Lillie's Philosophy ⋆.˚

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: Hello, my loves! I just think these two are so so cute! And I had to write a one-shot. I got inspired after seeing this pic on TikTok. Please remember this is just for fun, and don’t make their friendship weird lol! (P.S. I did not get a chance to proofread. So sorry about the grammar!)𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

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I felt the salt on my skin, the breeze bringing me back from my daze as I stared at the horizon. The men laughed on board as if we were returning home. We were not returning home, but to my own form of hell: the lands of the Targaryens.

Being the oldest of my father's sons, it was my duty to keep up the facade of cordial connections with the brutes. With my father preoccupied with the struggle on our western borders, he left me with the gruesome task. The Targaryens were anything but a civilized house. All their fighting and rivalry had gotten them nothing in return but enemies and higher walls to hide behind.

The worst of the lot of them was the eldest son and heir to the title of Lord, Erling, the most beastly of the whole bunch. Thankfully, I had only had occasional run-ins with him at galas hosted back home in Driftmark. I remembered how the bastard always ended up with a bottomless cup, always willing to fight any poor soul who looked his way in a manner that wasn't absolute reverence. That man was unbearable—

"Lord Jude, land is in sight. We shall be docking soon," my captain spoke, warning me of our arrival from my place at the bow.

"Thank you, captain. Ready your men." And with that, I turned to the grand doors of my chamber on board.

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My fine embroidered boots rattled as my men and I set foot on the docks of Targaryen land. Squared banners, the left representing my home country of Velaryon, waved proudly in the wind. Though they were tarnished by the gold-black and red flags of Targaryia on their right.

My feet carried me further down the docks toward the high walls of the fortress. A wall of silver-haired men stood with their heads lifted proud; all five of the sons of Targaryia stood with pride. Reaching the head of the lot of them all, Lord Haaland. I reached for the hand that awaited mine.

"Son of Velaryon, Bellingham, what kindness you show us, allowing us to host you while we discuss matters of the borders." The head of the Targaryen house was a cultured man. Well, as far as a Targaryen could be.

I responded with a small nod of respect. "Please, sir, the pleasure is ours. Gifts from our lands have accompanied us during our journey as a sign of gratitude for you and your house, sir."

A chuckle was heard. Flames filled the eyes of Lord Haaland, falling on the boy I did not need to look at to know who would be bold enough to show such immaturity. Erling. He had a proud look of entitlement, resting in a hip-cocked pose of annoyance.

Scoffing, I turned my full gaze on him. For a moment, a flit of shock flashed in my eyes. Erling had changed; he did not look like the thin, short boy I had met years prior. He was towering in height, fuller, and his hair was long, tied back in a short bun that allowed the intensity of his gaze to be fully shown. He was dressed entirely in the fashion of the Targaryen's, fully adorned in black with the only color from the grand red robe attached to his broad shoulders.

I regained my sensibilities, after being clouded for a moment in absolute annoyance by his demeanor. "Was my nation's gratitude an amusement to you, Erling boy?"

The pet name caused Erling to snarl scoff at the remark, instinctively taking a sharp shuffle toward my direction.

"Please forgive my son's manners. He must have lost them while training one of our newborn dragons today," Lord Haaland spoke, his tone carrying more authority toward his son than toward me.

"Shall you allow me the benefit of retiring for a time, sir before the feast tonight? I wouldn’t want to lose my charms with the faces present," I said, taking one last little jab at Erling's lack of decorum.

"By all means, Bellingham. I shall show you personally to your rooms."

As we passed the other members of the house, Lord Haaland droned on about the construction of the new wing I would be staying in. A feeling overcame me as I bypassed Erling. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, a feeling that couldn't quite be placed nor could I understand what it’s meaning held.

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That night at the feast, I wore the colors of home: royal blue. My skin shone brightly in contrast with the colors of my tunic. The smiles and whispers of the women of the court as I strode by made my presence all the more noticeable to the high Lords and family seated at the head of the hall.

As I walked toward the main table at the head of the hall. The place in the room where all the high nobles of Targaryen sat. My gaze fell on the line of nobility. All looked as if they were carved from stone. Chilled in their demeanor and so painfully upright they sat in their grand chairs. whispering into each other's ears as they watched the courtisans dance. I could never imagine being brought up in such a place where being born meant fighting for your place here at this table each day.

As I approached Lord Haaland, my eyes fell on Erling. His head was bowed as he stared at his plate. Briefly lifting his gaze to meet mine for a moment, a flash of the bruised skin around his eye and lip was visible in the light of the candles decorating the table. A sense of guilt flushed over me, as if this were my doing, stemming from my noting at his haughty nature upon the meeting on the docks.

"Please have a seat next to my son Erling. You both being the oldest may find things in common now that you both have grown," the lord spoke in an ever-so-lightly drunken tone.

I sat stiffly next to Erling. My eyes gazed at the crowd over the lip of my glass, everyone danced to a tune I had not heard before. As I looked around, I felt a heavy gaze on me from the to my left. It was low, scanning my features as my glass left my lips.

Taking a bite of the roasted venison, I broke the tension. "Come now, Erling boy. You can't still be angry with me. Whatever would you hold anger towards me for? Why, surly it could not be for beating you in that fight last we met." I chuckled through my fill of meat and words.

Looking down at his plate, his tone was filled with a strength that any man would want, controlled and disciplined. "You beat me, yes. But never a second time. I’ll promise you that, Jude."

Lancing my words swiftly in hushed tones, I countered, "Oh, come now, what do you mean by that jest? Do you aim to rile me up, seeking another fight, Erling boy?"

His grip tightened around his knife for the roast. He didn't look toward me as he scanned the crowd, his voice soft enough to reach only the two of us. "I am no longer a boy, Jude. And you must know your place here, being that I am to inherit this house."

Smirking at his childish state, I smiled. "So tell me then, where would that be then? Why -"

Without a breath to consider his words, he let them slip past his teeth: "Under me."

To say my breath didn't stop hearing those words would be a lie. It would also be a lie to say I didn't feel fire on my face from his words.

Taking a sip from my glass, I choked out, "Fine, I’ll bite at your bait, Erling. Meet me in the back courtyard we played in when we were young, after all this. Fates will be decided then."

Through his own cup, his words were soft. "That they will."

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The rain poured down as I stood in the doorway of my side of the castle wing, questioning why on earth I would agree to something so idiotic with such a drunken head on my shoulders.

Erling emerged from the door across the courtyard from where I hid in the doorway of my own wing of the castle from the downpour. Crossing the court in swift strides, his cloak trailing behind him. The man looked like the very vision of intimidation in the flesh. As he stood in the doorway next to me, looking out toward our battleground for the evening, his presence felt closer than ever. His large frame made the covered door feel like it was far too small for both of us to fit.

"So, too scared to hold up your quips, pretty boy?" Erling mocked.

I turned my frame toward him, unclamping my tunic's top clasps as I spoke in a sickened tone, "Oh, come, get it over with, this one-sided hatred. I’m far too gone with drunkenness for your sake to talk rather than fight. Let me finish this so I may return to my wing."

Erling's eyes never left mine. His frame was now mere breaths away from me as he unbuttoned his tunic too, allowing the heavy fabric and cloak to fall to the ground. His words felt sharp as he said, "Very well then, I shall make your yielding all the more quick for your sake."

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Like prowling lions, Erling and I circled the center of the courtyard, trying to find an advantage over each other. With his frame silhouetted against the darkness, flashes of his tall, strong build flickered with the candlelight from the doorways of the castle wings.

Throws of each fist were blocked by flesh flashing all around us. The speed with which Erling threw his punches felt inhuman. Erling had grown far beyond the boy I once fought on these same grounds. His arms, long and reaching, struck at each part of my flesh. My only defense was blocking and dodging where I could.

As we swung at one another, the blows became tighter. Our punches turned into a struggling wrestling match against each other's skin, feeling the intertwining of our bodies as we pushed one another for dominance.

As we struggled for the upper hand, my eyes landed on his. Seeing such anger and pain in his blue eyes made me feel something deeply, something that had no definition in any words I knew. It was a pain that resided in the very deepest parts of his soul. I was not fighting one of the most feared men in these Targaryen lands, but the boy I knew as a child, a boy searching for approval for his place.

Erling stopped struggling against my touch, and for the smallest moment, with the skies crying out above us, the two of us stood completely still. Holding our eyes and frames as one.

Erling was the first to break, pushing me away. As he stumbled away from the center where we stood, he glared into my eyes. Hate had replaced the pain in his gaze.

"What, quitting so soon, Jude? What's stopping you? Fight me while you have the chance!"

I stood looking toward him. I did not know what to say as I struggled to come up for air for any kind of words, a jest, or witty remark to counter his threats, but this feeling was consuming every part of me.

Through heavy breaths, Erling strode toward where his tunic lay on the ground. "Fine, coward. I won't accept defeat from a man who won't fight me."

Turning only his shoulder to meet my gaze with his, I saw it again, that flash of pain from before. Through a pointer finger and a rage filled expression, he voice felt like fire on my ears” This isn't over, Jude. Don't forget, another time. I'll show you who is in charge in these walls."