I Suppose Youre Right. Some Things Just Are.

I suppose you’re right. Some things just are.

hmm what about ❝ i was fearless, and now i… i’m just… i’m just afraid. ❞ as rhaenyra talking to harwin post-wedding feast about what happened

The morning after her wedding was not quite what Rhaenyra had thought it might be. Any romantic notions she'd held for marriage had fallen to the wayside years prior, a casualty of the years spent dealing with suitors set before her by her father and his small council. She'd accepted that her wedding would an exciting affair for the court but not a dream of her own fulfilled. But the bloodshed the night before had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Laenor had spent the night in her chambers, inconsolable at the death of Joffrey. Consummating the marriage didn't even cross her mind, a concern for another day when they both were in better spirits and more willing to do their duties. He'd stayed past dawn, waking only once her handmaidens had come to dress her and bringing breakfast for the newlyweds. By the time he'd excused himself to return to his own chambers, the cloud of melancholy had settled over them both and she'd had no desire to face the world outside her room.

Hours had passed and maids had come and gone, some with requests from her father she'd turned away and others simply doing their jobs without so much as a word. She'd taken advantage of the quiet while she could, trying to reconcile her feelings of what it was like to be entering the next chapter of her life and push back the images of blood pooling on the stone floor the night before.

A heavy knock at her door startled her from her thoughts, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. An anxiousness filled her belly in a way she'd never felt in her own chambers. The last man to be outside the door of her rooms had killed a man in a crowded room the night before for reasons she still wasn't sure of. But she was a Targaryen, the blood of Valyria and descended of warriors like Visenya. She wasn't made to cower in the corner at the idea of a man at her door.

"Come in," she called out, her voice wavering just a touch. The doors opened and she couldn't explain the relief that filled her when she saw it was Ser Harwin Strong who entered, his gold cloak a welcome sight in comparison to the white she'd always seen waiting in the corridor. "Ser Harwin. What - what can I do for you?"

He hadn't stepped further into the room, staying cautiously by the doors as if he wasn't sure what would be best. "The king and my father spoke this morning about what would be best in regards to your personal shield for the time being. I thought you would like to know who'll be standing guard."

A look of surprise crossed her face at the news, piecing together what it meant that he was the one giving her the message. "Oh. I hope this new post doesn't leave you inconvenienced."

"I volunteered for it."

A silence settled over them both at his words, a kind half smile being directed towards her that offered more comfort than any of the platitudes she'd been given the night before had. For the first time since the fighting had broken out, she felt the weight her chest lift away, still present but not as stifling as it had been. Her time spent in Ser Harwin's company had never been long but he'd always been a welcome companion at whatever feast or celebration they'd crossed paths at.

"I don't mean to overstep, princess, but how are you faring after last night?"

The lie was on her lips before she had a second to think it through. "I'm fine. The wedding wasn't quite the ceremony we had all expected but..." She found herself faltering the longer she tried to express her expected happiness and the curious eyes of the goldcloak before her did little to help her maintain appearances. Their eyes met for a moment, violet and green as each watched the others expressions and finally the mask slipped away. "Truthfully... I'm still unsettled after last night. I've never... it's one thing to see the blood on the tourney field. To see them enter a mostly fair fight with the weapons at hand and their armor on. It can be gruesome but it's nothing they hadn't agreed to. But what happened last night - the way that Ser Criston - I don't think I've known such violence before. Not with my own eyes. And it's left me feeling more mouse than dragon. I feel I was fearless before I entered that hall last night and now - now I'm frightened. Frightened of the men I should trust without hesitation."

A scowl had formed on his lips, some of that dark cloud that had lingered over her moving to envelop him as well. The expression left Ser Harwin as an imposing figure in her doorway though she hoped it wouldn't stay. The happier expressions she'd seen him bear were much more suited for him. The hand at his side clenched as he seemed to search for words, fist closing and opening almost without realizing it and she watched carefully, not out of fear but curiosity at what the man would say next.

"What Cole did to Lonmouth, the way he let his promises to you fail in favor of whatever provocation he may have received to set him off, was his failure. And no one would fault you from fearing him - or any man with that sort of power. And I'll do what I can to ensure that whoever my father and the king posts to you permanently won't make you feel that fear again."

There was a determination in his words that made her believe him, a conviction that felt like more than just empty promises being fed to her for her own good. It was a reassurance she was eager to cling to.

"I don't feel that fear with you, Ser Harwin," Rhaenyra told him, her words quiet but still echoing against the stone. They brought him a step further inside, a move he seemed to not even realize he'd made as his hands folded in front of him. "If the city watch could spare you, I'd be grateful to have your company and protection for a while longer."

The half smile returned, a soothing balm to the nerves that still picked at her as he nodded his agreement. "I'm yours, princess. For however long that need be."

And with that said, the heir to Harrenhal took his place at her door and gave her back the first bit of control and comfort she'd lost in the midst of the great hall the night before.

MILLIE BRADY as AETHELFLAED THE LAST KINGDOM (2015 — )

RYAN CORR & PHOEBE TONKIN

Three word sentence starters: please don’t cry. For Harwin x reader please

(I did this as pre-HOTD, before Lyonel has brought the boys to King's Landing, kind of like a first love type of ship.)

Harwin couldn't help the sharp wince that slipped out as one of the young squires helped remove the breastplate he'd been wearing. It wouldn't take a maester to tell him he'd be hurting, most likely for the rest of the tourney if the blow that had knocked him off his horse was any indication. The dark bruise starting to form under his shirt where the lance had hit only further confirmed the thought. His father had warned him of this, warned him that even if he were big for his age, taking on knights ten or more years his senior in the lists would be a dangerous feat. He'd insisted on competing when he'd been brought along to the festivities celebrating the wedding of Lord Tully's heir to a lady from the Westerlands. He'd turned five and ten on his last name day and grown to stand taller than his father in the months since. He was a man grown and ready to compete with the best there was. He just hadn't expected Lord Tully's second son to hit as hard as he had.

"Seven hells, Harwin!"

That was the other reason he'd been eager to compete. He'd met the lady Lara Tully the year prior when his father had met with other lords throughout the Riverlands to discuss trade and whatnot. He'd paid little attention to the business Lord Lyonel had meant for him to see but at the feast he'd been pushed in the direction of redheaded girl from Riverrun. They'd danced well enough for a pair of youths still growing into themselves, the first spin around the hall a bit clumsy but finding a rhythm and an enjoyable companionship by the second and third. As the wine continued to flow and polite conversation shifted to loud laughter and stories, the two had snuck away to a quiet corner. She wasn't the first girl he'd kissed but she had been the first he'd wished to see again.

Although perhaps not looking at him with such distress in those blue eyes of hers. He was quick to tell the squire to make himself scarce as she pushed into his tent, knowing the boy was unlikely to gossip about them being alone to anyone of note. She barely noticed as he scampered off, her eyes wide and focused intently on his chest.

"It's not as bad as it looks, I prom-sshit." His reassurance fell flat as her hand rested against the bruise, a hiss of pain and curse escaping before he could stop himself.

"Not as bad?! Harwin, it looks like a horse stamped on your chest. What were you thinking, facing Oscar like that?!"

His own hand reached up, taking her smaller one and moving it away from the bruise but not letting her pull free just yet. "I was thinking your brother wouldn't hit as hard as he did. And I was thinking of how lovely you'd look if I crowned you queen of love and beauty when the tourney was won. I suppose I could find another flower crown to give you but it won't be quite as impressive."

"Dammit, Harwin," she cursed softly, fingers curling around his as she stared up at him. The shock was fading a bit but the look of fear and sadness in her eyes didn't make him feel any better. "You could've been seriously hurt. You could have been killed. Do you have any idea-"

Her voice broken as a small sob broke free and the guilt he felt in his stomach overpowered the bruise on his chest. His arms moved around her and pulled her against him, offering soft whispers of comfort against the red curls that hung loose. "Please don't cry," he murmured, a calloused hand rubbing soft circles over her back. "You know I'm completely useless at helping crying ladies. This tourney was supposed to be all smiles for the both of us."

"That was before you went and tried to get yourself killed by a knight ten years your senior," she argued, though he could feel some of the tension slipping away the longer she stood there in his arms. He would take what he could get for now, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and holding her tighter.

"I'm sorry, darling. I promise not to scare you like that again. Alright?"

"You'd better. Otherwise I'll have to take Larys as my favorite son from Harrenhal if for no other reason than to spare myself the grief."

He growled at the notion, no matter that it was simply a playful tease. His arms tugged her closer, his teeth nipping at the spot behind her ear, and finally he was treated to a shriek of laughter to replace the concern she'd first walked in with. "Well, we certainly can't have that," he grumbled, pulling her over to the small bench that had been left for him and settling her on his lap as his lips found hers in search of the sweetness they'd exchanged before. It didn't take long for any thoughts of returning to the tourney to leave him completely.