From the Lips of Flayed Men - GoT AFFC Spoilers
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Shame. It was a good story.
Chapter XXIII - Of Flayed Men and Free Men
She won't let me leave. He thought to himself bitterly. I am her greatest Commander and strongest ally, and she refuses to let me leave. Roose gripped the battlements of the Red Keep as he hunched over, lost in thought. He could hear the sounds of the city. The anxious shouts of shopkeepers, and the clatter of the lowborn folk moving through the streets. It was almost hard to believe that there was a war going on. Almost hard to believe that Brienne was less than a days march from the city.
He knew better, and he knew to expect Brienne. She wouldn't stop and wouldn't rest until she'd fulfilled her vow to save the Queen from him. As if she was the one desperate to get away. No, she needs saving from herself. Roose's vision slowly focused as he let go of the thoughts that plagued him. His knuckles were white.
He turned from the battlements and walked into the South Tower. He needed to see what he was still fighting here for.
He found the door barred to him.
"Lord Commander." He greeted the Knight. "Step aside."
"I cannot." Symeon answered. He stood in his white cloak and golden armour, unflinching at the presence of the Marshal of Seven Kingdoms.
Roose swallowed hard, tasting the bile of hate. "You will step aside."
Symeon's face hardened as he looked back at the Northerner. "You will watch your tone. The Queen has ordered this Tower sealed."
"I don't care what the Queen has ordered, I will-" Roose recoiled as Symeon drew his sword, barely avoiding the cross swing.
"You will not speak ill of her!" The Knight-Commander yelled, raising his sword to strike again. Roose drew his blade and brought it up, catching the blow. He parried, and returned the swing only to find Symeons blade. He pushed hard, and locked their swords.
"Fool! Are you mad!" He screamed. "I will see my daughter." His blade slid along Symeon's as he withdrew for another strike. "Move!" He commanded, striking again as Symeon parried and thrust his blade. Roose barely knocked it to the side as he struck out with his fist, smashing it into the Knight Commanders face. It barely bought him a second, and years of training brought Symeons sword flashing upwards.
Roose gasped as he felt the blade scratch his cheek. He hadn't been ready for it. He hadn't expected it. The Knight Commander crashed into the door, as Roose stumbled back against the wall, pressing a hand to his face.
Blood - but not enough for a deep wound. They recovered almost in tandem only to be interrupted.
"In the name of the Queen, sheethe your blades!" Someone yelled from the doorway to the battlements. Symeon did so without hesitation, returning his gleeming sword to its scabbard and dropping to a knee in one motion as he saw who stood behind the sergeant-at-arms.
Roose hesitated for a moment. One swing, and the determined stupidity of the Knight Commander would never bother him again. He was already a prisoner in the Red Keep after all - would a smaller cell change that?
He looked at Symeon's exposed neck and imagined his blade slipping between the metal of his helmet and his chest plate. It would be so easy to-
"Roose!" Myrcella yelled.
He couldn't look at her when she called him, but he answered by securing his sword. He bent the knee.
"My Queen, I request an audience with the Princess Cersei of House Lannister." He said through gritted teeth. "My daughter."
The Queen stepped forward with grace he had only ever seen her possess. She walked so softly, as if she were a ghost. She stopped just in front of him.
"Of course." She said, the kind smile on her face begging him to love her again as he had done. "Knight-Commander, open the door."
Symeon nodded without a moments thought. "Yes, my Queen." He rose, and Roose felt his eyes like daggers in his back. When they had ceased sparring, they could barely tolerate each other's presence.
Roose heard the doors open and didn't wait for the Queen's hands on his shoulders to rise. "Ma'am, if you please, I'd like a moment alone with her."
"Yes, that's alright." She said, waving Symeon away. He closed the door after Roose entered, and he turned to see the Queen leaning against the door.
She sighed and looked at the ground. It was harder to keep her feigned positivity when they were alone. In taking himself from her, Roose knew he had taken something of her with him. Unable to take in the beauty that had held him so allured, he could only look at her feet. He saw her red dress from the edge of his vision, the finery embroidered with gold stars and all on the finest velvet garment he had ever seen. On her exposed chest, he recognized the golden head choker that he had given her early in their courtship. He didn't have to look at it to know the details of its craft. Yellow gold, a roaring lion rampant with an eye of deep blue saphire, and a shimmering chain finely polished.
He turned in the silence and walked over the maroon rug, embroidered in dimaond patterns that stretched across the room to the crib by the window. The crib itself was shrouded in thin curtains marked with gold patterns that hung over the babe, and the woodwork was deeply carved in fine Dornish patterns. Roose remembered ordering its crafting before little Cersei had been born. Before she had been revealed to be his child, and not the Dornish Kings'.
"She's beautiful isn't she?" Myrcella said from the door.
Roose didn't answer. He stared down into the crib, resting his hands on the enclosing rail. She looked so very different from Myrcella. The child's hair was strawberry blonde and had slowly darkened over the past months. Her eyes were green emeralds, unlike Roose's own and unlike the saphires of Myrcella. The shape of her face though ... the contours of her cheeks, the smile, the little nose. Roose could see the blend of Northmen and Westerlander. Still, he said nothing and watched his child as she slept.
"Do you know why she sleeps so softly, my Lord?" Myrcella asked, sneaking her arms across Roose's shoulders.
"She sleeps so softly because she is so loved." He whispered, the Queen's touch evaporating the indignation of his confinement. He kept his eyes fixed on little Cersei, not daring to pull them away.
Myrcella sighed, and he could hear the pained smile behind it. "Perhaps that's why I don't." She whispered, swallowing back the words.
"I-" Roose said to answer before she pulled his face to look at her. Her smooth skin. Her full lips. Her deep blue eyes the colour of an endless ocean. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. He knew that he hadn't missed her, but he realized he had missed loving her.
"Hmmm. It was not always so painful to be with me, was it?" she said with a coy smile.
He drew deep breaths as he calmed himself. "You plunged Seven Kingdoms into war for her. For one life, and only to name me the father and give her legitimate claim if you sire none other." Roose sighed and looked away. "It was not painful - but neither was it easy." He felt the warmth of her against his back as she pulled herself against him.
"Don't blame our little Cersei." Myrcella whispered. "Don't blame her." It was a pained plea as Roose heard it.
"I don't." Roose said, looking down into the crib. "But the love that lets her sleep is yours." He let go of the railing, and stepped out of Myrcella's grasp.
"You'll learn to love her." She said faintly. Roose said nothing as he left the room, and closed the door behind him. "And you'll learn to love me again."
Myrcella stood alone in the tower, and closed her eyes as the horns of the battlements sounded.
Brienne had come.
Eddard stared up at the towering glacier before him. The Wildlings had held the wall well enough for men who had never conducted anything vaguely resembling a siege before. They had repelled not only the first assault, but had even managed to hold on in the second. Gods be good, they wouldn't stand after the third.
"I wonder if they've ever seen a trebuchet." Arthur asked a few paces behind him. He had eagerly taken up the duty of organizing the construction of siegeworks when the first assault had failed, and with more than ten thousand men ready to retake the defence of the Seven Kingdoms it had not taken long.
"They're about to." Eliana said. Eddard could hear her teeth chatter even as she spoke. He could feel the cold as he heard her suffering, and pulled his fur cloak tighter across his shoulders.
"Do we have further word from Stannis? Will he be arriving soon?" Eddard asked his companions.
"None, Lord." Little Leobald answered. The Lord of the Dreadfort grinned at the boys unfamiliarity with a higher authority. Giving him management of the scouts had seemed at first a big request from Lord Wayn, but he had surprising competence.
"Then we shall have to do without." Eddard said, his eyes following the scorched trails of flaming debris dropped from the top of the wall and onto the charred remains of Castle Black. "Back behind the lines." He ordered, pulling the reigns in his hand. His horse turned and it was a short ride back to Eddards tent.
They rode in from the east of the camp, past the waiting sentries who clustered by the fireside for the scant warmth that could be found so far north. They passed the medical tents where the healers were preparing themselves for the chaos ahead, and treating the worst cases of frostbite. They passed the drill squares where sergeants rehearsed formations and practiced their swordplay. They passed the food stores, surrounded by roving patrols of the Dreadguard - the personal bodyguard of Eddard and his house. Yet everywhere they passed, those who saw them knew what their return meant. Their final examination of the wall was complete. There was only one thing left to do.
Entering the tent lined in fur, Eddard was first to speak as they gathered around the table. Upon it, he had earlier sculpted a large pile of snow into a raised outcrop on one side. On the snow were chicken bones arrayed along the edge, and facing down a set of wooden carvings. There was a carving of a wolf, of a flayed man, of a chained bear and others besides. This was the northern host arrayed against an enemy that was already dead - an enemy outnumbered five to one.
He explained the set up before beginning. "Master Arthor, your force will hold the right flank as we advance and concentrate on fire support. Lady Elyana, you shall command the left and lead your force east to climb the wall at Oakenshield. Lord Wayn and Lord Leobald shall stand with me in the center of the army where we will concentrate our force." The Lords nodded as they listened.
"We shall begin after the Trebuchets have crippled their defences on the wall, or at least will have suppressed their holding force. With their heads down, we'll begin to rain arrows down on them while we advance our infantry. I want them to have their shields up, and their heads down. We can have a bloody victory, or a clean one. It's an easy choice for us."
"As the infantry closes on the Wall, we'll slow our fire and then cease. With climbing spikes, we'll advance two regiments again as we did the last two assaults. This time, they'll hold half way up the wall in the crevices of our bombardment. While the Wildlings wait for us to resume the climb - Lady Elyana, your forces will strike them on the Wall itself."
The Lady nodded in agreement. Eddard knew he would have to try a different approach after his previous failures. It seemed he had risen to their expectations. "We'll take them by surprise my Lord. They won't be expecting us there."
"They won't, aye." He agreed. "But you won't be taking them alone. Have your signaller blow two long blasts of his horn, and we'll resume the climb to finish the fight. They'll be too occupied by your forces to stop our advance, and we'll have them." She shifted her feet as she realized the glory wouldn't all be hers.
"Are there questions?" Eddard asked, answering their concerns in turn as they raised them.
He knew better, and he knew to expect Brienne. She wouldn't stop and wouldn't rest until she'd fulfilled her vow to save the Queen from him. As if she was the one desperate to get away. No, she needs saving from herself. Roose's vision slowly focused as he let go of the thoughts that plagued him. His knuckles were white.
He turned from the battlements and walked into the South Tower. He needed to see what he was still fighting here for.
He found the door barred to him.
"Lord Commander." He greeted the Knight. "Step aside."
"I cannot." Symeon answered. He stood in his white cloak and golden armour, unflinching at the presence of the Marshal of Seven Kingdoms.
Roose swallowed hard, tasting the bile of hate. "You will step aside."
Symeon's face hardened as he looked back at the Northerner. "You will watch your tone. The Queen has ordered this Tower sealed."
"I don't care what the Queen has ordered, I will-" Roose recoiled as Symeon drew his sword, barely avoiding the cross swing.
"You will not speak ill of her!" The Knight-Commander yelled, raising his sword to strike again. Roose drew his blade and brought it up, catching the blow. He parried, and returned the swing only to find Symeons blade. He pushed hard, and locked their swords.
"Fool! Are you mad!" He screamed. "I will see my daughter." His blade slid along Symeon's as he withdrew for another strike. "Move!" He commanded, striking again as Symeon parried and thrust his blade. Roose barely knocked it to the side as he struck out with his fist, smashing it into the Knight Commanders face. It barely bought him a second, and years of training brought Symeons sword flashing upwards.
Roose gasped as he felt the blade scratch his cheek. He hadn't been ready for it. He hadn't expected it. The Knight Commander crashed into the door, as Roose stumbled back against the wall, pressing a hand to his face.
Blood - but not enough for a deep wound. They recovered almost in tandem only to be interrupted.
"In the name of the Queen, sheethe your blades!" Someone yelled from the doorway to the battlements. Symeon did so without hesitation, returning his gleeming sword to its scabbard and dropping to a knee in one motion as he saw who stood behind the sergeant-at-arms.
Roose hesitated for a moment. One swing, and the determined stupidity of the Knight Commander would never bother him again. He was already a prisoner in the Red Keep after all - would a smaller cell change that?
He looked at Symeon's exposed neck and imagined his blade slipping between the metal of his helmet and his chest plate. It would be so easy to-
"Roose!" Myrcella yelled.
He couldn't look at her when she called him, but he answered by securing his sword. He bent the knee.
"My Queen, I request an audience with the Princess Cersei of House Lannister." He said through gritted teeth. "My daughter."
The Queen stepped forward with grace he had only ever seen her possess. She walked so softly, as if she were a ghost. She stopped just in front of him.
"Of course." She said, the kind smile on her face begging him to love her again as he had done. "Knight-Commander, open the door."
Symeon nodded without a moments thought. "Yes, my Queen." He rose, and Roose felt his eyes like daggers in his back. When they had ceased sparring, they could barely tolerate each other's presence.
Roose heard the doors open and didn't wait for the Queen's hands on his shoulders to rise. "Ma'am, if you please, I'd like a moment alone with her."
"Yes, that's alright." She said, waving Symeon away. He closed the door after Roose entered, and he turned to see the Queen leaning against the door.
She sighed and looked at the ground. It was harder to keep her feigned positivity when they were alone. In taking himself from her, Roose knew he had taken something of her with him. Unable to take in the beauty that had held him so allured, he could only look at her feet. He saw her red dress from the edge of his vision, the finery embroidered with gold stars and all on the finest velvet garment he had ever seen. On her exposed chest, he recognized the golden head choker that he had given her early in their courtship. He didn't have to look at it to know the details of its craft. Yellow gold, a roaring lion rampant with an eye of deep blue saphire, and a shimmering chain finely polished.
He turned in the silence and walked over the maroon rug, embroidered in dimaond patterns that stretched across the room to the crib by the window. The crib itself was shrouded in thin curtains marked with gold patterns that hung over the babe, and the woodwork was deeply carved in fine Dornish patterns. Roose remembered ordering its crafting before little Cersei had been born. Before she had been revealed to be his child, and not the Dornish Kings'.
"She's beautiful isn't she?" Myrcella said from the door.
Roose didn't answer. He stared down into the crib, resting his hands on the enclosing rail. She looked so very different from Myrcella. The child's hair was strawberry blonde and had slowly darkened over the past months. Her eyes were green emeralds, unlike Roose's own and unlike the saphires of Myrcella. The shape of her face though ... the contours of her cheeks, the smile, the little nose. Roose could see the blend of Northmen and Westerlander. Still, he said nothing and watched his child as she slept.
"Do you know why she sleeps so softly, my Lord?" Myrcella asked, sneaking her arms across Roose's shoulders.
"She sleeps so softly because she is so loved." He whispered, the Queen's touch evaporating the indignation of his confinement. He kept his eyes fixed on little Cersei, not daring to pull them away.
Myrcella sighed, and he could hear the pained smile behind it. "Perhaps that's why I don't." She whispered, swallowing back the words.
"I-" Roose said to answer before she pulled his face to look at her. Her smooth skin. Her full lips. Her deep blue eyes the colour of an endless ocean. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. He knew that he hadn't missed her, but he realized he had missed loving her.
"Hmmm. It was not always so painful to be with me, was it?" she said with a coy smile.
He drew deep breaths as he calmed himself. "You plunged Seven Kingdoms into war for her. For one life, and only to name me the father and give her legitimate claim if you sire none other." Roose sighed and looked away. "It was not painful - but neither was it easy." He felt the warmth of her against his back as she pulled herself against him.
"Don't blame our little Cersei." Myrcella whispered. "Don't blame her." It was a pained plea as Roose heard it.
"I don't." Roose said, looking down into the crib. "But the love that lets her sleep is yours." He let go of the railing, and stepped out of Myrcella's grasp.
"You'll learn to love her." She said faintly. Roose said nothing as he left the room, and closed the door behind him. "And you'll learn to love me again."
Myrcella stood alone in the tower, and closed her eyes as the horns of the battlements sounded.
Brienne had come.
Thanks for the feedback! It's been a while, and I was never used to writing intimate scenes like this, so thanks.
Really? Thanks!
Hopefully have a new update soon.