Game of Thrones Imagines

The Mockingbird, Crossed Swords and the Manuscript - Petyr x Reader

Petyr wasn't one to believe in soulmates, maybe long ago in the distant past when he hoped that Catelyn would be his; but now as he watched the patron of one of his brothels laugh and drink with the whores below, he no longer deemed the concept worthy of thought.

He had seen so many things, knew so many things, that a belief that the gods had created a woman that was meant to be his, and only his, and that he was meant to be hers, seemed a little far-fetched. The men that were drinking and fornicating in front of him must all have soulmates, yet here they were, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh with one of his girls, surly making the concept of belonging to only one person worthless.

Petyr looked at the soul mark on his wrist, the small design showed two crossed swords and an ancient manuscript, beautifully highlighted in what had always looked like the finest golden features in his skin. He had once spent a long time looking for a sigil that would correspond to his mark, hour after hour searching manuscripts for a house that would match it; but despite his best efforts he had always come up empty handed.

When he was young, he would wonder what his soulmate would be like; but as he had grown older and more world weary, he had more or less forgotten that there was a woman in the Seven Kingdoms that may have been looking for him all these years, a black mockingbird marked on her skin.

Covering up the mark he shook his head; he didn't have time to worry about a woman that may never show, he had more important things to do, and he wouldn't let anyone get in the way of his plans.

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(Y/n) didn't believe in soulmates, she had seen too many things, experienced the worst her world had to offer, and she was too battle hardened to imagine that there was a man that could love her, those thoughts were only meant for sweet ladies that had never had a sword in their hand.

She had been born the lady of a great house, far beyond the reaches of Westeros; she had been bought up a warrior, but also a scholar, her father believing that to be a good warrior you first needed a good mind, and that was what (Y/n) had. She had proved herself in politics and in war, an orator and a fighter; but as war had raged in her homeland, destroying her home, and killing her family, (Y/n) had been forced to make her way in the world as a simple sellsword, sometimes selling her literary services to those that could not read or write, for extra food, or a warm place to sleep.

She had killed too many other people's soulmates to believe that she deserved one of her own; how could a man look past what she had become, she was no longer a lady, just a hardened sword for sale to the highest bidder.

An old brother in arms had called on her, and as she made her way through Kings landing, she couldn't wait to see him again.

Bronn had always been a great friend, and a trusted colleague; they had fought side by side often, and when she had received his message, she had jumped at the chance to journey to the capital, to swap new war stories with the man she viewed as kin.

As she made her way to the meeting place, she couldn't help but notice the strange looks that the passers-by gave her; she never noticed the looks when on the battlefield, as those that stood by her side, or were under her command, would never dare comment on her unusual looks, not unless they wished retribution to be swift and deadly.

She was taller than most, and quite imposing. Through she was well built and strong from all the years of wielding a sword, she had still managed to maintain her feminine curves, not that anyone could tell under her armour and large coat. Like all the people of her homeland, her hair was a shade of the lightest grey, and her eyes a kaleidoscope of colours, that seemed to change from one moment to the next, causing her to be quite a unique beauty.