You Have Such A February Face, So Full Of Frost, Of Storm And Cloudiness.

☼ & ☾

☼ - appearance headcanon

Some would marvel how a man with as many scars as Harry was still standing.  Or some might wonder if he just scars easily.  Regardless, one fact is true, it seems as is every part of body has at least one scar to mark it, most are faded and not something one would take note of.  Even fully clothed, many are visible.  A crescent above his brow, a forked line under his jaw, a long stretch starting behind his ear and running down his jugular, all given to him by a left handed man in a tavern.  Slices on hands and forearms, accrued from one too many close calls with daggers and longswords.  And that’s only the beginning of the list.  Most are from mundane tasks and moments in his life.  But shh, don’t tell anybody that.

☾ - sleep headcanon

Harry is a light sleeper, but can sleep in almost any position.  Most of his nights were spent at his mother’s brothel, sat in a chair in the tavern below, eyes closed but ears primed for any noise of discord.  

Chairs, bales of hay, rocky outcrops and river banks all had been called home for Harry’s sleeping body (if laying down, he tends to curl into a surprisingly small ball)

Charlie Hunnam and his back in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017).

▼ - childhood headcanon

▼ - childhood headcanon

His mother, mainly working at night, would sneak home every morning and wake Harry up with a start.  Despite years of this, he never got used to it, but he always forgave her.  On clear days, she would wake him and steal him away to a hilltop somewhere or the banks of the Tumblestone and they’d watch the sun begin it’s course throughout the sky.  If it was storming, they’d marvel at the lightening dancing above them.  And if there were nothing notable about the morning other than how utterly uninteresting the shade of grey the sky was colored, she’d bring him a sweet.  Sometimes Harry still wakes with a start, and his eyes dart around, half expecting to see his mother standing over him with her wicked grin.

Charlie Hunnam in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword. 

❝  i cannot b e l i e v e                           that we are so  p o o r l y  made as  t h a t.  ❞

–– house bracken of stone hedge ; the river kings of old.

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the rose gardens // open

during the years she’d spent living in sunspear, mycella liked to think she’d grown up. physically, this was certainly the case; gone was the little princess, decked constantly in silks of soft pink. at the very least, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, golden curls always perfectly in place even as she’d run through the streets, wine flowing through her veins and a carefree laugh on her lips. yes, she had grown physically while in dorne, but she liked to think she’d matured, too.

when she’d first arrived in highgarden, the excitement of seeing her family once more had kept myrcella going, any nervousness at the reunion replaced by the sheer joy of familiarity. though she loved her mother dearly, it had not taken long for the golden princess to realize just how free she’d been in her absence. scarcely a week in, myrcella found herself sneaking away from the constant eyes of cersei lannister, muttering excuses about leaving her to her wedding planning. luckily enough, highgarden at any time was the perfect place to escape for a bit.

wandering the seemingly endless gardens, myrcella felt her mind wandering to her own pending nuptials. she’d reached an age where she truly should have married trystane martell already. it was all a game of politics, she knew; her mother had never loved the match, but keeping her in dorne kept most of the martell forces at bay and kept myrcella out of harm’s way. a part of her wondered whether her mother wished to find a more palatable match for her while the entire realm was gathered in highgarden - this sole cynical part of myrcella had kept an eye on the men she’d been introduced to, measuring their worth as she dripped pretty words and prettier smiles.

shaking her head slightly, myrcella resolved to abandon this line of thought, if only for the moment. the famous rose gardens were too beautiful by far to be sullied by any negative thoughts. rounding a corner, a smile spread across myrcella’s lips at the sight of someone else enjoying the peace and majesty of the scenery. nothing could drive her from her own thoughts like the presence of another. “they’re beautiful, aren’t they? i can see why highgarden is so famous for them.”

Harry felt out of place as he walked about Highgarden.  He was sure any moment a guard would call out, or a Lord with an upturned nose would ask ‘exactly what he thought he was doing here’.  But it never came.  He almost wished it would, to get over with what he deemed to be an inevitable moment. The feeling was only enforced as he observed the people around him, and how everybody seemed to have something to do, but he found himself wearing a path in the already smooth stone of the hallways.  

The constant torture of waiting for the other boot to drop left Harry in an increasingly foul mood.  His light and sarcastic wit turned into humorless and bitter remarks.  With this turn of mood, the aim of introducing Harry to other nobles, other leaders and heirs of houses went afoul before completely falling by the wayside.  After one too many polite debates turned heated arguments, Harry felt it better to try and avoid any person with a title, for the sake of his own head.

Over the days, Harry had found just the spot to do so.  It took some exploring, but he soon found a fairly quiet nook of the rose garden, where only the most ambitious of strollers would make it to.  He’d set out to his spot in the morning, supplies in hand ( a book, a sword for practicing, an apple, some fine arbor wine, and perhaps a few other things he was able to swipe from the kitchens when the ever present figure of the cook wasn’t lording about ), and could often be seen sneaking back onto the grounds as dusk was falling.  He thought it best this way, he knew returning to Stone Hedge with nothing to show would not impress his father, but he thought it better than Lord Jonos receiving a raven telling him the news that his bastard son had lost a hand for slapping some spoiled pup of a lord around.

So preoccupied with his sword and whetstone, Harry’s usually keen ears hadn’t picked up on the approaching footsteps, although once looking up at her, he could see why.  This was no blundering, drunk Lord ( who --with their companions that their wives most certainly would not approve of, were his most constant guests out this far in the garden ), but rather an obviously high born lady, so it was no wonder he hadn’t heard her advance onto his spot.

With not much idea of who she was, nor much of a care ( he could thank the empty flask of wine for that ) he shrugged in response to her comment.  “Perhaps, if you like the cloying, almost stiflin’ smell of ‘em.---Smells like somethin’ died to me.” 

Headcanon meme~

Put a symbol (or several) and a character/characters in my ask box, and I’ll give you a headcanon.  Yes.  Do it.

☾ - sleep headcanon

★ - sad headcanon

☆ - happy headcanon

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

✿ - Sex headcanon

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

♥ - family headcanon

☮ - friendship headcanon

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

▼ - childhood headcanon

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

☼ - appearance headcanon

ൠ - random headcanon

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

☠

☠ - 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.

[ open starter ] [ post purple wedding ] [ highgarden ]

Some may say Harry was out the door before the Boy King hit the floor. 

Perhaps he was paranoid, or maybe he had just seen his fair share of poison. He hadn’t had the best of views of the proceedings, but he had heard the cries for help and the rush of well meaning lords and ladies to the table of honor, all wanting to get a look at what was happening, very clearly.  But he was not one of those fine folk, Harry had been raised differently than them, he always expected the worse, Harry’s strongest instinct was one of self-survival.  And while King Joffrey may have very well choked on a pigeon bone, the criminal in the back of Harry’s mind thought otherwise, and urged him to get out while he still could.  

Harry knew that if a pigeon bone proved not to be the downfall of the King, Highgarden would most likely be closed off, no one in or out while the perpetrator was hunted down, and he did not want to be stuck in here with these people, partially due to his dislike of them, but mostly due to the fact that the once lovely and precious Highgarden would soon turn into a powder keg, and Harry did not want to be the next casualty.  He doubted that he was of importance for any sort of planned assassination, but he thought it likely he could get caught in the crossfire.

Thus, as many rushed forward, Harry carefully slipped out, making sure to avoid any and everyone, to avoid looking suspicious.  The last thing he needed was one nosy guard to say they saw a Targaryen supporter running out and to lose his head over it.  Knowing the news probably hadn’t spread past the hall quite yet, Harry put on a casual aire as he approached the stable boy in search for his horse, spouting off some non-sense of wanting to leave early to avoid the rush on the King’s Road.  The stable boy either approved of his sensibility, or didn’t care much to think about it, as Harry was quickly handed the reins to his horse and off he went.  

Harry’s mind raced as he made his way out, head on a constant swivel and eyes darting in every which direction.  Where would he go?  Should he make a break for home? Ride hard and buy new horses along the way?  How long would that take?  A fortnight? More?---But then the thought came to him, he had been a ward in the Vale with a Florent boy, and he wondered if this old acquaintanceship could leave him with a place to stay at Brightwater Keep, not even a half a day’s ride from Highgarden.

Even with his hood deafening sounds around him, Harry swore he had heard footsteps falling behind him.  He continued on as if they hadn’t pricked his ears until the sound came closer.  In a fell movement, Harry had spun, pinned his follower to wall and taken out his own dirk.

“Why’re you followin’ me?--Huh?” he questioned, his paranoia reaching a new high.