A Game of Thrones Fan Fiction
Flynn’s body ached. It had been an exhausting afternoon of training, and Olyver had not taken it easy on him; he never did. Flynn wondered if it was because Olyver believed in him or because he wanted to break him. It did not matter, as the result was always the same – bruises, cuts, and a humbled ego. Hate to think what he would do with a real sword. Now, he was glad to be indoors and sitting at the kitchen table. The warmth of the hearth fire and the smell of his mother’s cooking filled the room, a bowl of chicken, carrot, and potato stew looking thick and filling in front of him.
“How did it go today?” his father asked.
“Well. I think,” Flynn said, “My parries are getting better”.
His father nodded in approval. “Good.”
“I wish you’d keep your clothes clean,” his mother said, “You’ve been going through three pairs a week. You’ll wear them out before you know it.”
“Tell that to Olly,” Flynn said. His father glanced at his mother.
“Olly is only doing what’s best for Flynn. No one ever got to King’s Landing without a scratch or some mud on him.”
“Still,” she said, “it’s very inconvenient.”
She hesitated a moment, then continued speaking. “And those clothes of yours will never do in a battle. You’re lucky that your father and I have planned ahead.”
Flynn swallowed another helping of stew and creased his brow. “What do you mean?” he asked. His father and mother looked at each other, and his father gave a slight nod. His mother stood and walked across the room to the chest in the corner.
“Well, if you’re going to King’s Landing for the trials, you’ll need to look presentable,” she said, then opened the door of the wardrobe and fetched something from inside. When she turned around, she held a black leather jerkin in her hands. Flynn’s eyes widened.
“Is that for me?”
“Well, I doubt it would fit your father,” his mother said.
“Too harsh, Martha,” Flynn’s father said, feigning a look of wounded pride.
Flynn’s mother rolled her eyes and ignored her husband. “Your father made it. Come on, try it on,” she said. Flynn did. It fit perfectly. “Thanks mother. Thanks, Father. But I do not understand” he said, still standing. “Why now?”
“Come and sit first,” his father said. Flynn took his seat once more. “That leather was imported from Dorne. It will not stop a piercing blade, but it’ll do all right for your mobility. From what I know of the trials, you’ll need that more than anything.”
Flynn was grateful but slightly confused. “…But why now?”
His mother smiled. “You tell him,” she said to her husband. Flynn had never seen his parents so conspiratorial.
“The next swordsman trials begin in less than a week. There’s a wagon leaving The Fingers tomorrow morning,” his father said. “I’ve paid your way.”
“What? You mean?…”
“Yes,” his mother cut in, “You’re going to King’s Landing.” A surge of uncertainty welled up in Flynn’s throat.
“But…I’m not ready.”
His father tapped the table. “Olyver told me otherwise.”
Just that day, Olyver had told him he needed to learn to focus. The whole soliloquy stuck in his head: “The thing about focus is that if you are truly in its grasp, you don’t focus on the man in front of you; you reach inside yourself, feel the world around you, and react to the chaos.”
How could he go to the trials if he had not mastered the foundational principle of Olyver’s lessons?
“There’s nothing more he can teach you,” his father said, “Listen, Flynn. You were never cut out to be a tailor. I know that, as hard as it was to accept that you would not follow my trade. I know this is your path, and it’s time to take the next step.”
Flynn wanted to blurt out his doubts in a flurry, but seeing his parents now made him hold his tongue. He did not want to disappoint his parents; they believed in him. While all of Flynn’s friends had been taking up their family trades, his father had allowed him to pursue his passion. That alone made the words catch in his throat. Flynn had always wanted to become a member of Kingsguard for himself, but suddenly felt it was for his family as well.
He would not fail them.
He could not – not after his father had paid for a wagon all the way to King’s Landing. That was no small price.
“Thank you. I…do not know what to say. I will not let you down.”
“You never could, Flynn,” his mother said.
They ate and talked of the future. The next day, Flynn’s parents watched their son get on the wagon to King’s Landing. Flynn wasn’t sure when he’d see his parents or his friends again.
“Not until I’m a member of the Kingsguard….”