Propriety (A Song of Ice and Fire/Exo Crossover)
Title: Propriety
Rating: G
Word Count: 649
Genre: General
Summary: The Lord of the Vale does not believe that the life of a Maester of the Citadel would befit his son... but Chen himself disagrees.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The silence in the High Hall of the Eyrie was deafening. The Lord of the Vale stared down at his only son from his weirwood throne, not bothering to disguise the contempt in his gaze.
“You are my one trueborn son and heir,” he said eventually, tone laced with scorn. “One day, the Vale of Arryn and all its riches will be yours. And yet you would forgo that honour in pursuit of some childish dream?”
Chen met his father’s gaze unflinchingly, chin held high. Another minute ticked by in silence, before his father sighed and looked away. “This is folly. They say that youth are prone to folly, but not my blood!” He slammed his palm on a branch of the petrified wood.
Chen didn’t even blink. Calmly, he responded, “I don’t see how wishing to further my education and desiring to help those in need can be considered a ‘folly of youth’. Quite the opposite.”
His father ground his teeth. “You are well enough educated, better than almost any man in Westeros. You will be able to help your people when you sit this throne. And sit it you will - you shall not go.”
“So I do not have your permission?” asked Chen, his tone just short of taunting.
“No,” spat his father, finally losing an inch of the control he had always prided himself on. “No, you do not have my permission to bring disgrace to your House by dressing yourself in a beggar’s robes and chains.”
Chen felt his own temper flare. “The Order of the Maesters is a worthy institution, one of the most honourable callings in the land. The sons of a hundred noble houses have earned their chains, and been praised for it. How can you possibly-”
His father interrupted him. “Yes, yes, the sons of a hundred noble houses - but never the firstborn. You would leave me without an heir!”
“I am not your firstborn,” shouted Chen, not even realising how much he had raised his voice. “My sister is better suited to ruling than I am. A throne would suit me ill, and I will not steal her birthright just to please you.”
He had had enough. His ridiculously formal robes swirled around him as he whirled and stalked out of the hall. Tearing them off as soon as he was alone in his chambers, he picked up the bag he had packed the night before.
Asking his father had been merely a formality. He couldn’t stand the endless layers of formality that surrounded every aspect of life in the Vale, stifling the very freedom of its people - formalities which, he suspected, had mostly grown up under his father’s rule. Certainly, he knew the man was to blame for the impractical robes he was forced to wear almost constantly.
It wasn’t just the constant obsession with decorum and etiquette that made him want to get out. He hated the cold, aloof way his parents had raised him, his sister and his maester the only people who had ever shown him any real affection. Even the weapons master, who he knew to be one of the jolliest men in the castle, had never been fond of him - probably because of his utter lack of proficiency with a sword.
He had always much preferred his lessons with Maester Symons. Numbers fascinated him; histories enthralled him. No matter how much he learned, his thirst for knowledge was never satisfied. And now, a man grown of sixteen years, he knew that feeding that hunger was the only calling in life he would ever know.
He wanted nothing more than to become a maester of the Citadel. It was his life; his father could disapprove all he liked, but Chen would follow his own path.
Not bothering to spare a last glance for the room he’d grown up in, he shut the door behind him.
END
Masterlist
Rating: G
Word Count: 649
Genre: General
Summary: The Lord of the Vale does not believe that the life of a Maester of the Citadel would befit his son... but Chen himself disagrees.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The silence in the High Hall of the Eyrie was deafening. The Lord of the Vale stared down at his only son from his weirwood throne, not bothering to disguise the contempt in his gaze.
“You are my one trueborn son and heir,” he said eventually, tone laced with scorn. “One day, the Vale of Arryn and all its riches will be yours. And yet you would forgo that honour in pursuit of some childish dream?”
Chen met his father’s gaze unflinchingly, chin held high. Another minute ticked by in silence, before his father sighed and looked away. “This is folly. They say that youth are prone to folly, but not my blood!” He slammed his palm on a branch of the petrified wood.
Chen didn’t even blink. Calmly, he responded, “I don’t see how wishing to further my education and desiring to help those in need can be considered a ‘folly of youth’. Quite the opposite.”
His father ground his teeth. “You are well enough educated, better than almost any man in Westeros. You will be able to help your people when you sit this throne. And sit it you will - you shall not go.”
“So I do not have your permission?” asked Chen, his tone just short of taunting.
“No,” spat his father, finally losing an inch of the control he had always prided himself on. “No, you do not have my permission to bring disgrace to your House by dressing yourself in a beggar’s robes and chains.”
Chen felt his own temper flare. “The Order of the Maesters is a worthy institution, one of the most honourable callings in the land. The sons of a hundred noble houses have earned their chains, and been praised for it. How can you possibly-”
His father interrupted him. “Yes, yes, the sons of a hundred noble houses - but never the firstborn. You would leave me without an heir!”
“I am not your firstborn,” shouted Chen, not even realising how much he had raised his voice. “My sister is better suited to ruling than I am. A throne would suit me ill, and I will not steal her birthright just to please you.”
He had had enough. His ridiculously formal robes swirled around him as he whirled and stalked out of the hall. Tearing them off as soon as he was alone in his chambers, he picked up the bag he had packed the night before.
Asking his father had been merely a formality. He couldn’t stand the endless layers of formality that surrounded every aspect of life in the Vale, stifling the very freedom of its people - formalities which, he suspected, had mostly grown up under his father’s rule. Certainly, he knew the man was to blame for the impractical robes he was forced to wear almost constantly.
It wasn’t just the constant obsession with decorum and etiquette that made him want to get out. He hated the cold, aloof way his parents had raised him, his sister and his maester the only people who had ever shown him any real affection. Even the weapons master, who he knew to be one of the jolliest men in the castle, had never been fond of him - probably because of his utter lack of proficiency with a sword.
He had always much preferred his lessons with Maester Symons. Numbers fascinated him; histories enthralled him. No matter how much he learned, his thirst for knowledge was never satisfied. And now, a man grown of sixteen years, he knew that feeding that hunger was the only calling in life he would ever know.
He wanted nothing more than to become a maester of the Citadel. It was his life; his father could disapprove all he liked, but Chen would follow his own path.
Not bothering to spare a last glance for the room he’d grown up in, he shut the door behind him.
END
Masterlist