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I was watching game of thrones and i sort of pictured this as like one of the banner men that have to go to battle, but its not fanfiction. Its like a distant but sort of connected version.
It was the eve of the war. The families were in unrest, the nobles where raising their banner men and preparing to seize the land and woman they could. The children were being hidden away and the horses prepared for the bloody battle that would be in full swing by the next moon. Eve starred outside her tower window, watching her older brothers spar. They would ride into battle along with father. She could partially see the Seas of Glandos. It was glorious. Before the conquest of her families land, the sea had been known plainly as the sea. She looked down at her brothers once more. The wind blew against Bran’s hair, making the dark curls fly everywhere. She would miss her dear brother. An old nest that had been crafted into the eave of the tower suddenly fell. It took almost a full forty seconds before it hit the ground, shattering into many pieces. Her gasp of surprise warranted her the unwanted attention of her guard.
“Is everything alright, m’lady?”
He pulled her back from the window. The three guards that usually stood by the door were inside looking around for anyone or anything that would harm the daughter of their beloved Lord.
“No, I’m fine.”
She suddenly sees the poison that they carry with them. If Islaftin were to fall, she’d drink. Her father wouldn’t allow anyone to take her.
The sun soon left the sky. The men decided to stay one more night and she felt the pain so much more.
Her feet were cold on the stone of the castle. She walked down the stairs, her feet patting on the floor. It was unbearable. She had nerves up to her eyes, her breath puffed out in front of her. Her nightgown made it even harder to climb down.
With a distinct huff, she heard her brother stir in his room. She knocked on it and almost let out a yelp as he pulled her inside. His cheeks were red and his eyes were wild with stress. He hugged her tightly taking her breath.
“Oh, Eve. I don’t want to go. I really don’t,” he rushed out.
She smoothed his hair like their mother used to. His heavy breathing smoothed out instantly, the small comfort familiar.
“How is Lancel doing? Father won’t tell me anything,” she said, stepping away from him.
He ran his hand through his hair. He bit into his lip, and she immediately knew that their father had told him not to tell her.
“Come on, Bran. Out with it,” she said, putting down the candle she’d used to light her path to his room.
Bran looked away and began to pace.
“He’s getting worse. The flisters are spreading. He’s lost the use of his legs, Eve. Last I saw, the medics were tying him down. Eve, he’s not going to make it,” he rushed out.
She walked over to his bed and sat down. She felt the bed dip as he sat down.
“It’ll be alright. You still have me,” he offered meekily.
She looked up and met his eyes. He looked down. He wouldn’t understand. She could tell he would feel grief but not like her. She’d come into the world with Lancel. Her father said she had her hand clasped on his little foot.
“I can’t believe father is risking your life. Bran, I can talk to him. Make him let you stay,” she said.
Bran nodded his head. But they said nothing more, their thoughts far away. Each thought of their brother. Suddenly a scream reached them. It was deep and savage. Bran got up and put on his shirt.
“Come on,” he said, his voice urgent.
“What is it?” she asked.
Bran ran ahead and she followed, their bare feet slapping against the floor. They both knew where to go. But when they got there, people surrounded the door. There father stood out side the door, clutching his chest.
“Father,” Bran said.
“I can’t look at him. My poor boy. Bran take your sister to her room. This is now thing for a lady to witness.”
Bran turned and looked at her, his grey eyes glistening. She shook her head and ran under his arm. She dodged through the others reaching hands. She stopped in the room, her eyes taking in the sickly man that sat on the bed.
The same red hair and grey eyes, now dull from the illness that was warping his features and body into a shell of what he used to be. He was thrashing on the bed, trying to get away from the many physicians that were trying to fix him. Three held him down while on one was checking his eyes. He saw her and reached out.
“Eve,” a rough voice yelled.
She walked forward hurridly and took his hand in hers. They were cold and thin. They used to be thick meaty hands that were full of strength and the power to kill a thousand men. Now it held hers with a fragile hold that if she were to let go, it would drop down. He sat up, holding his side with a pained groan.
“Oh Lan,” she said, sitting down next to him.
“My Lady, you shouldn’t be in here,” the physician said trying to push her off the bed.
She practically hissed at him.
“You leave me alone or I’ll have you killed. Do you want that?” She snapped, her eyes taking in the fearful look of the man. He backed away and bowed before leaving.
Eve watched her father as he trotted in, his face red with anger.
“You listen here! You are to leave this room right now!”
Lan held up a hand and snorted.
“Father, I’m dieing–
“You are not dieing–
“I am! Let me be with her for tonight and for the rest of my time on this miserable s*** hole of a castle. She’s my twin, for f***s sake. Now get out. I rather you not see me die,” he said, his voice taking a fragile quality at the end of his tirade.
Her father stares for a couple seconds, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. He then nodded his head before walking out.
“Everyone out. Eve, you take care of this ungrateful arse,” he snapped before completely leaving.
The physicians shuffled away, shutting the door after they all leave. Now alone, Lancel collapses on the bed, relenting to his illness’s will.
“Get me some water Eve,” Lancel said.
Eve poured some wine, knowing that he would appreciate it. She walked back and slowly let him drink. His grey eyes were glazed and pain itches over every inch of his once handsome face. He lifted his hand and pushed the cup away. His breath was raspy and it seemed to hurt to draw them in.
“Lancel, you’re not dying. The physician said you can live,” she whispered, taking hold of his hand again.
“Do you remember our cousin Renly? How the physicians said the same for him? How did he turn out?” he said.
She looked down.
“Answer, Eve. Answer.”
“He died. He died. Our cousin died.”
Lancel nodded, his adams apple bobbing. He scooted over and patted the spot next to him. Eve laid down, turning to face him. Her nose touched the tip of his boney shoulder. He reeked of sickness. And the night went on. Lancel dying slowly, her father and her last brother preparing for a battle that would surely be lost but she was calm. The night went on and she listened to Lancel’s raspy breathing until it lulled her to sleep.