Darklionheart: 

Charlie Hunnam as King Arthur in King Arthur: Legend of the Sword.

         i have scars on my palms and the insides of my fingers.                    there is blood in my mouth and staining my clothes.                             i have died too many times to count and come back again stronger.

                 ( are you proud of me, momma? are you proud of me, pappa? )

I keep wondering, how many people do you need to be, before you can become yourself.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This for You  (via wordsnquotes)

I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, ”More Than Just A House” (via fleurdelecours)

                    @sarraheddle || Inn at the Crossroads

The thought had come to him whilst sitting in the dining hall of Stonehedge, listening to and interrupting his half-sisters’ bickering.  He wished that this wasn’t all his family.  He wished his mother was still around.  He wished his life had been simple with a mother and a normal father.  He wished he didn’t have to deal with Barbara’s withering looks any time he dared to take a breath too loudly, or chew too noisily.  

It was then, when a memory he hadn’t perused for several years, came to the forefront of his mind.  It was a memory of his scrawny ass sat outside a door closed to him, being told it would not be appropriate for him to be inside.  It was a memory of screams and groans that seemed to be endless, until finally they were replaced with the screeching cries of a newborn.  It was his mother letting him name his baby sister (he had chosen Visenya, having recently been told of the dragon-riding Queen by patron of the brothel).  His mother told him it was a perfect, strong name, and that little baby Visenya would need the strength for her travels, as she would be living with another family.  “Just like all those fancy lords and ladies do” she explained, but also telling Harry that while Visenya would always be his little sister, he may never seen her again.  At only 11 years, Harry did not understand, and he could feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, but as he told himself to be the man of the family, to be strong for his mother, he stopped.  And that was the second to last time Harry ever cried.

He was brought back from his memory as Barbara barbed him with some searing insult of his lack of intelligence, inability to pay attention to their conversation, or something of the like.  But Harry couldn’t find it in him to care.  He had never gone looking for his sister, because what would have been the use?  He had nothing to offer, except perhaps the shattering of what she thought was her own history.  But now?  Now he could offer her stability, or perhaps even a position, if she so craved it.  Now he didn’t feel as if finding and meeting her would only be for his benefit.  So he set out to find her.

It had been hard, seeing as even if his mother had told him the details, there is no way that he remembered it over two decades later.  So he started with the brothel, finding any of his mother’s old friends that were still in work or even still alive, and charming the information out of them.  Although, that part wasn’t hard.  Many of them still remembered him and his time spent patrolling the rooms of the brothel, threatening to beat any man who laid an unkind hand on the women.  It also didn’t hurt that with his newfound status he was able to pay them generously for their information.  But even then, he didn’t turn up much that led to anything.  He got no names, only vague descriptions.  They were from the Riverlands, although no idea where, and they were bakers.  Nothing more.

But finally, he found the puzzle piece he was missing, because he simply hadn’t thought it possible.  One of the ladies mentioned that the old proprieter of the brothel was still around (something Harry found surprising as he remembered her as impossibly old even when he was a child all those years ago), and with her usually taking care of the women who found themselves with child either by giving them a concoction or sorting something out, of course she would have the information he so desperately looked for.  And even more surprisingly, she remembered every bit of information.  It got a little tricky once he had found out she had already married and changed her name, but after asking kindly around, Harry found what he needed to know.

And that is how he found himself sitting on a rickety stool in the Inn at the Crossroads, eyes searching every feminine face for a resemblance, but found himself disappointed, until a harried woman came out from the kitchens, hair blonde as his pulled back to reveal a face that resembled his their mother’s so closely that it had quite felt like someone had taken a fist to his gut.  It had been near upon two decades since he had seen that face, and he could feel the painful nostalgia building inside him already.  He had thought the hard part was finding her, but now he realized that was no longer the case.

Despite having thought of what exactly to say to her, Harry’s mouth was now dry, and his tongue was like lead.  

Walking up to the bar, he smiled politely at her, biting back the urge to cut straight to the point, ever the tactless politician.  But instead, “Hello, Miss---Bother you for a mug of ale?”

laenahs‌:

Her seat had been so far removed from the throng of activity that at first she was not sure what all the commotion was about. It had started with horrified gasps, then shrieks had filled the room even all the way to where she was sat and then sheer panic had broken out everywhere. There was little deduction needed to assume that something terrible had happened but what exactly that might have been was lost on her as she soon found herself caught up in some sort of fray breaking out. Fists were sent flying, tables overturned and while everyone else seemed to have someone else to watch their back, Laenah found herself with no one. As calmly as she could she tried to back away from it all, eyes searching for the nearest exit as she did but to seemingly no avail. Instead she was left quite literally with her back up against the wall hoping that no one’s attention would turn her way.

@ofbracken

After a fairly brief and painful interaction with a northern lady outside the stables, Harry was, what most people would call “in the clear”.  He had his horse, an open road uncrowded by people fleeing the party and the opportunity to be off before anyone else saw him.  It was only after a few moments on his horse did the sudden vision of thick brows knitted together in confusion, and brown eyes flicking from potential danger to danger hit him.  Laenah.  She was alone.  No husband or father or brother to keep her out of the fray or watch her back.  And with barely a thought more, the reins of Harry’s horse were being directed back towards Highgarden, and the heels in the horses side dictated a ferocious pace.  Upon arrival, Harry could see that the bedlam had spread from the courtyard where the reception took place, calling out her name to no avail, he suddenly thought the task of finding Laenah in the middle of it all would be near impossible.  But he had to at least try.  Batting people away like they were nothing more than flies on a hot day, Harry made his way further and further into the madness, the crowds getting thicker and more panicked the deeper he got.  A flicker of green caught his eye through the rushing of people, and the breath he didn’t know he had been holding finally rose from his chest.  

“Laenah!” He called out, his words accompanied by a waving of his arm as he tried to pry his way through the throng of people.  “Stay there!”  he couldn’t be sure if he had been able to catch her attention, and if he had, if his words could be heard above the cacophony of it all.

      DON’T LET THIS BE A CLOSE CALL…

                       ((                this time, i want to go all the way ))

sarraheddle‌:

Sarra had always lived a simple life. It was full of love, heartache, and comfort. She knew her parents weren’t biologically hers, but she never cared. They loved her as their own, and were always forthcoming, something that caused her to be the blunt, straightforward woman she is, even if that wasn’t always the best of her personality. Still, part of her wondered where she might’ve come from, her parents did leave that part out, likely to spare her the heartache of the truth. She knew they meant well. What she didn’t know, was that the life she did know was about to forever be changed. She never really desired to seek her birth parents, but in the very depths of her mind and soul, she continued to wonder.

After Jon’s death, however, her mind turned towards the present and future and veered from the past, at least the one that existed before he came into her life. Losing her husband changed her, the curious mind that once existed was now filled with despair and worried thoughts of how she would handle the inn all on her own. She knew if she lost it, she would be failing him. She was doing everything in her power to avoid that, even if it meant doing all of the work on her own. Her parents, as sweet as they were, often helped her bake the bread and pastries she sold in order to bring in another source of profit.

During the days, when the inn was more quiet, moreso on this particular one, Sarra was constantly at work in the kitchen preparing for the busy evenings that always came. She wiped sweat from her brow as she exited the kitchen to realize a man was sitting at the bar as he asked for a mug. “Oh, so sorry I didn’t hear ya come in.” She explained hurridly, feeling a bit awful for how long he might’ve waited. She quickly made him up a mug and slid it in front of him. “D'ya need me to set ya up with a room or are ya just stoppin’ by for a mug?”

It was extremely disconcerting, just how much the girl looked like their mother, and even more so talked and moved like her.  Harry felt much like a child again as he looked at her, and the surroundings not too different from the brothel he had grown up in. For a moment, it was all a bit much, and he found his head swimming, unable to pay attention to the woman’s words or offer a reply, despite knowing that he probably seemed like a loon, or at the very least rude.  Panic gripped his insides as he floundered on what to say.  He felt the easiest way would to be ask for her, for ‘Sarra’, and then continue on that way, but seeing her, the spitting image of his mother, and knowing it was her so obvious as the light of day, that way felt dishonest.  But, he also could not bring himself to blurt it out, a small part of him...Nervous? 

 It had been quite awhile since he had felt that particular emotion, so he couldn’t be sure, but he had a thought that is what the feeling in his guts could be attributed to.  His search for her had been borne out of dislike for his half sisters and the dislike they bore him in return, so perhaps he was nervous this sister would not like him either.  And if that were the case, it’d be obvious, with him being the only common factor, the issue was him.

It took him a moment to process what she had said in response to his request, and he hurriedly offered an answer.  “No, thank you, home is not even a day’s ride.”  Which was another thing that struck him, that the two hadn’t been far apart at all.  “But---”  he took a deep breath, deciding on his course of action and taking it before he had a chance to second guess himself.  

“Is your name perhaps Sarra?”  He knew the question was a jarring one to be asked, and in his own history upon being asked it, had bolted from the room, but he figured the question was a happy medium between the two options he had considered.