court of lies | robert's rebellion

the funeral

"maybe forever was a word meant for memories, not people"

Twelfth moon of 280 AC, The Arbor

The sound of relief was the first thing she heard when she entered the dimly lit, overly extravagant but rich looking -and somehow smelling, room. Her head was pulsating so was her wound just below her ribs. She was not sure if her vision was blurred or if the high walls of the room had checkers-style tapestries. And her eyes were hurting too much from the lack of sleep. Her hair was unwashed and unbrushed, looked fitter to a wood's witch rather than a highborn daughter of a long-dead but still lot-feared lord and his overly controversial wife. All she wanted was to sleep and never woke up again but she knew it was impossible at this point.

She had a duty to fulfil.

"Bless the Seven, thanks to the Gods...", the velvety voice was all so filled with worry for her, suddenly she felt a terrible ache in her chest.

At first, she thought she was dying hence her frown appeared but then she realized it was just a sign of familiarity. Her heart was beating loud because she was safe now, her body knew it before her mind did. All the worries she had on her way here disappeared to the dark night when she felt the strong hands wrapping around her, pulling as close as he could and burying his nose to her probably awful-smelling hair and thanking all the Seven individually by doing so.

She felt her own hands wrapped around his back delicately while the tears filled her eyes little by little. But when she heard his broken voice saying "I thought you were dead.", with a shaky tone, she couldn't handle it any longer. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall, the tears she had been holding back too long now. And her wrapped hands changed their position and held onto his back, grasping the thick brown coloured robe that had black small grape embodiments on it.

She didn't know how long they stood like that, her head was empty without any thoughts or worries or anything to disturb her. But then they moved to the knight who accompanied her on her way there. They barely talked in the ship, they saw each other even less. Arthur had basically locked himself to his cabin -but she knew he checked on her ever so often when she did not see it and refused to connect in either way.

Atera heard the stories, of course, she did. The Silver Prince and his Sword of the Morning. They were still too young, the same age as Atera, yet they still had stories and ballads and songs for their name. But most was written for the latter by the former himself. It was a legendary friendship. Suitable for the likes of Aegon the Unlikely and his Duncan the Tall. Nearly everyone spoke of how once the prince will get anointed and crowned as king, he would make his best friend his Lord Commander. The ones in the Hightower scarcely entertained the idea because politically, downgrading a Hightower for a Dayne would be a horrible idea. Not that Leyton or Andric actually cared about that. Both had deeper problems with each other and not had time for this. It was whispered that Arthur Dayne was the prince's best friend and was held in high regard by both the king and the queen and was the reason why the prince started to train as a swordsman and all. Their bond was never to be broken.

And now the Prince had sent him miles away.

Atera was not naïve to think that it was because the prince did not trust to her word and sent him as a nursemaid. No, that would be an appropriate explanation, she knew that much. Oswell Whent was close with the prince but just like the rest of the kingsguard, he was the king's man, not the prince's. She had seen that in Dragonstone too. But she also saw different things on that island. The way the white knight pushed the prince away and now it seemed like it was the prince's turn to push him away. Whatever this was about, she knew the object of it was not her. She truly did not care about their broken relationship, she had million other problems but it felt like a getaway. To know that she was not the only one whose entire world fell on her.