Love and Control - A Game of Thrones Fan Fiction

Chapter XVIII - Arienne

I've attached a cover of the song 'Greensleeves.' It was originally composed in the late 16th century in England, but this cover is by 'Méav Ní Mhaolchatha'. Anyway, the reason I've attached it is so that later on when Arienne is singing, you can play Greensleeves, because that's the song I imagine her singing.

I'm sorry if I havn't updated in a while, I've got so many pieces of homework and exams at the moment, but I'm trying my hardest!

Without further adieu, Chapter 18 of Love and Control!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like a new woman, quite literally. Being in love with Joffrey, and knowing that he loved me too, has done wonders for me, both inside and out. My hair has a new shine to it, there's a new ring to my laugh. I feel, strange as it is, as if my entire life I've been living as half a person, and only now am I whole.

We remain in Flintskeep for the night and part of the next day. Neither of us want to leave, as it will mark the beginning of the end of this trip, and possibly our time together. But we don't talk about that, because we're both determined that we are going to succeed in changing the critics. And if we don't succeed, Joffrey is already planning how he was abdicate and who will rule in his younger brother Tommen's place until he comes of age. It surprises me that he is insistent that the new Hand of the King will not be a Lannister.

"This kingdom has suffered enough at the hands of my mother's family. I was powerless to stop it, maybe Tommen will be more of a man than I."

Leaving Flintskeep, I ordered Lyrica that she is to visit me in Kings Landing sometime. I leave her the address to send a raven to, and she gives me her own address in return, before squeezing me tightly and asking me for gods sake to look after myself. I don't visit my mother's grave since I laid the bouquet, there is nothing else to say.

The first day of our return journey, the heavens open and all of the rain that has been stored up over the past 4 days is released. Within minutes we are drenched, and rather than sticking to the main road we take our journey through the trees, grateful for the little protection they provide us with against the elements. Much to Joffrey's frustration, the guards refuse to abandon us now, saying that this weather is perfect for ambushes, dark and wet, travellers are more focused on keeping dry than protecting themselves from attack.

The 8 of us plod grumpily through the forest. My hair hangs like rat's tails, stuck to the side of my head and my back, the hood of my cloak providing hardly any protection at all. The heavy silk of my dress sticks to my skin too, weighing me down so much that I'm afraid if I even move a little, I'll never be able to lift the dress back into position.

Then, after about 3 hours of the torment, we give up and decide to make camp for the night. Joffrey and I huddle underneath a tree whilst the men pitch the tents in record time, and because it is so wet I offer my tent for them to sleep in, rather than them being forced to lie all night in the rain. They accept without much argument, and after I fetch a dry dress and shift from my small bag of clothing, they move in, all ready lighting a fire in the centre.

Joffrey and I, grateful for the privacy we have been deprived of all day, hurry into his tent and close the door, the only reminder of the storm outside the gentle patter of the rain on the roof. We have found a good spot where tall trees tower overheard, protecting our tents from the majority of the downpour. The tent, with it's red and gold interior, is warm due to the fire in the centre. Joffrey removes all of the clothing from the top half of his body, hanging them lazily over a line that hangs from corner to corner on the wall of the tent, before sitting down to pour the water that has gathered in his leather boots out. I stare at the smooth skin of his back, it's not tanned like my cousin Zach, who spent so many days working out in the sun with the Dornish heat beating down. But nor is it a pale ivory, so white that he could camouflage into snow. A gentle shade of warm beige.