[ One meeting after another, talking with his agents, listening to the analysts, reading reports, and more reports, reports, reports.
He remembered when every day was a constant rush of adrenaline, of anxiety, of always watching where you place your next foot, where mines were hidden beneath every floor board, where every corner hid an assassin.
He never thought he would miss those days- they were exhausting yes, but they were exciting. Now it was the simple routine, day in day out.
Yes, he had the Brotherhood to keep tabs on, but lately it seemed to him that Beric was telling him less and less and when Beric told him less, Anguy may as well be mute.
Home was a little flat, well not little, big enough.
He flicked the lights on and stepped first into the kitchen. The bottle of wine was greeted him as it always did from the table, right where he left it and he gratefully grabbed a glass and tilted the bottle and watched the red flow into the clear crystal.
He pulled his phone out, reading a text from Swampy saying that she’ll skip out on dinner with him. He sighed at that and sipped at his drink. He shouldn’t think too much into it. She was grown now, and she had her own life, her own frieda, perhaps even a boy friend- not that she’s the type to tell him about that sort of thing. Still, it was not as if she hated him.
But he shouldn’t be surprised if she did.
He finished up his glass, quicker than he had meant.
Another glass just to-
“ No,” He sighed to himself and capped the bottle. Enough, Thoros. Walk away now. Walk away.
He stood up and brought the bottle to the overhead cupboard, where he tucked it away and locked the door. He only kept one bottle of alcohol around now days. It goes away quick, but it stops him from boozing and downing three bottles in one night.
Half way down the corridor his phone buzzes in his hand and he looks down at the caller ID.
He breathed and answered ] Uh…. [ he frowned ] No, it’s fine. What’s wrong?
Beric grew tense for a moment upon hearing Thoros’ voice on the other side of the line. And then, flagrant as he had been since the formation of the Brotherhood, he sighed loudly, heavily against the phone.
It’s good to hear your voice, he said sombrely.
They had never been abrupt towards each other, whatever matters of the heart were left unsaid, he trusted his actions to speak for his heart. They had better things to discuss, they always had. From politics to his dreams, to Thoros’ struggles. There always seemed to be a wall between sensations, ideas and feelings. But Beric felt exhausted and he couldn’t help himself.
It’s a sweet sound… amid the rest of the poisonous voices that have been whispering to my ear lately.
Fear and regret for avoiding him aside, he smiled to himself and took a few steps towards the window of the Home Office. The nocturnal sight of London facing him in all splendour, a city of hope, back when he came here for the first time in years. He found Thoros there already and he met Allyria as well. Will he met somebody else one day in this place or will it take someone from him? Like it did with his sister.
Like it did with Sam.
Suddenly, things like fearing Thoros’ judgement or the obligation towards the Brotherhood mattered little. His convictions and his ideals, what good were they for anyway? He hadn’t been able to protect anyone so far, he had been wrong all this time, it was useless.
Thoros, he continued as quietly as earlier, I’m leaving.
What was a Brit kid doing wandering about this building? He seemed had seemed like those posh kids who were born with more money than they knew what to do with- his particular accent hinted that he was from the wealthier part of London, another hint that he could more than afford a school like Eton.
A posh kid like him wouldn’t be hanging around the Freemasons little old lair. They would have parties to attend to, or a hangover to nurse, or perhaps even their parents expectations to meet because they were too weak to do anything else, much less think for themselves.
The Freemasons held no appeal to the rich, to those who lived on the top of the mountain. It had been too long, centuries, since they found favour with the powerful. No, now, they appealed only to the poor, the broken, the abused and exploited.
He slowed, then stopped, now five paces away from where the kid had paused him, “ Hey, what are you doing here anyway? This isn’t a place for wandering br-,” He set his jaw, and tried again, “ Kids,”
Beric stopped. He sighed and resigned.
Patience. Patience is a virtue, sibling of modesty and courtesy, daughter of respect, mother of wisdom. If there was a heaven, Beric was sure he had done merits to reach it just in these past two minutes. He turned around and did his best to smile and reply the less condescending voice he could manage. He truly had no tolerance for rude people, he was finding out.
"I’m twenty years old", he said in as a matter of fact tone, as if explaining something very obvious to a very small child. "I’m not a kid", he continued sounding not as mature as the statement suggested. He was never bothered by insults, (by assumptions, on the other hand, those made him lose his nerve; anyone who assumed to know him or know his actions or his thoughts was too arrogant for Beric to stand). But the way this man called him kid did bother him, in a very childish way. If he didn’t pout was because - well, because he was not a kid.
He let out the air holding in his lungs and looked back at him, resignation. It was part of life as much as air, one only had to accept that fact in order to move on with daily details, like, ‘there is no hot water in the shower this morning’ or ‘you can’t come back to England this year either’. It was part of growing up, he supposed, to accept resignation as a constant companion. In that moment Beric accepted to resign himself to talk a bit more to this stranger. It didn’t hurt, he knew, to dedicate a moment of his time to someone else. He supposed.
"I’m-", he began in a rather low tone before clearing his throne, "-from Harvard", he reached inside his pocket and found his student ID. "I ended up stuck with this subject, I only mean to make the best I can out of it", he shrugged and put it back inside. He stood there, with a rather questioning stare, as if asking ‘is that all?’ but not daring just yet.
There was a time when he thought he couldn’t go a day without laughing with him, without sharing an occurrent of the day, without asking for advice; without being with his best friend.
Beric pressed on Thoros’ number and the call began.
He knew that said time was only this morning and five minutes ago, and right now. But evolution and growth became the synonym of strength and of how willing everyone was to become something else. Evolvement means restriction too, it means giving up important things, things that we might not be able to live without. But we must try. That’s what he kept telling himself in order to press ‘call’.
They hadn’t seen each other in a while, Beric had been avoiding him all this time so he wasn’t about to establish a meeting that would break through his abstinence. So, after meeting with Allyria two days ago and doing everything he didn’t think he could do, he resolved to call him and let him know of what had happened. He needed him to look after the Brotherhood for now, even if Beric himself didn’t know what that meant, what this call meant.
'Hey'. He thought when Thoros picked up, but he bit his lip to stop himself, throwing all familiarity away. This was a man whom he had shared with everything since he was twenty years old and now he meant to turn him into a stranger.
Sorry to bother, he finally said, terribly aware that Thoros would be raising an eyebrow in confusion. Do you have time? I was wondering… It won’t take long.
Edric paces around his room, thinking it over and over again. Even though he is barely starting college, there is already enough competition every side that he looks. Young students are ruthless and he knows that, because now he is one of them. If he wants a good (or any) job in the future, he had to start working right now. Sure, his name might help him, but it won’t do the job by itself.
He spent the last three weeks researching and taking notes, on government internships. The notebook on his desk is filled with names and three versions of what he plans on saying, plus a “pro/con” list (where pro beats con for 23 items). But now there is no more time to avoid.
The problem is that Edric is very shy. Even with people he knows. And especially, considering how much is asking for, right now he is not sure if he will even be able to speak at all. But he has to do it. Besides, he already emailed Beric asking to talk to him (and it was probably the most adult thing that he ever did). He can’t back down.
The drive feels like an eternity. The time passes too slowly and he is more and more nervous about it. And now he wonders if it was a good idea in the first place. He hasn’t seen Beric in a while, since he and his aunt broke up. And it might be awkward too. Oh great, it will be awful he thinks, I should just give up. But he is already there, and it’s too late.
He took a deep breath and get out of the taxi.
He’s been in this office a few times before, so he knows the place. It makes him feel a little more comfortable. I can do this he thinks, forcing a smile down his face I can totally do this and not mess it all up. I’ll do this. Surprisingly, the motivation works a little. Edric avoids thinking at all, afraid of being too nervous again, until he is at the receptionist’s table.
“Uh, hi. I’m here to see Beric Dondarion” he asks, trying to sound confident.
"You forget your manners, Ned.", he called out not unkindly, using the nickname he was so fond of, "It’s Home Secretary here", then he smiled at the boy. Beric had been around the corner of the entrance, talking to his second assistant when he heard the voice of Edric Dayne asking for him to the main secretary. They had already arranged this meeting, via an email he received from the youngest Dayne a couple of days ago. Even after his break up with Allyria, he maintained contact with the boy, how could he not?. Somehow, and as little as it had been, he became some form of father figure and Ned had always lacked those very much.
Beric didn’t just break friendships, it wasn’t in him, it would never be. He didn’t stop being cordial and friendly towards Arthur and he didn’t stop sending flowers to Ashara. Things were cumbersome with Allyria but he knew they needed time to sort things out by themselves and perhaps one day they’d be able to talk to each other and establish that friendship he shared with her nephew. Of course, the thought of being friends with Allyria was an uncomfortable one, no, Beric didn’t fancy the idea but he liked less the option where they never saw each other again.
Such outcome would be unfathomable, of course. He would constantly exchange emails with Ned, offering advice whenever the other asked. How could they paths not ever cross again when he was doing everything in his power to keep in contact with the Daynes?. Perhaps that was the main reason why he accepted Ned’s idea, why he promised him that he would look at his curriculum and perhaps they could discuss the opportunity of an internship at the very Home Office.
No, it wasn’t just that. Edric Dayne was a brilliant kid, talent had anchored naturally to his bones, like the lustrous name of the Daynes embraced a past of success and dignity. Beric’s family was nothing near the stature of Allyria’s, he made a name for himself in spite of his family name but he had always been secretly intimidated with what the Dayne name represented. Even, - and specially -, with Arthur, the member of the MI5 who was several levels beneath him, who was by all rights, his employee, had always inflicted a certain fear tainted with admiration upon the Home Secretary. Ashara as well, even her sadness did not lack beauty and wisdom, it was an uncanny feeling, whenever she spoke, like looking at an undecipherable painting. She was potentially much more nerve-racking than her siblings.
And then Allyria. Beric loved Allyria. Even now after almost a year of separation, he loved her like he loved serving his country, or almost so.
But the sweetest, youngest Dayne was a particular case of pure endearment. Perhaps he saw himself in the kid, he grew up alone, he had to figure out his own path without any parent guiding him. But then he had Thoros and perhaps Ned could use his own guidance, like the agent was for Beric. He beckoned to Edric, “Come into my office”, he said in a lower tone and made his way himself to the main room of the Home Office.
An internship at such a young age. People would talk, he knew, they would write the word nepotism attached to his name and use it against his campaign. But if Ned had every intention of hard work and the desire to make his own path, like he did all those years ago, then he didn’t care, he could not care less.
He nodded at the chair in front of the desk before reaching the opposite one himself, “Ned”, he began tentatively, he had meant to ask… “Does your aunt know you are here?”.
At his observations - bloody accurate and terrifying observations - Arya froze. He had pinned her in a way that no one else in London had, not since Yoren, not since she was still Arya Stark of Winterfell, and it sent a jolt through her, like cold water through her blood. If he knew who she was, she had two options: run, or allow herself to be taken after more than two weeks of surviving on the streets. And Arya had never been the sort of girl to meekly allow herself to be taken.
But, he hadn’t recognized her. Not yet, at least. Even for all of his observations, Beric hadn’t yet landed on who she was, and that bought her time. Some time to make up a few lies, and try to get away from him as soon as possible. She’d never been a great liar, but she was quick, and she could remember all of Syrio’s words to her echoing in her ears. Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow.
"Who said I’m hiding anything? I never said I wasn’t from Scotland,” she said, giving up on her attempt to bury her accent. She lilted her words as much as she could, trying to run them together like a lower class girl, even though he had already pointed out the high brow tone to her voice. “I’m 18, an adult. I’m here because I want to be,” she said defiantly, moving towards the couch but not sitting down. She grabbed one of the glasses of water off the table and took a sip. Good - that could be a weapon, however feeble it may be.
He nodded courteously at her retorts, “Fair enough, I am quite good with calculations and you look thirteen to me but let us assume that I believe you are an adult”, he found the coup with what he remembered had lemon tea from the restaurant he stopped by, and then reached for the sugar, breaking eye contact with the girl and not giving it much thought to whether she was lying or not. Not that he cared for any reason in particular, he was merely curious, her accent was indeed too posh to be that of a member of a Scottish working class family and her looks continued to strike some memory that Beric could not recollect, which was bothering him a lot, he was prompt to obsession over details.
By this point, however, he was convinced he had seen it somewhere else and, shamefully, the only places he had attended in the past few years were meetings, gatherings of campaigns where one could not even make eye contact with the attendees, and balls where only the rich and the powerful gathered. Perhaps on the news? That would be better, if she was involved in a crime or in a situation that required immediate help, then he would be glad to provide it. Or to call Anguy or Ned to provide it in his name. Besides, he still had to wait for Sam.
He looked at the clock. She had texted him that she would be there two hours ago. Perhaps she got distracted by England’s delightful sightings. The thought could have made him chuckle if he wasn’t in the company of someone else. He returned his attention to the little companion in front of him, with her aforementioned accent, exaggerated frown and grey eyes and - Beric blinked, “Ah”, he exclaimed. Beric wasn’t a genius, he had never been, he required hard work and practice to excel in the areas he wanted to excel; so since he was young he opted for that road, to be the best not because he was born being the best but because he had earned it.
However he did have the luxury of an skill that became quite handy, his memory was sharp and enhanced with the practice of his studies in America and the wars he had to engage at Westminster. Perhaps that was why he was so amused and surprised that he hadn’t realised it before. Of course he had seen those looks before and in fact she had seen this girl before even if they never spoke. At the Stark hold in London. He was accounted with Catelyn Stark, even accepting her invitations once or twice after meeting at one of Robert’s charity auctions (excuses for the parties that followed them). She looked like her father and that brother from the Night’s Watch.
He leaned back against the couch and tilted his head, “Your family has been looking for you”, he said quietly, sipping on the tea, “London is quite the dangerous place for a Stark these days”.
Fuck them. He was wasting his time with Baratheon- He was wasting his time with England. If the country wants to self destruct then fine. He can’t do anything about it it. His job was to protect the country from physical and external threats. Whatever happens on the inside was none of his fucking business. He was doing his job- His true job- well enough. No one can blame him for anything.
If the people die, then it’s Baratheon’s own fault.
“ Keep trying,” He growled under his breath.
Great- One more thing to ruin his week- Well, his whole fucking month really. Things were coming in from Kosovo, Sudan, Iraq and Afghanistan, were driving him up the wall and he’s up to his neck with work and worry and stress- and they were asking him to continue to spend half his time pestering Baratheon for socio-economical reforms?
The doors opened and he hurried down towards the lobby, paying no mind to the guards.
" Excuse me."
He looked around, frowning. What was it now?
“ Do i look like a fucking directory to you?” He snapped, turning back around to continue walking. He needed to get away from this place, “ Ask someone else, kid,”
And although every fibber of his common sense had warned him that this reaction might as well be a possibility, in this situation when he forced a clearly angry person to stop dead on his tracks to help a stranger, Beric couldn’t help but be taken aback by the angry retort. Two thoughts came to him almost at once. I hope this isn’t some sort of high command in this place, was the first of those thoughts, because if that was the case, he wouldn’t be able to get that any farer. He knew that this people weren’t easy to please and now he had - well he had done nothing but to be a civil person and for that he got yelled at.
What an unforgivable rude person, was the second. He hated rude people, and perhaps a high class british kid from Harvard didn’t have much to complain about but it had been his upbringing, after all and he knew the importance of pandering to people’s needs. Modals and courtesy above all, that was how he had been educated in his childhood and he carried those principles with him to America.
Yes, thank you, of course, it will be my pleasure. And always a smile. A smile can open more doors than any sort of pound. Those were his father’s words. And they had served him well, to the point that Beric had opted such philosophy as his own, carved it into his bones. Never snap, no matter how much you want to. It wasn’t dignified, the spirt, the mind and the heart had to be educated in a manner that one could manage control, it showed strength and character. And other people didn’t deserve of his negativity, that’s what he always thought. Be nice to everyone, and everyone will be glad to be around you.
When it came to negativity, this man emitted wave after wave of the substance and in that moment, Beric was certainly not glad to be right there next to him.
Beric found the brace of his backpack and brought it upper over his shoulder, an instinctive action when insecurity threatened to strike him up. He took a step back and nodded reluctantly, “Thank you, mate”, he said half-heartedly, allowing his southern british accent to inflict sarcasm into his tone (for years he had toned it down when living in America, he believed it was the only decent thing to do), and returned to his original plan to go to the gatekeepers. Whatever, he wanted to mutter back at the man. But that sounded childish and - courtesy Beric, remember your place, remember your manners -, said the voice of his father inside his head.
So he turned back on his spot with every intention to leave the man behind to his rant and his temper. He shrugged. He was mostly annoyed, because this assignment was proving to be more than a nuisance.
The degree of Beric’s knowledge in the topic at hand was inarguably devoid of any substance whatsoever. But he had no choice but to go through the research for the bidding paper that he ought to deliver due to next Monday. It was Friday. It had been his fault, truly. The day the topics had been divided at Social Studies: Supervised Reading and Research, (frankly, the most unrelieved class of the career so far) he had chosen to skip class and spend the two hours joining Sam in an attempt to study for her exams next week and to enjoy of Boston’s summer weather.
The sum of his actions and decisions decided to caught up with him, however, and although he managed to convince the professor to grant him a chance to have a topic for the paper that was almost 70% of the grade, the end result was Beric stuck with The Influence of The Freemansons in the New Century. Somehow the aforementioned professor had forgotten that the 2000s were still two years away and nobody cared about The Freemansons, certainly not the 26 students that didn’t pick that topic and not Beric either.
Twenty years old and a Harvard undergraduate with excellent grades. Part of that was his ability to convince people so on the rare occasions that he failed under low standards at any class, he managed to find ways to better the end result. He was no genius at all, but he had a talent for hard work and an incredible passion for the area of Politics along with quick wits to come up with an answer, and, he had found, Harvard valued both more than any form of genius.
Still, he had several flaws, one of them being that he had no patience for what he considered useless things. This class being one of those many useless things alas, quite needed to graduate. So there he was, at the nearest Masonic building, the Lynn Masonic Hall, trying to gather as much information for a topic he could not have any less interest in. Beric could write and he could speak but he lacked the tact to ask questions, or the tolerance that was required in a field of research. He knew, he was very much convinced, that once he graduated he would never do any sort of research, instead opting for an in-office job.
The main hall was open for anyone who wanted to set foot inside the building but the offices and the second floor was closed and for members only. That was as useful as that class, there was no one in the hall and Beric was considering tainting his exemplary record by failing Supervised Reading and Research. He took a deep breath and controlled any signs of anxiety or defeat. He wasn’t like that, Beric Dondarrion worked hard and did his best without fail, he wouldn’t let his guard down before such a simple task.
What did he know about the group from his three sessions at the library? He knew that there was a complex lodge with a complex order that engaged in rituals that seemed to be more political gatherings than anything else. That was interesting enough but the malformations and conspiracy theories had spoiled the image of influence and replaced it with quite the fictional shadow. What was delivered and talked in those gatherings was the question, he supposed. He doubted he would uncover secrets of a fraternal organisation that had existed for centuries, but something worth his time and his writing would be preferable than facts found in a newspaper column.
He took a deep breath and resumed his obstinate deliverance, if he hoped to become a member of the British Parliament one day, he had to stand his ground at all costs. He walked down the huge hallway leading to the second floor, there were officers guarding the large doors but he trusted his instincts and his talent with words. He might find a way to get in. In the distance he noticed the doors opening and a figure walking out. He seemed in an angry dash and the sight gave Beric an idea. Or at least a better option than throwing words at gatekeepers.
"Excuse me", he said aloud once the man was closer. He seemed to be in his late thirties, if his power of estimation served Beric well. Asian and well posed, elegant and good looking even with the ugly frown upon his face. He decided not to let someone who stepped out of that forbidden area go and spoke quickly, "I was wondering if I could ask you for some directions, it won’t take much of your time", he said with the most darling smile he could manage.
He asked her for her word—asked her to promise not to tell anyone. Not even Sansa? Jeyne wrung her hands under the table, shifting anxiously. It seemed dishonest…if Sansa asked her, could she lie? Did she have it in her? She was such a bad liar…too self-conscious to be convincing. But then…she never got to talk to Sansa anyways. Or Ned and Cat for that matter. And forget the boys—Bran and Rickon, and even Robb, whose smiles used to make her blush.
Really, Beric was her only friend now.
And he was right. It was dangerous. Of course he was right; maybe it was best to not tell anyone about Arya… Beric had taken care of Jeyne, she had to trust him. He would make sure they were safe.
So despite her discomfort, her lack of faith in her own skills of deception, she nodded. “Okay…I promise…”
She owed Beric that, didn’t she? After what he’d done for her—taking her in and giving her a job, and all?
"When can I see her?"
Beric regarded her once again with a feign seriousness, as it to gain impetus of trepidation over the impressionable young woman. A mental game no better than those used by a employer over their potential candidates, the difference dwelled in the fact that this was a virtual prisoner of his, hearing about the existence of another one like her for the first time. He wondered if Jeyne could figure out eventually the game Beric was playing or if she would ever regard him as something less of a protector and more of a captor.
It was clear, at least for now, that she would do as she said. Her obedience may not had been bought with fear but he had given her no option but to trust him, he had made a well painted picture of a narrow tunnel and his aid was the light at the end. It might had not been fear, but it was something he knew that was worse; a cunning confinement with the chains of a promise that may never be fulfilled.
"As long as you keep your word", he said slowly, in a rather husky voice that tainted it with momentum and authority, "It can be whenever you want". He finished. The food was rather untouched, Beric figured that he should have let her eat before disclosing the information. He wanted her healthy and a part of him wanter her happy, however it might not be the most convincing part of all. Still, even if he didn’t end up filling his part of the arrangement and delivering her to her home, to Scotland; maybe she’d eventually find some sort of living in England, maybe she’d stay.
And who knew, perhaps a third part of him had already visualised Jeyne as part of the Brotherhood. Their relationship began with lies but it didn’t necessarily had to end that way. For now, he was happy to have a solid I promise, to have her on his side. If only Arya was so easy to convince.
Beric exhaled, “She may not be Sansa”, he said, the thought of the sister too far away, she was merely a fact, a name without a face, even if he had seen her in person several times, she seemed foreign. It was the effect that the looming shadow of the Lannisters had on anyone they managed to get their claws in. He did not dare to feel sorry for her, Arya was in the same exact position after all, and he was no better than the Lannisters when it came to political hostages.
The fact that Jeyne’s last name was not Stark only positioned her on a slightly less material light. “But she’s her sister and right now she’s the only memory of family you have - the only that you may have for a long time”. He paused before taking a look at his watch, then he looked back at her again and smiled, “I have to go, but if you wish to take the day and - make plans, take decisions”, Beric paused one last time, “That you may”.
"You think by offering my father’s head on a silver platter I would be choosing my children?" she said then, blinking. "You’re delusional, Beric. It’s a dangerous world for delusional people. Eddard Stark was a very delusional man.” Cersei smirked: the threat was tangible.
With the door closed, Cersei wondered about the men outside, and the guns tucked away into their holsters. She glanced towards the door, then let her eyes wander across the empty, dimly-lit room. It could have almost been romantic. How ironic.
"i’m afraid I have to reject your offer," she concluded, and as she did just that she felt the walls tightening around her. Like a prisoner signing his own death sentence. We’ll have to be quick. Cersei thought of Jaime, of Tywin, of Tommen and Myrcella. She would have to tell them before Beric could brag about it in the open. When she inhaled, slowly, there was a weight sitting atop her chest, keeping her lungs from inflating to full capacity. The less of two evils.
"You’re making the worst mistake of your life Beric," she added, smiling sharply. "People have antagonized me for years. Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark. Stannis. My brother Tyrion." The last name, she dragged syllable by syllable. "They’re all dead, or pariahs, hated by their own people. Don’t choose the wrong side, you will regret it, I assure you."
"Trust me", he started sharply, spitting out the words, "You will care".
Beric inhaled deeply, his eyes set upon the unmovable face of the woman sitting across the table. Whatever snide grin his arrogance had kept upon his lips, it vanished in the moment she declined, “That sounds remarkable like a threat”, he hissed, more absently than consciously, stating the obvious. And perhaps he oughted to worry, but he had already made plenty of enemy and he had already considered the Lannisters among them. Even Thoros was among them now. Her threats, her allusions of vengeance, of the right and the wrong side; it all became venial in the grand scheme of things, like a discernible wave of consequences that he already measured.
Yes, whether he wanted it or not, he had already contemplated the prospect of this outcome; it didn’t make the blow less - regrettable. It was different that other failures like had been experiencing in the past months, different than Varys’ threats and the faceless’ statements of leverage, when those who held upon their words had something to bargain with, when they had power over him. Cersei hadn’t turned the cards around, she didn’t know something he hadn’t seen coming, she held no gun under the table, she simply said no. And that, to his pride, weighed more than a gun pressed against the back of his head.
And in that moment he wanted nothing more than to call Anguy and tell him to publish it in every corner that the Brotherhood could reach, and Gendry, to leak it through the holes of TMC; let Cersei’s friends appear her enemies. It took every inch of his will force to restrain himself from acting on his urges of anger and frustration.
He breathed out and forced a smile, “There’s the door, clearly we have nothing more to talk about”, he had to admit, he couldn’t look at her or speak with her and not appreciate the quality of holding her ground against these circumstances, still, that appreciation was quickly replaced by the bane of her denial. His voice vibrated a frequency of perfect viciousness, he took one last sip at the cup of wine in front of them.
"If I am making a mistake", he continued, lower, "You are making another one", he placed the cup back over the table, slowly and with care, focusing his attention on those movements instead, preferable to displaying the hideous fact that she had gotten to him, that even if he contemplated this outcome, his vainglory made it impossible to tolerate the conversation any second more. "And I would be afraid indeed - but for them, for Myrcella and Tommen".
So Beric stood up, fixing his tie and looking down at Cersei before giving a reluctant courteous nod, followed by a small smile that served as mask of his gritting teeth. “Always a pleasure to see you”. He didn’t wait for a reply to walk towards the door, in his pocket his hand played with the edge of his phone, contemplating the idea of calling Anguy right now.