Fucking finally this slow prick updates the story!
...
That's probably what you guys were thinking once you saw this update. Not that I can blame you. Imagine my shock once I checked how long ago I updated this story.
So, long story short: High School was a complete cunt and gave me a marathon of tests, leaving me with jackshit for time to write. And this marathon lasted months. I truly wish this was an excuse and not a justification, because a justification means that it truly happened and I did in fact get completely bum-raped by high school (A bunch of cruel pillocks) during the last few months. Oh, and I also was rewriting one of my other stories, and I'm still not finished. But that doesn't mean I'll neglect this story, oh no.
In fact, I hope to make this story a long adventure. (more details at the end.)
This chapter is a bit uneventful not too much happens, but I think you'll enjoy it... atleast I hope so. This is also my longest chapter by over 11 000 words excluding the author's note.
And to make it up to you guys, I'm going to write another chapter for this story right after this one instead of my usual schedule where I write one chapter for every story, only exceptions being rewrites.
Oh, and another thing. Garrett's looks and voice is based off of Gideon Emery.
Anyways, let's get to it.
If only you could drink sand.
Oh, Garrett would be in heaven if that was true. But it wasn't. And instead, Garrett was in hell. His legs could barely support the rest of his body. The rest of the small remnants of the former khalasar didn't seem much better off.
He glanced around him. Men and women looked as if they were made from sand. Their skin and lips dry as the barren desert they walked, their throats parched. An unlucky few had gotten sunburns. Garrett himself had thankfully only gotten a slight tan to his skin. His eyes wandered to the front of their little convoy. His eyes found the back of Ser Jorah Mormont.
As if the native of Bear Island could feel the glare burrowing into the back of his head, he slowly turned to face Garrett. Their gazes locked, Garrett's eyes illustrated the dislike he felt for the so-called knight. Jorah found himself in an awkward staring contest before finally looked forward again, breaking eye contact, and kept carrying on his conversation with Dany.
Looking back at the ground, Garrett cursed his luck for bringing him here. 'How did it come to this?' was the question repeating itself in his mind.
Flashback
Garrett's fury boiled as his gaze observed the scene before him. Dothraki were slaughtering lambmen as if they were animals, their women being herded for imminent rape. And worst of all, children being executed while a lucky, or unlucky depending on your view, were prepared for a life of slavery. Shrines and statues of their gods were being pulled down by dothrakis with rope. As if it wasn't bad enough that they were pillaging, they had to spit on everything the lambmen's culture stood for. Such unnecessary acts of sacrilege… they truly were savages.
The roof of huts burned, the branches charred black. Children tied to posts by their wrists glared, while most looked at him in fear. By the gods out of all the things happening. Children's eyes watching him as if he were a monster was the worst.
'He would never have allowed this to happen. Is this what I should be looking forward to when Daenerys Targaryen is at the head of a kingdom?' Garrett knew now with whom his true loyalty belonged. He knew with all certainty.
Daenerys spoke, but Garrett did not listen. His ears heard nothing but the raging sound of fire burning down homes, screams of innocent people, cries of agony, clamoring for salvation from their suffering.
They finally stopped in front of the sight of women being beaten and abused. They were being held in a cattle pen like animals! They were struggling to escape, yet were beaten by men with clubs. A dothraki pulled one of the younger and more beautiful ones by her hair and dragged her, his vile intentions obvious as his hand began to rip off her clothes.
Garrett finally heard Dany's words, "Jorah, make them stop!"
Jorah glanced at her, "Khaleesi-"
"You heard me!"
"These men shed blood for their khal, now they claim their reward."
Garrett froze in silent shock at his words. He spoke as if that fact meant this was acceptable. As if this excused the atrocities committed. His expression was one of pure hatred and disgust as he turned to look at Jorah.
'Another so called knight using excuses because he doesn't want to anger someone more powerful than him. And I thought he was different. Yet he would watch innocent people murdered and raped if that's what it took for his own safety. Fucking coward. Perhaps his secret love for Dany isn't so safe with me after all.'
He spat at Jorah's feet, shocking everyone present. Even Rakharo looked surprised. "You fucking cunt!" he said as he began walking backwards slowly. "You unbelievable craven CUNT!" he roared before turning around and charging the dothraki. The man threw the poor woman against the fence as she yelped and groaned from the impact, keeling over the fence. Preparing to take her from behind, the man grinned as he marched to her. He suddenly felt all air leave his lungs as the westerosi knight charged him, ramming his steel-plated shoulder into the savage's side. He could not even groan in pain as his back hit the ground. Garrett gave him no mercy as he immediately grabbed the man's head and pulled him up from the ground.
The dothraki was dragged over to a burning and broken wooden log from a now-destroyed hut before Garrett span him around and threw him against it. Everyone present were shocked to silence as they watched the dothraki scream out in horrific pain as his entrails decorated the now bloodied and charred log.
Garrett span around, unsheathing his sword and swinging it while crouching under an arakh from the dothraki's friend in one smooth motion. The right half of his abdomen was sliced wide-open as blood sprayed, marking Garrett's face. The pain and shock proved too much for the man to scream as he fell to the ground. Before the third one could finish his charge and bring down his arakh on Garrett's shoulder, the knight dashed forward, still crouched, and impaled his foe while holding the man's sword arm, sullying his blade with unworthy human being's blood.
He coughed up blood once, his eyes wide. His shocked gaze stared into Garrett's glaring one before they rolled to the back of his head and his body went limp. The Knight of Penrose unsheathed his sword from the horseman's body before releasing his arm and pushing the corpse to the side. He wiped the blade on his own arm, careful not to cut himself.
The woman whose fate seemed grim now seemed brighter. Yet she did not realize it as she stared at Garrett in fear, her hands holding up her ripped clothes to cover herself. Her fearful eyes regarded him. Did he kill his own kin just to take her himself? He didn't look like any of the dothraki.
As she sat with her back against the fence she had been pushed up against, Garrett could see her features clearly. Her fearful eyes were colored violet, a small nose and full lips adorned her diamond shaped visage. Her smooth black hair was now disheveled owing to the dothraki that pulled her hair. She looked no younger than Garrett himself. And he was at the age of six-and-ten, now almost seven-and-ten.
'Violet eyes… Curious. She is of valyrian descent.' She was no Targaryen, that much was obvious. She couldn't be. Perhaps she was a bastard of a Velaryon, or even Dayne. Maybe a valyrian had settled down here after The Doom of Valyria instead of wandering west along with their kin.
He almost chuckled. A humble Valyrian. If the tales of the Targaryen hubris were true, that would be about as likely as Garrett growing a second head on his shoulder.
He shook the thought out of his head. It wouldn't matter to him if she was of royal blood or not, because right now, she needed his help.
She kept her legs closed tightly against each other and pulled them up to her chest. She became much more fearful once he made his way to her. She closed her eyes in fearful dread and anticipation once he stood right in front of her and huddled herself tighter in an attempt to protect herself.
Garrett waited patiently for her to open her eyes. For when she did, her fear turned into confusion at seeing his hand held out to her. Garrett managed to look surprisingly non-threatening and kind despite the blood on his face and clothes. Her hesitant look and her reluctance to trust this stranger with her life after what's happened prompted him to nod reassuringly at her.
Even the women held in the pen had stopped trying to escape as they stared at the strange man, waiting for his next action.
Her eyes lingered on his hand with hesitance and fear, yet also a small hint of hope in them. Her hand slowly reached out towards his. Garrett stood perfectly still, not wanting to surprise and scare her with any sudden movements. Her fingers gently hovered over the palm of his hand before placing her hand on it as their skin finally touched. He gently closed his hand around her's before helping her stand.
The woman finally stood on her feet. Her knees slightly bowed as she covered herself with her arms, shivering from the breeze. Garrett turned around before making his way to one of the dead dothraki's corpse. He kicked the corpse on its stomach before pulling his leather cloth off. He walked back to the woman before draping it over her shoulders. She looked at him in surprise before muttering something in a language unknown to him. He assumed her to be thanking him as he nodded before turning his head to look at the rest of the women. Anger filled his thoughts as he saw girls barely old enough to bloom in the pen. He slowly walked over to the gate before suddenly lifting his sword and slamming its sharp edge against the gate lock. The metal severed in two.
Penrose gripped the gate before opening it and motioning for the women to follow him as he made his way to Daenerys and the rest. The young woman whom Garrett had saved walked up right next to him, causing him to look at her. She held the leather vest around herself tightly and looked at the ground. She clearly seemed shy as she refused to meet his eyes despite knowing his gaze was on her. Garrett spoke no words. If she felt safer close to him, so be it. He doubted she would understand him in any case. As his gaze landed on Daenerys, he saw that children had been cut free as a few of them ran towards the group behind Garrett, no doubt to one of their family.
Dany's eyes were filled with respect and gratitude yet also a small hint of fear at how brutal he seemed, although not even close to how brutal the dothraki were. Perhaps this is what happened in every battle-field. Jorah's eyes were filled with shame. Rakharo's eyes too showed respect, yet his was more reluctant. Daenerys' handmaidens all had a hint of fear in their expressions, yet it was overshadowed by their admiration for him. The only exception being Doreah, whose eyes reflected the burning desire she felt currently for him.
Garrett ignored the looks she sent him. Such behavior was to be expected from someone who has barely known anything more than the art of love in her life. Still, he couldn't help but be disturbed that she would have such thoughts during a time such as this. He always sensed there was something off about her. Which is why he refused her advances on him, among other reasons.
He decided to shrug it off mentally. No point in thinking on it now.
"…My gratitude, Garrett. You are a true knight."
Jorah felt a small pain in his chest at her words.
The stormlander only stared at her, his eyes betraying nothing. "Don't thank me now. Thank me if I decide not to try and murder your husband if he decides his men should keep these women as toys."
Dany was taken aback in shock by his bluntness. Garrett suddenly walked past her and made his way to the camp outside of the city where Drogo had set up to idle in while his men pillaged, the rescued women at his heel. Rakharo shook his head slowly, "Tsk tsk. Don't let the Khal hear your words."
Garrett stopped in his tracks as he stared at him. "If everyone emerges unscathed, make sure that after we have moved from this village, you tell him my exact words. Let him know if he ever, and I mean ever, intends to take any innocents, be it man, woman or child, as simple pleasure toys for his horde, I will attempt to take his life in combat. I can barely tolerate him killing them, but to keep them as toys to make them suffer... I do not care if I fail or succeed. You make sure he knows it was my words. Make sure he knows that all lambmen, women and children are now under my protection."
Rakharo's wide eyes revealed the surprise he felt. "You are a fearless man, Son of Penrose. And you have my respect."
Garrett looked forward as he said, "And you have mine, bloodrider." He finally continued walking forward, his hand lingering above the pommel of his sword. He was not fearless. In fact, he was terrified to go up against Khal Drogo. But he would not stand by and watch innocent people suffer anymore than they already have.
The young violet-eyed woman once again walked next to him. Though this time, their eyes finally met. His lips curved into a small reassuring smile. The girl blushed lightly and looked away, yet Garrett could see her own smile that she attempted to hide. His own smile fell as he remembered what he was about to do.
He glanced at the sky. And prayed to the gods he would live to see another dawn.
End of Flashback
Garrett was broken out of his thoughts by a shout from behind him. Turning around, he saw Irri pointing off in the distance. He looked to where she pointed, and squinted while shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand. He felt relief as he recognized the horse of Rakharo riding towards them. He could barely see anything, the cause being the heatwaves distorting his vision. Suddenly confusion crossed his mind as he realized he couldn't see Rakharo himself.
Dread washed over him. He warned the young warrior to be careful.
He truly hoped Rakharo listened, but it seems he didn't.
His legs slowly carried him towards the horse's direction, getting faster and faster, "No. No, no, no, no, no, NO!"
He was finally running.
Jon
Jon had always wondered who his mother was. Now that he found out, he didn't know what to do with the knowledge.
Even when he was no more than a child he would ask his father who she was. Yet he would always receive the same answer. The same refusal. He wouldn't speak a word of her. Jon's feelings were ambivalent, not knowing whether to feel angry and resentful of his father's refusal to even mention his mother, or to be understanding and even glad since it meant his father cared too much about his mother to speak of her without feeling pain.
He remembered how curious he was about her when he was younger. He wondered who his true mother was, and at first, suspected it to be Lady Catelyn. He remembered vividly how she shouted at him when he asked if she was his true mother and how she told him to never refer to her as such again.
But even now, when he knew who his mother was and that Eddard finally spoke of her, now that he finally knew her name… he didn't feel complete like he thought he would. It didn't fulfil him in anyway.
"Jon!" a robust voice almost shouted. Jon shook himself out of his musing, and turned to look at Lyonel, who sat at his table in his tent. Before he turned towards Jon, he had been writing a letter. Jon knew not to who, and didn't ask.
"Yes, my prince."
Lyonel stopped himself from correcting him. He'd forget to call him by his first name again later anyways. "I said you are dismissed. Join me once the meeting commences."
Jon, once again, found himself surprised, "You want me at the meeting?"
"By my side," Lyonel confirmed. "But now, rest. Relax."
"Forgive me, my prince, but I doubt being dismissed from my service will help me relax." Before, Jon would not even consider questioning Lyonel's orders. But now was different.
And he owed it to The Silent Storm himself.
Flashback
He rode atop his horse, alongside Lyonel in the back of the royal party at a striding pace. Jon was troubled and had an arduous time hiding it. He understood the anger at The Hound for killing Mycah. But to shove his face in hot burning coal was simply too cruel. How could he even do such a thing so spontaneously? The man didn't even look fazed by what he had done afterwards.
Jon was beginning to doubt if Lyonel was as misunderstood as he had initially concluded.
As Jon glanced at Lyonel's face, he saw that Lyonel rolled his eyes in annoyance before tugging at his horse's reins and steering it into Jon's, forcing him to ride to the edge of the road, before halting his horse completely. Jon did the same, confusion on his face, "Is there a problem, my prince?"
The prince frowned, "There is. And you need to express it."
His confusion only increased, "I-I don't… What?"
Lyonel's frown did not disappear as he sighed silently in frustration as he looked to the side, staring off. Looking back at Jon, he asked, "Do you know why I chose you?"
"Because... I'm good with a blade?" Jon asked, not aware himself.
"I chose you because you are the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. You have a moral code to rival his. He taught you the difference between right and wrong. I chose you because you have something others lack. Integrity. Growing up a bastard of Eddard Stark did not only mean you matured faster than others, it meant you were taught honour. You are not some obedient animal to be ordered around to kill someone because I wished it. You can think for yourself. You can see me do something and say, 'I frown upon such a thing' or 'I oppose and disagree with it'. That's why I chose you."
Jon felt pride at the compliment from the prince, yet felt he had more to say.
"Do you agree with what I did to the hound?"
"W-what?"
"Do you think I did the right thing when I burned him and left him in the mud to put out his own melting face?"
Jon was at a loss for words. Could he speak up against the prince, the one who presented him with such a great opportunity?
"See, that is your flaw, bastard of Winterfell. You fear I would have you dishonourably dismissed from your position as my sworn shield. You have integrity yet you would abandon it in fear of disappointing your father and staining your family's honour. Then allow me ease your mind, bastard. If I do something you despise, don't hesitate to tell me. Tell me you disagree, speak your mind, tell me you will not stand for the horrid things I do. Never abandon your ideals for what is right or wrong in this world for anyone. Not even if the gods themselves demanded it. Understood?"
Jon was nearly wide eyed at the end of his little speech. He didn't know what to say. 'Perhaps I must do as he said. Speak my mind.'
"…I was right to accept the position as your sworn shield, my prince. Yes, I understand."
Lyonel was surprised by his words, yet hid it and nodded, "Good. And if I ever order you to do something you strongly disapprove of, let's say I order you to kill an innocent. You do what you think is right, you take up that blade of yours and you run it through my belly if that is what it takes to stop me." Jon's eyes widened completely now. The prince was asking Jon to… kill him? Was integrity truly so important to him? Or did the prince fear he would turn evil in some way? He dismissed the latter as it would be rather random and unlikely.
"And do not do so because I said so. Do so because it is what you think is right."
"…I understand."
Lyonel nodded, his frown gone alongside his annoyance.
"Come." Lyonel commanded as he turned his horse from the roadside and joined the royal party once more. Jon followed suit. He realized his respect for the prince had grown immensely. For someone as violent as Lyonel was, he truly had honour within him. As unconventional as it was.
Flashback End
Lyonel sighed quietly to himself as he turned back to his letter and kept writing with a swift yet meticulous handwriting as he spoke, "Go see my sister."
Slightly taken aback, Jon's eyes looked that of a goldfish as surprise overcame him. Lyonel made it apparent he had no problem with Myrcella and Jon's infatuation with each other, yet never would Jon have thought he encouraged it. "W-why?"
Lyonel kept writing, his eyes never leaving the letter, "Reassurance."
His brows furrowed, "About what, my prince?"
"That you won't think differently about her."
"Why would-" Jon stopped himself as he realized what Lyonel was telling him. Myrcella dreaded he would think less of her now that everyone knew she was a spawn of incest. 'What an idiot I am! I hadn't spoken a single bloody word to her on the journey here, of course she'd think that! Fucking idiot, Jon!'
Never had Jon been so frustrated with himself. It was so obvious in hindsight. But he wasn't going to leave it at just cursing at himself. He had to mend his problem. He turned to face his entire body to Lyonel as he bowed his head respectfully, "My prince," before taking his leave.
Hastily, Jon tried to find his way to Myrcella's tent. Asking several soldiers, even ending up asking one of Lyonel's men, he finally found it. Staring at the tent flaps, he contemplated going in, hesitant. What should he say? Should he apologize for ignoring her? He had no experience in this. 'Oh, what am I even waiting for?' Determined to enter, Jon moved to open the flaps. Before he could do so, they opened to reveal Myrcella. She gasped in surprise, stopping herself from almost walking into him. She suddenly grew nervous and shy, realizing who stood in front of her, "O-oh, Jon? I-I didn't see you there, I-"
"I'm sorry," Jon stated suddenly.
Befuddled, Myrcella found herself unable to utter any words. Not needing to know what she wanted to ask, Jon continued, "I'm sorry I made you think I felt differently about you." Myrcella was truly wide-eyed, and yet felt some form of relief. "I was a selfish fool. I grieved for my father and did not even think of how you might have felt at the time. I… I should have been there for you."
Myrcella scoffed in disbelief, "Jon… Are you truly blaming yourself for such a thing?"
Jon found himself confused as he stopped to regain his breath before speaking, "What do you mean?"
Myrcella gripped him gently by his hand before leading him into her small tent. She dismissed the two guards to stand outside as she led him to her bed before sitting next to him. Myrcella sighed, "Jon… I don't even know what to say. Why would you even think that way? Your father died holding your hand while in his deathbed and yet you apologize for not thinking of me?" Jon understood now how irrational his apology was, but realized he still felt guilty. Her hand touched his cheek, causing him to recoil gently and blush before her hand reached towards it again, "You are too selfless, Jon. You think of others too much."
Despite how embarrassed he felt and how much he was blushing, his voice was surprisingly calm and steady, "No… only when it comes to you." Myrcella felt her heart race at his words. She smiled brightly and joyously. Jon continued, slightly distracted by her beautiful grin, "Otherwise I dig myself into my self-pity at being a bastard and I don't even realize how selfish I'm being. Even now that I know, I still do it."
She lowered her hand to place it on his, "But why are you ashamed? I thought Lyonel had beaten it into your head enough that you'd understand that you never should be ashamed."
Jon fell silent as he looked forward before placing his forearms on his legs, "It's not because of that anymore…" he sighed looking at the ground in front of him. "Before my father… died… he told me something I've always wanted to know my entire life. He finally told me who my mother was."
Her expression portrayed surprise clearly, "Truly? Who?"
"…Her name was Ashara Dayne. She… she committed suicide after she found out her brother had died at the hands of her lover… after her lover had come to take her only child with him back to his home."
Myrcella covered her mouth with her hand, "By the gods, Jon…"
"I always suspected she was dead. Father was always too pained to speak of her, so it truly didn't surprise me."
"Then what is it that's vexing you?"
"You mean other than that all I know of my mother is her name and that she committed suicide because I was taken from her?" He sighed, shoulder's slouched and expression brooding. "I thought I'd be… happy or that I'd find peace. But honestly... I feel worse. I feel lonelier than ever before."
Myrcella cupped his cheeks, turning his head towards her, "You are never alone. You have Robb, Arya, your younger brothers, Tommen once you get to know him and even Lyonel… You have me."
Before Jon could react to her words, she quickly leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead.
Staggered, Jon almost jumped back, his face red like a tomato and his shoulders tensed. He stuttered and stammered like a half-wit, unable to pronounce anything that could be comprehended by a human, before she placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. His eyes were less wide and his shoulders relaxed.
Barely holding in her laughter at his reaction, Myrcella spoke with an entertained voice, "Don't say anything." Her smile fell, and her voice turned low and trembling, "I only hope you feel the same for me."
Jon locked gazes with her, staring, "…I do."
Her eyes widened, "Truly?"
His head gently nodded up and down, "I feel something for you that I have never felt for any other girl. You treated me with kindness, worried half to death after I was attacked, gifted me something to cherish." She knew he spoke of the handkerchief with an embroidery of Ghost on it that she had made for him. "No one has ever done something like that for me. My brothers and sisters may have gifted me a sword before, and I truly appreciated it… But never has anyone truly made a symbolic gift for me. A gift meant to remind me that someone went out of their way to make my day happier by giving it to me."
Myrcella stared at him before almost jumping him and embracing him tightly. Not only had he returned her feelings for him, he also treasured a small gift from her and truly appreciated it, no matter how mundane of a gift it was.
As they pulled back, Jon had an unreadable expression. "What's wrong, Jon?"
"Nothing… just something you said."
"What?"
He was clearly hesitant to say it. "Jon, be honest with me. If I said anything wrong-"
"No, not at all. I simply have a hard time believing Lyonel would always be there for me."
"Why wouldn't he?"
Once again, he was hesitant to say it. "He wasn't there for me when…" He stopped himself, not wanting to risk revealing what Myrcella doesn't know.
She realized what he spoke of, "You mean when you were attacked?"
Jon nodded, not surprised in the least at how quickly she came to the conclusion. If his time with her taught him anything, it was that her heart was golden and her mind as sharp as a straight razor's edge. Myrcella smiled knowingly, "If only you knew."
He stared at her, surprised as his eyes tried to read her, "I'm not sure I follow."
She glanced at him. 'I'm sure he won't mind if I tell Jon.'
She opened her mouth to speak.
Garrett
'This can't be happening!' is what was running through his head as he sprinted towards Rakharo's horse. Why could he not see him? What happened to Rakharo?
As he got closer, he began seeing two protruding… things. He couldn't tell what it was until the horse started making its way to him as well. They looked like sticks with feathers on the tip.
'Arrows!' his mind shouted at him. He noticed the arrows were not embedded into the horse, but something else… No, someone else. Garrett realized Rakharo was still on the horse, probably near unconsciousness, barely keeping himself on the horse's back. The arrows were embedded into his back! Garrett ran as fast as his legs could take him without faltering from the burning in his muscles alone.
His hand quickly gripped the reins of the horse when he arrived, and stopped the horse.
He stared at Rakharo as he tried to lift himself up. His strength failed and he fell. Luckily, Garrett caught him, almost falling from Rakharo's weight himself. He slowly lowered him, still in his arms, "Rakharo!"
The dothraki mumbled something quietly. Unable to hear, Garrett questioned him, his voice worried, "I cannot hear you, brother."
He lifted his arm slowly before motioning with his hand for the knight to lean in. Once he did, Rakharo spoke again, this time more clearly, "I would not have lived had it not been for your warning. I owe you my life, and my braid, warrior of Penrose."
He heard a few men and women shouting behind him, their voices getting louder the closer they got as they ran. His concern only grew, "Do not speak, friend. Save your strength."
Rakharo lifted his head slightly and locked eyes with Garrett, a small smile gracing his now weathered face, "Their pathetic bowmen cannot aim for shit." Garrett gave a short, nervous laugh to try and lighten the mood somehow, anything to stop him from thinking the worse. "Remove the worry from your eyes, Garrett. As I said, their bowmen cannot aim if it would save their lives. The arrows did not pierce anything important, or I would be dead already."
He shook his head slowly, "Then why do you look ready to faint." Rakharo didn't even try to mend his wounded pride. There was no way he would convince the westerosi that he was fine.
"The heat, hunger and thirst. But their arrows are barbed. You must push them through before breaking them off."
The few people who ran, including Daenerys and Jorah, had finally arrived. They quickly took him from Garrett's arms as Jorah held his waterskin to Rakharo's lips. Rakharo drank from it ravenously, in bliss as the water staved his thirst and heat, even if it was by a little.
Garrett stood up and backed away slowly, staring at them as they proceeded to help the dothraki warrior with the arrows in his back. He stared on in concern for his friend. To his surprise, he felt a hand placed on his arm gently. He turned to see that it was her.
The violet-eyed woman.
"He will live. Don't worry."
He turned to stare at Rakharo again. Jorah sent a few servants to retrieve something, he couldn't hear what,"…How do you know?"
"I will help. I was one of the healers at the temple, remember?"
"Daenerys refused to let another lambwoman to-"
"Lhazar," she corrected, a small frown marring her beautiful face. "You are no dothraki, so do not insult my people as if you were one of them."
"You know I meant nothing by it, Lyarra."
Her eyes lingered on him, slightly annoyed that he wouldn't meet her eyes. But she couldn't take it as an insult. If a friend of hers would be in Rakharo's state, she too would not be able to help but worry. Her soft voice whispered, "I know."
"In any case, she refuses to let another Maegi near her wounded again."
She made it apparent she didn't care as she walked over to them and kneeled before ordering the servants around, telling them to make room and help by bringing any medicine and bandages. As she tried to lay her hand on Rakharo's back, Daenerys tightly gripped her arm, stopping it. Lyarra slowly looked up at her, unfazed and unworried.
"You will not lay your hands on my blood!"
Lyarra smiled before chuckling shortly, "Oh, believe me, Stormborn. Your wishes and opinions mean less to me than you care for Mirri Maz Duur. Do not think I do this for him either," she said as she motioned her head to Rakharo, who had drifted off into unconsciousness. "I do this because Garrett wishes for his friend's survival. I will do anything in my power to make sure that happens. I had no intentions of using blood magic in any case. Now, you can stay here and help, or if you believe yourself above the station of a simple healer, you can stand back or better yet, leave. You'll only get in the way."
Daenerys didn't bother to hide her anger and offence, yet stayed silent before standing and moving to Jorah's side, glaring at her.
Lyarra's had the servant hoist Rakharo's torso before removing his leather jacket. She ordered them to place him down and put her left hand on his shoulder before her right gripped the arrow in his back.
"No!" Garrett exclaimed loudly. She turned around with a confused look. "The arrows are barbed. Pull them out and you rip open his back."
She turned to one of the servants. The girl looked panicked and fearful. No doubt she was just learning the art of healing. "Bring me Salamander's Bloom."
"I-I don't know what that is!" The girl had no experience in healing a man near death from not only hunger and heat, but also two arrows.
Lyarra gripped the girl's wrist softly, "Look at me. Look into my eyes." The girl did so, her lips trembling and her eyes slightly wide. "Calm down. Everyone is going to do their best to help this man. The only thing you need to do is to do your best. Alright?"
The girl calmed her breathing before nodding. "Good. Now, the Salamander's Bloom is an herb with spotted leaves, just like the scale of a salamander. You should find it with the rest of the supplies in a jar. Bring it here and we will feed a small dose of it to him. It will put him to sleep and sedate him, preventing him from waking up because of the pain once we push the arrows through."
The girl nodded before running off to the rest of the convoy, who were currently making their way to them. A few minutes later and the girl came back, carrying a jar with a spotted herb in it. "Is this the one?"
Daenerys stepped forward in protest, "How will I know you are not trying to poison the herb with your magic before feeding it to him?"
"With blood magic? In front of you all without any of you noticing? Don't be foolish."
Jorah stepped forward, "You will speak to your Khaleesi with respe-"
"ENOUGH!" Garrett shouted, startling everyone but Lyarra. "This is Rakharo's life for gods' sake! Now is not the time for you to worry about your pride, Khaleesi! This is our friend and he's dying! If he does, he will be gone forever!"
Daenerys stared at him, realizing he's right. She reluctantly nodded before once again backing off and settling for glaring at the Lhazar woman.
Lyarra nodded before she took the jar from her with a 'thank you'. The girl brightened up slightly, yet the worry was still evident. She ordered them to wake Rakharo as she ripped an herb in half. He woke up, confused as he was lying on his stomach. The servants helped him to his knees and Lyarra gave him the Salamander's Bloom. He was reluctant, yet finally ate it once Garrett told him if Rakharo didn't, he would force it down his throat himself. It did not take long for the effect of the herb start working as he fell on his stomach again.
Lyarra turned to Garrett, "The girls here can help me lift him. You will push the arrows halfway through before breaking the arrow tip off and pulling out the other half out."
Garrett nodded with a serious look on his face. The servants hoisted Rakharo up again and Garrett gripped the arrows before attempting to push them through. His hands slipped from the sweat and he frowned in frustration before wiping his hand on his armour plate. Digging his hands into the sand, Garrett rubbed his hands together before once again attempting to push the arrows through. This time he succeeded. It seemed bizarre how Rakharo didn't wake up. It was as if he'd already been dead.
He proceeded to snap the arrow tips off before pulling the other half out of his back. The servants, under Lyarra's direction, helped clean, stitch and bandage his wounds.
Garrett breathed out in relief and closed his eyes before thanking the seven for bringing back his comrade. Perhaps it was the Stallion, but he truly didn't care. He was simply glad his friend had followed his warning. Who knows what would have happened had he not cautioned the rash dothraki. He didn't know what was more surprising. That Rakharo survived or that he actually followed an advice of caution.
He opened his eyes in time to see Lyarra turning her head as she bandaged Rakharo's wound. Their eyes locked before she smiled softly. Garrett couldn't stop the corners of his own lips from curving upwards.
Arya
They were in a tent more embellished than others. With a more comfortable bed and refined chairs and table were placed inside. It seems more time had been spent on making them look prettier than actually being a sturdy and resilient seat. No doubt fitting for a lady.
Arya was thankful her tent was nothing like this one. Far too many useless details in her opinion. She smiled to herself. It seems Lyonel's pragmatism had rubbed off on her.
"What occupies your thoughts, Arya?"
As she sat in front of her mother on the seat she had been offered, Arya's smile fell as she found herself perplexed, not knowing how to explain her feelings, "I'm not sure how to explain it."
Catelyn smiled motherly, "Perhaps by telling me what it is, I can help."
She shifted in her seat, Nymeria by her side, confused and tilting her head at what her companion was doing, "I… it's a feeling I have."
"A feeling in general or a feeling directed to a person?"
Arya stilled her tongue, hesitant to even answer the question. 'Nothing will be better if I stay quiet.'
Deciding to answer, Arya looked at the ground, unable to meet her mother's eyes, and spoke in a low voice "A person."
With a witting smile on her lips, Catelyn sat down in front of her daughter, "And could, by any chance, this person be prince Lyonel?" Arya blushed, noiseless as her gaze lingered on the grass. Catelyn required no verbal answer. Her daughter's reaction was answer enough. "And tell me, how do you feel about the prince?"
"…I feel… I don't know…. My heartbeat loses control when I see him and my body warms, my chest especially. I keep blushing every time he looks me in the eye… When we train, I can't help but stare at him constantly as he spars with Syrio. And if I am away from him for even an hour, I begin to… miss him. It began a couple of days before we arrived in King's Landing, and it my feelings grew more intense."
Arya kept staring until she finally met her mother's eyes, "I've never felt this way about anyone before."
Catelyn brushed her hair aside to kiss her cheek before leaning back with a kind smile, "You cannot begin to understand how much joy this brings me."
Confused, Arya stared at her mother before querying, "Why?"
Realization dawned on her mother as she pulled back, surprise on her face, "You don't even realize what these feelings mean, do you?"
Arya shook her head slowly, "No." She thought it obvious. She said she'd never felt this way before. Wait… what was she feeling?
Catelyn reached out before slowly clasping her daughter's hand, her smile still plastered on her face, "Arya. You're falling for Lyonel."
Her eyes widened, almost choking on her breath and taken aback by this revelation, "W-what!?"
Her mother swiftly soothed her worries, "It's absolutely nothing to worry about. This is a good thing. Your marriage will turn out wonderful."
Arya's mind was in turmoil. She was falling for someone!? To Lyonel no less?! Why did it have to be him?! Why would someone like him ever want someone as ugly as Arya Horseface when he could have anyone he wants?
As her maternal instincts took over, Catelyn quickly noticed Arya's face fall and her eyes sadden, "What troubles you, sweet wolf?"
Arya looked at her mother, surprised yet with a small smile adorning her now-saddened visage. Only her father used to call her 'sweet wolf'. Her smile quickly faded, "Why would he ever return my… feelings for him? How could anyone love someone as ugly as me?" Her father had already reassured her of the subject before, but this was not about Lyonel accepting the betrothal or accepting her as a friend. This was about him accepting her… feelings for him.
Catelyn's bright blue eyes widened, "Arya! Why would you say something like that?"
"Sansa always calls me 'Arya Horseface'. She's pretty, she should know."
Catelyn spoke with a determined voice, "Arya, don't ever think that way again. Sansa doesn't mean that."
"Yes she does, and you can't deny that! Not after she lied and almost had Nymeria killed!" The mentioned wolf whined, saddened by the betrayal she felt. Catelyn found herself surprised. Did the direwolf actually understand what they were saying?
Shaking the subject from her mind, she turned to Arya, "It does not change the fact that it's not true. Your father always said you looked like his sister, Lyanna. He told me you would grow up to look like her. And you know the tales of her beauty. In fact, I would go as far as to say her beauty has already begun manifesting."
Arya looked at her mother, a small glimmer of hope, "Truly..?"
"Truly," the Stark Matriarch confirmed. "Lyanna was also sensitive about her looks when she was younger. Yet she grew up to be the most beautiful creature in Westeros."
Arya looked at the ground, unsure. "Tell me, Arya. Even if you were ugly, which I assure you that you are not, should your looks truly matter? Does it matter to Lyonel?"
Arya looked up, "I'm not… sure…"
"You are sure, that's just your insecurity speaking through you. You know it doesn't matter. His mother was gorgeous and yet abused him as a child, beating him for defending himself and his siblings."
Her eyes widened, "How did you kno-"
"I heard rumours of how he defended you in the tavern at the trident. Word travels fast, especially when it involves the firstborn prince and the queen's true side exposed to The Seven Kingdoms. By the second born prince no less. In fact, all rumours of The Silent Storm seem to travel fast. But ask yourself this. Does he truly think looks mean anything? When someone as beautiful as his mother had treated him as she did? I'd say he knows being with someone of pleasing appearance will not bring him happiness if they turn out to be foul and cruel."
Arya had brightened up by the end of her mother's arguments. She was right!
Yet Catelyn was not finished, "And think of it this way. If you are beautiful now, and will only grow more so, and you are also a close friend to him, think of how much he will grow to love you."
Arya was fully convinced, not that she wasn't unattractive, but that Lyonel would not care. Nymeria suddenly licked her hand, prompting her to look at the direwolf. Even Nymeria seemed to be happy for her.
Lady Stark continued, "I have also found something interesting, something I found out quite a time ago."
"What?"
"It is not the lack of love that spawns unhappy marriages."
"Really?" Catelyn nodded. Arya looked thoughtful, before meeting her eyes, "Then what does?"
Leaning forward, she smiled sadly, reminiscing, "I found that it is the lack of friendship, not love, which destroys marriages. If this was not true, I never would have loved your father. I never loved him from the start, but I began to, thanks to our friendship. It only grew…" As her reminiscing stopped, her Tully blue eyes met Stark grey eyes, "The friendship you share with Lyonel is like none other I have ever seen before."
Arya seemed to perk up, an inquisitive look on her face, "Why do you say that? I mean, I know we're close friends, but surely you must have seen others as close as we are if not more."
"Because he does something very, very few would do with a lady fr-"
"I'm not a lady."
"Very few would do with a lady…" Catelyn said, putting emphasis on the word 'lady', "…friend." Not needing to ask, Arya stared at her mother as she continued. "Have you noticed anything about how lords are in the presence of other lords?"
Slightly surprised by the random question, Arya's expression turned into one of confusion, "Um… how do you mean exactly?"
"What do men have that separates them from most women personality-wise?"
Arya shrugged, and rather confused at the sudden change of questions.
"Men have a certain code, different from that of women, how to dress, how to act and among other things, even going so far as to having a code on how to relieve themselves in the restroom."
Arya didn't know whether to be disgusted or dumbfounded. Deciding to be both, she stared at her mother with a disgusted expression as she said, "Ew, really?"
Catelyn chuckled, nodding her head, "Indeed they do. They're very nit-picking when it comes to men's code. Apparently, one is meant to stand up when-"
Arya panicked, almost jumping from her seat, along with Nymeria who jumped to alert, as she quickly reassured her mother, "NO, no, I'm alright, I don't need to know, and I most definitely do NOT need the images in my head!"
The lady nearly burst out laughing at her daughter's reaction, almost red faced as she watched Arya calm down before sitting back in her seat. Her wolf settled down in a lying position as well. She stared at the ground in disbelief before looking at Catelyn again, "Really?!"
A nod. "That's so stupid!"
Another nod in agreement, "Indeed it is. Although in their eyes, it's a way of principle."
"It's still idiotic. Why can't they just let a man 'relieve' himself the way he wants? Why do most men have to put so many rules up, why can't they just let everything be the way they are?"
'It is the same thing as men saying women shouldn't be doing things such as practicing their skill with a sword or horse riding. All the idiotic laws set up in Westeros are because of men and women who want others to either be like them, or to serve them. People are so stupid and selfish sometimes, it's not fair!'
The matriarch shrugged, "I don't know." Leaning in closer to her daughter, she spoke in a lower voice, an almost mischievous expression on her face, a very odd thing for someone as proper as Catelyn Stark, "Don't let the men hear anyone say this but, in my opinion, some men are just so desperate to prove how 'manly' they are, they make these silly rules and say that the rules alone make them manly and strong."
Arya smiled mischievously as well, giggling.
Her mother continued, "In any case, you know this already, the fact that men have a certain set of rules. But the point I am making is this. Just as men have a code of principles, lords have one that they follow in the presence of others. And bear in mind, this 'code' is even more important for Lord Paramounts and those in the royal family as they have many vassals that answer to them."
Arya nodded to show she was paying attention.
"Lords always speak with an authoritative tone in front of other lords to show strength. They also never act as they would with a friend or a family member during their free time that they would in front of other figures of influence and power as to not show weakness or to put up a stoic and intimidating mask. They speak formally and are well mannered, but also stern, never letting their guard down to even simply smile or laugh at seeing someone close to them."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, Arya, haven't you noticed?"
"Noticed what?"
"Noticed how he relaxes whenever he sees you? Noticed how he does not put up a false mask to impress other lords? Noticed how he only cares what you think, not caring what others will when they see the second born prince acting relaxed and happy around a friend even in front of other lords, around a girl of four-and-ten no less?" In truth, Catelyn had heard of the events during the morning training. The prince brutalized a soldier for dismissing Arya callously and rudely when she asked if Lyonel wished to train with her once he had time. This was the reason Catelyn was completely certain how much Arya meant to him.
Arya's eyes widened, surprised at how she never noticed.
"And remember, he's a prince. It is even more important for him to put up a strong front. Yet he refuses to when he's with you."
Arya stared at her mother, not knowing what to say. Suddenly realizing something, Arya's expression turned sceptic, "But Lyonel never acts different in front of anyone? He's always himself."
"Is he? Is he silent when with you? No. Is he silent when with others? Yes."
"But… it's still not acting. He simply has no interest in talking with people he doesn't like." It was true. Lyonel said so himself the first time they met when she inquired as to why he spoke.
"Does it truly matter? It only means you are a truly exceptional friend to him if he isn't living up to his name of 'The Silent Storm' when in your presence. Because he does in fact have an interest in being with you."
As Arya realized her mother spoke the truth, she seemed to brighten up even more.
Something her mother noticed, "I'm right, am I not?" Arya could tell it was more of a statement than a question.
She nodded, "Yes… Thank you, mother."
"Of course." Catelyn suddenly had a confused expression on her face, "You're far too strong-willed for this to be normal. I never thought you'd be this doubtful of yourself, Arya."
Arya shrugged, "I never thought I'd fall for someone."
"A sound point."
The sceptic look returned on her face, "Wait, since when did you become so comfortable talking about these things?"
Catelyn's eyebrows rose slightly in light surprise, "I didn't realize I gave the impression that I would rarely speak of love and friendship."
"What? No, not that. I meant that… you know… men have a code on how to… 'relieve' themselves."
Her mother laughed, "Oh sweet Arya. I may be proper most of the time but even I need to… drop the act, so to speak. I can't be a proper lady all the time. It would be far too boring to never speak of personal or inappropriate things."
Arya soon started to laugh as well.
"Besides, many ladies do speak of these things when they are together with no men nearby, just as men speak of their own personal things when there are no girls nearby. Though do not think it will be often we speak of these kinds of things. But if you happen to have something you need relieved from your mind, speak now. It won't be often we can have these talks."
She stared at the ground once her mother was finished. "I can't believe I'm in love with Lyonel."
"Love? No, no, no. What you're feeling is not love."
She looked up at her, "But you said-"
"That you're falling for him, yes. But true, genuine love… What you're feeling now cannot even begin to compare to it. You won't feel true love for him now, or even in a few months' time. It will take perhaps a couple of years of you two being together. Even then, for you to know it's genuine love, you'd have to go through many hardships together and still love each other."
"Oh…"
Catelyn stared at her, "…But… I have a feeling you two will have something truly special together. I cannot say why, for I myself don't know. It's just a… feeling I have."
Arya smiled at her mother before staring downwards again. Somehow, she wanted her and Lyonel to have something special. And deep down, she was truly happy it was him she fell for. In her eyes, there were few people like The Silent Storm. It was unreal to her. She met her childhood hero, and not only did he meet her expectations, he also surpassed them. Greatly so. The thought of her hero and her together, in love… She felt overjoyed simply thinking about it.
Is this how Sansa felt every time a knight simply even glanced at her? Arya would say she finally understood why, but she couldn't, seeing as how Sansa didn't even know any of the knights she swooned over.
Her smile suddenly fell. Arya soon began to blush as she remembered what she felt when she saw Lyonel relieved of his leather tunic.
"There's more?"
She looked up in surprise, "H-how..?"
"Tell me."
This time, Arya felt truly hesitant, her blush getting redder by the second. "I don't think I want to…"
"Arya, I told you we won't have many times to talk like this. Unburden your thoughts by sharing. Even if it is inappropriate. You had already bloomed two years ago, but it is now you're truly beginning to grow into a woman. And I may be a lady, but I am no prim and prudish septa. Currently, I am a mother educating her daughter. Go on. Tell me what may be provoking these desires."
Arya stared at her. How did she know she was feeling desire? Had her mother felt it herself? Perhaps she shouldn't be so startled. Robb did say it was normal.
Unknown to her, the blush was a dead giveaway.
"It's, um… So… today the men were sparring and…"
"Don't worry. Collect your thoughts. Describe what made you feel the way you did and why it did."
Arya closed her eyes before inhaling, calming her breath and heartbeat slightly, before opening her eyes, "Okay… today the men were sparring, as I said. And The Greatjon challenged… Lyonel… to a fight, to prove he was strong. And when Lyonel accepted, he began…" She drifted off, doubting if she should continue.
"Yes..?"
She now began staring off to the side, unable to even look in her mother's direction, "…He began… removing his… tunic."
Catelyn's eyes widened, realizing where her daughter was going. "And you saw him bare his torso."
Arya nodded, "Yes…" As Arya caught a glimpse of Nymeria, she saw her… roll her eyes? Was she so ridiculous that a direwolf actually rolled her eyes at her? Shrugging it off mentally as her imagination, she turned to look at the ground again.
"And how did it make you feel?"
"Well it made… My heart race again… except not in the same way as when I meet his eyes… This felt different. My body became even warmer and my breath quickened too."
"I see…" Catelyn herself hesitated to say it. 'I told her I would educate her. She has to know what she's feeling.'
"Arya. What you're feeling is called… arousal."
Arya blushed even more. She remembered sneaking from her septa's lessons and running around Winterfell. She would ofttimes run past the brothel, and usually on the balcony stood Ros, the redheaded pleasure girl. She would tease Arya with little bits of details describing her 'experiences' with 'visitors'. Among one of the describing words were arousal. And Arya would never admit it, but she couldn't help but be curious as to how it felt.
And she found herself slightly disappointed.
"Oh… so that's how arousal feels like?"
Catelyn nodded, "Only a small bit, I imagined. But arousal can become very strong. I imagine what you felt was only a tiny bit since all you did was look at his body. But rest assured, it is completely natural. And there is nothing for you to be ashamed of. As long as you don't go around speaking of it to everyone. You must still carry yourself with pride, for you are a Stark. Don't go around speaking with a bordello girl's tongue. Understood?"
Arya nodded. "As long as I know it's normal… I'll be fine."
"Good. And if you ever feel anything similar yet find yourself still confused, don't hesitate to come to me. We can speak of it. Although in a time of war, I doubt I will have many opportunities."
She nodded once again before standing up, along with Catelyn, before embracing her, "Thank you mother. I feel less confused now."
As she pulled backed, Catelyn's motherly smile returned, "Of course. Now run along. A meeting will start soon and I should get prepared."
With a nod and another 'thank you', Arya took her leave, Nymeria at her heels. When she finally arrived at her own tent, she laid down on her bed, her left arm hanging down the side to pet Nymeria's head as she tried to process everything she had been told.
She was still in disbelief. She wasn't like Sansa, she was no blushing maiden waiting to be married to some knight in shining armour. She didn't want to be like her mother, doing the same thing every day in the same castle. She wanted to go on adventures, from cold wasteland called north of The Wall to the exotic oasis called the dornish castles, including the water gardens in Sunspear itself.
She wanted to sail to the free cities, to fight with The Golden Company and to visit even farther east, to not only fight with warriors of different lands, but also to learn of their culture. Lyonel's stories of the different cultures of the free cities, Yi Ti and even the Summer Isles, and their myths and legends, had sparked a fire in her. She found out she desired to learn more of them, of their traditions and their ways. She wanted to do all of this in her life.
Yet she was beginning to fall for Lyonel.
Shaking her head to herself, Arya firmly refused to see her feelings for Lyonel as something negative. 'Father told me Lyonel would give me more freedom than I could ever have. He would never stop me if I wanted to go to those places.' She knew so. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt reluctant to do so. For that would mean she would leave her family behind. She would leave him behind.
Once again, Arya shook those thoughts out of her head. Now was not the time for thinking so far into the future. They still had a war on their hands. She sighed. She always had the bad habit of thinking too far ahead, while also not thinking of all the probable possibilities.
As her eyes slowly closed, her mind went the man who had been occupying her thoughts for the entire day. The gift he gave her was something she was not going to forget. He came up with an idea that could change warfare and even intrigue forever, yet in the end saw all the death it could cause. Instead he decided to give the only thing his genius idea spawned and gave it to her. The gift was a one of a kind in the entire world, or at least she thinks so. Either way, it's an exceptionally rare item.
She couldn't wait to show it to her brothers. But first she had to learn how to open it as dextrously as Lyonel did. All while trying not to lose one of her fingers that is.
Opening her eyes, she removed her hand from Nymeria's fur before standing up from the bed. Taking the hilt from her belt holster, Arya stood in a sideways stance, just as Syrio taught her, before gripping the ironwood hilt tightly.
She took a deep breath, before preparing to spin it in her hands.
Lyonel
He sighed silently in relief. He was done with the letter. All that was left to do was to wait for Garrett's animal companion to arrive. Yet something in the back of his mind kept eating away at him, filling his mind with paranoia and concern. What truly bothered him was that these thoughts were completely rational. Something has happened to Garrett and it isn't good.
Yet there were other things pestering him as well. The voices came back. Again. He heard them whisper and he barely noticed them. That was before they escalated into… this.
The voices surrounded him. He heard them from the front, back and his sides. And they kept growing louder and more intense.
Why wouldn't they shut up?
Lyonel supressed an irritated growl. The voices wouldn't stop. Why do they even still exist, why was this happening to him?! 'You are nothing. You are worth less than the dirt under your boot. MONSTER! You never should have been fucking born, you miserable pile of shit!'
On the verge of shouting, Lyonel gripped the inked feather tip in his hand tightly, before the voices suddenly stopped.
His eyes were wide and confused. What happened? Why was everything so abrupt?
Suddenly, another voice spoke, this one slightly muffled. Yet it didn't come from his head.
It came from behind him.
"Quite the following you managed to assemble out there."
Lyonel almost jumped from his seat and to a sideways stance, drawing his blade swiftly before gripping its hilt far too tightly for normal. His eyes stayed wide as he saw a man in front of him. He wore pitch black leather armour, with a matching cloak and hood that cast a shadow over his eyes. He wore a mask covering his mouth. To Lyonel's surprise, the mask represented the mouth of the lion-like creature from his dream. Black with sharp teeth, and two large protruding canine fangs. One could see the man's actual mouth move through the space between the two fangs. The lion mouth was opened, causing it to look like it was roaring.
What truly caught his attention was the man's eyes. They were emerald green, and they were glowing through the darkness. Brightly at that.
The man crossed his arms before waving his hand nonchalantly for Lyonel to put his blade away, "Oh, don't bother. I'm not here to hurt you."
Lyonel could tell the man was young. In fact, he was about as young as Lyonel himself. He stared with a blank expression. The man sighed while rolling his eyes, speaking with a disinterested voice "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have announced myself, pinhead."
"How did you get past the guards?"
The man seemed to have a relaxed stance, "Oh, quite easy actually." Turning around rather comically, the man separated the tent flaps to reveal the two guards, still staring forward on alert as they guarded the entrance to his tent.
The man stared at them, shifting his head towards each of them before shouting in one of the guard's ear, "'EY, COCK-DIRT!"
Lyonel was shocked and stunned to see that the man didn't react at all. As if the man didn't even exist to him. No reaction what so ever.
The man allowed the tent flaps to close. He spread his arms as if saying 'There you have it' and shrugged, "Wasn't exactly a challenge." He walked over to Lyonel's bed before jumping on it, placing his hands behind his head as he laid down staring at the top of the tent.
Lyonel looked at the man, shocked and speechless, before looking back at the direction of the guard, before looking back and forth between the two. He finally looked back at the stranger a final time, "What the fuck!?"
The man couldn't even be decent enough to look at him as he spoke, "Woah, you kiss your lady mother with that tongue? Actually, don't answer that. Probably have, considering the situation with your mother and her brother. Wouldn't exactly come off as a shocker if you did."
Lyonel frowned deeply, marring his face with anger, his other fist clenching into a fist.
The man decided to grace the prince with his glowing gaze as he held up his hands in a rather hollow attempt to placate him, "Bloody hell, ever heard of a jape?"
"Who are you?!"
He stared at Lyonel, his hands still up as he stared at him, before suddenly sitting up at the bedside and leaning forward, his voice turning serious, "I'm inevitable."
Lyonel's brows furrowed in a mix of anger and confusion, "What does that mean?"
The man stared for a while, not moving an inch. Suddenly, he spoke, rolling his eyes at himself, "Okay, I'll admit, I tried to sound cryptic, but honestly ended up making myself seem like the most conventional and typical mysterious fucking figure out there. But you'll figure it out soon… I hope. But I will tell you this. What caused me has already happened."
Lyonel stared, confused beyond belief as his mind tried to make sense of his words. 'Or perhaps he's attempting to bewilder my thoughts. Although to what end… I cannot say for sure.'
The man giggled oddly and mischievously, "Ooh, I love sounding so mysterious. Makes me sound like such an enigmatic renegade." Lyonel stared at him, his confusion only growing. The man stared back, "Soooo… are you… maybe going to say anything?"
"…What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Oh, for the love of- Okay, look. Who I am will be revealed later, I'm sure. Oh, and be prepared. I am your enemy, just not in the way you think. Until then, you won't see me again. I could barely make it out of that place this time. Perchance you'll remember earlier than I expect so I can get this over with. I hate waiting."
"Make it out? From where? And what are you waiting for?"
Lyonel could almost see the man smile mischievously under the mask, "Can't spoil the surprise, can I? Don't worry, you won't be rid of me once I go soon, I'll be back. I control the place now and there's no one else to oppose me. Once you remember, I can finally come after you."
He frowned again, raising his blade, "So you're an assassin."
The man froze, dumbfounded. "What? I'm not a- what the fuck are you- are you even- I'm not… Alright, you know what? Fuck this. You'll make sense of it later," The cloaked figure said as he threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and marched towards Lyonel. The prince thrust his blade forward, piercing the man's belly. The stranger's eyes widened, before the shape of his glowing eyes changed. Judging from the way the eyes' shape changed, he was most likely frowning.
Pulling his arm back, he suddenly swung his hand at Lyonel's face to slap him.
SMACK!
His eyes snapped open to find the person gone. His hand went to his cheek and found that nothing had happened. He was simply standing up and staring at the tent entrance. He hadn't even unsheathed his blade. None of the guards seemed to react from outside the tent, so he wasn't speaking either.
He stared forward, slack-jawed and unable to think properly.
'What in the name of the old gods was that?'
His eyes widened even more as he heard a silent, yet somehow echoing laughter. One he barely noticed.
He had a feeling that he'd be seeing that man sooner than he'd like.
His tent flaps opened, and Lyonel shook himself out of his bewildered trance. A Stark page no older than Lyonel himself, nervous yet made a good attempt to seem firm and brave. He wasn't used to being around royalty and was afraid to embarrass himself, in front of a prince of Lyonel's repute no less.
"Y-your grace-"
"Prince," he corrected. The war was far from won, and Lyonel was yet to win his crown and kingdoms.
"My apologies, my prince. But the Lannisters have sent an emissary to you but he is currently with L-Lord Stark. Lord Stark requests that you come receive the emissary, my prince."
He nodded, his face neutral, "Where?"
"My lord told me that the emissary is to be received during the meeting at the main tent."
Lyonel nodded, his face turning into a gentle frown as his eyes lingered on the ground. Noticing the page was unaware of what to do, his eyes flicked to the boy, "Dismissed."
The page nodded quickly before leaving.
The prince turned around and stared at the table where he'd placed the ink and quill. Realizing something, he opened the palm of his hand and saw the ink that had seeped into the shallow cracks of his palm, filling them.
Clenching his hand once more, Lyonel strode out of his tent before making his way to where the men kept the food, water and wine.
As he arrived, his other hand stopped a soldier who bore the white merman as a sigil adorning the shield on his back. He looked as old as his uncle Stannis. A look of surprise was the man's response as he turned to see who placed their hand on his shoulder before recognizing him as the prince, "Your grace?" He couldn't be bothered to correct the soldier.
Judging by the stench of his breath, this man would know which barrel contains wine and which doesn't. Lyonel would see for himself if the large barrels weren't placed sideways. "Water." he said, motioning his head towards the barrels.
Slightly taken aback in confusion at the random question, the Manderly retainer stammered, "W-what? Oh." Processing Lyonel's question, he pointed to one of the barrels, "That one. Just turn the tap and it should start pouring. Everyone just leave their mugs right next to the barrels, so unless you've a problem with hygiene, you could take one of those… your grace."
Lyonel nodded curtly in gratitude before simply opening the tap and washing away the ink. Thankfully, most of it hadn't dried yet so only few spots on his hand were slightly darker than the rest.
Shaking the water from his hands, he proceeded to make his way to the main tent. He had nothing else to do but wait.
He still couldn't shake that stranger from his mind. So many questions rang through his mind. That man wasn't human. He was invisible to others but him. Perhaps the old gods sent him as their messenger.
But if that was the case, why did the man reveal that he was Lyonel's enemy?
'Seems the old gods are testing me. Perhaps they wish to find out if I am worthy.'
He knew that the next time he met the stranger, neither would walk away unscathed.
A/N: What did you guys think? I'd love to hear your speculations on this chapter and yes, I know most of this chapter was Arya talking to her mother, but I felt that Arya really needed a lot of guidance considering she's a tomboy and hotheaded. She's never truly felt this kind of thing for anyone before so I'd imagine she would be very confused.
Onto the reviews:
Ninazu: I do intend for him to get a weapon for himself. When and where that might happen will be explained after I'm done responding to the reviews.
metaphysical god of heroes: Oh... You meant Hardass. I couldn't tell because you forgot to put the 'd' in hardass... hehehehe. Get it... D in hardass..? No..? I'll just shut up now...
OMAC001: A good idea. If I decide to do that, I'll make sure to credit you.
snapsnap24131: I'm glad atleast SOMEONE appreciates my joke. *huffs and looks away from all other reviewers*.
JaegerCryptic: I'm glad you're liking the story. Don't worry if Lyonel's smithing and archery skills seem unnecessary, they'll be even more useful soon enough. And you'll be glad to know I intend to finish this story. I use INTEND because I'm a paranoid idiot who thinks the most bizarre and dumbest shit will happen to him that will prevent him from completing his story.
kornerbrandon: I appreciate the flattery, but let's not exaggerate. No one can measure up against Sass-Master Martin Freeman. But really, on a more serious note, I'm glad you enjoy the story. You might even get a snark off in the future. Just make sure to remind me every once in a while in case i forget.
As for the rest: I appreciate your support. I'd love it if people could leave a review to either help me with my writing or simply for motivation.
Now for the most important part: I'm thinking that in the future, once Lyonel is finished with the war and has cleaned up afterwards, he would sail to Essos with Arya at his side and the two could become like a pair of adventurers who go around all of Essos and help the people. Sort of like Sam and Dean Winchester going around and solving shit. Of course, most of it will be normal, but I intend to include some supernatural things. Atleast what we people from earth would consider supernatural, but not for those in the world of Ice and Fire. And I also want to be able to add things to cultures we barely know about in A Song of Ice and Fire, kind of like I did with Volantis by adding the Saber-toothed Tiger as a mythical creature.
I already have ideas for Arcs and a reason as to why they would go their other than the obvious motive of wanting to go out into the world and explore. I don't want anyone to think this will be unneccesary. There'll be character development and shit like that. But I will have to improve my writing in the sense that I need to be better at describing places so that when you read, it doesn't feel like they're just going places and talking to people. I wanna be able to put an image of the locations in your head. Because right now, I'm fucking atrocious at it.
No seriously, I could have a beautiful location thought out in my head and what do I write? "There was a tree."
So if anyone wants to become the Achilles to my Connor, I'd love to be able to learn how to describe locations better. So if anyone is very good at it, I'd love some advice.
Anyways, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter. Personally, I feel like many stories have the characters simply staying in Westeros and I find that boring. So I'm almost a 100 percent sure I'm going to do this, but I'd still love to hear what you guys think.
But anyways, that's about it. Sorry for making you think this chapter is longer because of the author's note... again. But I hope you liked this chapter.