#|| knight in shining armour (Barristan)

[meryllfrey]

Anonymous asked:

"What have you done."

fallesto answered:

THIS WAS THE END.

He had seen the madness within her. He had tried to fight it. He had done all he could through these years to guide her onto the right path. To ensure she did not fall like her father had before her. He had believed in her. He had followed her without question and like so many others he had loved her. He had fought for her, bleed for her, killed for her.

All to see her onto the iron throne. He had served many kings in his lifetime, each and every single one of them not worthy enough to call themselves a king - but she was different, she truly wanted to change the world. To break the wheel and bring around change.

But not like this, nothing was worth what she had done.

He had done it again. He had done what he had done all those decades ago with her father. He had just stood there – and done nothing. She had slaughtered them all. Burned them all to ash and cinder. Her father had done the same and then - he even stood there and protected the man, stopped any from helping him even when he knew it was wrong, he was the king and he was his knight. Again - again it had happened and again he had done what was expected of him.

He had stood there and done nothing while thousands perished.

All his life he had wanted to be a knight. From the moment he could stand and hold onto something - he had wanted to be a knight. To defend the people. To protect the innocent. To stand for those who could not stand. To fight for those who did not have the means to do so.

To protect everyone no matter what there name was or were they had come from. He had sworn to fight the wrong and protect the good and he had failed the people. It was only now - in this final moment did he finally see that Jamie was right in what he had done and that he - he was the one that was wrong.

“I – I –”

He could not form any words as he had fallen to his knees to lay here down on the ground. He still held her as his sword had been thrown to the side. Her blood still on his hands as history had repeated itself in this very throne room, on these very steps. A kingsguard had slain there ruler. A sword in the back as Ser Jamie had done all those decades ago. He - he could not allow her to continue. She wanted to burn them all, she wanted to push her forces forward, she had not had her fill. He had no other choice, for once in his life. For the first time since he could remember, he had done something on his own. He had done something not for his ruler, but for the people.

________________________

@fallesto (Barristan)

They'd had so much hope.

A queen who was different. Who wanted to make a difference. A queen who would put her people first.

They'd bent the knee to Dany happily -- Meryll swearing her service, Barristan swearing his sword.

They'd had so much hope.

There had been so much to be hopeful for. Dany had broken the chains of the slaves. She'd turned the east on its head -- making the slaves the masters, and the masters the slaves. She'd counted the children nailed to the posts along the road to Meereen, and she answered injustice with justice. 163 times.

Perhaps they should have known. Had it not been Ser Barristan who had pleaded for mercy that day? Perhaps the swift and violent justice carried out by their queen that day should have been a sign of what was to come.

Meryll remembered hearing of how Dany had burned the Khals. The awe on Ser Jorah's face. Or had it been fear? Perhaps Daario had had the right of it: All rulers are butchers or meat.

It hadn't happened over night. Dany had not gone to sleep a child and woken the next as mad as her father. It had happened gradually, like the proverbial frog in boiling water. And none of them had noticed, until the city was burning around them in the shadow of a dragon.

Hope faltered.

Meryll had known on some level what was happening when Ser Barristan took that first step toward his queen, in that instant before he drew his blade. She moved after him, wading through the mud of regret and misplaced hope, her arm outstretched as if she could stop him, but never reaching far enough.

Now, she stood useless, watching as the blood spread across the floor and moved past the soles of her boots, watching as the steadfast knight faltered and flailed, unable to find words to match the surety of his actions.

She should not have cried out to him in outrage. What had he done?

"You ... you did your duty," she said shakily. “Your duty as a knight. You swore vows. To protect all women and children. The innocent."

He'd failed terribly in his duties as a sworn queensguard. But today, he was no queensguard. Today, he was a knight.

[badwolf-gallagher88]

Day 25 - Slice of Life

Dany was bored of being queen.

She was bored of dealing with the requests of Westeros, with the hundreds of greying lords who came to the foot of her Iron Throne each day. They came with such a number of requests that she could hardly keep her eyes open by their end.

She did not shirk the responsibility she had so long fought for, but neither did she enjoy the labours of the court. Unlike in Meereen, she could not choose who stood beside her. Instead, she was surrounded by all manner of fragile mæsters, reckless knights and scheming lords.

It was on the third day when one particularly tiresome lord requested lands that were not his to request, that Dany decided to flee to the country. Tomorrow, she would leave King’s Landing, with a company of her own choosing.

For one day, she would live a normal life.

And they would have a picnic.

-

They set out in the shallow light of dawn, leaving through the Lion Gates. She rode her silver mare, and beside her Ser Jorah sat atop a great black destrier. His cheeks were burnished pink in the early morning light, his hair shone copper. Since their return to Westeros, the knight had found a new array of armour, and this too was polished to a shine in the rose-tinted dawn. 

Behind them came Irri and Jhiqui. She had lent the handmaids horses for the day, as she wished them to have some reward for their loyalty. An outing was hardly a substitute for their loyalty, but it was something. Still, the girls appeared happy, and regularly turned to talk to Aggo and Rakharo who rode alongside them. Ser Barristan Selmy lagged behind, acting as rear guard, yet also taking his time to marvel in the landscape. Dany had heard whisper he was a keen observer of bird life, and suspected his sharp eyes roamed the sky for some of their number, even as he guarded against potential threats.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the hill she had selected for the picnic. They unpacked what they had brought, and ate rapidly, famished from the long ride. Lethargic beneath the warm sun, Ser Barristan began to doze. Dany’s handmaidens sat giggling with the Dothraki, until they all stood and walked off towards the nearby shrubbery. Dany struggled to conceal a smile, turning to Ser Jorah, who lay on his side beside her. He had removed his armour, and rested his head upon a propped elbow.

“You look puzzled, your Grace.”

She momentarily shook her head, but nonetheless preceded to detail the thoughts that troubled her.

“I wish every day could be like this, Jorah. I’m glad to be queen, but it can be so troublesome and tiring. I am expected to judge everyone equally but never too harshly, to smile when I am asked and show no emotion when naught is required, to act as though I am equal to everyone but above them also.”

She had unknowingly averted her eyes as she spoke, but glancing up from her hands saw a frown cross his face. 

“Go on, my lady.”

“See, even now you call ‘my lady’. It’s like you’re scared of me, scared that by calling me informally you will be punished. Haven’t we come far enough together to know that is not true? I wish I could flee the stone walls of King’s Landing, live out here where it is peaceful. We could start a small hamlet, just the seven of us. Everyone would know each other, we could grow our own crops. I could bake bread, and arrange flowers, and I wouldn’t even mind mucking out the pigs. We would be guarded by my dragons, and I’d never have to worry about threats from the North and what I can and can’t say. And I know I can’t Jorah, I know. I know, but I am so lonely…”

She trailed off, the frustration setting her close to tears. She closed her eyes a moment, attempting to calm her breathing and regain her composure. Yet, she again opened them quite rapidly.

Jorah had placed his hand on hers, gently running his thumb backwards and forwards over her skin. His own skin was rough, yet he was gentle. His gaze directly met her eyes.

“You are not alone, Dany. You will never be alone so long as I stand by your side.”

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns Pt.10

Summary: Scores have to be settled, tourneys must be won, all the while tension is building in the court of king Aerys II Targaryen. The Reader and her sister hatch a plan, and its consequences are surprising in more ways than one.

Pairings: Arthur Dayne x Reader, Stannis Baratheon x reader

Disclaimer: Another long one! Like really long! More tourney! This time with horsies! I actually had to break this up more than I wanted to because apparently I wrote a lot more than I thought I did, sorry!

Arthur rode out on his pitch black destrier. The white kingsguard armour contrasted brilliantly to his horse, though he’d discarded the white cloak like he always did when fighting. The crowd cheered for him, and she and Lyanna joined. Benjen, who had been sitting between the two of them, moved closer to Y/n. She put an arm around her little brother, holding him against her.

The knights defending lady Whent would be her brothers and uncle, Oswell Whent, one of Arthur’s fellow kingsguard members. For Arthur’s first joust he had drawn lady Whent’s youngest brother, ser Otto, and Y/n was fairly sure she could judge what the outcome of the bout would be without too much trouble. She had never seen the younger Whent joust, but even though Arthur was stronger in the melee, very few could match him in the lists.

“Another bet?” Lyanna asked, “Same terms?”

Y/n grinned. “Certainly, who will be your champion?”

Lyanna nodded to the prancing knight, “This time I pick Ser Arthur.”

Y/n pretended to frown at her.

“You cannot back him in every fight!” Lyanna laughed. “I deserve a chance at winning too.”

“Fine,” she said. She glanced down at the gathered knights, trying to find a suitable champion. Rhaegar? No, that would be too easy. The younger Yohn Royce? Too inexperienced.

“Ser Barristan,” she finally decided. “I will back ser Barristan.”

The older knight had always been kind to her. Y/n still remembered how in awe she had been of him when Rhaegar told her he had once unseated ser Duncan the Tall.

Lyanna sat back, and air of having already won the bet surrounding her. She’d never learned to be subtle.

“I will try not to be too offended that neither of you backed me,” Bran said from Y/n’s other side.

“Both of us have rode against you, Bran,” Lyanna said, eyes trained on the field.

Benjen and Y/n both laughed, and Bran smiled along, always good-natured. Robert and Ned had joined the three of them by now, and Y/n waved to Stannis, sitting on his own a little ways off.

Y/n’s smile faded as, on the field, Arthur’s opponent rode out on a grey destrier. The youngest Whent had a friendly face, though “youngest” was perhaps a misnomer, since he was older than Brandon by at least a decade.

“You don’t think lord Whent has a chance, my lady?” Catelyn Tully leaned over Brandon to ask her.

“I’m afraid you know the skill of these knights far better than we do.”

“I would not put too many dragons on him against ser Arthur, Cat.”

The crowd cheered again at his appearance, and to the gathered mass’s great surprise, ser Otto did not immediately ride out to face his opponent, but rather first took a turn about the arena.

His horse stopped in front of the stands that the watching Starks occupied.

“Lady Stark,” he said, speaking directly to Y/n, “I would feel much better about the challenge ahead if you would bless me with your favour.”

Y/n smiled at the old knight and walked down to the edge of the stands. The crowds of smallfolk cheered and jeered as she did.

Reaching up, she untied the white ribbon which held some hair back from her face, and made a show of tying it around his arm, blushing slightly at the attention. She allowed him to kiss the back if her hand, carefull not to lose her balance, since she had to lean forward slightly to reach him.

With a good-natured smile and wink, he rode off to face Arthur, holding his arm up in the sunlight, the ribbon shining in the sun to more cheers.

Y/n returned to her seat, hastily trying to manage her blush.

“Don’t,” she said when Lyanna and Brandon both opened their mouths, and sat down, determined to only look straight ahead until the round was over.

“It was sweet,” Bran said anyway. “Perhaps I should make a recommendation to father.”

She scowled at him, but couldn’t hold the expression in the face of his smile. He’d always been able to do that. She grinned and pulled Benjen closer to her again, turning once more to watch the joust.

Her grin faded as she did.

Arthur’s horse was prancing on the opposite side of the field, and it was clearly because his rider was agitated. In fact, even from far away, Y/n could see anger in the set of his shoulders, and the more than harsh way he steadied the horse.

She sighed, shoulders slumping.

He will be the death of me, I swear it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second time the knights passed each other, Y/n’s suspicion that Arthur was playing with ser Otto was confirmed. He did not even try to hit the older knight, the point of his lance missed the target entirely.

“Are you still so sure Ser Arthur will win, Lyanna?” Brandon said from beside her, laughing. Lyanna, however, was much too busy laughing at Y/n’s exasperation to give any thought to their earlier bet. Y/n knew there was only one other person who was staring at the competition with the same exasperation as herself, and that was Ashara Dayne, who was sitting to the left of the Starks, near princess Elia. The rest of the audience sat enraptured.

The next pass was different. She saw him reposition the lance under his arm, and the set of his shoulders told her he was focused now.

She resisted the urge to cover her eyes with her hands and settled for biting her lip.

The riders sprang away, and Arthur kicked his horse into a rather faster gallop than the last two passes. He dropped his lance with such accuracy that ser Otto’s own weapon did not even touch him before the older man went flying from his horse, landing in a crumpled heap in the sand of the arena.

Loud cheers went up from the crowd, and some laughter at the embarrassment of house Whent at their own tourney. She felt her own cheeks warm.

Then, Arthur decided to make it worse. Instead of helping the other man up from the ground, he jumped off his horse and untied the white ribbon from his arm. Then he remounted, and trotted over to her to loud gasps from the crowd.

“I think you may have dropped this, my lady,” he said, holding it out toward her. It was all she could do to keep from yelling at him. She stood up stiffly and grabbed it unceremoniously from his hand.

He watched after her with a self-satisfied smirk, before riding from the field to make room for the next challenger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re a bastard, do you know that?” She said flatly when she entered his tent.

“Leave us,” she said to his two squires, who had just finished removing his armour. The boys looked to him for permission, and he gave a nod. They left quickly.

“What were you thinking?” She asked, and he realised the scowl she was giving him was no jest.

“I was thinking that no one else should be allowed to look at you like he did,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes, and turned away from him. It irked him more than he could explain.

“You embarrassed me more than you embarrassed him, you realise?” She asked when she turned back to him.

“-I gave you back your ribbon, no one will think you are to be shamed.”

“Oh? That’s fine then?” She said, her voice rising slightly.

“Y/n I was only- “

“-Only what, Arthur?” She said, and he was astonished at the venom in her tone, “Were you trying to be found out? A kingsguard knight should not act that way! Least of all you!”

“I was only trying to- “, he felt he needed to defend his actions, which did seem more and more brash as time went on, but she cut him off.

“-Do you never think? What did you think would happen? I can look after myself, you conceited simpleton. I could hardly refuse him in front of everyone. Don’t you see that I’m trying to protect you?”

He stared at her defiantly, though he knew she was right. She was searching his face for something, her eyes still dark.

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“I do,” he replied.

“No, you don’t, Arthur, we’re never going to be together.”

Her words knocked the breath from him like he was getting stepped on by the Mountain.

“Don’t say- “, he started, but she cut him off.

“No, I will. We will never be together. One day, and right now that day is very soon, I will marry someone, that is my lot as a woman, as much as I wish it would change. I will marry someone and have his children- “

“What does this have to do with anything?” he asked angrily, taking a step toward her. Blood rushed in his ears, his fists clenched.

“Everything!” she threw up her hands, “because there is nothing you or I can do to change this. The only favour your house has is because you are a part of the Kingsguard and Ashara is in the queen’s favour. How long do you think that will last when you are banished from your position? What good will it do? And even if you are determined to throw away your good name, I will not let you do it. And I will not let you drag me down with you.”

She looked at him coldly, there was a hardness in her eyes he wasn’t used to seeing. Her words hurt all the more because they were true. The anger at her tone subsided as her words sunk in.

His heart ached, and he looked at her like the broken man he was. He couldn’t think of anything to say, because there was nothing to say.

“Forgive me,” he croaked out finally, “Please. I cannot bear to see you angry with me, but my senses leave me where you are concerned.”

Her eyes softened, and he could see his own hurt reflected there.

“I’m only trying to protect you,” she whispered. He walked forward and embraced her, trying to hold her tight enough that all the bad would go away.

“I love you,” he said softly, holding her tightly. He wanted to hurt everyone who had made her feel this way, but most of all he wanted to hurt himself for doing this to her. He never should have let her love him.

“I- I know,” she said, looking up at him, “And I don’t know what to do about it,” she smiled sadly.

He kissed her softly, only once.

Her arms closed around his neck, and he held her as tight as he could, relishing in feeling her pressed against him, her breath tickling his neck.

He wanted to scream and rail and fight against whatever god had seen fit to give the two of them this lot in life.

“I must get back to the joust,” she said softly in his ear.

“Let me sit with you,” he said. He was only half hoping.

“Perhaps,” she kissed him on the cheek and gently untangled herself from his embrace, “If you had not embarrassed me in front of the entire court.”

He laughed, and looked after her fondly as she left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning of the second round of jousts Lyanna and Y/n were arguing.

“I’m a better lance than you, Y/n,” Lyanna hissed at her. Both of them were trying to keep quiet so that Brandon and Ned would not hear. Y/n had had quite enough of Ned the Lord for the week, and she knew even Brandon would draw a line before what they were planning.

But Howland Reed was their father’s bannerman, and though Lyanna had done right by him inviting him to feast with them, and pointing out the three squires who had hurt him to their brothers, neither one of the two elder seemed likely to do anything more.

There had to be justice, they both agreed.

They simply disagreed on who would administer it.

“Were,” Y/n said adamantly. “You were a better lance than me, when we were children! We only have one chance at this, and Brandon and Ned cannot know! I have more of a reason than you to be away from them during the jousts. I will simply tell them the princess needed me.”

“It was my idea!”

“And you came to me for help!”

Lyanna opened her mouth to argue further but Y/n spoke first.

“You still owe me a favour, remember?”

Lyanna’s mouth clamped shut, and she scowled.

“You’ve become insufferable.”

“I’ve become better at arguing and worse at listening to you,” Y/n retorted. “Now quickly, help me find some armour that will cover me. I’ll enter the jousts in the afternoon, when the main fights have finished.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stannis watched as Arthur Dayne dismounted the black destrier and handed it off to his squire. The ribbon tied around his arm was blue. The colour of a winter rose. It matched the blue gown that bared Y/n’s shoulders.

He’d begged it from her in front of the whole arena, and she’d blushed pink while tying it for him, and Stannis had ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. Her hair had tumbled around her shoulders when she removed the ribbon.

He did not normally hold with tourneys. They were a waste of time and gold that only served to inflate the egos of men whose egos were already much too large.

Today, however, he thought about how good it would feel to mount a horse and knock that shiny white-armoured Dornishman right of his knightly arse...

The day went on, however. Robert was knocked into the dirt, and Rhaegar Targaryen bested Bronze Yohn, making the crowd jeer and cry out.

“Look!” A woman said from a few seats on, “Look, the first mystery knight!”

And indeed, someone was riding out to the end of the lists. The knight wore ridiculously shabby and mismatched armour that looked like it had been cobbled together from whatever had been available at short notice. He also had the strangest shield. A small wooden one, with a laughing white weirwood tree.

As he rode to the pavilion where the king sat, Stannis found himself frowning. There was something oddly familiar about the graceful way he moved on the horse.

Challenges were issued to knights of little consequence, though the crowd leaned forward all the same, always interested in a show. Stannis leaned forward too, more interested in the way the knight held his lance.

And indeed, as he rode to challenge his first, Stannis saw he held it too tightly, too upright, as if he’d only ever jousted for practice, never in a real field.

It took two passes for him to unseat his opponent cleanly, and by the end he was almost convinced. Following his hunch, he looked over to where Robert sat with Lyanna. Ned was there as well, and their younger brother. He frowned slightly. Gazing over to the royal box, he saw princess Elia with all her ladies.

All except one.

He snorted to himself, and sat back to watch as the challenger went on to win the next two jousts as well, thoroughly humiliating all three knights and their squires before disappearing from the field for the rest of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The grounds of Harrenhaal were covered with tents and stages and tables for the gathered nobility and smallfolk. It had been years since a tourney of this size was held anywhere, and she was all too glad to be away from Dragonstone, away from the Red Keep, and with her family.

She found Stannis watching a group of mummers acting out the story of Florian and Jonquil, a frown on his face like they had personally offended him.

“Not to your taste?” She asked as she reached him. “I think it would be funnier if they had Patchface instead of Florian rescue Jonquil.”

He scowled at her.

“That would be unkind,” he said.

“And I’ll pay for that unkindness in the afterlife,” she replied. “It was only a jest.”

“Sometimes you are as terrible as Robert,” he said.

She lifted a hand to her heart, putting on the most offended expression she could muster.

“How dare you?” She asked shrilly. “How dare- “

“Alright, alright,” he cut her off. “That was unkind as well.”

She smiled. “We will pay for our unkindnesses together, at least.”

He nodded, and turned back to the play, which was fairly dismal, she realised.

“How is little Renly?” She asked as they watched. “I notice he is absent from the festivities.”

“Little Renly,” Stannis said and she wondered, not for the first time, at the talent he had at speaking through a clenched jaw, “is at Storm’s End, doing his lessons. I thought it would be better for him than a week of frivolities and Robert’s influence.”

“You should have brought him,” she said, wincing slightly as one of the actors tripped over his own feet. “Benjen refuses to watch the puppet shows with me, and it looks strange when I go alone.”

“Yes, well,” Stannis said, looking at her sideways, “Little Renly also has a head the size of King’s Landing. I thought denying him the trip would lessen his ego somewhat.”

She gaped at him.

“Surely you’re not saying it’s my fault?” She asked in mock astonishment.

“You encourage him too much,” he grouched.

“And you do not encourage him enough,” she retorted. He shook his head slightly, but she could still see the small flicker of amusement in his eyes. She pretended not to.

“What did you think of the lists today?” He asked her suddenly.

She started. Then found herself blushing as she thought of Arthur riding up to her in front of everyone to ask for her favour. He’d looked so handsome in his white armour, and he’d fought like a hero with the blue ribbon tied around his arm.

“Enjoyable,” she said quickly, shaking her head to clear it of Arthur Dayne.

“I was especially intrigued by the mystery knight.”

She started again.

“The Knight of the Laughing Tree, some are calling him,” he continued. “Robert was proclaiming very loudly that he would unmask and reveal whomsoever it was before the end of the tourney.”

“I was intrigued as well,” it was her best innocent voice. It was almost as good as Lyanna’s. “I’d like to see if Robert can succeed.”

“Yes,” he said, and again she caught the slightest flash of amusement in his dark blue eyes. “A motley assemblance of armour, and he did not quite hold his lance properly… it was almost as if he’d never jousted in a tourney. A fairly good rider, however.”

He looked at her sideways. She knew his expression well. Somehow he’d always been able to see through even the smallest of her lies.

She stared at him, wide eyed.

“How did you know?” She asked, startled. No one except Lyanna had known. Not even Howland Reed. Arthur had even commented on the knight’s skill with a horse, but he’d never so much as suspected her.

“I’ve seen you ride a horse half a thousand times,” he said brusquely. “I am no idiot.”

A strange feeling bubbled up from her stomach. She frowned at him.

“Then the entire court are idiots,” she said. “All of them have seen me ride as well, gods, Brandon all but taught me to ride, none of them recognised me.”

“Your words,” he said, and she saw one corner of his hard mouth twitch. “Not mine.”

She laughed, despite the strange tightness in her chest.

“Fair point,” she said. He is the truest friend I’ve ever had, of course he’d know it was me.

Arthur hadn’t, though. She suspected if she told Arthur he’d think she was making a jest.

“Come on,” she said suddenly, grabbing his hand. She needed to get moving, walk around. “I think I saw a firedancer when I was looking for you.”

He let her pull him toward the lakeshore. As she thought about what he’d said, however, something bothered her.

“I hold my lance perfectly,” she said, frowning up at him.

In response, she recieved a lifted eyebrow and a grunt.

“And what did you mean, “fairly good rider”? I ride better than most of the men here.”

The corner of his mouth lifted once again, though he still did not reply. She turned back toward the lake with a huff.

“I’d like to see you do better,” she grouched.

He mumbled something back at her that she could not quite hear, but just then she spotted, buy the edge of the lake, a shaggy-haired man in the midst of a crowd of smallfolk and nobles alike. He was juggling no fewer than six torches. She squealed in excitement and doubled her pace, a surprised grunt coming from Stannis as she dragged him along behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Look, Stannis!” Y/n said excitedly, pointing to the man with his shaggy blonde hair as he spit gouts of flame into the sky. The crowd gathered around him gasped and applauded accordingly.

“Look!” She said, laughing as she did so. She caught hold of his arm in her excitement. He did not think she had noticed. It was inappropriate for her to hold on to him in such a way, yet he could not convince himself to tell her so.

I’m looking.

Her eyes shone brighter than stars as she gazed at the flames, wide open and filled with all the wonder in the world, it seemed to him. She was laughing as she watched, and the dimples in her cheeks were on full display as the flickering firelight plated her hair in copper. Even the four pale scars on her cheeks seemed to gleam in the light. Sunlight and firelight seemed to meld together in that moment as they touched her.

He didn’t see a single second of the performance, however.

“I’d love to be a firedancer,” she said suddenly, wistful. He snorted.

“You’d love to be anything other than what you are,” he said, looking away quickly so she wouldn’t catch him staring. It hurt to look at her sometimes. Robert, with all his conquests and his bastard daughter and everything, had never once mentioned to him how much it hurt to love someone. It made him wonder whether his older brother had ever truly loved anything. It made him wonder how long it had been since he had allowed himself to think he loved her.

“A knight, a pirate,” he counted on his fingers, “An outlaw, a firedancer- “

He felt her frown at him.

“Well,” she cut him off, sounding slightly hurt. “It’s boring being me. I’d rather be someone else. I’d rather go on adventures, and see the world, and be anywhere else...”

And just like that she’d flown away again, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. The fire reflected in her grey eyes was showing her far off places and people. Dragons too, probably, if he had to guess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ashara,” Elia’s voice was soft from beneath the tent. “Where is Y/n? I want to hear what she thought of the lists.”

“She is probably running around the fair, your grace. You know she can never sit still. By now she has found a boat to take her to the Isle of Faces.”

“Send someone to fetch her for me, if you would. Lunch is almost ready.”

The words were out of Arthur’s mouth before he could stop them.

“I will go, your grace,” he said. Elia shared a look with Ashara.

“It is hardly fitting for a knight of the kingsguard to chase after a girl, Arthur- “, Ashara started doubtfully.

“You know the lady Stark, sister,” he said, a practised grin in place. “If you send an errand boy she will ignore the summons in favour of some mummer’s show and claim she had not heard.”

It would be just like her. She was probably running around through the smallfolk right at this second, with no intention of returning to the pavilion.

Elia seemed to consider, but she smiled after a moment.

“You are right, of course,” she allowed. “But be quick about it. I doubt my lord husband will agree with me giving you menial tasks.”

He bowed before walking off.

She would be watching where the crowds were worst, he knew. Somewhere where the excitement was thick enough to touch.

Indeed, he spotted her watching a firedancer next to the shore of the lake. The man was sending spouts of flame into the air, making the crowd exclaim in amazement. From here, he could see her excitement.

His mood soured, however, when he saw who she was with.

Stannis Baratheon was about equal to Arthur in height, which meant he was shorter than his older brother. He was more slight than Robert as well, though he still had the broad shoulders of all Baratheons. He had a stern face, a mouth that was too thin and hard, dark brows that shadowed dark blue eyes and slightly hollow cheeks. They were friends, Arthur knew. He had heard frequent reports from her own lips of letters sent and visits planned. He had never met the young lord, and he had always thought that it was for the better.

She was holding on to his arm as she laughed. Arthur had tied the ribbon she’d given him around his wrist, and the hair it had held up this morning still spilled about her shoulders in waves that shone brighter than the lake surface behind her. Stannis seemed to be looking at her with far too much familiarity for Arthur’s comfort.

Yet, instead of anger, there was a hollowness in his chest as he watched them.

It should be my arm she is holding on to.

He would never be able to stand next to her at tourneys, or hold her hand as she walked. Never lean toward her and comment something only she could hear. Stannis did, and she spared him a roll of her eyes before turning back to the performance.

The hollow in his chest opened wider, and it hurt. All I can give her is whispered promises and dreams.

She turned and smiled at Stannis again, and the hollow in his chest opened even further. He had never seen her grin like that. He knew all her smiles, taunting, confident, sheepish, genuine, even the soft one she reserved just for him. It seemed he was not the only man with a secret smile.

He’d seen enough and strode forward swiftly to put an end to that grin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lady Stark!” A shout cut through her daydreams. She swung around, searching the crowd until she spotted him, his violet eyes shining above a white doublet and cloak.

“Ser Arthur,” she said, smiling as he walked up to her.

“My lady,” he said, bowing respectfully. Some of the gathered people had turned to look at him, and there were whispers going around the crowd.

Let them whisper, she thought fiercely, he’s mine.

From next to her, Stannis cleared his throat. She started. For a second, she’d forgotten he was there, which made a wave of guilt crash over her.

“Ser Arthur, this is Lord Stannis, of House Baratheon,” she said quickly. “Stannis, this is ser Arthur Dayne of Starfall.”

Stannis nodded curtly to him.

“A pleasure, my lord,” Arthur said, and bowed to him, ever the gentleman. The two men were of equal height, though Arthur was obviously the older. Stannis was broader than Arthur, who had a swordsman’s physique.

“Stannis told me earlier that he thought you rode splendidly today, ser,” she said, trying to make up for her friend’s lack of courtesy. Stannis frowned at her, and she saw his jaw working at the lie. She’d make it up to him.

“High praise, my lord,” Arthur said, “I doubt I would have ridden half so well had your fair companion not granted me her favour.” He locked eyes with her then, and she blushed red under his gaze.

“I confess I did not see your name on the lists, my lord,” he said then, turning back to Stannis and sparing her further embarrassment.

“I do not compete in tourneys, ser,” Stannis said, and she could have gotten frostbite from the ice in his voice. “I don’t believe it worthwhile to prance around in front of the court like some.”

His tone left no question as to who “some” was.

“Understandable, of course,” Arthur said, some of the warmth leeching from his voice as well. She frowned.

“My lady,” Arthur then said, turning from Stannis entirely, “Princess Elia requests that you join her for refreshments in her pavilion. She would like to hear your opinions on the lists.”

She cast a quick glance at Stannis, unwilling to leave him. But a royal summons was a hard thing to refuse.

He gave her a small nod.

“Of course, ser,” she said. She reached out and took Stannis’s hand, intent on saying goodbye, but to her surprise, he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them quickly. He dropped her hand and walked off without another word, shoulders hard enough to smith a blade on.

She took Arthur’s offered arm, frowning.

“He is- “

“A friend,” she said quickly, not liking the mocking smile in Arthur’s voice. “My dearest friend.”

Who knew me even when you did not.

The knowledge sat heavy in her chest as they walked to the edge of the lake. She glanced back, trying to see if she could find him, but he’d vanished into the crowds.

“Yes, well,” he said, somewhat stiffly, “A friend I could still knock in the dirt.”

She laughed at that.

“Look at my little peacock,” she said, smiling up at him, “Strutting about with his chest out.”

Arthur scowled at her.

“But you did ride exceedingly well,” she said quickly, deciding she’d humbled him enough for the day. He was more handsome when he was confident.

“Thanks to you,” he said.

She laughed again.

“A ribbon was not what allowed you to win, Arthur.”

She suddenly realised that she was walking across the tourney grounds with him. Her eyes narrowed.

“Since when are kingsguard knights used as errand boys?” She asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Since the errand boy gets to walk around the fair with you, and the knight must stay by the king,” he replied with a dazzling smile.

They came up to Elia and Rheagar’s pavilion, and she had to let go of his arm. He cast her a wistful glance, then smiled and took up his post at the entrance.

[thescarletgarden1990]

Dust Under Brightness

Written for my friend @starkgaryen4life who donated to the @jonerys-unites charity initiative.

Moodboard by @tomakeitbeautifultolive

PREVIEW | READ ON AO3

The youngest Kingsguard since Jaime Lannister.

It had a nice ring to it, Jon thought proudly as he polished his armour, making sure it would shine like molten silver under the scorching sun of King's Landing. His lady mother had looked so proud, violet eyes glinting with unshed tears. "You've grown up so much, my son," Ashara had said.

His thoughts were stopped by a sudden knock on the door. “Enter,” he called.

A young handmaiden stepped in, her dark hair bound in a tight braid. “Princess Daenerys is requesting for your presence, Ser.”

Now that was quite unusual. The hour was late, and the Princess almost never spared him a glance, let alone requested his presence in any form.

“Of course. Tell her I'll come immediately,” he murmured, standing up and dressing in his armour. He donned the white cloak over his shoulder, then made for the Princess' quarters with haste.

The Princess sat at a small round table, nibbling at a bowl of fresh exotic fruit, a light purple silk dress of Dornish inspiration wrapping her curves like a second skin. Not for the first time, Jon had to force himself not to stare dumbly at her. She was breathtakingly beautiful, arguably the most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen. He fought back that dangerous train of thoughts and focused on his manners.

“Did you call for me, Your Grace?” he asked, bowing.

“Yes, Ser. Please, sit.” She waited for him to get comfortable, then continued, “I am in need of an escort for my imminent journey North. My brother the King has appointed me on a diplomatic mission at the Wall.”

“At-at the Wall, Your Grace?” he stuttered. Despite her young age, it wasn't too unusual for her to take care of some minor issues around Westeros, and she had already been that far North once before. Her brother the King seemed to be doting a lot on her political savviness, teaching her from a young age and trusting her counsel definitely more than that of their brother Viserys. Still, it did seem weird, as she was usually escorted by more experienced knights, Ser Barristan being her favourite escort.

“Yes, Ser Jon. While it's usually my brother that keeps relations with the Night's Watch, he's been very busy with the preparations for the tourney, as of late.” She paused to take a sip from a golden goblet, the three-headed-dragon sigil glinting in the braziers' light. “And my great-uncle Aemon, who's Maester at the Wall, wishes to see me. That's why I'm taking care of this mission, Ser. Will you escort me?”

“Oh... Of course, Your Grace, but... wouldn't it be better to have a more numerous escort, my Princess? The travel to the Wall is long and perilous, and I'm sure the King would be able to spare more than one Kingsguard for your protection, Your Grace.”

The Princess looked at him for a long moment, narrowing her eyes slightly. She looked annoyed, and he had to swallow a lump of discomfort in his throat. She took a few more sips from her goblet, then spoke again, her voice hard as steel: "This mission requires absolute secrecy, Ser Jon. That's why I can't have a more consistent escort, or can't require the services of such a known face like Ser Barristan, for example. I can easily disguise myself if needed, but it's better if the person accompanying me isn't so recognizable." She paused, throwing him a glance full of such resolution he had to keep himself from fiddling under her fiery gaze. "Will you keep faith to your vows and serve House Targaryen in this, Ser?"

“Of course I will, Your Grace,” he promised, resolute. “I'm here to serve you.”

“Good. We will depart in the morning, Ser. I do recommend maximum secrecy in this. The Red Keep's walls have ears, too, and we have reason to fear some of them might not be completely loyal, so we must be careful.” She paused, seeming to consider him for a long minute before speaking again, almost as an afterthought, “We also don't want to burden my brother the King with this task, as he already has so many things to think about.”

“Of course.”

“We'll meet tomorrow at dawn outside the White Sword Tower. You're dismissed.”

[meryllfrey]

@fallesto (Barristan, timeline: shortly before the greyjoy rebellion)

The journey had been pleasant enough, given her reluctance to be heading home to House Haigh. The old knight's company was certain preferred over that of her brothers or cousins, but it didn't change the fact that their destination was the last place in the realm that she wanted to be.

It had been kind of Robert to lend his Lord Commander as her escort for the day - obviously he didn't feel as though he was in any danger at the Twins. And the Lord Commander didn't seem to be put out by the task of escorting her back to her husband's home.

They had reached the crossroads where she would turn to return home to the lands of House Haigh, to a husband who had betrayed her, to children that were not her own, but would inherit regardless, thanks to the actions of her father.

Perriane eyed the knight on his horse beside her. Perhaps she could say her farewell here, and then wait over the hill until he was gone. She needn't return to House Haigh where she wasn't wanted anyway. She would go ... elsewhere. Westward, perhaps, to the coast.

"You have escorted me far enough, Ser," she told the knight. "My home is just down the road there, and I fear there would be too many questions asked if a knight of the kingsguard were to escort me to the keep."

[meryllfrey]

@fallesto​ (Barristan)

The bloody flux had fallen upon Dany’s household like an executioner’s blade. Swift and efficient, the deadly plague had decimated her people, and despite their efforts to keep Dany sheltered from the sickness, she had eventually succumbed to its violent and bloody death. The plague killed its victims not with swords and hammers, but from the inside, turning their very bodies against them, seizing and bleeding until death was begged for.

With no queen, and the vast majority of its armies sickened or dead, the Sons of the Harpy had been merciless, attacking the Great Pyramid when it was already on its knees. Though those that were left had fought bravely, it had been a hopeless cause. 

The two last standing had been Meryll and Barristan, and with no other options, they had fled the pyramid into the city, and spent weeks hiding from those who hunted them. There had been much speculation as to why the two had not been afflicted by the plague, some pointing to magical protection, others saying they had brought the sickness over from Westeros. The sanest explanation came from a wizened healer, who suspected that something in their long years of living in Westeros had given them an innate immunity to the plague.

The Sons of the Harpy still hunted them, and all the gates out of the city were watched closely. Likely being the only two Westerosi left in Meereen, blending in was not an option, and so they had remained hidden, moving every few days to avoid detection. 

The latest hideout was an improvement upon the days spent in the sewers and filthy back alleys: an abandoned house, its occupants long dead from the bloody flux. It was only a matter of time before some industrious person decided to make use of the vacant property, but for the time being, it served as a safe haven.

Meryll removed the pot from the fire, stirring the mushy grains one last time before serving the old knight. She was exhausted, sick of eating the same bland thing day after day, but they were somehow still alive. Their only hope would be to escape the city, but as of yet, they had not found a way.

“This is the last of the food stores -- we’ll have to venture out tonight to forage for more.” 

[meryllfrey]

@fallesto​  ||  send  ✏️ for incorrect quotes from our muses

Barristan: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers! Meryll: Please, just say fuck.

Meryll: Barristan taught me to think before I act. Meryll: ...So if I smack the shit out of you, rest assured that I thought about it and am confident in my decision.

Barristan: That sounds like a terrible plan. Meryll: Oh, we've had worse.

Barristan: *eating a cinnamon roll* Meryll: Cannibalism. Barristan: *confused chewing noises*

Meryll: Please say words of encouragement to me so I don’t murder someone right now. Barristan: There are no books in prison. Meryll: *sighs* Thank you.

[meryllfrey]

meryllfrey  asked:

“ i’m not a beggar , i live here . ”

fallesto:

HE WAS NOT SOME OLD GEEZER. He may look like he had seen more summers than all on this dock combined and that may be true, but he was not some old fool who had just wondered onto the docks. He was Ser Barristian The Bold - one of the greatest knights of this generation or any for that matter. Lord commander to numerous kings and now framed for the death of King Robert. The young boy who sits on the throne, has his mother and small council whispering into his ear, already trying to attach strings onto him to control him and make him into a puppet ruler.

He had been insulted, he had his titles stripped from him, his name was dragged through the dirt and another kings death was placed on him and he was at fault. He had tried to change there minds, but it was done. He was outcasted and after what he had done in the tower. Writing down his deeds in the book, killing those who tried to get in his way and stop him - he had to leave. This was no longer a safe place for him. The boy would want his head, if he could kill Ned Stark without fair trial or council - he could kill anyone.

“You are no beggar that much is clear and you don’t live here.”

He had stopped by a woman. Dressed in drags with her face hidden. It might have worked for a normal guard or soldier. The golden cloaks would have walked right by her without a second glance. Just another filthy beggar on the docks to be ignored, but he was not so foolish. Her hands were too clean, too soft and untouched by hardships of a life living in the slums. She was well nourished as well, all the rags and dirt could not hide the fact that she had been fed well and cared for a long time.

This was no homeless woman, she was no beggar nor even a peasant, he had seen this before many times - noble woman trying to flee there families. Arrangements they don’t agree with, deals that put them in a worse situation than ever before, always the third or forth daughter - a problem he has seen many times before and one he would resolve before he left, he was still a knight, even if he held no title or rank - it would still be the right thing to do to get this girl to go home before she got herself hurt.

“You need not lie to me anymore, you play the roll well, but not well enough.”

@fallesto​:

The city was no longer safe. It was hard to believe that a little over a turn of the moon ago, she’d thought she was living a dream, leaving the Riverlands for the first time in her life to experience the excitement of a royal tourney along with the retinue from House Frey. The Hand’s Tourney was over and done, and Meryll had remained as a lady of the court even as her family returned home to the Twins. And then everything changed. 

The King was dead, his Hand was dead. A new king sat the throne, though only a puppet to his ambitious mother. Under the careful watch of the Red Cloaks, the keep felt more a prison than anything else. What had once seemed a dream, now seemed something else entirely. 

Home, she had to get home.

After slipping her guard, she had remained close to the docks for days on end, hoping to hear of a ship heading north -- to Gulltown or the Saltpans or even White Harbour. There had been one, but the Gold Cloaks were everywhere, double checking each ship’s manifest. They were looking for something, or someone. Meryll was quite certain it was not she that they searched for, but neither could she risk getting caught. 

The old man before her was dressed in rags not unlike her own, but he spoke well, and he stood straight and tall, not hunched over as one might have expected of a man so white bearded. He wore his rags no better than she wore hers. 

There was no one else within earshot, thank the gods, and she considered running but the man did not seem to pose a threat. Perhaps he was trying to escape the city as well. Still, it would be foolish to place her trust in a stranger.

“You are not who you pretend to be either, old man. Leave me, or I will call the guards.” 

[meryllfrey]

meryllfrey  asked:

❛ You’re always so eager to slash and stab, why couldn’t you have stabbed him. ❜ (Barristan)

fallesto  answered:

Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.

Old warriors did not get old by accident; they got old by being wise, having the right knowledge, and being tough. Never underestimate an old man who has grown up in a rough profession or a rough environment.

These men have been around for a reason. They have done things, and experienced things, that you probably have never even thought about. They are tough, their minds are tough, and they have the knowledge, the skill, and the will to finish you off , if you force them to do so. A boy will fight you, but a older man, he will hurt you.

“We have spilled more than enough blood here.”

The old man would comment. It was true he could have ended the contest quickly, had he drawn his sword he would have countered the master and his slaves, he would have ended the matter with a blade and there bodies on the ground, but he had not done so. He had instead used the staff, the wooden stick he had been using in his disguise, he had kept it to keep up the falsehood, to project a image of a weak old man, the young and foolish will rush into a confrontation with a foe they think is weak.

“I am not here to take there life, I am here to help them.”

He would place the wooden stick onto the ground, holding onto it with both hands as he would walk forward. The queen wished for these people to be brought up from there knees, she wished for them to be better than what they once were and that was not going to happen with them, fighting and killing in the streets.

@fallesto​ (Barristan Selmy)

He was the greatest knight in the seven kingdoms, and he refused to carry a sword. He’d said he wanted to serve a different type of queen, but did that mean he would no longer use the skills he was known best for? 

They had taken the city by force, but now the people rose up in the streets, and nothing was done to stop them. What was the point of winning the city, if only to let it wither from within. 

These people did not want change. They said the right words, bowed to their new dragon queen, but they were not loyal in their hearts. They put on a mummer’s display when they needed to and then returned to their old ways as soon as no one was watching. The queen wanted to help these people, but they did not even see that they needed any help. How long would Daenerys continue to ignore their disobedience, and how long would the knight enable his queen’s willful blindness?

“You cannot help someone who doesn’t want to be helped,” she said, turning her back on the knight to return to the great pyramid.

[meryllfrey]

anonymous asked:

“You’re panicking?! I’m the one who got fucking stabbed!” (for canon barri)

fallesto answered:

CHILDREN TODAY, THEY DIDN’T KNOW HOW LUCKY THEY HAD IT

When Strong Belwas had kicked the wooden door off it’s hinges and sent it flying across the and of the queen’s chamber floor he immediately stood up in shock at the sight before him. A man that made the mountain himself seem like an infant, as tall as Ser Gregor and as Wide as King Robert burst into the room, carrying a woman in his arms. He had felt his heart sink within his chest, his stomach turn = was this what he thought it was?

There had been unrest within the city. The sons of the harpy had become more bold and daring in there attacks and raids. They were moving closer to the queens districts with each passing day and it would not be long before they were held under siege within the very city they had liberated, held captive by the very people they have saved.

Strong Belwas placed the woman down on the table as he took several steps back and held his head down. He looked worried, scared even - something the elder had not seen on his face. He walked forward to the table and looked at her, old eyes glancing down at her body and coming to rest on her stomach were her hands held together. He moved one gently and then the other - taking them away from the flatness of her bare flesh as he looked at the wound - it was deep, painful, but not fatal - it just needed the right hands for treatment.

“How many times have to tell you - the both of you. You are to wear armour when patrolling! You both look like you have been on a casual stroll on the beaches!”

@fallesto (Barristan)

She had begged to be allowed to patrol with the other footmen -- what was the point of learning to fight if she was not able to put those skills into practice, she’d asked. Finally, her wish had been granted, but with some parameters in place -- she would always be paired with Strong Belwas, and they were always given routes that did not venture far from the Great Pyramid. 

As the weeks passed, patrolling had turned out to be rather boring -- especially so near to the pyramid -- but the Sons of the Harpy grew ever bold, their attacks getting ever nearer to the queen’s district until today when she and Strong Belwas had been ambushed on their patrol. 

They had been greatly out-numbered, though Strong Belwas was worth at least six of the masked assassins. Her training had paid off, they’d defeated their attackers, but that victory had not come without cost. She’d been wounded, taking a blade to her abdomen, and the amount of blood that had pooled beneath her had been more alarming than the pain.

Even more alarming had been Strong Belwas’ reaction. The way the huge eunuch had fretted and picked her up and carried her back to the pyramid as if she was helpless baby, she thought for sure death was imminent. 

She was not dead yet, as evidenced by the wicked scolding she received from Ser Barristan. She’d worn armour -- the light leather that she preferred -- it allowed for better mobility. Ser Barristan preferred chain or plate, she knew, but it was heavy and uncomfortable and rubbed her skin raw. Strong Belwas had worn his usual billowy pants and tiny leather vest, but then he wore his many scars with pride, and none of them had killed him yet.

She felt ill -- nauseous and weak from blood loss, and she fought to concentrate on the old man’s face.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

[meryllfrey]

meryllfrey  asked:

❝ please, just for one night, will you lie down next to me, we can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up. ❞ (for canon barri)

fallesto: continued from x

Would it be cruel if he turned and left her? She had already poured her heart out to him and he had remained still as a rock and did not answer her cries to him. She had come to him with her heart in her hand and he had coldly turned his back on her. He had his reasons, countless that he believed were honest and true. He had told her once and would not tell her again. What she felt for him would pass in time, it was a fleeting moment and nothing more. Young love that was placed upon him by mistake for the adventures they have had and the long journey they had shared.

The hour was indeed late as he glanced down. He was tired, so tired. This ruling as hand of the queen was more tiring to him that any formal training ever was. He wished he could be out there again, in the streets shoulder to shoulder with the men patrolling at there side and if not with them - then out further with the search parties that have been sent out to find the queen. Anywhere but here would be more ideal, but he was hand of the queen and his duty was to rule in her place.

“You must have gotten lost on your own way to your chambers, again. Next time I will make sure you have an escort so you find it this time.”

He slowly would shake his head from side to side. She would not leave his chambers and he was not going to force her. Her request was innocent enough and it would only cause more harm to her, giving her mixed signals and confusing her feelings, but he was tired, too tired to argue with her again and make her cry before sending her away. He would walk forward and do as she asked, he lay down on the bed beside her, clothing on as he just stared upwards.

@fallesto (Barristan)

She had hated herself even as the words left her mouth. It was nigh pathetic, coming here and practically begging -- when he’d already been more than clear that he did not return her feelings for him -- begging for just a small piece of him, whatever he was willing to give.

Like a dog whining for table scraps. 

She’d come to hate this place -- the strange food, the unrelenting sun, the language that she still struggled to grasp. The Yunkish armies were at the gates, the trade ships had been blocked from coming in and out of the bay, and the Sons of the Harpy were wreaking havok within the city walls. The city had been just barely kept under control when Dany was ruling, and now that she was gone -- it just seemed hopeless. For the first time since leaving the Riverlands, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake.

It had not helped matters that she had alienated her only friend in this place, to have put herself in a situation where the only person she could seek comfort from was the one who had broken her heart in the first place. 

She held her breath as he chided her, and waited for the inevitable -- he would tell her to return to her own room, he would tell her he didn’t want her here. But even as he shook his head, he walked toward her, and lay stiffly on the bed beside her, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t know which would have been worse, being ordered out of the room, or this, having him so resigned, only here with her because she’d left him no other choice. 

What was the saying -- you made your bed, now lie in it?

He’d given her exactly what it was she’d asked for, and yet it wasn’t at all what she wanted. She moved as close as she dared, just barely touching him -- just to get some semblance of not being alone in this wretched place. And then she inched closer yet, until she could feel the warmth of his body, trying to convince herself that it was enough.

[meryllfrey]

MERYLLFREY ASKED:

  ✘

fallesto:

IT WAS A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS, A MOMENT THAT HE DID NOT REGRET

He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling high above him. Eyes widen opened as he blinked several times as he could feel an arm over him, a heat against him. Warm flesh pressed tightly up beside him, a leg even draped over him to keep him in place it seemed. His eyes only had to be cast down to see the clothing around the room to know that the deed had been done with heated passion and no one at any true fault.

They had drank well into the late hours the previous night. The queen disappearance, the fact that the queens guard had been sent out to find her all except for them.

Someone had to remain in the City Of Mereen to rule in the queens place and it was to be him and as the queen’s hand - the duty of ruling rested on his shoulders and his alone. He could not rule and defend himself at the same time. A queen’s guard needed to remain behind and watch over him and of course it was her, who else would have volunteered for such a task other than her. There was no debate, no open discussion on the matter, it was as if they all already knew who was going and who would be the one to remain.

They had been gone for weeks now, the reports have dried up. They was no sighting of them, the queen or the dragon.

Being a ruler was not what he was best at. Being hand of the queen was one thing, but ruling this city and her people was another. He was a fighter and nothing more - this was a fight he could not win. He was doing his best, but he knew in his heart he should be out there with them. He should be looking for his queen and not sitting on her throne and ruling in her place, that was not the vow he had taken.

He had told her that much. The weight of ruling was weighing him down. He was fighting a war against the masters and ruling people who did not want them as rulers at the same time. It was too much at times and so they had sat together on the balcony overlooking the city. Drinking wine, speaking of the things they have done in the city, things they had done venturing here and further back - on how they even managed to make it here in the first place and find the mother of dragons.

One thing had lead to another, laughter had turned into tears of laughter as they swapped stories of their adventures. He had leaned forward to take another glass of wine and she the same as there hands touched one another and from that he looked into her eyes and was lost. Both moving closer to one another, eyes slowly closing as what was to happen - happened and from that this.

Did he regret it? No. he felt thirty years younger. He felt the stress had left his body, he was relaxed, calm and at peace. He knew deep down that this was a mistake. He was not good for her, he was not the man she needed, but in this one moment - even he could just hold onto this one precious moment were vows, oaths and all promises spoken to his betters meant nothing - this action, this deed was something he had wanted to happen.

@fallesto (Barristan)

She woke in the wee hours of the morning, smiling as if from a pleasant dream. Only it wasn’t a dream. Her cheek rested against a hard, masculine chest; strong arms were wrapped around her. She did not need to open her eyes to know who it was -- despite the drinking from the night before, her memory of the night before was clear. 

It was only a few weeks ago that she had tried to kiss him and he had only given her resolute rejection in return. Their kiss the night prior had happened naturally, both of them seeming to be drawn together. She did not seduce him -- there had been no trickery. Fear gripped her heart as it occured to her that he might think she had somehow manipulated him into this position. The very thought made her cling on to him all the tighter. 

She knew what he thought -- that he was too old, that he had nothing to offer her -- and she knew that he had not wanted this. Or, that is what he had said those weeks ago. It was difficult to know if he had been lying then or if it had only been the wine that had temporarily changed his heart.

She did not want him to think less of her, and she did not want him to feel shame over their actions. Perhaps if she left, he would not remember any of it when he woke. She slipped out from under the covers, intent on leaving without him noticing.

[meryllfrey]

fallesto: continued from x

IT WAS BETTER THAN THIS HAPPENED NOW THAN LATER…

He was not a blind old fool who could not see the pulls of her heart. He had been bold with her, overly so and thus this rested on his shoulders. He had not treated her like the noble woman that she was, but rather he treated her like any he would stand side by side with on the field of battle and that had been a mistake.

A noble lady was meant to be protected and never harmed and he had failed. He had opened her heart to him by mistake and caused this deed to happen here and now. Yet he was pleased in a way that it was a kiss and nothing more, given the closeness they have shared with one another on there travels, a kiss was something that could easily be corrected and the pain from the fallout could be healed with ease - in time of course, but with ease.

The kiss was gentle at first, but when he had not returned the action, she sought to pull it from him. A warm body, gentle and soft pressed against his and yet he did not answer. She pressed deeper, he felt her tongue glissen his lips and then force entry and crash against his own and when that happened, he had to break her away from him, for fear of returning the embrace and causing more harm to her.

“I am not your father that is true.” He kept his hands on her shoulders. He could see the pain, the hurt - the rejection and it had been his fault. He did care for her - deeply so. More than the queen even in many ways as he grew to know her. She was kind, gentle, honest and true. The virtues of a knight and with noble blood, she was what the seven kingdoms needed for the next rulers of the kingdoms.

“But I am old enough to be your grandfather and having lived such a long life, I know that what you are feeling for me - you only believe it is true. In time there will be another - someone who can look after you better than I could.”

@fallesto

How quickly the heat desire made way to the heat of shame. She swallowed hard, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. Had she wronged him somehow? She could have lashed out in bitterness, could have expressed what she was thinking -- that most men would have been quite pleased to have a woman half their age kiss them. But then, he wasn’t most men -- for if he was, she would have be in this shameful situation to begin with.

She couldn’t summon any rage, try as she might, however -- she couldn’t be angry with him, not for this. 

“My grandfather is 92 years old,” she couldn’t help pointing out, though she knew that was beside the point. 

How long had she loved him? Since she had met him? Since before she had met him? And by what cruel twist of fate should she actually meet the man she’d read about in story books, and even cross a continent with him -- to become this close, and then to have him reject her at the end of it all?

She shook her head. “there will be no others. How could any other compare? And I don’t need anyone to look after me.” 

[meryllfrey]

anonymous  asked:

10c (meryllfrey)

fallesto  answered: continued from x

@meryllfrey

(THIS WAS TO BE THE END) They had defeated the army of the dead, the threat of the night king nad been ended once and for all, but this was not the war they had come for. The losses had been heavy, the toll it had taken upon them all - it was unimaginable. They had all lost something during that battle, it had taken them and changed them and not for the better as he was starting to now see.

Fighting the dead had been one thing, they had all done things - to make it through that long night.

Now they were going south to fight the living. He could see it around him, these men were blood drunk. Lusting for more battles, they were high on what they had done, all of them thinking they were unstoppable. Even the queen - gripped by rage and grief - the deadliest of combinations was not herself. They all needed time to recover, to lay down swords and now use words to settle this matter, but who would listen to a foolish old man.

This was war, this was the war they had come for and it was going to be the war they wanted.

“This is the end –”

Was this not always the way for him. When he finally finds peace - when he believes for only a mere second that things might work out, it is all taken from him. He had shared nights with her. He had stopped fighting her and allowed this to be. However short it may last, however foolish it may be, for once he was thinking clearly - for the first time in his entire life and now - come tomorrow it will all end.

He held her close to him, to feel her once more. To smell her hair, to feel her body against his. He would not survive the battle tomorrow. He was old, he was tired, he was carrying so many injuries than it was surprising that he could still stand. He could feel it within him, he had one more fight within him and no more than that. He will fight and he will die - and she would live without him.

He wanted to touch her one last time, feel her against him, to have one final moment before he was pulled away from her. She was dressed in her gown to sleep and he was within his armor. He now understood what it meant to follow your heart, to do something for yourself, to think for yourself, act for yourself and do what you wanted. As he brushed his hands against her, feeling the warmth and the desire he could only smile - even now on the eve of battle, on the brink of death - his vows were being tested, to stay with her here and forgot it all.

@fallesto (Barristan)

She wasn’t thinking straight, and she hadn’t been for quite some time. It was easy to act without considering the consquences when each day might be your last. If she had been thinking straight, she might have realized that all those arguments he thrown at her over the last few months had been sound -- his end was near, and someday she was going to find herself heartbroken and alone, and that day was going to come sooner than she’d ever imagined.

It was a miracle he’d even lived this long. How many wars had he fought in? How many times had he narrowly escaped death? She’d seen the scars on his body, and they gave some idea to the answer, and she knew he had suffered more wounds in the battle against the night king. They’d lost so many, and yet somehow he had survived. Each time he’d ridden off into battle, she’d had to prepare herself -- that it might be the last. And each time he’d come back, a little worse for wear, and it had only made her more determined to make the most of the time they had.

She could have begged him to stay away from the front lines -- to play an advisory role in these battles instead, and maybe he might have even heard her out -- and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to ask it of him. He was Westeros’ greatest living knight -- a war hero many times over, and he was sworn to protecting the Queen, fulfilling the promise he made to King Jaeherys as a young man. For him to die anywhere other than the battlefield with sword in hand would be to disrespect all of his accomplishments thus far. 

They would march against King’s Landing on the morrow -- the end was in sight. Would they be victorious, and usher in a new spring with a new leader on the throne, or die trying? Her knight’s body was battered from the many battles -- no longer able to spring back after an injury as he might have when he was a young man -- and yet there was still one more to fight. He was weary, she could see it in his eyes, and yet she also thought he’d found a peace within himself. If he could be at peace with the possibility of this being his last night in the realm of the living, then she would do her best to find that peace as well. 

It was easier when they were together like this. When he touched her and held her, it was like coming home -- a rather elusive feeling after all that had happened to her family and birthplace while she was gone -- and her heart felt so full that it might actually burst.

He was still so handsome in the armour that Dany had given him, the mail gilded, the plate enameled, the heavy white cloak falling from his shoulders. She was already in her nightclothes, having had more than enough of the drunken revelry happening elsewhere in the camps. In her bare feet, she had to stand on her very tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hands searching for flesh that wasn’t incased in steel plate.

She moaned as his hand slipped under the hem of her nightshirt, his fingers brushing against bare flesh, seeking out her warmth. He’d once been so reluctant to act on his desires but now he didn’t seem to give it a second thought. His teasing touch was pleasure and agony all at once and she pressed her hips forward into his hand, wanting more.

[meryllfrey]

14B

let’s make love meme || accepting

There had been that one drunken night in Meereen, but he’d been nothing but a perfect knight ever since. Dany’s return, and in full control of Drogon, had set the world right once more, and their days had been busy preparing to sail for Westeros. Once aboard the ship, there was less to do. Dany’s safety was no longer a pressing concern -- they were in the middle of the ocean, and the three dragons looming presence from the sky would be enough to scare away even the most ambitious of pirates.

She would not soon forget that one night with him, even if he had given no indication that it had even happened in the days afterward. She thought she might have seen him looking her way on the ship a few times, and she wondered if maybe he sometimes remembered that night fondly as well, but then, it might have only been wishful thinking.

He’d told her the morning afterward that he wasn’t angry that it had happened, that he had no regrets, but the subject of whether or not it should ever happen again had not come up. 

She went looking for him late one night, and found him, alone in the captain’s study, staring down at the desk, maps of Westeros spread out in front of him. She loved him, she truly did, but she wasn’t stupid. He was an old man, his life sworn to protect the queen. Meryll knew there would be no happy ending with marriage, a grand keep or children. More like than not, he would die in this war, and even if he did somehow survive, how many years would he have left, realistically? Her time with him was limited, and she had wasted far too much of it already.

He turned around when he heard her enter, but she did not greet him. She hadn’t come here to talk. She wasn’t interested in hearing his excuses, his reasons for why they could not be together, or how he could not give her the life he thought she wanted. She was only interested in what he could offer her right now. Maybe it would shock his ever so chivalric sensabilities, but she’d thought of little else since the ship had left the docks of Meereen than feeling his hands on her once again, his mouth on her, his eyes taking their fill of her, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

She walked right up to him, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him until the backs of his thighs hit the desk, and from there she firmly guided him to lie back onto his outspread maps. He was perfectly capable of overpowering her should he wish her to stop, but somehow she didn’t think he would. She had grown tired of waiting for him to give her some sort of sign that he wanted this. He may have been a man of action on the battlefield, but in the arena of love and desire, not so much. (How long had he pined after Lady Ashara and done nothing?) He just needed a little push, and she had become impatient enough that her own shyness seemed a thing of the past.

She climbed right atop him, straddling his hips and running her hands over his broad chest before reaching up to tug her nightgown over her head, revealing that she wore nothing else beneath.

[meryllfrey]

meryllfrey asked:

“I don’t want to hear your suggestions for my personal life.”

fallesto:

HE WAS ONLY TRYING TO DO THE RIGHT THING. He had never wanted the title of hand of the queen. He had never wanted to lay his sword down and sit behind at the head of the small council. He didn’t want to give up the title of lord commander and his place on the queen’s guard, but the queen had asked him to take this role - for she had told him that she trusted no other man to advise her than him. He was thankful that he had lived within kings landing for as long as he had. He had sat on the small council of different kings and seen how other hands conduct their affairs and rule for their monarch. He was starting to quickly understand one thing - they would win this war. For that he had little doubt. He had once fought for the armies they were about to face on the field and from his time with the queen’s men it had become clear - there was not another force in the seven kingdoms and beyond that would be able to best her. Victory would belong to her, but he was looking beyond that. He was looking at her rule - and for her to rule she would need allies and to have allies - you could not bring them to the table with fear, fire and blood. You have to unite them and the one way to do that was with marriage. Thankfully within the queens ranks, there were those who were willing to do this and then there were – those who were refusing.

“I am not asking you to LOVE him. I am not asking you to do ANYTHING that would dishonor you. The QUEEN needs ALLIES and the way to secure them is with MARRIAGE. The CLOSER the person is to the QUEEN the BETTER. Trust me I have no wish to ask this from you, but for the QUEEN to rule the KINGDOMS she needs these lords.”

@fallesto​ (Barristan)

It felt like a betrayal, that he could even suggest such a thing. But then, it would be a betrayal should she not do this for Daenerys. Perhaps an arranged marriage had always been a part of Meryll’s future, even if it wasn’t orchestrated by her father or grandfather. They were back in Westeros, and this was the way of Westeros. 

Certainly, if her father or grandfather had been arranging the marriage, it could be to a man far less savoury than whoever the old knight had in mind, and besides, Meryll would rather lend her aid to Daenerys than Lord Grandfather.

She had hoped Daenerys could have offered her a different future, that this queen might choose to rule differently than those before her, but that did not appear to be the case. 

Meryll had offered to do anything to help Daenerys secure the throne, but this hadn’t been exactly what she’d had in mind. She crossed her arms, glaring at the old knight. 

“And which ally will you be securing, ser? Will you be marrying as well? I do seem to recall you mentioning you never ask anything of your men that you weren’t willing to do yourself.”