Brallon Oneshots

The King and The Hand

A/N: AALLRRRIGHHTY first off WOW! Thank you to EVERYONE who's been reading, voting, and commenting. I love you and am sending you all hugs!❤️ It seriously makes my day when I see your comments!
Onto this lovely piece...
Started as a Troy/Alexander X Hephaestion AU. Then suddenly half way though I changed it.
*cough* this may be my favorite AU ever. GAME OF THRONES!😍 please be gentle I've never written one before❤️*cough*
*cough* *cough* heck yes Dallon is slightly based off Peter Balish in this chapter *cough**cough*
Just so ya know>>>> Issa mērī = my only in Valryian
•

The hour is late. All the servants long gone to bed along with the rest of the high council. A thick layer of tension upon the air. War is approaching Westeros. A long council session had ended in argument earlier in the evening over staying stagnant or taking the impeding war out of city. Weeks earlier the meetings had circled around how to get around said war, now though it is imminent. People in the street were revolting. Demanding action be taken. Day by day floods of citizens left the harbors and border.
Food was becoming scarce in the once lavish halls. Whispers of a new era were more common by the day. It was Dallon's job to know this, find ways to control, prevent, stop things like this.
Hand of the King.
He'd worked his way up from the bottom, starting in the kitchens as a young boy with his single mother. If only she could see him now. She'd probably faint.
His "business" thriving, thanks especially to the depressing state of the city. Spencer takes good care of the house for him now that he has more important task as Hand.
Dallon's on his way back from the library, a candle guiding him through the dark halls when a soft noise catches his ear.
He's always been the more curious type, getting into trouble since he was young.
But on this night it seems someone needs him. He's wary at first. Grabbing the first thing he can find nearby, a small golden statue of some coveted ancestor. He grips it tightly in his fist, ready to attack if needed.
As he cautiously tiptoes down the hall towards the sound, he realizes it's coming from the King's Chambers.
Brendon...
Dallon swiftly runs towards the mahogany doors, swinging them open wide. He searches the room for any sign of an attacker. No sign of intrusion, no sign of Brendon either. Dallon begins to panic. The crying picks up once more, Dallon whips his head towards the sound. His eyes landing on the the balcony. The chiffon curtains billowing in the midnight breeze.
Dallon runs, fighting to move the curtains aside so he can get outside. Cursing his awkward legs as the curtains tangle around him before he burst onto the balcony finally.
The sight he finds though stops him in his tracks.
There, sitting crumbled into himself on the balcony floor, is his treasured love. A ghost of the man the city sees. Head in his hands as he weeps relentlessly.
Dallon dashes to his side, dropping down and wrapping his arms around him without a word.
Brendon sucks in a breath, looking up at Dallon. Red rimmed eyes and sweated brow.
"Shhhhh, it was just a dream Issa mērī," Dallon murmers.
"It was so real," Brendon stammers latching onto Dallon's robes. Hands shaking and eyes wide staring off into nothing, "They were all... All out there in the streets begging for my life. And they... They murdered you-"
"Brendon you need to breathe," Dallon begs holding him tight.
Brendon wraps an unsteady hand around Dallon's neck, "I am nothing without you. If you die there's nothing left but darkness-"
"Stop it right now!" Dallon growls objecting abruptly.
Brendon eyes him widely, taken back his usual level advisor's sudden outburst.
"How many times must I tell you?" Dallon searches his eyes, running a gentle hand through Brendon's unruly bedridden hair. "No more talking like that. Listen to me... You are Brendon Lannister, Son of Boyd Lannister. True ruler of Westeros. Anyone who doubts you or your word shall face death. Your army is strong, city beautiful, and business more prosperous than ever. Any successful ruler has their enemies. War comes with the iron throne Brendon."
Brendon nods, calming down and settling finally. He turns himself to relax in Dallon's embrace.
"I am not afraid of war. Westeros is strong, like you said. It's the only home I know. I know her like the back of my hand. Every language spoken on her beaten streets, shops from the most grand to minor, homeless to the high council.
I've done everything in my power to be a leader of the people..." Dallon knows what Brendon is trying to say.
He's watched Brendon grow from a boyish prince into the tenacious ruler. Watched him struggle up the council's ladder.
Watched him go through so much pain behind closed doors.
"The first time I saw a man die was right upon these walls." Brendon gestures to the city borders tall wall. Dallon's heard the story before, from the streets, behind closed doors, and Brendon himself. "I was a young boy, the second time my father brought war to Westeros. The first, I was only a small baby. But on this night, the quarters were deathly silent, much like tonight. My mother ordered me to stay in bed until first light. But of course I was out on the balcony within moments of her departure. I couldn't simply walk out the door, it was guarded by two of my fathers most trusted soldiers. So I snuck down the balcony edge, barefoot, an old ratty scarf and robe tucked tight around me. Praying for just a glimpse of wildfire." Dallon laughs lightly at the mental image of a young Brendon, running through the abandoned cobblestone city in citizens garb. Some things never change. "I finally snuck my way upon the wall, knowing all the passageways. Made my way to the top, and immediately regretted it as I came face to face with my cousin Zachariah." Brendon laughs. "He'd been on post at my bedroom door and knew the second I left. He dragged me directly to my fathers post on the wall. I was terrified. My father simply laughed though. Told me he'd done the same thing during his fathers first Westeros battle. I was relieved, happy, foolishly excited. As I watched men I'd grown up around prepare for war." Brendon whispers emptily.
"Brendon... You don't have to tell me. You've told me before." Dallon runs his hand down his shoulder.
Brendon goes on though, "Watching the army encroach upon us. Boat by boat appearing along then horizon. No one had any idea... Any idea what was coming. My father laughed. Laughed at the first sight of the fleet. His army was boisterous with joy, ready for battle. Wildfire ready at the bay. But then they kept coming. I'll never forget that sound. The sound of five hundred silent men in the night. The panicked look in my fathers' eyes... I'd never seen him scared. Zachariah asked him what to do and my father didn't answer. He simply stared ahead eerily.
The bells starting chiming throughout the city and everything started happening fast... Zachariah plucked me up into his arms. Taking me down and away from the wall, rushing back to my quarters.
He insisted my mother and I go into the tunnels for safety. But my mother refused. She wanted to stay with her city, her people, her husband. You remind me of her." Brendon smiles wearily, taking Dallon's hand in his.
"Zachariah reluctantly barricaded us in the servants quarters. I woke up hours later to arguing but pretended to be asleep. Zachariah wanted to check the council quarters after hearing noise but mother wouldn't let him leave. He was still just old enough to fight, maybe fifteen. But then there was a crash outside. They both darted to the window, not realizing I'd followed. A small group of attackers had infiltrated the city. Going for my quarters. Zachariah was climbing the wall to the balcony before we could stop him. There was yelling. My mother ran from our hiding place, rummaging through the makeshift barricade to get out the door. Of course I followed her. Just as she swung my door open Zachariah was covered in blood... impaling the last intruder with his sword. The rest littered around him..."
Dallon rest his head behind Brendon, breathing in his familiar sweet scent.
"My father never came home that night. My mother never remarried, though never changed. Even after his death she was still a doting mother but also a strong leader of Westeros. This city adored her until her dying day and after. She mourned my father yes, she never stopped mourning. But she didn't let it hold her back or define her... I see her in you Dallon. If I die-"
"Don't." Dallon starts.
"Please. Move on. Live life grandly to the fullest. Maybe find that damned dragon girl. Oh how I'd give anything just to see one dragon. Even a small one," Brendon smiles ruefully.
"Be careful what you wish for my king. I hear she's gathering fleets."
"Oh is that what the damned birds are saying now?" Brendon bites out with a roll of his eyes, standing from Dallon's embrace and going to the edge of balcony to stretch. "Damned little birds," he growls under his breath.
Dallon chuckles standing behind Brendon.
Brendon continues grumbling, "What does she need boats for anyway? Why doesn't she just fly hear on her dragons and burn us alive?!" Brendon gestures widely.
Dallon laughs, "Don't be so drastic, we both know she's just a child. Nothing to worry about for now."
Brendon massages his temples looking out at the bay before continuing. "Westeros is a beautiful siren, who calls the worst men to her bay..." Brendon side eyes Dallon, gripping the balcony edge, "Blood will run through the bay for ages, no one will forget what happened here."
Dallon smirks to himself, whispering over Brendon's shoulder, "I shall make sure of it... Ryan is threatened by your prowess. Let him come. We'll fight him, together, his so called 'impressive army'. We'll see how impressive they are after we've defeated each and every one of their so called Lords. By the time we're through no one will remember Ryan Boulton or any who dare speak faultily of House Lannister and Westeros."
"What would I do without you old friend?" Brendon turns, patting the other's shoulder.
To any on looker, a friendly gesture. But to the Eagles eye...
The taller chuckling and leaning just so slightly into his touch, gripping Brendon's shoulder back.
"You'd probably be a lost drunk in my whore house or maybe a pirate," Dallon shrugs.
Brendon beams laughing to himself, "I wouldn't have the iron throne though. I can guarantee that."
"You're too kind my king." Dallon smiles to himself. "Obviously tiredness has got the best of you. Come, I'll escort you to your chambers." Dallon hooks their arms, pulling them towards the doorway.
Brendon quickly pulls their bodies together, just inside the door. Enveloped in the midnight shadows, he entwines their hands and pushes Dallon onto the door.
"Stay with me tonight," Brendon whispers smiling brightly. It's not really a question.
But Dallon wants to say no.
"People are beginning to notice-"
Brendon cuts him off swiftly, kissing down his neck.
"Let them talk. I'm the king for gods sake. If anything I should be able to choose who I share my private moments with. They don't have dictation over this." He looks down at their clasped hands, "Right now, it's you and I. Until morning light... Or whenever one of us is needed... It's just you and I..."
"You're insufferable," Dallon groans, giving in and kissing Brendon. Receiving a beautiful moan as he runs his hands up Brendon's back.
"You love it though." Brendon winks pulling him into his bedroom.