Situative Tropes - JOKER: (Gebrochene) Versprechen (für mich)
Titel: The price for blood
Team: Sirius
Challenge: Situative Tropes - JOKER: (Gebrochene) Versprechen (für mich)
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A song of ice and fire
Charaktere: Arya, Jaqen
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Open Office hat den zweiten Teil beim Speichern gefressen und ich habe den Eindruck, der war besser als der jetzige...
She shouldn't be listening, she knows. Her mother will probably confine her to her room for the next days if she finds out. But she has to see for herself, if only for a moment.
The price for blood
Arya pushes the heavy door open carefully until the gap is wide enough to look into the hall. She catches a look of her mother and brother sitting at the table, and quickly takes a step back into the shadow. Her heart is racing and her hands are sweaty. She shouldn't be listening, she knows. Her mother will probably confine her to her room for the next days if she finds out. But she has to see for herself, if only for a moment.
When she does, there is a feeling of disappointment in her chest. The face of the man at the table is that of a stranger, with dark long hair and nondescript features. He looks younger, only a bit older than Jon maybe, and it feels wrong. Everything about him feels wrong.
The next moment, she calls herself stupid. Of course he isn't the same. She knew that, right? That doesn't mean he can't be the same man.
The last nights, she has tried to stifle those little flames of hope in her chest to no avail. It won't change anything, she knows. He won't whisk her away like one of those stupid princes on their white horses in Sansa's stories. And if he could, how could she leave, after it took so much to get home?
But still. Still. She has to see, just this once, she tells herself. Then she can let go. Maybe then, she can bury it somewhere where no one will ever find it. For this is only for herself and no one else.
The voices are getting louder. She doesn't understand every word of it, but she gathers that they are not coming to an agreement, that the price is too high, and that her brother, as honorable as his father, is having doubts. ”It's not right”, he says more than once. ”This is not how I want to win the war.” Arya wants to tell him that it doesn't matter how you win the war, just that you do. And that Tywin Lannister wouldn't hesitate for the blink of an eye if this opportunity presented himself.
But his bannermen are telling him just the same and she knows Robb struggles only for the sake of honor. There is no other way if they want to survive this.
Still, there is the price they need to pay. A price for blood needs to hurt, she remembers him telling. If it doesn't hurt, it's not high enough. And what is a little more pain after all they went through?
Yet when she hears him say it, she nearly cries out in anguish. She presses a hand to her mouth to stop the sound, her heart is beating rapidly in her chest. The whispered ”No, no, no” wants to escape her throat and she presses down harder.
”No”, she can hear someone say in the hall. It's her mother speaking, but her brother's silence fills the whole room. The look on his face is that of resignation and sadness. Greywind lies at his feet and whines as he feels all eyes settle on him.
”It's not fair”, she wants to scream, ”not another one”, but she's no longer a child. She knows that fairness was never offered, from no one. Only death, if they make this choice. And the choice is already made.
She slips through the gap in the door and sneaks into the hall. This time, she remembered his advice, ”Clever girls go barefoot”, and her naked feet barely make a sound on the cold stone floor. All eyes on the table are fixed on the big grey direwolf near the throne. But he must have heard something, because he turns his head and looks at her. His eyes are a common brown, nothing like the sharp blue ones she remembers. Still his gaze makes her freeze on the spot. He doesn't say anything, just watches her with mild curiosity.
Her hand reaches into the pocket of her breeches. The coin feels smooth and cool against her fingers and she skims over the chaffed surface of the face on one side. Many nights she held it in her hands or watched it spin on the cracked floor of her chamber. At day she carried it with her in fear of losing it.
She holds it out to him. ”Can I pay with this?”
All heads turn to her. ”Arya, what are you doing here?”, she can hear her mother ask in astonishment. But she only sees the man who now holds out his hand.
She throws the coin and he catches it between his fingers with ease. He turns it around in his hand with a considerate expression on his face. Then he smiles, and this smile she has seen before, the way one edge of his mouth lifts higher than the other. There's a strange feeling in her chest as the recognition washes over her.
She smiles back and lowers her head in a polite greeting. ”Valar Morghulis.”
He answers with an equal nod. ”Valar Dohaeris, sweet girl”, he says and lets the coin walk over the knuckles of his hand.
Team: Sirius
Challenge: Situative Tropes - JOKER: (Gebrochene) Versprechen (für mich)
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A song of ice and fire
Charaktere: Arya, Jaqen
Sprache: Englisch
Kommentar: Open Office hat den zweiten Teil beim Speichern gefressen und ich habe den Eindruck, der war besser als der jetzige...
She shouldn't be listening, she knows. Her mother will probably confine her to her room for the next days if she finds out. But she has to see for herself, if only for a moment.
The price for blood
Arya pushes the heavy door open carefully until the gap is wide enough to look into the hall. She catches a look of her mother and brother sitting at the table, and quickly takes a step back into the shadow. Her heart is racing and her hands are sweaty. She shouldn't be listening, she knows. Her mother will probably confine her to her room for the next days if she finds out. But she has to see for herself, if only for a moment.
When she does, there is a feeling of disappointment in her chest. The face of the man at the table is that of a stranger, with dark long hair and nondescript features. He looks younger, only a bit older than Jon maybe, and it feels wrong. Everything about him feels wrong.
The next moment, she calls herself stupid. Of course he isn't the same. She knew that, right? That doesn't mean he can't be the same man.
The last nights, she has tried to stifle those little flames of hope in her chest to no avail. It won't change anything, she knows. He won't whisk her away like one of those stupid princes on their white horses in Sansa's stories. And if he could, how could she leave, after it took so much to get home?
But still. Still. She has to see, just this once, she tells herself. Then she can let go. Maybe then, she can bury it somewhere where no one will ever find it. For this is only for herself and no one else.
The voices are getting louder. She doesn't understand every word of it, but she gathers that they are not coming to an agreement, that the price is too high, and that her brother, as honorable as his father, is having doubts. ”It's not right”, he says more than once. ”This is not how I want to win the war.” Arya wants to tell him that it doesn't matter how you win the war, just that you do. And that Tywin Lannister wouldn't hesitate for the blink of an eye if this opportunity presented himself.
But his bannermen are telling him just the same and she knows Robb struggles only for the sake of honor. There is no other way if they want to survive this.
Still, there is the price they need to pay. A price for blood needs to hurt, she remembers him telling. If it doesn't hurt, it's not high enough. And what is a little more pain after all they went through?
Yet when she hears him say it, she nearly cries out in anguish. She presses a hand to her mouth to stop the sound, her heart is beating rapidly in her chest. The whispered ”No, no, no” wants to escape her throat and she presses down harder.
”No”, she can hear someone say in the hall. It's her mother speaking, but her brother's silence fills the whole room. The look on his face is that of resignation and sadness. Greywind lies at his feet and whines as he feels all eyes settle on him.
”It's not fair”, she wants to scream, ”not another one”, but she's no longer a child. She knows that fairness was never offered, from no one. Only death, if they make this choice. And the choice is already made.
She slips through the gap in the door and sneaks into the hall. This time, she remembered his advice, ”Clever girls go barefoot”, and her naked feet barely make a sound on the cold stone floor. All eyes on the table are fixed on the big grey direwolf near the throne. But he must have heard something, because he turns his head and looks at her. His eyes are a common brown, nothing like the sharp blue ones she remembers. Still his gaze makes her freeze on the spot. He doesn't say anything, just watches her with mild curiosity.
Her hand reaches into the pocket of her breeches. The coin feels smooth and cool against her fingers and she skims over the chaffed surface of the face on one side. Many nights she held it in her hands or watched it spin on the cracked floor of her chamber. At day she carried it with her in fear of losing it.
She holds it out to him. ”Can I pay with this?”
All heads turn to her. ”Arya, what are you doing here?”, she can hear her mother ask in astonishment. But she only sees the man who now holds out his hand.
She throws the coin and he catches it between his fingers with ease. He turns it around in his hand with a considerate expression on his face. Then he smiles, and this smile she has seen before, the way one edge of his mouth lifts higher than the other. There's a strange feeling in her chest as the recognition washes over her.
She smiles back and lowers her head in a polite greeting. ”Valar Morghulis.”
He answers with an equal nod. ”Valar Dohaeris, sweet girl”, he says and lets the coin walk over the knuckles of his hand.