The Sword of the Morning

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair.” Ashara sobs, her fingers clinging to Arthur’s tunic in response to him telling her to live on. Her emotions were a swirling vortex of despair and anger, anger at herself, anger at the gods. “Why do I get to live and she is not given a chance? Did I do something wrong? I didn’t even know I had lost her until they told me. How could I not know that?”

She wishes that he could have been with her, that Allem had called for him sooner. Even if his presence couldn’t have saved her daughter she could help but think that having her dearest brother at her side when she had been given the news… Instead she had practically been alone among practical strangers. Everything had been different from before she had left for King’s Landing.

“Gods, Arthur, what did I do wrong?” She curls into her brother more, as she had when they were younger and a storm had frightened her. She was seeking comfort from him, her wonderful knight in shining armor of a brother that had always been there to chase away all of her fears before. 

“It was a difficult birth, Ash. You cannot blame yourself. These things happen.” The words are worthless platitudes. No one could truly say why the Gods were cruel, yet they undeniably were. His sister was healthy and of the right age to bare a child, but still, had suffered the loss. It simply didn’t make sense, but that was sometimes the way of things. 

Arthur would do his best to comfort her, but this was not his domain. If anything, it should be the father of the lost girl who stepped in as a beacon of strength for the mother. The words were on the tip of his tongue, to ask who had sired the girl, but he held them back. Now was not the time, and in truth, it was not important right now. 

Kisa returned the kiss, but it wasn’t in the way he wanted. It wasn’t the frenzied desperation from him, nor a relinquishment of her resolve to leave this place. It was a GOODBYE, a kiss to say that she would always LOVE him but that she could not be with him. 

Not like this.

This wasn’t her land, this wasn’t her war, the Targaryen girl was not her queen. She was of Volantis; a farmers daughter who hadn’t been raised in the ways of politics and the games played at for power. Her crossing the Narrow Sea was not born out of belief in any cause or claim to the Westeros throne, it was because of her love for him. He was haunted by the perceived failures of his past and this was him trying to make amends, but it had gone too far. 

Mayhaps she knew nought of conquering, but she knew torture and she knew PAIN. Kisa had watched too many people burn in her life and she would not stand by and watch it again. The screams of the children in Volantis still haunted her nightmares, she would not add those who refused to bend the knee to her terrors. 

“ I don’t think there is in this lifetime, ” she whispered as she pulled back from the kiss, hands raised to pull his from where they cupped her cheeks and guide them back to his sides.

“Kisa-” he gasped as she pulled away from him, not even needing her words to know that she was decided. He could not blame her. Her morals were part of the reason he’d fallen in love with her. Her firm belief in right and wrong, and if she believed this wrong, then he could not blame her for leaving. Even as it broke his heart. 

Yet, he had his own morals and did not believe what was happening was wrong. He knew the Targaryens. He knew that fire and blood was their justice. These people that Daenerys burned, they had killed Rhaegar and Elia and their babes, had murdered a family. Did they not deserve recompense? 

Daenerys could be a good Queen. Better than a Lannister. And Arthur could help her onto her throne. He had to. It was a vow he had made years and years before he ever met Kisa, not to Daenerys but to himself. He had to restore the Targaryen dynasty and with it, his own honor. He had to make up for his mistakes. 

And yet.

Given Rhaegar’s machinations against Aerys and Arthur’s support of them, Barristan’s words stirred some level of guilt in him. Barristan was right, fame and glory was not his driving force. It was loyalty and love, to Rhaegar and to Elia. He wasn’t a good Kingsguard, not yet. He was loyal to the wrong King, an as of yet uncrowned King.

Yet, when Rhaegar was King? Yes, Arthur had no doubt he’d be Lord Commander one day, and he did intend to be a great knight and kingsguard both. Once there was a King who did not so flagrantly force his kingsguard to choose between their knightly vows of protecting the innocent and their vows to protect the King.

He pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting his guilt to show on his face. “Gods, I don’t know if I could ever replace the White Bull. I may be dutiful and honorable, but he takes it to an entirely different level.” he joked. That was the thing. Arthur may be impressive, but so was every other member of the white order. It was astounding. “I think, irregardless of what any of us desire, we’ll find out names carved into history.” Already, Ser Barristan was renowned, after all.

Ned was the future of House Dayne. He was just on the cusp of manhood, but already a scraper, “ I’m okay, the Reachman, well, he’ll be thinking of his insults of our Princess whenever he chews.”

Arthur hesitated at that, but still kept the frown on his face when he scolded, “No more picking fights.” If he squeezed Ned’s hand in approval and clapped him on the shoulder as he dusted him off, well, no one was there to see it. “You know, if you pick a fight with everyone who has something bad to say about our people, you’ll be fighting half of Westeros.” he warned.

literally one episode into season two, frank castle: bang

i have a final exam in four hours that i haven’t studied for, not one second. priorities on point. 

(meme ;; accepting)

“I’m getting too old for this, and so are you!” Arthur complained, even as he obligingly crouched low enough for her to throw her arms round his neck and plaster herself to his back. His words were the truth though. If it were any other world, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms would never be clinging to a knight, even a Kingsguard knight, and be near screaming with laughter as sand and ocean mist sprayed over them.

But then, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms would not be on a beach in Essos, would not have taken a fake name and acted common for the last decade, if not longer. Spitefully, his mind rebuked any protests the more rational side of him might have made. Who will be there to judge if she acts a child? She’s hardly had a childhood and she deserves what little happiness she can take.

Perhaps it’s that thought in mind, perhaps it’s just a mischievous way to get payback for the fingers she was digging into his collarbone, but instead of carrying her back towards home, or what passed as home, he turned about face and brought them both directly into the Summer Sea, dropping her the moment they were deep enough. Of course, she was well equipped to give as good as she got and kept hold of his neck, dragging him down with her until they were both sputtering water and flicking salt from their eyes.