Waiting (for setyoufree)

[gerionsdaughter]

They barely notice when she leaves the rooms.
She simply walks quietly through the corridors and stairs and no one seems to notice Joy, the little blond girl. The bastard child of Gerion Lannister. They never seem to notice.
The best for her.
She goes to the top of the highest tower. And she looks at one window, and then at another. He would come from any direction. Her father. Despite everything they all said. He would come back. With Brightroar. A hero. And he would prove all them wrong.
In the meanwhile, Joy waits.

Comments

joyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy :D

[setyoufree]

He still isn't used to it. Being here, where there are walls and an illusion of safety reigns strong, where danger masquerades as kindness and concern, where he never thought he'd be again. Never thought he could achieve return.

And did you desire it, do you accept it now?

No matter. Wanting has never been part of the equation. You achieve what you are meant to do. What you are told, and what survival necessitates. He had been told to head the patrol. He had been told to return alive. There is nothing more natural than the fact that he is here.

He doesn’t remember returning. Was unconscious for the trip, and for several days had only barely glimpsed the waking world. It’s a discomforting inconvenience, though he supposes he ought to count himself lucky; there could have been more damage. And he had achieved his mission. His last memory before all jarred into blackness was of severing the man’s neck, the blood breaking forth and the burn of his own muscles, the momentary sense of having accomplished. After that, nothing. And he’d awakened with a gash down his leg, ribcage on fire, vision doubled with a world that wouldn’t keep still.

Now he can walk freely around the grounds, though his body alternately aches and stings, and his head hasn’t quite settled. Closer. getting closer. Another week, perhaps, and he can leave. Be freed of these walls and those who dwell comfortably within, their rainfall of chatter, the whispered machinations that seem vanity only. They have promised that release is coming. They have promised that there is more in store.

It is so strange to be here.

Willard realizes that he has wandered upward, away from the grating voices and the ceaseless activity, and that he isn't entirely alone. There is a girl here... What is her name? The daughter unclaimed, adrift. He should remember...

Clearing his throat, Willard ventures to break the silence. "My lady?"