preasoiaf meme: 3 historical events/legends (1/3) » The Tourney of Harrenhal.
For seven days the finest knights and noblest lords of the Seven Kingdoms contended with lance and sword in the fields beneath the towering walls of Harrenhal. At night, victors and vanquished alike repaired to the castle’s cavernous Hall of a Hundred Hearths, for feasting and celebration.
The Targaryens were of pure Valyrian blood, dragonlords of ancient lineage. Twelve years before the Doom of Valyria (114 BC), Aenar Targaryen sold his holdings in the Freehold and the Lands of the Long Summer and moved with all his wives, wealth, slaves, dragons, siblings, kin, and children to Dragonstone, a bleak island citadel beneath a smoking mountain in the narrow sea.
At its apex Valyria was the greatest city in the known world, the center of civilization. Within its shining walls, two score rival houses vied for power and glory in court and council, rising and falling in an endless, subtle, oft savage struggle for dominance. The Targaryens were far from the most powerful of the dragonlords, and their rivals saw their flight to Dragonstone as an act of surrender, as cowardice. But Lord Aenar’s maiden daughter Daenys, known forever afterward as Daenys the Dreamer, had foreseen the destruction of Valyria by fire. And when the Doom came twelve years later, the Targaryens were the only dragonlords to survive.
“I’m not a baby, Dee!” The three year old shrieks as he tries to wrestle free from his brother’s grip. The older boy sighs at his brother’s antics, but continues to dab at the toddler’s chubby face, which is currently smeared with raspberry jam.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” A quivering voice states as his brother tapes a Batman band-aid onto his grazed knee. The older boy nods in agreement, but continues murmuring reassurances and scoops his brother into a hug as soon as the plaster is in place.
“I’m not a baby, Dean!” The boy says stubbornly when he’s told he’s too young to go on a job with his brother and father. His older brother hushes him quickly and shoots a nervous look at their dad as if he might suddenly change his mind and agree with the whining boy.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” The teenager says through clenched teeth from where he lays on the hard ground of the cemetery. His older brother places shaking hands on the boy’s reddening side and casts suddenly relieved eyes over the minimal damage.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” A quiet voice says, breaking the bloated silence of the motel room. His brother stares after him with clenching fists and rapidly blinking eyes as he watched his little brother leave for the unknown.
“I’m not a baby, Dean!” The young man huffs, rolling his hazel eyes at his brother’s fussing. The older man mutters under his breath about whiny little brothers whilst he rushes off to fetch some more gauze for the makeshift sling.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” The voice reassures gently, it’s owner’s hardened eyes softening as he places a hand on his brother’s stiff shoulder. His brother flinches at the touch but quickly relaxes into it and nods reluctantly.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” The man laughs as he reaches across his brother for another beer. The older man slaps his hand away and promptly grabs the drink for himself, stating that little brothers should know their limits and not mix painkillers with alcohol.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” A voice wheezes as he waves away his brother’s hovering figure. He defiantly lifts himself out of the armchair and they both try to ignore the fact that the man takes half an hour to recover from this simple action.
“I’m not a baby, Dean.” The man coughs harshly, his eyes watering from the action. His brother continues to wipe raspberry jam from the drooping mouth and pats his little brother’s greying head.
Here, have a little preseries Dean breaking my heart. Thanks to beta @alulaspeaks !
Dean dropped his head down on his arm. The jukebox was warm beneath him and its flashing lights pulsed through his closed eyelids while Stevie Ray sang.
Blues weren’t typically his favorite but sometimes nothing helped but to hear someone else’s pain.
“Hey, sugar, you picking a song or falling asleep?”
He looked up to see a waitress cocking an eyebrow at him, pencil behind her ear and tray in her hand.
“Why don’t you set me up with another one, sweetheart.” He dragged the empty whiskey glass off the top of the Wurlitzer.
“You sure about that, hon? You’re looking a little rough.”
“I’m celebrating tonight.” He drained the last bit from his glass and wiped his lips. “Isn’t every day you get your GED.”
“Well, that is good news.” She glanced around the dark empty bar before looking back with a crinkle between her eyebrows. “Tell you what, next one’s on the house.”
He saluted her with his whiskey glass as she walked away and Stevie Ray’s guitar solo came to an end. There was a pause before the opening chords to Zeppelin’s Fool In The Rain played and Dean reconsidered the choices he made with his last six quarters.
By the time she sauntered back over with his drink, Dean was slouched down at a table, muscles loose and tired like he’d run five miles. But whiskey didn’t cover the hole that was scraped raw in his chest that showed no signs of healing despite the months that passed. Getting his GED was just another thing to do, to keep his mind off the quiet moments between hunts.
He was surprised when the waitress dropped into the chair across from him. She scooted the chair closer to Dean and leaned in, biting at the lipstick on his bottom lip. “How long you in town for?”
His shrug was small inside his big leather coat. “I’ve stayed too long already. Probably head out in the morning.”
“Huh. Where ya heading?”
He sat up in the chair, spinning the whiskey glass between his thumbs, as a soft smile stole across his face. “I’m thinking about heading out to California.”
The corners of her mouth turned down. Maybe it was mention of the state itself or the idea of someone else getting the hell out of this small town before she did. “What’s in California?”
His mouth opened and shut, and he swallowed down his first answer, licking his lips instead. “My brother. He– He goes to Stanford.”
“Smart kid. You must be proud.”
“He is smart. Got a few things I want to tell him.” Dean’s smile cracked open wide before he downed the last of the whiskey. “Besides who wouldn’t want to go hang out in the sun? Maybe sit on the beach.”
A buzz sounded and Dean pulled his cell phone out, blearily checking the screen but it was the wrong three letters. DAD.
The waitress looked like she was going to protest as he got up, alert as if a cold shot hit him. Dean threaded through the empty chairs toward the entrance as he flipped open the phone.
“You rebel”, Dean teased and smiled at the bitchface from his brother. They both remembered those words being used, same inflection, a long time ago.
Sam’s senior year of high school. Dean, at that point listed as Sam’s guardian for legal purposes, had gotten a frantic call from the principal and rushed to the school with his heart in his throat. He’d arrived to see Sam, head hanging low in his shoulders and slumped in his seat but hadn’t had a chance to ask anything before the principal ushered him into his office.
“Sam is usually a model student and a joy to have in class; I don’t know where this came from or what prompted it.” He’d shown Dean a ziplock baggie that had weed in it. Dean kept his face carefully neutral as he made vague apologies and threats about punishing Sam before he was allowed back from a weeks suspension.
Delicately he talked the man out of calling the police and left with a downtrodden Sam in tow.
They said nothing until they’d reached the apartment they were sharing.
“You rebel.” He’d laughed once the door was shut and rejoiced at the look of shock on Sam’s face.
“I’m… I’m not in trouble?” Sam squeaked and Dean laughed in his face before heading to their shared room and pulling out his underwear drawer.
“You wanna be punished?” He asked, turning around and brandishing a bag that looked very similar to the one he’d seen in the principals office. “Or do you wanna smoke with me and see how much fun stoned sex is?”
Sam had flushed red all the way down his neck and by the way his eyes had cut to the side, Dean realized something.
Lady Shiera was the natural daughter of King Aegon IV by the ninth and last of his mistresses, Lady Serenei of Lys, the last daughter of an ancient but impoverished line of Valyrian nobility. “Sweet Serenei,” Aegon called her, but about his court she was considered cold and haughty, and some said that she was much older than the king, and preserved her beauty by the practice of dark arts. Considered by many the most lovely of Aegon’s mistresses, Sweet Serenei died in childbed, bringing forth the last of the king’s “Great Bastards,” the daughter she named Shiera, Star of the Sea.
We’ve all heard the story of how Red punched out a doctor who was
getting fresh with Kitty, but did you ever wonder what exactly happened?
Find out here as Red and Kitty reminisce about the incident in this
Pairings: Red and Kitty Forman
Author’s Note: This is a short fic I wrote that fills in the blanks o what happened when Kitty first started working at the hospital and a jealous Red met some o the doctors that worked there. It was written several years back but I hope you still enjoy it!