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hellolittleogre · 5 years ago

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Idiots in Love, 2nd chapter, part 2

Billy, squinting into the darkness: Is that a Good Decision I see before me?

“Welcome everybody!” Horne opened. “This is our second GSA student pub for the year and we are really excited! Last year during orientation one of the things that kept coming up was that our members want help in building queer relationships and networks, so we are taking the first step today, and have arranged Speed dating for Friends!”

Billy wants to groan, he didn’t want to speed date for friends, he barely wants to speed date for the chance of a hookup, and yet here he is, trapped like a fox in a snare.

“Your goal for tonight,” Horne continues “is to make a connection with a stranger. And if somebody sits down opposite you that is not a person you’d think you’d have something in common with, just give them a chance and see where it leads you.”

Horne smiles shyly at the room, giving the impression of a man who is uneasy in front of a crowd, in spite of being a tenured professor.

A bell clanged and a girl with bangs and bottle red hair sits down opposite Billy and starts talking about Care Bears.

Half an hour later Billy’s head is aching and he’s not even sure he is gay anymore. These people are just fucking weird. One person Billy couldn’t even tell the gender of said it was a “genderqueer Oxford boy dyke” and Billy could sort of puzzle out four of those words individually, but he has no idea where and how the Oxford fit into anything, or which of the boy or the dyke had a bearing on what kind of persons they would be interested in? Was it a boy dyke or a boy dyke? And how were you a boy dyke anyway, wasn’t the whole point of being a lesbian that they were not boys?

One woman tells him that saying “straight” as in the fucking direction, is upholding the “heterosexual hegemony” and that he should always say “gayly forward” instead and that he should write to his congress representative to petition to have it changed on GPS voices to end directional oppression , which is...is just, what?

Next is this guy who looks Billy over for a second before he got his out his phone, saying, without even looking up: “Sorry not my type” as he swipes left and left and left, which is just fucking rude, especially since they were ostensibly here to “speed date for friends”. Like Billy was is even his type enough to talk to for a whole minute. Unfortunately he can’t think of anything cutting to say before the bell chimes and they were all switching anyway (something he now, thanks to Goodnight, knows is called esprit de escalier) and Billy sits down in front of a handsome, dark haired guy with a t-shirt that not only stretched nicely over his chest, but also featured the logo of Billy’s gym.

The guys’s name is Bartholomew, which is a fucking stupid name, but Billy has become much more lenient on stupid names since he met Goodnight, and he’s funny. They talk about the gym, about college and films and when the bell rings Bart waves to the person behind to pass by their table so they can continue talking.

“You are the hottest guy I’ve met this evening,” he smiles and if Billy wasn’t not so taken with the experience of having a guy (!) say he’s hot (!!) to his face(!!!) he would describe that smile as oily. “I’m not letting you go now, some of these other people are psychos.”

“The care bear girl?” Billy ask in sympathy and Bart laugh.

“Yes! And some guy who wont stop talking about fucking squirrels.”

“Is that as in, uh, goddamn-fucking, squirrels or as in fucking squirrels?”

Bart leans over the table and looking into Billy’s eyes with earnest desperation, his eyes dark and gleaming.

“I don’t know,” he whispers urgently and Billy broke out in a startled laugh. When the bell rings he’s still laughing and Bart gets his phone out.

“Could I get your number? I’d better move on before the mountain man gets me for ruining the spirit or whatever.”

Billy hesitates for a second before thinking oh, what the hell. It feels like a small victory when his phone vibrates with the incoming text. Bart stands next to the table, popping his hip against the edge and leaning down on one arm to smile at Billy. He is a little taller, rangy and whipcord, with the beginnings of a receding hairline and Billy thinks he might be a little into that.

“You’re cute,” he smiles, looking Billy up and down, “And pretty built too. I’m normally a strictly “no fats, no femmes, no Asians” type of guy you know? But for you I might make an exception.” Bart winks and smiles like a wolf, all teeth before he saunters off to the next table, hand raised in nonchalant goodbye.

Billy’s first feeling is one of insulted astonishment because who the fuck just says something like that like its normal? And the way he had said it, like it was completely normal, something Billy should know about, have heard of, an established fucking phrase, a good natured joke. Is he so alien to the gay world that there is a fucking phrase for it?

And Billy has given him his number. He might call. Jesus Christ, the entitled asshole might call and Billy has no idea what to say to him, other than to ask him to fuck all the way off.

He is still working on scraping his jaw off the floor when Goodnight sits down opposite him. He looks good, there is a flush to his cheeks and his eyes are sparkling and it’s lucky that t-shirt is normally delegated to the bottom of his closet because if he wore it more often it’s likely Billy would just fail right out of college in pure distraction. He is all that yet all Billy can feel in that moment is overwhelming relief at a familiar face. Someone who can help him make sense of what the fuck just happened.

(Billy knows what the hell happened, but just like when he was twelve and a car pulled up next to his bike and the driver yelled “Go back to your own country” at him and then drove off, some part of him refuses to accept that this has actually happened and is trying to reconstruct the narrative into something else)

“You have got to help me, I just gave my number to a complete asshole,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth and Goody blinks at him.

“Of course..anything” he says, looking puzzled at Billy and then down at the table. Without even knowing he’s done it Billy’s both hands has grabbed on to Goody’s where it’s resting on the table, one hand gripping onto his fingers and palm and the other curled around his wrist, in desperate urgency. Embarrassed Billy let go of one hand but experimentally held on with the other and tried not to flush with pleasure when Goody adjusted his grip to hold on more securely.

“Is “no fats, no femmes no Asians” a thing?” Billy asks, voice rising and watches Goody’s face twist into that grimace of discomfort liberal white people get when confronted with how racism affects people who are not them.

“I’m sorry,” Goodnight says, shaking his head “I think yeah,its a, uh, a thing.”

“Right,” and wow, if Billy didn’t want to make kisses on Goodnight’s stupid face so bad he would opt out of this gay thing before it even started. “Why is it a thing?”

“I’m sorry that had to be the first thing out of the gate,” Goodnight answers, he’s sounding both pissed off and uncomfortable. “I mean there is a lot to unpack, with racism and internalised homophobia in the gay community, I might not be the best person…, I... ” he trailed off. “I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I thought you were out with Sam.”

“Oh he’s here, this was all Sam’s idea, the bastard. He thinks I’m too solitary here and I need to get out more, build some queer networks. We were quite involved in the GSA at home so...I mean, he means well you know?” Goody’s free hand sketch a gesture through the air that could mean quite a lot of things.

“I’ve never been before. I’m not sure I like it.”

“Yeah, you mentioned an asshole?” Goodnight says wryly, one side of his mouth ticking up in a smile and Billy groans. Goodnight had started growing a beard since Christmas and it should by all rights have looked stupid but it also framed his mouth so every time Billy looks at him his gaze gets stuck on the plump swell of Goody’s lower lip and his charmingly crooked teeth. It is deeply unfair.

Billy is halfway through relating the incident when he realise that he is loud, he has his hands out and he has forgotten about half the room.

After the incident in the gym showers Billy hadn’t spoken in school for a week. He’d learned to be quiet, to not really talk to anybody besides Jujin. It had been a joke amongst the guys at the gym that with Billy you either picked up sign language or telepathy, because it wasn’t like he was going to talk. It was as if he had decided that as long as he was quiet he could mask it, could hide himself away under a gruff exterior, under a stereotype of stoicism and coldness. But a year at college had chipped away at the facade and the realisation that without even knowing how it had happened he is out of his shell hits like a blow to the head. He talks in class and with friends, makes small talk in the coffee shop and if you ask Red or Vas or anyone to describe him they were more likely to say that “loud opinionated bastard” rather than that “Asian kid who doesn’t talk”. It is a good feeling. His hair is long enough now that he can pull it back into a bun on the top of his head. People sometimes call him ma’m in stores and his Halmi has asked if he wanted money for a haircut, but the point is that he had let his hair grow without worrying what it might say about him, that people might look at him and think “gay”.

“And now he has your phone number?”Goodnight ask, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline in consternation.

“Yeah,” Billy says grimly.

“I have a revolutionary idea, and that is that you block his number, and if he insists on calling I’ll answer instead and say he’s called, um, like the number service, or Fats Gay Bakery in Louisiana. Or the morgue!”

Billy smiles. “Pansy’s Dancing school.”

“Miss Pansy speakin’” Goody says, exaggerating his southern accent. “Oh sugar, why don’ you come on down and give us a whirl? We are just full up of fat Asian drag queens, an’ the girls are all dyin’ to see you.”

“You realise that the second you actually do that it will be my Mom on the phone, right? And then she’ll really think I’m living it up.”

“She’ll send you another bottle of pharmacy lube. Does the army surplus store sell lube? Like a no brand gallon of lube. We could lay out a rubber mat, pour it out and have a very strange fetish party in our dorm.”

“Make a slide in the corridor. And a human bowling alley.”

Goody let out a high pitched, undignified giggle. “Really build some queer networks.”

When the bell rings again Billy is laughing almost too hard to hear it and he doesn’t think he makes too good an impression on anybody else, red-faced and giggling and as soon as the bell rang for the final time he looks around for Goody and Sam.

They are by a table at the back wall, Sam sitting down with a beer and Goodnight standing up and talking with a tall guy, the last person in his dating run. Billy had met him earlier in the evening, he was part of the Socialist Rambler’s club and spoke very glowingly of Horne. Coming closer something about Goodnight looked eerily familiar to Billy, something in his posture, the soft smile and the way he tilts his head just so.

He is flirting, and the reason Billy can tell it is flirting is because Goody does the same to him.

He recognises that soft curve of Goody’s body, and the way he’s looking up through his lashes, recognised it from nights and nights in their room, from how Goodnight looked at him, his hands dancing and fluttering around Billy, leaning his chin on the back of his knuckles and just looking at Billy like he is the most interesting, compelling, thing in the universe even if he’s just talking about going down to the corner store for milk. He’d held Billy’s hand the whole time at the table without even questioning it and Billy had just ignored all these things because it was much safer to believe that Goodnight was unavailable.

And Sam is sitting right next to him, just there, poking at his phone and looking content, but Sam must be able to see it too. Must have seen Goodnight and Billy and known. Billy is pretty sure nobody knew about his crush on Goody, not because he's an expert at hiding it, but because nobody would be looking, or recognise what they were seeing. But Sam would know. Sam would recognise that Goodnight was having...having an an, an… emotional affair with Billy right in front of his very eyes, and Billy suddenly feels sick to his stomach, with a spinning sense of nausea over what he's done.

Sam, who’s been nothing but kind to him, who befriended Billy with good humour and ease in spite of Billy’s initial spiky attitude. While Billy looked on Goodnight had given the tall guy a final slinky smile and sat down next to Sam, arm easily around his shoulder and their heads tight together to look at whatever Sam was doing on his phone, stealing a sip from his beer without even looking up. The swirling anxiety rose up from Billy’s gut and before he knew it he has set course for the bathroom, confused emotions thumbling round and round inside him like a spinning drum.

Grace had raised Billy to be fastidious, and under normal circumstances he would rather be dead than on the floor of a public bathroom,but since he felt like he would rather be dead than anywhere right now, germs and sticky floors seemed the least of his worries. The tiles are cool and the sound of the bar lessened, and Billy pulls his knees up to lean his forehead against them and tries to even out his breathing and not vomit. He feels terrible, like food poisoning and lying to his mom all rolled up into one clawing, cold-sweaty emotion that held his stomach in a terrible grip.

“You all right there?” Billy look up at Sam, nod,and then he has to look away again when another roiling wave of nausea hit. He isn't all right.

“Yeah sure you're all right,” Sam says and reached down to hoist Billy up. “ that's why you're sitting on the floor in the toilets, because you are so all right. C’mon up you go.”

Billy allowed Sam to hustle him to the sinks and obediently washes his face and hands,before Sam grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him to their table like a lost puppy.

“Billy, Sam, I'm just going to the bar,you want a beer?”

“I want a beer,” Sam says, “and he’ll have a ginger ale or a coke.”

“People found nearly hurling in the bathroom don't get beer,” Sam says when Billy gives him an indignant stare. “So Goody said you met some asshole?” He continues, sitting down next to Billy.

Billy tells him all about it, and Sam listened and nodded.

“Where do I even go if I'm not welcome here?” Billy finish, finally out of steam. Talking it through he’s realised how much it bothers him, yeah he was out to his parents but they had yet to see any of that in practice, and he still hasn’t said anything to the rest of his family, he hadn't told his grandma or his cousins, and he had sort of thought that was what the gay community was for, to support you if things got hairy with your own family but if he was as unwelcome there as he might be at home, then what?

“I'm going to have to be in it right?” he asks Sam. “I mean, I thought I could be gay without being gay, you know? If.. if it was just...who I liked, I could just skip the..the.. demonstrations and limp wrists and being covered in glitter and walking like a girl but that's not how it works? And if I want to change it I have to get in there and be a part of it, right?”

“It does sound like you’d have a better chance than when doing nothing?” Sam admits mildly.

“What’s going on?” Good sits down with them, carefully handing Billy a glass of ginger ale and Sam a bottle.

“Billy is solving systemic racism in queer spaces by committing to being a full time gay,” Sam says and Goody nods appreciatively.

“Mazel tov!” he says and his smile makes Billy’s ears hot and he cant help glancing self-conciously at Sam because this must look so weird and then he froze like a deer in headlights when he spots Bart on the other side of the bar.

“Sam! Goody! Asshole o’clock!” he all but squeaks in panic and Sam immediately slapped Goody's shoulder when he cranes his head to look.

“Don't fucking look Goody!” he snaps, while managing to keep his face entirely relaxed. “Is he coming over?” he asks Billy who threw a glance over at the bar

“Not yet but he looks like he might ,” Billy says miserably. It's not that he's afraid of telling the bastard to fuck off, it's just that he'd rather not. He also feels a hot surge of shame for giving out his number to the first guy who was even remotely nice to him.

“Ok” says Sam, clearly thinking very hard and gaze still glued at the table. “Billy, get in closer to Goodnight, and Goody put your arm around him.”

Both Goodnight and Billy froze and then Goody muttered something that sounded like aw what the hell, and gave Sam a dark glare and swung his arm around Billy's shoulders pulling him in close. It wasn't too weird, to be honest they were closer than this on most days, however on most days they were not in front of Goody’s fucking boyfriend. Being this close actually made Billy relax, made him braver than he usually would be, he was always so busy with holding himself back whenever Goody touched him, but this time actually dare to snuggle closer, and leans his forehead against Goody’s temple with something of a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he mutters against Goody's throat and can feel Goody’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Any...anytime,” Goody replies somewhat unsteadily and shuffles closer and Billy makes himself small, molding himself against Goody’s side. It is heavenly. Goody smells good, and familiar and it feels like Billy's skin is buzzing with pleasure. For once he doesn’t give a crap about what sort of weird thing Sam and Goody have going on, maybe it’s an open relationship? In any case Goody's own damn boyfriend is right there so he can show some shame for once if he's worried about it. Billy is taking a break from worrying right now.

“Is he still looking?” he asks Sam who very unobtrusively glance towards the bar.

“Guy with the forehead, right?”

Billy nods.

“Yeah he’s still looking,” Sam says, frowning, “You could be stuck like this for the rest of the evening,” the last he said with a slightly pointed emphasis to Goodnight and Billy could feel him shrug minutely.

“I’ve definitely been stuck in worse places,” he says warmly and Billy does his best not to blush and settles in more comfortably..

“For sure you have, Goodnight.”Sam says and grins like a shark. “Has ever he told you the time he got stuck for three hours in his hookups basement without pants? Goody makes an indignant noise next to him, sounding like a wet cat.

“Sam! For the last time, we were not hooking up! I was tutoring him. In French.The lack of pants was…. incidental.Circumstantial evidence at best.”

“The lack of pants might be circumstantial evidence but as such its highly incriminating,” Sam says winking at Billy while Goody continues to sputter.

“So Goodnight had the worst crush on this complete boneheaded football guy-”

“He was not boneheaded Sam, he was dyslexic-”

“And they were in the basement fooling around and Goody here lost his pants because at heart he’s a slut-”

“A faint heart never fucked a bobcat Sam, not that we were. We were conjugating french verbs and I spilled soda! Billy, don’t listen to him, I’m a paragon of virtue, anyway, spilled soda on my trousers and Stephen had gone upstairs to get me a pair to borrow when a friend of his came around -”

“His girlfriend Goodnight! So of course he had to pretend there was absolutely nobody in his basement and he thought that the best way to get you out safely was to distract her upstairs and you then you could sneak out, except for the fact that Goody here had no pants on and were stuck down there.”

“He was looking out for me, thats all. Preserving my dignity, however his family came home just after that and he had to go to dinner because they were very strict about that sort of thing, Billy and it wasn’t like I could go through his house pantsless so…”

The story is long and meandering but culminated in Sam idling his car like a getaway driver for Goody as he wriggled out of the tiny basement window like a skinny red-faced eel in only his underwear, having to make an undignified scramble across the backyard before he could dive headfirst into Sam’s car.

Billy decides that he likes Sam’s laugh, which makes his front teeth stick out just enough to make his handsome face just the slightest bit dorky.Billy can imagine him twenty years from now happily making dad jokes and singing along to oldies on the radio. Next to Billy Goodnight rolls his eyes excessively and sucks his teeth in an effort to hide his smile.

A while later Goodnight is more or less propped up against Billy, warm and boneless and slightly hicchoughy, jumping thoughtlessly between Louisiana French and English, his hand tangled in Billy’s hair, pulling slightly every now and it felt good in a way Billy had to try really hard not to think about in public. Bouge has dripped off pretty early on, after Goodnight had made a show of nosing affectionately along Billy's hairline and over his ear, but Billy feel pretty unrepentant about not telling Goodnight or Sam about it.

“Maybe we should get going?” Sam says with a meaningful look at Goody who is rosy and droopy and thoroughly charming and Billy nod. He's been on ginger ale rations the whole evening apart from a few sips from Goodnight's bottle and is pretty much sober.

In the cold night air Goody sobers up a little and he and Sam talk about who they had met and if anything interesting had come up.

“I love a good old GSA meeting,” Goody says happily. “Makes me feel nostalgic for high school. The only thing that could make it perfect was it the abstinence society had the room opposite, do you remember that Sam? Our best recruitment pool.”

“Were you involved in your GSA in high school?” Billy asks, a little wistfully (he can vividly remember walking miles in roundabout ways to avoid the corridor where the information leaflet sat, just in case anybody could see him next the rainbow flag and make the obvious connection. Being subconsciously closeted had sucked balls).

“Involved?” Goody scoff, “we started the GSA in our school.” He gazed out in front of him as if looking out over conquered realms, his face fond and nostalgic. “I was gay. Sam was straight. It was a fated alliance!” Goody says, expansively and throws an arm around Sam’s shoulder and trying to pull him down to kiss his cheek. They weren't much for PDAs and Billy can tell it is more for the sake of being obnoxious than anything else.

It makes Billy laugh. “So you got together after high school then?”

“What?” Goody says so abruptly that it makes Billy falter a little, unsure where he had lost the thread.

“Um,you said Sam was the straight part, so obviously he’d, uh, let go of that when you started dating?”

Both Goody and Sam freeze up, staring at him. It ought to look funny, the two of them standing stock still in the freezing night and staring, Goody halfway trying to climb up on Sam, one leg thrown over his waist and arms locked around his shoulder in an attempt to reach his face.

“We what?” Sam says, sounding stunned.

Goody is hastily scrabbling to let go of Sam, who is just as quick in letting go of his coat and scarf and they stumble apart, still staring at Billy.

“You thought we were together?” Goody ask, waving his hand between Sam and himself.

“Yeah?” It seems still to Billy like no big deal, he can’t understand why they are acting so weird.

“Oh my god,” Goody says and Sam turns away with a hand over his face, making an odd high pitched noise.

“We’re not together. Really really not!”

“You're not? I thought you were dating?”

“No we’re just best friends!” Goody says frantically.” I mean, of course there is nothing just about being friends, and not to demean the sacred bond of friendship, and Sam is the other half of my soul (“I’m really not,” Sam cut in) but I, we, we’re not dating. At all.”

“Ok, so, uh you just have sex?” Billy asks, bewildered.

Goody’s mouth drop open in a scandalised “O” in horror and Sam is still turned away, shoulders heaving with laughter.

“No! Of course not, I could never with Sam! That would be…” he makes an aborted gesture indicating the complete impossibility of him and Sam which Billy thinks was pretty damn insulting given that he’d seen it with his own two eyes.

“But you go on cute dates! You know each other’s coffee orders. You have a picture in an Our First Date Frame!”

This is true, it sat on Goodnights cork board, and Billy hadn't noticed it until Goody had moved it to pin the secret Valentines card. It’s a fucking adorable photo from the top of the Empire State Building with a windswept baby Goody in a striped t-shirt holding hands with, and beaming at, an equally baby faced Sam in truly regrettable glasses.

Goody opened his mouth but Billy is on a roll, and also quite indignant that they would try to keep this from him.

“You sleep in the same bed! You make out! I don’t know why you’d think I wouldn't be cool with it.”

Both Sam and Goody look somewhat sheepish, and Goodnight keeps shaking his head.

“We have been best friends since high school but we’re really not together. I, I might give Sam ….a...a….a” Goody fumbled for words, “a chaste peck every now and then, but I’d hardly go so far as making out more...ah..uh…”

“More like you have a chronic allergy to personal space?” Sam supplies smoothly and Goody nod eagerly and as realised what Sam had said he glares at him

“Sam!” he spits indignantly.

“No really?”Sam asks Billy affably,, “how long had you known each other before he was basically picking wax out of your ears?”

And well, put it like that. Billy could remember their first introduction lecture where Goody had casually put a hand on the back of Billy’s chair and lent into his personal space like it was nothing, while Billy sat there stiff as a rod and tried to not act like a spooked cat. And then finally, finally Billy felt like a lightbulb went off, throwing everything in blinding, illuminating light.

“So, you, you are not together?” he asks and Goody stares back at him, seemingly struck by the same thing, mouth half open and his eyes enormous in the dark, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “I mean no, no we’re not together.”

“And, uh, and you’re not seeing anyone?” Billy stutters, his heart beating like a steam engine and Goody looks at him, almost dazed.

“No, no I’m not, I’m not seeing anyone,” he says, eyes glued to Billy’s.

“Oh,okay,” Billy says stupidly, his face feels weird and it takes a moment before he realised he was smiling, widely and helplessly, that bright smile that only came out rarely and Goodnight is smiling back equally dopiley. Sam standing in between them and looking from one to the other, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher with each turn.

“Ok, I have no idea what the fuck is going on here but its subzero out here and I hear one half of Goody’s paltry doormroom bed calling my name so lets move it people.”

“Sure Sam,” Goody says unusually docile, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist. “Onward!” Billy wraps his arm around Sam’s waist from the other side so his hand can rest on Goody’s elbow.

“Onward!” he agrees cheerily. Sam looks unimpressed from one head to the other.

“Don’t know what the fucks wrong with either of you but let's go home anyway,” he says and Billy can feel Goodnight move his hand so it's loosely wrapped around Billy’s wrist, catching the thin skin between his glove and sleeves. Goody’s fingers feel cold and bony and absolutely, absolutely amazing.

#idiots in love #Billy x goodnight college AU #second chapter #tw casual racism #writing #the magnificent seven #this is not the final part #one more bit coming #tw no fats no femmes no asians #this chapter is heavily inspired by Alison Bechdel

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moveslikebuckywrites · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Sergeant Shadwell (Good Omens), Newton Pulsifer Additional Tags: Established Relationship, witchfinder army, still not finding any witches Summary:

“So, the situation is, the angel, my angel, has somehow misplaced his halo,” the demon takes in the confused looks on the faces of present company, “He’s quite clever but he can be a bit of a ditz at times. He’s asked me to find it for him, somewhere we’ve been in the last week. We’re going to split up and canvas the neighborhood and find his halo. Simple enough, yeah?”

Crowley stops pacing and stares straight at them as Newt raises a very shaky hand. Crowley ignores it.

“I said,” he glares, “Simple. Enough. Yeah?”

---

It’s another prompt fill for the Ineffable Outliers discord channel! This one was a real treat to write! Click through to AO3 or read the whole thing under the cut!

Edit: Helps if I remember to put the cut in the post; this is why you don’t post fic when you’re at work kids!

---

The year after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t had been very good to Crowley.

Hell was no longer breathing down his neck, he was free to do as he pleased. So was his angel.

Yes, his angel. It had taken all of five minutes after leaving the Ritz the day after the world almost ended for things to start rolling, and once they started, they just didn’t stop.

Walking to the bookshop that day, Aziraphale had reached for his hand. That alone had been near enough to discorporate him on the spot. Aziraphale had lingered with him outside the bookshop, rocking back and forth on his heels while Crowley tried to get his face to stop being such a bright shade of tomato-red. Aziraphale had finally huffed and said I think, dear boy, this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.

Crowley had finally found his footing and lurched forward to kiss him and they stumbled backwards into the bookshop together.

They didn’t come back out for a week. (A lot to catch up on, one might say).

Things might have been too fast back in the sixties, but now they were going at a breakneck pace. Crowley was almost afraid it was too fast for him.

Once Aziraphale was free to love as much and in every way that he wanted to, it was almost overwhelming. Every day a new pet name, every night the softest kisses to the demon’s temple or wrist or palm or lips (most of the time, all of these). There were long walks in St. James Park, holding hands like it was something they'd done forever. Lingering kisses whenever they could get away with it. Long evenings in the bookshop led to long nights sleeping in the flat upstairs, and after six months Crowley had realized he only visited his flat once a week at most to water scream at the plants. The whole flat seemed a bit superfluous after that.

Within a few days of that realization, the plants had all been relocated to the bookshop. Some were in the shop itself; most were in the upstairs flat (unused for the better part of two centuries, but now in use almost all of the time) collecting sunlight from the skylights in the bedroom or the bay windows in the kitchen.

The Mona Lisa sketch was in the living room, as was the lectern from the church. The wrestling statue was nowhere to be found, but Crowley knew exactly where it was. He’d sneak it into the décor at some point.

He had tangible mornings now. Mornings waking up next to Aziraphale, or mornings where he’d wander blearily into the kitchen only to be handed a cup of coffee made exactly the way he loved it. There were dinners and dates and oh so much life to live. One would think, having been around for 6000 years, that one would’ve seen it all.

It turns out there’s much more to see when you get to see it with someone you love.

Paris was different. Venice was different. Hell, the entirety of London was different. Crowley no longer had to hide the affection he had for his angel, and all of that time spent pining when they’d visited places before could now be spent holding his angel’s hand and stealing kisses at opportune moments.

Go- Sat- Somebody, Crowley was happy. He couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be better than what he had right here with his angel.

He’d do anything for Aziraphale (which, in itself, wasn’t a change at all), so when his angel came to him with a problem, all he could do was try to solve it.

---

“Alright, you lot,” Crowley addressed the group assembled in the main area of the bookshop in much the same way he would address an unruly rhododendron, “We have a very important job to do, and as I want it done quickly, I decided to call you in. You are still on my payroll after all.”

The assembled group consisted of the entirety of the Witchfinder Army.

One Sergeant Shadwell, who was not currently voicing his disgust in working with a demon, but it was painted clearly on his face, nonetheless.

And one Newton Pulsifer, currently promoted to the rank of Lance Corporal. This was almost fully against his will and had only happened because he and Anathema had run into Shadwell and Madame Tracy in Tesco’s a few months previous. The conversation meandered to the promotion when Newt tried to distract Shadwell from asking about Anathema’s nipples.

Neither of them particularly wanted to be there, but neither of them particularly had anything better to do.

Plus, the demon was right, they were on the payroll.

Crowley paced back and forth in front of them, not unlike a general getting ready to deploy his troops and no less intimidating.

Crowley stops pacing and stares straight at them as Newt raises a very shaky hand. Crowley ignores it.

“I said ,” he glares, “Simple. Enough. Yeah?”

“Well, um,” Newt manages to stammer, hand still shakily raised in the air in much the same way the shy third grader from the back of the class might, “It’s just, Mr. Crowley, sir, um. Wouldn’t someone have noticed a glowing disk? Or maybe not, maybe that’s silly, but um, the better question is, um, what exactly are we looking for?”

“Nae, laddie,” Shadwell said with a huff, “The question is why we’re doin’ this in the first place. We’re the Witchfinder Army, not some kinda detectives.” He looked to Newt, still with his hand in the air, and yanked his arm back down by his sleeve.

“Can’t really call yourself an army though, can you?” Crowley asked, lifting an eyebrow higher than should be humanly possible, taking on an air of condescension, “I mean, Major Milkbottle? Really? ”

“Cannae say too much about it, laddie,” he said with a smug grin, “The southern pansy thought the Major was a fine fellow.”

“Unlike Aziraphale, Sergeant ,” Crowley pulled his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose, showing off his snake pupils, “I’m not so easily fooled.” He stared Shadwell down for a few seconds for good measure. He didn’t like that there were humans that knew the truth, he liked it even less when those humans had been playing their own game for quite some time.

“Anyway, Lance Corporal Pulsifer,” Crowley continued, “to answer your question, it’s a signet ring. Gold, looks like angel wings. Dunno where the featherbrain might’ve taken it off at, but he definitely lost it and that makes him worry. When he’s worried, he gets tetchy, and when he gets tetchy, I don’t get sleep.”

The demon paused to stare down his army, if one could even call it that. But surely even these two could handle something simple.

“So I suggest you each take one of these lists, and start looking and asking questionssss,” he handed them each a sheet of paper, “Like the good little detectivessss you are.”

Newt and Shadwell crowded out of the door, each heading a separate way to start on their lists. Crowley had a list of his own, and he was determined that the halo would be found by this evening.

He had a date with his angel, after all, and he wouldn’t be late.

---

“Angel, why are you so fidgety?”

Crowley had watched Aziraphale flutter and pace around his bookshop for the better part of the day, and now that they were in bed, supposedly relaxing the angel couldn’t seem to sit still.

“It’s nothing, dear,” he had that look on his face. The one that said he popped over the channel for crepes. The one where he was hiding something.

“Well, probably nothing. More than likely nothing. Of course it’s nothing.” The angel was now wringing his hands together.

“Aziraphale, I haven’t seen you this wound up in months, it’s obviously not nothing,” Crowley had taken the angels hands in his, “What’s bothering you, Angel?”

Aziraphale sighed, “It’s just, I seem to have lost my ring.”

“Don’t see why you’d get so worked up about a ring, but we can find you another one, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh no, Crowley,” Aziraphale stuttered, “You don’t understand! It’s not just a ring, it’s the manifestation of my halo!”

Crowley stared at him, stunned. “So you’re telling me, somewhere along in the last day or so, you lost your entire bloody halo?”

Aziraphale looked at him sheepishly, “Yes, it would seem so. Oh, I do worry about it. I know I’m not on Heaven’s side anymore, but an angel without a halo that’s just silly, and I did rather like it.”

There it is, the puppy dog eyes. The most powerful weapon in Aziraphale’s considerable arsenal of weapons he could deploy to get Crowley to do absolutely anything he wanted. Oh sure, the angel had a lot of new weapons for that. Sweet fond smiles and softly spoken pet names had been quickly becoming a favorite, as had kisses of all kinds. But it was always that sad yet hopeful pout that the demon was powerless to resist any time it was aimed in his direction.

Just enough of a bastard, indeed.

“Angel, would you like me to look for it tomorrow?”

Aziraphale brightened instantly, eyes sparkling, “Oh, would you, dearest? I have to meet with that rare book dealer about an original copy of William Blake and I’d hate to miss it.”

“Of course, Angel, I’ll find your halo.”

“Oh, thank you, darling,” Aziraphale said and kissed Crowley so quickly that the demon didn’t even have time to be annoyed at the task in front of him.

---

There were two mugs on the little coffee table, one of cocoa and one of a nice earl grey tea.

“Does he suspect anything yet?” asked the first voice, dark and feminine with more than a little mischief of its own. One might even say witchy.

“Oh, you know how he is,” this voice was posh and southern, “Once he gets started on something, he’ll be at it until the end. He doesn’t suspect anything.” Both the tea and cocoa had been, miraculously, the perfect temperature for going on an hour now.

A cup of something warm and friendly company were always a good thing, after all. Especially when you were plotting.

“Yes, well, from what I’ve heard the search has been entertaining so far.”

“Ah, yes,” said the posh accent, “Your man on the inside, as it were. I do hope mine isn’t being too cruel to them.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” said the witchy voice, “Now, you mentioned wanting my help picking out your outfit?”

“Ah, yes of course my dear, I don’t want to be late after all.”

---

This was an impossible task.

Crowley was starting to lose the faith he’d always had in humanity. Who didn’t turn things into lost and founds anymore? He was sure whoever had found the ring had taken it to a pawnbroker by now.

Though it would be kind of funny to know how much a place like that would think a ring made of pure holy matter was worth. Could be quite a laugh.

Newt had checked Kew Gardens and St. James Park, among other places, with no luck whatsoever.

Shadwell had, likewise, been to the British Museum and the opera house and anywhere else Crowley had been able to think of. Likewise, he’d come up with nothing.

Crowley had been left with the extensive list of restaurants he and the angel had visited in the past week. (“Seriously, Angel, it’s been missing a week?” “Well I didn’t want to worry you, dear.”)

This list included, but was not limited to, three different Italian bistros, the little sushi place down the street from the bookshop, two tapas bars, a hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant, and the Ritz. Always the Ritz.

That had been his best bet, and he’d come up short. Now he had less than thirty minutes until his date with Aziraphale and nothing to show for it.

He’d been so distracted about it he hadn’t even been able to properly yell at Newt and Shadwell, he’d just sent them on their way. Shadwell had still been grumbling, Newt was just happy to leave.

Now Crowley was back in the bookshop, in the backroom draped across his favorite chair with his head in his hands. Headaches were so terribly human, yet he was pretty sure that’s what was happening now.

Nothing for it, he’d turned up empty handed. They could check the pawnbrokers tomorrow and go from there.

Even though Aziraphale had wholeheartedly detached from his former employer, he was still an angel at the end of the day. His halo would be the last thing he had of Heaven, and, even if Heaven wasn’t as good a place as it had ever been1, Crowley was sure the angel would be very sad without this one little reminder.

“Might as well face the music, then,” the demon said to no one in particular, because no one was in the bookshop with him.

Aziraphale had told him to meet at St. James at six o’clock on the dot. No time to sit and brood.

---

He found Aziraphale with a full picnic spread out under one of the apple trees.

“Crowley, my dear! There you are,” Aziraphale’s entire face lit up as soon as he saw the demon, Crowley didn’t think he’d ever get tired of that. Something was different though.

Aziraphale was actually wearing modern clothes.

Not super modern, nor even vaguely modern by most standards. He was wearing sensible khakis and a tartan sweater vest over a light blue button-up. He’d forgone the bow tie, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

If it had been a year ago, Crowley might have thought it obscene .

“Y’look nice, Angel,” Crowley said as he caught up, giving the angel a quick kiss, “Finally decided to catch up with the times?”

“Oh, oh thank you,” Aziraphale said with a bit of a wiggle, “Just for today, thought I’d give it a go. It’s a special occasion after all.” Crowley noticed the angel’s ears turning a very lovely shade of pink.

If he weren’t a demon, he might say it was cute.

“What’s all this then? Evening picnic in the park is a bit different for us, yea?” Not that he minded, Aziraphale was constantly surprising him.

“Well,” the angel started, the pink creeping in on his face now, “I promised you a picnic, back in 1967, I figured I should make good on it eventually.”

Crowley felt the blush rising in his own cheeks as Aziraphale smiled at him fondly. He’d never forgotten that night, his world had been reeling and it had been the first time he’d truly let himself hope that Aziraphale might truly love him back.

“After all,” the angel continued, starting to wring his hands together like he always did when he was anxious, “We’ve been to the Ritz so often, but never on a picnic, silly thing that.”

“You’re more nervous than usual,” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow, “’S just a picnic, Angel.”

“Yes, of course, just a picnic,” Aziraphale said quickly, taking a seat on the tartan blanket, “Any luck today finding my halo?”

Crowley felt a lump form in his throat as he leaned against the apple tree next to where Aziraphale was sitting, “Ah, about that, Angel. We looked everywhere and checked in at all the places we’d been.” He couldn’t even look at Azirphale, he didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face. Didn’t think he could handle it.

“Tore the bookshop apart even – don’t even start, everything is in its proper place, perfectly disorganized just the way you left it – if anyone found it, they likely took it to the pawnbroker’s so we’ll have to start there tomorrow. I’m sorry, Angel, I really tried to find it.”

It was at this point Crowley heard what sounded like snickering. He chanced a look at the angel who was very, very clearly trying to hold in a bout of laughter.

“What’s so funny, Angel?”

Aziraphale stopped his giggling almost immediately and swallowed hard, “Well, dearest, truth be told I’m more than a bit nervous.”

“Nervous? What the heaven have you got to be nervous about?”

“Well, my love, if you must know,” the angel took a deep breath, “I never actually lost my halo.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale open mouthed, his glasses sliding almost imperceptibly down the bridge of his nose.

“You what.”

“I never actually lost it. I just had to do something with it, and I didn’t want you to ask where it was and-”

“So, you sent me on a wild goose chase?! I called the Witchfinders! I had to spend an entire day with those two lunatics!” Crowley was now stalking back and forth, gesticulating wildly. So much so he didn’t notice Aziraphale moving from sitting on the blanket to being on one knee.

“Crowley-“

“And then I had to go to all of those restaurants,” he did not see the angel pull out a ring box from his pocket, as he was too busy stomping about, “Do you know how many bloody bistros there are near Soho? Don’t even know if they were the right ones!”

“Dearest-“

“Not to mention I had to go to that Greek place,” nor did Crowley notice a very peculiar witch hiding in the bushes about 10 yards away with a video camera, “You know the one! You know Yaya won’t let me leave without eating and I can’t disappoint her.2

“Crowley for Heaven’s sake will you just turn around and look at me?”

Crowley turned to the angel and his entire being stopped. He couldn’t form any more words, nor could he move at all.

Aziraphale was on one knee with a ring box in his hand; and, despite the fact that they were immortal celestial beings who definitely didn’t need to go in for that sort of thing, the very human implications were 100% clear.

“Dearest, I wanted it to be a surprise, but I worried you might suspect something was amiss if you noticed it missing, and it took a lot to disintegrate and reintegrate it in such a way. So, I sent you on a bit of a red herring to buy time to get everything absolutely perfect.”

“Ngk,” was all Crowley could manage to say. A bush about 10 yards away laughed.

“Crowley, my dear, I know it took me a long time to finally catch up to you, and the fact that it took the near end of the world was absolutely preposterous of me. This past year has been, without a doubt, the happiest of my entire existence. If I had ever gotten my wits about me, I’d have known that on our own side, together, was right where we were supposed to be the entire time.”

Aziraphale opened the box, and inside were two gold rings. One of them was a golden Ouroboros with a tiny red stone for the eye. The other looked very similar to Aziraphale’s signet ring, two angel wings, but much thinner and more modern. Crowley was still working on getting his brain moving again. Aziraphale was here, for all intents and purposes proposing to him. With his bloody halo.

Just enough of a bastard, indeed.

If he’d been in disbelief at the state of his life for the past year, that was nothing compared to the state of disbelief he was in now.

“This is the last piece of me that was still a part of Heaven. I’m not on their side anymore, I’m on yours, forever if you’ll let me be.” Aziraphale paused, clearly waiting for some kind of answer, while all Crowley could do was open his mouth and then close it again.

“While I know that it’s not in any traditional sense, and as celestial beings there’s no real need for it,” Aziraphale started to stammer, which meant he was backtracking, and that just wouldn’t do, “I still wanted to have some kind of symbol of all of this. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine as well, I just-”

Having finally gotten his brain back online Crowley had answered in the only way he could think of, and had lunged full force into the angel, crashing their lips together desperately, knocking them both to the ground.

The bush 10 yards away heaved a sigh, stopped filming, and the occupant got up and walked away3

After what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours (time is relative, even more so to an immortal celestial being), they finally broke apart.

“Does that answer your question, Angel?”

“Quite,” Aziraphale said, beaming at him.

Crowley was sure that the dopey grin on his face was most unbecoming of a demon, but as they sat on the tartan blanket drinking champagne, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He glanced down at his hand, gold angel wings glinting in the fading light of the sunset, and sighed contentedly.

As he laced his fingers with Aziraphale’s and kissed the snake ring on his angel’s finger, he knew in that moment there was nowhere in any universe either one of them would rather be.

After all, they were on their own side now, and they always would be.

---

1 - As far as Crowley was concerned, Heaven had never been worth the capital letter that always got bestowed upon it. One group of pricks that you could only trade for a different, smellier group of pricks. In the end, it didn’t matter, they were all a bunch of bastards.

2 - The little hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant was owned and operated by a small Greek family, who’d been running the restaurant for generations at this point. ‘Yaya’, as Crowley (and most of the regulars) called her, was the family matriarch. She took one look at his skinny frame and immediately decided that no one had fed the poor boy a decent meal in his life, and therefore he was never allowed to leave without eating as much as she put in front of him. Aziraphale always found this hilarious.

3 - It is a known trait of witches that they always know the precise moment to arrive and the precise moment to leave. Whether or not this particular witch had any intervention on this conclusion from a different, much more particular witch from the 1600s was neither here nor there.

#good omens #fic #my fic #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #shadwell #newt pulsifer #anathema device #ineffable outliers weekly prompts

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noahfuckingdies · 5 years ago

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I beg to differ, Lady Catelyn.

A counter-claim to this pasage from Catelyn I (Game of Thrones)

Lady Catelyn claims, "Every noble house had its words. Family mottoes, touchstones, prays of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage. All but the Starks."

"All but the Starks."

For reference, the "Stark words" are "Winter is coming." The Starks do not need to boast "honor or glory" as the likes of House Lannister. They do not need to swear "faith and courage" as House Baratheon does. Why would the Starks not need to boast such things in their words, you ask? Because, to take a line from the show, (probably the books too) "The North remembers." They remember their glory, their faith, and their courage because the Starks are the North. They do not need words to remind them of their honor, the Stark are the unequivocal most honorable people in Westros. Their "words" or motto explains the Starks and the North as a whole perfectly. "Winter is coming." Why yes it is, our dear Starks, because winter always comes. The North faces brunt of winter. They do not the pansy winter that the South gets where I assume they only have to worry about not getting food; the North gets chilling winds, frostbite, and frozen deaths. They need not words of courage, they are courageous every day. They need not sprout false words of faith, the Starks know their faith, whether it be their own honor and integrity or their faith in the Old Gods.

On my other Stark-loving hand (including Catelyn mind you), the phrase "Winter is coming." seems to be more powerful than any of the other great houses words or prayers because it automatically forces Catelyn to shudder at the mere thought of it. Now lets go down the list and explain why everything Catelyn says it isn't is wrong, for the most part.

Honor

Besides the fact the Starks are honorable and they kind of live by their motto, their words a truthful and truth is a large part of being honorable, no? Mostly, though, I see that if a majority (if not all the Starks) are honorable than so are their words.

Glory

If you heard the words "Winter is coming." being screamed at you by a huge army, you'd bolt. It's a terrifying phrase on its own, seeing as the words gave Lady Catelyn "a chill". It's not a glorious phrase, it is quite somber and sullen; however, it can be glorious when spoken in a certain context. Be it on the battlefield or in response to the dead rising, "Winter is coming." evokes a feelinv, which is more than other houses can claim.

Loyalty

The reasoning for this one being incorrect is a bit fickle and hard to understand. As mention farther down, winter is harsh even for Southerners, though for different reasons for sure. The Starks could always leave Winterfell, but they won't do to their loyalty to the North. In turn, their motto reflects that loyalty. They know that the deadly winter will return every year, no matter what. Yet they still stay, mostly because of their honor and it's their home. Regardless, loyalty has a play in both of those.

Truth

The phrase, in of itself, is truthful. Winter is coming and it always will. We may see it as a subtle foreshadowing, especially since it is and the show certainly played it that way, of the Others coming beyond the wall. The Others will try to bring and eternal winter. As such, in both the foreshadowing and physical sense, winter is coming. The words speak truth.

Faith

You know what, Catelyn? You've got me on this one. I've got nothing on this one that doesn't related to the Stark family instead of just the motto.

Courage

The Starks say, "Winter is coming." Winter is undoubtablely a hard time for all, especially those closer to the Wall. Yet, the Starks words remind people of the North that winter will come. The fact that the Starks are not hiding or pretending winter does not exist is courageous. They made their words that all highborns and Northern peasants know a reminder that winter will come.

As many others have put it, thank you for joining my TED talk.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #george rr martin #house stark #house baratheon #house lannister #stark

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savinscripts · 7 years ago

Text

Walk in the Woods : GOT AU

❝ The woods is one boundless singularity. Every bend in the path presents a prospect indistinguishable from every other, every glimpse into the trees the same tangled mass. For all you know, your route could describe a very large, pointless circle. In a way, it would hardly matter. ❞

Dinner was a loud affair. The sound of laughter and jeering, arguing and fists being slammed into tables, along with cutlery and the scraping of chairs over stone made it nearly impossible to have a quiet conversation. But Gods was the food wonderful. It was simple fare, but flavorful and it filled Faye’s belly until she thought she would burst. Though she ate demurely, and with proper manners, unlike some of those present. “Gold dragon for your thoughts?” she said to Fane, who had scooped up a seat beside her at the beginning of dinner. He looked tired, though Faye expected so did she. Refilling her glass with wine - her wine that she had had Catarina bring - she topped of Fane’s glass as well.

Dinner was always a loud affair, after all who didn’t love food and alcohol? Put together it was the best combination of them all, at least that was the belief of all present. It wasn’t perhaps an affair quite as full of pomp and circumstance as anything further South (something Mace Tyrell could be heard grumbling about to the other Southern Lords where they had been seated at the King’s own table) but the food was good and filling so what else really did matter in the end? Fane as one of the more prominent though perhaps quietly spoken Lords at times but with his deeds today had also been invited by Robb to sit at the main table and hence why he was able to take up the seat next to Faye when he saw the space left empty.

After a days work between drills with his men, ensuring his own armour and weapons were kept in prime condition, discussions of where the war effort was heading and then being sent out to meet the Tyrell party there hadn’t been much time to do anything like eat or stop to even think of eating. So when the rich slab of beef and bacon pie was offered up to him he accepted it readily and tucked in, his appetite practically ravenous but his manners not slipping so much as many of the others who resorted to eating their food with their hands. He’d spoken a few words to Faye but when food had appeared taken the time to tuck in as had she both filling their empty stomachs. Though Fane did mop up the gravy and crumbs with some of the bread on offer leaving his plate entirely clear. He’d been chewing on the bread looking out wearily and rather unseeing at the assembled Lords and men looking but his thoughts somewhere else, when Faye asked her question and he finished his mouthful washing it down with the wine. Which he had to admit was delicious, before he turned to look at her.

“Just thinking about home,” he eventually admitted with a faint smile and slight shrug “as much as I like being able to travel and see other places of renown… I miss home, probably sounds silly but… aye, it’s peaceful there in a way I can’t seem to find down here in the South… There’s always so much noise and chaos I’m surprised how people manage to think straight.”

Faye wasn’t bothered to talk too much. She was hungry, and cold, and weary from the journey. And really just wanted to sleep. But her presence was required here, even if it wasn’t taken seriously. That was alright. Faye would speak her mind whether anyone wanted to listen or not.

“Home. I think about home everyday since I left. So, no. Not silly.” She gave him a small smile and sipped her own drink, looking out at the assembled group. “Noise and chaos seems the way of the world nowadays. What I’d give for a day of nothing but peace.” She set her wine down and turned to look at him once more. “What’s your home like?” Faye was genuinely curious. There was something about him that intrigued her, something that set him apart from the other Lords.

Her agreement that it wasn’t silly caused a touch of a smile to grace his features, leaning to press his spine against the tall back of the chair. He swirled his wine casually “aye, that’s true… Not so much when you go riding but… not like any of us have much chance for that these days.” Especially with the state of the roads and the amount of bandits circling like vultures to swoop in and take whatever pickings were left after battles were done and the blood yet to settle.

“My home? I suppose I’m biased but I love it there,” he admitted with a grin “words don’t really do it justice considering I think you have to see it to really appreciate the naming of it. But, anyway it’s named after the central keep which is just under a league tall, it sits on the Eastern border of the Wolfswood at the top of this craggy mountain road. Very strong defensively considering people trying to get in have to climb to get up there first off and those inside have the vantage of high ground” Fane explained thinking of his home. “It’s a rather big place by Northern standards but commerce there is pretty good considering we’re at the head of the White Knife, Blackspire overlooks Long Lake after all and every day fishermen set out to ice fish in their skiffs.” His head tilted a little back taking a sip of his wine “and my rooms overlook the lake, there are pines which run all down the slopes of the valley the lake which are green all year round save for when the snow drifts colour them white and make them shine like diamonds have been crushed and studded into them.” Fane loved snow, found it calming and peaceful-- so preferable to unbearable warm summer heats. “The forest is just… so serene and has some of the best hunting I think you’ll ever come across.”

“What about you? Tell me of your home m’lady, I’m curious considering this is the furthest South I’ve ever had to journey.”

The way he described his home made it sound like a beautiful place. The cold frightened Faye a bit. It was dangerous, so much more than the heat of the South, at least in her mind. Though hearing Fane talk about Blackspire brought a small smile to her face. “Perhaps I’ll get to see it someday.” And she meant that. “I love the forest. Though our forests are different than those here. For one no snow drifts,” she said with a smirk.

But it turned to a small blush as he asked for her to speak of Burning Rock. “Our hold is on the shores of Red Lake, at the foot of the mountains. Miles and miles of nothing but golden wheat fields edged by ancient forests. Trees so tall and large it would take twenty men linking hands to form a circle around them. Wildlife and game animals unlike any you’ve ever seen. The forests are just swarming with stag and boar, pheasant and ground birds. We even have wild horses. The sun is warm most of the year, hot for the rest, though we do get a few weeks where it gets rather cool. Snow has never touched our fields. But fire… when we set the fields aflame every spring to fertilize the soil, the flames reach so high that the light reflects of the stones of the Keep, hence the name.” She was sure Fane knew why they called it Burning Rock, but she couldn’t help telling him anyway.

“Our home is modest compared to Highgarden, but large enough that the rooms are comfortable. I’ve got a view of the fields and the lake, and I can see the sunset from my windows. I think that’s what I miss the most about coming here: the sun.” Faye took a long sip of her wine, looking back out to the crowd and their loud laughter and jeering.

“Aye, perhaps you will-- the air is fresh and peaceful with nothing disrupting it.” Fane was quite the contrast in his opinions when it came to weather, hating the warmth and sun of the south much preferring the cold winds but warm rays of sun that they did get to counteract the harsh chill that swept through the valley Long Lake was situated in. “Nothing like these Southern towns,” perhaps the lack of finery and lavish expenses is what made the North seem so repugnant to some but the simple life was all that Fane knew having been raised there. There were no jousts after all, what was the point in participating in Southern tourneys showing your skills to people that you might (as proven now) one day fight. It left you a mystery, and thus gave you a vantage.

His interest was out of genuine curiosity, and the blush certainly didn’t go amiss, after all his dark eyes were attentive to only her. “Aye? Both lake dwellers who knew we had so much in common?” he quipped with a grin. But hearing everything about what she had to say about her home caused him to listen, utterly enthralled by the notion of these golden fields. After all they only had Winter Wheat in the North and it grew nowhere near to where Fane lived. “It sounds beautiful, and burning your fields? I’ve heard you did the practise but never really understood why” but the talk of farming and food was interesting to view the differences in their methodologies based on climate. “A recent investment for my family before all this started” he waved generally in indication to the war “were some great glasshouses in which we’ve found we can grow various things we had to import before. Such things probably aren’t necessary for you though considering you get the sun and really don’t have need of them.” Glasshouses were after all a rather Northern necessity “perhaps if we go there sometime I’ll show you them? They’re quite beautiful both inside and out.”

Fane tilted his head a little “modest isn’t anything bad I’ve found, most tend to look down on our culture up North because we don’t put half so much effort into looking like fresh-faced pansies-- no offence, but the knight of flowers?” Fane pulled a slight face as he spoke of Loras Tyrell who sat down the table looking sullen. “I know the general opinion Southerners hold of us; that we’re brutish beasts with no manners, no refinement and no joy in us. Perhaps it’s so, but most Southern Lords I’ve met have eyes bigger than their bellies and have grown fat off of their wealth and privilege” his eyes drifted to Mace Tyrell then who was a prime example of what he spoke of. “They neglect those that toil to give them such privilege and don’t even known the names of the men that fight and die to protect them… In the North we follow the example set of Ned Stark that as Lords we dine not above our citizens but we dine with them. So, every night we invite one or two denizens to come and dine at our high-table and listen to their stories, their problems and needs.” Fane cast a look down the table eyeing the other Southern Lords present, “how many of them do you think know the name of every single man they’ve got in their army? How many of them know the family of these men?”

He looked back to her then, his eyes patient “I know the name of every person marching with me. I know their families and for every man that doesn’t make it out I have a duty to go home-- if I ever see it again, to tell their families such news. Perhaps that explains why we in the North seem so stoic.” He was by no means claiming she was one such person to hold the beliefs, or perhaps she did until she came here. Who knew? But she’d asked for an insight into his life and that was a rather brief summary of his life in the North. Simple that it was.

“I like peaceful. And I think I'd like to see Blackspire as well.” His home did sound beautiful, if different than her Southern hold. And if she were honest and part of her wondered at the sights he described. Sights she'd never seen before. She was so narrow minded to think that snow didn't have a beauty of its own, and that the north didn't have its upside. Fane himself was breaking the mold she'd been told of all her life, that of the savage unmannered Northmen.

“Who knew,” Faye said with a smile. “Though I doubt your lake is warm enough for swimming. Do you swim, Lord Savin?” It was another curious question on her part. If he'd never been further South than this, then he may never have been in the water on purpose. “It is beautiful. I miss it. And we burn to fertilize the soil. Renew it for the next season. The ash is mixed in with the dirt,” Faye made a turning motion with her hands, “and we rotate our crops. Wheat and then corn. Barley and then rye. Every second year we don't plant, and switch fields. Keeps the soil from tainting and going bad.”

Glass houses weren't too common down south, no, but Faye had seen them. “There are a few there and they're used to grow exotic flowers. We don't have them. I prefer wild flowers anyway. But yes, I’d like that. Some day.” And she would.

She snorted a laugh. “I could beat the Knight of Flowers on the ground with my hands tied. He's a face. Nothing more. A vanity. He wouldn't last a moment in a real battle.” She gazed at him curiously as he spoke of his men. It was true. Not many bothered with such details. “I'll admit I don't know all their names. But I know their faces. I don't stay in my house and brood over maps and books and talk of things that will never happen. I'm out there experiencing things. Talking to people. Finding out what they need. And while I might have had a uncouth opinion of the North before coming here, I can admit when I was wrong. And be glad of it.”

“Well, if we ever make it through the end of this war I’ll host you there and perhaps I’ll be able to come South and see your home. Though I can’t say this Southern weather agrees with me, and we aren’t really in the South yet… It’s far too warm I think I might just roast alive in my leathers” he joked lightheartedly feeling relaxed both from the company, conversation and also the wine loosening his tongue. There was nothing to fear from the cold in his opinion, it was by far more enjoyable than the Southern warmth especially on a true winter’s day with the sun out and snow to your knees or even deeper in some drifts.

Her question about swimming earned a laugh, not an unkind one but the thought of swimming being a genuine funny thing. “Gods no. Maybe if I want to come out looking like a six-foot cube of ice then maybe but no… Swimming isn’t advisable unless there are hotsprings, we’re lucky that we have some at our Keep-- It was built very much like Winterfell in that it channels the heat through the walls so it’s always toasty and warm inside.” Her explanation of turning the fields was fascinating, but the burning of them still lingered in his mind “I’d be curious to see the sight of that. I’m sure it’s quite spectacular.”

“Ah no, we grow our crops and things that don’t fare so well in Northern climates up there… They’re quite beautiful in fact. We need a lot of space to be able to grow enough for our people.”

But her laugh at his quip about the knight of flowers had him snickering a little, stifling the sound behind a hand that pressed to his mouth and barely succeeding in his attempts to hide it. “You know, I believe that m’lady and I would pay good money to witness that” he commented genuinely but his expression grew a touch more sombre at talk of their men and such things as the war. “Then you’re smarter than most Lords I know. It’s good to meet someone of a similar mindset,” though her mention of being wrong and being glad for it did make him grin “is that you admitting I’ve changed your thoughts on Northerners? Oh what an occasion” he lifted his glass in a slight salute before taking another sip.

The more they conversed the more he fancied escaping the loud brashness of the other Lords, and having finished his food, feeling adequately stuffed Fane glanced around. No one was paying them any particular attention and he took his wine goblet glancing back to her with a touch of a smile offering her his hand “fancy talking elsewhere? I’d like to actually be able to hear you than trying to talk over this racket.” She interested him and he wanted to learn as much as he could about her and her life from back home.

“I think I’d rather enjoy that. Just stock up on the firewood,” she teased. “We’d have to get you lighter leathers. Cotton shirts to wear beneath instead of wool. You’ll do well. I can teach you to swim. Though your hotsprings do sound like something worth traveling to experience. Other than the company and scenery of course.”

“Perhaps one day you shall. We pull firesleds behind the horses, around the edge of the fields so they burn inwards instead of out. Our horses don’t fear flames like many others do. Also gives our cavalry an advantage.”

She gave her own laugh, hiding hers behind her cup as he spoke of the Knight of Flowers. Her head tilted at his compliment. “Perhaps,” she said as he asked about her changed mindset. “I’d say the odds are good though.”

When he offered his hand, Faye was slightly shocked at first. She looked at Cat, who simply raised an eyebrow. Faye looked back, and took Fane’s hand. “Of course, m’Lord. I’d love a walk and some fresh air.”

“We’re by the wolfswood, if we need firewood we’ll just have to trek out and cut it down-- I’m sure the journey will be enough to warm us both up” he remarked with a touch of a teasing grin at the thought of her trudging through snow to get wood for their fires. Not that he’d subject her to such things… probably, but still it was amusing to contemplate regardless. “Ah, and there you go again m’lady talking about getting me out of my leathers, you know keep up talk like that and a man might get the idea you’re propositioning him” Fane’s smile was downright devious looking rather pleased but also partly hoping to earn another blush from her considering she was quite the sight when she blushed after all.

“I’ll settle for that” he allowed with a mild look of amusement that grew into a genuine smile as she agreed to his offer of walking. Draining the last dregs of his glass he set it down, glancing at Cat noting her expression, whilst Faye took his offered hand. “I promise I have absolutely no intentions of defiling your lady… Though by impression I’ve got she can handle herself a plenty as is… Still, you’re welcome to walk with us if you fancy-- I just realised I never got your name earlier?”

Faye looked horrified at the prospect of trudging through snow of any sort to cut down firewood. “If I don’t freeze to death first. Then you can use my frozen body and kindling.” True to form, she blushed as he teased her, and although she tried to blame it on the wine - they’d finished the whole thing between the two of them and Catarina -

Faye knew that wasn’t the cause. He was. Damn him.

“Catarina,” Faye’s handmaiden said. “And I’m not worried about m’Lady’s virtue m’Lord as much as I am your balls if you should try anything… unbecoming.” She smiled at him and stood, giving a small curtsy. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, if it’s all the same.” She looked to Faye, who gave her a nod that it was fine.

“Let us walk you back to our rooms at least.” She looked to Fane to see if this was acceptable, not wanting Catarina to be walking around alone in a strange place, though the woman was far from being unable to defend herself.

“Kindling? Hardly, why waste food?” figuring his humour might be turning a little to the dark side he merely flashed a small smirk dark eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m fooling” even though she was delicious in her own particular way, but such thoughts he kept to himself. There were still boundaries after all and whether she’d accept such sort of remarks was something he was uncertain about. Though, he also didn’t hear any sort of attempt to deny what he pointed out which meant his smirk only grew a little more satisfied as her features flared rose-coloured.

“A pleasure Catarina,” he greeted her kindly but what she had to say next gave him both pause and brought his grin back full force unable to help the hearty chuckle that sounded from him. “Unbecoming indeed,” his laughter settled though he still shook a little with it “in which case it sounds like we’re all safe on that account then.”

He’d been about to suggest the same thing, though it seemed Faye was of a similar thought. As much as most Northern Lords wouldn’t try anything it would take a fool to fail to recognise that both women were attractive in their own right. No doubt some person potentially in their cups would try to take advantage if they saw a chance. So as Faye looked to him he merely looked between them with a nod of agreement. “Aye, of course, Riverrun has quite a few corridors. Better not to get lost on the first night hm?” Most Southern lords would have dismissed Catarina, declaring she was more than capable of looking after herself but Fane felt inclined to seeing them both safely escorted. “I shan’t keep your lady long.”

Catarina was seen safely back to the rooms he shared with Faye, and then the Lady of Burning Rock accompanied the Lord of Blackspire through the halls of Riverrun. It was colder now that night had fallen, and Faye pulled her cloak tighter around herself, glad for the fur lining that pressed against her skin. “Where are we going, m’Lord?” she asked as they walked on, curious as to where he could be taking her.

They passed the occasional person in the halls, a servant here and there lighting torches, a personal guard following behind one of the other Lords that had slipped away from the hall, and so on. A few eyed them, but most didn’t. Faye didn’t care to be stared at, and she carried herself as if she expected people to get out of her way. Most did. She wasn’t rude, but neither was she going to march about as if she wasn’t who she was.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters, Lord Savin?” Faye asked as they walked, curious about him again.

Fane didn’t bother to pick up anything heavier than the fur cloak he’d had on over his general wear anyway, the weather here was mild in comparison to back home. Plus walking served as a nice method of staying warm anyway. So he wasn’t about to start complaining but he was sympathetic on her behalf considering she was a Southern woman suffering a foreign climate.

Every now and then they passed a Lord and Fane gave each a nod and small greeting, but for the most part at this hour everyone seemed to mind their own business. People were tired and heading to rest or some being sent out on dispatches. Almost all of them from what he could see however was that they were Nothern, the Southern lords apparently had turned in for the night. Fane himself mostly kept out of the way, walking nearer to the wall than the centre of the corridor so as to more easily move out of the way of most others coming in the opposite direction. Her question into his family earned a nod “aye, one younger brother m’lady, his name’s Erich…” Fane cast a look back at the castle when he spoke again “he’s somewhere around but probably with Lord Umber’s men considering he stewards with them… And you? Any sisters?” Considering she’d mentioned her brother's passing he figured the answer was no, but better to ask than not.

They left the walls of the Keep, but didn’t venture beyond the walls of the castle. Instead, Fane led them along a path from the courtyard that led towards a tall enclosure consisting of towering redwoods and old elms. His hands tucked away under his cloak when they crossed a small bridge over a small stream. The Godswood was bright and airy by comparison to most he’d encountered, and the atmosphere here far more peaceful than that of the hall they’d departed earlier.

Faye followed out into the night air, nodding at the information about his brother. “No sisters. Just me. My father raised me right alongside my brothers. I suppose he felt bad after my mother passed. That I didn’t have her. I look like her, so he couldn’t turn me down when I asked to come with him and the boys.” A fond smile graced Faye’s features, and she looked over the bridge curiously at the water below.

The trees towered over them, so different than the ones from her home. The woods seemed to breathe, to draw air of their own and seep life back out into the ground, the sky, even into Faye herself. “What is this place?” she asked, turning in a circle, her face turned up in awe as the snow started to fall through the branches.

“Did she pass recently?” he found himself asking curiously, not for any particular ill-intentioned reason but moreso interested in the background of her family generally. She mentioned her brothers passing too, and he wondered whether it was an illness or some other ill-favoured fate that had befallen them. Not that he intended to bring up bad or melancholy memories if she didn’t wish to speak of them.

The leaves were dark and hung heavy on their branches, swaying in the evening breeze that carried the soft drift of a few snowflakes from the cloudy skies above. There was something eery yet remarkably peaceful about the Godswood Fane found, every time he visited it felt like… he too was returning to his roots. It was a shame that most Southern Godswoods had been ripped up, but what could you do when a faith was supplanted with something foreign and new? The red sap though, looked like tears wept for the fallen brethren further south that had been ripped from their dwellings and replaced with fanciful septs and ornate ceremonies.

“This? It’s a Godswood,” Fane explained as they walked into the wide enclosure of trees which creaked a little, light from the moon filtering down as the ground crunched ever so slightly under their boots. Fane followed the trail of one of the small streams thoughtfully a few white flakes catching in his dark hair “there aren’t very many remaining in the South, most of them got cut down or burned but up in the North every castle has one… There’s always a weirwood right at the centre of it, though we call them heart trees. It’s where we go to worship our Gods.”

“No,” Faye said softly. “When I was a girl. Maybe eight years old. I’m the youngest. Fever took mother. We don’t know why. She just… got sick one day. A week later she-” The words wouldn’t come, and Faye cleared her throat, turning her face away for a moment.

She was thankful for the darkness of the woods, to hide the way her face turned down into a frown at the thought of her mother. Faye missed her. Her father missed her too. He had loved her so much. Even as a little girl Faye remembered how he’d looked at her. Like she’d hung the moon. He would have done anything for her. He treated her like a Queen. Perhaps Faye would have been more like a proper Lady had her mother lived. Would that have been such a bad thing? She would have been wed and had children by now. Had the life her mother wanted for her,the life her father wanted for her.

But not the life Faye wanted.

Her mother’s mother had come from the North. Had been raised to believe in the Old Gods. Faye’s father believed in The Seven. Her mother had believed… Faye couldn’t remember what her mother believed. There was nothing definitive there, when she thought of faith. Faye herself… she believed in what she could see and touch. Old Gods were stories, and the new Gods were man’s creation. But that didn’t mean that this wood wasn’t hauntingly beautiful.

Faye followed closely, brushing the snow from her lashes as they walked. “I’ve never seen one. I’ve heard of them, from my grandmother. She was Northern. But the South… the people there destroy as much as they create.” The specks of white on his hair drew her eye, and she found herself admiring the set of his shoulders beneath his cloak. What could be seen at least. “Who made them? Your heart trees? Are do you just see faces where there are none?” It wasn’t asked in a cruel way, merely a curious one. Her father had once told her that the mind tries to make faces out of everything it see. It was just a part of being human. Perhaps those that worshiped the Old Gods were merely seeing that. A face in a tangle and snarl of an old tree.

A sympathetic nod was given to convey he understood and that she didn’t need to explain further, “I’m sorry. I’d think that losing family is the hardest thing of all to endure” and to think she’d also lost her brothers. Fane grew quiet looking away and giving her a chance to recompose herself figuring she wasn’t the sort to enjoy looking weak or vulnerable in front of another. He merely occupied himself with the sights and sounds of the forest around them, noting the hoot of owls from somewhere in the foliage above them.

Fane really did know next to nothing of the Seven, none of his family were Southern and his contact with Southerners considering how far North he lived was next to non-existance. This, here at Riverrun was the first true piece of contact with Southern culture he’d had and for the most part it was just as gawdy and loud as he had heard. Only Faye seemed to be different to the others from their lands, and it was partly what made him curious about her. He could understand only believing in things you could see and touch but… There always had been a different sense of calmness and sense of… companionship he felt whenever he was sat in the Godswood.

“Well, now you get to see one” he remarked as he ducked under a low hanging branch a soft dusting of white coating his relatively broad and toned shoulders, his hair also speckled white. Her questions caused him to pause, at the edge of an opening “why don’t you see for yourself?” Fane gave a nod to a thickly set white tree trunk with no knots or holes in its smooth bark, barely appearing to have aged a day despite its ancient longevity, five pointed leaves as red as the lifeblood coursing through their bodies hung overhead and a sad face was carved into the bark the corners of the carvings leaking red sap that made it appear as though the tree was bleeding. The sight was… perhaps odd, and a little spooky to most Southerners but to Fane the sight was familiar. A link back to his home in the North in a way. “Nothing imaginary ‘bout that hm?” he smiled a little as she joined him “the heart trees are weirwoods with faces carved on their barks some say the Children of the Forest were the ones to carve the faces. Why… We’ll never know some say it’s to allow their Gods to see the goings on across the land.”

As Faye saw the face carved into the age old wood, she stopped. A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold, and it was a moment before she could move. When she did, it was to step forwards slowly, reverently almost, and reach out a gloved hand to touch the tree. She was slightly hesitant too, almost expecting the tree to open it’s eyes, to look at her and judge her for her blasphemies. But it didn’t. It stayed as it was, bleeding red. It was sad, in a way. The Old Gods were dying out. Or at least the people that believed in them were. And Gods only existed when there were still those that believed. Those that worshiped. Without that… they faded away, recorded in the history of their people if they were lucky. If they were unlucky, they just… ceased being.

A smile tilted one corner of Faye’s mouth as Fane spoke. “The Seven have men that speak for them. Huge septs of worship, with bells and towers and ceremony. Her hand fell away, and she looked up into the branches, closing her eyes as flakes of snow fell on her face. “Your Gods don’t need men.” She looked at him after a moment, opening her eyes and turning her head towards him. “Thank you. For showing me.”

Fane stood by, watching her curiously as she took in the tree that his people worshipped around. There was absolutely no effort made either to stop her when she finally did step closer or even when she reached out to brush the smooth bark with a gloved hand. There was nothing forbidden about this, but the custom of worshipping to plants and trees was often laughed at in the South though sometime about actually visiting one of these places… It gave a different perspective to them.

“What do men know of Gods?” Fane pointed out, not harshly or to challenge her faith “I’ve never known a God to speak to me, I find it difficult to believe that gods would speak to your priests either… It might be… odd to you,” Fane picked his words carefully not wishing to offend her but uncertain of her own views to the topic at hand. They followed separate faiths after all and it wasn’t that he discredited her own in favour of his, just made the point that men speaking for Gods seemed a slightly ridiculous notion considering who could understand the whim of a god? “But wouldn’t you say that worshipping somewhere like this? Believing our Gods are all around us… in the air we breath or things we can touch” he reached out pressing his own gloved hand beside her own on the back of the tree “I just think it’s more believable that the Gods would never speak to us in such direct methods.”

Drawing his hand back his hand vanished under his cloak her thanks being met with a small smile “you’re welcome… I thought you’d like it here, might not be your faith but it doesn’t mean you can’t come here to get away from some of the chaos… I’ve always liked coming to the Godswood when I needed to think about things… We don’t have fancy ceremonies or big festivals… We’re simple folk with simple enough beliefs but I hope it’ll serve you if you feel you ever need it.” The North was in her veins, or so she said and thus he figured that perhaps it might be somewhere for her to come should she require that potential escape.

“Nothing,” Faye said to his question about the Gods. “Just as they do about most other things.” Faye gave him a smile, dropping her own hand from the tree as he moved away. “Present company excluded, of course.” She took a few paces back, watching the old tree with something halfway between curiosity and reverence. “I like simple. The world is grand enough without our banners and our horns and our feasts. But… thank you, Fane.” Her words were quiet, muffled by the snowfall and the thick branches all around them.

“We should probably get back soon. People will start to talk.” Not that Faye especially cared, but she didn’t want anyone thinking anything uncouth about him. An unwed man and woman disappearing into the forest together, without an escort. Scandal. “Besides, I’m sure your day was much longer than mine. You could probably use the rest.”

He saw little reason in repeating his niceties when she thanked him again, instead the dip of his head served as answer to her thanks in a silent indicator of his answered ‘welcome’. Though her mention of getting back caused him to glance back at the lights of the Keep, “aye, I suppose you’re right. Probably not the best idea to cause a scandal on your first night here” he joked though he knew there was a certain amount of truth to his words considering the pettiness of Lords and their honour. “I’m alright, but you’ve travelled a long way too. I’ll walk you back to your rooms if you’d like?” Fane offered figuring she might need a little help in navigating the corridors of the keep. Plus, his own rooms were just a few corridors away so it made sense if they were heading in the same direction.

“Give me two at the very least before people start talking,” Faye smiled softly. She nodded that she’d appreciate the walk back, if more for his company than anything else. “When do you expect them to call a war council?” Faye asked as they made their way back towards the halls. While eventually they would leave for Winterfell, Faye expected there would be a good bit of strategizing done here before the full forces of any of the Houses were called upon.

It wasn’t something she was looking forward to. Her presence at any table where war and battle was being discussed was always pushed off. As if she didn’t know her lands better than anyone. And the South as well as the next man. Though something in the air didn’t sit well with Faye. An odd feeling really, the sort of unease one felt when there was a thunderstorm brewing. Or when you knew someone unpleasant was coming to visit, but didn’t know the precise time of their arrival. But she brushed it off. It was wartime, after all. Unease rested in the very bones of the earth.

They reached her rooms, and Faye entered, seeing that Catarina was already asleep. She turned to Fane in the doorway, smiling at him. “Thank you for your company, m’Lord. I enjoyed it very much.” There was a small moment where she was simply looking at him, and then she seemed to remember herself. “Goodnight.” With a small blush, she slowly closed the door, locking it behind her.

That night, her dreams were filled with weirwoods that weeped blood onto the fallen snow, ravens made of fire that carried chains in their talons, and dark hooded eyes that gazed at her from spires of a tower that spiraled up and up and up…

“Probably within a few days, the King doesn’t like to waste time sitting around” he had patience that much Fane could testify to but there were times to wait and times to move. “Plus, with your party’s arrival and likely proposition he has new aspects to take into consideration such as whether breaking faith with the Freys is worthwhile an allegiance with the Tyrells… Honestly, it’s a fucking shame you all wasted your time going to King’s landing and didn’t head North sooner.” But, even Fane understood the politics of it. Considering House Tyrell sided with the Targaryens during Robert’s Rebellion the North didn’t look too favourably upon them generally, why march towards someone you weren’t certain would accept you when you could go to the Capitol in hopes of securing a wealthy alliance.

At the end of the day, what came of the situation was dependent on who Robb decided to marry and pledge allegiance with. Fane didn’t trust the weasel of the Twins as far as he could throw him, even less so than that if he was being honest. But it was what it was.

Eventually, they reached her quarters and Fane stopped outside smiling at her thanks “as did I m’lady, sleep well, and I look forward to seeing you on the morrow.” With a kiss pressed to her hand Fane left her in peace, retreating to his own quarters for the night.

#got au #I'm slowly just going to make a list of all our aus #and keep track of them here #xD

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