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ONE;
『 BECKONING 』
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ㅤ MOST DO NOT know the way of hunger like a commoner does. The pain and aching of the stomach is a natural thing for people like me to have. Eating food is only a necessity at this point. It cannot be done for fun or for luxury. People like me eat what we can to survive. Being in a house with only a mother means little to no food, no matter the season. We do not have a man to provide for us. Men are the power where I come from. A woman is nothing.
ㅤ I swipe my hand through the water, testing the temperature of the liquid. My mother works in a bakery which means she's on her feet all day. By the time she gets home at nearly moon high her feet ache and all she wants to do is relax. Since I can't find work I've made it my job to make sure she's relaxed when she's home. I tidy up the house, put out fresh bread and milk, and draw her a warm bath to help relax.
ㅤShe emerges into the bath chambers a few moments after I've finish filling up the tub. I turn as she takes off her fabrics. Once I hear her step into the bath I grab the bathing cloth and dip it in the water. She holds out her arm for me and I drag the cloth lightly along her arm. She hums peacefully to herself, the same tune she usually does.
ㅤ"How was work today?" I ask simply. I know she never really likes conversation after spending all day out, but I haven't spoken to anyone all day and it's been dreadful. Dayron, whom I'd usually spend the day with, has been training with his father all month. He wants to become a knight like his father.
ㅤ"Oh, quite busy. As usual, I hear things. You know those men- always loud. King Viserys has named Rhaenyrs the next heir." She explains in a few breaths. I perk up on the stool. Usually my mother doesn't like to talk about politics, but especially Viserys in general. Anytime I've ever tried to bring him up I've usually been shut down or told very little information.
ㅤ"Well, I think that's a smart choice. Having a woman sit on the throne would be a good change." I say, dipping the cloth back into the water then dripping some of the water down her neck. She leans back and her eyes flutter closed. Her lips are parted, as if she may speak.
ㅤ"Having a woman sit on the Iron Throne would be a catastrophe. The men would kill themselves trying to push her off of it and claim it themselves. I can't imagine what Daemon must be doing." She continues. I find myself shocked that we're still talking about politics. We talk about a lot of things, but never this. I walk around to the other side of the tub and kneel. She extends her arm for me. I press the cloth onto her skin. She exhales.
ㅤ"Maybe. Or maybe she'll be such an amazing ruler that no one will have a word to say." I mutter. My mother lets out a soothing, slow laugh. I wasn't exactly trying to be amusing, but nonetheless it's a fascination to hear her laugh, even if it's just sarcasm. She smiles, sometimes, but she never laughs, even if something is funny. I'm not sure why that is.
ㅤShe lifts her legs out of the water and places her feet on the edge of the tub. "Oh Desmara, darling, what a creative little thing you are." She takes the cloth from my hand with a gentle grin and wrings it out over the tub. She then dunks it under the water and begins running it down her leg. I watch quietly from my spot on the floor. She always does things with such grace and precision. I hope one day I can have just as much beauty and grace as she does.
ㅤI lay out her nightgown then leave the bath chambers to the bedroom. We share our room in the corner of the house. It's small, but I don't mind it. After we've blown out all the candles for the night we crawl into bed next to one another and just lie there still. I listen to her breathing and then try and match my breaths to hers. Once we're in harmony I find myself easily drifting off into sleep. I feel at peace when I'm around her. A mothers warmth is always like a radiating furnace.
ㅤShe comes through the doorway and strides over to the windowsill where she blows out the flickering candles. She climbs into the bed next to me lays on her back then crosses her arms over her chest, like she always does. I copy her, like I always do. I allow my eyes to fall closed and my mind to make up little stories in my head about this and that.
* * *
WINTER HAS TAKEN over the land. I can see the blanket of snow from where I stand in the sky. My hands are folded in front of me, resting against my gown. There's a sword strapped to me, it jolts out from my waist. There's a sash crossing over my body. It's dark red, the exact color of house Targaryen. When I breathe the air is fresh and cool, it seems to open up my lungs instead of close them.
ㅤWhen I turn there is an army behind me, stretched out across an endless field of snowy grass. Bodies of knights are scattered everywhere and thick, crimson blood has been spilled for as far as the eye can see. I look out among my knights, each of them wearing the same red sash along their body. I feel pride in that moment.
ㅤI look up, through the breaking clouds to see the scales of a dragon bolting down. The dragon's muscles ripple beneath it's turquoise skin as it ascends back down to the ground. I raise my hand to the sky, two fingers. My lips part to say something. I feel something roaring in my chest.
ㅤ"Da-"
* * *
"I'LL BE BACK a bit earlier tonight. Dadelia is taking the rest of my shift since she hasn't worked the other night." The soft voice whispers into my ear. I slowly open my eyes to see my mom standing next to the bed. She's wearing her dirt ridden apron over her clothes. Her hair is braided and pulled back as it usually is. She's standing against the window. The suns flooding in, illuminating her. She looks so beautiful.
ㅤShe bends down and gives me a gentle kiss on the forehead. Her touch lingers long after she leaves. I find myself climbing out of bed later than I usually might. I had tried to close my eyes time and time again in order to fall back asleep and go back to my dream, but I couldn't do it.
ㅤI change into my soiled brown dress and comb my snow-white hair back. Usually I'd braid it but I can't be bothered when it's already so late. I go through the back door and make my way down the alleys to where Dayron is usually practicing with his brother and father. I find him there, of course, wearing a chest-plate and wielding his grandfather's sword. He sees me and beams a smile. Whilst his head was tuned, his older brother smacks him on the side of the head with his sword. Dayron staggers, but he doesn't fall.
ㅤ"I wasn't paying attention!" He says in a sharp tone, raising his sword and facing his brother. His brother, Sermond just shakes his head, his head of golden-red curls bounce atop his head.
ㅤ"Exactly, you weren't paying attention. Focus." He snaps back quickly. The two circle one another. Dayron's golden hair is tied back. Each time he enters the light his hair glimmers. He makes a move, attempting to strike his brother. But, Sermond is quick. He jumps to the side and in the wake of his unguarded side, pokes Dayron in the side with the edge of his sword. Dayron throws down his sword, which clatters on the cobblestone.
ㅤ"I'm taking a break." Dayron says in an obviously defeated tone. He takes off his chest-plate and tosses it on the ground, then makes his way down the alley to their house, shaking his head. I follow him with my eyes as he disappears into the shadows.
ㅤ"Why don't you give it a shot, then?" Sermond plucks me from my lingering gaze. He picks up the chest-plate and tries to hand it to me. I shake my head in denial.
ㅤ"What? Afraid of a little swordplay?" He mocks me. No. I'm not. I roll my eyes and grab the chest piece. I then bend down and pick up his sword off the ground. Usually I'd work with something lighter, something easier to throw around, but this'll do. We begin to circle on another. I take account of his footsteps. He had a distinct pattern when he steps. I know when he's going to strike based on the fact that his footing alone will change.
ㅤThe moment I notice the shift in his feet I slide to the left. My theory was correct. He jumps toward me, sword ablaze, but I've already moved. He falls back into the circle. His hazel eyes have narrowed. He's getting serious. Now he'll be waiting for me to make a move. I make sure to adjust the pacing of my feet to make sure he can't quite place when I'm about to strike.
ㅤI jolt forward, extending my sword in his direction. He grabs the handle of my sword and pulls me to him. I wasn't quite expecting that when I missed his body. I turn so that we're both facing the same way and use my free hand to reach back and grab the handle of his sword. He wasn't expecting that.
ㅤ"I didn't know you knew how to fight." His voice comes out as a whisper in my ear. We're standing just inches apart. Our noses are unbearably close. I can see the beads of sweat on his face and the circles clearly under his eyes. A ghost of a smirk makes way across my face. I take my hand off his sword and bring it up to his face. He blinks slowly. I have him.
ㅤ My fingers slowly trail to his chin. I stroke it gently then I allow my hand to glide down to his chest. I use all my force to push him against the cobblestone. He was expecting it so little that his grip on his own sword loosened. I yank it from his hand then take a few steps back. His head is laid back against the wall and his chest is fighting for breath. His fingers tighten around my sword.
ㅤ"Seems both you and your brother get distracted easily." I say, raising my eyebrow. He grins in return. In a few moments, after he's caught his breath, he makes his way back over to me and hands me my sword. I take it, then hand him his.
ㅤ"I won't be loosing so easily next time, trust me." His voice is low and scratchy. I find my breath hitching at simply just his words. I step back and lift the chest-plate over my head. I hand both the sword and the armor to him. He takes it graciously.
ㅤ"I sure do hope your sword skills become better before you become a knight." I grin. He places his own sword back into the sheath on his belt and looks down at me with a certain look in his eyes. There's a golden-orange curl hanging over his left eye.
ㅤ"Maybe I just need your help to be taught not to get distracted to easily." He says in a low tone. I blink a few times and turn my gaze away, to the ground. He takes a step closer. The hairs on my arm stand up. All I can hear is him, all I can smell is him. The brother of my only friend. It's wrong, I know it is. Dayron and I are much closer in age, we're a much better match, but Sermond has always had this way about him that makes my heart pound and my vision go blurry.
ㅤI look up at him. He's close. Too close. "Remember, you and Dayron are coming to my house for dinner tonight since I ate at yours last week." I say. My mom thinks that since they spared a slice of bread on me she needs to do the same for them. It's sort of an absurd rule that she has- if someone gives you something you need to give them something in return.
ㅤHe nods then turns. I watch as he makes his way down the alley, chainmail clattering. The moment he's gone I suddenly feel ghostly. His presence has sort of the same effect that my mothers does- that warm, comforting feeling. I tell myself the smile on my face shouldn't be there, I try to erase it, but I can't. It's another effect he seems to have. Anytime I'm around him I find my face lighting up.
* * *
ㅤ"DOES THIS LOOK like the center? I can't tell." I ask, frowning. I've been moving the bread basket back and forth for five minutes trying to decide if it's centered. My mother scoffs and wipes her hands on her apron. She stands where I am, with her hands on her hips and furrows her greying brows. She tilts her head to the left, then the right.
ㅤ"An inch to the left." Is all she says. I follow her with my eyes as she strides back over to the pot which our soup is being boiled on. It's a rare treat for us to have soup. It's only made when we are to have company. And tonight that would be Sermond's family. I scoot the bread over slightly to the left and stand back. She was right.
ㅤI pull out all the chairs at the table slights and make sure everything is set properly. We only own spoons, and all of them are out. The door slowly pulls open with a creak, and a stream of evening sunlight washed inside. Dayron enters first, his light blue eyes scan the room. Once they land on me his mouth splits into a smile.
Sermond enters next, hovering over Dayron by a few inches. The two have a similar facial structure, but their hair and eyes couldn't be more different, really. Their father enters last. He shuts the door behind them. Their mother passed away a few years ago of a common cold. She was pregnant at the time, therefore she didn't have the strength she needed to fight it. She passed and lost the baby as well.
"Here, have yours seats." I say, gesturing towards the table. The three of them take their seats at the table. My seat, between Dayron and Sermond as been left empty. My mother finishes up with the soup and places it next to the bread. We all take our seats and scoop the soup into our bowls and take our piece of bread. Sermond is the one who breaks the silence between our eating.
"Desmara," he says in a voice that makes me shiver. "Do you know why many knights take wives before they leave to fight?" He asks as I take a bite of my bread. I chew quickly then wipe my lips on the napkin on my lap. I shake my head. I can feel him looking at me from the seat next to mine.
"Because then you make nearly double the amount of coin. Even more if you have children as well." He explains. I meet his gaze mid-sentence. His eyes are slicing into mine. I cant comprehend why this is the topic of conversation he's chosen out of all things in the world there is to talk about. I take a spoonful of soup and sip it.
I feel my mothers gaze cutting into me from across the table. Suddenly the house is very hot and my dress feels like it's too tight around my body. I sip from the glass of water but it doesn't help. My head is beginning to hurt.
"Desmara," Dayron says from next to me. His voice is much lighter than has brothers. "I was hoping that since I'll be going off soon, since my training is almost complete, that you'd take my hand in marriage-" I push my seat back and bolt up from my seat at the table. I toss my napkin in my soup and make a straight shot for the front door. My mother calls my name in the tone that tells me I need to answer. I do not.
I yank open the heavy wooden door and slam it behind myself. My mind is taking a few moments to process the events but my heart has already realized what happened. If I marry Dayron I will not be able to have any relations with Sermond. We will not see one another, we will barely be able to speak to one another unless in a business-like manor.
I find myself sitting in one of the hundreds of alleys, in the shadows. I'm fifteen. Most girls my age have already been married, if not at least promised to someone. I have not. I've always known it would likely be Dayron that I married, but I wish it to be Sermond. He is so mature, so experienced, and we connect so much better. Dayron is my friend, my best one in fact, but I could never imagine myself carrying his child or even accepting a marriage proposal from him. It doesn't feel right.
While sulking in my own thoughts, I hadn't even heard Sermond's footsteps approaching. I look up slowly from the ground to see him towering above me. He looks at the ground next to me with questioning eyes. I nod. He takes his seat next to me, draping his arms over his knees.
"I do not feel like I am ready to marry." I say simply. My voice sounds childish. I feel childish. I'm being selfish. I need to marry. I need to get out of the house.
"I do not blame you, Desmara. You are free spirited, wild." He replies quietly. His voice alone is enough to calm the panic rising in my chest. I feel my breath return back to its normal state. He can so easily make me feel like myself.
"I do not feel like I am ready to marry Dayron." I correct myself. I can feel his shoulders tense next to me. Perhaps I misspoke. That was likely out of line for me to say. I should not speak of his brother in that way.
"Who are you ready to marry, then, Desmara?" His voice is timid, a state in which it is rarely heard to be. A shiver crawls down my spine as my eyes meet his. The sun has disappeared. Other than the light coming from the surrounding houses it is dark. I can barely make out his features, but his hazel eyes and long, batting lashes stand out.
"You." I force myself to say.
His hand travels to mine, which had been resting on my stomach, as I had felt sick. His hands are callused, but I find them comforting. I cant into his eyes when his hand touches mine the way that it does. I tear my gaze away and look at the stone ground. I've nearly never felt so vulnerable before, so afraid and yet so relieved all at once.
"Oh Desmara," he whispers. "I am honored, but do you not think it unforgivable? Dayron will be in shambles, seeing his brother and former proposal together." His voice is cloaked in wave of sadness. I place my free hand on his hand which is on mine. I gently stoke my thumb over his soft skin. He melts into my touch.
"I am sure it would be a strange sight to behold, yes. But, I am also sure we would be happy. Would we not?" I try. I look at him. His pupils have widened and his eyebrows have been pulled apart in surprise. I cannot see myself with anyone else. I cannot even imagine my life with Dayron. I can imagine a beautiful future with Sermond, one without worry.
"We would be happy, yes. Perhaps you are right then. Perhaps we should be wed." He replies. A twitch of a grin lifts up my lips. A thousand worries have just fled. I find myself studying the little freckles on the bridge of his nose and just above his lips. I've always loved them.
"I would never be happy with anyone else as happy I am with you." I mutter.
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