#eastsidegang

[honorbound-dawn-blog]

New Age Dawning

The low echoes could reach the city walls - a low rumbling beneath the searing sun. It was the only thing that reminded Arthur of home. 

“Archers at the ready!”

Unsullied marched to their posts as the knight took his path behind Ser Barristan, bellowing orders to the men as he’d always done. How many years gone by, their kingdom at a ruin, and still they took to the blade in defense of their oaths - old habits refusing to yield to the passage of time, Arthur supposed. From their perch, they would scan for the horizon. Amethyst orbs saw the shadows - mounted riders upon strong eastern stallions swallowing the approach like the sea. Certainly wasn’t the Yunkish - they’d never such a number in their retinue. Nervously still, Arthur would watch their lines, listen to their chatter, and take to his blade. 

The formation was crude. Their march was loud, but they weren’t charging...they were following. A single horse that produced a lone rider - smaller than the others, but shining before them all that silver hair that Arthur hadn’t seen in years. As Barristan stood, his jaw locked in wonder, the Sword of the Morning’s gaze squinted into shimmering distance of midday sun to a ghost riding into the city. It couldn’t be...

A shivering shrill echoing from the heavens, and the will of the heavens opened the sky for the beast to descend.

“By the Gods..”

Arthur gasped at the sight. It was the size of a castle - blacker than the night and flapped its massive wings through the eastern blue to announce its descent. He’d seen the skulls and heard the legends told and retold. He’d even seen the two chained beasts - yet bearing witness to the dragon in full flight...it was the wrath of the Seven coming to judge the mortal unlucky that dare stand in their way.

Their kingdom would be reborn. 

@lastxdragon

[honorbound-dawn-blog]

Death by Exile

Hull made thick of timber bobbed lazily in midday sun, salted breeze washing over the deck as men with foreign tongues spat their commands to one another. Cawing above, the gulls would circle the scent of the morning’s catch, scaled and gutted with serrated blades that discarded a trailing meal for the birds. The galley’s hands worked to keep the sails with the wind, and their oars would push the craft along with the current. In their eastern words, they would whisper the stories of the pale woman that slumbered below. The chatter would quiet as boots stepped across wooden planks no longer labored by the steel plate adorning the torso that led it on. Head hanging away from the sun, forlorn gaze kept on damp floor. To these men, they cared not whose arse sat on the Throne. Mouths still to bed fed back home, and the westerners in their castles still would desire the jewels mined from the depths of the earth. To them, there was no war. No usurper. Fables on the far side of the world meant nothing to these people. 

It meant everything to Arthur - and now it was all gone. 

The emptiness in his stomach could not match that in his heart. The sun seared above, but his body felt frozen to the air. He leaned against timber railing above the crest of white capped waves brushing past galley’s approach in hopes that there would be some sort of reprieve from the sea. Something - anything - that would tell him he did the right thing to obey his prince’s command. A siren’s song. A message from the gods. Only the squawk of the birds fishing for their breakfast would answer. He hated the damn things - they soiled everything they stood on. Rats with feathered wings. 

This was the babe’s only chance, he would convince himself before the last of the king’s gold could secure their passage aboard the vessel made for the east. Robert’s hands were soaked in Targaryen blood - one more would make little difference to him considering the slaughter that had followed in the wake of his victory. A foreign land with foreign eyes watching, and only his steel left to stand in the way of those to hurt the last of Rhaegar’s legacy. 

The Sword of the Morning, reduced to a hedge knight. 

Lyanna Stark - a refugee. 

The babe swaddled in her arms...he would not become an orphan. 

In the distance rose the titan. A mere shadow peeking over the horizon become a grandstanding god of stone and prosperity. Its sword raised as a challenge to the heavens to dare to come and take it. Braavos. The sprawl of stone stretched across the mouth of the bay. Harbors choked with ships that passed their trade in all directions of all the maps - theirs would be no different. Still, a nervous glance to the woman that followed him to his perch. In the distance, the tongues of the many called to prepare for the docks. Arthur only wanted to hear the one voice that mattered to him in this world any longer. 

“Stay close to me,” In the common tongue he would speak to her. They need not understand what was being discussed. “The streets are dangerous for Westerosi.” Amethyst hues no longer trying to hide the sorrow. Not a night passed where he didn’t dread his lord’s command. Perhaps it would be Robert that had died that day. She would have been home - where she belonged. She didn’t ask for this and she didn’t deserve any of this. In his eyes, his heart bled for Lyanna. 

“I failed Rhaegar, but I won’t fail you too.”

@steel-winter-rose

[honorbound-dawn-blog]

A Knight’s Dawn

Nerves had riddled the young man since they’d gotten off the ship. The sun burned as fiercely here as it did in Dorne. It was the smallest piece of home he could find in this curiosity on the far side of the world. The darker shades of faces, the clicking tongues of an Eastern dialect, the armor in which the guards were kitted - Arthur may has well have been on a different world, and it was his insistence to stay close to Prince Oberyn.

The sword at his back was heavy, and it white blade glowed with the midday sun. The Sword of the Morning...Arthur was still adjusting the title. Voices across Dorne sung their praise for whom they called “the boy knight.” The nicknames were a stain among his honor - surely by his seventeenth nameday, a boy has become a man. He’d earned the right to wield this blade, but reminded himself of the work that came with the title “Ser Arthur.” A knight to earn his keep.

He would try to keep a knight’s stance before foreign faces and curious eyes fit for a warrior dressed in a steel dress, they would mock in his ignorance. Even the smell was alien to the young knight, and the exotic stories of the Free Cities would bring a question as to his intent here. Yes, it was Prince Oberyn’s idea to celebrate Arthur’s knighthood. This could have been achieved at...home. 

Still, he would never refuse his Lord’s command. 

“My Prince,” Arthur addressed with eyes still curious to his surroundings. “Are you sure this is wise?”

@allthosevoices