Collection of One-Shots

》white knight

You and Erryk both know what it means when he swears the oath of the Kingsgaurd, but it does not make it any easier.

HE COMES TO you in the night, bringing urgent tidings which leave him elated and distraught. For weeks there were whispers in the Red Keep of who the new members of the Kingsgaurd would be in the wake of Ser Robin Shaw and Ser Clement Crabb's recent passing. Arryk and Erryk Cargyll's names garnered much attention and praise from the Lords of the Court and Small Council in recent weeks. The twins are of noble stock from the Crownlands. They are fine men. Among the best warriors the Seven Kingdoms can offer, as so few returned from Prince Daemon's war in the Stepstones.

The whispers were proven true at the feast to celebrate Prince Aemond's fifth nameday —and with Aegon and Aemond quickly growing, the young princes would need their own sworn swords. The honor of serving alongside his brother in the Kingsguard is one Erryk has dreamt of since he was a boy. Now Viserys has extended that honor to both he and Arryk. But the vows he must take weigh heavy on his shoulders with the thought of you.

"Do not let me dissuade you, Erryk." His clear gaze flits up from the flagstone floor to you —smiling and happier about the news than him. "To be named a knight of the Kingsguard is among the highest of honors," you reason. Boys dreamt of serving in the Kingsguard, and so few are ever offered the opportunity to fulfill their boyhood dreams. Despite it all, you know why he has come to you so distraught —it is the status of your courtship and the oath he must swear.

You know the oaths knights swear well enough, and those of the Kingsguard too —have heard the young princes and boys at court whisper them with starry-eyed aspirations of donning the White Cloak one day. I swear to ward the King with all my strength and give my blood for His. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children. I shall guard His secrets, obey His commands, ride at His side and defend His name and honor. I pledge to His Grace my life and honor from this day to the end of my days.

He grips your hands, blue-grey eyes pleading with you to understand the gravity of this moment —what it means for the two of you and the future you've both thought and spoken about. "I must swear to never marry." Erryk's voice wavers as he echoes the oath. "To father no children and hold no lands." I can live without a Keep and land to call my own, he thinks. "I do not wish to give you up." It's a hoarse whisper that makes your stomach churn with sorrow and heart ache.

You love Erryk, dearly, and for that, you cannot let him set aside such an honor for you —the daughter of a newly named vassal house of the Riverlands. His name will live on in history should he don the white cloak but would surely fade if he takes you to wed. And after all, given your position in court, it is unlikely you and Erryk will truly have to be parted from one another's company. "I am one of Rheanyra's ladies-in-waiting," you remind him, gently, "and you are to be one of her sworn protectors." You can see the corners of his lips twitch upward beneath his scraggly beard. "I do not think we will often be parted."

Erryk's brows furrow. "You would have me break my oath?"

"No!" You quickly exclaim. "I only meant we do not have to become strangers should you accept the king's offer," you explain. "We all must make sacrifices in this life, and I would not have you give up your dream for me, Erryk."

Erryk exhales, his breath shaking —it seems as though you have decided for him. "Grant me one last night then, my lady," he says, a whispered plea, as he looks at you, pinning you there with his warm, nigh doleful gaze, as though he can't decide how to proceed or how to make this night last a lifetime. Erryk settles for a chaste kiss. It's soft, save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw and searching as he waits for you to give him an indication of where this night is to lead. And when your lips meet again, it's with intention —fingers threading into Erryk's hair, anchoring yourself against him, and ruining the half-bun that keeps his long dark hair from falling in front of his face.