ᴳᴼᴰˢ & ᴹᴼᴺˢᵀᴱᴿˢ [ ． ． ． ]

𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙻𝚈:         accepting these sentence memes.     working on playlists,   including dynamics of feng & zara ,   alerie & ivar. 

‘    I know only of blackberries,     but I’m unsure if they grow here.    ‘    He glances to the side to study her,   a nod of agreement as he scans the area around them for any familiar bushes.    Smile growing wide upon his mouth at her words,     ‘   So you do indeed have faith in House Mormont.    I’ll be sure to remember that next time someone questions me about bear gossip.   I’ll tell them to go straight to you.  ‘    A tease placed out in a playful tone,    soft and smooth as opposed to his usual stoic nature.   The splashes in the river draws his attention back to the animal,    bubbles created by his snout as Fang becomes more distracted by the water than the fish underneath the surface.   ‘   Fang.    I know,   he looks terrifying right now.    Entirely monstrous.    The name certainly suits him here,  at least.   ‘

A brief study of the other man,    expression lapsed in any emotion only for the time being.    Feng had been raised half on Bear Island and half in the colourful,    but deadly world of Tyrosh.    Paranoia and cynicism were tools to help one survive.    There was no bitterness in this hesitation,    but a simple routine as he breaks the gaze and pulls his attention back to the children playing.  ‘     An honourable promise.  ‘   Is all that’s said of that bold comment,    a nod of his head as though to solidify his mild admiration.   Children are to be children,   but the winter grows closer.    It always arrives,    just as the Starks predict it.    ‘  No hurry.    I’m content enough just to see her face.    I’m a stranger to her,   after all.    ‘   

One would be impressed with how quickly he had learned to contain himself.      To open the lid only an inch,       and only during the hours between afternoon and early evening.       He will not speak like a son anymore,      as the child is dead in him    -     has been since long ago.     He thinks this is best.      He thinks there is a larger world out there that’s made for sons who carry the weight of a father along their back like a boulder.       Feng observes the princess with a quiet reverence,    she seemed to possess a divinity that stretched far beyond the physical,     and he felt that this hall was too small for the two of them.     A self-awareness that became suffocating,    a tightening in his chest and his throat.    For someone who relishes in having a pragmatic perception of the world and its people,    he seemed he couldn’t quite settle on having her fit in one category.    She was without definition.    Fickle and firm all the same.   ‘    Again,    I’ve no doubts.     And what are your desires?     Respectfully speaking.     ‘  A brief stall,    tongue dry and heavy as he tries to assure that there’s no disrespectful meaning in the question.   While one does wonder exactly what she wants out of life,    and perhaps in love,    he also needs to remind himself that there’s no future in this flirtation.    He had chosen a path that meant feral lessons in life,    regardless of the woman who ends up owning his heart.    Blood and suffering,   what use is that to this tempest of a woman?    Poised and profoundly sedated by philosophical questions and vague answers to her own curiosities.    ‘    Funny that.      Loneliness is freedom to some,   and marriage is freedom to others.     I don’t think I’m meant for either.     ‘    An admittance followed by a low chuckle,    amusement from his own accepted demise.     A brow raised with intrigue,    boldness of his next response is accompanied by a coquettish gaze.  ‘    Am I not taking some liberties myself?    Sober,   too.    Some would say that’s worse.    ‘

This story is not about liars and thieves,     but it certainly touches on another group of sin.     Non-human, abnormal, abysmal.     The assassin had awoken,    not necessarily out of greed nor malicious intent,     but nonetheless there was a fire.     Fire was a hungry thing too and didn’t care much about the walls it burnt down.     It ate and ate and still the belly was empty,      still the stomach gurgled and fumed.     All this from the root of his impulse,      all this from the soil he was born from.     A blackened mound of rotted fate.      Self-destruction breeds temptation.     Feng looms towards a desolation that other wolves run from.      He allows aggression and fear to rule over him,      the only king in his body is a dead one.      It’s silent inside,      like at the bottom of a well someone had long since forgotten to check on.     No rain too,      a drought that dries up all mud around him and offers little reprieve.     This is not to say he doesn’t feel love,    for he feels love especially for his sister.   The warmth around them only grows larger each moment,   an urge to protect and to nurture.   ‘   Well,    for starters I know proper dining etiquette around young ladies.  Or any lady.  I’m no savage.    ‘   A glance to the side,    brows raised in subtle bemusement,   but there’s no bother with digging deeper into the pit of absence they both have experienced.    ‘   Aye,    he was one of the best.     One of these days,    dear sister,   I’ll be without  an eye as well.    Or an ear.    An arm maybe.   ‘   Meant to be humorous,    but the truth was wielded in those words with a careful dedication.    He knew there’d be a bloody end,    a downfall not covered in gold and glory,   but burnt skin and swamplands eating at his body.    A death fit for an assassin.    A laugh,    bright and cheery,    his youthfulness trapped in a single sound.  ‘   You know I’m too stubborn for my own good.    I would have seen you again,    even beyond the grave.    Don’t think I ever forgot about you.    Your first gift will be safe.    ‘   Fingers reach inside one of his coat’s front pockets,    pulling out a small wooden carving of a bear holding a long sword.    The details were miniscule and shaped out with great care.   The smell of beechwood and salt following it.    He offers it to them,   eyes watching with a hopeful glint.    ‘   I carried that around for years.    I got it my first summer in Tyrosh.   Naive enough to believe I was prepared to come home to you all already.   ‘ 

It wasn’t a frantic pace that had urged him to quickly resolve the issue,     it was merely the knowledge that a bear,    semi-domestic or not,    could wreak havoc similar to that of a small hurricane.    Destruction of property,    food,    a person if posed as an aggressive threat.   Fang was not an exception to being an impulsive instigator,    and this is what brings Feng to begin his walk towards the shoreline.    A glance over his shoulder at the Greyjoy king,    a politically neutral smile in place,   yet the tension in his shoulders will not yet be smoothed out until his bear is somewhat in better territory.     A nod at the question posed,    before focus returns to the furry animal digging through fishing lines.   ‘    I rescued him when he was only a cub.   Wasn’t expecting much of an attachment,   but he’s been loyal enough.   ‘   His boots sink in the damp sand,    the rocks slippery and wet with the occasional washing up in the tide.    A whistle comes from between his teeth,   the bear’s ears perking and his body jerks out of the shallows,    galloping onto the sand and shaking the water from his fur.     A pointed finger at his bear with a firm voice,  ‘    Is this what happens when you’re out of my sight!?   ‘  A pouch of a few silver coins pulled from one of his coat’s front pockets,    arm outstretched to offer to the other.   ‘   Will this be enough to cover the damages?  ‘

The attention he’s been receiving for his bear seemed to double back and bite him on his heels.    He shrinks in the spotlight,    refuses the sunlight and prefers the cool shade of bleak weather.   A turn towards the woman,    expression listless and yet adapts to the neutral charm a lord requires.  ‘  Aye,   although I could do without the title.     Feng is fine,    my lady.    ‘  A shift in his stance,    his training halted for the conversation.    Chest heaves and sways with his breath,    lungs burning at the intensity of the practice.     A nod,    half-intrigued at giving the other more information,   yet his profession’s desire for discretion wars with him.   ‘   The bears rule that island.    Can’t take one step forward without running into a giant one.   ‘   His voice holds the captivating talent of storytelling,    yet is ultimately amused in tone now,    only vague when needed.   ‘    I’ve forgotten how imaginative some gossip is here.    Almost everyone I met in Tyrosh had a strange creature they called their pet.    Some had tigers,    others had ostriches.     The bird terrified me the most,   I admit.   ‘  

The woods itself has grown quiet,    as if listening to the very steps he takes.   The soil surrendering underneath his weight,    the dead leaves crunching under his foot.     It’s dangerous to feel so unstoppable in nature,    for the earth has many lessons to give   -    all of them able to swallow up any man.    King or nameless.       Feng doesn’t necessarily approve of the boldness this woman is taking at meeting up with a so-called master assassin,    but he doesn’t voice it.    Keeps the observation to himself as he walks,   head angled towards her only briefly to answer.    ‘      So you can tell when a man has killed or not?     Quite a gift,    my lady.    Wasted out here in the wilderness.    ‘    Murmured with a steady tone,   mouth in a straight line,    not budging to allow any room for amusement.    Death was no parlour trick.     He plays with destiny each day,    each target.    He’d rather not ponder too long on what his own end would look like.    The scent of pine and wet fur,    he knew Fang would be close.    He turns his back fully on the other,     not assessing her to be much of a threat at this point in time.  ‘    You should go back to your walled kingdom,    this bear I track is a beast.    A bit better at socializing than I am,   however.     That’s an advantage for him at times,    but mostly it just makes him an easy target.    ‘  

Perhaps he could have been softer,     less likely to dig into organs and tear apart whatever made humans so susceptible to compassion.       It’s not like he’s a stranger to attachment,      nor the occasional dedication to loyalty.      It just seemed crooked in nature.      Poisoned as though the soil of the very emotions he had once nurtured had become soured and decrepit.      Brotherhood now as a sense of alliance.     His surname isn’t forgotten about and at times he strengthens it    -    thinks of how a true Sunderland is only bred for hunger and suffering.     He’d like to have a chance at becoming whole and less of a creature,     but that’d be a lie.     While his young siblings will sometimes long for something as fickle as true love,      Ivar was more than happy to oblige monster-hood.    Or so he thinks.    As the sunlight seems to warm Alerie’s smile,    he is drawn to the fragility of her just as deeply as he’s drawn to the viciousness of her.     Or at least the potential of the sharp tongued words.    A hum of appreciation,     genuinely placed in between them with a purposeful gaze.    ‘   You are a curious woman,    you want thrilling adventures just as much as I do.    You understand life is nothing if there’s no ambition,    no drive.    I like that.   ‘  An honest admittance,   although it’s said in a low voice,   as though he were already courting her in broad daylight without any permission stated.    He walks slowly now,   his limp only half-noticeable as he focuses on the small arm wrapped around his.  ‘    There’s a fighter in you,    Alerie.   Besides,    I will even let you try your hand at harming me.    I don’t know anyone who would pass that opportunity up.   ‘   A grin,    playfully mischievous.      Palm shifting to light rest on her arm before promptly removing itself.    ‘   Ah,    she sounds as clever as her mother.    She’ll go far in this world,   I think.   ‘

A moment of silence before a strained exhale follows,     not quite out of frustration,    but there’s certainly an expression of shrewd curiosity on Ivar’s face.     A hand is held up to signal to his trainees to aim their bows down.     Archery practice paused for the time being.    Eyes directing themselves towards the man in particular,    and a jerk of a loose-fitting smile forming upon his mouth,   although it doesn’t quite spark authentic warmth.  ‘   I’ve no recollection of blondes running out in front of my archers.     Feisty or otherwise.     I’ve a suggestion for you!      Try a quick run down to the river and back,   see if my archers are able to memorize the colour of your hair before they loose their arrows.    All in good fun,    as you didn’t mean to intrude.   ‘ 

Like any restless woman,       Aranya wonders if girlhood was stripped from her,       or if she had offered it up on a silver platter.      Half-eaten and raw,       with black-flies buzzing all around it as though it was no fresh kill.        There is always something to scavenge from her bones,       always some redness of meat dangling off of her that has yet to be inside a mouth or buried until it’s rotten to the core.      A Baratheon has that appetite for destruction,        a sense of potential for ruination and apocalyptic endings.       She is always expecting something just as slippery to come crawling from between royalty’s lips,      something malicious just like she has inside of her.       Something entirely made for fear and greed.     A blink at the comment,     the observation sliding off her surface as though it were melted upon impact.     A gentle nod,    smile flickering along her mouth with the talent of a sorceress luring the sun.    ‘    People speak on things they don’t understand,    it’s only natural.   ‘   A croon,   voice light and soothing,    as if she were speaking to a rabid animal.    Perhaps she is.    She listens quite carefully,     chews on his words and explanations with a poised lift of her chin.    ‘   A man who has many options,    and yet desires to only give his energy to the honest one.    Seems only fair.   ‘   A muse she shares aloud,    velvet bag of bone dice is gathered from her small bag beside her,    dress swaying as she loosens the knotted rope.    ‘    Of course,     the answer you seek may be cloudy.   There is the proper woman for your political gain and the proper woman for your heart’s gain.    Perhaps they are the same,    perhaps not.    Which do you want the most?   True love or ultimate power?   I ask this out of my own curiosity.  ‘ 

‘    Is that what you believe prophecies are?     Entertaining?    ‘    A small smile,    tight-lipped and poised,    but her gaze settles on him.     Burning and curious,    strands of black hair dancing in the breeze.   The question is murmured out only to catch him off-guard,   but there is a genuine wonderment to her expression.    An index finger trails along the edge of her sleeve,    the silk loose and weightless with the sunlight beaming on her.    ‘   I enjoyed the festivities greatly.    The food as well.    Although,    I know better than to imagine you’re seeking my praise.   ‘

Aranya could be a prophetess here in her own kingdom.      The crown of spruce kindling and rose hips sitting gracefully upon her head.      God in her own right.       Spoiled fruit,      but still just as sweet,     only bruised from the sunlight and rich rainfalls.       It wasn’t a mistake,      she thinks,      as she slowly becomes something that has the potential of cruelty and insanity.        A madness that swells and pulses in her womb,       like an infant grown quiet and without gestation.       This is what creation feels like:     the sharpness of terror as it slides down her throat at night,        the ghost of the father that stares at her from beneath naked branches,       and the moss underneath her shoes and she slowly sinks into the ground.    Perhaps this warrior in front of her has felt the small teeth of existence grate at him as well.   He holds a logical perception of the world.    He knows that glory buries the soldier with an ugly end,    gory and inhumanely,    no matter how many songs are sung in the hero’s departure.    The smile appears thoughtlessly upon her lips,    as though she were only half-listening.    ‘    Glory is what takes cowards away from their safe paths of a mundane life.    Some fight in wars only for their selfish desires to become worshiped.     You are not self-involved like others.    This interests me.    ‘   A shoulder of hers lifts in a slight shrug while gaze continues to study him,     an expression of mild eagerness showing at his answer.  ‘    Are you a man of honour,     then?    Or righteousness?   ‘   Now she offers a breathless giggle,    palm covering the widening of her mouth with a lazy carelessness.     ‘    Sounds very frightening!    I promise I only use them to protect myself,   nothing more.     No need to be fearful of me,    sweet warrior.     Do you use daggers?    Or do you prefer long swords and heavy punches,    hm?    ‘