Latest Posts by ofbracken - Page 2

Slow your breath; unclench your fist. Even in sleep you are ready for war.

The Golden Wing (via ladystigmata)

I don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth

Ophelia, Act IV, Scene V  (via sumiremiu)

laenahs‌:

Her seat had been so far removed from the throng of activity that at first she was not sure what all the commotion was about. It had started with horrified gasps, then shrieks had filled the room even all the way to where she was sat and then sheer panic had broken out everywhere. There was little deduction needed to assume that something terrible had happened but what exactly that might have been was lost on her as she soon found herself caught up in some sort of fray breaking out. Fists were sent flying, tables overturned and while everyone else seemed to have someone else to watch their back, Laenah found herself with no one. As calmly as she could she tried to back away from it all, eyes searching for the nearest exit as she did but to seemingly no avail. Instead she was left quite literally with her back up against the wall hoping that no one’s attention would turn her way.

@ofbracken

After a fairly brief and painful interaction with a northern lady outside the stables, Harry was, what most people would call “in the clear”.  He had his horse, an open road uncrowded by people fleeing the party and the opportunity to be off before anyone else saw him.  It was only after a few moments on his horse did the sudden vision of thick brows knitted together in confusion, and brown eyes flicking from potential danger to danger hit him.  Laenah.  She was alone.  No husband or father or brother to keep her out of the fray or watch her back.  And with barely a thought more, the reins of Harry’s horse were being directed back towards Highgarden, and the heels in the horses side dictated a ferocious pace.  Upon arrival, Harry could see that the bedlam had spread from the courtyard where the reception took place, calling out her name to no avail, he suddenly thought the task of finding Laenah in the middle of it all would be near impossible.  But he had to at least try.  Batting people away like they were nothing more than flies on a hot day, Harry made his way further and further into the madness, the crowds getting thicker and more panicked the deeper he got.  A flicker of green caught his eye through the rushing of people, and the breath he didn’t know he had been holding finally rose from his chest.  

“Laenah!” He called out, his words accompanied by a waving of his arm as he tried to pry his way through the throng of people.  “Stay there!”  he couldn’t be sure if he had been able to catch her attention, and if he had, if his words could be heard above the cacophony of it all.

         i have scars on my palms and the insides of my fingers.                    there is blood in my mouth and staining my clothes.                             i have died too many times to count and come back again stronger.

                 ( are you proud of me, momma? are you proud of me, pappa? )

              i wish your mom had been a little stronger.                    i wish she’d stayed around a little longer.                                                                                                            i wish your dad were good.                                                                                                        i wish grown-ups understood.                                                 i wish we’d met before                                           they c o n v i n c e d you                                       LIFE was WAR.                                                                                                         – [ i wish i had more TNT ]

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

xwyllamanderly‌:

The sight of the king’s purpling face would live in Wylla’s mind for the rest of her life.  She had always been so flippant, half-joking about such a thing happening with everyone else for weeks.  A Lannister king, wearing a Baratheon crown, wedding a pretty, ever-scheming Tyrell?  It was a tale, waiting to be told.  But the sight of a man’s life being twisted from his body in such a palatial setting had been something quite different from the joke she’d heard and shared with friends.  It meant the carefully-arranged order of this gathering was gone…and that order had descended into chaos within seconds.

Wylla had stood without thinking, watching the scene unfold before her in a horrible, wide-eyed stupour.  Ser Wylis had carried on the long-standing tradition of Manderly men overindulging at meals, and was slower out of his chair.  Or perhaps it was something else, for he stood beside his daughter with a face gone ghostly white, watching Cersei Lannister hold her dying son…as his own daughter stood beside him.  (And she had always foolishly dismissed her father’s love, the fool.)

Wylla herself, however, was far faster to act, unable to look away but still loudly telling the guards behind their table to go, to help, to move, by all the gods!  Her father, still stupefied, had been slow to react when she’d told him she was leaving the banquet hall, following the example of other nobles.  She had met his eyes just as they turned to hers, and Wylla had left him as he moved as swiftly as his large body could manage to stand by the king in the North.

The crowd leaving the hall was naturally wild with grief and fear, and Wylla was well-rid of them as she turned down a corridor that lead to the western part of the palace.  To the west meant toward the river, and if she could reach the river, Wylla could find the way to the Northern camp.  Or should she go toward the stables?  Ser Loras had promised her the use of a mount, if she needed one, and when better to make good on such an offer than now?  She changed direction, taking unfamiliar corridors and idly looking outside to check the position of the sun to gauge if she was going the right way.

At last, at last, she reached the path to the stables, her feet fast and light in dyed silk slippers.  There was no one about, her mad dash likely circumventing their more meandering route from the banquet hall.  She slowed her steps, skirt still gathered in her hands to allow for speed and ease of movement as she entered the stables and tried to find that beautiful, delicate creature she’d met a few days earlier.  Soon, she’d be on a horse and headed to the camp, well away from any foolishness and able to inform the Northern men what had occurred.

Or she would have been on a horse, had she not been hauled up against a wall by a big brute of a man, and the cold of steel against her throat.

Her cry of alarm strangled in her throat, and Wylla reacted instinctively…with a decisive jerk of her knee into his groin and a feral expression on her face, teeth bared, eyes sharp.

Harry had always been a man to act without thought, and go purely on instinct.  He was nearly never wrong in matters such as this, and if he was, he’d rather apologize later than be on his own deathbed or attending someone else’s, muttering about what he should or could have done.  If he was wrong, the worse that could happen would be the cause of someone else’s death, but at least it would not be his own.  So as he turned on the source of the sounds behind him, he had not thought it’d be a girl, he had assumed it would be an overzealous knight or guard, sure that they had stopped the perpetrator in his tracks.

Within the second of him realizing that unless the Lords and Ladies of the Reach were now employing mere girls to do their bidding, three things happened.  Firstly, he realized he had made a mistake.  Secondly, his arm which had been wrought with tension, relaxed, the blade dropped away from the girl’s throat.  And third?  Third, he received a quick, and probably well deserved knee to his groin.

Harry wished he could say it hadn’t dropped him like a stone down to a riverbed, but it had.  And it took him more than a moment to quell the sudden water that had sprung to his eyes and the ringing in his ears.  Either that girl was wearing armor beneath her gown that gave her an iron knee, or she had experience with the motion.  

For a moment, Harry was unable to lift his hands from his knees, concerned the dinner he had consumed would find itself on the stone ( although, considering what had just happened inside, this could have been of benefit to Harry ).  Finally the confidence that his stomach could remain firm and his mouth closed, Harry slowly unbent himself, sheathing his dagger as he did so.  

“---I deserved that.” he commented, his voice still pained.  “And you...And that knee of yours will be written in the revised edition of Wonders Made By Man.” He was sure he was being dramatic, but as the breath was still gone from him, he figured that was okay.

Regaining his wits slightly, he decided to carry on with the narrative that he had no clue of the happenings of inside the keep.  “You were rushing---Why?  What’s happening?”

oflioncss‌:

born and raised and educated by the best and brightest her mother could bring to the red keep, myrcella had learned as much about the world as could be expected of a princess. she’d learned such pursuits as dancing and singing, sewing and painting, yes, but she’d learned her geography, too. as a young girl, her tutors and septas had made something of a game out of it, teaching her the names and words and sigils of each of the seven kingdoms’ bannermen. though she’d forgotten many of the finer details, this knowledge had come in handy many a times, when this lord or that lady visited the capital, or when her family traveled to casterly rock or storm’s end.

her education had proved largely beneficial during her weeks in highgarden; myrcella could identify most of the strangers she encountered based on the colors they wore, the embroidered sigils on their silks or the broaches pinning on cloaks. she found herself searching this man before her for any such identifying mark. finding no such thing, she frowned; it was not often that myrcella found herself off-guard, unprepared. the accent proved no more help, thickened with wine though it was, and so myrcella let out an imperceptible breath. if she could not place him, perhaps he could not identify her, dressed in green silks the color of her eyes, so different from the colors of either parents’ house. no, they were complete strangers to each other for the moment.

she could work with that.

the words startled her; it was rare for anyone to speak to her without the vale of politics, of courtesies and diplomacy. based merely on the man’s presence at the wedding and the freedom of movement implied by his hideout here in the gardens, myrcella figured he must be highborn. in a way, it was comforting, to hear someone speak freely, but she couldn’t shake the disconcerted feeling at his response. “to each their own, i suppose,” she mused, lips pursed in something like disdain. “it’s certainly an ideal setting for a royal wedding.”

anxious to change the subject to more neutral footing, myrcella quickly surveyed the belongings strewn around the man on the bench. spotting a book, she relaxed slightly, turning an inquisitive smile on him. “what is it you’re reading, my lord? this is a good place to bring a book - quiet, peaceful.” the irony that she was disrupting said peace was not lost on her, and she found herself drifting a foot or two further away from the stranger.

If only Harry had been paying more attention throughout the events throughout the past weeks, he would have known who she was.  But alas, he had not, and if had, he wasn’t sure his way of approaching her would change that much.  He would have still shared his negative opinion on the roses, but he might have tried to sound a bit more polite, a bit more proper.  But without knowing, his demeanor stayed the same, and anyone who would jest that with manners like his, he must have been raised in a whorehouse, would not be wrong.

Of course, he had been living among the splendor and wealth of Lords and Ladies since a little after his thirteenth name day but he did not feel at home within it, he had been raised poor, dirty and hungry.  This caused an outlook on many things that did not meld well with the outlooks of the people he had been forced to interact with over the course of the past few weeks.

After his first exploratory look to see who had tread upon his quiet, his eyes drifted back down to the work at hand: sharpening his blade.  As she spoke he continued the smooth and routine movements of dragging a blade against whet stone, always finding the motion soothing.  Something could be said that Harry was most at peace when preparing his weapons.  

“Here, Fleabottom, does it really matter where it happens?” He questioned with an almost imperceptible flick of the eyes up to his company.  “All that is cared about is that the wedding happens, that alliances are forged and the wealthy stay wealthy.”  They were words that should not be spoken to a stranger on whom he had no idea of their identity, of their politics or family.  But with the wine coating his tongue and filling his belly, and his general lack of politicking know-how, Harry found himself saying them anyways.

Stopping his movements on his blade, Harry nodded his head to the book, an offer, an attempt to let her know she’d be welcome to pick it up.  “The Nine Voyages.  Maester Mathis. ---The first book I learned to read.  A great way to escape the mundane tasks of every day life.”

Deciding it was his turn for questions, he finally raised his head to look at her, face to face.  “And what about you, m’lady?  What brings you out this far?  Lost or tryin’ to escape?”

♛ ASOIAF | Regions ♛ The Riverlands

Much history—rife with both glory and tragedy—has been made in the lands watered by the river Trident and its three great vassal streams.Stretching from the Neck to the banks of the Blackwater, and east to the borders of the Vale, the riverlands are the beating heart of Westeros. No other land in the Seven Kingdoms has seen so many battles, nor so many petty kings and royal houses rising and falling. The causes of this are clear. Rich and fertile, the riverlands border on every other realm in the Seven Kingdoms save Dorne, yet have few natural boundaries to deter invasion. The waters of the Trident make the lands ripe for settlement, farming, and conquest, whilst the river’s three branches stimulate trade and travel during peacetime, and serve as both roads and barriers in times of war.

laenahs‌:

A feeling of being out of place was not something that was particular unfamiliar to her - in fact it was perhaps quite ironically the one certainty in her life despite how deeply uncertain it made her feel. Being from so many places and yet really none at all left her feeling untethered and as though she had been simply floating from place to place, steered only by her whatever father’s wishes for her were in that moment. 

Her mother had always told her that she would be a daughter of two kingdoms - not quite Dornish but not quite a Westerlander either - but she had never spun it in such a way that Laenah had ever found herself worried about it. Instead her mother had made it seem to be this gift that she had been bestowed, blessed with the chance to understand not just one place but two. ( Little had they both known that it would be four by the time Lewys Lydden’s whims were met ) Though time had sadly not proven her words to be true when so many seemed to deem her blood as more of a curse, never quite sure what to do with the girl who’s mother’s dark looks had erased her father’s fair ones.

It was events such as these that only made what she considered to be hard facts appear starker when she had no core group of people that she could easily slip into and feel included with. Even now that she was back in her father’s home of Deep Den things were more complicated when their land had been deemed part of the Riverlands and not the Westerlands. Stranding her once again in that so frustratingly familiar limbo.

There was something of a longing for a familiar face, one of those who had left an impact on her life. Perhaps there was only handful she would freely class as important to her but her mother had always said that it was quality over quantity that truly mattered. With Jeyne having found her place among the Ironborn and Mychel still within the Vale she knew that she would most likely have to face the remainder of the festivities by herself.

Or at least she thought she would until a voice that brought a hundred memories flooding back all at once, stunning her into silence as her gaze shifted to lay eyes on him. Even with her own sight as proof it still seemed impossible that Harry Rivers was stood before her and not simply a figure in her dreams or past.

Soft, tentative smile touched her lips with such gentleness she was sure that any other might have missed it. The meaning behind his words was not lost on her but she still found herself unable to accept that he could be talking about anything but the scenery that they had both witnessed in their teenage years. “Most would say that all kingdoms have their merits.” Words leave her lips like a sight, barely finding enough air in her lungs to exhale let along made sound. 

A shyness that feels so foreign around him creeps over her but she can’t shake the feeling that perhaps the two of them are more strangers than friends now. So many years had passed and she found it difficult to fathom that his views towards her would not have changed as time drove a wedge between them. Still with all of those worries pushed to the side, all she cared about was knowing more about the life he had had without her in it, hoping that the Seven had been kind to him. “How have you been, Harry?” A little pause settles over her as she remebers the last news of him that she had received.  “Or should I be calling you Ser Bracken now?”

“Always the peacekeeper, Laenah.” He sighed at her response. “One of these days, I’ll get you to share and honest to Gods opinion.  Just once I will get you to say you loathe something.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped with his words as he shook his head.  “But then again, perhaps I’m biased due to my time spent there--although one would think with the scars I earned there, I wouldn’t be, but alas---” He smirked at her as a finger crept up to his shoulder to itch the scar she had given him, before taking a swig of his wine.

He knew that it had been years since they had last communicated, and even longer since they had last laid eyes upon each other.  But all Harry could see as he looked down upon her was his old friend from his formative years, and all he wanted was to scoop her into an embrace, lift her from her feet and swing her through the air, just as he used to do all those years ago.  Despite her stature being longer and leaner than most other ladies, even at their young ages they spent in the Vale, Harry had always towered over her, having practically reached his full height by then, and he always loved to show this off to her, by swinging her around, picking her up, letting her hang off his back as he transported her to and fro.

“That is a deeply complicated answer, my old friend.  Perhaps I’ll enlighten you another time.”  He had never been able to lie to her, and with being unable to announce that all was fine and he was in high spirits, he decided simply not discussing it would be best due to their estrangement as well as their surroundings.

He groaned as the words ‘Ser Bracken’ fell from her lips, and as he brought his goblet up to his own, he quickly downed the rest of the dark liquid.  

“Call me that and I will be havin’ to walk away before even gettin; a chance to ask you how you have faired all these years.  And I don’t want that. --- Speaking of, what do I call you these days?  Lady Lydden or is it Lady H--Forgive me, I can’t remember your lad’s name.”  Unknowing of the man’s fate, Harry couldn’t stop the words, full of bitterness from slipping through his wine primed lips.

[ 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.

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

I want to go home. I want to go home. I can feel it in my fingertips how I want to go home.

but i don’t know where home is (November 13th, 2015)

Regions of Westeros → The Riverlands

oflioncss‌:

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.” 

Stretching from the Neck to the banks of the Blackwater, and east to the borders of the Vale, the riverlands are the beating heart of Westeros. No other land in the Seven Kingdoms has seen so many battles, nor so many petty kings and royal houses rising and falling. The causes of this are clear. Rich and fertile, the riverlands border on every other realm in the Seven Kingdoms save Dorne, yet have few natural boundaries to deter invasion. The waters of the Trident make the lands ripe for settlement, farming, and conquest, whilst the river’s three branches stimulate trade and travel during peacetime, and serve as both roads and barriers in times of war.

make me choose: @histruequeen asked the Stormlands or the Riverlands

they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace

unfinished poems iii // s.z  (via petiteblades)

tag drop

laenahs‌:

One glance around the crowded room had been enough to confirm her fears that she would be left floating listlessly in the sea of unfamiliar faces with not one person to anchor herself to. A breath had been needed to steady herself as a reminder echoed in her head that with her father still barely able to summon the enthusiasm for anything but battle and a brother too young to attend such things, there had been little choice in the matter. House Lydden had needed represented despite its weakened standing that had come with the Riverlands claiming it for their own and the mantle had fallen upon her shoulders.

Soft steps carried her to the fringes of the room wondering in some vain hope that perhaps she was not the only one feeling out of place or without someone to pass the time with. But of course it was in vain when they all had countrymen to sit and laugh with, Laenah from too many places to be able to call any of them home. Bottom lip had been worried nervously as the time had drifted past before she decided that she might look less conspicuous with a drink in her hand. With a gentle grasp she smoothly took a goblet of the Arbor’s finest from the tray nearest to her.

A sip of wine was taking as though she could somehow summon courage from it and without waiting to see if it would have had the desired effect, she musters the nerve to turn to the person nearest her before she allows herself to be reduced to nothing more than silence once more. “They truly have picked a beautiful location do you not think?” Words slipped softly from her lips, surprising herself at how she had managed to set tentativeness aside even if it took her until half way through her speech to turn to face whomever had been in earshot.

Never in his life did Harry think he’d be in attendance of an event such as this.  His name was Rivers and he assumed the title of bastard ( legitimized or no ) would bar him from this echelon of society.  And yet, here he was.  The Brackens held one of the largest retinues of soldiers in the Riverlands, so it made some amount of sense as to why they had been invited to what seemed to be a union that would find itself nestled in the books maesters would teach their students in the future.  

Despite his father’s words, telling Harry that he belonged there, that he was now the heir to Stone Hedge, Harry knew this not to be the truth.  He doubted many of the attendees would treat him differently than his surname encouraged them to, even with his newer standing.  

And even if they did, Harry did not talk as they did, he did not hold himself as they did, and he did not act as they did.  And he sure as hell did not want to interact with them.  As such, he found himself lingering on the outskirts of the event.  He was not sure if this was in an attempt to avoid conversation all together, or perhaps find someone similar to him, allowing him to take a breath.

If this were any other event, Harry could be found in his cups and having a grand time, making a fool of himself but also making comrades ( and perhaps a few enemies ). But he had been warned by his father and his advisors, and suddenly Harry felt himself doubting his actions more than ever.

Some may describe the area he had posted himself at as a ‘dark corner’, but he relished in it for a few moments, collecting himself before launching back into the fray.  It was as he looked up from the dark contents of his chalice did he see her.  It was a silhouette he was not likely to forget.  It was one he thought about whenever reminiscing on his time spent in the Vale.  It was a long and lean body, with a graceful neck and a sharp angular jaw.  It was dark abysmal eyes fringed by equally dark lashes.  It was a sloping nose, ending in a point. 

Before Harry could stop himself, he was out of his corner and making his way over to her.  But upon arriving at her side, he froze.  The man so usually confident in these situations, paused.  So much time had passed.  Nearly two decades.  And despite the occasional correspondence, she was no longer known to him anymore.  Would she even recognize the man he had become?

As her words floated through the air, Harry finally found his tongue, but he presumed that was only due to the fact she had not looked over at him yet, the feeling of anonymity emboldening him.  “Perhaps.  But not nearly as beautiful as the sights of the Vale.” he replied.

☠

☠ - 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.

☼ & ☾

☼ - 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)

▼ - 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

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

♡ - romantic headcanon

♡ - romantic headcanon

Harry has never been in love.  He thinks he came close, but he could never reach far enough, his fingers never able to grasp it.  In dark moments he convinces himself he’s not built for love, to give or receive it, he just doesn’t know how.  Any room where love once lived is now dark and vacant, the tenant either having moved on or extinguished the flame of it completely.  He’s lowered his expectations at this point, and is hoping that whoever he marries he’ll at least like.

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