WARS TO COME, game of thrones

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈. mistakes

Anrir woke up to a muffled knocking on a door. His eyelids were heavy and he felt disoriented at first, until he remembered where he was. In his chambers in the red keep. Judging by the position of the sun, it was sometime in the afternoon. The tournament was probably long over by now, after Clegane had decapitated his horse in his rage over the loss to Loras Tyrell. Anrir had disappeared quickly afterwards to give his aching muscles a rest. It hadn't worked, because when he sat up with a groan, his muscles were still burning and he felt a dull throbbing where the mountain's lance had struck him and torn him from his horse.

Breathing heavily, he put a hand to his side until he got used to the pain of his chest rising and falling as he breathed. Only now did he remember why he had woken up in the first place and slowly walked to the door, expecting to see Lark. Instead, he looked into Ned's gray eyes, which gazed at him with concern.

"Where's Lark?" he mumbled, yawning as he straightened his shirt.

"I sent him away."

"And he listened to you?" Anrir snorted in disbelief.

"He apparently didn't believe I was a threat to your safety. An- let me in now."

Anrir sighed and stepped aside so Ned could walk past him, then locked the door behind them.

"I don't want to worry you, but seeing you disappearing into my chambers already... Littlefinger must be craving something like that."

"It's the middle of the day. If Baelish thinks we're behaving obscene now, that's his fault, not mine."

"Aren't we behaving obscene?" Anrir grinned wryly and sat down on the divan, letting the sighing Ned take a seat in an armchair.

"I'm leaving with the girls...back to Winterfell. You should leave too. This town isn't safe."

"I'm sorry, Ned, but it was no secret that Kings Landing isn't exactly the rosiest place in Westeros. You're Lord Hand-"

"Not any more. I've resigned my position. This place is not for me," Eddard murmured and Anrir could clearly read in his worried eyes how upset Ned must be. Without thinking much, he leaned forward and put a hand to his cheek.

"No... Really not," Anrir said softly. Surprise and a soft tingling sensation spread through his chest as Ned laid his head lightly in his hand. It wasn't much, but damn, it felt like a lot. But he was probably just acting like a man dying of thirst in the Dornish desert. And Ned's approach was just a tiny drop of water, but the most soothing and beautiful thing for him in a long time.

"Lord Varys has confirmed it... Your father was poisoned," Ned murmured and Anrir withdrew his hand. Emptiness returned to his heart.

"What?"

"Tears of Lys," Ned spoke softly and Anrir swallowed hard. He didn't need to hear about it from Ned, he knew how the poison worked and now he also knew that his father had probably died in great pain. He rubbed his mouth briefly and leaned back.

"Why?" he managed to say, his voice hoarse and awkward in his throat.

"I don't know... Not yet. But this place is evil and we really should get out of here."

Anrir took a deep breath and laughed dryly. "You can go to Winterfell. But Lysa has cast me out of the Eyrie and will probably take away all my power in Riverfall soon. My... Everything I had in the Vale was just an illusion my father allowed me to have. And now- that died with him."

"That's nonsense," Ned rose, but only to take his seat again, this time next to Anrir. He took his hand and intertwined their fingers. A painfully familiar gesture that he had not experienced for far too long. "Lysa is a Tully. But you... you're as much Arryn as it gets. And you're Jon's heir, have been for so many years. Lysa wants people to forget that, but they won't. You led her into battle on the Trident and did so much more for them. Don't make your fate dependent on her."