Congratulations, Lady [Y/N].”

“Thank you, but you know I’m no Lady” you smiled softly at your teacher, “You’ve taught me it is against etiquette to call someone Lady if they don’t hold the title.”

Thor looked at Loki who shrugged before turning back to you, “We were going to surprise you this weekend, but I suppose we could tell you now. The feast on Friday is to celebrate you, as you are being granted the official title of Lady.”

Your jaw dropped and you stared at him, “I’m sorry, you’re what? Why?”

“You have served side by side with me in battle. You are a formidable warrior on the battlefield, and I would trust you with the lives of any of my people” he smiled at you kindly, “And, you are family. You’ve earned the title.”

Tears began to creep down your face and you grabbed him in a tight hug. He held you while you softly cried, overwhelmed with everything that had happened in the last weeks.

~~~~~~

It had been two months since you’d left, and the pregnancy was coming along fine, or so you thought. Bitra wished she knew more about Midgardian Pregnancy, but it seemed to her like everything was okay. Overall, life was going well, and though you missed Bucky more than you could say, everything was going well.

It had been too long, and Thor needed to go back to Earth to make sure everyone was alright. He had asked you along, but you had quickly refused. Your pregnancy was clearly evident, and you couldn’t stomach seeing your old team. With a hug and a promise to be back soon, he left.

~~~~~~

Thor arrived back at the tower to find most of the team lounging around. They’d gotten back from a long mission the day before yesterday and were taking advantage of the down time. Steve, Nat, Bucky, Tony and Clint were all hanging out in the lounge watching a movie.

Clint jumped to his feet when he saw Thor, “Hey! Is [Y/N] with you?” he was eager as he looked around for you, like a puppy waiting for his owner.

“I’m sorry, Clint. Lady [Y/N] decided not to accompany me. However, she asked me to pass this along to you” Thor said, holding out his hand.

Clint raced over to him, grinning. He looked confused as he got closer and saw nothing in Thor’s hand. Before he could say anything, Thor scooped Clint up into a tight hug. Clint grumbled and fought to get out of his grasp, and the others laughed as they watched him struggle.

Clint jumped back like a startled cat, glaring at him, “What in the hell was that?”

Thor looked at him confused, “Lady [Y/N] asked me to give you a very large hug for her. She said she misses hanging out with you, and she wanted to have me hug you for her.”

Tony snorted with laughter as Clint stomped back to the couch, “Sounds like she’s up to her old tricks.”

Bucky refused to take his eyes off the screen, and Steve turned to Thor, “How’s she doing? Is she okay?”

“Lady [Y/N] is doing great. She’s been training with Lady Sif quite a lot, and her powers have continued to grow in strength now that she’s using them daily” Thor grinned, proud of his adopted little sister.

“Why do you keep calling her Lady [Y/N]?” Tony asked curiously.

“She is now a Lady and warrior of Asgard. It would be disrespectful for me to address her as anything else” he explained.

“Sounds like she’s doing just fine” Bucky muttered as he glared down at the floor.

Thor turned to Tony, looking at a small piece of paper he pulled from his pocket, “Can you show me where a seller of books can be found? Lady [Y/N] sent me with a shopping list, and I would like to get a start on it.”

Tony shrugged and held out his hand, “Just give me the list. I can have everything delivered here today and you can take it with you.”

Thor grabbed the list tighter to his chest, “I apologize, Tony but I swore to her that I would go myself to purchase the items she requested. She specifically requested that I do not allow any others to do the shopping.”

Everyone looked around puzzled, but Steve got to his feet with a shrug. “I’ll take you, no worries.”

The walk to the bookstore wasn’t too far, and the two of them made friendly conversation as they strolled. The mid summer heat was heavy over the city, and everyone in the city was doing what they could to avoid the miserable heat wave.

Steve watched Thor walk up to the salesman, and handed him the list. He remained by the door, watching as the salesman led Thor throughout the store to the medical section and then over to the maternity section before ending in the cooking section, collecting a large basket full of books.

When Thor returned, carrying a rather large box of books, Steve caught a glimpse of the medical textbooks on top and looked up at the God of thunder, “What’s this for? I thought you said everything was okay?”

Worry shot across Thor’s face for half a second before he covered it with his usual grin, “She’s fine, but since she is a warrior of Asgard, it only makes sense for our healers to learn how your Midgardian bodies work.”

Steve frowned but asked nothing more as they continued back to the tower. His thoughts were racing, and he was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back, if they would ever see you again.

Next Chapter ->

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#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier x Reader #Winter Soldier #Fanfic #Writing #The Avengers #Marvel's The Avengers #marvels the avengers #marvel the avengers #Avengers #Marvel #Loki #Thor

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imaginesmai · 5 years

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Hvitserk-Rewrite the stars

I tried to upload it sooner, but I’ve been sick for the last few days, I’m sorry!

First of all, thank you @worldisadirtyplace for the idea, I LOVED IT. I wanted to write something different, that’s why it has taken a little longer. This is new for me, but I couldn’t read your request and don’t think about this song (it’s from the great showman, in case you don’t know it) I hope you like it! The parts that are in bold and italic are the parts of the song (Here it is in case you haven’t seen it).

“You know I want you, it’s not a secret I try to hide.”

Hvitserk Ragnarson was not used to the word “no”. If he wanted food, the thralls would have a hot bowl ready for him. If he wanted new weapons, all he had to do was to follow his mother around for a few days and she would get them, just to stop listening to him. If he wanted a woman, he looked up from his ale and at least five women were always looking at him. If he wanted to train, either his brothers or friends would be ready for him.

Hvitserk Ragnarson didn’t say “no” to anything. In his stomach there was always place for more food. His strength and energy was probably boundless, and he could be training and running around all day. And in his bed, there was always place enough for another woman. So he didn’t understand why you always said no.

You were a thrall, for Hvitserk the one of the most beautiful. For seven years, you had served the Ragnarsons and Aslaug, keeping your head down and helping them in everything you could. All the brothers had taken a liking to you, but except Hvitserk they stopped showing their interest when you just smiled at their compliments. The young prince couldn’t get you out of his head, no matter how many times his mother told him to find another thrall; he kept chasing you like a lost puppy.

Still, you said no. When he asked you to sit with him in the big feast, you only smiled kindly and shook your head, returning to your duties. When he tried to use his charms, he only got back blushed cheeks and rejection. Even when he offered you his bed during the cold winter nights, with no other intention than doing something nice for you, you told him no. All of that with so much kindness and softness that he couldn’t hate you for it. If only, it made him want you more.

“Maybe mother would have loved you if you weren’t that much of an useless man!” Ivar’s screams tore him away from his daydreaming, and he blinked twice to focus on the argument in front of him.

“You dare to say that to me, brother? You talk about being useless when your prick doesn’t work?” Sigurd shouted back, making Ivar’s head turn red

Ubbe was there too, with his head between his hands and a troubled expression on his face. It wasn’t worthy to try and tear them apart, because five seconds later they would be at each other throats again. The Ragnarsons’ relationship was always like that.

Hvitserk decided to ignore them too, and blocked his screams and punches from his mind. He had more important things to think of. Like, for example, that night’s sacrifice.

“Ubbe” he called his brother, moving to the seat beside him. “Tell me, are you going to the sacrifice tonight?”

“Of course” Ubbe frowned, and turned to look at Hvitserk. “It’s an offering for our future raid, why wouldn’t I be there?”

“Yeah, but the question is, are you going with someone?”

“With my wife.”

“Which one?”

Ubbe had two wives, and both of them were fine with that. The first one, Torvi, was a famous and brave shieldwoman who had been married to their older brother for years, until he went away and left her. She was beautiful and mature, and if Hvitserk had to judge, his brother was head over heels for the woman, and always tried to have his full attention. He followed her everywhere, trained with her and showered her with presents.

His other wife was different, Margarethe. Between her and Ubbe, there was a time where there was love and passion, but then it was all over. They didn’t divorced because Ubbe knew she was just an slave, freed by him and with no chances of building a life out of his house. So he had kept the two of them, even if Margarethe slept around with almost every man and had laid with all the brothers.

“Probably Torvi” he shrugged, a faint blush covering his cheeks. “I have yet to ask her, if she’s not going with Lagertha she will probably want to come.”

“And Margarethe?”

Since Hvitserk had started to follow you around, his only remedy was Margarethe. Ubbe didn’t care about sharing her with him, and she kept his mind away from the fact that you didn’t want him back.

“You can go with her” Ubbe rolled his eyes. “Although I would highly recommend you otherwise. You deserve so much more, little brother.”

“Probably, but for now she-“

“Well, then don’t be angry when Y/N is hanging by my arm. I bet she would like me much better than a crippled.”

Your name bought up in the conversation made Hvitserk look towards his brothers, who had their faces inches away from each other. Sigurd had a purple cheek, and Ivar’s lip was bleeding. Beside that, both of them were alive, and that was enough.

“Y/N doesn’t have a dick to stick on your ass” Ivar smirked. “She would rather go to the sacrifice with me. Not that you were even an option.”

“Hey, don’t drag her into your arguments” Ubbe said. “The poor girl has done nothing wrong.”

After that sentence, Ubbe had to get up and try to separate his brothers. Sigurd managed to grip Ivar’s arm, twisting it behind his back; while the younger one gripped his blonde braids and pulled. They shouted and screamed, and Ubbe got a few punches in the way. As a good Viking and a Lothbrok brother, he did not hesitate to return them, and soon the three of them were in the middle of a fight.

Hvitserk shifted on his seat, wondering if they were to ask you, you would choose one of them. Of course he had asked you first. For a week, he had followed you around and literally begged you to accompany him to the sacrifice. He had tried everything, from flowers and dresses to a song that he forced Sigurd to write. Still, all you said was no.

But his brothers were a different story, and in that moment he became painfully aware of that. Sigurd was the one who created the song, and had magic hands that could enchant any woman. Ivar was, well, Ivar. He was powerful, dangerous and had the God’s favour with him. He tried to force that thoughts out of him, yet he couldn’t. After all, what would you see in a man who shares his woman with his brother? Wasn’t he man enough, maybe?

“My princes?”

“I know you want me, so don’t keep saying our hands are tied.”

Four heads turned to look at you, and all the noise stopped. Ubbe got up the first, straightening his clothes and looking away ashamed. He was supposed to be the older, the wiser, and he was ready to rip his brothers’ hair. Sigurd and Ivar got up next, the first one trying to shove Ivar off his crutches as he received a hard slap on the back of his head from Ubbe.

You looked at them with a soft smile, used to their fights and screams. After years of being their thrall, you grew accustomed to their behaviours. Your eyes locked with Hvitserk, half of you expecting to find him smiling at you or winking. But the prince had his head low, and did not move from his seat. You tried to mask the deception in you face and returned to the obedient slave.

“Queen Aslaug has requested your presence in the great hall” you said, your voice sweet and soft, nothing compared to the princes’ one. “Food will be ready soon.”

“We’ll be there in a while” Ubbe answered, glaring at Ivar who had just given Sigurd a poke on his side. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Ubbe looked towards his brother as you bowed, ready to head out without receiving not even a smile from Hvitserk. Since you had known them, he had always asked you before a dinner or a fest to join him, and surprisingly it felt strange. Seeing that his brother’s frown was not going to disappear, Ubbe decided to ask you himself.

“Are you staying for dinner?” he asked. “Ivar and Sigurd only behave if you’re near, it seems.”

“You claim it’s not in the cards, fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me.”

“I’m sorry my prince, but I’ve got duties to attend.”

It wasn’t true, actually. Aslaug had given you the night free, since the big sacrifice was taking place and she was in charge of it. You had planned originally to spend it by the boats, with no other intention than talking with Hvitserk. Even if it was true that you always said no to the prince, you liked him back. The only problem was that, for you, he was a prince, destinated to marry a beautiful queen in a big castle, and you were just a slave. The risks of falling in love with the prince and then having your heart broken were too high, so you preferred to stay in the shadows and enjoy casual conversation with him.

“But you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?”

“That proves my point” Ivar smirked. “None of you are an option, see? If Y/N had to choose, she would choose me. I’m taking her”

“W-What?” you frowned, not understanding what they were saying.

“That doesn’t prove anything, Ivar” Sigurd said, mocking him. “She doesn’t want Ubbe because he has enough wives. I can’t imagine wanting to be one of them neither.”

“Hey, shut up!” Ubbe pointed a finger towards Sigurd. “My wives are very happy to be with me. Your wives… well, they can talk when you have at least one.”

Ivar started laughing loudly and Sigurd looked like he would rather drown in the floor. You looked to the brothers and then to Hvitserk, who still looked deep in thought. Not knowing if you were allowed to leave or not, you stood there for another moment.

“Shut up” Sigurd glared at Ivar. “Y/N won’t go to the sacrifice with you, you’ve got nothing to offer. Besides, I know she likes my songs. So she would rather go with me.”

“If I’m allowed to talk, my prince, I would like to-“

“Y/N would only want your songs to sleep” Ivar interrupted you. “Or to die, you can bore anyone to death, brother.”

“Oh, yeah? Then you can kill her with an orgasm?” Sigurd blinked, and Ubbe stiffed a laugh. “Or you can’t?”

“My lords, please-“

“If you both think that the only way to pleasure a woman is with your dick then I’m sorry for the ones that have laid with you.”

“Ivar, I’m sure any of us can fuck Y/N better than you” Ubbe scoffed, then completely into the argument. “We all have heard the stories of Margarethe.”

The three brothers kept bickering and shouting at each other while you stood there, trying to ask for permission to leave. You looked towards Hvitserk, trying to find a solution to that situation. He locked eyes with you for a second, and you saw the deepest sadness you had ever seen in the cheerful prince. Using all your will power, you stood on your place and didn’t run to him.

A huge smack made you look back towards the other princes, who were throwing stuff at each other. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, yet you walked forwards and tried to stop Ivar throwing a stool to Ivar. You bent by his side an gripped one side of the stool. Giving him a sweet smile, he scoffed and let go of the other part. Then, you heard your name and turned towards the other two brothers.

Time seemed to slow down as Ubbe shouted your name, and you didn’t realise until that moment that Sigurd had in his hands another stool. You watched as he threw it over where you were taking the stool out of Ivar’s hands, and closed your eyes waiting for the hit. One second passed. Two. Three. And still, it never reached you.

“Y/N? You okay?”

Opening one eye, you saw Hvitserk crouching in front of you, a worried look on his childish face. You opened and closed your mouth, trying to understand what had just happened.

“What if we rewrite the stars? Say that you were made to be mine.”

Before you had time to say something to him, Sigurd rushed apologies and Ubbe and Ivar screams towards him made you look towards them.

“I think I’m going to go” you said with a small voice. “I-I’m probably needed in the kitchen. Queen Aslaug is still waiting for you, my princes.”

They didn’t get to say anything else as you left in a rush.

“You think it’s easy, you think I don’t want to run to you. But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hvitserk didn’t ask Margarethe to the sacrifice, although she followed him everywhere he went. He tried to lose her between the people, talking with strangers so that she could entertain herself with them and running around for a while.

Sigurd turned out to be his salvation. His brother was drunk enough to not care about who he was talking to, and Margarethe decided that it had been a while since she slept with that brother. So, as the sacrifice went on, she kept herself busy with him. That let Hvitserk free, but that night, he didn’t feel the need to find another woman. His initial goal had been to find someone, take her to his bed and spend the night awake with her.

For him, in that moment some of them were too tall or too short. Their hair wasn’t braided as he liked it, or he thought that their dresses were ugly. Others talked too much or not enough, and all of them weren’t you. Hvitserk didn’t want to say it out loud, yet since that morning, he had been beating up himself over the fact that you would choose his brothers before him.

He might have not been on the argument, but he listened closely and he didn’t hear you saying no to any of them. And before the sacrifice, he had gone looking for you in the kitchens and had found them empty. Asking his mother, he discovered that you had your night free; so either you were hiding away somewhere or you were with other man. The last one made him want to curl in a ball and die. Because he kind of understood that you wanted to be with someone who was able to stick to his own woman, not with his brother’s one.

That thoughts led him towards the boats, where the night was cold and small waves were hitting the sand. He kept walking, lost in his mind, until he saw someone sitting on the shore. He blinked twice, making his vision clear and making out your silhouette. He hadn’t walked-ran faster in his life.

“Just you and me, within this walls”

Before he could reach you, you turned around to look at him. From the noise he was making, it would take a deaf man to miss his steps. Still loyal to your status and manners, you rose up and bowed beside him.

“But when we go outside, you’re going to wake up and see that is was it was hopeless after all.”

“Prince Hvitserk. I though you would be in the sacrifice.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” he asked. “We’ve known each other for years, Y/N, I don’t want you to bow in front of me.”

“No one can rewrite the stars, how can you say you’ll be mine?”

“Because you’re my prince” you smiled softly, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Everything keeps us apart, and I’m not the one you were meant to find.”

You sat again on the sand, facing the water and enjoying the soft breeze. With Hvitserk there too, it didn’t seem so dark. He sat too, his shoulder brushing yours and his warmth making shivers ran down your spine. For a few seconds, it was silent between you two. A comfortable silence.

“Why aren’t you in the sacrifice?”

“If I listen one more time to Ivar shouting at Sigurd, I think I’ll offer myself for the next sacrifice” he laughed. “They’re like little children.”

“Well, you all are” you said, and immediately regretted it. “I mean-I’m sorry, my prince, I-I didn’t-“

“Why am I a child?” he asked, waiting for your answer. “Come on, Y/N, you have done nothing wrong. You can talk freely around me.”

“It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me, when everyone tell us what we can be.”

You looked down at your hands; of course you could. With Hvitserk, you had never felt the pressure of being a slave, and he had always made you feel like a normal person. His brothers had been different, most of the times treating you like a piece of meat. He was different; sure, he followed you around and tried to get into your pants a lot of times. But you saw through his charming attitude, you knew the boy who grew excited with new food, whose eyes shined with pride when talking about his brothers, and who was loyal and truthful like no one.

As children, you used to be the closest friends. Playing and messing around all day, until your mother would call you home and scold you for staining your dress. There were good times, happy ones; then, she died and you became a thrall. Hvitserk treated you like always, with love and didn’t change his way of seeing you. You did.

“It feels impossible, is it impossible?”

You understood what he didn’t. That he was a prince, royalty. That he deserved greatness, and his duty was to follow his father’s path. You were not there, you were his thrall. The person who served him breakfast, made his bed and fixed his furs. Time passed and the beautiful friendship turned into a slave-master relationship for your part.

“I don’t know” you shrugged, washing those memories away. “I didn’t mean to say that, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry” he turned your head towards him with his fingers, making you look to his eyes. “Tell me. Talk to me like we used to.”

“How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine?”

“You-I know Ivar and Sigurd and arguing all the time like children. But, I mean, you have the sweet tooth of a child” you smiled, not tearing your eyes away. “And I’ve not meet anyone who has so much energy.”

“You used to fall behind everytime we played together” he smiled too. “And then I had to wait for you, because your mother would chase me with the broom if you weren’t on time.”

The memory of your mother made you happy for the first time. Every time you thought about her, you reminded yourself to be a good servant, to achieve great things. In that moment, you could only think of happy thoughts.

“Remember that time I fell over and you carried me to my house?” you chuckled. “Mom was so angry with you.”

“It was your fault!” he let out a big laugh. “You were the one who wanted to fight with Ubbe and me.”

“And you trained harder than ever just to prove that you were better than me.”

“It’s up to you, and it’s up to me. No one can say what we get to be.”

Night passed by as you two talked about everything and anything, from the memories of your childhood to catching up with both of your lives. It seemed like the time hadn’t passed by, that you were still two children messing with each other and happy without any worries. Hvitserk opened up about Margarethe, about how he knew he deserved better yet he couldn’t let the only thing stable in his life go; you opened up about the pressure of being a thrall, and the fact that it was your fault that you lost your friendship.

Some laughs were shared and a few tears were wiped out of each other’s cheek, and little by little you discovered that you hadn’t changed a thing. When the sun peeked through the mountains, you found yourself covered by Hvitserk’s furs and laid in the sand on top of him. In another moment, the rational part of your mind would have told you to leave; yet you just moved closer to his side.

“And why don’t we rewrite the stars?”

Until that moment, everything had been fine. Yet you noticed how, when you pressed your head against his shoulder, he let out a painful hiss and tried to get away.

“What happens?” you frowned, looking up at his face. “Does your shoulder hurt?”

“Kind of. Maybe I’ve slept in a weird position” he said, but you knew he was lying. Because you didn’t flinch away from just a “bad sleeping position.”

Your hard eyes and pushing hands made a sigh leave his lips, and he turned to his side to let you uncover his shoulder. A gasp left your lips when you saw the big bruise on it, covering most part of his left side and neck. You ran your hands over it softly, hearing how his breath got caught on his throat.

“What is this? How have you gotten it? By the gods, why has no one treated this?”

“It’s nothing, Y/N, really. Probably I’ve got it in training with Ubbe.”

“Hvitserk, you haven’t trained for more than a week” you sighed, and was met with silence. “Hvitserk”

His name on your lips felt strange yet left a feeling of comfort and happiness on his belly, unknown for so many years.

“It was going to hit you” he half whispered. “If it has done that to me, guess what it would have done to you.”

“What was going to-oh” you shut up, remembering the stool. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to” Hvitserk said, and talked again before you could open your mouth again. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want me to, please.”

“But you shouldn’t have done that for me” you sighed. “You’re a prince, you can’t get hurt. I’m just a slave.”

“No, you’re not just a slave. You’re my friend, my confident and my best girl, and you know it. And I’m not a prince, I’m just Hvitserk. The guy you used to play in the square and who still loves you.”

Your breath caught on your throat at his confession, and you looked at him with wide eyes. It wasn’t surprised what filled you, but happiness. More happiness than what you had felt in your last years.

“Please, say something” Hvitserk begged, and sat beside you. He took one of your hands between his, and caressed his fingers over it; just like he did when he waited for you to catch up and gripped your hand to keep you going. “You don’t have to be a slave anymore, you can be with me. And we can be happy.”

“And what, be like Margarethe?” you looked at him with hurt eyes. “I don’t want to be just the slave you free. You deserve a princess, Hvitserk, someone with lands and treasures. Not me”

“You always tell me no, Y/N. I’ve learnt the lesson, I know you’re going to be more than that. Whatever you want to be, wherever you want to go, I promise to be there, holding your hand” he took a deep breath. “I-I’m going to ask just one more time, I promise. If you say no, I’ll go and you won’t see me again. Do you want me as much as I want you.”

“But I can’t have you, we’re bound to break and my hands are tied”

“No.”

It was the best for you both, you thought. It was the best for him, because he deserved more and you were just a slave. Margarethe could offer him a lot of things, any other woman could offer him a lot. You looked down at your hands, watching as a single tear reached the sand and formed a perfect circle on it. Quickly, you reached your cheek to stop it, yet discovered it was dry. Hvitserk was crying.

It was the right choice, he deserved to be happy. It was your duty to look out for him as his thrall. Yet you couldn’t help to be selfish for one in your life.

“No, I don’t want you as much as you want me” you placed your hand on his cheek, covering it whole and running your thumb through its side. Hvitserk leaned against you, enjoying what seemed the last interaction you would have. “Because I think I want you more.”

“Why don’t we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be us.”

Your words took a second to sink into his mind, and when they did, they became inked forever. Hvitserk’s eyes widened as he looked at you, searching for any type of joke in your eyes; he found nothing, only the bright eyes that used to look up at him when he was younger. Two seconds later, he tried pecking your lips. Three seconds passed and you put one of your hands behind his neck. By the time ten seconds passed, you both were laying in the sand kissing each other and happiest than ever.

“Maybe the world could be ours, tonight.”

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delicrieux · 5 years

Text

-- valar dohaeris

+ all men must serve + chapter 3

pairing: jon snow x reader x various

summary: Tormund and Podrick try to get along with (Name)

warnings: none (i think) just swearing!

words: 2.7k

author’s note: this chapter is more light-hearted (kinda sorta not really)

tagging: @emmaamalie - @storiiteller

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | ch.2 | v. d. masterlist | buy me coffee☕

THE RED PRIESTESS FROM ASSHAI

The Hall is hot, humid, and full to the brim with people and their eager breaths. A small feast – the revival of Jon Snow and Lady Stark’s sudden visit – takes place in order to celebrate this victory before the storm. A great battle looms over the shoulders of the Starks and their loyal followers. A moment of happiness is what all of them deserve, especially before the call to arms.

You sit beside a timid round faced Podrick and a messy haired loud mouthed Tormund right across you. It was the Wildling’s idea to have you join them, as he had, eagerly at that, dragged you from the courtyard and shoved a goblet of dry, cheap wine into your hand. Its ruby surface is diluted and rose, bleak in front of your deep red garments. You are a red spring bird amongst the crows, shining like a midnight star, and for that reason alone you find men’s gazes wandering to you as the evening progresses, each look bolder than the last. Tormund had already drunk his wine, now filling himself more from the pitcher and spilling half of it on the table. He regards his slip of hand with a hearty laugh. Podrick beside you sips politely, his eyes shooting to Brienne of Tarth, the lady knight-to-be seated close to Sansa, set on never leaving the girl for too long.

“C’mon, drink up,” Tormund encourages, clinking his glass with yours and nearly knocking it over, “if you’re quick you might miss the fact that it tastes like piss.”

Podrick snorts into his drink, red-cheeked and giddy, as Tormund, in one impressive gulp, empties the glass, and then moves for the pitcher. You watch mildly impressed. This whole interaction is completely out of your element, and the stiffness in your neck, lack of movement, lack of even a shy glance outside the figures of these two men proves your discomfort visibly. Melisandre is nowhere to be seen, possibly locked away in her chamber, possibly watching the flames and the secrets which hide within them. You should have joined her, you ponder, staring at your full cup, you should be there with her, be preparing for what is instore for the future. You are here to help, not to mindlessly blabber and mingle with strangers you shall never see again.

“You seem unease, Miss.” Podrick comments, his voice gentle, concerned, as his brows knit together in wonder. You say nothing, uncertain if there is anything to say at all. Should you correct him? Lie? There is no point to it. Your fate is not intertwined with his; it would be a waste of time to even engage him. “Is our company…unpleasant?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Pond.” Tormund says, lowering the pitcher from his mouth, “Lady Red here’s probably used to somethin’ a lil’ more fancy than this shithole. Ain’t that right?” He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to confirm his suspicions and prove just what a pompous royal you are: he had noticed you barely talking to anyone but the Lord Commander, and you and Melisandre rarely left the confinements of your chambers, and if you did, it was to watch eerily from the shadows as the men around you worked and swore.

“No.” You reply after a moment of hesitation, “I’ve…never been to a feast.” It is not a shameful admission, though his reaction ticks you.

“You what?” Tormund barks, laugher bubbling in his chest, “You a good liar, you know that?”

“It is true.” You persevere, voice unwavering, still cool, still unimpressed, “I am a priestess. There are no celebrations in the temple.”

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never had a drink before?” He raises a suspicious brow, “You buyin’ this, Poddick?”

“It’s Podrick.” The man nervously replies. Tormund merely dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

“Not wine, per se.” You say, raising your glass, curiously watching it, “I have had a drink of R’hllor’s Blood.” You catch his gaze, the pretty greens of his eyes twinkling in the firelight, “One sip and the whole world disappears into a cloud of smoke. And for the rest of the night you feel as if you are floating. There is no fear. Nor happiness. Simply a forever of tranquility.” You take a wary sip and regret it immediately. It is disgusting, “And then you awake, with no memory of what had happened. Some find it comforting. Others… unsettling. I say it’s better than drinking this.”

“I need me some of that.” Tormund hums, “You have it with you? Now?”

“Only for ritual purposes, I’m afraid.” You say, “And no. Did not think I would need it.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Podrick asks cautiously. You simply nod, “As in…A real one?”

“Does she look like a fuckin’ ghost to you?” Tormund questions, his voice rough and mirthful.

A small smile slips on your lips, “Not a ghost, I assure you. Though there are plenty of those that roam the Asshai rivers, hide in corners of old temples.”

“Sounds like a scary place.” Podrick comments.

It had never occurred to you, really, the prospect of fright associated with a city drowned in mist. It is always dark there, always gloomy, and even on the brightest days the sun is hazy purple and the clouds are a furious grey. The homes, castles, temples are built from glossy black stone which absorbs any shred of light that might touch it, creating a vacuum. The rivers are clear and ghastly, the waves of the sea crash in sounds of wails of drowned women, and the roads are always empty. From your room, if you were to gaze outside, you could see perhaps a few figures rushing from one place to another, hidden in cloaks and wearing masks. Then again, those might simply be illusions created by the fire.

“…People usually fear what they don’t understand.” You mutter, “Perhaps to foreigners it does sound a bit…odd. Then again, those who do not wish to study magic have no place there.”

“I don’t need fuckin’ magic when I got a sword.” Tormund starts, elated, as if telling a great tale, “One hand an axe, the other a blade. Cut your head off and stab you for good measure.” He winks, “Oh, you should see what’s beyond the wall. Freedom, is what it is. Freedom. Mountains of snow, the world seems fuckin’ endless. We move from place to place, wherefuckin’ever we like, and we don’t have to answer to any lord or lady. Do what we want, when we want. Beyond the wall is a beautiful fuckin’ place.”

“We?” You ask.

“Me and the Wildings. We travel together. We hunt together. You’d end up dead in a day out there alone.” He explains, near boastful, “And what about you? Form any prayer circles with the other ladies?”

“What Tormund is trying to say,” Podrick quickly intervenes, “is if you and the other priestess’s are close. You and the Red Woman seem amiable.” He finishes with a friendly smile, “Pardon us.” He shoots a glance at Tormund, he already opening his mouth, “We’re just curious. Ashai—Am I saying that correctly? - is so far away and…No one knows much of it.”

Close? You suppose that some might think so, but that would be untrue. You know of Cordelia from the Yi Ti(1), a woman with burgundy hair and chilling ice blue eyes. You have spoken to her once during a ritual, and her voice was permanently struck by sorrow, but melodious and pretty. Then there was Sheena from Nefer(2), a tall, inked woman, whose voice was rasp and low, reminding you of gravel crunching under your feet. But you would never consider them as friends, nor foes, simply other women serving the same God but with different purposes.

Then, of course, there is Melisandre, though friendship between you two is also not something that can be placed. She is more of a mentor, an authoritative figure that watches over you, but her loyalties lie and always will lie with the God of Light and Fire. The nature of your profession does not allow for relationships; there must be no ties to the real world. It is only temporary, after all.

“No,” You admit, suddenly struck with deep sadness as your eyes wander around the room, ears ring painfully with laughter. You feel incredibly small, and your shoulders cave with an exhale, “No, we are not…close.”

Tormund’s brows shoot upwards, “So, you mean to tell me, Lady Red, is that you have no fuckin’ friends?”

You look around again, as if only now noticing how tightly knit this group is, how everyone is conversing eagerly, filling themselves silly with drink, shrilling first notes of a song heard long ago.

“I suppose I don’t.” You confess, “No, I do not have any friends, as you call it. The Asshai’i are…not warm people. And we don’t talk a lot. We are but a small population wandering the maze of the city. We rarely meet. Some of us sail and never return. There is no time for…friendships to form.”

“Sounds lonely.” Podrick mutters after a pause, even Tormund not daring to break it. They note your worry struck face, as if they, too, are living this revelation along with you. It is lonely, indeed, but never have you noticed just how much. You should not care for such things. You did not even think of them before this dreaded conversation.

You have never been abroad, Asshai being your only point of reference. You know little of Westerosi customs and Melisandre had offhandedly once said that one learns these things with time, though a certain detachment must always be in place. The Red Priests must be ready to do anything and everything upon their God’s command. Relationships would only get in the way of that philosophy.

Tormund smacks your shoulder crudely, making you flinch and halt your train of dreaded thought. You glance up at him, finding him grinning from ear to ear, “It’s a good thing we found you then, ey? Cause you’d wish you never had friends if you were to talk to those.” He motions with his head vaguely to the Watchmen, his eyes twinkling with mirth. You crack a smile, secretly thankful for his weirdly convivial words.

JON SNOW

The first embers of happiness light up her face, and he eases in his chair, watching wistfully from afar. Jon had wanted to come to her aid once he saw Tormund drag her helplessly, and Podrick fretfully try to make her feel welcomed, even if evidently she did not want to be a part of their small group. He watched as they drank and she listened to their spouting, later engaging in conversation with Tormund which was never a good idea. He is brash, and zestful, and at times humorous, yet she seemed awfully cautious of her words and bearing no real connection to others, and Jon feared she might not understand, or take offense to something the Wildling had said.

His fear had melted when he noticed that she started to smile as she visibly relaxed in their presence. She raises her cup to her lips for the second time and takes a bolder sip. Tormund cheers happily. Jon grins to himself.

“Go talk to her.” Sansa says, startling him. A smile plays in her voice, “I saw you stealing glances at her all evening.”

He clears his throat, “Yeah, I saw you staring, too.”

Sansa shrugs, “She does stand out amongst the crowd. That and she looked properly uncomfortable.”

“That’s just part of Tormund’s charm, I suppose.” He adds, unsure of what to say. She regards him with a bored look. “What?” He asks.

With her head, Sansa motions to Ladybug, “Go.”

“You go.” He says defensive, “You’re…a girl. You probably have more in common with her anyway.”

Sansa almost rolls her eyes, “I doubt it. The only reason she gave me the Wolf was because you told her I liked needlework. I don’t think she did it because she actually enjoys it.” Her pretty eyes wander to the Red Woman, “She did not strike me as a type to enjoy anything, really.” Ladybug’s laugher rings in the hall like a bell, some men turning to her in wonder. “I suppose she is more approachable than the other one.”

“She’s kind,” Jon says, “if not a bit…”

“Tactless?” Sansa finishes for him. He nods sullenly. Her lips quirk upwards into a teasing smile, “See? You two have a lot in common already.”

“I am not tactless.” He retorts.

“Then prove me wrong and go.” She nudges him, “Come on, before your Wildling friend pours her another glass of this awful wine.”

THE RED PRIESTESS FROM ASSHAI

The moon smiles down at you, half in bloom, its radiant light making the Wall glow. Wind howls in your ears, yet the cold air is refreshing after an evening of confinement within a room full of drinking people. The sweet scent of wine fades as the heavy door closes behind you, along with it snippets of laughs and chatter. The whole world grows pleasantly silent; the night is dark and starless.

Again you sense a restless evil which’s fingers reach from over the Wall, its watchful eye observing your small frame from the sky. You feel it – the shrill of the north, the frost collecting on bones, the sinister unease struck by peering into the void – and you pull your robes closer to your body, trying to keep warm, to feel comfort. Despite the eerie mirage in your mind, you feel a sense of familiarity. Darkness. Wisps of cool wind that sounds like whispers. If the structures were made from stone which can hold no reflection, then you would almost be certain you are back home.

Home. You have no home. Your home is wherever the Lord of Light deems it being. But overhearing Lady Stark tell Lord Snow of Winterfell with such conviction and such tenderness, it made you reconsider the meaning of the world entirely.

The door behind you opens and shuts once more, light spilling on the snow under your feet. You sense him before you see him, his aura now too familiar to be mistaken for anyone else. Jon Snow comes to join you by the railing, silent, brooding, following your gaze to the Wall, perhaps wandering what creatures hide behind it. He clears his throat in an attempt to catch your attention, and you tilt your head gently in his direction, “Saw you talking with Tormund.” He starts trying to sound impartial, “He means no harm, I assure you.” His concern comes out a bit awkward, and he avoids your gaze religiously because of it.

You nod timidly, your mind drifting back to the conversation, “I know.” You say softly, your voice carried by the wind, “It was…enlightening.” For a moment he figures you are joking, and snorts, but then he realises you are serious and hurriedly fixes a thoughtful expression, “You are lucky to have him as a friend. He will aid you in future battles.”

“Saw that in the fire?”

“No. It’s just…what friends do.”

A few snowflakes spiral from the sky; they land on your rosy cheek and kiss the skin with their cool touch. A few more spray the ground, your shoulders, tangle in his curly hair. The two of you move closer to one another, or perhaps he moves closer to you or vice versa, but the furs on his shoulder gently brushes yours and you smile lightly. He assumes you are pleased with the pretty sight of a starting storm. He is only partly wrong.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” You admit.

“It… doesn’t snow in Asshai?” He asks lamely.

You want to tell him that no, it does not, that it only rains ashes and that they are hot and foul smelling, and that they burn your skin. Alas, you settle with, “For R’hllor’s sake, read a book, Jon Snow.”

He coughs a laugh. You smile to yourself. He ushers you inside when the storm picks up.

(1) Yi Ti is said to be the richest kingdom in Essos (2) Nefer is a underground city of necromancers

thank you for reading xoxo

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onefail-at-atime · 6 years

Text

Eye Contact

[Disclaimer: I am both very excited and nervous for Gendrya Week to be here. This is the first I have ever written so feedback is always appreciated!]

***

Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon had a great deal to hide.

The destruction and loss that took countless loved ones from them in The Long Night had cast a dark shadow over the North. But it was in that shadow where the two had found one another, where they had accepted the love for one another that had gone unspoken for so long.

It took time for the people of the North to recover, Arya and Gendry included. They passed their time with whispers in the dark and stolen kisses in secret, growing closer with one another and more dependent on the soft sighs and careful touches with each day that passed. Though both knew their time of peace would come to an end. The Golden Company had landed in Westeros. There was a Mad Queen to defeat.

They kept their emotions quiet. They focused on training. As far as Arya was concerned, they didn’t need Jon or Sansa or anyone else questioning their relationship while they prepared for battle once again. And so they spent their time together in the darkest hours of the night and first hours of dawn. Their secrecy didn’t matter to Gendry. Arya told him time and time again that she would never be ashamed of their relationship. They both knew her temper was short and one wrong word from her family and she’d ride off to kill Cersei on her own without any consideration, just to spite them. Gendry much preferred to have her at his side when she slipped into the forge during the day or after dark when she slipped into his bed. He was hers. And she was his.

Though, it frustrated them both to no end that they had to watch themselves in public.

Because the one time they sparred together was a new form of torture. At one point, Gendry had pinned Arya with her chest against his and the arm of his war hammer pressed against her back. The muscles of his arms practically burned against her and the warmth of his panting breath against her skin brought the familiar tightness in her abdomen. Though, with even that, Arya would not be bested. She slipped from his hold, wrapped her ankle round his, and brought him crashing to the ground. There was a satisfied gleam in her eyes as she straddled his chest to press her dagger’s blade against his skin. “Yield?” She had whispered, her voice low and husky with desire that she fought to control.

It was that sparring session that sent them running in separate directions, though both found one another in the familiar, secluded area of the godswoods, where they could tear at and devour one another away from prying eyes. It had been difficult to part from one another soon after. Arya took to wearing high collared jerkins to hide the trail of kissed bruises he left her with while Gendry took to wearing a neckerchief to hide the nips of bite marks that she would always leave.

After that incident, even eye contact was dangerous. Gendry saw her training with the Northern lords and foreign commanders, besting each one of them. He saw her messy hair and flushed skin and gods be good, he had to think of the dozen different ways Jon could kill him in an effort to calm himself.

Arya was the same. All it took was one smirk from him to send a flush against her skin as the heat pulled and twists in her lower abdomen. She thought of the smirks he would always give as he lovingly kissed his way down her breasts, stomach, and abdomen at an agonizingly slow pace, hovering at the apex of her thighs, teasing her with his breath, and gods be good.

Eye contact alone grew more and more frustrating as they rode South. The tents allowed for no privacy whatsoever and the couple was forced to settle for the privacy they could find in the woods and bogs of the Neck, always returning to camp with fresh kill so that nobody would question their time away.

In the end, Riverrun was their undoing.

Moons of being on the road with the King and Queen had deprived them of the closeness that they had grown accustomed to in the North. They arrived at the castle and found themselves being washed and prepped for the feast that Edmure Tully had thrown in honor of the newlyweds, Queen Daenerys and King Jon. Hours later, Arya finally arrived in the Great Hall, after refusing yet again to wear any borrowed dress, and she found herself searching for Gendry amongst the crowd that filled the hall. And she found him, seated next to Davos, laughing at something the fatherly man had said. He was free of the dirt and grime that came from weeks on the road and the wisps of still wet, inky black curls fell across his forehead as ran a hand through his locks. The action brought a warm flush of memories to her, memories of stolen moments in the woods, of whispered kisses in tents.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Gendry turned to look in her direction. Laughing ice blue eyes made contact with the flames of her burning steel gaze.

Dinner in the hall was absolute torture.

She didn’t want his hands to hold the horn of ale. She wanted this hands on her. His lips shouldn’t be pressed against the rim of the mug. They should be pressed against her. And she knew, gods did she know, that he felt the same. Not long after the desserts were served, his eyes met hers and she saw the burning desire in his gaze as she deliberately licked the last of the honey cake from her lips.

And that was it.

He rose from his seat, muttered something to Ser Davos, and disappeared. Arya ached to go after him and she forced herself to stay and make conversation with her family, all while trying to ignore the heat that was already pooling between her thighs at the thought of what she longed to do to him, of what she longed for him to do to her, until finally, finally, the people in the hall began to retire and she was free to return to her room, to return to him.

Gendry was there, kneeling by the hearth as he coaxed the flames to burn brighter. They had been without one another’s touch for so long that the sight of him there, waiting for her, was enough to pull a soft sigh from her lips. She was his. And he was hers.

“M’lady.” He murmured, eyes already dark with desire as he turned away from the hearth and stood to his full height.

“Shut up.” Arya murmured as she rushed to close the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his back as her hands came up to cling to the collar of his jerkin, fingertips brushing at his skin. Gendry tucked his chin and captured her lips with his own. Warm and wanting flesh pressed and devoured one another. Her lips suckled against his and a hearty sigh escaped when his arms slipped down, his large hands palming at her waist as he pulled her against him.

The touch of his tongue running against her bottom lip pulled a moan from him and sent her heart beating faster than any Dothraki stallion. Arya purred and pulled him backwards with her, their legs bumping against the table as it scraped against the floor. Both ignored the crashing of the candlestick as it fell against the stones from the table. They were too focused on one another.

“Arya.” He moaned as her lips broke from his and continued a trail of wet, sucking kisses down his neck.

“Gendry.” She drawled with a purr. Her fingers tugged and pulled at the laces of his jerkin. “It’s been too long, far too long.” Arya pushed the jerkin from his shoulders and quickly did the same with his woolen shirt beneath. Her hands roamed the dip of his chest, tracing the outline of his defined muscles. “I want you.” She breathed as she drew her eyes away from his sculpted chest to meet his own.

“Only you.” He replied, repeating the phrase they had murmured many times over when doubt overtook them. And it was that phrase that struck her, sending an overflowing rush of love to every inch of her body. She burned with it.

Gendry growled as her teeth nipped at his neck and pulled her with him. Arya pulled at her own jerkin, wanting to rid herself of her layers, wanting to feel his skin against her skin. Once free of the leather jerkin, she stood in her linen shift and breeches. Her hand reached down beneath his breeches and took his hardened length in her grip. A loud moan escaped them both and his mouth came crashing down against hers once more, practically swallowing her whole.

In turn, his hand slipped past her own breeches in order to cup her at the apex of her thighs, just as his mouth settled at the exposed skin of her chest. His free hand reached up to thumb her hardened nipple over the soft linen of her shift, bringing a guttural moan from her lips as he kissed the curves of her breasts.

She recovered quickly, withdrawing her own hand in order to shove him backwards towards the bed. He laughed and pulled her back to him. His hands slipped down from her waist and lifted her. Arya’s legs wrapped around him instinctively. Gendry’s lips kissed and sucked at the soft flesh of her neck, causing her to throw her head back in return as she let out a breathless laugh. The back of her head met with something on the ledge of the hearth and it too went crashing to the floor.

“Bed.” She gasped as his hands, strong and calloused from years of working in the forge, squeezed at her arse, pulling yet another moan from him. He pushed away from the table with such force that it clattered to the floor with a crack that resonated throughout the chamber. Gendry stumbled forwards. The two had lost themselves in one another and gave no care to the disorder that they caused the room. Chairs and candlesticks and tables remained upturned on the floor. They gave no notice to the noise their destruction had caused. His eyes locked with her own, gaze never leaving her face as he carried her. It was that familiar look in his blue eyes that she would remember forever. “I love you too.” Arya breathed, his declaration unspoken. The look in his eyes was enough.

And so he lowered her onto the bed, eyes narrowed but never breaking contact with her own as warm hands roamed the curves of her body in his familiar, yet agonizingly slow pace, as if he were attempting to commit the feel of her to memory. Laughing with a happy impatience, Arya pulled him close in order to flip them so that her thighs were straddling his waist, squeezing tightly against him as the ache in her lower abdomen began to spread. She leaned in against him, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and coaxing yet another moan from him.

“Aryaaa.” Her name dragged from the back of his throat with the moan, bringing a smirk to her own lips as her fingers trailed over his bare skin, clenching at the muscles of his arms, and curling against the dip of his abdomen.

A loud crash brought the couple falling back to reality.

“Arya!” A voice called in what could only be severe shock.

She turned to see Jon standing beneath the door frame, having clearly forced the door open. Both could see a broken hinge against the wood of the door. And behind Jon stood a wide eyed Sansa with her hand on the King’s shoulder, having clearly attempted to stop him. In turn, Arya felt Gendry pull back from her, though not entirely. He was close enough that she could still feel the warmth of his palm against the small of her back. Though she could feel the anxiousness rolling off him in waves, he wouldn’t break their connection.

Four pairs of eyes all made eye contact with one another in the painfully awkward silence.

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bibleteachingbyolga · 3 years

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People-pleasing is a well-worn scheme and trap of Satan. If we think people-pleasing began with self-esteem training, the tolerance movement, or social media, we have underestimated how interwoven this temptation has been with humanity. The sin of people-pleasing is as old as people. Since the fall, we have been tempted to live for the praise and approval of others. Man has always fallen into the fear of man.

Our stubborn, often subtle weakness for the esteem of others has roots that stretch far and wide — in society, in history, and too often in us. And God hates people-pleasing. The apostle warns, “Am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ” (Galatians 1:10). No one can ultimately serve both God and man. And God knows whom we really serve (1 Thessalonians 2:4), whose pleasure we crave the most.

Jesus put his finger on the ancient fear of man when he confronted the proud people-pleasers of his day: “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” (John 5:44). People-pleasing had blinded them to Jesus. Unchecked, it will cover our eyes as well. “They loved the glory that comes from man,” John 12:43 tells us, “more than the glory that comes from God.” That preference is the essence and danger of people-pleasing.

How to Kill People-Pleasing

So, how do we expose our proneness to people-pleasing and begin putting it to death? Paul confronts this particular temptation head-on in two remarkably similar passages, Ephesians 6:5–9 and Colossians 3:22–25, both of which are specifically addressed to bondservants:

Bondservants, obey your earthly masters . . . not by the way of eye-service, as people-pleasers. (Ephesians 6:5–6)

Bondservants, obey in everything those who are your earthly masters, not by way of eye-service, as people-pleasers. (Colossians 3:22)

The apostle calls servants to relate to their masters in countercultural ways, despite what they may be suffering and enduring. His admonitions, however, apply far beyond masters and servants, to bosses and employees, husbands and wives, parents and children, friends and neighbors. The two passages are a several-sentence textbook on how to resist people-pleasing in any relationship, including at least five important lessons.

1. Love with fear and trembling.

Bondservants, obey your earthly masters with fear and trembling. (Ephesians 6:5)

The antidote to the fear of man is not fearlessness but a better, healthier, more life-giving fear: the fear of God. To avoid people-pleasing, we must love people with fear and trembling toward God. Much of our captivity to the feelings and desires of others stems from our relative indifference to the eyes and heart of heaven. We’ve developed a devastating allergy to trembling — the vital tremors any healthy soul feels before the awe-inspiring wonder of God (Psalm 96:9).

Paul makes the same point in Colossians 3:22: “Obey in everything . . . not by way of eye-service, as people-pleasers, but with sincerity of heart, fearing the Lord.” How many of us fear the disappointment or disapproval of others far more than we fear displeasing God? Subjecting our fears of one another to a greater fear of God will, over time, clarify and purify our motivations in relationships. Instead of constantly worrying what others might think or how they might respond, we need to spend more time meditating on the holiness, justice, and mercy of God.

2. Always do what God says to do.

[Obey] not by the way of eye-service, as people-pleasers, but as bondservants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart. (Ephesians 6:6)

This lesson and exhortation may seem too simple to be practically helpful: Resolve to do what God says to do. “Do the will of God.” The people-pleaser desperately chases the wills of other people; the God-fearer focuses on discerning and pursuing the will of God. Well, yes, but how do we know what the will of God is in any given situation?

Paul answers that question with surprising clarity and simplicity: “This is the will of God, your sanctification” (1 Thessalonians 4:3). The will of God for you is that you be sanctified — that you steadily and progressively become more and more like him. When confronted with a decision, one good question to ask is, What choice will make me more like Jesus? What would make me rely most on God (2 Corinthians 1:9; 12:9)? What would help bring others closer to him (1 Peter 3:18)? What would bring him the most glory (John 17:4; 12:27–28)?

Many decisions, however, are not as black-and-white as we’d like. Typically, there isn’t a manifestly Jesus path and a manifestly sinful path. So, beyond the simplicity of our pursuing sanctification (holiness), Paul also says, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2). God-fearers listen as carefully as possible to all that God says in his word, meditating on his law day and night (Psalm 1:2), and then they strive to obey to the best of their knowledge and ability.

None of us will know all that God wants and commands at all times, but we can commit to do, at all times, what we do know he has said to do.

3. Sacrifice the safety of superficiality.

Obey in everything . . . not by way of eye-service, as people-pleasers, but with sincerity of heart. (Colossians 3:22; Ephesians 6:5)

The sin of people-pleasing, almost by definition, presumes duplicity. If we’re constantly angling to do what pleases others, it is almost impossible to remain consistent or maintain integrity (especially if we’re trying to please several people at once). That means one way we battle people-pleasing is to prize and protect sincerity.

Do we alter ourselves before certain people in order to make or keep them happy? Do we act or speak a certain way to fit in with one crowd, and then transform ourselves to fit in somewhere else (perhaps in neither place being honest about who we really are)? Insincerity camouflages weaknesses and embellishes strengths. It hides secret sins and parades virtues. It’s self-protective, self-congratulating, and always projecting.

The call to sincerity is the call to put off and forsake all superficiality. No one, believer or otherwise, wants to be known as superficial, so why do so many still fall into its trap? In part, because superficiality makes us feel safe, important, successful. If we can project the image to others we love and admire, then we will be loved and admired, we think. The problem, of course, is that we (and God) know who we are behind all the elaborate costumes and performances. And so, whomever the people love, it is not really us.

Sincerity, not superficiality, is the surer path to peace, love, purpose, and freedom.

4. Obey God in public and in secret.

Obey . . . with a sincere heart, as you would Christ, not by the way of eye-service. (Ephesians 6:5–6; Colossians 3:22)

This test may be the most immediately enlightening: “not by the way of eye-service.” Or, not only when others are watching. Especially the particular people whose approval or praise we crave. This point overlaps with the previous one, but presses on the differences between our public self and our secret self — who we are when we are all alone. One of the surest ways to forfeit our souls is to use God merely to garner attention and applause for ourselves.

“Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them,” Jesus warns, “for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 6:1). The hypocrites, he says, announce themselves when they give to the needy, or pray, or fast “that they may be praised by others.” We hear the sobering severity in his next words: “Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward” (Matthew 6:2). People-pleasers may enjoy the pleasure of earthly praise for a time, but if that is what they live to have, that is all they will ever have. A few more trophies at work, a few more compliments from friends, a few more likes on social media, a few more smiles and pats on the back — and then they lose everything.

To be done with people-pleasing, we have to see the shallow, shortsighted, ultimately empty rewards of people-pleasing. And we have to come awake to the enormous, never-ending, ever-escalating prize of pleasing God regardless of whether anyone else sees or not.

5. Seek your reward from God.

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. (Colossians 3:23–24; Ephesians 6:8)

People-pleasers may enjoy the pleasure of earthly praise, but only at the expense of a heavenly reward. Every time we prefer the glory of man to the glory of God, we believe the terrifying lie that the stray crumbs of human praise will be more satisfying than the wedding feast that awaits us (Revelation 19:9). Against the tragedy of people-pleasing hypocrisy, Jesus encourages us,

When you give to the needy [or pray or fast or love one another], do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (Matthew 6:3–4)

We cannot measure the worth of this reward. For those who live to please him, God will not withhold any gift or pleasure. “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:32). Whatever we receive and experience in the new world God gives to us, no reward, accomplishment, or approval could ever have made us happier (Psalm 16:11). We starve the craving for the praise and approval of people by striving for what we can get only from God.

Please God, Love People

Now, pleasing God does not mean despising people. The Son of God himself “came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). He counted others and their interests more significant than his own (Philippians 2:3–5) — imagine that! He said, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). Pleasing God does not release us from relentlessly and sacrificially loving people. It does release us from the tyranny of needing their praise or fearing their rejection.

So, please God and love people, like Christ. “No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits,” worrying about how well he will be received or remembered by men, “since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:4). Do all that you do before his loving, watchful, fearsome eyes. If we learn to rejoice and tremble before him (Psalm 2:11), the seduction of people-pleasing will wither and wane.

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whisperwrought · 6 years

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REQUIRED QUESTIONS

WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME ?

❝ lady myriam. the starling. whichever you’d prefer. ❞

WHAT IS YOUR FULL TITLE / OCCUPATION ?

❝ i’m a woman of many occupations. i run several refined establishments throughout westeros , particularly in the capital. i have a position on the small council , and occasionally , i’ve been known to refer to my days as a courtesan - - when duty calls. ❞

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS / LOVED ONES CALL YOU ?

❝ my mother referred to me as myri when i was a girl. few others have given me titles of affection over the years. ❞

WHERE WERE YOU BORN ?

❝ braavos. ❞

DO YOU HAVE SIBLINGS ?

❝ i’m sure i must , somewhere out there. my father was a rather - - sloppy man , whomever he might be. i’m sure i wasn’t the first bastard he sired. ❞

DO YOU HAVE CHILDREN ? DO YOU WANT THEM ?

❝ i don’t. and no matter what my desire is , i’m completely unfit to be a mother. ❞

DO YOU HAVE A POSITIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR FAMILY ?

❝ the only family i can speak of is my mother, but yes. she raised me - - taught me everything i knew. i have her to thank , and perhaps blame , for where i am now - - but i respect her greatly.. ❞

DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY TRADITIONS / MEMORIES THAT YOU VALUE ?

❝ no. i actively try to avoid sentimentality. ❞

HOW DO YOU TYPICALLY SPEND A DAY ?

❝ i’m sure my reputation has left you with preconceived notions of it - - i’ll leave it to the imagination. ❞

ARE YOU RELIGIOUS ?

❝ no. and given my rather tumultuous history, i don’t expect any god - - drowned , seven , old , or otherwise would welcome me. ❞

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH ?

❝ my resilience. i’m rather skilled at dusting myself off. ❞

YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS ?

❝ my humanity. i care more than i’d readily admit to. it’s a hindrance. ❞

DESCRIBE A HIDDEN TALENT / LITTLE KNOWN SKILL YOU BELIEVE YOU POSESS.

❝ i was once courted by a famed WATER DANCER. needless to say , i took advantage of the free lessons. . . ❞

DO YOU FALL IN LOVE EASILY ?

❝ once, and it was far from easy. though , that was a rare exception. -- i don’t form attachments easily. in my line of work , it’s much easier not to. love , i’ve discovered , is exceedingly rare , and too often confused with lust. ❞

DO YOU HAVE SOMEONE YOU WOULD DIE FOR ? WHO?

❝ a few , i suppose. my mother , certainly. an old love - - though i can scarcely think of a situation he’d be incapable of pulling through without involving myself. ❞

DESCRIBE YOUR LIFE FIVE YEARS FROM NOW.

❝ if i’ve managed five more years without a knife in my back , i’ll consider it a victory. ❞

DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A SECRETIVE PERSON ?

❝ can one live in westeros and SURVIVE as a forthright person ? ❞

IS THERE A SECRET RELATED TO YOU THAT YOU HIDE FROM MOST PEOPLE ?

❝ i do . though i’ve better sense than to disclose it. ❞

DO YOU PUT YOURSELF BEFORE OTHERS , OR OTHERS BEFORE YOURSELF ?

❝ i’m intent on surviving. being selfish is required to ensure that. ❞

DO YOU LIKE YOURSELF ?

❝ no. but i don’t particularly dislike myself, either. ❞

DO YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON ?

❝ certainly not. i might have been , once. but westeros turns people into the worst versions of themselves. i’ve seen that firsthand. ❞

ARE YOU A VENGEFUL PERSON ?

❝ not outrageously , no. i believe people should get what they deserve , and i do what i can to ensure that. ❞

EVENT / PLOT DROP RELATED QUESTIONS -

WHAT BRINGS YOU TO THE CAPITAL ?

❝ though the court historian will tell you , if i’m recorded with KING AEMON’S reign , that i left braavos in search of a better life. that’s an extreme simplification. i had a good life in braavos - - i was treated more like nobility there than i’ll ever be treated here. i wanted a different life. i tired of being at the beck and call of those who could afford me. i wanted to be my own mistress , and i wanted to stop waiting on old , broken promises. so i sought out a new challenge. ❞

WHAT ARE YOUR IMPRESSIONS OF THE RED KEEP ?

❝ - - -as i serve at the behest of the crown , isn’t it only fit that i sing the praises of such a veritable fortress ? ❞

ARE YOU PARTAKING IN THE FESTIVITIES AS AN INVITED GUEST , OR SOMEONE IN SERVICE TO AN INVITED GUEST ?

❝ both. i am enjoying the celebrations in the service of the king , though i’m constantly reminded of my station in the looks and whispers that accompany me. no one wants a celebrated prostitute sitting next to them at a banquet - - not really. ❞

DID YOU ATTEND THE WELCOME FEAST ?

❝ was my account of the whispering and the staring not confirmation enough ? ❞

IF SO , CAN YOU ACCOUNT FOR YOUR WHEREABOUTS DURING THE MURDER ?CAN ANYONE VERIFY THIS ACCOUNT ?

❝ i was mingling. i’m sure any of the gawking lords and ashamed ladies would be glad to. ❞

DID YOU SEE , HEAR , OR OVERHEAR ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS THAT MIGHT BE USEFUL IN THE INVESTIGATION ?

❝ given that i am conducting a similar , more discreet investigation of my own , i’m not entirely willing to disclose any sensitive information. ❞

WHAT MOTIVE MIGHT SOMEONE HAVE FOR MURDERING A KINGSGUARD ?

❝ lust , jealousy , revenge, and a show of ego are typically the culprits. in this case , i expect the knight had seen too much wine and started a fight he couldn’t finish. ❞

DO YOU BELIEVE THIS MURDER WAS / WILL BE AN ISOLATED INCIDENT ? EXPLAIN.

❝ NO. a murder in king’s landing is far from a rarity. gather all of the high & mighty players of westeros under roof ? eventually one will express their discontent , and others will follow. blood will be shed , it’s how it’s gone historically - - i don’t expect that to change. ❞

IF YOU WERE ASKED TO LAY BLAME UPON ONE OF THE HOUSES RUMORED TO BE NEAR AT THE TIME OF THE MURDER ( STARK , MARTELL , and HIGHTOWER ) , WHO WOULD YOU HOLD RESPONSIBLE FOR SUCH A HEINOUS ACT ?

❝ it would be foolish for me to point fingers in the middle of an investigation. however , the most logical choice would be an affiliate of house MARTELL - - this heated history between the targaryen’s and martell’s is well documented. it’s likely those animosities have carried through generations. things like that never die in westeros - - wars have been started for less. ❞

#7khq:task #╰ ♔ –– you couldn’t afford me / CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.#this is kinda garbage but ?? whatever !!

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seasncke · 6 years

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* –––––– › TASK 001 . : CHARACTER INTERVIEW !

* –––––– �� PART I . : THE INTERVIEW !

WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME ?

“ lucerys velaryon . “

WHAT IS YOUR FULL TITLE / OCCUPATION ?

there is only a moments hesitation ––– bastard of the tides lingers bitterly at the tip of his tongue . “ lord lucerys of house velaryon . “

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS / LOVED ONES CALL YOU ?

“ it’s a faint memory , “ and it fades further with each day . “ but my late mother used to refer to me as lucy . ” he continues after a beat . “ and my family and those closest to me are permitted to call me luce . “

WHERE WERE YOU BORN ?

“ in the lord’s chambers at driftmark . ”

DO YOU HAVE SIBLINGS ?

“ i have three . “

DO YOU HAVE CHILDREN ? DO YOU WANT THEM ?

“ i have a child , yes . ” a little girl , born out of wedlock and by a woman with whom there was no romantic connection . “ i’m in rare contact with the child i have and i haven’t a need for anymore . ”

DO YOU HAVE A POSITIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR FAMILY ?

“ my relationship with my family is . . . ” the true nature of his relationship with his immediate family was not information he would readily volunteer . he would keep up appearances for the good of his house . maybe he was becoming more and more a velaryon . “ quite positive and growing even more so everyday . “

DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY TRADITIONS / MEMORIES THAT YOU VALUE ?

“ there is one memory i cherish ––– after my mother’s death father took my eldest brother and i out on the water in a boat he’d had personally crafted to replicate corlys velaryon’s own vessel the sea snake . he’d never let either of us near it until that day and i’d been obsessed with it . ” there is no mention of him being tossed from the watercraft . that was the day he’d learned to swim . it was either sink or float .

HOW DO YOU TYPICALLY SPEND A DAY ?

“ i try to stray from routine . there is no typical day for me . though when i’m at home on driftmark i spend a considerable amount of time in blackwater bay . ”

ARE YOU RELIGIOUS ?

“ i find the followers of rh’llor to be an interesting sort as far as religious views go . but i place my faith in none but myself . ”

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH ?

“ my ability to endure . “ his entire life has been a test of endurance .

YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS ?

“ would it be arrogant to suggest i don’t have one ? “ but there is one . just the one . would rid himself of the facade he wears for his house for her .

DESCRIBE A HIDDEN TALENT / LITTLE KNOWN SKILL YOU BELIEVE YOU POSESS.

“ i'm fairly adept at food preparation . ” he’d picked up quite a few things hiding in the kitchens as a boy .

DO YOU FALL IN LOVE EASILY ?

“ in my life i have only ever fallen in love with one person –– i would presume that answers your question . ”

DO YOU HAVE SOMEONE YOU WOULD DIE FOR ? WHO ?

“ i do . ” his response is curt . to the point . “ who that person might be is of little importance . what do you stand to gain from the answer ? ”

DESCRIBE YOUR LIFE FIVE YEARS FROM NOW.

“ i can’t plan that far ahead but i see myself remarried . ” happily this time around and to the woman he’d loved throughout the whole of his marriage to joanna . the woman he should’ve married all along . out of this god forsaken kingdom and back in essos , a place that in five years had come to feel more like home than his own . living out a dream that had died long ago .

DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A SECRETIVE PERSON ?

“ with regards to some things i would prefer not to be . ” living with what has been his best kept secret for all these years eats away at him slow but sure . “ who among us can go through life without having a few secrets . ”

IS THERE A SECRET RELATED TO YOU THAT YOU HIDE FROM MOST PEOPLE ?

“ if i shared it with you it wouldn’t be much of a secret now would it ? ”

DO YOU PUT YOURSELF BEFORE OTHERS , OR OTHERS BEFORE YOURSELF ?

“ i’ve my house to think about so the latter would seem the appropriate response . ”

DO YOU LIKE YOURSELF ?

“ less and less with each coming day . i liked the man i was before. . . ”

DO YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON ?

“ i don’t know that i believe in good people . never mind examining whether or not i fit into such a category . ”

ARE YOU A VENGEFUL PERSON ?

“ that is something measured on a case by case basis . ”

* –––––– › PART II . : THE INTERROGATION !

WHAT BRINGS YOU TO THE CAPITAL ?

“ the very thing that has brought all of the houses of westeros together . ”

WHAT ARE YOUR IMPRESSIONS OF THE RED KEEP ?

“ it would be banal to say it doesn’t compare to my ancestral home wouldn’t it ? what i shall say instead is the first time i laid eyes upon the red keep i was mystified by the sight of it . i’ve been here too often to feel much of anything in regards to it now . ”

ARE YOU PARTAKING IN THE FESTIVITIES AS AN INVITED GUEST , OR SOMEONE IN SERVICE TO AN INVITED GUEST ?

“ i hail from a notable house of the crownlands and one which has been steadfast allies of house targaryen dating back to aegon’s conquest . naturally as a lord of house velaryon i partake in the festivities as a loyal and invited guest of the crown . ”

DID YOU ATTEND THE WELCOME FEAST ?

“ of course . ” there had been instances throughout the night where he’d stepped away to clear his head or to escape the multitude of presences from his own house but he’d been there ––– in the thick of it . “ anything else surely would’ve been seen as a slight against the royal family . ”

IF SO , CAN YOU ACCOUNT FOR YOUR WHEREABOUTS DURING THE MURDER ? CAN ANYONE VERIFY THIS ACCOUNT ?

“ i wasn’t aware i was on trial for the murder . ” but he has nothing to hide . “ unlike my siblings i resolved to keep my wits about me . i’d been refusing the refilling of my cup when the kingsguard’s murder was announced . there were a considerable amount of cupbearers at the feast but bring me those who served that night and i could easily point her out for you for she is exactly who could attest to my account . ”

DID YOU SEE , HEAR , OR OVERHEAR ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS THAT MIGHT BE USEFUL IN THE INVESTIGATION ?

“ eavesdropping isn’t my area of expertise nor is it something i tend to engage in . i don’t trouble myself with the affairs of others lest it serve myself or my house .”

WHAT MOTIVE MIGHT SOMEONE HAVE FOR MURDERING A KINGSGUARD ?

“ from an outside perspective it would seem to be to prove a point . if there was ill intent as is being suggested it might’ve been to leave a message . on a personal leave it could’ve been an act committed in a moment of passion . perhaps the crown has enemies or perhaps the enemies belonged solely to the guard . ”

DO YOU BELIEVE THIS MURDER WAS / WILL BE AN ISOLATED INCIDENT ? EXPLAIN.

“ it would be nice if that were the case . ” house targaryen had welcomed chaos into the red keep the minute they’d called for the houses that made up the seven to co-exist in a confined space .

IF YOU WERE ASKED TO LAY BLAME UPON ONE OF THE HOUSES RUMORED TO BE NEAR AT THE TIME OF THE MURDER ( STARK , MARTELL , and HIGHTOWER ) , WHO WOULD YOU HOLD RESPONSIBLE FOR SUCH A HEINOUS ACT ?

“ house stark . ” the house had never been fond of having a southron ruler and had for a time successfully resisted targaryen rule . aegon and daenerys united the two kingdoms for humanity’s sake but the north would never truly serve house targaryen . they were an inflexible sort ––– northerners . they keep to tradition and have respect only for their own . accept only their own . “ northerners may be looking to reinstate the title of king in the north . the war is long past and the relative peace we’ve enjoyed is settling like dust . westeros is long overdue for a rebellion and need i remind you which house was the catalyst for our last great rebellion . ”

#7khq:task #i was literally so extra abt this #and for why

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