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niemernuet · 10 months

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A little oneshot that I've been chipping away for this weeks' osws fandom challenge for the prompt

❄️ Fake Relationship ❄️

Justiel, set somewhere after Justin's second knee injury.

Rating: M characters: Daniel Yule, Justin Murisier, Luca Aerni, Marc Rochat, Ramon Zenhäusern, Matteo Joris, Nicola Macron, OC length: 4'000 words

The training went well, the coach was in a good mood the entire morning, the weather promised to deliver another flawless summer day, and when the cardio coach announced that they would have the afternoon off, everyone should have cheered. The rejoicing was subdued though because a mysterious cloud hung over the group that cast a dark shadow over all of them. On the long gondola-ride down into the valley, Justin could not hold back any longer. He poked Daniel in the ribs with his elbows.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Daniel snapped, and moved away as far as the narrow bench, and Ramon occupying the remaining space, allowed.

"Yeah, sure," Marc said from the opposite bench, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's why you've been in such a sunny mood the entire morning."

"I am not in a bad mood!" Daniel exclaimed angrily, his voice getting louder the higher Marc's eyebrows rose over his forehead.

"You have been snippy since we left the house," Luca threw in.

"You almost kicked a tourist up there," Ramon added, and nodded towards the mountain station that gradually became smaller and smaller in their field of vision.

"He was cutting in line!" Daniel yelled. "Just because you've travelled ten thousand kilometres and have one day to see Zermatt, Lucerne and Zurich doesn't mean you can just do as you please! This is…"

"Daniel!" Justin barked, and Daniel pressed his lips together. His furious glare crumbled like the snow on the glacier once he met Justin's eyes, and with a groan he let his head fall back against the scratched glass of the gondola.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"What is it?" Luca asked. "We can help you."

Daniel laughed joylessly, his eyes closed. "No, you can't. Not with this."

"Try us," Marc said.

For a moment, Daniel remained motionless. "We're going to Scotland for Grandpa's 75th in two days."

"And you…don't want to go?" Ramon asked when he would not continue.

Daniel shook his head. "I want to go but things have become so awkward since…since his neighbour got it in her head that she has to set me up with one of her grandchildren."

With a sigh, he sat up straight again, and stared gloomily on his feet while the rest of the people in the gondola tried to process his words.

"Does she know you're…" Luca began but petered off.

"It's her grandson," Daniel explained.

"So just tell her you're not interested," Justin said, and made Daniel laugh again.

"Wish it were so easy." He sighed again, and after a short hesitation added. "Because he is interested."

He looked up into the faces of his sympathetic yet also barely comprehending friends, and finally his desperation burst out of him. "He's fucking interested and he just can. Not. Take. A. Fucking. Hint! It's all 'oh, you see, at St. Andrews where I study…' and 'at St. Andrews we always do blah blah…' and 'My mates from St. Andrews and I love to go skiing in Courchevel. The French Alps are just so blah blah…" and every word out of his mouth just makes me want to vomit. I'm trying to be considerate and sensitive because my grandparents have been living next to them for the past fifty years, and they like their neighbours and I don't want to make things awkward for them but their grandson is just such a bloody bell end. And the worst of all is that you can't take one step up there without the old biddy knowing about it so as soon as I arrive on Grandpa's door step she'll call him."

Silence fell after that anguished declaration. It was Justin who broke it.

"That's it?"

Daniel's head whipped around. Justin's smile turned into a laugh when he saw the outrage on Daniel's face.

"I thought it was something serious, like an injury," he said while he pulled his phone out of his backpack. "Or that you want to retire."

He handed his phone over to Marc, and threw his arm over Daniel's shoulder. Marc understood him without words, and snapped a row of pictures of Justin grabbing Daniel's head, and putting their foreheads together.

"What the hell?" Daniel exclaimed.

Justin let go, and turned his face towards Marc. "Smile!" he ordered, and rested his head on Daniel's shoulder.

"And?" he asked Marc.

Marc shrugged, and flipped through the pictures. "He didn't smile but I think it just makes it better. It looks like he didn't know the camera was on him." He handed the phone back to Justin who mustered the pictures with a satisfied nod.

"Congratulations," he then said, and grinned at Daniel. "You now have a boyfriend."

"What?" Daniel repeated helplessly. "No, that's not…"

"It's genius!" Luca threw in.

"Thank you," Justin said, still grinning. He typed away on his phone, and shortly afterwards, Daniel's own gadget vibrated in his pocket.

"You can put one of the pictures as your home screen. When he asks you say we're keeping it low-key for the time being."

"Tell him you fell in love with a handsome country boy from another valley but his family doesn't accept you so you have to keep it secret," Luca threw in.

"Or you can say I just don't want to shout it from the rooftops yet," Justin said, and pointedly stared at Luca.

"Tell him they're savages in Val de Bagnes," Marc added. "Barely human. But you can't help yourself, the sex is simply mind-blowing."

"Excuse me!" Justin yelled.

"Tell him you bet you can't find a country boy like that at St. Andrews," Ramon said, and they laughed when Justin threw up his hands.

"Guys!" Daniel spoke up. "I can't…" He was interrupted by the telltale rattling that announced the entrance to the valley station.

"Hold that thought!," Marc grinned, grabbed his things, and jumped out while the doors were still swinging open.

They lugged their skis and material through the crowds of tourists and back to the house where they had spent the past week. Putting everything away took its time, and when Daniel had all his skis lined up the way Nicola liked it, and hanged the inside of his ski boots out to dry, and stuffed his suit and the jacket into the wardrobe, the others had long left for their own rooms. He smiled when he opened the message from Justin with the two pictures, and sank down on the edge of his bed. Justin found him like that when he came crashing through the door, and unceremonisouly dropped his things on his own bed.

"And you don't mind…" Daniel asked without looking away from the picture. It really was a lucky shot, Daniel's wide-open eyes hidden by Justin's hand, and his surprised exclamation frozen to something that seemed like a laugh as Justin came in for a kiss.

"Of course not!" Justin panted, and kicked the shells of his ski boots under his bed. "I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

Daniel hummed, and switched to the other photo. Indeed, it looked as if Daniel was staring out of the window on the other side of the gondola, and not at Marc, his confused expression making him look as if he was deeply lost in his thoughts.

"I don't plan on ever going to Scotland," Justin said as he plopped down next to Daniel. "And I don't think you'll ever invite him here, so we're safe." He chuckled as he looked at the picture. "I make a great pretend-boyfriend."

Daniel snorted though he could not hide the fond smile washing over his face. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I do!" Justin exclaimed, and stood up again. He walked to his suitcase next to his bed, its contents spilling out on all sides. "I am funny, easy-going, romantic…what else?"

"You snore and you leave your stuff scattered all over the room," Daniel added.

"You love that about me," Justin retorted, grabbed his towel, and disappeared in the bathroom.

-----

The hottest weeks of summer passed, and with the first gust of autumn winds, the unending river of tourists pouring down on Zermatt died down to a trickle. Their absence finally left enough space in the restaurant at the top of the mountain for all the groups using the glacier as training ground and, as always, Marc and Luca had managed to snag the one with the best view. Justin joined them with a cup of coffee, and with a contended sigh sank down in a free chair. Training had picked up speed, the new season was fast approaching, and the coaches became sterner with every day.

"When will it end?" Luca muttered, his head resting on a bunched-up sweater.

"You tell me," Justin said as Daniel sank down next to him. "I have to do something. The coach's jokes about me changing the group are getting less and less funny. I don't want to leave! And he wants to send me to the giant-slalom-group of all things! Can you imagine having to train day in day out with that uppity Caviezel? Also I've heard they want to send the snooty brat from Hérèmence too. No thanks."

"Eh, Loïc's nice," Marc threw in. "He's just shy. And you're not exactly helping him come out of his shell."

"Snooty," Justin muttered in his cup before he turned his head to Daniel. "Anyway, I don't want to leave you guys. I love it here and…" He broke off. Daniel sat unblinking, his face white as a sheet. When he realised that everyone was staring at him, he flinched, and jumped up again.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he muttered, and clamped his hand into Justin's shoulder. With a confused look back to their friends, Justin put the cup down, and followed Daniel into the hallway towards the souvenir shop and the gondolas.

"What's wrong?" he asked while Daniel restlessly paced up and down on the sturdy felt carpet.

"He's coming here," Daniel blurted out, and wrung his hands.

Justin frowned, and pressed against the wall to make space for Daniel pacing in front of him. "Who?"

"The guy!" Daniel exclaimed, and finally stopped. "Grandpa's neighbour's grandson! He…" Here Daniel gestured quotation marks into the air, "…convinced his mates from St. Andrews to come to Zermatt instead of Courchevel for a fun weekend before the start of the new semester."

Justin burst out laughing but Daniel was still in utter distress, and began to pace again.

"He wants to go for a pint with us. I don't want to go for a fucking pint! Not with him!"

"Daniel, that's no problem," Justin said, and grabbed him by the shoulder. "How often do you see couples over the age of 16 make out in broad daylight? It'll be the easiest thing to keep this up. All we have to do is sit next to each other, touch each other's arm once or twice, maybe call each other Honey Bear or Poulette, and we'll be fine."

"I can't keep going on with this," Daniel muttered, and stared into the distance. "I'll have to come clean; tell him I don't fancy him at all."

"What? And risk the good relationship between your grandparents and their neighbours?" Justin laughed. "It's our duty to…"

"I wrote to him that we broke up."

Justin's laugh fell, just like his hand from Daniel's shoulder.

"This was insane from the beginning!" Daniel spat, and tore his fingers through his hair. "What if someone from our team sees us in the pub and comes over? Or really just anyone who trains next to us on the snow? Back in Scotland I told him we're fresh, not even my own family knows about it, because what if he had talked to them? Or to his grandmother who would have told my Grandpa who would have told her that he doesn't know anything about a boyfriend?" He stared at Justin but he was too focused on his ski boots all of a sudden.

"I'll just tell him I don't like him in that way, and whatever happens in Scotland, happens. I don't care."

Justin's chest heaved with a short snort.

"You won't meet him," Daniel continued, "not if I can help it. But if you should cross him in the unlikeliest situation, just tell him we didn't pan out. Don't invent stuff, just…don't. Please."

"We just weren't meant to be," Justin said flatly. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "Shit happens."

Daniel exhaled, and closed his eyes for a second. He tried to meet Justin's eyes. "Exactly. I'm glad you understand."

Justin nodded, and pushed away from the wall. "Of course. We should go, the break's over."

-----

The snow kept its form longer this time of the year, and did not turn into unskiable sludge like during the height of summer. The coaches had left the course from the morning to simulate a worn-out track, and one after the other the athletes hurtled down the slope. A small patch of the mountainside was fenced off. It was reserved for the first winter tourists, and amateurs of all skill-levels pushed the soft snow downwards. A handful of them always lingered near the fence, watching the pros at work. At first, nobody took any heed when another group stopped by, only when they started to hoot and cheer did they turn their heads. Their ski outfits were top of the line and pristine, their faces young and forgettable.

"Oh god, just kill me now," Daniel muttered, stepped into the pair of skis Nicola had prepared, and slid away towards the group.

"What?" Nicola asked into the air.

"Old…acquaintances from Scotland," Justin explained.

"He better acquaints himself with the course soon unless he wants to walk down to Zermatt," Matteo grumbled as he fiddled with the radio strapped to his chest.

“I��ll go first,” Justin said, and lined up at the start gate.

They practiced until the sun started to sink towards the mountain peaks. The group from before had long since moved onto the patio of the restaurant, and had watched them from above.

“We’re going for a beer first before we’re going down,” Luca said to Justin while they finished putting together their things. “Should I order one for you too?”

Justin shut his backpack, and threw it over his shoulder. He shook his head. "I don't feel so well. I'll see you back at the house."

"Okay…" Luca said with a frown, and watched as Justin walked through the turnstile. Only a few people were standing in line, which only existed because nobody felt like sharing a gondola. Justin also stayed put while the couple ahead of him entered their cabin, even though there would have been more than enough space for him. Nobody except Daniel took notice of the man with the eye-wateringly expensive skis coming from the restaurant, and slipping past the queue.

"No no no!" Daniel yelled, and dropped the pair of skis he had in his hands, grabbed his jacket, and sprinted towards the turnstiles. "Dave, wait!"

Justin was too busy with his bags and backpack, and only realised that he was not alone in the gondola when the man was already sitting on the opposite bench. Daniel ran past the queue and the flimsy barrier separating the people from the exit ramp, and slipped in at the last second before the doors shut, and the gondola bolted out of the mountain station. For the first few seconds, while they were still rattling over the masts, only Daniel's gasps filled the silence. Justin stared at the guy with a blank look while he seemed very pleased himself. Daniel, meanwhile, looked miserable.

"I'm sorry for butting in like that," the guy eventually began, with a grin that showed he was not. He held out his hand to Justin. "I'm Dave."

Justin looked at the hand, and back at Dave without moving one muscle. "Daniel's grandfather's neighbour's grandson who studies at St. Andrews," he said.

Dave laughed, and dropped his hand back into his lap. His ski trousers and ski jacket were brand new. "The one and only."

Neither Daniel nor Justin said anything but Dave was not bothered in the least.

"I could convince my mates to change up our usual pre-semester trip," he explained. "Something different for once. It's not quite like Ibiza but almost. I guess that means we'll have to go somewhere warm for New Year's," he mused, and looked out of the window. "Maybe the Caribbean? Though everyone always loves Courchevel…" Slowly they crossed the tree line, and scraggly firs started to spring out of the ground.

With a shrug, Dave came back from his thoughts, and grinned at Justin again. "It's fun, I mean, getting out of the usual rut for once. And even more fun when it means I get to see Daniel." Here he winked, and stared at Daniel until he pulled his lips into a thin smile. Then, Dave turned to Justin. "But now I also get the chance to tell you what a bloody idiot you are."

Justin slowly cocked his head. That and a slight frown was the only indication that he had listened.

"He's just joking," Daniel pressed through clenched teeth.

"I'm not!" Dave laughed. "Do you know how many words Dan used to speak to me before he met you? It was like trying to communicate with a tree. A handsome, handsome tree." He let out an exaggerated sigh as he looked at Dan. "But then I ask one little question about the picture on his phone, out of politeness, I might say, and all of a sudden I can't get him to shut up anymore."

"I was drunk…" Daniel interjected, his cheek glowing bright red.

"It was early afternoon," Dave corrected. "And I learnt more about motocross than I ever cared to know in my whole life. Also I'm happy your knee is okay again, and also that your sister found another job, and…" He leant forward, and mustered Justin's face intently. "Yeah, those are grey. But not that pretty, no offence. I mean, if you're into that…"

Justin barely acknowledged him, his gaze locked in on Daniel who was leaning his head on the scratched window with his eyes closed.

"So imagine my surprise when I come here and learn that you broke up with him. I…"

"It was mutual."

Dave paused, and stared at Justin with a surprised expression.

"I didn't break up with him. We both agreed it's just not the right thing," Justin said softly, and looked at Dave.

As if he was finally realising the tense situation in the cramped gondola, Dave's eyebrows shot up. A short frown flickered over his face before it was hidden under another grin. He turned to Daniel again.

"All the better that I'm here now, right? I'm at the Cervo, we could take our pint at…"

Justin did not let him finish. "You could take a hint, for one."

Dave's glare was now unmistakably hostile but Justin still was unbothered, even as the silence stretched uncomfortably long, and only ended when the gondola suddenly sagged a little before dashing into the valley station.

"I'll write to you," Dave said to Daniel, and with one last, withering look to Justin climbed out.

Daniel and Justin followed him outside, and watched him trot away without sparing them another glance, his skis dangling against his leg. When he had turned the corner, Justin adjusted the straps of the heavy backpack, and lifted one pair of the skis on his shoulders.

"I've forgot my stuff up there," Daniel said, trying to fill the heavy silence. "I'll just…"

He broke off as Justin turned away wordlessly, and walked away.

"Justin!" Daniel said with rising desperation but Justin ignored him.

-----

Marc, Luca, and Ramon were lounging on the patio of their chalet when Daniel returned from his trip back to the glacier. The sun was setting in earnest behind the mountains now, and a cool breeze carried the first signs of the coming winter down the golden hillsides.

"Why is Justin sulking in his room?" Luca asked through the open door, and grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl in the middle of the table.

With hanging shoulders, Daniel walked through the living room towards the hallway. "I'll talk to him," he muttered.

"Dinner's ready in twenty minutes," Marc yelled as Daniel disappeared through one of the doors.

With his last strength he carried his stuff through the room, and dropped everything on the ground in front of his suitcase. Justin sat on his bed with his back to the wall, scrolling through his phone. Without a word Daniel shrugged out of his jacket and ski trousers, grabbed a towel, and walked to the bathroom. He stooped, the door in his hand, took a deep breath, and turned around.

His voice was brittle. "I'm sorry," he said. "About…everything. I should have shut this down way earlier, not…" He broke off, and took a deep breath. "Look, whatever you're thinking now, I don't want things to change between us. My feelings for you are my problem alone. It won't change how I…your friendship is too important to me and I'd never do anything to threaten it. So…yeah." He shrugged, and quickly fled into the bathroom but he had no chance to turn the key as the door was roughly pulled out of his hand again. Daniel flinched back, at the sight of Justin blocking the entire door , effectively locking him in the windowless room.

Justin did not move or speak, only stared at Daniel, and quickly he wiped over his cheeks. Justin kept staring even as Daniel helplessly stared back, until he finally gathered all his remaining little courage so he could look him in the eye. His breath hitched when he saw those bright, grey eyes lingering on him.

Lingering.

Tears swimming.

Daniel's shoulders slumped.

"Oh."

Justin laughed, and before Daniel could move, had him wrapped in a painfully tight hug.

"Oh…" Daniel sighed again as he clung to Justin like a drowning man.

"Yeah," Justin laughed, and noisily pulled up his nose.

“Why did you never say anything?”

“I didn’t want to lose you too,” Justin rasped. “Duh.”

Daniel laughed. Hugging Justin was not new, and yet it was, and he never wanted to let go of him anymore.

“We can never tell the others,” he said, and they both laughed again.

“Luca will never let us hear the end,” Justin muttered. “He will be insufferable.”

Slowly, Daniel released his grip around Justin until he could look at him. His head spun madly when Justin closed the gap for a kiss, and when he remembered that from now on, he could do it whenever he wanted, he laughed again.

“I felt like crying when you broke up our fake relationship,” Justin confessed, and a soft blush crept over his cheeks.

"I was sure you'd forgotten about it," Daniel whispered.

Justin shook his head. “But when that moron told that story…”

Daniel groaned, and leant his forehead against Justin’s shoulder. “You know the worst thing? I really was drunk.”

Justin burst out laughing. “In the middle of the day?”

Daniel sighed. “It was the last lunch, and Grandpa had pulled out his entire Whisky-collection for a tasting. I was just trying to get sober again in the garden when he came over…god, just the memory...”

“Lightweight,” Justin teased.

“Am not!” Daniel exclaimed, and pushed Justin off. “You have no idea how big Grandpa’s collection is!”

Justin grinned, and kissed him again.

#osws fandom challenge #justiel #alpine skiing #it just doesn't want to flow right these days

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morganlefaye79 · 1 year

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Playlist meme

Thank you for the tag @pandorasaquariumm this took me some time to put together although I have a Playlist for all of my oc's. I wanted to do this differently however, because I did this already for all my oc's.

I took my personal playlist, and looked for the song that I would give them + the explanation why I give it to them.

I have a song for Kerry, when Val is on the brink of death from the Relic. I always considered him to have listen to Linkin Park as a kid/ young adult.

You don't know what you've got Oh, you don't know what you've got No you don't know what you've got Until it's gone

Kerry is in my hc so used to loosing people and things that are important to him that he sometimes doesn't even realise it anymore. Losing Johnny (I'm a Silverdyne simp) traumatised him deeply.

'Cause finding what you've got sometimes Means finding it alone And I can finally see your light when I let go

And since Val came into his life with Johnny in the backseat it was not surprising that he fell for Val. Val knew it that Johnny was more likely the reason why Kerry kept him around and only when Johnny was gone for good and Kerry had closure and a proper goodbye, he could let Johnny go. Knowing he would loose Val soon as well, but he chooses to be happy even if it is short term, than to give up on all that. Because let's be honest, he will get hurt either way.

And since we takling about pain, we can switch to Val who never wanted to be a killer but was forced into it.

He is mentally very unstable, not only from his time at Arasaka but also the whole Relic desaster. He is already on a real bad guilt trip because of the many people he assassinated. Then on top of that he gets his lovers (Vicco) best choom (Jackie) killed. He knows it was an accident but it doesn't make the situation any better. The relationship with Vicco was already on edge and now he doesn't think there's anything left to fight for. But that is just the problem with Val. He needs something however small it is to fight for to keep going…

When the demon that's inside you is ready to begin And it feels like it's a battle that you will never win When you're aching for the fire and begging for your sin When there's nothing left inside, there's still a reason to fight

We all know how Johnny is at the start so no need to say that he doesn't help at all but makes the whole situation even worse. By the time Kerry comes around, Valaire already had said his goodbyes as far as he was able to. He was sure he would either die of the Relic, being shot by someone, or do it himself if no one was kind enough to take this task away from him.

Val has always been a Kerry fan so meeting him improved his mental state a bit, but not enough to keep him safe. By that time Johnny and Val got along somehow and Johnny told Kerry about Val and his mental state. Because Kerry himself was suffering severe depressions he knew how it felt and had some long talks with Val and it worked for some time. By the time Val is convinced to die soon because of the Relic, he will have a few times that he will vanish and Kerry thinks he is gone. But Val has still reasons to fight for, so he won't give up in the end.

When there's nothing left inside, there's still a reason to fight I'll be your reason to fight Give you a reason to fight

Joris already knew for many years that he had a twin, but he was told that his family in the NUSA was horrible, so he actually never felt the need to go and see them. Until the day he could see through the scemes his uncle played:

No more games And no more lies No one to blame No alibis I am ashamed to be part of your apathy All that I couldn't see A part of this system of greed

Joris was always kind of a rebel and the only one that never judged him was his aunt, when she died he was devastated. When he found out years later that his uncle had her killed because she was a "bad influence" on him he snapped. He killed his uncle in a fit of rage.

Nothing left to say as all your will decays Nothing left to do, but put an end on you

He was sure that someone would come for him, but no one did. He started to dig deeper and found out that his uncle wasn't well accepted at Arasaka HQ in The Hague, most that had to work with him rather felt hatred and so no one was sad or upset when they heard the news.

Joris inherited everything his uncle owned, most of it was sold off as quickly as possible by Joris. He didn't need houses and Villa's around the world. He also only kept one car, his uncle's Caliburn. Which his uncle nearly to never used.

Then he went to the NUSA to find his twin brother. He actually wanted to join Arasaka in NC, but when he found out that his brother was the one that blew it up a second time, he reconsidered this idea. Slowly he found more puzzle pieces to the mystery that was their family. Which left him with even more hate towards his uncle because he was also responsible for the death of his mother, who died in a house fire. The same house fire that had nearly killed him as a toddler and which scars were still visible on his face.

Vicco was a tough one, because they can be everything and do have so many facets to them that it is very difficult to take just one song to describe them. As a joytoy that has clients in the upper class of NC they have to fake many things.

This place is a circus, you just see the surface They cover shit under the rug You can see their faking

Vicco loves to play their game and for someone that never went to school he is good enough with most topics to not make a fool out of them.

Vicco is also good at getting informations out of someone, just by asking harmless questions. Rumors and informations are worth a lot of money.

Sip the gossip, drink till you choke Sip the gossip, burn down your throat You're not iconic, you are just like them all Don't act like you don't know

Vicco knows full well who and what they are. Their behaviour on the job is completely different from their private life. Only when he marries Joris he will stop working as a joytoy. But he will stay close enough to the biz to get informations still because joytoys always get the best informations while doing their job. He will later on work as a model sometimes even with Joris together. So he will keep his fake smiles for the people of NC.

I love me some good oc lore. And so I tag:

@dreamskug @wraithsoutlaws @vox-monstera @faepunkprince @a-pirate @maimaiapologist @ghostoffuturespast @gloryride @dustymagpie @wanderingaldecaldo @jaymber @fereldanwench

As always no pressure :)

#tag game #playlist meme #tw mentions of mental health issues #tw mentions of suicidal thoughts #Spotify #long post #kerry eurodyne #oc: Valaire #oc: Vicco #oc: Joris #more oc lore

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olderthannetfic · 2 years

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What’s your opinion on people who post in other fandom tags when they’re using the premise of the media as an AU? Like for example, “First Kill but Jori” and they post in both the Victorious fandom tag and the First Kill fandom tag despite it being completely AU and none of the characters from First Kill actually appear. It’s just these two characters from Fandom 1 replacing the characters and reenacting the plot from Fandom 2. Personally I think it’s just a ruse to get more people to click their work, which is pretty shitty. If I’m in the second fandom, why the fuck would I want to see these characters I don’t know, from a fandom I don’t care about, in the space where they don’t belong? That’s like going into a grocery store to sell your homemade cookies. I’m sure they’re great and you put some level of work into it, but there’s a time and a place and this is not the place, my guy.

I’m in a musical fandom and this happens way too often and I’m beyond sick of seeing them. Authors who write BNHA or FNAF or whatever be like “uwu musical au uwu!!! Char 1 is Musical Char G, char 2 is musical char K...” etc. and it’s like. I came here to this musical fandom specifically to read about these musical characters. These characters I don’t care about from these other fandoms may as well be OCs. Get the fuck out. It’s gotten to the point where this fandom may as well not be it’s own thing anymore, it’s just an extension of not even its own movie, but everything else.

And the worst part is I can’t even filter it out. People tag their fics with both the musical AND the movie all the time, and that counts as a crossover and I’d be missing out on the lion’s share of actual content. While also annoying, I don’t mind this as much since it’s within the same franchise, though it’s pretty easy to tell people are writing more for one than the other.

I know AO3 has really spoiled us in terms of tags and filters but I honestly don’t think it’s too much to ask for people to stay in their own lane and not put unrelated fandoms in unless it’s a real actual honest-to-god crossover where there’s some legit level of interaction from all parties tagged (also fuck those multifandom oneshot “BOOKS”. Fuck you wattpad weirdos who are obviously trying to game the system and just cluttering every single tag your little brain can think of and then just abandoning your giant wall of 100 tags and only 1738 words in 3 whole chapters because you’re overwhelmed and now it’s everyone else’s problem to deal with. If you tagged properly in the first place the volunteers who have to see the report would probably have more time on their hands and the wait time to handle these reports would be less. Fuck you for wasting everyone’s time). If you can’t trust people to find your fic, then you probably need to improve your skills and not rely on cheap tricks to get views, just saying. I would love to be able to exclude crossovers and just have it be easy, and not have to go into filters and exclude This fandom, and that fandom, and that one and that one and that one and that one and OH THAT one too, and this other one and that one and... just kill me already Jesus Christ

This behavior is anathema.

If you're writing a fusion, use the additional tags, not the fandom field!

I have ranted about this many times, often with regards to His Dark Materials (one of the fandoms hardest hit by this bullshit). Anyone who does this is rude as fuck and deserves to be told off for mistagging.

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vannyandthejets · 5 months

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The Wolf and the Wildling

Chapter Five: Adara

༄ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Stark!OC

༄ Season: 1

༄ Warnings: major character death, loss

༄ Word Count: 4.4k

༄ A/N: The bold sentences going forward will be Connie and/or anyone else’s dialogue when they use sign language. If the words are bold and have quotations, that’ll mean that whoever is signing is also speaking. I hope that’s not too complex lol but I wanted to differentiate somehow and it’s the best I could come up with.

Also, my apologies if this chapter feels a little short. I’ve been itching to get a new one out, but this was a struggle to write. This particular death is one of the worst for me as a proud Stark loyalist. God I hate it. Anyway, it’s done and thank the gods we can all move on. Except Adara and Sansa and Arya and the rest of the Starks and even poor Daryl who was forced to watch his girl’s papa get the axe. This sucks LOL.

Adara stared up at the canopy of her bed as a million thoughts ran through her mind. The attack on her father by the Kingslayer and his men had only happened a week ago and already she felt chaos on the horizon. She missed Robb and Jon, two of the only people in the world who could always ease her anxiety, and Bran and Rickon with their sweet eyes and warm hugs.

She longed for Fawn so much it physically pained her. In her dreams she swore she felt as though she was Fawn. She ran through fields and woods, chased rabbits, trotted through the tunnels and halls of Winterfell. She even felt the small hands of her brothers stroke her fur when she slept at night.

She missed Daryl more by the hour. His scent, the gentle tone of his voice, his calloused fingers brushing against her face when they shared their kiss in the godswood. More than anything else, she couldn’t stop thinking about how right he was. The capital was dangerous. Every day she felt wandering eyes watching her every move. The first thing she did upon arriving was purchase a leather thigh holster for Daryl’s dagger. The only comfort she had was the weight of the blade under her dresses as she navigated the castle and prayed to whoever was listening that she never needed to use it.

Out of all the fearsome men she had encountered in her nearly three months in the capital, it was Petyr Baelish who made her skin crawl the most. The Hound was frightening in an obvious sort of way, but he hardly spared a glance at her. The Mountain was more beast than man, she thought, but she saw Ser Gregor even less because of his service to Lord Tywin. Prince Joffrey and Ser Jaime the Kingslayer were two others she steered clear of, but no matter Adara’s efforts, no matter how hard she tried to stay as far from the man as she possibly could, Lord Baelish was everywhere she turned. She had no reason not to trust the man, sure, but her father always told her to trust her gut above all else. Something was off about Lord Baelish. His lecherous eyes followed both her and Sansa with an intensity that made her ill. The same could be said for Grand Maester Pycelle, though he was so old and decrepit she knew she could outrun him if the occasion called for it.

Though she managed to stay away from the Kingslayer most days, she despised him more than she thought she could ever despise anyone. He killed Jory and nearly killed her father. She didn’t care that his motives were in protection of his younger brother. Anyone who would kill a king and make an attempt on her father’s life was someone she could never trust.

Now, with King Robert gravely injured, Adara’s stress only worsened. The one man in the entire kingdom who truly cared for her father’s wellbeing would be gone soon. The Kingslayer had the gall to attack Lord Stark in the streets before the King’s inevitable demise. There would be no telling what he would do once her father no longer had his best friend backing him.

Adara recalled the conversation she had with him in his chambers as he laid there with the fresh wound on his leg.

“If it hurts too terribly I can have Grand Maester Pycelle bring milk of the poppy,” Adara winced as she watched her father sweat from the intensity of the pain. He shook his head and attempted to sit up, but groaned as soon as his leg moved. “I don’t need to sleep right now, darling. It’s been days already.”

Adara sighed and took her father’s hand. “You must be quite the fighter even in your old age, taking on the Kingslayer like that.” When she smirked, Lord Stark chuckled, the laugh turning to a grunt of pain. “I may have even had him if his guard hadn’t skewered my leg from behind.”

They both glanced at his bandaged wound. “Do you want to tell me why this happened? I’ve refused to speak to anyone else. I don’t trust a soul in this place,” Adara admitted. The side of Ned’s mouth twitched. “And for that I am glad. It’s a dangerous place we’re in. I’ve tried to tell Sansa and Arya the same, but they’re so ingrained with their own matters that they hardly pay my words any mind.”

He finally adjusted himself into a comfortable position. “Cat has taken Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner. She believes he’s the one who tried to have Bran killed.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “The King has asked me to send a raven compelling her to release him, and he all but forced me to remain his Hand. He’s gone hunting and I’m to act in his stead until he returns.”

It was a heap of information to process. Adara had several questions, but only one of them was truly important to her. “Do you think Lord Tyrion tried to have Bran killed?” She didn’t know much about the man they called ‘The Imp,’ but she trusted her father’s judgement, and she knew enough about the Lannisters to know they weren’t above killing children.

“I know Cat wouldn’t act on such a thing unless she were certain. I told the King that it was on my command. If anyone asks you about it you will say the same. I take full responsibility for it. Is that clear?” Ned eyed Adara as seriously as he ever had, and she nodded quickly. “Of course, Father.”

Now she laid in bed on her third night of sleeplessness and wondered just how much stress her injured father would be under after losing Jory—along with half of the household guard—and King Robert’s death being close enough to touch. Selfishly, Adara also worried over what this would mean for her and her sisters. They rarely had time with their father as it was. How few and far between would their interactions become with the added weight of standing in place of the King? Never mind the anger of Tywin Lannister hot on his back after Lord Stark denounced Ser Gregor Clegane and sentenced him to die.

Adara did not have to wonder for long. The very next morning, as the bells of the capital chimed the news of the King’s death, her Lord Father was betrayed by Lord Baelish and the City Watchmen.

As she walked through the Red Keep with Sansa and Septa Mordane, the yelling of men and the clashing of swords could be heard in the distance. Sansa gasped, clinging to Adara’s arm. The septa commanded the girls in a hushed tone. “Go back to your room, Lady Adara, and take your sister with you. Bar the doors and do not open them for anyone you do not know.”

Adara’s heart quickened with every war cry she heard down the hallway. “What’s happening?” She took Sansa’s hand, already preparing to flee. Septa Mordane squeezed Adara’s arm tightly and urged them on, a look of sadness in her eyes. Adara looked between the old woman and the commotion down the hall once more before turning and fleeing with Sansa in tow.

Don’t look back, she thought. If you turn, you die. She hadn’t a clue what caused her to think it, but Adara knew better than to go against whatever was telling her to survive.

“Adara, what is it? What’s going on?” Sansa cried as they rounded the corner to her chambers. Adara opened her mouth to speak and tell Sansa she was just as clueless as anybody else, but instead froze when they came upon Sandor Clegane in full chainmail. She immediately moved her younger sister behind her and felt for Daryl’s dagger. Gods be good if Daryl Dixon does not turn out to be my savior for giving me this dagger, she thought.

The Hound smirked as he approached the Stark girls. The grim smile on his half-burnt face sent a wave of nausea so intense through Adara that she might have fallen to the floor if not for Sansa’s tight grip keeping her steady. She could hardly consider one thought before a new one took its place. Why was Joffrey’s personal bodyguard coming for them? Why did it sound as though men were being ripped apart in every direction? Where in the hell was her father?

With every step The Hound took, Adara’s fingers inched closer to the weapon under her dress. This was the man she’d seen fight his own brother on the day of the Tourney of the Hand. The man who was rumored to have killed more people than she had ever met in her life. She wouldn’t dare remove the dagger from its holster when he was still so many paces from her, but even if she did she knew it would be like raising a needle to a bear.

“We don’t want any trouble, Clegane. Let us pass and I will not tell my father or the Queen.” In spite of the tremor in her hands, Adara straightened her back and met his eyes. If he was about to kill her, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

The beast of a man chuckled and his eyes darkened as he closed the distance between them. “Who do you think sent me?”

Weeks passed in which Adara barely rose from her bed. There was no point in moving while her father sat in the dungeons beneath her, alone and cold and starving. She did not allow anyone to see her besides her two handmaidens whom she had grown to love since coming to the capital.

Connie laid beside her in the bed while Kelly, her younger sister, ate the food Adara had refused to touch. When Connie tapped Adara’s arm, the eldest Stark focused on Connie’s hands making signs and her stern face. You need to eat. You’re no good to any of us if you starve to death.

In the months they had become acquainted, both Connie and Kelly taught Adara the hand language of the common tongue. While Connie made the signs with her hands, Kelly translated and helped Adara form her own digits into the careful movements. It was time consuming work, but Adara knew she would have lost her senses if not for the sibling duo urging her to keep going and teaching her a new form of communication. Still, as days came and went without word from her father and her sister being under careful scrutiny of Queen Cersei, Adara didn’t have the motivation she possessed before. She signed a simple no and turned away from Connie.

Only a week after they put her lord father in chains did Robb call the banners of House Stark and declare war on the Lannisters. Lady Catelyn lost Tyrion in the Vale, promptly destroying the one bargaining chip they may have possessed. Sansa, still a young girl and right under Cersei’s thumb, betrayed her house when she wrote the words that named Lord Stark a traitor to the throne. Arya, only 11 then, was lost to them, likely dead in the chaos that saw an end to the entire Stark house guard. Adara could no longer keep up with all the things happening to her family, all the ways in which the life she knew was irrevocably altered.

Each day turned out to be worse than the previous. Lord Varys—“The Spider,” they called him—brought word of Robb’s travels in the hopes that it would enliven her spirits, but all Adara felt was dread when she heard that the sweet boy she once knew was a man intending to fight Lannister armies. A dread that weighed upon her so heavily she wondered if it would kill her.

“You won’t eat. We can’t force you, but you have to get up, Lady Adara. King Joffrey has summoned both you and your sister to court.” Kelly finished off the last lemon cake on the tray of food as she spoke.

Adara chuckled with a tinge of barely controlled anger. “How lovely. It’s always been my dream to go to a royal court, to stand beside the rich lords and ladies of Kings Landing and share space with the gallant knights of the Kingsguard.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she mocked the idealistic view of the kingdom that she possessed before it was smashed to pieces, yet she sat up in her bed nonetheless. Adara knew as well as anyone what would happen to her if she ignored Joffrey’s command. She had no choice.

Connie smiled sadly. Maybe they will release your father today. It could be for something good. Even as the young handmaiden signed the words, Adara saw in her eyes that she was only saying them to comfort her. Hope was almost completely lost on her now, but she was grateful to her sweet friends for trying. She took Connie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze of thanks before rising from her bed.

“Whatever happens today, I need you both to promise me you will not interfere.” Kelly opened her mouth to speak and Connie was already signing, but Adara held a hand up to stop them. She looked to Kelly to translate for her sister, as Adara was still unable to recall every word of sign language. “I am labeled a traitor’s daughter now, as is Sansa, and we are without our family or our household guard. We’re no longer safe here and we’re both at the mercy of the new King,” she began, a lump catching in her throat at the thought of being in Joffrey Baratheon’s hands. She should have found comfort in the notion that she would not be the one to wed that monster, yet anguish filled all the crevices of her heart because her innocent little sister would be the one suffering so.

Adara swallowed her fears so she could continue without crying. “Sansa will marry him and that will keep her safe enough, but I am just as disposable as any stranger in court. They have no use for me, therefore they have even littler use for the two of you. I refuse to see either of you hurt on account of myself, so you will not speak a word or make a move no matter what occurs in that hall.”

Connie’s eyes welled with the tears that Adara was fighting with all her strength to keep at bay. You are not disposable. Surely with the war starting the Lannisters know that killing you would only be hurting themselves.

Adara smiled sadly at her sweet friend and signed her words to the best of her ability as she spoke. “While Father lives they will not kill me, and I know they will never kill him. Joffrey is backed by too many intelligent people to be so reckless. They could kill the both of you simply for associating with me if Cersei or Joffrey were to say the word. That is what I care about.” She refused to lose anyone else she cared for in that horrible place. There would be no more losses after Jory, Septa Mordane, Arya, and now her father, who was all but dead.

They moved in silence after that, Connie and Kelly carefully dressing Adara in a capitol gown of blue satin with a high neckline and wide sleeves that nearly touched the floor when her arms were at her sides. She loathed both the feel and the look of it. Such a thin material for a place that never experienced the harsh winters of the North, and so ugly how it hugged her in all the wrong areas. She missed how Sansa got her measurements right every time.

The two sisters began to style Adara’s hair in the manner of all southern women of the time, the way Queen Cersei wore it to court, but she stopped them. “They won’t let me wear my northern dresses, but I am not throwing bundles of hair on top of my head like a beehive. I don’t care what the ladies in court say.”

Connie and Kelly giggled before opting for the simpler style of Adara’s people, pinning her red strands to the side the way Lady Catelyn taught her. She remembered the woman’s stern voice as she showed Adara exactly how to wear her hair. “You’re a lady of the North, so you will fashion your hair like one. I’ll only show you once. Watch closely.”

For the first time since leaving home Adara wondered where Lady Catelyn was, how she was fairing. However they felt about each other, Adara knew the woman’s love for her children was beyond measure. Had she received word of Arya’s disappearance? Did she know her husband sat in the castle dungeons deprived of food or water, declared a traitor of the crown?

Adara’s only comfort lied in knowing they would never kill Lord Ned Stark, and Lady Catelyn had to have the same faith.

“He has to confess and say that I am the king, or there will be no mercy for him,” King Joffrey commanded in words that were strangely empathetic.

Adara’s eyes flew between the young king and his future bride. Sansa remained on her knees in the Great Hall with the eyes of the entire court upon her. Beside Joffrey on the throne, Queen Cersei, Lord Varys, Littlefinger, Grand Maester Pycelle, and The Hound waited silently for Sansa’s reply while the Kingsguard was lined in front of her.

“He will,” Sansa finally assured him, sending a wave of panic through Adara’s entire body. She felt Connie and Kelly take her hands.

On their way to the Great Hall Adara told them explicitly that though her father would never admit he was wrong, she was sure he would not die for it. Now there they stood, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms announcing the imminent death of Eddard Stark if he did not confess his treason to the world. Connie and Kelly both knew as well as Adara did that her father was as good as dead.

Joffrey stood from the great iron throne. “It is settled then. Have the people gather at the Sept of Baelor where Lord Stark will be given his chance to confess.” He turned to his executioner, who was standing in the corner of the room with Lord Stark’s own greatsword, Ice. “Ser Illyn will be there if he decides to remain a traitor.”

Adara’s eyes found Sansa’s then, and her heart broke for the naïve little girl with the proud smile on her face, the smile that said she truly believed she’d just saved her father’s life.

Adara stood between Littlefinger and Sansa in front of the Sept of Baelor only a few hours later. She watched in horror as two Golden Cloaks brought her limping father through the crowd of the agitated city populous. They hurled insults at him and pointed in his face, but when he passed one man in the black clothing of the Night’s Watch, a look passed between them, maybe even a word, before the stranger turned his head toward the statue of Baelor the Blessed. When she followed his gaze, she saw what her father meant and her breath caught in her chest.

Arya, dirty and clearly petrified, squatted beside the legs of the statue. Her eyes squinted in the sunlight as she watched their father being practically carried up the steps. Just as she made to tell Sansa, Adara remembered who they were standing by. She glanced to Littlefinger and Cersei on either side of them. If they heard her, Arya would be another Stark taken prisoner, or maybe killed because she fled. Adara’s only choice would have to be telling Arya to leave before she was caught.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get her youngest sister’s attention, but instead her eye caught to the figure dressed similarly to the watchman her father passed. When he shaded his eyes from the sun, Adara thought her heart would leap from her chest. “Daryl,” she breathed, covering her mouth as soon as she spoke his name. Littlefinger nor Sansa acted as though they heard it. Their focus was too heavy on Lord Stark’s slow ascent.

Daryl’s head turned as though he were looking for something until his eyes landed on Adara, at which point she had to fight every instinct she’d ever known not to jump into the crowd of angry citizens and run into his arms. He started towards the crowd, likely intent on getting to Adara himself, but she raised her hand just enough to make him halt. She willed Daryl to see. Arya, she beckoned, praying to any gods that he would understand the begging in her face and the trail of her eyesight. Arya is on the statue. Get to her, Daryl. Please.

Her father began to speak, gaining the attention of every soul before the sept. “I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King.” The hundreds of people remained so quiet that all she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating rapidly in her ears. Lord Stark turned to his daughters for a moment, and Sansa nodded to him. Adara’s eyebrows furrowed. Surely not, she thought. Surely he would never lie.

“I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men,” Lord Stark began, and a genuine smile spread across Adara’s face. He was confessing; he was saving himself. Her father would live.

“I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son and seize the throne for myself,” Ned continued, earning the angry cries and jeers of the people of King’s Landing. A rock the size of Adara’s fist cracked against her father’s forehead and nearly sent him to the ground, but Sandor Clegane managed to keep him steady. Adara gasped and took Sansa’s hand. She felt a light squeeze that assured her: Father will be okay.

She looked back to Arya who was studying the commotion with her usual intense gaze. When she searched for Daryl, he was no longer in the place he once stood, but instead shoving through the crowd.

“Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the iron throne, by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Stark finished. Adara’s heart grew heavy watching her father tremble with the weight of his own words. She knew as well as he did that nothing he spoke was true, yet he said it not for the sake of himself, but for his family.

Grand Maester Pycelle calmed the crowd before talking of the gods being just and merciful, two things Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane used to tell her. Pycelle asked King Joffrey what they should do with Lord Stark, spurring the people into another fit of protests and catcalls. Joffrey raised a hand. “My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night’s Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.”

Adara fought the urge to vomit not only at the thought of her beloved father spending the rest of his days among thieves and rapists, but at the mental image of Sansa being trapped there with the demonic young king, forced to bear his children and the brunt of his abuse.

It was then that Adara saw the change in the king’s face just before he turned to the people below them. “But they have the soft hearts of women!” The declaration set her nerves ablaze, the hair on her arms raising.

“So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished!” Joffrey cried. Sansa’s smile fell from her face and she looked to Adara in a silent plea for her to do something. The dagger, Adara remembered. Just as she started to reach under her skirts, Joffrey made the command. “Ser Illyn, bring me his head!”

Sansa leapt forward, but a member of the Kingsguard quickly trapped her in his arms as she screamed. Queen Cersei took her son’s arm and chastised him, begging him to reconsider. The indignant crowd was sent into an uproar.

Adara’s eyes frantically searched for Arya, but she was no longer clinging to Baelor’s leg. She felt for her dagger, but two strong arms wrapped around her waist and bound her own arms to her sides. “I know what you’ve got under that dress, Red. If you want to keep that dagger and your head, you best leave it be.” The harsh tone of The Hound grunted in her ear. Adara froze in fear of the vile monster charged with keeping her at bay. All she could do was watch as Ser Illyn Payne threw on his executioner’s mask and bounded up the steps.

Lord Varys and Littlefinger pulled Joffrey aside, but he would not hear them, his eyes too entranced by Ser Illyn pulling Lord Stark’s own greatsword from its sheath. Ice glistening in the sunlight made Adara’s blood run cold. She found her voice then, letting her cries mingle with the biting shrieks of her little sister beside her. “Father! Father, please!”

Lord Stark’s head turned briefly towards her and she met his gaze. Through the dirty strands of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked brow, Adara could see the fear in his eyes. For it did not matter what he’d said. King Joffrey intended to kill him and they’d all been played for fools to believe otherwise.

“Oh, please! Joffrey, please! Take me instead!” Adara belted.

Ser Illyn brought Ice down slowly in a rehearsal. Adara’s voice became hoarse. “TAKE ME! PLEASE STOP, PLEASE!” Hot tears streamed across her cheeks as she fought helplessly against The Hound’s powerful restraint.

Lord Stark’s head bowed.

Ser Illyn Payne lifted Ice once more.

Through the yelling of the citizens of the kingdom, through the strangled cries of her sister, through the confused pleas of Joffrey’s counselors, and even through her own anguished bellowing, Adara heard the Valyrian steel blade cut through her father’s flesh and split his head from his body.

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deadlymaelstrom · 6 years

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Ned Stark vs. Jaime Lannister

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: OC x Sansa Stark Chapter: 13/? FF.net link: Here Description: Daveth Baratheon is the eldest son of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister, the only one of four children she actually bore her lawful husband. A natural-born prodigy at a young age, his keen intellect and swordsmanship are ranked as one of the best in Westeros. But to make it through the Game of Thrones alive, one must be ready to navigate through dangerous waters. The difficult challenge, however, is to do it without compromising your own ideals.

At the Red Keep…

Daveth had been prepping himself all day; he had already spoken with Varys earlier this morning about reports from Essos. When approached on the subject, Varys confirmed to Daveth what his 'little birds' informed him.

'Father is going to lose his collective mind once word of this reaches him,' Daveth mused. 'Best to inform Lord Stark about it before someone else does…'

He had already gathered some important documents for this upcoming Small Council meeting. Upon arriving at the Tower of the Hand, Daveth had already passed by Jory and Arya Stark.

"My lord," Jory greeted.

"Ser Jory," Daveth acknowledged. "Arya."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to speak with the Hand of the King. Is your lord available?"

Jory nodded. "He's in his chamber with Ser Yoren of the Night's Watch, my lord, but we've been told to leave them in privacy."

"A Wandering Crow?" Daveth implored. "I take that this Yoren fellow came this far south seeking out recruits for the Watch…?"

"I believe so," Jory said.

'Then why have a private discussion with Lord Stark?' Daveth pondered. 'It doesn't make sense…'

Regardless, Daveth nodded. "I see. Well in that case, I suppose I could come back later. Good day you two."

Jory and Arya bowed their heads and made their way down the stairs, possibly exiting the Tower of the Hand. Daveth waited patiently for them to leave; now curious, the Crown Prince slowly crept forward and pressed his ear against the door, hoping to listen in to what was going on inside.

"It's about your wife, my lord," someone said. That voice probably belonged to Yoren.

Daveth continued to listen closely; then the ultimate bombshell was dropped.

"She's taken the Imp."

Daveth's eyes widened in surprise before giving way to anger.

'Uncle Tyrion!' Daveth gritted his teeth. 'Damn it, Cat. What have you done?'

Stepping away from the door, Daveth made his way down the steps and back onto the streets. His choice of destination was the White Sword Tower. Daveth knew trouble was coming; conflict inevitable, but the Crown Prince could only afford to bring someone he could trust other than his uncle Jaime Lannister because the youth knew exactly how the infamous Kingslayer would react.

Before he could even approach the front gates, Daveth was spotted by the first Kingsguard knight he could see.

"My Prince," Ser Lucius Blackmyre greeted.

Tall and muscular with greyish-blue eyes and white hair and lined features, Ser Lucius Blackmyre of the Dornish Marches is a grizzled old knight the smallfolk called "the Old Bull" for wearing a bull's-shaped helmet into battle. A formidable warrior, seasoned war veteran with more than 40 years of combat experience and one of the most brilliant military strategists in the Seven Kingdoms, Lucius fought alongside his good friend Ser Barristan Selmy in the War of the Ninepenny Kings against the last of the Blackfyre pretenders, Maelys the Monstrous, on the Stepstones. For his bravery and executing the plan to snuff out Maelys, Lucius was appointed to the Kingsguard by King Aegon V Targaryen.

Lucius went on to serve King Aerys II Targaryen and fought alongside Barristan, Lewin Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen during the rebellion before being defeated by Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident. Impressed with his battle plans and superb prowess on the field, Robert pardoned him upon assuming the throne. Despite his advanced age, Lucius remains surprisingly strong, cunning and graceful and every bit the skilled knight he was in his youth.

"Ser Lucius," Daveth acknowledged.

"What brings you here, my boy?" the old knight asked, noticing the seriousness in the Crown Prince's stance and the hint of steel in his voice.

"There will be a Small Council meeting going on soon, but once that's done I need you and some of the City Watch to accompany me."

Lucius raised his wrinkled eyebrow. "You suspect trouble?"

Daveth nodded. "Much. Best not to tell anyone; just get ready to move on my signal."

Before walking away to return to the Red Keep, Daveth turned his gaze to the old knight.

"Keep this between us. And whatever you do, do not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not to Lord Stark, not Mother and especially not Uncle Jaime."

At the Small Council chambers…

"The whore is pregnant!" King Robert growled at Eddard Stark.

Each of the Small Council members was in attendance, including Daveth himself. As expected, Robert was livid when word of Daenerys Targaryen's pregnancy reached his ears. To say he was furious and loud would be considered a vast understatement; Robert was fueled by his own petty hatred for the Targaryens, it still remained as fresh and vicious as it was during the rebellion.

"You're speaking of murdering a child," Eddard pleaded.

Robert, in his fury, refused to hear it. "I warned you this would happen. Back in the North, I warned you, but you didn't care to hear. Well, hear it now. I want 'em dead, mother and child both. And that fool, Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead."

Daveth and the other Small Council members were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than Robert was.

"You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this."

"Honor?!" Robert slammed his fist down on the council table as loud as a thunderclap. "I've got Seven Kingdoms to rule! One King, Seven Kingdoms! Do you think honor keeps them in line? Do you think it's honor that's keeping the peace? It's fear! Fear and blood!"

Eddard gave Robert a long cool look, having heard quite enough. "Then we're no better than the Mad King."

Robert's face purpled. "Careful, Ned," he warned, pointing. "Careful now."

"You want to assassinate a girl…" Eddard spoke, glancing at Varys. "Because the Spider heard a rumor?"

"My lord, you wrong me," Varys spoke softly, wringing powdered hands together. "I promise you it is no rumor. The princess is with child."

"Based on who's information?"

Daveth chimed in. "Ser Jorah Mormont, formerly the Lord of Bear Island. He is currently serving as an advisor to the Targaryens."

"Mormont?" Eddard looked at the Crown Prince. "The eunuch brings us whispers of a traitor half a world away and you call it fact?"

Daveth shook his head. "Lord Varys may be many things, Lord Stark, but he's damned good at his duties as Master of Whisperers. I assure you the information that was provided to us is legitimate. I'd recommend you listen rather closely before simply dismissing him out of turn."

"So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear."

"But if it is a boy?" Robert insisted. "If he lives?"

Daveth felt a headache coming on and raised his hands to massage his temple in a circular motion. He knew this Small Council meeting would be rather hectic, especially with both his father and Eddard Stark in the same room arguing back and forth on how to deal with Daenerys Targaryen and her unborn child.

"Jorah Mormont's a slaver, not a traitor," Petyr Baelish spoke up. "Small difference, I know, to an honorable man."

"He broke the law, betrayed his family, fled our land," Eddard pointed out. "We commit murder on the word of this man?"

Daveth sighed wearily. "I understand your qualms, Lord Stark. Really, I do. Yet we who presume to rule often must do vile things for the good of the realm, however much it pains us."

"And you did such things, Oathkeeper?" Eddard pressed.

"I didn't get to where I am now in order to be called that without getting my hands bloody," Daveth retorted. "Call it what you will, but the things we do is so that good men, honorable men such as yourself and Jon Arryn wouldn't have to."

Renly shrugged. "The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn."

"Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly," Eddard replied. He knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he couldn't keep silent. "Daveth, Jon Arryn fostered your father and I at the Vale. He thought of you as his own grandson, taught you everything you needed to know."

Daveth frowned. "I haven't forgotten."

"What if Varys is right?" Robert growled interruptedly. "If she has a son? A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army… What then?"

"The Narrow Sea still lies between us," Eddard said. "I'll fear the Dothraki the day teach their horses to run on water."

"Do nothing? That's your wise advice? Do nothing 'til our enemies are on our shores?" Robert bellowed, looking at the Small Council for support. "You're my council? Counsel! Speak sense to this honorable fool. Have you forgotten who is King here?"

"No, Father," Daveth replied. "I would, however, advise you to lower your tone of voice… and calm yourself. Wisdom often comes when the mind is settled and clear, not disturbed by meaningless obsessions and past grudges."

"Quiet, boy!" Robert bellowed, slamming his fist again. "I'm sick of talk. I'll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?"

Varys gave Robert an unctuous smile. "I understand your misgivings, my lord. Truly, I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet, we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm. Should the gods grant Daenerys a son, the realm will bleed."

"I bear this girl no ill will," Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes, "but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now so that tens of thousands might live?"

"We should have had them both killed years ago," Renly declared.

Petyr stifled a yawn. "When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes, get it over with. Cut her throat. Be done with it."

Daveth was the last. As Eddard looked to him, Daveth shook his head and shrugged.

"I'm not in favor of acting recklessly nor will I approve any motion put forward that might overextend our hand and jeopardize plans that'll affect us in the long run. However, I'm also not in favor of simply standing around doing nothing either. Both ideas presented to this council have demonstrated the lack of such necessary precautions we need to ensure what must be done for the good of the realm," Daveth spoke, his stance clearly indicating his neutrality.

"This is what needs to be done, boy!" Robert roared.

"You asked for advice, Father, and I've given it!" Daveth shouted back. "We all have!"

Robert turned to face his Hand. "Well, there it is, Ned. You and Daveth stand alone on this matter."

'Did you not hear a word I just said?! My words did not indicate which side I'm on and you know it, you drunken fat fuck!' Daveth thought bitterly.

"I'm out of wine and out of patience," Robert continued. "Enough of this. Just have it done."

Eddard said nothing, but leaned forward against the table. He was coldly staring at Robert in the eyes.

"I followed you into war – twice, without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. I will not be part of murder," he said. "Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal for it. The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child."

"She dies."

"I will have no part in it."

For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Eddard.

"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command or I'll find me a Hand who will."

That was the last straw. Knowing that Robert will not back down or reconsider his decision, Eddard unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate gold hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of Robert, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the childhood friend he had considered a brother.

"And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man."

Robert's face was purple. "Out!" he croaked, choking on his rage. "Out, damn you! I'm done with you! Go! Run back to Winterfell! I'll have your head on a spike! I'll put it there myself, you fool! You think you're too good for this? Too proud and honorable? This is a war!"

By then, Eddard had already turned on his heel without another word. He could feel Robert's eyes on his back. As he strode from the council chambers, the discussion resumed with scarcely a pause. The closing of the door behind him silenced the voices.

But little did he know… a certain Prince had followed him.

At the Tower of the Hand…

The day felt heavy and oppressive as he crossed the bailey back to the Tower of the Hand. He could feel the threat of rain in the air. Eddard would have welcomed it. It might have made him feel a trifle less unclean. Whilst packing his belongings, Eddard summoned Jory.

"I'll go ahead with my daughters," he told his captain of the guard. "Get them ready. Do it yourself. Don't ask anyone for help."

"Right away, my lord," Jory replied.

"We may not have a fortnight. We may not have a day. The king mentioned something about seeing my head on a spike." Ned frowned. He did not truly believe the king would harm him, not Robert. He was angry now, but once Ned was safely out of sight, his rage would cool as it always did.

Suddenly, uncomfortably, he found himself recalling Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Seventeen years dead, yet Robert hated him as much as ever. It was a disturbing notion… and there was the other matter, the business with Catelyn and the dwarf that Yoren had warned him of last night. That would come to light soon, as sure as sunrise, and with the king in such a black fury… Robert might not care a fig for Tyrion Lannister, but it would touch on his pride, and there was no telling what Queen Cersei might do; or his soon-to-be son-in-law Prince Daveth… provided that the betrothal were allowed to be resumed.

When he had gone, Eddard Stark went to the window and sat brooding. Robert had left him no choice that he could see. He ought to thank him. It would be good to return to Winterfell. He ought never have left. His sons were waiting there. Perhaps he and Catelyn would make a new son together when he returned, they were not so old yet. And of late he had often found himself dreaming of snow, of the deep quiet of the wolfswood at night. And yet, the thought of leaving angered him as well. So much was still undone. Robert and his council of cravens and flatterers would beggar the realm if left unchecked or, worse, sell it to the Lannisters in payment of their loans.

And the truth of Jon Arryn's death still eluded him even with Daveth's aid. Oh, he had found a few pieces, enough to convince him that Jon had indeed been murdered, but that was no more than the spoor of an animal on the forest floor. He had not sighted the beast itself yet, though he sensed it was there, lurking, hidden, and treacherous.

Jory had no sooner taken his leave when his steward announced a visitor. "Lord Baelish is here for you, m'lord."

Littlefinger sauntered into the solar as if nothing had gone amiss that morning. He wore a slashed velvet doublet in cream-and-silver, a grey silk cloak trimmed with black fox, and his customary mocking smile.

"His Grace went on about you at some length after you took your leave," he said. "The word 'treason' was mentioned."

Eddard greeted him coldly. "What can I do for you?"

"When do you return to Winterfell?" he asked.

"Why? What do you care?"

"Your daughters might," Petyr suggested. "Your soon-to-be son-in-law might… if the match is to continue. If you're still here come nightfall, I'll take you to see the last person Jon Arryn spoke with before falling ill. If that sort of thing still interests you."

Eddard shook his head. "I don't have the time."

"It won't take more than an hour. But as you please."

As soon as Baelish exits Eddard's chambers, the Stark patriarch turns to Jory briefly.

"Round up all the men we have and station them outside the girls' chambers. Who are your best two swords?"

"Heward and Wyl," Jory answers.

Eddard nods. "Find them and meet me at the stables."

At one of Littlefinger's brothels…

Petyr had taken Eddard to see the sleeping infant Barra, King Robert's bastard daughter sired with the prostitute Mhaegen. She told him everything she knew about Jon Arryn, how he was always checking on her daughter to be sure she was happy and healthy. Mhaegen also asked Eddard to see if Robert was available; she wasn't seeing anyone and was always his favorite. Petyr told Eddard of how many bastards Robert sired in King's Landing and yet somehow Jon Arryn managed to track them all down.

Eddard and Jory soon leave the brothel with a few of the Stark household guards. But before they could leave, they find themselves suddenly surrounded by Jaime Lannister and his men. Somehow word of Tyrion's capture reached him and judging by his posture as well as seeing his sword in hand, Jaime was furious. He came seeking blood.

"Such a small pack of wolves," Jaime said.

"Stay back, ser!" Jory warns. "This is the Hand of the King!"

"Was the Hand of the King," Jaime corrected. On a golden breastplate, the lion of House Lannister roared its defiance. "Now I'm not sure what he is… Lord of somewhere very far away."

Petyr walked outside, step by careful step. "What's the meaning of this, Lannister?"

"Get back inside where it's safe."

"Lannister, this is madness," Petyr said. "We're expected back at the castle. Do you have any notion as to what the King or the Crown Prince would say? What do you think you're doing?"

"He knows what he's doing," Eddard said calmly.

Jaime Lannister smirked. "I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? Blonde hair, sharp tongue… short man."

"I remember him well," he replied.

"It seems he had some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. I'm sure the same could be said for my nephew. You wouldn't know what happened to him, don't you?"

"He was taken at my command to answer for his crimes."

His grin quickly replaced with fury, Jaime ripped his longsword from its sheath, causing both Lannister and Stark soldiers to draw their swords as well, except for Eddard. The Stark household guards were outnumbered four to fifteen.

"My lords!" Petyr did not need to be urged, making his way inside to send word. "I'll bring the City Watch!"

Jaime stepped forward, sword at the ready. "Come, Stark," he coolly challenged. "I'd rather you die sword in hand."

Jory stepped in front of Jaime. "If you threaten my lord again…"

"Threaten?" the Kingslayer mocked. "As in, 'I'm going to open your lord from balls to brains and see what Starks are made of'?"

Eddard calmly stood his ground. "You kill me, your brother's a dead man."

Jaime grinned. "You're right," he said as he glanced back at his soldiers. "Take him alive! Kill his men!"

The first of Jaime's men threw their spears straight into the chests of two of Eddard's men.

*SLASH!*

*SWING!*

*CLASH!*

*SWISH!*

*PIERCE!*

*SWISH!*

*THRUST!*

*CLANG!*

*SLASH!*

Eddard draws his sword and moves towards Jaime, fending off several guards in the process. Jory gets to Jaime first. However, Jaime deflects Jory's thrust and fatally stabs him through his eye with a dagger. The fighting ceases and Eddard moves forward to Jaime, Jaime's men all stop to watch the fight.

*CLASH!*

*SLASH!*

*SWING!*

*THRUST!*

*CLANG!*

*SWISH!*

*SLASH!*

*THRUST!*

The two fend each other off, as they break. Before either Jaime Lannister or Eddard Stark could make another move, the fight was quick to an abrupt end by a thundering shout.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF MY FATHER THE KING!"

Both Stark and Lannister turned to see Prince Daveth Baratheon charging into view with Ser Lucius Blackmyre alongside, both men were on their horses and had their swords drawn as two Kingsguard knights and a dozen City Watchmen began to flood the streets.

"Daveth?" Eddard exclaims in surprise.

"Get back to the Red Keep, nephew," Jaime frowns. "This doesn't concern you."

"Speak when spoken to, boy!" hollered Luicius. "Remember you're a Kingsguard, no longer a Lannister; even if you pretend to act as one."

"Now," Daveth spoke calmly yet coolly. "Both of you lay down your arms and back away. I won't say it again."

Now both Eddard Stark and Jaime Lannister came to the conclusion that Daveth had come prepared in case if something like this were to happen. Surrounded on all sides, Eddard and Jaime threw down their swords as the City Watchmen took them away.

"Orders, my lord?" one of them asked.

Lucius looked at Daveth. The Prince composed himself before speaking.

"Take Lord Eddard Stark and Ser Jaime Lannister into custody. The rest of you, get these bodies off the street!"

The Kingsguard knights and City Watchmen were quick to obey, and soon had both Eddard and Jaime arrested.

"Have them brought to the Red Keep," Daveth ordered. "Ser Lucius, send word to both my Father the King and my Mother the Queen. Tell them everything that's happened here."

"At once, my lord," Lucius complied and rode off to the Red Keep as the crowds began to disperse.

Daveth took a moment to look at the dead Stark and Lannister bodies that littered the streets.

'So it's come to this… I fear it will only get worse,' Daveth thought before an idea popped into his head. 'I need to act first and move swiftly before grandfather does…'