⟪ It is easier to cling to him than it is to hold onto the world's petty dangers, this much is true. He has a way to take from her shoulders the burden to every threat, every enemy, every risk, and to make her see what else could be. Together, they have ever been victorious, unconquerable, and if there is a man in the seven kingdoms whom she would trust to end every last one of her foes, it is him. Her other half, her only way to wield a sword, and wield it more deadly than any other. He has made of himself a knight without flaw, a knight who cannot be cowed, and she is convinced that all this has been done for her and her alone. ⟫
You will kill them all.
⟪ There is nothing she thirsts for the way she thirsts for blood, and it is half envy over never having held a sword of her own, and half the desire to see him fresh from the battle. Better than when she has come to him after a tourney won it would be.
Yet he goes on, and there the nagging doubt returns. He has been captured once before, what would make another time impossible? They are both trapped in this place, too, in an unmapped castle, with no weapon to their name, no gold to fend off the guards with, and none of the magic that seems to be wielded here. The tensing of her shoulders suggests to him her misgivings, but his lips in her hair do soothe her, and she is, for once, grateful for the wall that hides at least half of what is between them.
For a moment, before she shoves at him again as though her fight is its own twisted expression of love – and perhaps that is the truth of it. She rarely, or perhaps never, takes well to emotions aside from fury, and she is never quietened long. Less so when the situation is averse, less so when she is pushed close to a point where she might have to concede to powerlessness. ⟫
If you have a sword, and a key to the dungeons. ⟪ And a way back, for what she fears most in this moment is that their immediate escape will not bring them within an inch of the throne, either. In the meantime, the realm is left to their boy – doubts on this frontier she cannot permit herself now – and any who strive to be his advisors, which may, for once, be the bigger problem.
There is not much she can use for a weapon against her own ever-hungry need to be held by him, but there is the remains of her luncheon that she had wrapped in the napkin and meant to use for trade in the yard, and she shoves that at him. ⟫ Eat. You need to be strong, if we are meant to outlast this hell.
no subject
You will kill them all.
⟪ There is nothing she thirsts for the way she thirsts for blood, and it is half envy over never having held a sword of her own, and half the desire to see him fresh from the battle. Better than when she has come to him after a tourney won it would be.
Yet he goes on, and there the nagging doubt returns. He has been captured once before, what would make another time impossible? They are both trapped in this place, too, in an unmapped castle, with no weapon to their name, no gold to fend off the guards with, and none of the magic that seems to be wielded here. The tensing of her shoulders suggests to him her misgivings, but his lips in her hair do soothe her, and she is, for once, grateful for the wall that hides at least half of what is between them.
For a moment, before she shoves at him again as though her fight is its own twisted expression of love – and perhaps that is the truth of it. She rarely, or perhaps never, takes well to emotions aside from fury, and she is never quietened long. Less so when the situation is averse, less so when she is pushed close to a point where she might have to concede to powerlessness. ⟫
If you have a sword, and a key to the dungeons. ⟪ And a way back, for what she fears most in this moment is that their immediate escape will not bring them within an inch of the throne, either. In the meantime, the realm is left to their boy – doubts on this frontier she cannot permit herself now – and any who strive to be his advisors, which may, for once, be the bigger problem.
There is not much she can use for a weapon against her own ever-hungry need to be held by him, but there is the remains of her luncheon that she had wrapped in the napkin and meant to use for trade in the yard, and she shoves that at him. ⟫ Eat. You need to be strong, if we are meant to outlast this hell.