drabbles: those who serve
Incest! Bastards! Dashing lords! Unfortunate maids! Naked Gerion! This is a set of drabbles about those who serve - for the Prompt Weekend | no spoilers | 8x100 words
1
She's hidden well. First from turmoil, then from silence. The sound of footsteps has brought her out today, to find a handsome man with hair like the sun and eyes flecked with gold standing in the room that belonged to her master.
“Who are you?”
“Nobody,” she says. “Just a servant.”
“Nobody. I see.” He looks around. “You know much about this rock?”
She nods. “Who are you?”
The man eyes her curiously. “I'm Lann. This just became my castle. Will you stay here with me?”
She nods again and he smiles, magnificently.
2
The smell of freshly baked bread twists in her belly, a whirl of discomfort rising inside.
“His Lordship wants salted meat, you fool,” she snaps, snatching the serving tray from a clumsy girl.
They shake their heads, thinking her disagreeable as ever; it doesn't matter. She will not be able to remain here when it starts to show, she can't hide it like Fat Greta and drown the babe in the sea. Too old for the brothel, she thinks, too ugly to seduce a merchant or a horse trader.
“My lord.” At least her voice is steady, clear.
3
“I don't think it's fair.” Lady Genna Lannister pouts.
“When you are older, you will go to King's Landing, too.” Maester Daron sighs. “Continue your reading.”
“I miss Kevan and Tywin.” The girl glares at the text in front of her. “I don't care for you.”
I don't care much for you either, he thinks. How Lord Tytos' mistress has extorted the power to make the Maester of Casterly Rock a glorified nursemaid, he will never understand. But they are his lord's orders even in her mouth.
He points at the text again. “Read.”
4
“You saw nothing.” The Lady of Casterly Rock has a voice like a hard, cold jolt ripping through the room. “I will have your head, do you understand?”
The servants claim she's not as cruel as her husband but no more forgiving; Mayra is shaking when she smooths her skirts, calming herself.
“Nothing.”
Later, as she's leaving, Lady Joanna presses gold into her hands and Mayra can spot the trace of fear in her eyes, quietly burning behind the lion's pride.
She is glad to leave. Secrets aren't as deadly in the filthy inns along the Kingsroad.
5
Septa Moria still sees them as children.
The girl who cried until the sobs nearly choked her on the eve before her wedding; the stiff-necked scoundrel who wanted nothing more than to be a pirate; the fierce cub who should have died in battle but died in his bed; the kind boy who doesn't have the stomach for war but fights them, relentlessly; the boy who grew up too fast, stone-faced and iron-fisted because he no longer finds a use for his heart.
Septa Moria grieves for them, instead of them. The game of thrones has no room for sorrow.
6
“Come with me.” He's still on top of her, hands warm and gentle around her face. “I have a ship now.”
The laughing lion, the other servants call him. He smiles like no other man and it seems to her that his body dances as he speaks, defiantly. When Lord Tywin is away, he changes things in the castle, disarrays everything out of spite. Seven take my brother.
“I can't, my lord.”
He frowns. “Don't 'lord' me.”
Even if he likes to forget his name, she never does. Servants can't afford the luxury of golden dreams.
7
He is nothing like the laughing lion.
She clutches the girl in her arms, almost expecting him to deny the golden hair, the sharp-green eyes.
“I will see to her upbringing,” Lord Tywin consents. His voice is devoid of all emotion and she thinks of Gerion's grin, his devious tricks and wicked tongue. “When the time comes, I will find her a husband.”
Joy Hill, a bride of Casterly Rock. Her long-lost father would be appalled.
“Thank you, my lord,” she says, because at least this lord, for all his faults, is here when she needs it.
Bonus drabble, full of self-indulgence and la-la-la-GRRM-will-not-make-them-suffer-endlessly-honest sentiments.
8
They say she's as ugly as he is handsome, Pia knows, holding up the silk garment.
In the beginning they had both been shy, unused to each other; a toothless, wretched whore and a warrior maiden playing games. The Kingslayer's stray dogs, mocking the honour of this old, proud rock. Lord Tywin would never have allowed it, the servants say. But Lord Jaime does and he's the only lord that has ever bothered to be kind to her, the only lord who'd wed a woman who bests him in battle. Pia smiles to herself.
“Here you go, Lady Brienne.”
1
She's hidden well. First from turmoil, then from silence. The sound of footsteps has brought her out today, to find a handsome man with hair like the sun and eyes flecked with gold standing in the room that belonged to her master.
“Who are you?”
“Nobody,” she says. “Just a servant.”
“Nobody. I see.” He looks around. “You know much about this rock?”
She nods. “Who are you?”
The man eyes her curiously. “I'm Lann. This just became my castle. Will you stay here with me?”
She nods again and he smiles, magnificently.
2
The smell of freshly baked bread twists in her belly, a whirl of discomfort rising inside.
“His Lordship wants salted meat, you fool,” she snaps, snatching the serving tray from a clumsy girl.
They shake their heads, thinking her disagreeable as ever; it doesn't matter. She will not be able to remain here when it starts to show, she can't hide it like Fat Greta and drown the babe in the sea. Too old for the brothel, she thinks, too ugly to seduce a merchant or a horse trader.
“My lord.” At least her voice is steady, clear.
3
“I don't think it's fair.” Lady Genna Lannister pouts.
“When you are older, you will go to King's Landing, too.” Maester Daron sighs. “Continue your reading.”
“I miss Kevan and Tywin.” The girl glares at the text in front of her. “I don't care for you.”
I don't care much for you either, he thinks. How Lord Tytos' mistress has extorted the power to make the Maester of Casterly Rock a glorified nursemaid, he will never understand. But they are his lord's orders even in her mouth.
He points at the text again. “Read.”
4
“You saw nothing.” The Lady of Casterly Rock has a voice like a hard, cold jolt ripping through the room. “I will have your head, do you understand?”
The servants claim she's not as cruel as her husband but no more forgiving; Mayra is shaking when she smooths her skirts, calming herself.
“Nothing.”
Later, as she's leaving, Lady Joanna presses gold into her hands and Mayra can spot the trace of fear in her eyes, quietly burning behind the lion's pride.
She is glad to leave. Secrets aren't as deadly in the filthy inns along the Kingsroad.
5
Septa Moria still sees them as children.
The girl who cried until the sobs nearly choked her on the eve before her wedding; the stiff-necked scoundrel who wanted nothing more than to be a pirate; the fierce cub who should have died in battle but died in his bed; the kind boy who doesn't have the stomach for war but fights them, relentlessly; the boy who grew up too fast, stone-faced and iron-fisted because he no longer finds a use for his heart.
Septa Moria grieves for them, instead of them. The game of thrones has no room for sorrow.
6
“Come with me.” He's still on top of her, hands warm and gentle around her face. “I have a ship now.”
The laughing lion, the other servants call him. He smiles like no other man and it seems to her that his body dances as he speaks, defiantly. When Lord Tywin is away, he changes things in the castle, disarrays everything out of spite. Seven take my brother.
“I can't, my lord.”
He frowns. “Don't 'lord' me.”
Even if he likes to forget his name, she never does. Servants can't afford the luxury of golden dreams.
7
He is nothing like the laughing lion.
She clutches the girl in her arms, almost expecting him to deny the golden hair, the sharp-green eyes.
“I will see to her upbringing,” Lord Tywin consents. His voice is devoid of all emotion and she thinks of Gerion's grin, his devious tricks and wicked tongue. “When the time comes, I will find her a husband.”
Joy Hill, a bride of Casterly Rock. Her long-lost father would be appalled.
“Thank you, my lord,” she says, because at least this lord, for all his faults, is here when she needs it.
Bonus drabble, full of self-indulgence and la-la-la-GRRM-will-not-make-them-suffer-endlessly-honest sentiments.
8
They say she's as ugly as he is handsome, Pia knows, holding up the silk garment.
In the beginning they had both been shy, unused to each other; a toothless, wretched whore and a warrior maiden playing games. The Kingslayer's stray dogs, mocking the honour of this old, proud rock. Lord Tywin would never have allowed it, the servants say. But Lord Jaime does and he's the only lord that has ever bothered to be kind to her, the only lord who'd wed a woman who bests him in battle. Pia smiles to herself.
“Here you go, Lady Brienne.”