Slow Your Breath; Unclench Your Fist. Even In Sleep You Are Ready For War.

                     @laenahs || harold hardyng’s celebration

It had been awhile since Harry had felt at ease at a social event.  Ever since his legitimization, his schedule had been filled with ‘quaint gatherings’ that were anything but, ‘delightful evenings’ that felt like torture, and ‘modest dinners’ which contained more courses than he could count.  The load had lightened slightly after leaving the Reach soon after the doomed wedding, determined to keep a low profile (something that proved a smart idea, as while other were off being ransomed by Ironborn, Harry was at home in Stonehedge, continuing on with daily life), but as things returned to normal and people began to settle, Harry’s father had insisted that he rejoin the ranks of other Lords and Ladies in King’s Landing for the events celebrating the hostage’s returns. --- But as he looked around the dimly lit but nicely decorated tavern, rented out by the Vale’s own Young Falcon, he thought this could be an event he could enjoy.

Despite his fondness of surroundings (a tavern? felt very familiar), Harry’s blue eyes could be seen constantly flicking towards the door, with every coming and going.  He had expected to see her at the event the day before, held by Queen Cersei, as he expected Laenah would most certainly attend the proper, sanctioned event.  But either she had not made an appearance or the two had missed each other.  So there Harry sat, rather hopelessly staring at the door, hoping that her nostalgia for their shared time in the Vale would lead her to the door of a Valeman’s party.

He had no idea what he would say to her, if she were to show up.  He had left rather quickly after the wedding--after going back for her at the wedding-- so quickly, it was almost rude.  He had stayed around just long enough to count her as safe in his mind before he was off on his horse, sprinting down the Roseroad.

His eyes roamed the face of every woman who passed by, somehow wanting to believe that he had just missed her entrance.  But none passed the test, although the more ale he drank, the more they all started to look more and more like her.  

sarraheddle‌:

Sarra had always lived a simple life. It was full of love, heartache, and comfort. She knew her parents weren’t biologically hers, but she never cared. They loved her as their own, and were always forthcoming, something that caused her to be the blunt, straightforward woman she is, even if that wasn’t always the best of her personality. Still, part of her wondered where she might’ve come from, her parents did leave that part out, likely to spare her the heartache of the truth. She knew they meant well. What she didn’t know, was that the life she did know was about to forever be changed. She never really desired to seek her birth parents, but in the very depths of her mind and soul, she continued to wonder.

After Jon’s death, however, her mind turned towards the present and future and veered from the past, at least the one that existed before he came into her life. Losing her husband changed her, the curious mind that once existed was now filled with despair and worried thoughts of how she would handle the inn all on her own. She knew if she lost it, she would be failing him. She was doing everything in her power to avoid that, even if it meant doing all of the work on her own. Her parents, as sweet as they were, often helped her bake the bread and pastries she sold in order to bring in another source of profit.

During the days, when the inn was more quiet, moreso on this particular one, Sarra was constantly at work in the kitchen preparing for the busy evenings that always came. She wiped sweat from her brow as she exited the kitchen to realize a man was sitting at the bar as he asked for a mug. “Oh, so sorry I didn’t hear ya come in.” She explained hurridly, feeling a bit awful for how long he might’ve waited. She quickly made him up a mug and slid it in front of him. “D'ya need me to set ya up with a room or are ya just stoppin’ by for a mug?”

It was extremely disconcerting, just how much the girl looked like their mother, and even more so talked and moved like her.  Harry felt much like a child again as he looked at her, and the surroundings not too different from the brothel he had grown up in. For a moment, it was all a bit much, and he found his head swimming, unable to pay attention to the woman’s words or offer a reply, despite knowing that he probably seemed like a loon, or at the very least rude.  Panic gripped his insides as he floundered on what to say.  He felt the easiest way would to be ask for her, for ‘Sarra’, and then continue on that way, but seeing her, the spitting image of his mother, and knowing it was her so obvious as the light of day, that way felt dishonest.  But, he also could not bring himself to blurt it out, a small part of him...Nervous? 

 It had been quite awhile since he had felt that particular emotion, so he couldn’t be sure, but he had a thought that is what the feeling in his guts could be attributed to.  His search for her had been borne out of dislike for his half sisters and the dislike they bore him in return, so perhaps he was nervous this sister would not like him either.  And if that were the case, it’d be obvious, with him being the only common factor, the issue was him.

It took him a moment to process what she had said in response to his request, and he hurriedly offered an answer.  “No, thank you, home is not even a day’s ride.”  Which was another thing that struck him, that the two hadn’t been far apart at all.  “But---”  he took a deep breath, deciding on his course of action and taking it before he had a chance to second guess himself.  

“Is your name perhaps Sarra?”  He knew the question was a jarring one to be asked, and in his own history upon being asked it, had bolted from the room, but he figured the question was a happy medium between the two options he had considered.

Why have enemies when you can have friends?

“So what is it you’re looking at, then?”

Violence does not always take visible form, and not all wounds gush blood.

Haruki Murakami (via quotemadness)

CHARLIE HUNNAM

as King Arthur in ‘King Arthur: Legend of the Sword’ | 2017. 

☠

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Harry has a short fuse, but the fire burns out quickly.  It’s like most things in his life, he puts everything into it for as long as he can, but this type of expenditure isn’t sustainable.  He’ll be hell and fury for as long as he can maintain it, but becomes exhausted fairly quickly. There are only a select few grudges he reserves his energy for to keep them burning long.

FORGIVE me, father                                             for i have SINNED

((  but i did it all for YOU                 ))

                                         AND I’D DO IT ALL AGAIN.