RivaMika Week 2 Day 7: Fandom Crossover

Title: you win or you die, but not today
Rating: T
Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin, Attack on Titan, Game of Thrones
Characters: Levi, Mikasa Ackerman, RivaMika
Summary: Game of Thrones AU – She thought a knight of the Kingsguard would be more... knightly.
Notes: I DID IT I WROTE GAME OF THRONES FANFIC! Gomen, GRRM. I've only read the first four books, so, y'know, I might have gotten stuff wrong. Sort of inspired by Frederic William Burton's gorgeous painting, 'Hellelil and Hildebrand, The Meeting on the Turret Stairs', though Levi and Mikasa aren't half as romantic.

It is one year since the thaw began, and the streams are beginning to return to normal, having been swollen by meltwater for the past four seasons and frozen over for three years before that. The air is slowly losing its chill, and for once Mikasa's nose doesn't feel like it is going to drop off.

They were allowed to spend a few hours outside, having spent the morning reciting Targaryen kings; Armin got all of them, Mikasa most of them, and Eren almost none. After enduring a tongue lashing, they were set free. Mikasa is spread on the ground, watching Eren try to educate Armin on the finer points of swordsmanship. Armin holds a wooden sword, the point dipping as Eren corrects his grip and instructs him, hands waving wildly. Shadis is supposed to be keeping an eye on them, but Mikasa's almost certain he's asleep. Normally, she would join in, but for some reason she doesn't feel like it.

For a few seconds, she closes her eyes, and pretends that she is in Dorne. The Stormlands are rocky and covered in trees, not at all like her home, but when she feels the sun beating on her eyelids, she is transported back to the deserts of her homeland.

"Oy! Mikasa!" Her eyelids jolt open. Eren is standing in front of her, smiling, extending a hand towards her. "Spar with me? Armin is..."

"No good?" The Maester in training, on a break from his studies in Oldtown to join his ageing grandfather at Storm's End, draws up beside them, blond hair golden in the weak light.

Eren rubs the back of his head sheepishly, closing his green eyes, a memento of his Tyrell heritage. Lady Carla's mother was Lannister; though she did not inherit the lion's emerald eyes, her son did. Strange; the current Lannister's heir, Reiner, has eyes as gold as the money beneath Casterly Rock. Mikasa assumes that all the Houses got mixed in the autumn, as lords and ladies attempted to forge alliances before the winter came. Before Eren can respond, Mikasa hops up. "I'll fight with you... but if I win, you have to muck out Sharra for me."

"And Aemon!" Armin pipes up.

Eren splutters, but conceded. "Fine... Let's go!"

The battle is not as easy as it usually is. Eren has been training more than usual in an attempt to impress his father, Lord Grisha Baratheon, which Mikasa thinks is nothing but a waste of time. The man's heart is as icy as a Stark's, which makes sense; his lady mother was one. As for Mikasa herself, swordplay has always been easy. When she was younger, she aspired to become a Sand Snake; that ambition was nipped in the bud when her lord father shipped her off to the Stormlands. Usually she goes easy on Eren, but today is not one of those days; she flies at him with full force, feinting and stabbing and generally demolishing Eren. She does not realise that they have an audience.

Eren falls onto his backside, and applause breaks out. Mikasa's first instinct is of offence; she draws her wooden sword and points it towards the newcomer, and almost drops it when she sees his bone white cloak.

"The Lord Commander Levi!" Armin gasps, falling into a bow; haltingly, Mikasa copies him.

Eren, grumbling, gets up. "Three horses to clean up... Mikasa, you need to put a nappy on Sharra, you know-" She can only guess from his muffled 'shit!' that Eren has glimpsed the Kingsguard. His back cracks as he bows.

"Well done, little girl. I never knew a Dornishwoman so good with a sword; bows and babies are usually their preserve... and I never knew a deer to be defeated by a woman."

"One you give a person a sword, sir, it doesn't matter what's between their legs. All that matters is their skill." Mikasa straightens up to look this man in the eye.

"Well said, my lady... but now I must take my leave. Tell me, fawn, where is your father?" His hand rests on the pommel of the weapon at his hip; not a longsword as is favoured by knights of his status, but a Water Dancer's signature narrow blade; apt, given the Lord Commander's chequered past.

Eren points at himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Take me to Lord Grisha before I die of old age." The Lord Commander snaps his fingers imperiously, and Eren scrambles to his side. Eren looks so incongruous in his ornate gold and black tunic compared to this alabaster knight.

"That'll be sooner rather than later," Mikasa mumbles. Armin hits her in the arm.

"Watch your words, child of Sunspear." Mikasa glares at him. "Hot mouths are dead ones." With a flourish of his white cloak he leaves, Eren in close pursuit.

"That insufferable little...!" Her nails dig into her palm, and draw blood.

"The Kingsguard is not a contest of popularity," Armin reminds her, taking her hand and unclenching each finger one by one. "He's a good man, though. He has won more jousts than anyone in living memory."

"Jousts do not necessarily translate into martial might," Mikasa says ominously, taking Armin's other hand. His grandfather's cry catches her ear. "Come; we are called for."

–

At dinner, it transpires that Lord Grisha has been called to King's Landing. At his right is Lord Commander Levi, who stands up after the last honeycake has been reduced to crumbs.

"As liege to His Grace Darius of House Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lord Grisha Baratheon of Storm's End is humbly asked to come to his king's side in his time of need. We ask that Lord Baratheon be present in the Red Keep in three weeks time." The words hit Mikasa hard. In his time of need? Is the king...?

"Sick?" Armin whispers. Mikasa nods mutely. "Yes, I think so... All the silver chains were called up to King's Landing two months ago. He could die."

The rest of the hall seems to be thinking the same thing, as it erupts into whispers; even the bards and fools will not quiet the crowd. Mikasa, meeting Eren's troubled green eyes, slips out of the room.

There is a balcony Mikasa favours. It is hidden in a recess of the wall, and as such is protected from the seaspray that daily stains the walls of Durran's Defiance. The sky is replete with stars; the Sword of the Morning in particular is splendid tonight. The sea is stormy grey, white-capped whites roaring in regiments towards the cliffs. To the northwest, the Sapphire Isle is just barely visible.

It is to this balcony that Mikasa flees, mind whirring. Concerns fill her mind; if the king dies, will another War of the Five Kings ensue? Or will his daughter, Annie, marry a cousin and succeed him? If this were Dorne, things would be simple; Annie Targaryen would take the Iron Throne and rule without resistance. This is Westeros, though, and here women cannot rule unaided, though Mikasa would object.

There is another concern, much more minor, yet so important to her. Eren is of a marrying age; her lady Carla had confided in her that Lord Grisha was considering matches for his only son. If there is to be a heave in leadership, that would make Grisha all the more adamant to secure on alliance, and preferably a good one. If House Baratheon go to King's Landing there will be no shortage of eligible ladies, both from the Crownlands and from farther afield. King's Landing will be swamped with noble families.

But even though she worries for Eren, she also worries for herself. She is as good a playing piece as Eren; as the natural daughter of the Prince of Dorne and the foster daughter of House Baratheon, her marriage would bring much power to both of her forebears. She does not think her father would raise any objections; he has Ymir, the wild wannabe Sand Snake, to take care of.

She shakes her head. The sea has always brought her peace, and she will get it. Unfortunately, that is not be; she is joined by a certain short white knight.

"Lord Commander. I was not expecting your company." She does not bow, nor does she turn to look at him.

"Neither did I. I was simply looking for somewhere that didn't stink of mead." He joins her at the railing. "Your dress becomes you."

Mikasa knows it does; it is darkest navy, fading to a grey bodice studded with tiny diamonds. "I thought carnal desires were beyond the reach of a knight of the Kingsguard."

"Even a eunuch has eyes, and I am no eunuch." His words are playful, but his voice is not; it sends shivers down her exposed spine. "It is strange, however, to see a woman of Westeros with such command of the sword."

"It is strange to see a bravo at the head of the Kingsguard." Mikasa wonders why she said that. All she has heard are rumours, but they must be true, for Levi laughs.

"Touché, my Lady Sand. Yet I am fully capable for the role, as, I hope, are you."

"The role?" What is he talking of? He must be mad.

"I have talked to Lord Baratheon. You know he is considering your marriage, but I have persuaded him otherwise." Her heart leaps. Mikasa wishes for no bond with any man other than Eren. "Instead, for the duration of your stay of King's Landing, you will train with me when I am available."

Her words have dried up. "Why...?"

He is silent; by the time a third wave has died against the walls, he speaks. "To tell you the damning truth, my lady, there are very few fine knights left in Westeros, Tradition strangles us; knights must be noble and pure and male. I have done my best to circumvent these rules, and you will be useful in breaking them further. We need good knights, and you have more promise than any I have seen. Also... we need ladies who can put up with Lady Annie. She is as fond of the sword as you are, and as a future queen would gain much from training with someone so similar to her." Mikasa has heard tell of the little dragon's supposed obstinacy, but she will put up with Annie Targaryen if it means she gets to train with the best of the best.

"Lord Commander, I..." This act of kindness, so profound, so sincere, has shaken her to her very core.

"Do not disappoint me." She sees something past the bravado, the pomp of his white armour; it is humanity.

"I can never repay you for this."

"Oh, but you can." His eyes shine wickedly.

"...What?" She stares at him, confused.

"What does every poor knight ask of their noble lady?" He darts forward, as light on his feet as a Water Dancer, and takes her hand to kiss it. In the cold of her velvet dress and the frigid night air, his lips are burning.

She yanks her hand back and clutches it to her chest as he straightens up. "There. Debt repaid."

"W... warn me next time!" The cold air steams against her reddened cheeks.

"So there will be a next time? I look forward to it." With that he exits, leaving Mikasa in a state of confusion. She turns again to gaze at the seascape, but it shatters into fragments before her. What about this man breaks her resolve? Smacking the granite railing with her hand, she pushes herself back to enter the castle again.

–

Back inside the hall, she does not meet Levi's eyes, but when Armin leaves her alone she thinks of sea air, a stolen kiss and the promise of a sword.