Dreams End"Awww, Mama. Do we HAVE to?!" Syndra moaned, her big blue eyes pleading first with Ser Corryn, then her mother. "Just one more story? Pleeeaaase!" She tried the doe-eyes on Corryn again, hoping to work her four-year-old magic on the handsome knight. "Please, Mama. Just one," Gavrin chimed in from his spot on the floor in front of the crackling fireplace. "No, sweetlings," Morna said firmly. "You've already had two more than you should've. It's hours past your bedtime." Baby Trey, who was now almost five months old, had long ago fallen asleep at his mother's breast as she rocked him. Morna shifted her son up to rest on her shoulder as she adjusted her bodice, shooting a knowing look at Ser Corryn. "No, you two need to tell Ser Corryn goodnight now. Gavrin, look at you. You can barely keep your eyes open." "I'm not tired," Morna's eldest stated resolutely as he forced his dark, drowsy eyes open wide. "Me neither," his sister agreed, stifling a yawn. "Ser Corn Wolf, please? Can we?" she begged. Corryn had to smile at the children’s persistence. In the short time he’d come to know them, the young knight grew to love them as his own family. Syndra, in particular, had won his heart many times over. And she was decidedly clever in her attempts to win him over; his heart melting every single time she used those night ocean eyes for her. Her magic began to work on him again, but he willed against it. Even a scoundrel such as he, who had done just the same to his mother at that age, knew perfectly well that sleep held priority over any story. He knelt down and rounded the children up in his thick arms, kissing each on the head. “My cubs, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. We all need to be rested to go hunting for frogs. They’re slippery and slimy and all asleep right now, resting up to avoid little children like you two.” He tickled their tummies and laughed. “So, I want you to get to bed and dream like frogs, okay? That way you can outsmart them tomorrow.” Gavrin nodded. From the studious expression that came over his face, Corryn could see he was already taking the task of outsmarting frogs very seriously. Syndra, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the "slippery and slimy" part and giggled wildly at Corryn's tickling. Like her mother, she was extremely ticklish. Corryn scooped them up and carried them to their awaiting Septas. “If there are no complaints tonight, if I don’t hear a squeak, then I’ll tell you about the Princesses of the Maidenvault while we eat our lunch.” He kissed them goodnight and then returned to Morna’s side, sinking into his chair exhausted. Morna had apparently settled Trey into his cradle in the bedroom while Corryn dealt with the children, because she was empty-handed when he returned. “They are wonderful children,” he said, smiling at her with a mixture of pride and longing. "Thank you. And they love you to pieces," she grinned as she shifted to allow him to slide in beside her. Once he sat, she nuzzled in under his arm, pulled her feet up beside her, and playfully kissed him under the earlobe. "So do I," she whispered as she pulled away. Corryn arced his back happily as she kissed beneath his earlobe; the chink in his proverbial armor. He took that moment to slide his arm around her waist and pull her in close. Lifting her wrist to his lips, he whispered in return. “Well, then this is good thing to be sure, for the feelings are very mutual.” His lips caressed the soft skin of her wrist, following the gentle pulse down her forearm. "And now it's time for my story," she prompted, her eyes sparkling. Though she was comfortably close to Corryn, he knew she would be listening for child-noises until she was satisfied that they were all sound asleep. He gently turned Morna’s head up and stared into her eyes. A familiar pain flickered in his eyes. Although he would never say it, waiting for the children to drift off to sleep had become an agony to him. They needed to remain distant and alert; apart. That distance separated them as surely as the Wall, even though he was close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his neck. Until they could be together, unreserved, unrepentant, his heart would bleed. She smiled indulgently at him and ran her finger down his nose affectionately. She knew this part was hard for him - having her close, wanting her closer, and being unable - but as a parent, the waiting was a feeling she knew all too well. As much as Corryn cared for her children, it was difficult for anyone who was not a parent himself to be patient. Morna loved him for his efforts. “A story, my love?” Corryn said. He touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. “When I am with you, I swim in an ocean of dreams. What story could I possible tell that would not be a hollow shadow of our own?” There was a sudden noise from outside the window - a shout, and then the sounds of hooves. Some was arriving, late though the hour was and - judging by the stir the arrival occasioned, and the readiness of the guards to open the gates, someone of importance. "Oh, bollocks and damnation!" Morna exclaimed, in a very feminine version of Corryn's favorite curse. Heart pounding, she jumped up and ran to the window, hoping that the interruption would be merely temporary. Corryn groaned quietly when Morna’s elbow left a sizable indent in his side as she jumped up. He followed her to the window a moment later, trying not to laugh at her usage of his expression. It touched him to hear it, despite the context. In truth, he was more worried for her right now. A late arrival rarely brought good tidings. He touched her shoulder, “Dearheart. Perhaps I should take my leave?” The very words tasted like poison in his mouth. Morna reached up and took his hand, drawing it down below the level of the window, but not letting go. If anything, she clasped it tighter. She whimpered softly at his suggestion, but continued to peer out the window, reluctant to release him until she saw who had arrived. "Mama - Mama - it's Father! Father's come! I saw him from my win ..." Gavrin was silhouetted in the doorway behind them, gazing at his mother and Ser Corryn as they stood together, handfasted, looking out. Early in the siege of Dragonstone, Corryn had been stuck by a Targaryen arrow. The pain he felt then was a pale shadow of the sharp anguish that pierced his heart now. He tried to compose himself quickly, stepping back from Morna as if she were a hot coal searing his skin. He prayed to the Stranger that the boy could not see his face in the dim light. Corryn heard Morna's sharp intake of breath as she dropped his hand and he could see the pained expression on her face even as she forced her voice to sound cheery. "I see that, Gavrin. How nice that he was able to come home." When she turned around to face her son, the cheery mask had reached the rest of her face as well. "Go and wake Syndra. She'll want to see him, too." She turned to Corryn, the disappointment in her eyes the only crack in her mask. Obviously for her son's benefit, she said, "Thank you for spending the evening with us, Ser Corryn. We'll see you for frogs tomorrow, yes?" Once Gavrin's back was turned, though, she mouthed, "I'm sorry." Corryn nodded, without a word; his painful longing unmistakable to her. “Tomorrow, then,” he began, only to be interrupted by Gavrin once more. But Gavrin turned swiftly. "Oh do stay and see Father, Ser Corryn! He always says you're his greatest friend - he'll want to see you!" Morna's head spun to gape at her son, her eyes wide. Corryn’s mouth opened soundlessly and then closed. He’d known Godfrey for several years and stood with him in battle more than once. They had drunk together with Eddard Stark and sung of their victories as they rode through King’s Landing. But even this camaraderie had never borne true friendship. Or, at least, he had not thought so until Gavrin’s revelation. If he shirked Godfrey’s hospitality now, the man would be hurt. And that, in turn, might lead him to look further into the reasons why. The boy had unwittingly caught Corryn in a trap, and there was little the River Wolf could do. “Of course,” Corryn said with a false smile. “It has been too long since we shared the cups together. Tell him I will be down promptly and then, perhaps, we can encourage him to tell a few tales himself, eh?” "Oh yes!" said Gavrin with enthusiasm but then, mindful of his instructions, added, "But I'll wake Syndra first." Morna could not suppress an anxious tremble. Her mind frantically scrambled for a way to handle what promised to be the most awkward and painful homecoming she had ever experienced. Once the boy had scampered off, Corryn let out a feral growl and slammed his fist down on the stone sill hard enough to draw blood. Morna had never witnessed this in him before, as if he were fixed between the acts of screaming or crying. Already on edge, Morna startled fearfully at the sound of fist on stone. At the sight of the blood, she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart vainly screaming to comfort him, but held back in chains. "The dream has ended, my love," he said so softly that his voice may have been a thousand leagues away. What could she say? Her lover had the right of it. As she walked away to collect Trey from his cradle, she rubbed his back once. It was the only comfort she could offer. Corryn leaned back into her hand, as it were the only thing holding him up. Perhaps it was, for his strength had abandoned him the moment their fingers unclasped. He breathed in deeply and then nodded with resolve. “It was a wondrous dream,” he said in a half-whisper and then led Morna out into the castle proper. The walk down to greet Godfrey was the longest Morna could ever remember. She carried the bundle of sleeping baby not for Trey's benefit, but as a shield to postpone the expected warm embrace to a more private time. For that, she felt unspeakably guilty. It should not have been this way. In normal circumstances, she would've been thrilled at Godfrey's unexpected arrival. He was home so infrequently from Winterfell that his visits were always welcome. Except when she had anticipated spending the night in Corryn's arms. Another roaring wave of guilt crashed over her. Godfrey was a good man. He was warm and kind and dependable. Safe. He would take on the Others single-handedly to protect her and the children. He was her husband and she loved him. She wouldn't hurt him for all of Westeros. But he was absent more often than not. It was all for duty, yes, but duty did not warm her bed or help raise their children. Duty did not make her blood rush and her heart beat faster. Corryn did. Corryn was also a good man, but in a vastly different way. He was exciting and dangerous and fun. He loved her and he showed it, expressively and often. He brought her flowers and sang to her. He played with her children. He courted her gallantly, as she had never been courted before. He made her feel wonderful in ways she'd never imagined. He was her passion, and she loved him as well. It was wrong, Morna knew, to love two men but she couldn't help it. She needed them both. And to hurt either one would tear her heart to pieces. She could already feel it beginning to bleed as she walked through the halls of Holdfast to greet her husband, with her lover by her side. The walk through Holdfast’s dark passageways strangely reminded Corryn of another night from not many years ago. That had been a night of secrets and uncertainty as well. He had been on the sea, so far from the comforts of home, surrounded by an oily blackness. The faint scent of the recent storm still clung to his damp clothes. Beneath that lingered the sickly stench of sea-bloated bodies, so many bodies. But the chill eating into his heart had little to do with the cold. A raven had come that night, singing of blood and betrayal. And although he had been leagues away, that blood stained his hands as surely as Robert’s. He remembered seeing the fires of Dragonstone flickering in the night like accusing eyes. And then the empty sail and the hiss of oars. Secrets. An ocean of secrets. His eyes drifted to Trey, now wrapped in his mother’s arms. In the greasy lamplight, the boy resembled the babe the frightened knight held that night; a girl, quiet as the first winter snow. Corryn had held her briefly, letting her take his finger in her chubby palm. It was her eyes that broke his resolve. Corryn snorted with dark amusement. He could never refuse a noble woman; not even then. Why start now? He gazed at the woman beside him and drank in her fragile beauty. He would never deny his love for her. Undying and unquestionable, their love was his singular purpose. After years of wandering the waves, of yearning for something he did not understand, he had found what he sought in her eyes, her smile, her touch. Morna had become his ocean of secrets. He would drown in her, he knew, and would do so willingly. She was his home, his sanctuary. If his heart had bared the weight of that dark night, it could bear the weight of this as well. Confident they were alone in the shadows, Corryn touched her shoulder and smiled with deep longing. Before she could react, he cupped her face and tasted her lips. He kissed her again with a mournful passion. Her lips opened under his and she returned the kiss hungrily, almost desperately. He could feel her melt in his hands. His words were hardly a breath, but she could understand each one as if he had shouted them aloud. “This is not wrong,” he said. “This could never be wrong. And I swear by the Seven, this will not be the last time I kiss you. I will not deny this love. Not ever.” Morna looked up into his magnificent hazel eyes, dazed into speechlessness. Her legs felt like jelly and she clutched Trey tighter as if she feared she might drop him. The slight upturn of her lips into a wavering smile was the only indication she could possibly give at that moment of her whole-hearted assent. And with that, he stepped away and into the light of the Great Hall. Still frozen, she watched him walk away. The distant sound of small feet in the hallways behind her roused her from her daze and she hurried into the Great Hall. Godfrey had already entered the Great Hall, and was talking to Ser Anders Tollet, the recently-appointed Master of Arms. His face was grave, even sombre - but then a sound made him turn - and his face lit up as he saw his wife and younger son. Paying scant heed to Ser Anders, he strode forward. Smiling, Morna stepped up to meet him, wrapped one arm around his waist and squeezed. She held Trey between them in her other arm. "Morna! I wondered if you were all abed! I would have been here earlier - but my horse cast a shoe ... " He broke off and laughed. "No more excuses! I volunteered to take a message north to Queenstown that I might be here in time for your nameday. Ser Corryn - you here too? You'll stay and help us celebrate, won't you?" At the mention of her nameday, Morna looked up at Godfrey in amazement, pleasantly surprised that he remembered. She let him go and stepped out of the way as Corryn approached. Corryn grasped the man’s hand warmly, slapping his shoulder as they always had. “It is good to see you, old salt. I see you still haven’t grown into your beard. You damned Hardys don’t age. You make me look like an old man.” Ser Godfrey smiled. It was true he looked less than his years - still young, still handsome enough to set maidens' hearts a-flutter at a tournament. But he only had eyes for one woman - the one that his eyes looked towards now. [Corryn] hugged the man as he would a brother and then let him attend to his wife. The wine called to Corryn like morning song and he followed its summons. He nodded to Tollet faintly and poured himself a tall goblet. His resolve might be strong, but he could not watch their embrace quite yet. "Daddy! Daddy!" It was Gavrin, running down the steps in his little white nightshirt. Laughing again, Godfrey crouched, his arms spread to scoop up Gavrin - and Syndra too and take them into a great hug. Syndra was right behind her brother, as usual, and flew into her father's outstretched arms. Unlike Gavrin, she had clearly been asleep, for her hair was bedraggled and her eyes were bleary. She, too, was in her bedgown. "They only went down a short time before you arrived," Morna told Godfrey. "We were all up listening to Ser Corryn's tales." She carefully avoided looking at the Wolf for fear of revealing anything in her expression. "You came all this way for my nameday?" she asked her husband, astounded. "I pleaded my case to Lady Catelyn," he told her, Syndra now lifted in one strong arm, while Gavrin's arms were about his waist. "I painted a picture of you all forlorn on your name day, and her heart was melted. More - I'm under instructions to bring you all back with me for the harvestfestival at Winterfell - I said I thought the children might be too young to enjoy it, but she said no, for her own brood take such pleasure in it." Corryn’s grip on his goblet tightened considerably, threatening to bend the pewter out of shape. How many namedays had the fool missed up until now? And now Godfrey picked this one to come riding in as the glorious hero. Perhaps the picture of a forlorn wife would not have been so true were he a more dutiful husband. He turned away before someone noticed the pain in his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time," Morna interrupted him excitedly. She had always wanted to attend a Winterfell Harvest Festival too, as Godfrey well knew. "You forget how big they're growing." "A treat for your nameday, my love - although there's another in my pack." He smiled at Syndra's sleepy face. "And gifts for you all in the morning. But now to bed." He turned to make his way to his rooms, two of his three children still attached to him, and turned a lughing face towards the other men present. "Goodnight, Ser Anders. Your dispositions seem excellent - we'll talk more on the morrow. Corryn, my friend, we'll make time to down some wine together, yes? But you'll forgive me for my desire to be with my family tonight." Behind Godfrey's back, a strained smile touched Morna's face, disappearing as she looked to the floor. Corryn raised his goblet and smiled faintly. He couldn’t bare meet Morna’s gaze as he spoke. It would have been too difficult to form his words, otherwise. “Of course, old friend. I understand more fully than I can express. You are a very lucky man to have them. Morna busied herself with adjusting Trey's blankets and cooing softly to him even though he was sound asleep. “Until the morrow,” he said and then turned away from them. Corryn could still hear their laughter as they went to their rooms. And although he knew their mirth was of joy and not of malice, the sound taunted him all the same. He took another mouthful of wine and immediate spat it out. It had grown bitter in the last moments. He set goblet aside as his stomach rolled. Indeed, the very air tasted foul to him, choking him as he wandered through the halls aimlessly. Servants avoided him and for that he was grateful. He walked a blade’s edge, lost and uncertain of each step. At some point he found himself in the stables. He could not remember how, nor did he care. Meraxes caught his scent and whinnied in the shadows. The horse snorted in greeting as he approached the stall. Corryn patted its muzzle and leaned against the animal broad head. “Take me away from here, old friend,” he whispered. It whinnied in consent and didn’t protest as he led it out. He climbed onto Meraxes’ back and guided him into the night. All he needed now was some darkness and he sought it out desperately. Moonlight and old ghosts welcomed him and took Corryn into their soothing arms. And for a time, they almost felt like hers and that was enough. Categories: WinterChillsGameLogs, CastleHoldfast |
