Summary: You’ve lived a long life. Over three thousand years and over that time you’d become entangled with the Targaryens. After the Dance of the Dragons you’d been lost in time until one day the Kingsguard come to bring you back at the request of King Daeron the Good.
Summary: Arriving in Kings Landing, you’re brought to face King Daeron and are invited to dine with them. Unable to refuse, you accept and answer questions they have on their ancestry and their dragons. You are then begged to show them magic, only question is: what spell do you show a bunch of royalty?
Word Count: 5,854
Warnings: let me know if I missed any!
Tag List:
A/N: I'm mashing the tiniest bit of something else, but it has no relevance to the actual story. Maybe, I haven't decided. But witchers will not be a part of the series. That I can promise you because that would be way too complicated for me to figure out and I frankly do not want to go through the witcher lore, I just thought it would be funny to throw this line in.
The ride to King's Landing is long as you sit behind Ser Roland. You watch the scenery as you trot forward. Much has changed in the years that you'd left the land, homes have been built, others destroyed.
You're watching the birds in the sky, they fly in groups and it brings you back. Back to the age of dragons. When they were plentiful and soared high above in the heavens. You let a small smile take over your face.
You can imagine it clear as if it were yesterday. Rhaenyra, young, in her early teens and in her eagerness to gain a friend had brought you to Syrax. She was a beautiful dragon, fussy in her temperament. She reminded you more of a large cat than a dragon that could kill you if she so desired.
"You know, two thousand years ago dragons would have filled these skies."
Ser Roland glances at you from where he sits in front, following the weight of his horse as he turns back forward.
"Somehow, I find that hard to believe. How would they have eaten?"
Your face falls flat at his words. Humans. You'd forgotten how easily they dismissed words.
"There used to be many types before your kind killed them off. The Dance of the Dragons wasn't the only time that dragons went into extinction."
At this, the other knights gain interest at your words. Listening intently, though they don't turn to you, their ears are hanging onto your every word.
"It was believed that the source of magic was within dragons themselves, despite the existence of blood magic, it was the same belief for elves. It's why they and my kind were hunted. After five hundred years, the hunting ceased and by then the dragons that were left were the ones the Targaryens and Old Valyria were famous for."
"Would it not be reasonable to assume that you hold contempt for humans for what they did?"
"It would be," your gaze falls on the growing homes that dot the land.
"I've met many humans, however, and not all are the same. Why should I live my long life with hatred, I only reserve that for those who wrong me."
Your eyes fall on a small tablet erected by the side of the road and you tap Ser Roland’s shoulder. He moves his head toward you, indicating he’s listening.
“May we stop here for a moment.”
You lean down and raise your right hand to the stone, feeling the grooves and reading the mana signature in it. It’s yours.
“As I thought. We’re close.”
“Close to where, Slayer?”
“An old friend of mine. His grave is not long from where we stand.”
You stand, brushing the dirt off your knees as you look out at the trees. Yes, it has been a long time since you’ve seen these woods. His grave has been grown over no doubt, there are not many who would recall his name so why keep his grave clean.
“We must get going to King’s Landing.”
You sigh to yourself and gaze out into the woods, past the stone. Some other time then.
“Very well. I shall visit him again some other time.”
Ser Roland helps you back onto his horse as he saddles himself in front yet again.
“Who was this friend of yours?”
You watch the woods as you leave, memories of your long departed friend passing through like hands through the mist.
“A warrior and slayer in his own right.”
“So, he was a murderer.”
You hum, the scenery changes to more homes. You’re getting closer to the courts. The thought does not bring you any peace.
“Not necessarily. He was hard-headed and cynical, but he had a moral code. This was during the age where there were more dangers in the world. The same likes that are hidden behind the Wall.”
At those words, Ser Roland’s eyebrows rise, though he doesn't turn to you.
"Hidden behind the Wall?"
"You think the Wall was built to keep only the wildlings out? Humans really are foolish if you think there aren't monsters out there."
He doesn't know whether he should take offense to the comment or not, so he chooses to stay silent. Instead, he grows more curious about that friend of yours.
"This friend of yours seems interesting."
Your lips quirk up into a small smile. That he was.
"He was very interesting. He tried to never have debts, though it did backfire on him tremendously at one point. He ended up with a daughter."
Ser Roland's eyebrows come together. You are closer to the Red Keep now, passing through the gates into King's Landing as the people gawk at the knights, no, they're gawking at you. The feeling of so many eyes on you makes your skin crawl.
"How does one end up with a daughter due to a debt?"
You hum, your eyes flit across the various people coming and going in King's Landing. Reading their mana signatures. It's a shame that there are so few humans who tap into it, they could really better their lives if they did.
"He saved a man-beast from certain death. The man was claiming which was rightfully his, in doing so the man felt he had a debt to be paid so my friend, in all his wisdom, claimed the same law the man had. 'Give me that which you already have, but do not know.'"
You laugh to yourself. The knights around you flitting their eyes to you in confusion. What in the world kind of law is that?
"He was then saddled with a child until his last days, he was a brute, but he wasn't evil. He cared for the child and she lived her days well."
"What is the law?"
"An ancient one, long before the era of you current humans. I won’t speak it, as far as I’m aware it’s died and I’d rather keep it that way. It’s easier politically.”
Finally, you arrive at the steps of the Red Keep. It hasn't changed in the time you've been gone, not really. Seventy-eight years is nothing when comparing it to your long life. The knights ride forward, taking their horses to their stables as you wait to be brought forth to the King. King Daeron the Good, you certainly hope he lives up the name given to him. These last few decades have not been kind to the Kings.
Ser Roland comes back with one hand on the hilt of his blade as he nods his head to you. It seems it’s now or never. You follow him on the steps to the throne room, suitcase in hand. Your eyes wandering the same halls you had once lived in. You always did prefer Dragonstone to the heavy walls of the Red Keep.
Not long does your mind wander and you’re brought to the doors before the Iron Throne. Ser Roland takes a glance at you and sees no hint of nervousness on your face, your face is flat actually. The only thing about you he can read are your ears that twitch lightly.
You’re listening and watching. Footsteps from down the corridor and muffled voices beyond the doors. That and you can see the mana taking form of the King and whoever else is with him. You glance at Ser Roland expectantly. He nods before opening the doors with another Kingsguard. They open as you boredly stand.
As soon as the doors open you’re met with the King, presumably the Queen and four other men beside them both. You walk forward before stopping before the King.
King Daeron stares at you before his lips quirk up.
“Is this her?”
You don’t look at him, you simply look around. The decor, the lighting behind the throne before your eyes finally settle on him.
“If I’m not?”
The short, white-haired man to the left of the Queen scowls. He looks to the King with the same scowl aimed at you before Daeron raises his hand and he resumes his stiff posture. You don’t miss the pointed glare aimed at you as you merely ignore it.
The smile on Daeron’s face falls slightly into a more serious expression.
“Are you the same elf who served King Viserys I?”
You think for a moment. Lying could let you out of here quickly and you could resume your normal day to day, but if it were discovered you lied to the King that would not bode well.
You inhale before looking at the King, “yes, I am. That old fool,” you mutter that last bit to yourself though Ser Roland can hear it clearly from your side.
His eyes shift to you in shock before resuming their front facing position. To insult a Targaryen and to the Kings own face must be suicide!
King Daeron resumes the slight upturn of his lips.
“Then we welcome you back to the Red Keep, elf.”
“May I ask why I was summoned? It has been seventy-eight years since I was last here. I can’t imagine that I’m needed after the Dance of the Dragons.”
This time it is the man to the right of the King who turns to you, first looking at his father for permission to speak, before looking back.
“We recently found some records of an elf that had served the courts and were interested.”
‘Yeah, right,’ you think as you look to the rest of the men beside the King and Queen. There’s one long, white-haired man who looks utterly bored and another dark haired man who looks around, lost in thought. Though there is a smile on his face. He’s not all there, that much you can tell.
"I’ve met no man who did not ask something of me, so I ask this as politely as I can: what is it that you want, King Daeron the Good?”
He looks to you with that same slight upturn of his lips.
"It seems what was written about you is true, you do not care to have tact when speaking to the King."
You don't sense any malice coming from him, the same could not be said for the same man who scowled at you, his temper flares as you can see in his mana.
"I was the same with King Viserys I and Queen Rhaenyra."
"Not with King Aegon II?"
Your lip unintentionally curls at his name. An amused look takes over Daeron's face.
"You did not like him?"
You smooth your dress in an effort to retain your composure.
"I did not like Alicent, there is a difference."
King Daeron rises from the throne, clasping his hands behind his back.
"It seems we have much to discuss then. Please, join us for a meal."
'Do I have a choice?'
You look at the numerous Kingsguard around the room, the Queen, who smiles at you, and assumingly their children around you.
"It would be my honor."
You bow your head to him as he steps down and comes closer to you.
"We may set up a room for you, if you'd like? We would like to show our hospitality to our most esteemed guest."
Your eyes search his face. He doesn't seem to be harboring any ill intent, not that they could kill you even if they tried.
"All I ask is that I may see your grimoires until our meal, I assume they are in the library?"
He nods his head, and gestures to Ser Roland. Only for the same man who spoke before to come forward, bowing lightly to King Daeron.
"Father, if I may, I can show her to the library."
You stay silent, choosing to instead watch the interaction between the two. With his fathers approval the man walks forward and extends an elbow to you. You stare at it before putting your arm in hand with it as he leads you out of the room with the Kingsguard following.
"I'm aware where the library is, it was not long ago that I roamed these very halls."
He hums as he continues to lead you down the hall and up the stairs to the extensive library that the family has at their disposal.
"I had a feeling you did. Though, I would be remiss if I did not offer a helping hand to one of the most important guests we could have."
You glance at him from the corner of your eye.
"I'm assuming you're the heir? It seems unlikely for any of your kin to extend such a hand to a stranger."
Baelor merely stays silent as you finally arrive at the library. Little has changed except for how many candles light the room, it seems they finally heeded your advice in getting some proper lighting in here. You retract your arm as you walk and begin skimming the litany of books, tomes, and scrolls.
"I may help you if you'd like?"
Baelor stands a little away from you as you pick a book from one of the shelves, thumbing through it before tucking it under your arm.
"I've no need unless you would like to hear stories of your ancestors from an old relic like me."
You reach for a tome from a high shelf, just barely reaching it with the tips of your fingers before Baelor's larger form grabs it and extends it to you.
"It would be an honor to hear of them from you."
You take the scroll wordlessly as you take a seat at a table by the windows. You extend a hand for him to sit across from you as you open the book tucked under your arm to the last page you remember leaving off on.
He sits across from you as your eyes roll across the page. He sits quietly, waiting for you to speak first. You do glance up from your book after finishing the chapter and close it, keeping your thumb in the page to not lose your place.
"Should we start with introductions?"
His mismatched eyes match gazes with you as he smiles.
"I am Prince Baelor, Hand of the King."
You nod before brushing your hair back with your free hand.
"(Y/n)."
He raises his eyebrows at that as he leans back in his chair.
"They call you The Slayer, yet you do not use the title. Why is that?"
You sigh before opening your book once more, eyes lazily dancing across the page.
"I'm afraid the answer is more boring than you would think."
"Humor me, please."
You glance up before flipping the page.
"You know of the Wall, yes?"
He nods as you continue to read.
"There used to be other creatures besides the one being held back by it. Two thousand years ago I exterminated them, that is where I got my title. As for why I do not use it, there are few who know how I gained the title. Most assume I am a man-slayer."
Baelor's eyes widen at your words as you yawn, before flipping to the next page. Two thousand years, how old could you possibly be if you say two thousand years with such ease?
"What creatures were they?"
"Demons. Though, if my memories are anything to go from they are now considered myth to you humans. I suppose there is a hope in it to not remember what terrible creatures they were."
Baelor hums in thought. In all his years, what resides behind the Wall was considered myth, a story told to keep children good. He'd heard of demons, but as stories told by his Septa to sway him from misbehaving as a young boy. Mere fairy tales. He chances a look at you, you look as unimpressed as ever.
"I cannot say I believe in them, then again an elf sits across from me."
You continue to read until the doors to the library open and your eyes glance up to see a dark haired boy with a silver streak in his hair.
"Father."
Baelor turns to him with a smile, "Valarr."
"Grandsire said you would be here," the boy glances at you, notably your ears before they go back to his father who sits with his hand clasped in his lap.
"That I am, I am simply sitting with our guest."
He lifts a hand to you as you finally close the book and set it aside.
"Your heir, I presume?"
You say as you open your luggace and rummage around through your haphazardly stored items. You take out bottles, books, scrolls, clothing, before finally holding up a worn book.
Baelor and Valarr look to you as you walk to a shelf, fingertips lightly grazing the books before finding an empty spot and placing the book there.
"Yes, he is my eldest son. What book was that, that you placed?"
You take seat once more, smoothing your dress as you look at Baelor.
"A grimoire that Rhaenyra gave to me, I'd been meaning to return it."
The two men watch as you grab another book, reading the contents before shutting it with a soured look on your face.
“So that’s where my book went, little thief.”
The two exchange a glance as you place the book back. No sense in you taking it back if it’s been this long without it. You look at Valarr for a moment, then at Baelor, then back at Valarr.
You shake your head before placing your items back in your luggage. Valarr looks to his father curiously before speaking.
“Grand sire says the meal is ready.”
Baelor rises as he turns to you with his hands clasped behind his back. He begins to lead his son out as he looks at you.
“We may speak more as we eat. I have many questions for you.”
You sigh as you grab your luggage once more only for a Kingsguard to take it from you and walk away. Your eyes follow before they land on Baelor.
“We have a room made for you.”
You follow after Baelor and Valarr by extent, you should have expected this. The Targaryens always were pushy even a century ago. The three of you, followed by more Kingsguard, walk to the dining hall where presumably the rest of the family will be. It’s quiet as you walk, until you stop in front of a portrait of King Viserys I.
Baelor and Valarr walk ahead before realizing you’ve stopped, they walk back to see you analyzing the painting.
“That’s King Viserys I, you served under him correct?”
You don’t answer, not at first, still gazing at his portrait. Contempt in your eyes as you look at his face. This portrait was done before his illness took over.
“I did.”
Your gaze narrows.
“He was a deeply flawed man. Even if he did care for Rhaenyra, his actions ultimately lead to the Dance of the Dragons.”
You scowl at his face before turning away from it.
“He should have never married Alicent. Damn Hightowers.”
You walk past the two princes as they watch you walk ahead in surprise. To hold such disdain for him. What must your time in court have been like? Especially for you to hate the Hightowers, even if understandable, usually those feelings would be hidden. Not for you it seems.
They follow after you as you walk the halls easily until you hit the doors of the dining hall. With a flick of your finger the doors open themselves as the men behind you gape. Viserys truly hit your temper, that old fool.
You step into the room, followed by Baelor and Valarr to see the rest of the family already there. Maekar sits with who you assume to be his children. Baelor walks forward and extends a hand for you as a servant pulls out the seat for you.
You’re sat in between Baelor and Valarr, who both take their own seats. Next to Valarr is a younger boy who looks to you in interest.
“Who is she?”
The younger boy across from him shares the same look as you sit at the table. There are quite a few of their children that give you strange looks. One of them with shorter, cropped silver hair plays with a knife as he eyes you. You ignore his gaze in favor of looking at the others at the table.
“King Daeron.”
He looks at you as the food is plated.
“My apologies but I do not know with who I sit, aside from your heir and his heir.”
He takes a sip of his poured wine and nods his head.
“Of course, my apologies. In my eagerness to invite you, it seems my manners have been lost on me.”
He stands as his children move to stand as well only for him to raise a hand for them to stop.
“My eldest, Baelor.”
He nods his head to you. The King gestures to the man with the longer silver hair who reads a scroll at the table.
“My second-born, Aerys.”
He briefly glances at you before resuming his reading.
“My third-born, Rhaegal.”
The man looks at you with a large smile before his attention is brought elsewhere.
“My last, Maekar.”
He gives you a stern look as he eats his bread, near grunting as he does so. Your lips quirk up, you can see that some of Daemon’s personality still remains.
“You know Valarr, Baelor’s eldest. The one to your right is his youngest, Matarys.”
The younger boy gives you a smile. You give him a slight upturn of your lips, he’s sweet, you can tell. Rhaenyra would have liked him.
"Maekar's children from eldest to youngest. Daeron," he gestures to the man who has his face in his cups, he spares you a glance before resuming his drinking.
"Aerion," the one with the short, cropped hair. He stares at you the way a dragon would stare at a potential meal.
"Aemon has been sent to the Citadel, he is to become a maester."
You hum in thought before giving an upturn of your lips and eyeing King Daeron and Maekar, "a noble profession, may he study well."
King Daeron smiles at you while Maekar frowns, displeased at his sons leaving. The king continues.
"Daella," she smiles at you, tipping her head as she looks to you in interest. She seems polite.
"Aegon," the young boy looks to you with wide eyes. His interest solely on your ears. They twitch and he watches with rapt attention, you have a feeling he and Matarys are going to be hounding you with questions.
"And Rhae," the youngest child of Maekar, she looks at you with pursed lips before looking away. Though she seems meek you can see her glancing at Aegon. You watch her eyes flit from him back to her plate.
You nod to King Daeron, "thank you, I suppose proper introductions are due on my part as well."
You rise from your seat as the Targaryens look to you. You brush your hair back and stand tall as you look across every face.
"My name is (Y/n), though some would call me Slayer, I prefer to not use the title. I once served King Viserys I and Queen Rhaenyra. I am honored to be invited to dine with you today."
You can see that there are some who have questions and some who only watch with interest.
"If you have any questions, do feel free to ask."
You sit back down as you take a sip from your own cup, glancing at the first meal placed in front of you. King Daeron smiles as he begins to eat, everyone else follows in his stead as they start to eat their own meals.
Matarys looks to you first, “What were the dragons like?”
You stop your spoon from entering your mouth as you think back. There were so many dragons you've interacted with.
“That depends on which dragon you’re asking about," you blow on your soup before eating the contents and swallowing.
"Syrax was spoiled like her rider and like a large, fat house cat. She never wanted to fight, and she was very particular about when she flew.”
Matarys' mouth drops as does Aegon's, they look to each other with awe as their father's try to hide their interested gaze.
“Spoiled like her rider? Queen Rhaenyra was spoiled?”
You glance at Baelor who asks the question after wiping at his mouth.
“Terribly. She wasn’t a brat, though she did have her moments.”
You think back to when she was younger, before she claimed Syrax. She had thrown a fit the year before because she wasn't allowed to try and claim a dragon. You laugh at the thought now, but back then you were quite annoyed.
"She was his only surviving child, until Alicent came. Of course she was spoiled."
You swirl your cup of wine. Alicent, the Hightowers in general. What a thorn in your side.
"Hightowers, what a bunch of roaches. The only good one was Ser Gwayne."
They can feel your animosity towards the Hightowers even through your flat voice and even flatter face. Though you don't portray much emotion, it is quite clear of your distaste.
“It was a joyous day when Otto Hightower’s head came off.”
You pop a grape into your mouth as the atmosphere surrounding the table dips considerably. Wide eyes all around the table look to you as you speak.
“I told Viserys he wasn’t to be trusted,” you hold a grape between two fingers before you crunch down on it, causing Prince Daeron and Valarr to flinch while Aerion just watches with glee. Everyone else at the table has wide eyes as they look to you, even Aerys glances up from his scrolls.
“He was a fool to listen to him in marrying his daughter.”
King Daeron continues to cut into his meal as if you aren’t speaking out of turn about his great uncle. He turns to Queen Myriah, “this is quite good.”
She gives him a strained smile as you take a sip of wine.
“My apologies, I know how you humans feel on speaking ill of the dead.”
You bring a hand to your head massaging your temple, thinking too much about them always brings a strain to your mind. Even back then.
"I imagine you have many more questions for me as someone who lived through that time," you say as you glance at King Daeron who watches you with rapt attention, wiping his mouth with a cloth.
He nods with a small upturn of his lips, "of course. While we have our tomes and books detailing the events, it is another matter entirely to have a living book."
"By all means, please ask away," you say before thanking the servant who takes your empty bowl away from you.
“How did you find yourself in court? From what we know, elves are solitary creatures.”
You hum at the question. A grimace finds its way to your face, you remember all too well how you were found.
“More so how the courts found me. I was with the dragons. Elves have long been tied to magic, we were more plentiful long before the Doom of Valyria.”
Baelor looks up at that, turning his head towards yours.
“More plentiful? You mean there are not many of you now?”
You take a large bite of your meat, swallowing harshly.
“We were hunted by your kind. Demons didn’t help either. On all fronts we were pushed to the brink of extinction, now…”
You trail off and sigh, it has been five hundred years since you last saw one of your kind. It’ll likely be longer if you’re going to be stuck here with the Targaryens. Rhae looks to you in interest at the mention of magic.
"Magic? You can use magic?"
You look to her as she watches you with wide eyes, though Maekar gives her a look that has her trying to calm down. You give a slight smile.
"I can."
"Show us!"
Maekar looks to her with a stern look, hand gripping his fork.
"Rhae. Enough."
The little one still has a glimmer in her eye even at her father's words as Daella looks to her with that same whimsical look.
You only blink as you take another bite out of your meal, swallowing before looking at the young girl.
"Maybe when we are done here I can, if your father is okay with it."
You look to Maekar who's face pinches in a manner that cannot be comfortable. A scowl on his face as he avoids looking at his daughter's hopeful faces and now avoid looking at his father's face. King Daeron for his part has his hands clasped together on the table, behind his plate.
"I think we all would like to see what exactly it is that you can do."
'If they saw exactly what it was I could do, I would be ordered to be killed,' you think as you look from each persons face to the next.
"I have no objections, if it's what you would like, who am I to refuse?"
King Daeron nods as Maekar frowns before grumbling into his meal. Baelor nods his own head as he resumes with cutting into his meal. Matarys turns back to you from over Valarr with a gleam in his eye.
“When I asked about the dragons, you said it depended on which one for their personality,” Matarys takes a deep breath as Valarr gives him a look for speaking so fast.
“What were the other dragons like? Like Jacaerys’s? Or Prince Daemon’s?”
You hum as you think about them.
“Vermax, Jacaery’s dragon, was fiercely protective of him. He hatched in his cradle, their bond was inseparable.”
You pop another grape in your mouth as you rest your cheek in your hand.
“He also hated the cold. Threw terrible fits whenever he was exposed to it. Had a nasty temper when it came to it. I remember on his trip to the North, Jace had told me how differently he acted.”
You laugh lightly remembering the two. You really did miss them, they were very sweet.
“They were the sweetest. As for Caraxes.”
You make a face before eating another grape, inhaling deeply.
“He and Daemon were perfect for each other. He had a deep bloodlust and was never content with peace. He was very aggressive, the only times I’d seen him even somewhat at peace was with Syrax.”
Matarys looks to have stars in his eyes as Aerion looks on in interest. You try to ignore the look he gives you, his eyes have a shine to them that you’re not sure has any good behind it. The other children and their fathers listen with quiet intrigue.
“The both of them were the sole cause of many headaches,” you rub your temples with one hand as your ears twitch. You can hear Daemons complaints and Caraxes screams even after all these years.
"On the topic of headaches, there was one dragon that held my interest most.”
You take a sip of your wine as King Daeron looks at you with a relaxed expression, “of course, which one?”
The others at the table look to you in interest as well. Which dragon could have gained your interest especially? Maybe Meleys, Vhagar, Dreamfyre?
“Cannibal.”
The air in the room freezes, the very name causing a chill to run down the spines of every person in the room. You merely sit calmly as you reminisce on him. He was the most peculiar of the dragons.
“He was odd, avoided everyone and fed on the other dragons. He was one of the sole reasons why I was kept in court even when I would speak out. I was the only one strong enough to keep him from eating some of the dragons.”
“Of course, I couldn't protect every dragon. He still had to eat. He did not like me very much,” you take a bite out of the meat in front of you, juice running down the side of your mouth. The image of the juice running down the side of your mouth and the mention of Cannibal has stomachs turning.
“We had respect for each other, however. Him as the oldest dragon and me as the oldest creature.”
You wipe the side of your mouth with your napkin, setting the cloth back on your lap.
“Do not mistake my words. He never allowed me to touch him, but he never went out of his way to harm me either. Actually, he largely left humans alone, only attacking when one tried to claim him.”
You lick your teeth, making a small squelching noise that has Prince Daeron flinching and Aerion leaning forward.
“He was also the cause of many headaches. He came and went as he pleased, did whatever he wanted, killed any man or beast that neared him. A large brat is what he is.”
Aerys looks up at you, frown slightly on his face and eyes narrowed, “Was. You said is.”
You glance at Aerys, face flat. You don’t truly believe Cannibal is dead. He left during the Dance and with no one claiming him and you didn’t believe anyone would be crazy enough to search for him, he very well could have gone back to the Fourteen Flames. Not that they need to know.
“Of course, my apologies. Well, that said, the dragons all had unique personalities and their own quirks. They were fun, even the most misbehaved ones.”
Finally finishing your meal, you down the last of your wine and wave off the servant who came forward to fill it with a smile. You fold your hands on your lap as everyone else finishes their meal.
"Once everyone has finished I can show my magic in the lower courtyard," you glance at King Daeron who nods.
"That would be fine, as soon as we all finish we would be honored to witness your magic."
You nod as you patiently wait for everyone to finish their meals. During the time that it takes for everyone to finish, you focus on the mana signatures of everyone in the room. Rhae it seems has a minuscule increase in hers, likely her interest in magic has lead to her wanting to study some form of it.
Everyone else has the same low register. You close your eyes and read out further. You can find the maester beneath the rookery. It seems he's busy writing. You can feel the movement of some septas and some ladies of the courts. The setting down of forks brings your attention back to the table and your eyes open.
King Daeron gives you a small smile as he moves to rise.
"We’d all be honored to witness your magic.”
With those words he rises, followed by the rest of the table as they file out with the Kingsguard surrounding them as you all navigate to the lower courtyard.
Warnings: animal death, blood, swearing, slight nudity, let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: 10,472
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
Tag List: @cdragons @arkadiaphilosopher @yerhina @diorsvnz
Translation:
Ja'unndthomeva bôyza - handsome boy
Byka zaldrīzes - little dragon
Ao issa zaldrīzes, skorī syt issa ao kesor? - You are dragon, why are you here?
A/N: not beta read we die like men. Also anything I make up in here is from my mind and loosely, very loosely based on legend and folktale of actual mermaid lore
The two of you set off to the tourney in Ashford as Dunk awkwardly places you on the darkest horse.
“He’s strong, well-tempered,” his hands land awkwardly on your hips as you place your hands on his shoulders. He lifts you up on a count to three and places you so you sit side-saddled.
“Is this how ‘ladies’ sit?”
You ask as you take your hands from his shoulders, brushing your fingers off them softly as he shudders lightly.
“Yes,” he clears his throat, “yes, this is how they typically ride.”
He takes his hands off your hips quickly when he realizes they’ve lingered for too long. He quickly walks to the head of your horse and takes the reins, grabbing the reins of the other brown horse and mounts the white one quickly.
“We’re to head off now, to Ashford.”
“Ashford?”
Dunk nods from his white horse ahead of you as you try to make yourself comfy on yours. You watch as he rides with his legs on either side of the horse, tilting your head. You've seen men ride horses throughout your many years. Taken many men from their horses as well, and the way they ride seems to be better suited than the way you ride now.
You move so that you sit with one leg crossed over and shift it so that you now straddle the saddle and shift yourself so that you sit a bit more comfortable.
'This seems much better, much more sensible,' you think to yourself as you hum out a lyric less tune. Dunk turns his head back to you briefly to see you now straddling the saddle, like he is.
"When did you-?"
"This seems much more sensible," you speak calmly as you watch the scenery pass. Large trees swaying with the slight breeze, birds flying high in the sky. It reminds you of when the dragons would fly overhead the seas, long before you moved to that lake.
Dunk takes a look at your eyes the way your eyes don't leave the birds in the sky. He turns forward again, question on his tongue though he doesn't know if he should ask. It's still a half day’s ride to the tourney, there’s the night you need to pass, no sense in it being dreadful and awkwardly quiet.
"Have you seen them?"
You blink as you turn to the large man, hand absentmindedly playing with the mane of your horse.
"Seen who? I've lived many years, you'll need to be specific."
Dunk purses his lips as he clenches his reigns of Sweetfoot, who merely follows the path as if she's crossed it many a time. Maybe she has, maybe it is ingrained in her spirit, in her blood.
"The dragons, my lady. Did you see the dragons?"
You hum as you think back. How long has it been since you've seen a dragon? At least a half a century you'd wager.
"Yes, they would fly over the oceans. Some of them would even dive in and take heaping gulps of fish, rather annoying, but we never had a problem with them. At the time, we were more plentiful, but like the dragons we have begun to go extinct."
You start to braid Thunder's mane now, making tiny plaits as you keep your hands busy.
"The last dragon I had seen was a blood red one. A fierce one that one."
Dunk hangs on every word you say, ears eagerly taking in every word. He feels like a child listening to the old men telling their stories again.
"Have you ever touched one?"
You furrow your brows as you try to think, a hand lifting to move some hair out of your face.
"There was a battle. A dragon shot down with his rider, the boy had struck the water and I'd investigated. The scales were like the toughest nacre and chiton teeth. He was green and had very pale orange wings. He was beautiful, but his time had come to end."
Dunk is enraptured at your words. To touch a dragon and a Targaryen, to see one up close! His mind can't wrap around the concept.
He's quiet as the two of you move further along the trail, eventually as hours pass you are the one to break the silence this time as you see some structures. The day is coming to an end and will soon roll into the night. You grow bored of the silence and of watching Dunk's back.
"What manner of man are you?"
Dunk is startled, so used to the silence he'd almost forgotten that you were behind him.
"What manner?"
"There are many kinds. Lords, kings, princes, knights. Which are you?"
"You seem to know an awful lot about men for a sea creature," Dunk mumbles out, you catch every word as you whisper for Thunder to get closer to the man. The horse obliges, trotting closer until you are beside Dunk.
He turns to see your face close to his as you lean in, balanced despite the uneven weight distribution on Thunder's back. He flinches back in surprise as his mouth falls open.
"You think because I am from the water that I am not intelligent. I can assure you I have roamed the lands and seen much more than even the oldest kings."
Dunk faces you with wide eyes as your stare bores into his eyes. There's no anger on your face, none that he can decipher, but he's never been the most intelligent man. He'd been referred as 'Dunk the Lunk' more times than he can count and he doesn't know the first thing about women, much less their tempers, but he definitely knows that he insulted you in some form.
"I mean no offense- I swear it, I only mean that it seems strange for you to keep the knowledge."
Your eyes glint in the light, reflecting much like a cats would. You lean back into the right riding position and resume fiddling with the many plaits you’d made as you turn your head up to the sky. Not squinting even when the sunlight shines into them. Dunk takes glances at your face every now and then. He thinks that like this you seem more feline than anything.
You give a non-committed hum, "I suppose it is strange for one of my kind to keep any knowledge of men. I know you mean no offense. To answer you, you humans fascinate me. Men in power crush the ones below even though without them they would crumble because they do not want to do the labor of the ones below them. It is all very ridiculous."
Dunk thinks on your words. He supposes from your perspective it does seem a little ridiculous.
"I suppose that is fair my lady. I am one such man. Born from nothing and made a knight by my Ser. I offer nothing."
The way he speaks is downtrodden. You take a glance at him and see his face seems tired, like he's given much thought to his status.
"You are kind."
He looks up to see you not looking at him, merely watching the birds flying away from the trees.
"Being kind is more than wealth, it means you care for others. It will take you far."
Dunk says nothing at your words, only letting the silence take over as he ponders over them.
Soon enough, the sun lowers and a beautiful sunset falls over the land. He stops the horses at another river for the horses to drink and get some rest. He gets off his white mare and approaches you as you sit tall. You go to swing your leg over and nearly topple back as he catches you at the hips, tunic riding up to reveal more of your naked thighs as he tries to ignore the warm feeling of your skin through his tunic and breeches.
"Careful, my lady. You should have waited for me to help you down."
You merely stay still in his grip as you feel the rise and fall of his chest to your back. You turn your head back to see his face. It's much closer now and you can see the dirt specks on his face and some of the freckles hidden underneath.
"You are here to help, no?"
He splutters as he sets you down on the grass gently, the small blades tickling between your toes as you feel the tunic fall back down and cover your thighs. It swallows your figure completely while Dunk just shakes his head and grabs something from Sweetfoots saddle.
You just stand as you watch him reveal some type of strips of something and a loaf of another something. He breaks off a piece of each and hand them out to you. You stare at it at first before slowly taking one into each hand.
You watch as he bites into his own pieces and take the strip and lift it to your nose smelling it first before taking a slow bite. You chew the tough strip before swallowing.
"What have I just consumed?"
You eat the other food he'd placed into your hand, the texture softer and crumbling as your teeth crunch into it. Dunk just watches you eat the bread slowly as he swallows his own mouthful.
"Hard salt beef and bread, my lady," he wipes the corner of his mouth as he watches your eyes narrow as you swallow.
You repeat the words to yourself as you smack your lips, the taste lingers. The salt you recognize, but the other taste evades you.
"I must admit, I am not well versed in your human meals. The texture is… strange."
Dunk just releases a short chuckle, "no, I imagine not. You eat more fish, yes?"
At his words your eyes light up, your head whipping to him as your mouth waters.
"Yes! Oh, they're delicious. The chase makes the meal all the more fulfilling."
His eyes widen a bit at your words as you approach the edge of water that the horses drink from. He watches as your eyes dart from fish to fish, tongue sticking out as your hands open and close, clenching as your nails sharpen. You crouch by the water, watching and waiting for a fish to get close enough.
"'The chase makes the meal all the more fulfilling?'"
Your hand darts into the water and leaves it faster than Dunk can blink and in it is a decently sized fish with your hand in its side. Blood dripping down its side as you quickly snap the fish's neck and spinal cord. You turn to the large man and hold the fish up with two hands proudly for Dunk to see who stands stunned at the speed that you just grabbed the fish from the water.
"How did you-? You just," Dunk mimes with his now free hand how you snatched the fish from the water, "right from the river!"
You take the fish to your nose to get a smell and bring it to your mouth to get a bite before stopping as you think for a second.
"Would you like a bite?"
Dunk takes a bite out of the bread in his hand as he looks from your face to the fish.
"No, I'm- I'm alright, you can have it," he sees the way your eyes glitter at having fresh fish and who is he to take that glee from you?
You waste no time in taking a bite out of the fish, chewing happily as blood gathers at the corners of your mouth. You're trilling happily at the taste of fresh food, nothing like that hard salt beef Dunk had handed to you.
"Careful with bone."
Dunk warns quietly as you practically inhale the fish, you spit out the occasional bone here and there, but largely swallow whatever enters your mouth. He watches in awe as you make quick work of the fish. He can see beneath the blood that coats the bottom half of your face that your teeth still hold a glint to them, sharp canines tearing and ripping into the flesh of the fish as you finish it off leaving only the spine and head uneaten.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, streaking blood across your cheek as you look back out the water. Dunk wants to speak up and say something about the blood on you, but refrains when he sees the way you eye the water. Your pupils have gone to slits as your hand curls around the spine of the fish.
‘Much like a cat,’ Dunk thinks to himself, face flat as he watches you put the fish head in the water, letting other fish gather to pick off the remains.
Your hair falls over your shoulder and some even sticks to your cheek as you dip a hand into the water to cup it to your face and rinse. He comes up behind you and your ears perk up at the sound of grass rustling. You turn your head and see Dunk behind you with something curled in his hand. He gets a bit closer to you as you turn to him fully, still crouched with your hair falling over your shoulder and down your back.
He holds a small, thinner bit of rope in his hand, must have grabbed it from one of the saddle bags as he crouches himself down to your level.
“May I?”
You’re quiet at first as you don’t know what he means to do.
“You may?”
You say with a questioning lilt in your voice, not entirely sure what it is he wants to do.
He nods and gathers your hair, pulling the strands that are stuck to your cheek softly and gather them in the back of your head. He gently turns your head to face forward as you allow him to take your hair back. He takes the rope and wraps it around your hair and ties it off so that it no longer gets in your face.
He stands after that and nods his head a little stiffly. The feeling of your hair in his hands was…nice. Your hair was soft despite having dried from the lake and easily came together. It easily goes down your back as you toy with the rope in your hair, having let the fish head go.
“Thank you, Dunk,” you stand after rinsing your mouth and hands off, wiping them on your, well his, tunic. You turn to face him as you watch his expression.
“Should we be off to Ashford?”
Dunk stands stiffly, still feeling how soft your hair was when he looks at you and blinks.
“We’ll ride a few more hours then find camp fo the night, my lady.”
You let a small smile grace your face at his words.
“‘My lady.’ I never gave you my name did I?”
Dunks brows furrow as he thinks back, you asked for his name, but he never did ask for yours.
“My apologies, I never asked for yours,” he lowers his head in embarrassment as he rubs the back of his neck.
You wave him off as you walk to Thunder and take out the small braids you’d put in. You hum lightly as you see the small waves left behind in his mane and card your fingers through the hair.
“(Y/n), that would be my name in your language.”
Dunk repeats your name several times on his tongue, the name tasting foreign. He goes to your side and clears his throat as he waits for you to stand in front to get on Thunder. You turn your head and move to stand in front of him holding your arms up above your head, tunic riding up.
Dunk pointedly doesn’t look down as he puts his hands on your hips and places you on Thunder, side saddling as you push your lip out and move so that you instead straddle the horse correctly. Unknown to you, the tunic doesn’t cover your pubic region as Dunks eyes flash to the curls that are placed delicately over your privates. His face flushes a deep and dark red as his whips his head away so fast there’s a lingering ache in his neck.
He can feel the blood rushing south as he coughs and settles a palm over the front of his breeches to hide his growing erection, trying to will it away as you move your hips forward to get comfortable. Dunk is very aware of the fact that you have no bottoms on, the tunic is the only thing covering you and shielding your body from his eyes. He needs to find a way to get you clothing, fast.
He moves swiftly with his hand still covering his front as he grabs the reigns and mounts Sweetfoot.
He clears his throat, face still a blazing red, and motions his head forward.
“We’ll find camp for the night and ride to Ashford in the morning.”
You hum at his words as you watch the sun dip lower on the horizon, the bugs start to sound as you ride on. You hum out some more as you continue to pass the greenery. You’re not familiar with an ‘Ashford.’ Your time on land having been spent watching and learning the human customs and how they lived, you'd been with your sisters then. You wonder how they are now. If they're still alive. If they're at home at the reef. Though there was a time you’d met a young prince, you'd been in the ocean still. You wonder how he is now. It must have been over two decades since you’d last seen him. You remember his eyes well.
“Who rules the land now, Dunk?”
Dunk’s head perks at your voice, brow furrowing lightly.
“King Daeron the Good, my lady.”
You purse your lips at the name.
“‘The Good,’ what king has ever been good,” you mutter as you try to think on the last king that you remember ruling.
“Daeron, Daeron,” you try to remember the name.
‘Ah, Daemon that’s the name I’m thinking of,’ you think as your eyes linger on every water source you see. Soon enough, night falls as Dunk stops the horses by a large tree with billowing branches.
He dismounts his horse and goes to you to help you down. He pointedly looks up at the sky as he helps you down and rips his hands away from you and goes to pull out his pack and blankets. He lays them down on the smoothest patch of grass without rocks and also pulls out a pair of extra breeches he has and holds them out to you.
You take them and hold them out. They’re long enough to come up to your ribs. Dunk stands in front of you and mimes how to put it on as you follow his lead and pulls the pants up. They swim on you as you hold them up.
“Oh,” Dunk pulls out a rope and hands it to you as you just stare at it. He slowly takes the rope back and ties it around your waist to keep the bottoms up as you pull the tunic over the breeches. You look and feel like a pup in his clothing.
Your toes wiggle in the grass as Dunk begins a fire for the night and goes to lay down on his blanket after getting it going steadily. You follow suit as he places the pack on your blankets and munches on some more hard salt beef before laying down fully.
“Good night, my lady,” Dunk mumbles as his eyes close and he drifts off to sleep. You’re left on your own as you sit on the blankets and stare at his form for a bit before your gaze starts to linger elsewhere. Your eyes go up to the sky and watch the stars, thinking back to how the ocean would look at night. The deep blue and oceanic lanterns of the night were gorgeous under water.
The various structures that used to be filled with others of your kind would be glittering and colorful. Bountiful in sea life, coral, and fish swimming around while you would rest under the water. Sometimes you would go up to the surface and watch the night sky. It reminds you of home. You wonder if anyone still lingers there. Home or what was your home, it’s been many years since you’d been in the ocean. Maybe the salt has been scrubbed from your veins.
You take the rope out of your hair and lay it by the pack Dunk placed for your head to rest on and turn to watch him sleep. The rising and falling of his chest and his light snoring are what sound through the night. Crickets chirping and other bugs singing throughout the land. Leaves rustling at any slight movement.
You close your eyes at the thought of morning, what Ashford will be like and if there will be any names you’ll recognize. Distantly, in your mind, you can't help but think of the eyes of that one boy you'd met when you were still in the ocean.
You hear rustling when you open your eyes next and see that Dunk is no longer laying down next to you. You rise slowly, wiping the sleep from your eyes and crust that you're not accustomed to. Dunk is brushing Sweetfoots mane as he feeds her an apple. He's just finished packing his blanket that he laid on and he looks to you.
"We'll be heading off soon, did you sleep well?"
You blink slowly, one eye opening after the other as you lick your lips, canine catching on your lip lightly until you lick your lip back to normal.
"I slept. Not used to the quiet or the sound of bugs."
Dunk nods as you stand, stretching your arms high above your head, hair messy as you card your fingers through it and untangle the knots as you grab the rope from beside you and place it in your mouth. You twist two small bunches of hair on each side and smooth down the bumps, then braid your hair back and use the rope to tie it off as you throw your hair back over your shoulder.
"I'm ready whenever you are," you grab the blankets and pack you were laying on and awkwardly bunch them together, trying to mimic the folded blanket that Dunk packed away.
Dunk watches in earnest as you do your best to fold the blankets and takes them from you gently as he unrolls them and folds them.
"You take this side here," he takes the blanket and drops one side down and takes one corner and pulls it so that it goes into the other corner then folds it over into a rectangle. You watch with apt attention as he talks you through the motions.
"Fold this here and now it's ready to be put away, did you want to try?"
He holds the other blanket out for you to try and fold as you take it and messily follow his movements. Take one corner to this side and fold it over, it comes out messy and a little rumpled but you fold it.
“Like this?”
Dunk takes it and smooths it a bit with a small smile.
“It’s good, let’s pack it and get going.”
You smile as you walk to your horse and stand in front waiting for Dunk to lift you. He approaches from behind and puts his hand on your hips lifting you as you throw a leg over to sit saddled. Now with the breeches on you can sit comfier without your skin sticking to the saddle.
He gets on his own horse, reigns in hand as he leads you both back onto the trail. Morning light just breaching over the horizon as you trot for hours until you start to see small settlements of houses and tents. The further you get the more the small settlement starts to take shape. There are tents up and knights walking around.
“Is this Ashford?”
Dunk turns his head to you and the back forward.
“Aye, this is Ashford Meadow.”
Your eyes glance around as you take in the scenery. Some men stumble around, others are at their stalls and putting their wares out. There are some women and you take notice of their clothing. You briefly glance down at your own and back at the women.
'It seems I am incorrectly dressed,' you lift a hand and mess with the pearl beaded necklace around your neck as a means to keep yourself busy and then push it back between your breasts under Dunk's tunic when you see a man cast his gaze to them. Your pupils turn to slits as you growl lowly, the rumbling running through your chest and seemingly spread through the ground.
A melodic hum emanates from you threateningly as you pass the man. His eyes glaze over as he seems to follow your form until Dunk calls to you, breaking your focus. The humming stops as your eyes go back to normal and your head turns to Dunk.
"I’d prefer you not lure men, my lady.”
You just give him a slow grin, one that shows a bit of your pearly teeth and attracts attention as the light seems to glitter around you.
“I make no promises.”
You pass by an area where there are fence posts lined in multiple rows. The rising sun coming over the horizon lights up the area, casting a light glow as your eyes streak across the scenery. Dunk pauses on his horse, causing you and the other to stop as well as he takes in the sight.
"What are they setting up?"
Dunk casts a glance at you briefly before bringing his eyes back to where the jousting is to commence.
"This is where the tourney is to be held, the jousts."
"Jousts, jousts," you mumble the words, "what is a joust?"
"Um, y'know it's where you- two knights ride on a horse across each other and ride toward each other with lances."
You blink at his words trying to imagine what he says.
"What's a lance?"
Dunk turns to look at you now, pursing his lips as he tries to think about how to phrase his next question.
"It's a large stick, basically. Um, if you don't mind me asking, what do you know about humans?"
You hum to yourself as you pull your long braid forward and play with the ends of it while you think.
"Whenever I went onto land I spent most of my time watching and listening to the men near the docks, though there was a time where I would watch this girl who would read her books by a large tree. She had long silver hair."
Dunk thinks on your words as he tries to get a grapple on just how old you are. You've seen dragons, you saw a Targaryen princess, clearly, so just how old does that make you?
He decides not to pry on the matter and kicks his horse forward, pulling you forward as well as your eyes continue to scatter around. Taking in the sight of stalls and men and women setting up their tents and wares. You see one that sells fabrics and look down at your own clothing before looking at some of the women and girls and their clothing.
'Is that what I'm meant to be wearing?'
Dunk turns toward the castle of Lord Ashford, clenching his jaw before turning Sweetfoot around and bringing the group of you forward to a post where horses may be tethered.
"We have stopped," you observe as Dunk unsaddles before turning to you.
"I've to see the master of the tournament, get my name in the lists to ride."
He nears you as you turn to be taken down, hands landing on his shoulders as he brings you down by the hip. He lets go and thinks for a moment. He's not sure if leaving you alone is the best choice, you attract too much attention. Then again is bringing you with him the best choice either? He glances down at your shoeless feet. You could step in something awful.
He inhales before placing a hand on your shoulder and pointing at you sternly, you merely give him an amused glance back. It's like he's talking to a child and not a creature well over two hundred years old. At least he thinks your two hundred years old, truthfully he has no idea.
"I'm going to get my name in the lists, stay with the horses and please," he looks you in the eye sternly, "do not lure men to their death. Even if they leer."
You blink at his words.
"I will stay here."
"And?"
Your face falls as you lick your teeth, tongue catching on your sharpened canines, "and I won't lure men to their death."
He nods with a stern look.
"Good, I'll be back soon."
He glances down at your feet once more, "and we'll need to get you some shoes."
At that you curl your lip.
"My feet are fine, I've no need."
Dunk just sighs and decides this will be a discussion for a later time and goes to move to the castle, casting one last glance at you as you stroke through thunder's mane. He shakes his head and moves forward, already thinking on the trouble you're going to cause. He turns back to look at you once before shaking his head and leaving to find the master of games.
You watch him leave as your eyes flit around. Stalls, drunken men, women setting up their wares with their soon to be drunk husbands. Nothing has changed from the last time you'd been up on the surface, it seems.
You plait thunders mane with some small braids, as men pass you by. Some call out to you, but you largely ignore them in favor of braiding the horses manes.
"You look very handsome like this thunder, ja'unndthomeva bôyza," you mutter.
(Handsome boy)
A man stops before you as you ignore his presence. The man scoffs before turning your shoulder so you face him. You merely give him a blank face.
"Pretty horses for a lone maiden, how much for 'em?"
You glance at him, before looking back to thunder who stomps one of his hooves. You shush him as you look at the man once more.
"They're not for sale, they belong to my knight."
He scoffs as he puts his hand on one of the reigns only for your hand to dart out and grab his wrist, crushing it in your grasp. He gasps in shock as he feels pain radiating from his wrist.
"They are not for sale."
He curses as he tries to pull his wrist from your grasp, only to struggle immensely. It feels iron clad, the grip you have on his wrist. Like his arm has been tethered. You grip tightens until your nails draw blood from him before you release him.
'Dunk said to not lure men,' you look at the man who grips his wrist with a scowl on his face and a nasty look thrown your way. He reaches forward to grab your hair and yank you down as you shift away, just out of reach.
"Filthy whore," the man grunts as he thrusts his hand out to grab Dunk's tunic and pull you forward only for your hand to imbed itself into his torso. He grunts as he looks down and sees red blooming from his wound.
He takes a deep breath, about to scream until he looks at your face and hears a low hum coming from you. He ceases any movement as his eyes glaze over, hands falling to his side as you slowly take your hand out of his torso.
You look at your hand, smelling his blood and pinching your face in disgust as you wipe it on his tunic.
You lightly push him away from you muttering, “seek a maester.”
The man stiffly walks away to find the nearest maester as you watch him leave. You look at your sharpened nails and see blood underneath them. Bringing your hand up to your face you lick the blood off as Dunk walks back to you with confusion on his face.
“Why are you licking your hand?”
You ignore him as you clean off any remaining blood and instead look at him, pearly teeth glinting a slight red.
“Are you really curious?”
Dunk thinks it over for a second before untying the reigns of his horses and grabbing your elbow.
“I’d rather not know,” he sighs, urging you to follow him as he walks. You follow him as he walks further into the small town until he spots the banner of the lord he's meant to find and ties the horses to another post. He gives you a look, only for you to smile back at him. He purses his lips as he thinks over leaving you again, but sighs and just motions for you to follow.
"Please don't say anything strange, I've to find a Ser Manfred."
You simply hum as you follow close behind him, carefully stepping to avoid getting too much muck on your feet. He approaches the tent as two men leave and tries to speak with them, only to be pushed aside as you bristle beside him.
A woman with red, coppery hair kindly tells him that the man he's looking for is napping as she casts a glance at you.
"I, uh," Dunk clears his throat and follows her to where she sits beside another red haired woman, "I don't- I don't have a stag."
The woman beside the one who just sat glances at you and your pearls.
"For her necklace, we'll wake him."
You smile and reveal your very pearly, very sharp teeth, "I'll rip your throat out if you even attempt to take my pearls."
Dunk whips his head towards you as you lock eyes on the two women. They both swallow their spit as they nod at you.
"Course, well, what kind of knight doesn't have a stag?"
"It's a hedge knight, ain't it?"
The paler of the two women look over Dunk and his simply clothed form. The other woman glances at her companion in confusion.
"What?"
Red, as you've dubbed her, tilts her head as she speaks next.
"It's like a knight," she pouts, "but sadder."
Dunk splutters at her words as he clenches his fist.
"No, I'm- I'm not-"
Red continues with her words as you fix a hard stare on her.
"He's gotta sleep in the hedges 'cause no lord'll have it."
The other red-haired woman glances at Dunk and gives him a look over, "aw. That is sad."
While you normally have no qualms with women, blatantly insulting someone is something you don't take kindly too. Especially if they do it to someone who you've claimed as your own. You lift a hand, nails sharp and glinting as they extend beyond human capabilities, only for Dunk to snatch your wrist and lower it. He gives you a look as you keep your gaze firm on the two women.
The other red-haired woman continues, not seeing this display, "and Ser Manfred's fucked its wife, too."
She glances back at you to see you with a flat face and an unyielding look, you haven't blinked at all during this encounter. Dunk interrupts with a stutter.
"No, I- I don't have a wife."
"Then who's she?"
Red gestures to you. You only smile back.
"I've joined him on his journey."
The two women nod to themselves, to each their own, going back to Dunk.
"Cause we're used to husbands coming 'round."
"Likes fucking wives, that one."
The woman closest to you turns to Red.
"Near as much as he likes fucking us."
The two exchange a look as you boredly look away, no longer interested in the conversation with the two women. Instead, your attention is taken by some girls running by. They chase each other with large grins on their faces. It reminds you of your own sisters, when you were much younger pups in the large ocean.
Your attention is brought back when Dunk shuffles a bit on his feet.
"Evenfall."
You look to him as he glances away from the women, you pull on his cloak and look to the horses as he clears his throat, only for the women to motion him off as well.
"Goodbye."
"Right," he turns the wrong way, before turning around once more and going the right direction, "arse."
You follow silently with one last glance thrown to the red-haired women, before finally turning forward once more. Dunk leads you with the three horses through the meadow as he mutters to Sweetfoot, "why'd she say that, huh?"
He turns to the horse and then to you, "We're not sad."
You don't comment on it as you walk forward, watching the people of the tourney as you pass them by. Some men stop and gawk at you as you pass, some women stare at your outfit in curiosity and pity. There are older, far older men that give you wary glances, the shine of your hair and those pearls. They don't get a good feeling from it.
You tune back in to Dunk and his mutterings as you stop in front of where some knights are fighting.
"Won't be sad then."
You turn to the noise of metal clanging, the ringing sounding through your sensitive ears as you hiss lightly, ears twitching at the sound. Grunts and groans of men colliding sound as you watch the men fight.
Sweetfoot makes a sound as Dunk halts in his footing, turning to her with his brows furrowed.
"I know. Said if we did win."
He clenches his jaw at her turning her head away as you smile at the horse, running your fingers through her hair.
"Look, it's not a crime against the king to enjoy a nice thought for a trice."
You turn to Dunk to say something, only to be interrupted by a man being pushed through the fence post and collapsing.
"Do not muck about with me, Raymun."
The larger of the two knights with flaming red hair spits out, staring down at the smaller man on the ground.
"You're a good-for-nothing useless rat."
The smaller man rises and swings his mace at the other, only for the taller of the two to deflect the blow, pushing the weapon away.
"What the fuck?"
Dunk whips his head to your form behind him as you watch Raymun get smacked by his cousin.
"That's no language for a lady!"
You just stare blankly at Dunk who pinches between his brow.
"Seven help me," he mutters as you grin back, canines glinting in the light.
'I'm sure this man would not be missed,' you think as you slowly bring a hand up, nails sharpening to blade like points.
Dunk sees your hand lift and your sharp nails and quickly takes your wrist and brings it down, pearl bracelets lightly tapping against his hand as he frowns and shakes his head at you.
He harshly whispers to you.
"Why must you resort to death first?"
The look on your face is unnerving as you respond back lowly.
"Fighting is encouraged, but when others are mistreated, we deal with them swiftly, especially the men."
Dunk chooses to not think on what implications your words carry as he keeps a hand on your wrist, watching your nails go back to normal human nails. He slowly lets go, making sure to serve a sharp look at you as you only keep your eye on Ser Steffon.
You get a weird glance from the man as you keep a careful watch of him and the younger man beside him. Raymun glances at you and swiftly glances away, he finds himself nearly lost in a trance. You look otherworldly and he does not mean that lightly. You look like a creature from myth, surely there’s no way some man and woman came together to create you. You had to have been formed from clay or brought to life from marble, something to explain the look of you.
You tilt your head as you meet eyes with Raymun until he quickly looks away with a flush to his face.
"As you see, me cousin here is not ripe yet," the taller man, Steffon, gestures to his cousin, only for the cousin to look to Dunk.
"Do it, Ser. I may not be ripe, but my cousin's rotten to the core."
His eyes flit to you before going back to Dunk.
"Knock the seeds out of him."
"Quiet!"
Dunk furrows his brows at the cousins, glancing to you quickly before responding in turn.
"I- I thank you, but I have manners to attend."
"What, matters of the hedge, I have no doubt."
Steffon laughs, leaning on the broken post as he goes to the other knights, looking for another fight. Not before giving Dunk another nasty comment and being on his way.
Raymun looks at the two of you and shoot you an awkward upturn of his lips before going back to his cousin. Dunk stands for a moment before turning to you with a furrow in his brow and a clench to his jaw.
"Perhaps we should seek quieter accommodations."
Dunk leads the five of you away from the hustle and bustle of the meadow to a quieter area, one rich with foliage and a stream nearby as he comes upon a large elm tree.
The two of you settle, taking the packs off the horses and getting comfortable under the large tree. You watch Dunk pull sticks together to make a fire for later as you follow him with your gaze. When he deems the camp fit enough for the two of you, he turns to you.
"I'm going to wash up in the stream, stay here."
As soon as the word 'stream' leaves his mouth, you've already taken off his shirt and pants and jumped into the water. He's left slack-jawed as he hears chirping coming from the water, only to turn and see you on your back in the water, hair floating around you.
"What- I was going to wash up!"
You open an eye toward him as you hum out, webbed hands swaying lightly in the water, "I make no motion to stop you."
Dunk goes red in the face at your words, looking around in shock as you stay face up in the water with your eyes closed. He relents eventually, taking his clothes off slowly, looking to you to ensure your eyes are still closed before stepping into the water slowly.
He washes himself, eyes flitting to your form occasionally to ensure you're not looking as he finishes rinsing himself. Your eye cracks open, getting a look of his backside as he exits the stream and goes back to his clothes, beating them against the hedge.
He takes in the smell of his breeches, shuddering with a disgusted face before resuming beating them against the hedge. As soon as he dries and dresses himself he walks back to where you reside in the stream.
“I’ll be returning to the meadow to speak to Ser Manfred.”
“Ser Manfred?”
You tilt your head as you float in the water, bringing a hand up and pooling water on your stomach. Pearls glittering in the water and skin shining that same iridescent light.
“Aye, the knight with those two red-headed women.”
You hum at his words, moving upright in the water and move yourself to the bank. Your tail dries and comes together forming two legs, scales being shed as you collect the shiniest of them and throw the rest in the water.
"I will join you."
Dunk scratches the back of his neck as he peeks at you before turning fully to hide his face and front. You'd pulled your hair back revealing your chest. He leans down and gathers his discarded tunic and breeches, along with the rope used to tie it around your waist and holds them out for you to take.
"You've no need to join."
You take the clothing and pull it on, pulling your hair out from where it was tucked into the tunic and let it fall around you. Still wet, it shimmers and sits down your back in ringlets.
"I enjoy this, what is it called again, tourney. The smells are different."
You twist two small rows in your hair on either side of your head, leaving the rest free. You stare expectantly at Dunk as he just sighs and rubs the back of his head.
"Right, come along then."
He places you on Sweetfoot as he walks beside you, back to the meadow to see Ser Manfred. As soon as you arrive in the meadow and Dunk ties her to a tethering post, he gives you a look. You only look away, arms flat at your sides.
"I'm aware, don't say anything strange and don't lure men."
He gives you a small smile before walking forward as you look around. It seems livelier, the more the sun lowers the more boisterous the inhabitants get. How fun. He talks to Red as you people watch. Very interesting characters around, it reminds you of the numerous merfolk you once knew.
Red stands from her seat and walks into the tent, Dunk following her as your mind drifts. Only for you to turn to look at him and see he is not in your sights anymore.
'It is best if I stay here,' you think as Dunk disappears from your view. A quick smell in the air and you can follow his scent into the tent of that man that he was searching for. No sense in you following. Instead your eyes follow the different people, the way they move and speak.
Soon enough Dunk exits the tent with a pensive look on his face, meeting eyes with you and gesturing only for you to follow. Seems whatever was discussed was not in his favor. No matter, your eyes watch his back as he nears a keg to grab ale. He'll get into the lists. A man as large as him would fetch a hefty some to watch fight. Humans are all the same, watching others go through torment for their own amusement.
Your ears twitch at the sounds of knights passing by in their armor. Your attention is brought to a tent where some performers are doing their show. Dunk walks forward as you follow silently.
Entering the tent, Dunk keeps watch on the woman narrating the knights tale. You only watch the dragon puppet with sharp eyes.
'Looks like that one large black dragon,' your eyes move from the dragon to the girl.
'Tall.'
Dunk watches with keen intent, eyes set strongly on the girl before the performance ends with the dragon 'breathing' fire. You only walk out, not all too interested in puppets as Dunk soon follows behind. He downs the rest of his ale and drops the cup off before walking ahead only to be called.
"Halfman! Halfman!"
He stops and turns to the source of the cries, stopping you as well as you watch the same man from earlier, you think his name was Raymun, calling out to the larger man.
"Do I look like a half man to you?"
His voice is exacerbated as he looks down at the shorter man, only for him to scoff.
"Aye. Half man, half giant. Look, I'm sorry. I should not have urged you to try my cousin."
The two start to walk as Dunk grabs onto your elbow to pull you along as your mind was off. You wordlessly follow as the two converse. They speak on the tourney and who's to fight in it. Meaningless to you, until Raymun asks if the two of you are hungry. Your eyes perk up as they meet his. He looks away as he leads you to a large tent, filled with people and laughter and music.
You garner strange looks from those at the entrance. Your shoeless feet striking oddly against the pearls on your wrists and around your neck. When one tries to get a better look you only bare your teeth, sharp canines glittering as they step back warily.
Dunk pulls you inside before you can act.
Your seated as Raymun pours the both of you a drink. Dunk takes his with an awkward smile before looking at the laughing man at the head of the table. You take your own drink, taking a sip before letting it run out back into the cup.
You push the cup to Dunk who takes it none the wiser as you look at the man in antlers at the front who calls out for attention.
"I've had a profound thought, if anyone would care to listen."
His hands are slightly up as the guests in his tent quiet down to hear this profound thought of his.
"Four thousand years ago, our ancestors gathered in that," he gestures to the field outside the tent, "big field outside to blood each other with sticks and have a little bit of gay fun."
You watch the man with the antlers as he speaks.
'Good jawline, strong hair. He could be muscular,' you stare intently at him as Dunk pours himself some more ale. He follows your unblinking gaze to Lyonel before waving a hand in front of your face. You blink at the movement only for him to give you a bewildered look, you only give a blank face in return.
"Fuck it. A hundred gold to the man, beast, or god who sticks me best."
He tosses a bag of presumably gold coins at the front of the table as the people cheer, food being brought out.
"Now, eat your birds so we can dance!"
Dunk grabs a giant leg of some beast taking a large bite with wide eyes as you stare at the food in front of you. You stab a piece of meat with a finger, bringing it to your face as you smell it. Someone pushes a plate of what looks to be bread and some other sort of food items in front of you.
You stare at it as you place the meat into your mouth, chewing slowly. It's much better than whatever Dunk had given to you a night before, so you swallow it without trouble. You spend much of your time poking at the food and slowly eating to get used to the taste of food as Dunk wanders from the table. Likely to ingest more food.
You poke some more at your food before being pulled up to dance by a woman, you blink in surprise at first. You watch the way the others dance and move their bodies before mimicking as you spin with the girl, hair flowing around you.
You glance up to see Dunk speaking with that Lyonel man at his large table. You make eye contact with the lord before turning back to the woman you dance with.
"What creature is that, that you've brought into my tent?"
"Pardon?"
"The girl with the silken hair that shines under the candles."
Dunk glances at you before clearing his throat, "she- she has joined me on my way here."
Lyonel glances at you before glancing back at Dunk.
"She your woman?"
Dunk's eyes widen as a flush comes to his face.
"No! No. She is a companion."
Lyonel's mouth opens lightly as he leans in to Dunk.
"You like to dance?"
Dunk joins Lyonel in dancing as he awkwardly moves his arms in the circle, linking arms with a woman as they spin. You pass by Dunk with a small smile on your face, one that he mirrors before he is face to face with Lyonel who jabs his foot onto Dunk's with a challenging look in his eye.
The two dance around each other for moments as the rest of you watch, waiting to see which man sticks who, only for Dunk to finally stick Lyonel in his foot. The man slumps forward at first before sticking his tongue out and winking at the larger man. Dunk shoves the man forward as they both now dance wildly, you joining with the rest of the gathered.
Soon enough the two men make it back to the larger table as you continue to dance with more women, unknowing to their conversation.
When you glance ahead from where you step with a woman, you see Red with some man. Further from that you see Dunk and make eye contact with him, you point to the two, now three as he links hands with another woman and his eyes widen as he stands.
The three of them exit the tent as you stalk behind, Dunk not too far from you. He first grabs his things before exiting the tent to see you standing stock still a little from the three. There's no movement from you, not even an indication of you breathing. Your eyes locked on Red, who eyes you warily. Ser Manfred looks you up and down before giving a sleazy smile, one that has your gaze darkening as it flits to him. Men, such wasteful creatures.
Before he can say anything to you, Dunk is behind you and calling out to him. His hand lands on your shoulder as he does so, pulling your gaze off the man and onto your knight. Your gaze falls back to its wide, wet-eyed look. Harmless, Red thinks as she looks at you, like a puppy.
You turn back to look at the man as he denies Dunk. Your lip curls at his lackadaisical response to your knight. Before you can make a move forward, Dunk grabs your elbow and pulls you behind him, stepping forward as he does so to follow the man.
"But Ser Arlan took a wound in your father's service. How could you have forgotten him?"
Ser Manfred turns around with his brows raised in almost mock pity.
"My lord father took eight hundred swords into those mountains. We've forgotten men who reaped much more than a wound."
Dunk's brows crease in worry as he pleads to the man to your distaste, he is not deserving of his pleading in your eyes.
"Please, ser, I- I will not be allowed to challenge unless a knight or a lord will vouch for me."
"And what is that to me?"
He leaves with the two women, but not without Red giving a last sorry look to the both of you as you watch them leave, unblinking. Red can feel your gaze as they leave, sweat falling down her back and gathering at her neck. Something about you is off.
You turn back to Dunk who's eyes have gone misty as you hold onto his arm as he turns to leave. The two of you hie back to camp without so much as a word.
You tilt your head up as you smell the air near camp. A fire and cooked fish! You pick up speed as Dunk calls out to you, feet kicking small rocks and dirt up as you swiftly walk back to camp.
Dunk follows soon after you as you abruptly stop, hair loose around your shoulders and giving you a wild look. The rope you'd had in your hair is on the ground as he leans down, taking the rope in hand and grabs your hair gently to tie it back when he glances at the middle of camp and sees a fire going and a little stowaway.
“Food and a pup?”
You mutter as your eyes zero in on the fish being cooked on a skewer. You briefly glance at the boy who stokes the fire with a small stick with a questioning gaze.
You take note of his hairless head and his own questioning gaze thrown towards you.
“Why are you bald?”
The nameless boy is taken aback as he rubs his head as if forgetting he was in fact bald before giving you a strange look.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
You don’t answer as you just blink at him and go back to smelling the air while Dunk converses with the boy, judging by his tone you get the indication that he is not all too pleased to have the boy at the camp which is a shame as he seems sweet. He made food!
"I like him, he made food," you say as you hold the fish now in your hands and take a bite.
"Hey!"
You stop your chewing as the boy comes closer, curling your lip as he points a finger at the fish.
"I was going to eat that!”
You look at the fish you’d taken a bite out of and use one hand to wipe the side of your mouth.
“I’m sorry, pup,” you hold the fish out to him with an apologetic look on your face.
“I was in such a hurry to eat something normal I forgot myself.”
“Pup? My name is Egg.”
You blink at the boy who gives you a strange look now that you’re closer to him. He looks at your hair, how it shines despite your appearance. By all means someone dressed like you shouldn’t have shiny hair, but yet you do, unnaturally so. He glances at the string of pearls nestled on your chest and the pearls around your wrists.
No common woman could ever dream of owning pearls, even noblewomen seldom had them. They had to pay near dowry amounts to own them, so how in the seven kingdoms did you own them? Not just a full string of pearls as a necklace, but also multiple sets of bracelets?
"Did she steal those?"
Egg whispers to Dunk, pointing to your wrists as Dunk sighs and watches you ingest the fish, leaving only the head and spine left.
"They're hers, not stolen. She's," he glances at you once more before turning the younger boy around and pushing him to help set up the packs for bed, "not like us."
Egg watches as you walk to the stream and hold the head and spine in the water waiting for more fish to eat at it before resuming setting up the packs for the three of you.
After they're all set up and laid out for the night the two of them lay as you sit by the fire, watching the flames.
From up above, a shooting star streaks across the sky, tail end burning out as it travels hundreds of thousands of miles away to give you all a one glance of it.
"A falling star brings luck to those who see it," Egg states, watching the star run across the night sky. Dunk glances at him from the corner of his eye as you turn your head to the boy.
"Go to sleep, boy."
Egg ignores Dunk, "all the other knights are in their pavilions by now, staring up at silk instead of sky."
Dunk turns his head to the young boy now, annoyed.
"Do you want a clout in the ear?"
Egg only turns on his side, but not before you get a last glimpse of his eyes. They're familiar and he has a scent to him. Old dragon's blood.
Dunk continues to watch the sky as you look up to watch the stars yourself.
He stutters first before asking, "So, the luck is ours alone?"
Egg only smiles as he stays turned while Dunk continues to look to the sky. You look to Dunk, sure that he's closed his eyes, and you know well enough that it doesn't take long for him to sleep, and cast your gaze to the young boy.
You stand and step away from the fire, now in front of the boy and looking down at him.
“Byka zaldrīzes.”
(Little dragon.)
Egg looks up startled, eyes wide. You narrow your eyes at him as you hum. A small, low thing, hardly noticeable, but it makes Egg's head spin lightly.
"How do you-"
“Ao issa zaldrīzes, skorī syt issa ao kesor?”
(You are dragon, why are you here?)
Your words echo in his ears as you stare harshly at the boy as he withers under your gaze. You’d seen the Targaryens over their long reign, you'd had many years to watch. From their escape from Old Valeria to now, you know of the old saying regarding their tempers and have grown distrustful of them and of mankind as a whole. Dunk is currently a sole exception. So what does this boy want?
"What do you want with my knight?"
You stand directly above the small boy now, hair free and falling down your shoulders, like tentacles from a leviathan. He may be young, but even younglings can be dangerous.
From this angle, your face is barely illuminated, only your eyes really being seen and the sight sends a chill down his spine. He quietly speaks as to not wake the larger man.
"I want to squire for a knight, a proper knight. Not my drunk of a brother."
The fire reflects from your eyes, but there's nothing human about them. It reminds Egg of his cat, how the fire would reflect from its eyes and he would only see the shine. Whatever you are isn't natural, isn't human.
"Is that all?"
He swallows harshly and nods. He reminds you of the younger pups you'd see, following after their mothers, staying close for protection. Your quiet before you give him a smile, teeth glinting. The humming ceases entirely and Egg's shoulders lower slightly.
You reach forward and pat his head, the younger boy flinching at first before looking up at you with his lip jutted out. You're very strange, almost animal-like.
"If that is all, then stay little dragon."
You step away from him then, moving to your own pack beside Dunk and lay on your back, gazing at the sky.
"Sleep well," are the last words you say before you shut your eyes and doze off. Mind already drifting with wonders of what this means now that you have a Targaryen prince with the two of you. There is bound to be some trouble growing now, you're sure of it. But that is a problem for another day. For now you sleep contently.
A silence rings out so sudden you could almost feel the air still. The pot bubbles, a brush bruddy, a new creature you had happened upon, silently breathes as it sleeps. You simply wait for everyone to stop acting as if you spoke an ancient tongue and calmly watch Qifrey's face.
Qifrey, for his part, is troubled to say the least. He doesn't trust you at all, that much is a given. Which you do not blame him for in the slightest, you would have been even more hostile if you were in the same situation.
“I assure you I can keep a secret, if that’s your concern.”
You take a finger and trace the lines of Richeh’s spell drawn in regular ink in front of you. You wonder briefly if you could mix your own magic and these written spells together, but file it away for a later thought. Something to practice on your own.
Qifrey still looks apprehensive, as does Agott. She did seem to be on the more skeptical end of things. You let your eyes drift around the room as the two share a glance, not unnoticed by you. Your ears twitch at the sounds of rustling as Qifrey leans to one side.
You stand and stretch with your arms above your head.
“How about this: I show you my magic?”
Coco and Tetia’s eyes light up as their mouths fall open in glee. They immediately turn to Qifrey with their hands clasped together.
“Please? Please?”
“Please, Master Qifrey?”
Qifrey gives you a glance as he looks at the hopeful gazes of the girls. He contemplates for a moment as he inhales deeply, bringing a hand up to his face to hold his chin.
"If she has no problem with it, I think we would all like to see some magic. I can show some of my own magic in return, it's only fair."
You give him a smile as you hold your staff and walk to the door, throwing a look back to the girls and Qifrey.
"There's no need, I'm in no rush. Now, the spell I want to show you needs to be done outside, if you'll follow me."
The girls quickly follow after you as Qifrey calmly follows behind. You hold the door open for the girls to file out. Coco and Tetia rush out as Richeh quickly follows after them. Agott walks smoothly out, though you notice her own pace quicken.
You finally follow out the door, staff in hand as you calmly walk after the group. You lead the group away from the atelier, close to where you landed and finally stopping once Qifrey calls out to you.
"I think this is far enough," he holds a hand up to shield his good eye from the sun. You finally stop in front of the tree you fixed and stand in front of it.
"Yes, I think this is far enough," you smile as you hold your staff across your body and stand up straight.
"I'll show you my favorite spell."
At your words, your staff lights up and your hair flies around you. Light emanates from your staff before flying around you, the field around you lights up before flowers of all kinds, colors and varieties bloom around you.
"Wow!"
"So pretty!"
Coco and Tetia yell in glee as Richeh's eyes shine and Agott stands with her arms folded, but an unmistakeable twinkle to her eye. Qifrey gains a shine to his eye as he watches your expression, a small smile to your face as flower petals fall around you.
Your hair stops whipping as the now bloomed flowers rustle softly around you with the wind outside.
"My master taught me this spell, many years ago," you reminisce on Flamme, your dear master. Those years you'd spent with her were some wonderful years. It's been far too long since you'd visited her grave, you're due to see her.
"It's beautiful, a field of flowers. So peaceful."
You smile fondly at Qifrey's words as he moves to stand on your right, observing the girls as they get closer looks at the flowers and stopping to smell them.
He glances at you as you watch the girls with a smile on your face.
“I know you don’t trust me,” you start, turning your head to Qifrey as he blinks at your words in surprise. He opens his mouth to object only for you to stop him with a raised hand.
“You’re wise not to. I’m a stranger, you’re protecting the girls. It’s a good instinct.”
You turn back to the girls, Tetia and Coco now weaving flower crowns as Richeh tries to mimic their movements. Qifrey watches you for a moment longer before turning to the girls once more.
"As an adult, I'm sure you understand the danger others pose, especially to children. I am only doing what I think is best for them."
You hum as you watch Tetia place a flower crown on top of Agotts head, the girl scowling, but still accepting it. You laugh a bit before finally responding to Qifrey.
"'As an adult?'"
You laugh a bit at the sentence, you're hardly an adult compared to some other elves. Even if you are older than Frieren, "protection from the Brimhats I'm assuming?"
Qifrey furrows his brows at first, "is something funny about what I said?"
You glance at him before resuming your gaze out at the field of flowers.
"I'm hardly considered an adult compared to other elves, some would even consider me still a child."
Qifrey tilts his head a bit, glancing over your form a subtly as he can.
"If you don't mind me asking how old are you?"
Qifrey is expecting fairly old, maybe a hundred years old since he knows that elves in literature are said to live for hundreds of years. So his shock at your answer is very apparent to the girls who give him curious looks.
"Hm, maybe two thousand years old? I haven't really been keeping track, truth be told."
"What?"
His mouth drops open in shock as his eye widens in what could be perceived as horror. You pay no mind as your face still falls neutral, your gaze falls on a figure in the distance approaching the atelier.
“Oh, who’s that?”
You gesture loosely at the figure as Qifrey just grabs your upper arms with his own hands, shaking you loosely.
"What do you mean two thousand years?"
"Exactly that? Two thousand years really isn't that long."
You suppose it's been so long that you've spoken your age out loud that you've forgotten what a normal reaction is to it. You've been spending too much time with Frieren you suppose.
Qifrey stops shaking you when you once again point out the figure in the distance with a dark, pointed, brimless hat. The man, you can see his form better, wears darker robes and walks stiffly, but picks up his pace when he sees your group.
"Oh no."
Qifrey moves you to stand behind him as you let him move you. You suppose it's natural for him to assume a protector role, though you feel a little silly standing behind him.
"Girls, it's time to go inside."
The girls, save Agott, are quick to complain.
"Wait!"
"We're not done yet!"
Richeh holds up her flower crown with a frown on her face, "not done yet."
Qifrey tuts as he walks forward, herding them toward the atelier.
"Girls, you'll have more time later to see the flowers. Inside, now."
You follow after Qifrey, keeping an eye on the man that gets closer and the closer he gets the more you can see his expression. His face is neutral, but there is a certain hardness to him. Like he hasn't had a proper nights rest in a long time.
You walk forward with the girls and Qifrey, until you feel eyes on you. You turn your head and see that the man has his eyes firmly set on you.
"Qifrey, who is that?"
You point your staff in the direction of the man as Qifrey pushes the girls further toward the atelier. If the man poses a threat, you have no qualms about using Zoltraak. Your grip hardens on your staff slightly as you angle your body toward the mysterious man.
"Someone who is not going to be very happy with me," he sighs as he stands in front of you, pushing your staff back up right.
Tetia turns to where your staff was pointed and yells out happily, "Olruggio!"
Qifrey stops as he hears the name and stiffly turns toward the mentioned man with what he hopes is an inconspicuous smile on his face.
"Olruggio! Has it been three days already? How are you?"
The man in question ignores the question as he stares at you, namely your ears, then your staff. Olruggio furrows his brows at the sight of you. He let it slide that Qifrey brought Coco, even if he still thinks it a terrible idea to essentially harbor a stowaway, but he draws the line now. He has to.
"What is she?"
He's gruff as he holds an arm out, pointing at you while you just blink at the motion. Qifrey gives him a frown as he tries to dispel the tense air.
"Is that how we treat guests?"
He tries to give an easy-going smile while Olruggio just narrows his eyes.
"Not when you have a history of bringing stowaways," he gives a pointed look to Coco, who hides behind your form. He may like the girl, but that still doesn't take away the fact that she shouldn't know about magic and should have had her memories erased.
"My name is (Y/n), pleasure to meet you."
You nod to the bearded man who only gives you a scowl. You merely blink at his expression, he almost reminds you of Serie in a way, namely from when you went with Frieren to deliver Flamme's will to her. You could feel Frieren’s irritation at having your dear masters will burned even if she didn’t show it. Ah, memories.
Olruggio only ignores you and looks to Qifrey for an answer.
"I allowed Coco to stay here, but I draw the line at mysterious creatures."
Qifrey sighs and pushes the girls inside the atelier, shutting the door as they complain. He lets his hand rest on the door before turning to the bearded man.
"She is not a mysterious creature, she's an elf."
Olruggio furrows his brows and frowns at his friends words.
"Elves don't exist."
He keeps a steady gaze on you while you just boredly look back. Your eyes drift up the sky as you ignore the odd look the man gives you.
"Oye, you," Olruggio points at you as your gaze lands back on him with a raised brow.
"Yes?"
"What do you want with the group?"
You lift your staff up with a small smile.
"Just trying to get home is all, I was just lucky to fall here."
"Fall?"
"I fell here. I was in a dungeon with some friends, though now that I think about it," you use your staff and cast an illusion in front of you of the events that happened just before you got sent to the sky.
"That spell was really weird, never seen anything like it."
Olruggio's face falls into shock as he watches the illusion of the demon cast a spell and then you pushing Stark out of the way before being sucked into a portal. His face falls in horror both at the sight of the demon and at the fact that you just cast magic with no quill or ink.
"Qifrey, get away from it. Now."
Olruggio moves forward to pull the man away from you while your face remains neutral. Qifrey doesn't move, instead just giving Olruggio a look.
"Never been referred to as an 'it' before, that's a new one, even for me. I am an elf, we exist, though I do have an idea of what has happened to land me here.”
Olruggio glares at you as Qifrey holds an arm out. To stop Olruggio from coming closer or from stopping you from using your magic he’s not sure yet, but the point still stands that Qifrey is trying to keep the peace.
"I think we should take a moment to relax."
You lift an eyebrow at Qifrey, who you can see is sweating, and glance at this 'Olruggio' who still scowls at you.
"I have no qualms with this, though he is the one who called me an 'it.'"
Olruggio falters lightly as he tsks and looks away.
"My apologies, you said you were an elf? Well elves don't exist. Not 'round here."
You hum as you look past him and back up at the sky at the birds that fly away.
"Is that so...are there any magical creatures?"
Qifrey and Olruggio look at you now, the latter lowering his arm now that the tenseness in the air has lessened slightly.
"We have flying horses, dragons, why?"
"Then who's to say that elves couldn't exist?"
You give a lazy smile as you brush your hair back, maybe you should ask the girls to braid it for you.
"Well, in any case. It is fairly obvious I'm not from here and I already have an idea of what happened to me. Though," you look at your staff, namely the ribbon you have matching with Frieren, "I may not be able to get home from my side. Even if I can, it will take me a while to study the spell that sent me here."
You sigh as you put away your staff in a flash of light, causing Olruggio and Qifrey to jump.
"I'm afraid I'll be here for a while, regardless of if either of us like it."
Olruggio watches your expression before sighing and grumbling to himself as he takes off his hat and ruffles his hair.
He walks forward to enter the atelier and turns back to you with a frown on his face.
"You may stay, but only until you figure out whatever spell sent you here."
He turns to Qifrey with a larger frown and points a finger at him, "we need to have a discussion."
Qifrey just lets out a wobbly smile, glad that fighting could be avoided. He had no intentions of seeing what a two thousand year old elf could possibly do and he would like it to stay that way.
The three of you enter the home as the girls swarm Olruggio, you smile lightly at his overwhelmed face. You walk past where the girls have him cornered and take a seat at the table with a pensive look on your face. So, it seems that you've been sent to some strange time where magic only exists in the form of magical sigils. Interesting.
Qifrey pushes the girls away from Olruggio so that he can set aside his stuff and get situated as you gesture for them to come over. They eagerly follow as you distract them with an illusion spell, showing Frieren teaching Fern Zoltraak when she was just a little girl, letting Olruggio and Qifrey get a moment to compose themselves.
Olruggio for his part, watches the illusion in interest. You hold no magical ink or quill yet you can conjure magic. He shakes his head as he leaves you be so he can take off his robe and get some food in him.
You let the illusion play out as Tetia and Coco 'ooh' and 'ah.'
"Who's that little girl? And that taller lady?"
You look at Tetia briefly as you pull in closer to Fern's face.
"That's Fern, she's Frieren's apprentice. She's been with us since she was a little girl, like how Qifrey looks after you girls."
You move to Frieren showing Fern how to fire Zotraak.
"This is Frieren, she is my greatest and oldest friend. Don't let the illusion fool you, she is quite short," you laugh a bit at Richeh's face. She focuses so intently on the illusion.
At this Coco tilts her head in question.
"Oldest? Oldest," she mutters lightly before looking at you with stars in her eyes.
"Oh! Elves can be super old right? How old is she?"
At Coco's words you think for a bit. You know you're older than Frieren by a little bit.
You hum in thought as the girls sit around you, even Agott listens with her arms folded.
“Let’s see, Frieren is younger than me by about a thousand years, which is really nothing,” you start to mutter after that as the girls give you shocked looks. You grab the quill and ink that the girls were practicing and play with it.
“A thousand years?!”
“Probably more, I haven’t really been keeping track. As far as I know Frieren is at least fifteen hundred years old, so that puts her close to about nineteen or twenty in human years I believe? Could be a little younger.”
You use the quill in your hand and draw swirls in neat circular patterns, meanwhile the girls are having their entire world deconstructed by your words. Fifteen hundred years! That’s unfathomable to them. They can’t even imagine anything as old as that!
Olruggio walks back in at that exact moment to the girls chattering about how old you are when he gives Qifrey a confused look.
"What are they muttering about?"
"Her elf friend is over a thousand years old. (Y/n) herself about two thousand years old."
Olruggio makes a bewildered face, whipping his head to your form as you continue to draw little circles and spirals, unconcerned with how you’ve managed to shock their system. You instead continue to speak.
“It really is nothing. Serie is much older than I am, and I’m pretty sure Kraft is even older than her so it’s hard to tell really.”
You make a small sigil and inspect your line work as Olruggio has a hand in his beard, eyes glazed at your words.
He feels as if he were a mere child in your presence.
“We don’t age like you do, nor do we really die. We could live forever if we aren’t killed or get seriously ill.”
You gain a small frown on your face as Agott watches your face closely, the small furrow in your brow and the slightest downturn of your lips. If she weren’t looking closely she doesn’t think she would have noticed the change in your demeanor.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen another elf besides Frieren, I fear we are nearly to extinction.”
“Who are Kraft and Serie?”
You stop your drawing as you glance up at Olruggio. You hum as you place down the quill and open your palm. A faint light emanates from your palm until a shimmering image appears, a small Serie appears in your palm. Her neutral expression clear as she sits on her throne.
“Serie is a great mage, she was my masters master over one thousand years ago. She had already been alive for probably close to nine thousand years if my estimate on her age is correct.”
The illusion in your palm shifts to different expressions you’ve witnessed of Serie, your personal favorite, the one where she judges you for your spell choice, shows next causing you to laugh lightly.
The girls watch enraptured as Olruggio has wide eyes. Magic without a quill or ink, just conjured from the palm of your hand, it’s unthinkable. You let the illusion move around, mimicking her movements as the girls follow her form around the room. You watch as the girls follow her in circles with a small smile on your face. It never failed to bring you joy to see people amazed by magic, especially children. Their wide eyes and awe always made it worth it to use even the smallest amount of your mana.
You stop the illusion of Serie, next showing Kraft in his monk robes.
"Kraft is another ancient elf, though I know very little of him to be honest. What I do know is he was a great warrior before he relinquished his title and became a monk."
The illusion of Kraft walks around the room before taking a sitting position as the girls watch him with rapt attention.
"He looks so young, is he really old?"
You let out a slight laugh at Coco's words, before stopping the illusion completely in a shimmer of your magic.
"We reach maturity around a hundred years, so our looks don't really change. I don't think I've ever seen an elf look old, unless they were over twenty thousand years old and even then they would barely gain wrinkles."
Coco listens with wide eyes as Tetia 'oohs.' Agott looks at most perplexed while Richeh keeps her flat gaze. The more you look at the blue haired girl the more you think she looks like a mix of Frieren and Himmel. The thought is almost comforting, in a very strange way. Ah, you shouldn't get too weird about it.
"Anyway-"
Olruggio stands with his arms crossed. If elves can live for thousands of years, that means they can gain power for that long. You may seem to be nice and give off the air of someone who wouldn't hurt a fly, but he knows better than to trust someone at face value.
“You’ve lived for over two thousand years, yeah? Does that mean you’re very powerful?”
Your eyes flit to Olruggio who levels you with a harsh stare. Ah, so that’s why he asked.
“Powerful enough to face the demon king, yes. Though I harbor no ill will towards humans. Demons have all the ire I carry.”
His brows furrow together as he glances at Qifrey who shakes his head at him.
"Demons?"
You draw the sigil for Zoltraak and imbue it with a small amount of mana, causing a spike to erupt from the sigil and go straight up into the air. You set a defensive spell to stop it from blowing through the roof as the children and two other adults watch in shock and alarm.
"What was that?!"
"Woah!"
"Huh. So it can work."
You rip the page and push it away to practice other sigils, only for Olruggio to take the paper away from you.
"No more sigils."
You huff, "I'm not a child you chastise," despite saying this you do pout as he chides you on the danger of drawing sigils with no care. He looks at the ink you used and realizes that it isn't magical ink, it's just the regular ink the girls were using to practice their lines.
"How did you...? This isn't magical ink?"
Before you can respond, Qifrey goes first.
"Did you put- what was it- mana into the sigil?"
You turn to him with a small smile, "precisely. In my own world, we have our own sigils that we study, mostly in an academic setting. My thought was that if I drew it, I could probably imbue mana to make it work. It seems I was correct."
The girls look at the sigil in wonder. Coco goes to grab it, only for Olruggio to grab the sigil and keep it far from her.
"What sigil is this? It looks too complex to be a simple one."
You blink as you look at Olruggio.
"Zoltraak. Once the strongest spell demonkind had, after eighty years humans studied it enough that now it's the simplest and most basic offensive magic there is."
You smile as you turn back to the table and feel Tetia grab your hair. You nod your head to her unasked question as her face lights up and she starts to braid it.
"To answer your question, demons are creatures who have learned human speech. They hunt and eat humans both for sustenance and for pure enjoyment. They're disgusting creatures and both Frieren and I operate on a kill first basis."
Olruggio and Qifrey look at you with furrowed brows. Both feeling uneasy with you being around the children. You smile at the girls as they show you more of the sigils they've practiced.
You turn to the two adults with a flat look.
"I know how that must sound, but if you knew what demons were capable of and what they have done to humanity and my kind you would feel the same. I suppose you could compare them to the brimhats, though I'm not sure what they're like."
Tetia finished the braid as she pulls it over your shoulder. You touch the braid gently and thank her as she beams at you.
The two men sweat at your words, they suppose they can understand the hostility. Though if a brimhat were spotted the thing to do is to let the Knight's Moralis know. Wait, the Knight's Moralis.
Olruggio's eyes widen as he runs from the room.
Qifrey merely blinks at his disappearance and decides to let it be, focusing back on you.
"You said this Frieren and you were close?"
You smile as you think of the elf. An image of her stuck in a mimic clear in your mind.
“Frieren is my oldest friend. She’s basically my sister. It’ll be a sad day when Fern and Stark pass.”
Qifrey's face falls, as do the girls.
“How morbid? How could you say such a thing?”
You play with the end of your braid as you think.
“Unlike Frieren, I am very in touch with my feelings, though it may not seem like it. I am all too aware of how short your human lives are. It’s why I declined joining the party of heroes at first, I wasn’t too keen on getting close to anybody after our master.”
You throw the braid back as you stretch your arms above your head and relax your shoulders.
“Himmel was the one to convince me otherwise. He promised me the journey of a lifetime.”
“Did he grant you that?”
You smile as you think of Himmel and the party of heroes, the ten years that the trip lasted and the adventures you had with them.
“No. Not for the many lifetimes I’ve lived that is.”
Qifrey's face falls at your words.
“But he did remind me of the value of spending time with others. For that I owe him a large debt.”
You smile to yourself as you look at the girls who speak amongst themselves and look back at Qifrey.
"I have no regrets in joining the party of heroes. If I could go back and do it again I would."
Qifrey smiles at your words as he looks at you in a new light. You may not be harmless, but you certainly aren't a danger to them.
Olruggio walks back in to the room noticeably sweatier and haggled.
"Olruggio?"
"We may have a problem coming."
You lift an eyebrow at his words as he whispers to Qifrey who's eye widens, flitting to your form then back to his friend.
"Is something the matter?"
Olruggio turns to you stiffly as Qifrey brings a hand up.
"Nothing at all, just an oversight," his eye flits to the window, noting the sun going down, "girls it's time for bed."
The girls complain, even Agott has a frown on her face, as they rise from their seats with pouts.
"Now girls, a good night's rest is most important for growing witches."
Qifrey pushes the girls to their room as they complain the whole way, leaving Olruggio and you alone together.
The man looks mildly uncomfortable as he leans against the counter and looks away from you. The silence in the room is deafening as you both have nothing to say to one another, not until Qifrey enters the room.
"Ah, the girls were as feisty as ever," he wipes his brow with a hand as he looks to you now.
"You may have my bed, as you are our guest."
You lift your eyebrows as you open your mouth to decline only for him to lift a hand with a smile.
"You are our guest, I'd feel awful if we didn't show you any hospitality."
You smile at the white-haired man as you rise from your seat.
"Right, well, thank you, Qifrey. It is greatly appreciated."
He smiles and beckons you to follow him as you leave the living space to go to his room. The room itself is neat and large. It's cozy. Qifrey leaves you to your own devices as you settle in for the night. You settle in his bed as you look up at the ceiling.
'I wonder how the others are doing,' you turn to your side as your eyes fall shut.
"Goodnight, Frieren," you mutter as you fall into a dreamless sleep. You hope that even through a different world, she knows you're still thinking of her.
Summary: You’ve lived a long life. Over three thousand years and over that time you’d become entangled with the Targaryens. After the Dance of the Dragons you’d been lost in time until one day the Kingsguard come to bring you back at the request of King Daeron the Good.
Word Count: 735
Warnings: let me know if I missed any!
Tag List:
The original post here
Seventy-eight years. Hardly anything when compared to how long you’ve lived, but you still feel the passage of time regardless. It’s been seventy-eight years since the dance of the dragons. Seventy-eight years since you’d left your place in the Targaryen courts, since you’d left their muddled and crazed home.
You now found yourself living in the woods. Far from court and from the expectations of royalty. You simply wandered the lands for years, collecting spells and then returning home. You’d only just returned home and had gone out to replenish your supply of herbs when you’d been approached by a group of knights clad in white armor.
You lift your head up with a bored look on your face, not at all eager for humans to come onto your land.
The knight in front sits tall on his horse as you look back down at the herbs, rifling through them to pick the best.
He steps down and approaches you carefully, left arm resting on the hilt of his sword.
“If you’ve come for the witch of the woods, I’m afraid you’ve arrived ten years too late.”
You crouch down in front of your patch of oregano and start to pluck the ones you need, picking off brown leaves here and there.
The knight stands tall, clearing his throat.
"You are the elf, (Y/n) the Slayer, correct?"
You chance a look at him, "I haven’t been called that in many years. I wasn’t aware that there were still humans alive that knew of me. Plus, it seems rather rude to ask ones name before introducing yourself, no?"
The knight stares down at you before sighing.
"My apologies, I am Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard."
"I figured you were with the Kingsguard, the armor gives it away. I may have been gone from court for half a century, but I still remember the knights."
You glance up at Ser Roland with a flat face. Your ears twitch lightly, betraying your blank expression.
“King Daeron the Good has requested your presence.”
You hum.
“And if I refuse?”
“He politely asks for your presence.”
He tightens his grip on the hilt of his blade.
You glance at his blade before flicking your eyes to the other knights behind him.
"I see."
You bring forth your staff, in a flurry of magic causing the knight to clench his hand and start to pull out his blade.
"I have no desire to fight you, I'm sure we both know how that would fair," you stand, brushing the dirt from your dress as you turn to your home.
“I’ve lived a long life, Ser Roland, seen many kings live and die.”
In a burst of light, your home goes from lived in and well kept to a decrepit state. Wood rotting, foliage and overgrowth over the doors and beams that were once upright now fallen over. You wave away your staff as you crouch back down.
You pick the herbs you need, flicking dirt off them as you place them in your basket.
“I’ve no interest in the way you humans live in court, it doesn’t matter to me if the Targaryens call me back. I haven’t been interested in the last seventy eight years, not after Rhaenyra.”
You inspect another herb you’ve picked, bringing it close to your eye. You stand, bringing your basket close to your hip as you level the knights with a stare.
"Why has Prince Daeron requested me back?"
Ser Roland arches a brow as the knights behind him, still on their horses, shift lightly at your words.
"King Daeron, and he wishes to see you for reasons he has not disclosed to us. He simply requested we bring you back."
You look to the sky and watch the birds fly away, before bringing a hand to your hair and push it back.
"When I last saw him, he was still Prince Daeron. Though I doubt he remembers me, he was still a baby."
You walk to your now decrepit home and enter, placing the herbs inside a luggage you bring on your travels and exiting your home, locking the door behind you. You approach Ser Roland with a still blank look on your face.
"I suppose if he requests it I cannot refuse."
He nods his head as mounts his horse and extends a hand to you.
AKA what type of woman he's into, what he looks for in a relationship etc hcs sfw and nsfw if possible? Nothing too intense though
I love this, wait lemme think.
First and foremost, I’m putting this out there that I believe he looks at people more than just their gender. He looks at them, what makes them do the actions and how they uphold their beliefs.
To me, Qifrey seems like someone who appreciates a strong willed person, maybe even tough, but still has a nice heart. We see how he acts with Olruggio and he has all those attributes even if he does bend them a little, especially when it comes to the girls.
I think Qifrey would be drawn to someone who has loose morals, but ultimately leans more to the ‘good’ side.
Morals, especially in this universe, seem to be somewhat loose. At least for Qifrey. We see that he is someone who has a strong sense of right and wrong, but definitely doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty when needed.
A person that would fit well with him would be someone that is kind, caring, but knows where to draw the line and how to make the tough decisions.
Personally, I think that Qifrey would find the gray areas in all things and wouldn’t mind helping his partner with making a difficult decision. Like with Coco in the very first episode of the series. We see that the right thing to do would have been to erase her memories of Magic, but is that the right decision morally? Ethically? Would leaving Coco all by herself with her mother encased in crystal, not knowing how or why she ended up that way been the right decision or would that have lead to Coco falling down the wrong path and becoming a brimhat?
Sorry, let’s get back to the topic.
Qifrey, to me, would want a partner that doesn't mind getting their hands dirty. Someone that sees the world in gray and not necessarily black and white. He makes questionable decisions at times, has done some very irredeemable actions that I will not specify for the anime only.
I think Qifrey would want a person that takes care of themself, but still has things that they rely on someone else for. Qifrey to me seems like a provider, he loves to provide things for people. He helps others at no expense of himself.
I don't think he would mind if a person was quiet or loud. He seems to me like someone who values time spent with a person, I think his love language would be quality time spent together.
He probably feels that he's on borrowed time so any time he gets with his partner he will gladly take.
On the same note of him feeling like he's on borrowed time, I think he has a bit of a pervy streak. Walk with me.
If the both of you find yourselves alone in the atelier I could see him bending you over and just playing with you a bit. He rubs your chest over your clothing, not quite giving you the touch you want, but letting the heat of his palm warm you through your clothing.
He could slip a hand underneath your skirt if you're wearing one and just let the warmth of his hand settle on you as he lightly toys with you through your undergarments.
If you're busy cutting food up, he'll slink behind you and push you so that you're pressed against the counter and he'll push himself so that you can feel the hardness of his cock against your butt. He'll try to distract you so that you give in to him, he just wants to feel you.
Aerion breathes lightly beside you as your eyes open. It must be the middle of the night, the hearth still crackles lightly with the remnants of the fire you'd last stoked. You blink your eyes as you turn so that you lay on your back, staring at the canopy roof as your mind reels.
Your dreams consisted of the trial, the possible outcomes, Baelor's death, all of it. It was gruesome.
You glance around the room for any sign of a pitcher of water and see one on the table. Daring a glance to Aerion, who still sleeps soundly beside you, you slowly take the blanket off and step lightly on the cool stones of the floor. You lightly step to the table and pour a small cup of water for yourself, taking slow and measured sips.
Your brows furrow as you take your last sip and set the cup down, walking back to the bed and staring at Aerion. He sleeps peacefully, brows not furrowed together and face relaxed. He looks handsome like this. A dark thought crosses your mind for a moment as your eyes flit to the pillow your head was resting on and his tunic that he had tossed aside to sleep shirtless. His blade has to be near. Or you could use the pillow.
You slowly pad over to where his tunic lays, picking it up and placing it on the chair sat next to the table. That's when you see it, the blade he had at the meeting. The same one he used to cut Tanselle. It sits perfectly by his sword.
You could take the knife. You could take it and end him, stop the trial from ever happening. Stop Baelor's death from ever occurring. Your eyes can't leave the blade as your heart races. It's so close, you could grab it. Quick and cut Aerion's throat, from right below his ear, deep enough to cut his carotid and jugular to the other side of his head. It would be quick, certainly not painless. He would choke on his blood, filling his lungs and suffocating him, the blood loss would shock his system. His adrenaline would release, causing more blood to release and he would die from blood loss.
It's so close. It's almost mocking you. Coward, it calls to you. You took an oath to do no harm and now with an opportunity, a perfect opportunity, you won't take it. Even if it would save lives, save Baelor's life at the cost of your own. You'd be the only suspect. Blood would get everywhere, the pressure from the heart would cause blood to spray. There would be no denying it. Maekar would call for your head.
You glance at the blade once more as it laughs at you before walking back to your side of the bed and laying back down, pulling the covers over your body and closing your eyes.
You won't kill him. He'll be maimed during the trial. The thought doesn't offer you any relief as you drift off once more.
Some minutes pass, couldn't have been more than an hour. Your mind raced and you'd finally gone into that half-asleep state, almost drifted off until you hear steps by the door.
The door creaks open as you’d finally almost drifted off to sleep. Your eyes open as you turn towards the door from where you lay on the bed next to Aerion.
You blink softly as your vision tries to take in the shadowy blob of a person that approaches you. The fire, no longer burning and only embers, barely illuminates the room. The blob, no, person, in front of you stands a little short. Couldn't have been more than five feet, maybe shorter, it's hard to tell from where you lay. You're confused until you hear a calling of your name.
“(Y/n)? Are you awake?”
You rub your eyes as you whisper back, “Egg? When did you get back? You should be in your own chambers. If Aerion wakes up-”
“He won’t, he sleeps like a log.”
You have to bite back a snort at the boys' words as he comes closer. He’s wearing a simple long shirt and is barefoot as he steps lightly to your side of the bed.
“He’s sharing the bed with you?”
You sit up as quietly as you can as Aerion shifts next to you, sighing lightly before resuming his light snoring.
“He called me a dog for sleeping on the carpet and basically forced me to sleep here.”
You can see Egg's face a little bit clearer now that he's standing beside the bed.
"I can't believe he let you sleep on the bed," his mouth is wide open as his eyes glance from Aerion to you.
"I think he felt offended seeing me sleep on the floor. He also called me a witch."
Egg just scoffs as he moves to scoot into the bed with you. Doing so pushes you a small bit closer to Aerion, but the bed is large enough to comfortably fit the three of you.
"What're you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
Egg lays his head down on the pillow as he huffs and pulls the blankets up to his chin. He's quiet before he mumbles out, sleep finally getting to him as he grips onto the blanket.
"I had another nightmare."
You sigh as you smooth the furrow in the middle of the young boy's brow.
"I'm sorry, Egg, you can sleep here," you yawn as you pull the blankets a bit higher, smoothing them out, "should probably leave before Aerion wakes in the morning or before your father finds you missing from your own chambers."
He yawns as he pushes his head further into the pillows.
"Can you sing that song that you did the other night? The lullaby?"
He asks the question so quietly you almost don't hear it, but you just nod as you start to hum.
“Of course, sweet boy.”
You smooth an arm over Egg, holding him close as a physical means to ward off the nightmares. Turning on your back, Egg lays his head so that it lands on your shoulder and closes his eyes.
"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream."
You smooth Egg's brows where they still were a bit scrunched and bring your left hand down to rest across your stomach.
"I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."
Aerion's eyes flutter open as his brows furrow, he swears he hears singing. Something he hasn't heard or cared about since his mother's death all those years ago. He turns to his side to see you on your back, Egg tucked under your arm, eyes closed. He scowls and is about to tell him to run off, but he stops as you continue your singing, unaware that he's awake.
"And I know it's true, that visions are seldom what they seem, but if I know you, I know what you'll do."
Aerion's face softens, just the slightest bit. His brows don't furrow further, but they also don't relax. He just watches. And listens. Egg is completely relaxed in your hold, like a child with his mother. Aerion can't remember the last time he felt a maternal touch, or one that wasn't harsh. He can't remember the last time he had a woman's touch that wasn't for his own pleasure.
"You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream."
You hum out the next notes instead of verbalizing them, feeling Egg push his head closer onto your shoulder as he huffs out a breath. Finally fast asleep. You smooth the fabric on his shoulder as you hum more letting the tune carry throughout the room.
"But if I know you, I know what you'll do."
Aerion's eyes linger on your face, your eyes are closed, relaxed in a way he has yet to see on your expression when you're awake or when it's directed to him. He inhales before letting it out softly, bringing a hand up from under the covers and letting it hover just above your own hand that lays across your stomach.
"You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream."
He stills and immediately retracts the hand.
"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream."
His brows slowly smooth out, scowl falling from his face the more he hears your singing. The sounds fill his ears and he can feel the tension leaving his shoulders as they sag further down.
"I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."
He should be asleep. He has that hedge knight to knock down. For his honor, for the honor of his house and the insult of the puppet show.
"And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem, but if I know you, I know what you'll do."
His eyes flutter. Visions of his dreams going unwittingly through his mind. For a brief moment, the madness leaves him and his thoughts are quiet. For a moment, he is just a boy listening to a lullaby in bed once more.
"You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream."
His eyes finally shut as the last of your song fills the room and your humming continues. He lays his head down facing you, finally succumbing to sleep. His dreams are calm this night, flames not reaching him as the warmth of your body seeps to his side of the bed.
For one night, in a very long time, he doesn't have to worry about the dreams that fill his mind. He can sleep calmly.
