court of lies | robert's rebellion

the mystery knight

"but that is the irony; broken people are not fragile"

281 AC, Harrenhal

Five days before the incident...

She was not expecting to hear knocking on her door that late at night when the entire castle and the nobles in their tents were sleeping. Yet, she did put down her book and with a frown answered the call. She was not expecting Arthur to enter in an absolutely perished way.

It was nothing physical, no. There was no blood, no scratches, no bruises or something. Nothing that indicates he had been in a fight or some sort of a thing. But he looked absolutely ruined. He was not wearing his armour, as she asked before, there was no sign of his white cloak but 'appropriate' was not a way to define his looks. He was not wearing any coats as a nobleman in his standing would. He was not carrying Dawn or any sort of sword, which was new. His undyed cotton shirt was barely tied, showing his collarbone and his hair was falling down all the way.

He was drunk.

Atera, much to her surprise, acknowledged that. Her mouth was parted in a stunned way. She didn't know what exactly to do because in all this time she had known him, not even once, was he this out-of-the-word looking, he never let go of his manners this much and she was itching to know what caused it.

"Arthur?", she asked, heard the grand amusement in her eyes and felt her lips trying to crawl into a smile. She didn't know but apart from the obvious curiosity and worry, she found the entire situation just too filled with humour. "What happened?"

"I just wanted to see you.", he was not that drunk, she understood that much.

Yes, his accent was thicker and words rolled with much more effort but at least he did manage to form a proper sentence and there he was also, standing without needing to lean his back on something. He was blinking and his mind clearly was clouded by alcohol but not enough to completely deactivate his judgement. Even in drunkness, he was sober and she could smell just how much drunk he actually supposed to be.

"Here I am.", she did smile, but couldn't hold it back any longer. Pulling her robe enough so her bare feet could touch the ground, she stood up approached him and placed her hands on his chest. "And do you remember why you wanted to see me?"

"There is something I need to tell you.", he said in confusion. He just didn't know what it was. "Something important, something vital, you have to know it."

Knowing better than to take a drunk man seriously, she raised her hands to cup his face. But also knowing that drunken words were sober thoughts, she did frown slightly. "And what is that?"

He looked into her eyes for very long minutes making Atera suspect that he somehow fell asleep with his eyes open but then he whispered just loud enough for her to hear and before she managed to react, he leaned down to press their lips together as he pulled her close.

"I love you."

*

275 AC, Winterfell

Six years ago...

The thirteen-year-old Brandon and eight-year-old Benjen were sparring in the courtyard of Winterfell as some nobles watched and servants rushed around. There would be a feast before Brandon left for Borrowton. Rickard Stark wanted to give a proper goodbye to his firstborn and Lyanna's ladies were searching for her in the entire castle to prepare her.

As their wooden swords clashed, Brandon did manage to hit his brother's shield strong enough to make him fall back. "Give him another go, Brandon.", their father said with a proud smile. His son was going to be a warrior.