ofbracken

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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.

❝  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.

❝  everyone’s a  M O N S T E R  to someone.                      if you’re so convinced that i’m yours - I’LL BE IT.  ❞ 

––– the barbed and the bastard ; the eldest children of jonos bracken. @ofbracken

King Arthur taking care of his Round Table.

CHARLIE HUNNAM

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

(bonus):

                    @sarraheddle || Inn at the Crossroads

The thought had come to him whilst sitting in the dining hall of Stonehedge, listening to and interrupting his half-sisters’ bickering.  He wished that this wasn’t all his family.  He wished his mother was still around.  He wished his life had been simple with a mother and a normal father.  He wished he didn’t have to deal with Barbara’s withering looks any time he dared to take a breath too loudly, or chew too noisily.  

It was then, when a memory he hadn’t perused for several years, came to the forefront of his mind.  It was a memory of his scrawny ass sat outside a door closed to him, being told it would not be appropriate for him to be inside.  It was a memory of screams and groans that seemed to be endless, until finally they were replaced with the screeching cries of a newborn.  It was his mother letting him name his baby sister (he had chosen Visenya, having recently been told of the dragon-riding Queen by patron of the brothel).  His mother told him it was a perfect, strong name, and that little baby Visenya would need the strength for her travels, as she would be living with another family.  “Just like all those fancy lords and ladies do” she explained, but also telling Harry that while Visenya would always be his little sister, he may never seen her again.  At only 11 years, Harry did not understand, and he could feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, but as he told himself to be the man of the family, to be strong for his mother, he stopped.  And that was the second to last time Harry ever cried.

He was brought back from his memory as Barbara barbed him with some searing insult of his lack of intelligence, inability to pay attention to their conversation, or something of the like.  But Harry couldn’t find it in him to care.  He had never gone looking for his sister, because what would have been the use?  He had nothing to offer, except perhaps the shattering of what she thought was her own history.  But now?  Now he could offer her stability, or perhaps even a position, if she so craved it.  Now he didn’t feel as if finding and meeting her would only be for his benefit.  So he set out to find her.

It had been hard, seeing as even if his mother had told him the details, there is no way that he remembered it over two decades later.  So he started with the brothel, finding any of his mother’s old friends that were still in work or even still alive, and charming the information out of them.  Although, that part wasn’t hard.  Many of them still remembered him and his time spent patrolling the rooms of the brothel, threatening to beat any man who laid an unkind hand on the women.  It also didn’t hurt that with his newfound status he was able to pay them generously for their information.  But even then, he didn’t turn up much that led to anything.  He got no names, only vague descriptions.  They were from the Riverlands, although no idea where, and they were bakers.  Nothing more.

But finally, he found the puzzle piece he was missing, because he simply hadn’t thought it possible.  One of the ladies mentioned that the old proprieter of the brothel was still around (something Harry found surprising as he remembered her as impossibly old even when he was a child all those years ago), and with her usually taking care of the women who found themselves with child either by giving them a concoction or sorting something out, of course she would have the information he so desperately looked for.  And even more surprisingly, she remembered every bit of information.  It got a little tricky once he had found out she had already married and changed her name, but after asking kindly around, Harry found what he needed to know.

And that is how he found himself sitting on a rickety stool in the Inn at the Crossroads, eyes searching every feminine face for a resemblance, but found himself disappointed, until a harried woman came out from the kitchens, hair blonde as his pulled back to reveal a face that resembled his their mother’s so closely that it had quite felt like someone had taken a fist to his gut.  It had been near upon two decades since he had seen that face, and he could feel the painful nostalgia building inside him already.  He had thought the hard part was finding her, but now he realized that was no longer the case.

Despite having thought of what exactly to say to her, Harry’s mouth was now dry, and his tongue was like lead.  

Walking up to the bar, he smiled politely at her, biting back the urge to cut straight to the point, ever the tactless politician.  But instead, “Hello, Miss---Bother you for a mug of ale?”

Why have enemies when you can have friends?

                     @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.  

charlie hunnam as king arthur.

Waves crash along Battered lonely lighthouse Tomorrow she's gone And if not, some, they somehow Are, these, hands, alwaysWell this side of, mortality is Scaring, me, to death

      DON’T LET THIS BE A CLOSE CALL…

                       ((                this time, i want to go all the way ))

FORGIVE me, father                                             for i have SINNED

((  but i did it all for YOU                 ))

                                         AND I’D DO IT ALL AGAIN.

You have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness.

William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing (via ameliathermopolis)

the reason i sin is because there’s a stairway to heaven and a highway to hell and i sure as shit ain’t climbin no stairs

Charlie Hunnam as King Arthur in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword.

I keep wondering, how many people do you need to be, before you can become yourself.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This for You  (via wordsnquotes)

trc + richard siken;;

wishbone + kavinsky

I never even got to live my life…

                        I was just a kid. And I didn’t even get to know what being a kid was like.

                                   THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.                                                                THIS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!

                                                                                  why did you make me this way?                                                                                   what did i ever do to you?

Why did I do this dead meme? Idk.

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Anne Carson, in the preface to Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides (via the-first-of-her-name)

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

Haruki Murakami (via quotemadness)

I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, ”More Than Just A House” (via fleurdelecours)

Charlie Hunnam in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword. 

I think he’s very lonely. Lonelier than he lets on. Maybe lonelier than he even realizes.

The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), Dir. Wes Anderson (via wnq-movies)

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017) dir. Guy Ritchie

aut viam inveniam aut faciam.

i will either find a way, or i will make one;   (via princejackdaw)