[ Every petty lord in every petty corner of the realm could stake a claim, and none of them meant anything at all so long as their son sat the throne. No army could hope to rise against him, no threat against the boy's life would ever see daylight, and no evidence of treason would ever be placed before the realm to discredit his rule. The war had already proven how lost the cause was; while allegiances were being bought, kings were cropping up like weeds after a summer storm, and none of it would hold. All would be ravaged under the tide of steel he himself would bring to bear against their enemies. As soon as he had his sword to hand; as soon as they were free of this place. No claim would outshine their son's. The gold of Casterly Rock had never proven false.
He leans himself into the small shape of her body, making himself wall and stone and shield, and he had resented how long it had been since he'd felt her come to him this way. Like she trusted him to hold her, like she needed him, truly needed him, relied upon him and still looked to him when she needed answers. In this way she does cling to him as he desires, she does make true of those vows that bind her to him and him to her, godless though they might be. All as it was before he'd blundered in the woods, before she'd suffered the insult of being called to this place, when too-short hours were the height of their worries. The height of his, anyway. ]
May their valiant efforts be remembered fondly in the histories. [ Sorry tales of rebellion and defeat, more like, and he turns his own head to bury his face in the glow of her hair, breathing deeply, greedily. Of his many untoward addictions, another is this bare confession of her need, of her own demand for him. The assurance that there is, in her life, a space no other can fill. Even here, even like this, when he bears the shame of being without his sword, herded with the others, when they have never counted themselves among others. They were something separate. ]
They cannot part us. [ Some of their foes were unchanging - their father, for one, who would never permit this while he lived - while the others arrayed themselves as befit the whims of war. But steel would not part them, lies would not part them, and neither would the truth. He fears their present guards no more than he fears stag or wolf, and the revelations cast before him are trod upon like any cobbles. Honorable Ned would have made a profitable hostage, that's so, and now the war would rage, but was there any more efficient way to rid themselves of enemies than to kill them? ]
How noble of him to lead the way. The rest will follow. Who else?
no subject
He leans himself into the small shape of her body, making himself wall and stone and shield, and he had resented how long it had been since he'd felt her come to him this way. Like she trusted him to hold her, like she needed him, truly needed him, relied upon him and still looked to him when she needed answers. In this way she does cling to him as he desires, she does make true of those vows that bind her to him and him to her, godless though they might be. All as it was before he'd blundered in the woods, before she'd suffered the insult of being called to this place, when too-short hours were the height of their worries. The height of his, anyway. ]
May their valiant efforts be remembered fondly in the histories. [ Sorry tales of rebellion and defeat, more like, and he turns his own head to bury his face in the glow of her hair, breathing deeply, greedily. Of his many untoward addictions, another is this bare confession of her need, of her own demand for him. The assurance that there is, in her life, a space no other can fill. Even here, even like this, when he bears the shame of being without his sword, herded with the others, when they have never counted themselves among others. They were something separate. ]
They cannot part us. [ Some of their foes were unchanging - their father, for one, who would never permit this while he lived - while the others arrayed themselves as befit the whims of war. But steel would not part them, lies would not part them, and neither would the truth. He fears their present guards no more than he fears stag or wolf, and the revelations cast before him are trod upon like any cobbles. Honorable Ned would have made a profitable hostage, that's so, and now the war would rage, but was there any more efficient way to rid themselves of enemies than to kill them? ]
How noble of him to lead the way. The rest will follow. Who else?