[various]: assorted drabbles
Title: Becoming
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: From a prompt by myxginxblossoms: A Song of Ice and Fire: Alayne, Alayne, will I ever see thee wed?
She has the afternoons to herself.
Those are the times she can curl up under a blanket and close her eyes and let herself just be. It seems like there is a great looming marker ahead of her, dividing her life like the great white Wall divides civilization from wildlings. It looms ever closer and in the empty afternoons it seems both far away and too close.
Soon, Petyr promises her, mouth too close to her ear, the press of his fingers light on her shoulder. Soon everyone will know you.
She’s not sure she wants anyone to know her.
Title: Ooh Child
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: From a prompt by kitrinlu: ASOIAF: Mya/Sansa, Mya finds out who Sansa really is.
Mya stared at her in something akin to disbelief. The weight of the marriage cloak, silver and white in her arms, surprised her, and felt like guilt.
“Mya?” she said, in a small voice, suddenly wishing she could turn this cloak away and not become Sansa again, because Sansa seemed like a dream sometimes, something foolish and far away that she didn’t really think she wanted back. Alayne had never seen Mya look uncertain. Not sure-footed, sturdy Mya.
“I saw your mother once,” Mya said in an odd voice, after a moment, and Alayne felt her throat lock up. “Now I can…I can see it.” She took a step back, and almost wavered. Alayne could see she was about to bow, or curtsy, or possibly both.
“No,” she said, reaching out. “Don’t. I don’t-”
Mya fell still. Perfectly still. Alayne closed her fingers around her wrist.
Title: write you a tragedy
Fandom: Silmarillion
Summary: From a prompt by moetushie: The Silmarillion, Fingon, give me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy.
Out in the plains it was so terribly quiet.
He’d left everything familiar far behind by now, walking steadily toward what only registered now as a shadow on the horizon. There was still a long way to go. He’d left his horse behind some way back.
Somewhere in that shadow was his cousin. Still alive. He had to be. (Fingon would not let himself think anything else.)
The grass swished softly against his legs. The sun was warm on the back of his neck, though it would not be for much longer as he moved farther into the shadow. But this was his to do.
He walked on.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: From a prompt by myxginxblossoms: A Song of Ice and Fire: Alayne, Alayne, will I ever see thee wed?
She has the afternoons to herself.
Those are the times she can curl up under a blanket and close her eyes and let herself just be. It seems like there is a great looming marker ahead of her, dividing her life like the great white Wall divides civilization from wildlings. It looms ever closer and in the empty afternoons it seems both far away and too close.
Soon, Petyr promises her, mouth too close to her ear, the press of his fingers light on her shoulder. Soon everyone will know you.
She’s not sure she wants anyone to know her.
Title: Ooh Child
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Summary: From a prompt by kitrinlu: ASOIAF: Mya/Sansa, Mya finds out who Sansa really is.
Mya stared at her in something akin to disbelief. The weight of the marriage cloak, silver and white in her arms, surprised her, and felt like guilt.
“Mya?” she said, in a small voice, suddenly wishing she could turn this cloak away and not become Sansa again, because Sansa seemed like a dream sometimes, something foolish and far away that she didn’t really think she wanted back. Alayne had never seen Mya look uncertain. Not sure-footed, sturdy Mya.
“I saw your mother once,” Mya said in an odd voice, after a moment, and Alayne felt her throat lock up. “Now I can…I can see it.” She took a step back, and almost wavered. Alayne could see she was about to bow, or curtsy, or possibly both.
“No,” she said, reaching out. “Don’t. I don’t-”
Mya fell still. Perfectly still. Alayne closed her fingers around her wrist.
Title: write you a tragedy
Fandom: Silmarillion
Summary: From a prompt by moetushie: The Silmarillion, Fingon, give me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy.
Out in the plains it was so terribly quiet.
He’d left everything familiar far behind by now, walking steadily toward what only registered now as a shadow on the horizon. There was still a long way to go. He’d left his horse behind some way back.
Somewhere in that shadow was his cousin. Still alive. He had to be. (Fingon would not let himself think anything else.)
The grass swished softly against his legs. The sun was warm on the back of his neck, though it would not be for much longer as he moved farther into the shadow. But this was his to do.
He walked on.