protector of the realm // game of thrones // closed

[fortissimo]

𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍
house tully | location: courtyard → red keep | tags: roselyn | mentions: rhaello, rheva, ameria

indentAusten found himself smiling and nodding along to Roselyn’s words; even if it was propriety dictating she offer to share another dance with him later in the evening, his traitorous heart dared yet believe there to be a mote of truth found in her polite words. Even so, he was left utterly speechless and dumbfounded in the next moment, his mind suddenly devoid of anything but white noise - for the second time in a single night! - when he felt the faintest brush of soft lips against his cheek. By the time he truly comprehended what had just happened, one hand reaching up to brush the cheek in a moment of weakness as if trying to ingrain the sensation into his memory forever, she had already retreated. Suddenly remembering where he was, standing by the dance floor with what was undoubtedly an astonished expression - not unlike the earlier reactions to Rhaello’s surprise announcements - Austen cursed himself for getting lost in the moment and quickly retreated back to where Fionn stood, giving the dancers more room lest they accidentally bump into him. It occurred to him that the next song was a slower, romantic one, far better-suited to an intimate dance between lovers that might wish to hold each other close. He certainly didn’t belong among these pairs of star-crossed dancers — as much as he might have liked to invite Roselyn to join him for this song as well, the closest he would ever come to admitting his true feelings for her, she deserved a break to catch up with her friend.

indentOnce Austen was at his brother’s side once more, he allowed his surprise to morph into a pleased but shaky smile, still half convinced as he was that this was all a dream and everything would fade away once he woke up in his chambers at Riverrun. He was so lost in his own world that he didn’t even notice the bemused look Fionn sent his way, though the surreal reverie he found himself under the spell of was broken by his brother’s words. “So, what was that about?” A more neutral, aware person might have noticed the teasing lilt to Fionn’s voice, but Austen, whose perceptiveness was forever tainted by his understanding of Fionn and Roselyn’s mutual feelings for one another - poorly hidden, if you asked him, by the way - instead stiffened as he realized who exactly it was he was speaking to. Seven hells, he’d been so wrapped up in Roselyn’s spell that he’d forgotten about the real apple of her eye, the White Cloak who was clearly staring him down at this very moment; where one person might see amusement dancing in his younger brother’s eyes as he put two and two together, Austen instead saw the scrutiny of a scorned lover. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty for snatching her away for just one dance, as much as he knew in his heart that he should have.

indent“We were just dancing,” Austen mumbled in response, his cheeks coloring (or were they still red from after she’d pecked him? Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past himself.) as he ducked away from Fionn’s questioning glances. Instead, he decided to distract himself with another drink from the nearest servant, taking a gulp of the wine as he tried to calm his racing heart. Since Roselyn had kissed his cheek, it was like he was seeing the entire courtyard - the entire world, even - in a whole new light, through rose-tinted lens. Though if he was being honest with himself, the kiss had only exacerbated this feeling… it had actually started the moment he put his hand on her waist and led her into the quickstep that was their dance. Maybe this was what first love was supposed to feel like, with all the euphoria and surprise of a young person who had just learned the person he loved felt the same way; and while he knew this wasn’t a fairytale, Austen couldn’t help but want to indulge in that fantasy, that feeling of being on cloud nine, for just a few moments more, before the harshness of reality would sent him hurtling straight back down to the ground.

indentThe knight gave an unbelieving hmm in response, before shrugging, seeing that Austen was not receptive to light-hearted jesting at the moment. “Alright, then. I’ll just ask Rosie. Looks like she’s headed this way.” That caught Austen by surprise, and he almost choked on his sip of wine. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but honestly he had thought she might spend a little more time with her friend. Whirling around, he saw that Fionn was right. The lady in question was walking towards him and Fionn with a determined glint in her gray eyes. He would recognize that look anywhere; he remembered it to be the expression she wore whenever she was dead-set on something, and practically nothing would stop her then. Given that he had spent so much time during their childhood simply observing her, trying to memorize the many facets to her, perhaps it was no surprise that he placed it so quickly. As if it were fate, his eyes locked onto hers in an instant, not wavering even once. He found himself holding his breath, his heartbeat picking up yet again, having hardly been able to catch a break since their little pas de deux, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if she was coming over for him or for Fionn.

indentPlease let it be for me. His thoughts betrayed him, but for once he couldn’t be bothered to care, daring to hope after the dance they’d shared.

indentThe moment his name dropped from her lips, he let out the breath he had been withholding. Maybe she was there for him, then, and… as foolish as it was, he couldn’t help but optimistically wonder if she had approached with the prospect of asking him to share this slow dance with her. If that were the case, then there was no way he could deny her this one request, no way that he could deny himself yet another opportunity to hold her close and pretend just for a few moments that she was his and he was hers. In the seconds they held each other’s gaze, he thought that everything was moving slower — this celebration, time itself…

indentAnd that all changed as soon as an unfamiliar figure stepped in between them. Austen blinked in confusion, his daze broken as he dared a glance at this trespasser. No, that wasn’t the right word for it; this was a party, after all, he had every right to be here… but still the Lord Paramount couldn’t help but feel like the newcomer had been interrupting something very important, as the magic of the moment had been utterly broken. Unsurprisingly, Austen didn’t have the best angle of the young lord, standing behind him as he was, but the head of dark hair, tanned skin, and hint of an accent confirmed that he must be a Dornishman.

indentVorian Yronwood, Austen memorized the name, if only so he would have someone to curse out later once he was alone in the comfort of his own temporary chambers. He recognized the name, of course — the overseer of Yronwood and protector of the Boneway, and all of Westeros knew them to be the second most powerful seat in Dorne behind only the Martells. Even the Daynes, who boasted the only sword on the continent (as far as he knew) to be made out of a meteorite, paled in comparison to the Wardens of the Stone Way.

indentAnd then the world fell away beneath his feet and Austen wasn’t sure what, if anything, was keeping him upright anymore. He barely even heard the shocked, strangled response from Fionn in response to this newfound revelation.

indent“I’ve just secured your hand in marriage, we are to be wed within the week.”

indentThis was… this was news to him?! And given the startled look in Roselyn’s eyes, to her as well! When the Grand Maester had been prattling out betrothals on Rhaello’s behalf (without any consideration for the poor saps on that list, mind), Austen was quite sure he hadn’t heard her name called out. Poor Rheva, though, hadn’t been so lucky… in any case, though, his lady mother would certainly have told him if one of his bannermen was to be wed. She liked to keep her finger on the pulse of societal gossip, so to speak, especially the Riverlands in particular, and she always made sure to keep him in the know about such things too, even when he clearly had other, more pressing matters to be concerned about. Surely this must be a recent development, then. Glancing away from Roselyn and her… apparent betrothed? for a split second, he spotted the familiar head of Lord Graige Mallister watching the pair from a safe distance away. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this must have been his doing, considering the annoyingly pleased look on the Lord of Seagard’s face! Meddling fool…

indentBefore he could think too hard about Lord Mallister’s machinations, Austen saw Roselyn falling backwards and he instinctively ran forward and caught her in his arms, perhaps not-so-kindly shoving past her affianced without a second thought or backwards glance (hell if he cared in that instant anyway, social standards be damned!), careful to make sure her head didn’t hit the ground. Once the adrenaline of the moment wore off, he tried to rouse her, shaking her gently. “Roselyn? Are you okay?” At the very least, she was still breathing, so he didn’t need to worry about that, but maybe the shock of the sudden betrothal and all the wine ingested that night had finally caught up to her. She deserved a chance to rest rather than being accosted by this… this stranger, no less!

indentAs if Vorian Yronwood could read his mind, the lord suddenly snapped at him, “Excuse you, ser? I would kindly ask you to take your hands off my fiancée.” The Dornishman’s tone was testy, clearly not having taken to Austen’s actions very well — and being referred to with ser rather than his proper title was definitely meant as a slight, no doubt about it, or perhaps Vorian was more the fool and had yet to recognize a Lord Paramount. Idiot.

indentStanding back to attention, Austen met Vorian’s eyes with a steady stare, one that he hoped gave absolutely nothing away — least of all his feelings for the woman in his arms. “I was merely concerned for the lady’s health.” The fact that that wasn’t your first concern is rather telling, isn’t it? He decided it might be better to keep that little thought to himself. “Surely it would be acceptable to you if I escorted her to her solar? It seems that she has tired of the festivities for the night.” And your presence, he added in his mind, though he supposed his glower more than likely gave it away already.

indentHe thought his request to be a reasonable one, but Vorian’s glare seemed to intensify with each word spoken - if that were even possible - and his voice rose in volume as he replied, “Get your hands off her this instant or I’ll-” Thankfully, before Vorian could finish his thought, Fionn pushed himself between the two bickering lords, one hand not straying from the hilt of his sword even once.

indent“Is there a problem here?” Fionn’s words were authoritative, but there was an edge to his brother’s placid smile that Austen suspected others would not as easily notice. “I would like to ask that the both of you not disturb the peace, unless you wish to incur the king’s wroth. Then by all means, go ahead.” Although he gave the warning to both parties, Austen could tell the barbed words were mostly aimed at Vorian, who looked ready to retort until he spotted the white cloak worn around the younger Tully’s shoulders. The Kingsguard were some of the greatest fighters in the realm and their reputations certainly preceded them, perhaps even enough to cow the presumptuous and clearly hot-headed Yronwood lordling into quiet obeisance! All things considered, it was a fair word of caution too, considering they were still in the courtyard where everyone - including Rhaello himself - could see what was happening and pass judgment, as if they had any right to do so when they weren’t involved in the first place.

indent“I certainly wouldn’t want to ruin a good party,” Austen remarked, unable to hide the snide edge his voice took as his gaze didn’t once leave Vorian’s. Upturning his nose, he said, “I’ll be leaving, then.” Fixing the Dornishman one last gaze, which he liked to think conveyed both pity and irritation in equal measure, he turned and departed from the courtyard. Vorian Yronwood certainly wouldn’t be pacified just because of a warning from Fionn, but Austen suspected that he didn’t wish to cause a scene in public.

indentHe wasn’t seriously going to challenge me to a duel, was he? Just because I wished to help a friend?! The thought gave Austen momentary pause. Truth be told, duels had been placed over sillier things before. He was by no means a great fighter, more a scholar really, and Dornishmen were known for their fierce fighting tactics; chances were he wouldn’t last a second against such a seasoned warrior, even if he liked to think his skills with a polearm weren’t half bad. At least Fionn had his back. Honestly, he half hoped that Princess Ameria or Prince Caius might have been paying attention and would scold Lord Yronwood for his callous behavior later; that might knock some sense into the other man… or honestly, it probably wouldn’t.

indentAs he made his way back into the Red Keep, thankful for the privacy and quiet that it provided compared to the noise and horde of people in the courtyard, Austen paused once he realized… he didn’t actually know where Roselyn’s temporary solar was? They’d only just arrived today, not even having had the opportunity to unpack yet! Well, he supposed he could ask the nearest servant, but servants could gossip too, and if word got out that he and Roselyn had been together without a chaperone - even if he really just wanted to make sure she got to bed safely! - then the last thing he wanted to do was harm her reputation, even if he suspected that her fiancé’s hot-tempered attitude would do so readily and carelessly.

indentAt least now that he was away from everyone else - aside from the unconscious lady he was still holding onto - Austen could finally take a chance to catch his breath and really… comprehend what had just happened. It had all passed by so quickly, a “blink and you’ll miss it” moment. Aside from shock, he definitely felt angry, not for the reason Lord Yronwood may have thought but because the other man had treated Roselyn as if she were little more than a possession. There was a sting of jealousy, too, knowing that Vorian would marry the only woman Austen had ever loved, but it was a sad, pathetic imitation of the envy he had felt his entire life at the close relationship she shared with Fionn. Whereas he had been indignant and righteous at the thought of Rheva having to be sent off to the North, now Austen simply felt cold and uncomfortable dread settling into his heart. For a long time now, he had resigned himself to playing the part of a side character in Roselyn’s life, one there to support her but never to take the spotlight. He remembered dreading that she would be sent away to the Reach after her engagement to Erac Redwyne, and now it seemed her future would rest in Dorne, even further south from the Riverlands.

indentBut this was her life, and even if he didn’t like the man her father had chosen for her, it wasn’t his place to interfere.

indentResigned, he decided the best course of action, for the time being, was simply to walk the path that lay ahead of him. And first things first, he should wake Roselyn, and let her choose what happened next. If she wished to return to the courtyard to speak with that boar of a man, then he wouldn’t outwardly complain no matter how much his heart might protest at the thought.

indentGently shaking her again, this time a little more insistent now that they were out of the public’s eye, Austen tried once more to see if he could stir her from her sleep. “Rosie? Rosie, are you alright? Please, if you can hear me, say something.”

[brunchman2000]

▓▓▓▓ 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ▓▓▓━━ knight of casterly rock - he/him - twenty five - link; ✧
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xxxxxxxxxxxx𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐; amelira, vaera • 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗; casterly rock • 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜; vaera
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indenthis mother’s question was… shocking. for a moment he was almost angry at her for asking them to answer something like that, something so serious, something that made him doubt himself and what was between them.
indenthis first thought was that yes, he did love lira. there was something in him that had been hardwired to think that love was a rare thing, hard to express, more uncommon than the poets and singers would have them believe. love was something that was meaningful, and usually built up over time. there was the notion of love at first sight, which was what he was sure he had experienced the first time he’d set his eyes on amelira in the dim light of that party. he had felt the pang of love that night, had felt it when he’d kissed lira and when they’d run giggling through the hallways like a pair of giddy children. that had been so long ago though, something that had remained a fond memory for him during the past four months. and now that it had reentered into his life, he was sure that the feeling still remained. love was not a fleeting thing, it was permanent. if it was the real thing, then that meant it stayed in one’s heart no matter what happened. he was sure that what he felt for lira was genuine, the purest form of love in existence. even though they had spent less time together than there was in a single day, he knew there was something special about her, something special between them.
indentand yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling he got in his stomach when he thought of love. he wondered if he had loved leuka when they were children, or even alliser, whom he had ripped from the world. he was sure that that was love too, and it felt like a betrayal to both of them to love anything else. was there enough room in his heart for them all? could he love lira and their child while also loving the bittersweet memories of his childhood?
indenthe realized then that this was his chance to change something. if he said he loved lira, which he did, but if he echoed it out into the world, solidified it with proper words, maybe that would mean that he would have to leave the past behind him. he didn’t think that there was enough room in his heart to go on loving the past and the present, and he wanted the future that was in front of him so badly. it was only reaffirmed for him when lira opened her mouth to respond, confirming that she did indeed love him too. but then she looked at him with those beautiful eyes of hers, questioning and longing to hear what his answer would be. but there was never truly any question to what he would say, for in this life and the next it would always be…
indent”yes. yes, mother, I do love her.” they were simple and sure words and he found them coming easier than he’d expected. he could feel his ties to the past severing, and while he didn’t doubt that he would still be haunted by some memories, he was glad to finally get some peace, even if he wasn’t entirely convinced that he deserved it. it was all worth it to see the glimmer in lira’s eyes, how they softened with love, how she smiled ever so slightly. she looked like a perfect spring dream, ethereal, like a doe in a clearing, snuffling at a little pink flower growing up in the moss and grass. he loved her with his entire heart now and he was sure of it. surer than he’d been in his entire life about anything. he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.
indentand he loved their child, that she carried, that would one day breathe the air of casterly rock, feel the spray of the sea on their skin, hear the beautiful twinkling laugh of their mother. and who would love lira too.
indenthis own mother looked pleased at their matching commitments laid out before her. and he knew that the most important test had been passed. of course, he was sure that his mother would still question them occasionally, just to test that lira was the best possible fit for one of her golden lion cubs, but he knew just by the smile spreading on her curved lips that she was relieved and pleased to be able to welcome lira, and their child, into the family with open arms.

[fortissimo]

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐀
house velaryon | location: the red keep | tags: rohana & zephyron | mentions: torr, rhaello, wyllam

indentDaena let out a breathless laugh as Rohana stepped up to join her, intent on fixing whatever her hair had turned into. “Of course, of course! Go right ahead.” In truth, she’d nearly forgotten all about their earlier discussion on her questionable hairstyle, what with enduring the seemingly endless teasing about Torr and then bumping into Zephyron shortly after, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain or stop her friend. Turning away from Zephyron to look into the mirror and give Rohana more freedom to work, she was almost taken aback by her reflection. What she saw was a sad imitation of the elaborate, if admittedly complicated, coiffure from this morning that her lady-in-waiting had put so much time and effort into. The style may certainly not have been to Daena’s tastes but she almost felt bad for how much of a mess it had become, with strands of silver-blonde hair falling out of place. Perhaps it was a blessing they’d retired to her room when they did, lest anyone else catch her in such a disheveled state. “I look like a right mess,” she contemplated out loud with an amused smile. Better to own up to it than get embarrassed!

indentRelaxing as Rohana set to work, Daena watched her friend’s handiwork, every precise movement made with deft and practiced hands echoed in the reflection before them as her hair was finally let loose from its troublesome restraints. When the luxurious locks, once freed, fell to her shoulders, she honestly considered simply stopping Rohana then and there, and going the rest of the evening with her hair loose, though she ultimately refrained from doing so; it was, truth be told, the way she liked to style her hair (that is, to not style it at all!), serving as a reminder of the many times she looked to the horizon from the familiarity of a ship’s deck, sailors working rigorously behind her to ensure the journey was a safe one. Even when the sun shined high and bright above them, the wind was always stronger on the open ocean, and there had been many a time where stray strands of silvery-white blew unceremoniously into her eyes, impeding her vision until she brushed them away. While sometimes annoying, the feeling of wind in her hair and sea spray against her face was nevertheless a comforting, familiar sensation.

indentShe missed those days, and she hoped it would not be too much longer before she would be able to set sail once more — perhaps this time, to the Smoking Sea, and the shadows and mysteries that lay beyond it? Sure, marriage meant that such plans might have to be put off until after the wedding, but she liked to consider herself a lady that kept her word. She had made a promise to Torr Harlaw and she certainly did not plan to back out from it now, simply because Rhaello had decided to wed them to other people!

indentAlthough she had momentarily lost herself in her own nostalgic reminiscence, Daena nevertheless noticed when Rohana stilled at the mention of Wyllam Hightower’s name (or rather, title). Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips at that response; that wasn’t a good sign of whatever had transpired between them back in the courtyard. It seemed that she had not been remiss to believe he needed a stern talking-to after all. She raised a hand, intending to take one of Rohana’s own as an act of comfort even if it might disrupt her work, but before long her friend had returned to tending to her hair as if nothing had been amiss at all. Anyone not paying close enough attention could have missed the minute, but significant, reaction to the mention of that flighty maverick.

indentAs Rohana began speaking, Daena listened intently, careful not to move her head too much lest she disrupt the other lady’s workmanship. That made sense, then, why Rohana had been tending to the Hightower scion in the first place. She suspected that, had her friend been given a choice in the matter, she wouldn’t have wasted even a second of her time with the man, who no doubt didn’t realize that having Rohana’s attention was a blessing in and of itself and had simply taken it for granted. Perhaps he even enjoyed having a lady of Rohana’s caliber waiting on him hand and foot? The thought galled her; though Daena normally knew better than to make wrongful assumptions of others, she could admittedly be… just a bit short-sighted (okay, a lot short-sighted) when it came to looking out for her friends and those she loved! “No doubt that was Lysandra Stone’s charming little idea,” she thought out loud with a snort that was undoubtedly not ladylike in the slightest. She briefly weighed the consideration of giving the head handmaiden a stern lecture as well, but no doubt Lysandra would not appreciate Daena’s opinions on a matter that was, admittedly, none of her business.

indentThe feeling of a brush gently weaving through Daena’s hair was almost enough to calm her down at the reminder of how the Reach lordling had reacted to the betrothal announcement, her nose having wrinkled up into what could best be described as a scowl. Although she was used to having her ladies-in-waiting prepare her hair in the morning, there was something different, something more comforting, about the action when Rohana was the one behind the brush; it vaguely reminded her of her childhood days at Driftmark when her mother used to do the same for her, before the Lady Velaryon had been too busy with her wifely duties to spend such personal time with her daughter. Somehow, the soothing action caused her to feel a bit sleepy, tired from the drama of the day, though that was more likely the wine having its effect as it so often did…

indentAt least until Rohana spoke up again, and said tiredness was immediately thrown out the window as Daena jumped back to full awareness at the words coming out of the Royce’s mouth! Huffing at once, she whirled to face the other woman, eyes glimmering with righteous indignation. “Do not listen to a word he says. Any man would be lucky to have you!” she insisted with a theatrical roll of her eyes. Granted, did Rohana want any man besides the lover felled by her kinsman’s sword? Perhaps not, but that didn’t change the truth of it!

indentThe way Rohana paused, almost tearfully, before finally concluding her thoughts on her new betrothed with “He’s a man, that should tell you enough…” cemented the scowl on Daena’s features. Were her mother here, no doubt she would chastise her daughter for wearing such a distasteful expression, but she couldn’t help it! Although outwardly the statement gave very little away, vague enough so as not to arouse suspicion, Daena knew better from all the time she had spent in Rohana’s company. Maybe if they were alone together she would have said more on the matter, but given that Zephyron was here, well, that was no longer really an option. Not that Daena regretted inviting him along, far from it, but she knew her friend would not be very keen on saying any more in the presence of others. Better not to press for details for the time being; there would probably be time for that later.

indentShe opened her mouth to say something - probably just more insults at the expense of Lord Hightower, to be quite frank - but Zephyron beat her to it, causing her to snap her attention to him with a widened gaze, surprised at his interruption. In the time she had known him before now - which admittedly wasn’t as much as she would have liked, but now that their futures were apparently tied together, who’s to say that wouldn’t change? - she had never heard him spout such vitriol before! Sure, he had a propensity toward complaining about this and that, but the gripes she’d borne witness to before paled in comparison to the passion and ardor now present in his tone. Clearly, this matter was more personal to him. At that, her surprise melted into a smile and she nodded vigorously in agreement. Any doubts she might have had about him before, whether he was one of the family members to have frozen Rohana out after the death of her special one, were all but gone now, and her heart warmed at the protective concern he seemed to be showing for his cousin’s sake… although honestly, maybe it was wrong of her to like him more for insulting someone. Oops? But then again, did that matter so much when the person in question had insofar proven himself to be an insufferable rake? Hmm.

indent“Yes, exactly!” she said excitedly, only to pause briefly at the sheepish expression Zephyron wore as he quietly sat back down. “No need to apologize, Zeph. You’re absolutely right! Wyllam Hightower has done nothing to deserve Rohana’s hand. Frankly, he should kiss the ground she walks on, that ungrateful brat!” Okay, maybe she was getting a little too caught up in the moment now, but could anyone blame her? This was her best friend they were talking about! And in the heat of the moment, Daena didn’t even realize that she had used a more affectionate nickname for her fiancé; were she more aware of the circumstances, she might have apologized for her familiarity, but she was too riled up to notice.

indentAbruptly standing, Daena marched toward her closed door, reckless as ever and raring to get going, fully intending to track down Lord Hightower and give him a piece of her mind. Yes, this was, without a doubt, a most excellent idea, and her decision-making skills were certainly not being impeded by the alcohol! What did she actually plan to say to him, should she run into him? Er… well… surely, words would come to her once they were face-to-face. Yes, quite so. Honestly, as heated as she was for the sake of her friend, it didn’t occur to Daena that she was possibly the least intimidating person in King’s Landing when riled up. If she actually managed to get a chance to speak with Lord Hightower, well, her anger might be more cute than ferocious, like a little guard dog fluffing up and posturing to protect their owner. A sight to behold, sure, but more to be laughed at than to be feared; the most intimidating facet to Daena was her father’s position in the court.

indent“Honestly, the nerve of that man! Just you wait, Ro, I’ll set him straight and tell him how unworthy he is of you, and if he’s not in the courtyard then I’ll knock on the door to every single brothel in Fleabottom until I find him-” Halfway through her rant, her hand already on the handle, it occurred to Daena that she had not only interrupted Rohana’s handiwork but also had prepared to leave without any consideration for her two guests. She’d been the one to invite them to her room in the first place, and they’d hardly spent… what couldn’t have been more than a half hour there! Not to mention she was still barefoot. Oh dear.

indentFeeling slightly embarrassed for her hastiness, she turned back to the two and laughed self-consciously; now it was her turn to look sheepish. “Um. Unless you two would prefer to stay here and chat a little longer?” Despite her words, she didn’t move from where she stood, still half-intent on tracking Wyllam Hightower down and yelling at him on behalf of her friend even if she didn’t know the full and gritty details of what had gone down between them, but she did run a hand through her hair, noting that Rohana had, at the very least, finished the braid she’d been working on, which wrapped around her head neatly and made for a far prettier picture than whatever bee’s nest she’d been wearing before.

[archeron.]

𓅃 𓅃 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house mallister . location: red keep . tags: austen. mentions: vorian ]

They were dancing again.

The music was a slow, beautiful lullaby that she remembered being played at one of the many balls held at Riverrun, and she was so utterly in love. He was as handsome as he ever had been in his deep green doublet and his hair tousled that way that made him both roguish and every inch a Lord Paramount of the Trident. There was that smile that she could never resist, the one that quirked ever so slightly to the left where she knew her lips would fit perfectly if she pressed a quick kiss there. She was wearing her favorite dress, the white one with the embroidered roses cascaded down from her waist to the hem of the skirt. It made her feel like a princess, like there was some royal blood in her that immediately drew eyes onto her without trying, but more so, it moved almost as beautifully as the male who held onto her, his thumb tracing one of those roses absentmindedly.

Dancing with Austen was a dream, a perfect little dream that she lived in when the world around her was determined to steal all of the joy in her world away from her. He was so real in those dreams too, she could almost feel the warmth of his body against hers and she swore that the musky pine scent that always had clung to him filled every breath that she breathed in. Apparently her imagination had grown in its ability to recall small details about him while she slept, but she refused to let that take away from the beautiful scene before her eyes.

Austen was holding her, their chests pressed close together as they waltzed across the empty dance floor, their eyes never straying away from each other and bright, elated smiles on both of their features. Roselyn squeezed his hand as he spun her around in a twirl, an unnecessary addition to what was usually a slower paced type of dance, but meant to draw her ringing laugh from her lips to fill the empty halls of Riverrun. It had been so long since she had been present there, in the place that she called her home and would always be where her heart truly lay, but she was glad to be back. Joy filled her veins with bright sparks of lightning, which crackled each time that any part of her brushed against him. Roselyn never wanted to wake up from whatever heaven she had found herself in, because if her eyes opened she knew that there was an eighth hell waiting for her instead, one without Austen or the prospect of another dance. At least there she would be with him, forever.

“I wish this were real,” she whispered, the music fading away to nothing as they both came to a stop at the center of the great hall.

Austen’s hand lifted to cradle her face in his palm, bringing her gaze back up to him as he smiled at her and something sparkled in his eyes. Love. It was love that she saw, and her heart broke to see it, because it was just her mind showing her what she wanted. That was what she wanted, more than anything in the world, and she felt herself giving in for once and allowing herself to pretend that it was real. Her own hand rose to lay atop his, her fingers lacing through his to hold onto his hand, but when she did he pulled away, instead stepping closer and leaning down so his breath tickled the skin of her neck and cheeks. Roselyn could only stare, lips parted as he drew in closer, close enough she felt the barest brush of his lips against hers.

But the kiss never came. Instead she heard his voice, loud and insistent ringing in her skull and forcing that perfect vision away.

“Rosie…”

She had never loved that nickname more than when it had come from him, and even with the ache in the back of her skull, Roselyn managed a slight smile at it. Still, she wished to go back to the dream and reached into the dark, hoping to find it but only finding a growing light that turned from a soft glow to a bright starburst behind her eyelids. If it hadn’t been his voice, she would not have wanted to open her eyes, but it was, it was Austen calling to her and it would have been against her most primal nature not to acknowledge him. She was groggy though, only mildly aware of the feeling of arms holding her close, and still a touch convinced that the voice she was hearing was still coming from her earlier interrupted dream. The mind could be cruel, and there had been many times she had thought she would wake to Austen beside her only to find an empty bed and his voice fading in her mind.

This time when she opened her eyes though, he was there. He was real. Those deep brown irises held tiny mirrored reflections of herself, and she almost cried. The world was still a bit hazy though, and what she was seeing could have just been another dream, so her lashes fluttered a bit as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing.

“Rosie, are you alright? Please, if you can hear me, say something.”

“Austen?” Her voice was so small, almost too afraid to ask, but when the vision cleared it was him holding her. “What happened? I was coming to ask for another dance but then-”

Vorian. Her new betrothed, a man she had never met before who had looked at her as if she were a prize mare rather than a woman.

Though she easily could have stayed there, cradled in his arms, she carefully pushed herself up to sit beside him, a look of confusion and anger pinching in her fair features while the process of understanding began anew. She had known her father intended to find her a new betrothal on the trip, only she hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly, and certainly not to a man who lived so...far away. Dorne was leagues away, hidden so far south that it seemed so unlikely that she would ever see her home again. The sea, the rivers, the trees and the grass, it would all be gone...and for what? What had this Vorian Yronwood promised in exchange for a wife? Ships? Trade? What had it been, what could possibly have been enough?

Once, when she had been younger and first was looking for a betrothal, she remembered asking her father if he would let her pick, and when he had laughed and said it was not how those things worked she had made him a deal: if she could convince Austen Tully to marry her, then he would allow it without question. His daughter marrying his liege lord? The answer was obvious...and gave her one final shred of hope that her fate would not be sentenced to scorching heat and sand. She hated sand. It was coarse and rough and irritating.

“Austen...I-I know that we have not been close for some time...and I know that I-” I’m not the one you wish was asking you this. “Going to Dorne, it would be the end of me. To be so far from the Riverlands, with no friends or family...he’s giving me a prison sentence not a...a life.”

There was a quiet pause as her gaze fell down to her hands, watching them tremble slightly as emotions welled up inside of her, brimming in her eyes and burning her throat until the words were coming out in a rush or cracked phrases.

“I know this is a great ask to expect of someone after being absent for so long, and I know...I know that I am not the one who is owed any favors, but I-I still must ask. The Riverlands will gain nothing from it, but perhaps we both might find some...peace should you agree. I do not expect you to say yes, or even consider anything on the matter, I wish for you to know that, Austen. I am only asking you as a friend, and only appealing to whatever small bit of fondness you might still carry for me from our time together as children.”

She was stalling, she knew that she was, but this had never been the way she had imagined such a scenario, and there was his answer to be heard yet. With a shaking breath, she turned and found his gaze, tears starting to dribble down her cheeks in little streams and finally asked.

“Austen Tully...would you consider taking me to be your wife?”

[nocturna.]

- ───────. ♕|𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍|𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑|♕.─────────────────────────
- - [ 26 yrs ]| [ lord of casterly rock ]| [ location; courtyard ]| [ mentions; party people ]| [ tags; eros, wyllam, ameria ]
- ──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The lion’s mouth hung slack jawed for a few moments, in clear and utter disbelief of what the Maester announced to the whole courtyard. His thought process was near nonexistent as Trystan’s friends gathered around, Eros clapping him with a forgiving hand on the shoulder. He stood dumbfounded and blinking rapidly as if to blink away the memory of what just occurred. Shaking his head, Trystan glanced back at Eros who had begun to scold him on how it was better to be independent of a family’s motives.

Trystan’s green hues fell to the floor briefly. Would mother have had a hand in arranging this? She wouldn’t have… Could she? Surely Lance would have been the better fit for securing Rhaello’s hold over the alliance with his family… Trystan was never versed in the ways of politics; seven hells, he down right detested the games noble families played to gain ever fleeting favor. But, it was easy to disregard such trials when your family already had favor.

He scoffed lightly at Eros’ comments. “I doubt mother had any part in this. She wouldn’t have sent me here without some prior knowledge...” The statement was more an attempt to ease himself rather than try and prove himself to a friend. The moment was thankfully broken up with the arrival of Wyllam. Trystan eyed the normally put together man – he looked like death. It was well apparent the announcement did not spare him either. Thankfully someone else was here to share in the misery. Trystan wholeheartedly agreed at the mention of wine, nodding away like an idiot. Yes, the trio would need every last pitcher in the whole of Kingslanding to nurse them through the night.

Their king certainly wasted no time in continuing the merriment. A band soon struck up a jolly tune which sent guests moving about the courtyard to gather a partner.

The music was able to further shake the lion lord from the last bit of daze. Was he correct in hearing Eros was to wed the murderous Lady Bolton? And Trystan thought he had it rough. “Eros… I heard you were to be wed as well? To a certain… northern…” He tried his best to remain impartial, Rhaello's little birds were to be watching their every move from here on out. “To hell with the formalities!! Did the maester truly say Lady Bolton?” Green eyes flashed in each direction before continuing. “She’s downright mad Eros… if the stories are true, you wouldn’t survive the wedding night.” Anger now replaced the man’s despair - this was a clear and direct threat to his friend’s life. Trystan’s gaze worked over Eros’ face trying to pry an emotion, any at this point, out of his friend. Why was he not more upset by this?!

A petite woman carrying a serving tray topped with a wine pitcher caught Trystan’s attention. He reached out to stop the woman in her path. “We’ll be needing this!” He grabbed up the pitcher and goblets in a quick motion. Before the stunned girl could utter a word, he added: “And keep them coming.” His major concern was still with his friends and Trystan started to pour them each a glass brimming full. He shoved full goblets into both Wyllam’s and Eros’s palms. Wyllam looked as if he needed it more than they both did at the moment. Though, Trystan couldn’t recall the woman he was arranged to marry… Mouth opening to ask their fellow friend about his situation, his question was halted at the mention of Trystan’s own title.

Through the crowd of guests appeared the very woman whose name had just been tied to his – Ameria Martell. His stare now trained on her form, gliding up and down and back again. The pair had never spoken previous (that he could recall; all the time he’d spent in Dorne was but a fuzzy memory resulting from too much delicious Dornish wine), but he’d heard tales of the Princess’ beauty. They did her no justice. The woman exuded confidence. But that confidence concentrated into pure, unrelenting rath aimed straight for him. Joke? Trickery? Did she really think he, a second-born son, had any say in what his marriage path would be?? Confused and thoroughly insulted, golden brows knitted together. “I’m wounded by your disappointment, Princess.” He made no effort to bow even his head in acknowledgement of her arrival. He had the right to be upset too! “But I can assure you, I had no hand in what the maester’s announcement contained. I’m as surprised as you.” Feeling a bit more confident in himself, a flashy grin peaked at the corner of his mouth. “If I held any influence to push an agenda, I wouldn’t be arranged to wed you.” He chuckled slightly, glancing between his friends for support. But their awkward expressions brought the reality of what a serious comment he had just made.

[fortissimo]

𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍
house tully | location: red keep | tags: roselyn | mentions: rhaello, rheva

indentAusten couldn’t help the relieved exhale that escaped him as Roselyn’s eyes finally fluttered open from whatever dream had come to her. It was an instinctual reaction just as most things seemed to be when it came to her, one he had hardly even noticed himself, and even if he had, was it not fair for him to be concerned for her safety? Logically, he knew that she was outwardly fine, she was still breathing and she hadn’t hit her head when she fell thanks to his quick thinking (and no thanks to that lout who had been in his way), but that didn’t stop him from being pulled at the seams with worry, from the twisting in his stomach that only settled down once her gray eyes once again met his own. It was as if some part of him desperately needed confirmation that she was here, with him, and okay — his head had known all along, registering it the moment he heard her soft breaths in the courtyard, but his heart, his foolish, betraying heart, was unsure until now. Just like the relieved sigh that he’d uttered, he likewise could not help the small smile that his expression morphed into, now that she was awake again, and he was glad that he had managed to spirit her away from the courtyard before then. No doubt waking up surrounded by a sea of people, both new and old, would not have been as welcoming an awakening. He only hoped that she was not disappointed that he was the one with her, and not Fionn.

indentI wonder if she was dreaming about him. He had to kick himself for thinking that way, but much like his relief at seeing her hale and well in his arms, it was like a gut reaction to hurt himself - twist the knife in his heart even further - with such thoughts. But how could he not notice, even in his mindless worrying, how blissfully content she seemed in repose, like a true sleeping beauty untouched by the world around her? She must have had pleasant dreams (and of course, he would not wish anything but for her!). So then, was that notion truly so entirely unfounded?

indentHer voice was small when she finally answered him, and Austen wondered if she was afraid. Of what? Of him? Nevertheless, butterflies fluttered when she expressed that she had been coming to ask for another dance. He had suspected as much, before they’d been rudely interrupted, but still, it was reassuring to hear it out loud, to know that it wasn’t just all in his head. He hoped that his smile hadn’t grown at her words; it would be entirely inappropriate given the circumstances that had brought them here in the first place.

indentAusten would have been content to hold her in his arms as long as necessary, the feeling new and unfamiliar yet somehow right all at the same time, just like when they’d stood closer than ever before to share a dance, so he felt a pang in his heart when she pushed away, although the reasonable part of him understood why she had done so. He could only imagine the strange, awkward sight they must have made to any passersby — and indeed, until just a few moments ago when she had awoken, he was fairly sure that he had gotten a few wary, distrusting glances thrown his way by the passing servants, as if they questioned what he was doing with an unconscious woman in his arms but were unwilling to ask such a thing of a visiting lord. It was as if they hadn’t trusted his good intentions, and while that thought mildly annoyed him, it was placated by the fact that he, at least, knew that he would never do anything to hurt Rosie. Not intentionally, anyway.

indentIt took some time for her to speak again, but Austen waited patiently by her side until she did so. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with information all at once, or crowd her with worry or concern. As much as he wished to know her thoughts on the matter regarding her betrothal, she had just been unconscious and he didn’t wish to push her any further after the incident with Vorian. Even the passing remembrance of the Dornishman nearly had Austen rolling his eyes at what a sheer caricature Lord Yronwood made, but he held his tongue and kept these thoughts to himself. Roselyn may be an old friend, a confidante, but he dared not besmirch her betrothed’s good name just yet. Not until he was sure of how she felt about him and the strange situation she’d been placed in. The same situation poor Rheva had been placed in. Suddenly remembering his sister, he felt guilty for having abandoned the courtyard without checking in on her again. At the time, his thoughts had been wholly consumed by Roselyn and her predicament, and he’d thought it made sense to make an exit before Vorian Yronwood found the nearest sharp object to spear through him - as it looked like he might at any moment - but nevertheless, Austen’s words were family, duty, and honor, and he was sorry that he’d forgotten his consideration for his sister, consigned to a stranger in the North. At least Fionn was still there, and Austen resolved to check in on her later that night, after he made sure Roselyn had been escorted to her chambers without incident.

indentFinally, Roselyn spoke again and Austen gazed at her steadily, his brown eyes unwavering, as she continued. “Going to Dorne, it would be the end of me. To be so far from the Riverlands, with no friends or family… he’s giving me a prison sentence not a… a life.” His smile fell in an instant and he grimaced at that. At least now he knew how she felt about her betrothal, and he sympathized with her plight. Her father had fashioned a new cage for her, it seemed. While Austen had nothing personal against Dorne, he had to agree with Roselyn’s unspoken implications that it was far from hospitable (almost as bad as the North, if you asked him, but that was only fresh on his mind because of his little sister). He’d only been to Dorne on a few occasions and he had always been uncomfortable in the sweltering heat and unrelenting sunlight. There was something to be respected about the Dornish who made a living in such a harsh climate, but Austen was not built to be like them. And he, too, did not wish for Roselyn to be taken so far from the more temperate Riverlands. She belonged there; it was home. She belonged there with him — no, he pushed that thought away immediately, unable or simply unwilling to let himself get carried away. Notwithstanding his own opinions on the matter, he still thought she was most at home in Seagard, and he would have been perfectly happy to help her in her fight for her birthright if she only ever asked it of him.

indent“I’m sorry. If there’s any way I can help, please just let me know.” The words felt immediately like a lie as they left him, spoken only for the sake of social propriety more than anything else. What could he do, even as a Lord Paramount, if her father was dead set on marrying her off to Lord Yronwood? It wasn’t his place to meddle in the marriages of his bannermen, not like Rhaello had done so carelessly and callously; he was still making a name and reputation for himself as his father’s successor in the recent years, and he did not want to garner an image as a tyrant amongst his bannermen.

indentBut if she asked him to help her run away, to procure a ship and help her start anew somewhere across the Narrow Sea, he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse her. He had never liked those who ran away from their responsibilities, whether it be himself or others, but he had never truly been able to refuse any request made by Roselyn Mallister either, even if it stood against his ideals; it was perhaps his greatest weakness, shadowed only by his great shame, that being the undying affection he held for her which he wished he had killed properly years ago.

indentAusten listened intently as she continued, not allowing his attention to leave her even once. Clearly, whatever she was about to ask of him was of paramount importance, and it was only right that he treat it that way. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like she wasn’t allowed to ask requests of him, to reach out to her Lord Paramount, and furthermore to an old friend, if she ever needed him. He was half-convinced that his earlier suspicion was correct, that she wanted his assistance in running away, and he opened his mouth to agree to her appeal… only to be utterly and completely taken aback, metaphorically knocked off his feet, when her gaze turned towards him, imploring and sad, tears streaking down her face.

indent“Austen Tully… would you consider taking me to be your wife?”

indentWhatever words he had prepared himself to say - yes, of course, gladly - turned to ash in his mouth. Whereas it felt like time had slowed down earlier when she had come to him of her own volition, now it was as if time - no, the world, even - was spinning wildly on its axis, the ground shaky beneath him, and he suddenly found himself stumbling and leaning against the wall as his head ached something awful, trying to comprehend what she had asked of him. “What?” It was the first thing that had come to his mind, and he hadn’t realized that he had said it out loud. Had he been transported into some alternate reality, years ago back at Riverrun when his eyes sought her out wherever she went and his heart called out for her, yearning and wondering if she felt the same way? His heart sped up so fast he felt like it would crash right out of his chest, and all he wanted to do was say yes, a thousand times yes and shout it out for all to hear, but the world chose to stop spinning at that moment and his ephemeral joy was replaced by dread and despair.

indentSuddenly, the way she had phrased her request made much more sense. How she had been so careful when asking it of him. “I am only asking you as a friend.” The reminder of those words almost sent him reeling into a fit of uncontrollable, joyless laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, though whatever semblance of him remained held back from such a ridiculous display of emotion.

indentOf course, of course.

indentShe had only asked because she needed something, anything, to escape from her betrothal to Vorian Yronwood. It was stupid, asinine, absurd of him to have hoped otherwise, to believe that she might have asked because she actually felt something for him. No, that couldn’t be the case when her heart did not belong to him.

indentShe must be a witch, Austen decided then and there, not unlike the red priestess the king kept at his every beck and call. How else would she have been able to sift through his thoughts, his heart, so easily? Tempting him with the one thing he had alway wanted but could never have, using his shame and ill-advised infatuation for her against him like a spear brandished at his throat.

indentWas this some kind of twisted joke?

indentBut one look at her and the tears streaming down her cheeks - he wanted desperately to reach out and brush them away, but his body wouldn’t listen to him, frozen in place at the revelation she’d placed before him - and he knew that her words were not meant out of malice. They were not barbed to hurt him, although she had inadvertently done so. Roselyn would never do such a thing intentionally; she wasn’t the type to play with his emotions like that. And the sad desperation in her gray eyes cemented his fate. He was doomed. He would never have refused in the first place, not when this was the one thing he had always dreamt of having but could never attain, but Austen could hardly say no against such an expression. If this was truly the only way she could think of to escape her present reality, and if she needed his help to do so, then he wasn’t about to turn her down, even if it meant having to temper his feelings and expectations. She would not truly be his wife so much as a partner in their nefarious plan to escape and fool Vorian Yronwood and her father. He had to remember that, for as long as their marriage lasted, because he would not allow it to be a permanent thing — not when it wasn’t what Roselyn’s heart truly wanted. No, this was the wisest course of action for now, and in a few years once Vorian Yronwood had either settled down with someone else or foolishly gotten himself killed (which, honestly, Austen would not put past him; the man was inches away from picking a fight with the wrong person), then they could simply annul their marriage and she would be free as a bird again.

indentNo matter how much it would hurt him to let her go once more.

indentSucking in his breath, Austen took a moment to recollect himself. He didn’t want to sound shaky or uncertain when he finally answered her, because she deserved a sure, unwavering response, one that would leave no doubt on the matter. Once his mind was no longer spinning with what-ifs and hypotheticals, his gaze returned to hers and he nodded solemnly, his mouth set in a firm, hard line. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I will marry you.”

[tai.]

(X𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑X)X
Of House Uller |Tagged: Ameria, Torr | Mentions: Rhaello, Carden

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

XXXXStill in shock, Azariah was hardly aware of the eldest Martell siblings' arrival, or his conversation with Ameria for that matter. This...Drowning sensation. Did anyone else feel like this? People with so much to experience on their own still, weighed downed with such a new, heavy burden. It felt as if the King himself had tied a weight to her ankles and kicked her into the roaring sea. The waters that fought as much as she. Kicking, thrashing; it was angry, and so was Azariah.

XXXXWho would win? Any person in their right mind would say the sea; but the true victor in question would be the mighty Dragon King, the man that'd offer a vicious smile as he watched you sink. You see, the King always wins.

At least, that's what he thought.

XXXXAzariah quickly blinked away tears that began to form as she felt a gentle squeeze to her hand from Ameria. She would not be made of fool by Rhaello of all people; she would not show weakness in the presence of people she hardly knew nor cared about in the slightest. She was thankful that her friends always knew how to ground her, to tame the venomous serpent that threatened to lash out from within.

XXXXHer expression of anger and fear softened upon Ameria's touch, allowing herself to become vulnerable in her friends' hold. "...We must play along with this silly game, and hold our heads high," Ameria whispered, and all Azariah could do was silently nod. "And when the time is right, we will strike, vipers from the grass." They sure will. Watch out, Rhaello; you aren't the only scaled, cold blooded beast in King's Landing now.

XXXX"We will strike," Azariah repeated after the princess. "I'll try to play nice for the time being, as long as you do the same." Finally, she felt comfortable enough to at least joke around with her friend. The cheery music, the drinks, in the company of someone she dearly cared about...Oh how she wished this could've been back at Dorne; full of familiar faces, people she could laugh and clumsily dance the night away with. But no, instead she had to be here. A place where she could never let her guard down, a place full of strangers that could betray her at any moment.

XXXXSpeaking of strangers, an unfamiliar face caught the corner of Azariah's eye- and was he...Getting closer? Oh no. She didn't have the heart to fully face the stranger just yet, knowing fully well that she'd be met with the present of the Ironborn, none other than Torr Harlaw. Ameria's comment however piqued her curiosity enough to make her get a good look at him practically stumbling through the crowd. "Let's hope he's more graceful in the battlefield than he is on the dance floor," Azariah smiled, glancing over at Ameria. "Pretty, huh? Says the one now betrothed to a Lannister; aren't they well known for their wealth and freakishly beautiful children?" That was, unfortunately, all she could remember from what knowledge Serra and Ameria had provided her with over the years of the noble houses. Guess they never made much of an impression on her. "For both of our sakes, let us hope that both of our men are much more than just pretty faces." She was unable to say more before Ameria was out of view, slipping into the crowd to go to who she could only assume was Trystan Lannister. What she'd kill to fully witness their interaction.

XXXXHowever, she had her own business to worry about. As Torr finally reached her, he offered a smile that definitely lacked any form of genuineness. He was clearly bad at hiding his emotions, but she couldn't blame him for the lack of enthusiasm over their recent arrangement. Unknowing of his true loyalties however, she had to play along as best as she could, in the chance that he was truly loyal to the King, unlike her. She returned a sweet smile, and took the opportunity to fully take in his features.

XXXXAmeria was right with one thing: he was pretty. Hair cut short- from what she could only imagine being to avoid a tangled and damaged mess at sea- and brown eyes as dark as can be, almost like the unexplored depths of the sea. Her sinking feeling personified, in more ways than one. His clothes were ragged, and his scars were visible. There was no denying that he was a man that's had his fair share of battles and won- a feat that was, in Azariah's eyes, admirable. He's clearly able to defend his own and protect those that held his affections; how unfortunate that he may be on the wrong side of the upcoming war.

XXXXThey were both at a loss of words, as if searching for a way to make a decent first impression. Thankfully Torr was the one to break the silence, and upon hearing his voice for the first time, she felt...At ease. His words were kind; awkward, but kind. The best part of it all? He was fine with this arrangement leading to only friendship. Maybe this stranger wasn't the weight pulling her down in this metaphoric sea; maybe he'd be the one to cut her free, and bring her to the surface.

After all, what better hand to reach out to when you're drowning than one belonging to a man of the sea?

XXXXShe reached out to shake his hand firmly, in case he were to make the mistake of underestimating her strength. The callouses on his hand spoke a thousand untold tales of brawls and adventures that she looked forward to one day hearing of. "Lord Harlaw," She found it in her to speak up, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't been told much of you or your family from my lovely tutors, but it is a pleasure to meet you. I'll admit, I was worried when I heard our names together- as I'm sure you were when you heard mine. The Ironborn don't have the best of reputations after all, and I wouldn't doubt if you've heard some interesting sayings about my family." She didn't elaborate nor dispute the claims of House Uller being half-mad or worse, so as the thought could linger in the males head. "And yet, us being paired together was one of the best-case scenarios. Could've been much worse, we could have been betrothed to cold-blooded killers or something." The air no longer felt thick with tension, and she was able to give a genuine smile. "I'd love for this friendship to work out, Torr. Especially if it means avoiding being that dragon's next roasty toasty dinner."

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐕 𝐀 𝐄 𝐑 𝐀

xxxlady of casterly rock // mentions: rhaello // tags: the lannisters, lira, elrie, ameria, serra

xxxShe hoped that it would be true love that was growing between her son and this woman; something real and durable. The kind of love that you'd go to war for; the kind that was golden and constant; the kind that was honest. Perhaps, partially, she wanted it so badly for her children to fall in love with somebody like that because the man she herself had married had been anything but golden or constant; had gone to war for another woman; and lied more often than not. But she wanted it because they deserved to be loved.

xxxSo when Leo and Lira had spoken of their strong affections for each other, Vaera could see it in their eyes that they had both meant it; and she smiled, full of sorrow and joy all at once, and she squeezed their hands tight in assurance. A sense of dread and relief filled her heart. Vaera wanted him to love somebody, only, she hoped that she would remain in his heart, and not become a spectre, a ghostly apparition, a memory.

xxxThat night, they feasted all together in the hall; her sons that remained at Casterly Rock, her nephew, and this lady who was practically a stranger to them all. Yet she had laughed gently, and it seemed to be that so long as Leander was by her side, she was at ease. Vaera watched them carefully as the night went on - the hands brushing, the fingers intwining, the gentle lean into each other. And the hands that rested now and again on Lira's small bump, protective and loving. Any sadness at the prospect of her son opening his heart was soon replaced by the sheer joy at the notion of a baby in her arms; a toddler scuttling down the halls; a child laughing on the sand dunes.

xxxTwo weeks had passed since that night, and Amelira had been welcomed into the lioness' den with open arms. So much so, that Vaera had insisted that she invite some familiar lady company; and so, Amelira's Tyrell cousin, Elrie, was due to arrive on this particularly lovely autumn morning. From the brief time that Lady Westerling had spent in the keep, it was evident that her ties to her family were not close. Vaera had sent a raven to the Crag, explaining that she had requested Amelira's presence, and she hoped they would humbly accept the wedding arrangements that were in mind.

xxxBut today was the day that her sons would return from King's Landing, and that was of far greater significance to Vaera than anything else. A few days prior, she had received a rather skeptical letter by raven from Trystan, a vague scattering of words, indicating that he would be returning to Casterly Rock with company. 'Company' seemed to imply the presence of somebody, or a group of people, that had not originally gone to King's Landing with her sons, but there was no indication of who that could possibly be. He had mentioned that Ozy would be staying put in King's Landing - for the royal wedding, so that House Lannister would be represented in some capacity at least. It made her wary to think of her cub left to the dragon, but for her household to be entirely absent would surely have put Rhaello in a foul mood otherwise. And if any of her sons were to charm his way to sanctuary and safe company, it would be Ozy - so in that capacity, at least, she could be content with the notion of him remaining in the capital with a strong number of household guards.

xxxIt became apparent what Trystan had meant by 'company' when the castle gates opened to welcome home her son, a cluster of Westerlands guards, and a number of extra carriage trundling along behind. Vaera stood in a stiff silence as the hooves of horses came to a stall on the cobbled stone of the open courtyard; banners fluttered in the light autumn breeze, and among them she spotted the golden rose of House Tyrell, as expected, but also the sun and spear of House Martell, which was not expected. A frown furrowed over her brow at the sight of the golden fabric, but that grimace was quickly replaced by a glowing smile, as her golden boy emerged from the first carriage.

xxxShe swooped Trystan into a tight hug, kissing his cheeks and feeling the sting of tears in her eyes; in that moment, Vaera realised just how terribly anxious she had been, having her cubs in the dragon's pit. She blinked, hard - there was no time for tears, joyful or otherwise. "My sweet boy," she cooed, and rustled his golden hair, and she beamed, drinking in the sight of him, evidently unscathed from his venture into the outside world. "Gods know how glad I am to see you Trystan, home, safe and sound." She squeezed his hand tightly, as if afraid to let it go, lest he disappear from her again. Her smile was broad and genuine, and her blue eyes twinkled with the hint of tears that had threatened to spill. Behind him, she saw the Tyrell carriage door open, and young Elrie stepping down from it with grace. "And Lady Elrie; welcome, welcome! Please, make yourself at home; what is ours, is yours... Amelira I'm sure will be delighted to see you." At that, she looked over her shoulder, to the line-up behind her, and gestured to them to greet their guest and their brother. Leo and Amelira, side by side; Lance, standing tall beside Toby, and her two youngest beside them, carbon copies of her eldest son and her only nephew, all of them golden, and the Westerling girl like a glowing ember among them. She offered the young Tyrell girl a welcoming nod, but her gaze was brought then to the Martell carriage, and her smile turned to a straight-lined grimace. From the carriage, there was a flutter of golden sheer material, and two women; the first, she recognised as Serra Dayne, those lavender eyes impossible to misplace, but the second woman... Vaera did not bother to hide her distaste. Ameria Martell stepped out of the carriage and strutted with her nose held high, as if she was too good for Casterly Rock, silly, pretentious little -

xxx"Company?" It was more a demand for an explanation than anything else, and she did not waste her breath on greeting the Martell princess. Vaera knew little of the Dornish princess - only that she had publicly slighted Trystan at a tourney. But that was more than enough reason for her to dislike the girl. "I have to say, I was... not expecting this."

[radio.active.]

𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

queen of the iron islands, queen of westeros ֎֎֎ her solar in the red keep, the great sept of baelor
tags; minerva, rhaello, wedding guests various npcs ֎֎֎ mentions; torr, carrick

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indentIt rattled her knowing precisely how long she had been trapped in these suffocating chambers.

indentA full moon had illuminated the courtyard on that horrendous night as it had tested the very limits of Bea’s emotions and patience, and now a nearly-invisible silhouette sank beneath the horizon. In retrospect, those two, short weeks had gone by with the blink of an eye, though at the time, when all she could bear to do was pace the length of her solar, it had felt like an eternity. Gods help her maids, she had practically worn a rut into the ornate wood floors in her vain attempts to occupy her conscience that so desperately wanted to flee. Wavebreaker still sat in the same spot she had left her in the harbor, tantalizing the nervous heart and calling her to slip away in the night. To sail away to Essos, maybe, though Rhaello could probably find her there. He had sailed there himself in his youth, and it would hardly come as a surprise to find that he still maintained connections on the continent across the Narrow Sea. Perhaps she could sail as far as the Basilisk Isles and hide amongst those dismal ruins, or maybe she could escape through the Jade Gates and make her own living beyond the Known World.

indentBut as Bea watched dawn’s rosy fingers comb across the land through the open windows of her new chambers, she knew it was too late to escape. She was trapped, held captive by that tiny, almost unseen little response that still threatened to haunt her for the rest of her life. It shouldn’t matter to her, that minute furrow of his brow and the flickering twitch of his nose at the idea of their shared past, but gods she would be lying if she said it didn’t. She hadn’t spoken again that night, too enraptured by her own thoughts to stand the idea of continuing a conversation with Rhaello. Before the sun had even fully set, Bea had quietly excused herself and taken refuge within these walls that now threatened to drown her.

indentBlessedly, Minerva and her betrothed remained at King’s Landing as well. In any other circumstances, Bea might have teased the bearish woman for the way she had already established dominance over the Lord of Stonehelm, but humor was sparse as of late. Minerva instead spent much of the two weeks sat in silence, perched on one of the sofas in Bea’s solar as the Greyjoy herself paced restlessly.

indentToday, instead of perusing the novel collection of tomes and poems within the guest chambers, Minerva busied herself with taming Bea’s untamable locks. The braids she twisted and knotted hardly took, a fact that had both women chuckling softly to one another, before Minerva began pinning each strand in place. The end result appeared rather simple, a crown of braids that were very reminiscent of old-style battle braids. Whether Minerva had intended such a connection, Bea couldn’t decide, but the carefully-messy twists felt more natural than anything the maids of King’s Landing could have crafted.

indentNausea washed over her as handmaids carried in the bundle of almost-white material. Ironborn tradition - or lack thereof - made little in the way of demands with weddings, least of all what a woman wore for the ceremony. But in the eyes of the mainlanders and their seven gods dictated she don a gown of white, though Bea could not be the only one who saw the irony in its purpose.Though as much as she despised all that the gown represented, she hated it a little less as her ladies unfurled the offwhite muslin skirts and helped her dress. The soft material layered over itself as it fell to the floor, giving the illusion of a much fuller skirt without the weight and interruption that other materials would offer, and a narrow black silk ribbon looped up the back of the gown to match the pair that cinched her sleeves to her wrists.

indentA thick black cloak was draped over her shoulders, and although she couldn’t see it for herself she knew that the golden kraken emblazoned the fabric. It would be replaced soon, cast aside into some unlit corner of the sept in favor of another black article, decorated with red instead of gold. Bea had never considered herself sentimental of her bloodline in any manner, but the thought of her family’s sigil being forgotten in the shadows brought a bitter taste to her mouth. The sour taste disappeared when, outside in the courtyard, the clocktower bellowed to spur her ladies on. Bea could hardly remember the names of the three young girls, though she was sure they were content with such a fact. The twin girls from the riverlands paled and erupted into jitters whenever Bea’s eyes met theirs, and the tiny Dornish girl seemed convinced that Bea’s gaze would turn her to stone by the way she danced just out of sight whenever Bea turned her head. Even as they made their way down the torchlit halls of the Red Keep, Minerva was the only one who dared keep in step with her.

indentThe Great Sept of Baelor loomed above her, its great maw opening and swallowing her whole was infinitely more threatening than any beast she had ever faced, yet with Minerva at her side she forged ahead. As soon as they reached the doors, though, her dear cousin vanished from her flank to join the assemblage, leaving her to face the towering statues alone.

indentShe would walk the length of the sept unescorted and alone, though that had been her doing. It only seemed fitting that, with all of the traditions she was making a mockery of, she might as well spurn another. A tiny voice in the back of her head whispered, though, of how she was the last Greyjoy. Her father and Scamander were rotting at the bottom of Ironman’s Bay, and Carrick had long vanished into the depths of Essos, leaving her without a family member to walk her into the sept. For a time, she had considered asking Torr to take on such a task, but she could not bring herself to pose the question. Any time she had mentioned either impending wedding, he had gotten a faraway look in his eyes that rubbed her the wrong way no matter how she approached it.

indentThe septon’s droning voice interrupted her thoughts, a grating sound that rattled her brain as he began to recite the words of grace that preceded her sentencing. She focused her attention on maintaining her breathing, and a beat passed before she realized that the septon had finished his speech. With a careful breath, Bea lifted the hem of her skirts and set down the aisle as confidently as she could manage.

indentRhaello stood there, and suddenly her lungs refused to work. Those lavender eyes bore painful holes through her skull as she approached, but she forced the nervous adrenaline out of sight in favor of a neutral expression. Perhaps that was what he would expect, he had made it abundantly clear that he did not expect her to cower under his gaze in their initial audience. Or perhaps he would have expected a smug grin.

indentThe fact that he himself did not have a gloating smirk plastered across his face admittedly surprised her. It would have been wildly out of character even if they were still the dry-humored children they used to be.

indentGods, the septon was speaking again. Bea had no idea where they were in the ceremony, she had only witnessed a handful of mainlander weddings in her time, and a tiny bolt of panic rocketed through her bones. Surely the septon would give her a signal if she had missed something. Right?

indentAs the elderly man - truly, how was this skeleton still alive? - discreetly gestured to her cloak, she began to unfasten the bindings of the heavy black material. She held out her arm, holding Rhaello’s eyes with steely resolve, and let go. The sound of her house sigil falling to the stone floor of the sept was deafening, and that fraction of a heartbeat that it took felt like an entire lifetime had passed. For all that steely exterior she had expressed up until this point, she couldn’t seem to force herself to hold Rhaello’s gaze as he draped the Targaryen colors across her shoulders. She focused her attention on his wild white hair instead, waiting for the septon to give her another prompt.

indent“With this kiss I pledge my love.” The words turned to ash the moment they touched her tongue, threatening to empty the contents of her stomach. It wasn’t a lie, per se, there had been a time where Bea might have acknowledged affections for the Targaryen son. Nevertheless it felt like one, and the nausea that twisted and turned her stomach into knots as she pushed through the last of her scripted vows. “And I take you as my lord and husband.”

[archeron.]

𓅃 𓅃 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house mallister . location: great sept . tags: austen. mentions: fionn, rheva ]

Marrying Austen had been something she had dreamed of since she had been old enough to understand what it meant. Roselyn had imagined him asking her by the river while the birds sang and the spring breeze blew little ripples across the mirror-like surface. She had imagined him confessing his love for her and whispering how he could not think of spending another moment without her as his wife and forever partner. The moment had been so perfect, so real, in her mind, but the reality of where they found themselves now was anything but that. They were betrothed, yes, with her father more than happy to abandon some lowborn lord in favor of having a closer link to the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands who held far more power and influence. Announcements had been made that night, rather drunkenly thanks to Graig’s indulgence in the Dornish reds, and while there had been smiles on everyone’s lips, many had not reached their eyes. Fionn had looked elated at first, but when she had forced a smile and grown tense in his embrace he had known it was not the vision she had shared with him.

It was all fake.

In the two weeks since Austen had agreed to marry her in order to keep her from being banished to Dorne, Rose had caught herself imagining that it was anything but fake. When asked what colors she was hoping to have, or when her bride cloak had been made in a matter of days, she had imagined that he was happy with how things were moving along. Once she had caught her fingers tracing across the silver eagle sewn into the rich indigo fabric of the cloak, imagining that he would smile when he removed it from her shoulders and replaced it with the Tully trout. Other times she had hoped to see some sort of joy in his eyes when others asked how plans for their wedding were coming along, but there never was. Roselyn had begun to hate herself for having asked him, trapping him in a marriage with a woman he could not love when his heart belonged to another. More often than not, when finding herself seated at the small desk given in her temporary rooms, she was tempted to write to him, to send for Mattias so Austen might smile again - even if she was not the reason for it.

At the moment work on their own nuptials had been placed to the side, proving to be a saving grace as she could not find it in herself to feign excitement for something that caused so much pain for someone she loved so deeply. Roselyn had tried to manage as many of the questions and needs coming from outside opinions, but some had required her to disrupt Austen’s time with his brother or his work as the visiting lord that he was. Each time she had been required to disrupt him she had felt his distaste for her growing, and as of late had begun to wonder if he would come to her and demand their false show of...whatever they were doing, come to an end. Instead of hoping for him to come to her door asking for a late night request for a walk, she lay in bed wondering if he would come and say all of the things she imagined went through his head when he looked at her now. Those nights led to mostly sleepless ones, ones that caused dark circles to form under her eyes that not even powder could truly hide. Guilt was eating away at her, and even when she tried to create those fantasies where he loved her, her heart only broke into smaller, sharper, shards.

The royal wedding had become the one topic of conversation anyone wished to speak of at the moment, and was the only reason both Austen and herself had been given a reprieve on their own. It was also what the handmaidens helping her dress twittered about with each pass of a ribbon through an eyelet, or stroke of a brush through her hair. Roselyn let them enjoy their excitement, offering soft words of her own when necessary but mostly keeping quiet as tasks she normally had done for herself were now done for her - something new offered to the future lady of Riverrun. Mostly she thought of the celebration that would happen after the ceremony, of how there would be feasts and dances, and how similar it would be to the night she had first tasted, and then lost, what happiness with Austen might have been like. Chances of him asking her for another felt so far away, like the dreams they had once been, but at least she would be given the time at the ceremony to play the part of his loving betrothed. Her hand would rest on his arm, and she would be allowed to lean into him for a few moments, or perhaps feel his lips press a kiss to her knuckles in greeting. None of it would be real, but the tears she knew she would shed when he inevitably left her that evening would be.

Austen would be waiting for her at the sept, having left earlier to speak with Fionn she was sure, so she tried to move the process of preparing along as quickly as possible. The tulle of her skirt was a dusty blue-grey that matched the satin of the bust, a pretty color meant to be reminiscent of the silver animals that adorned both the Tully and Mallister sigils, or something like that. It was pretty, and it hugged her curves perfectly, flowing down into a skirt that almost resembled the ripples on the rivers they had run along as children. Given any other situation, she might have loved it, but now she considered it a waste, better put on someone else. Fussing over it would have done nothing but slow her down in her journey to standing at Austen’s side again, so she let the women dress her like a doll without any disagreement.

Once dressed, it was a seemingly endless carriage ride to the great sept, one that ended with a squire helping her out and up the equally endless steps. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort, and soft pants came instead of serene breaths, but she was inside soon enough, searching the groups of people gathered until she found the back of Austen’s head. Seeing him, even just the back profile of him, was enough to stir the butterflies in her stomach into the waltz that had been stolen from them before, and her steps became more hesitant as she approached him from behind. Fionn noticed her first, Rheva at his side, and when she was only a yard or so away she found herself pausing, unsure if she would be welcome into their group or if it was better to find one of her other friends. In the end the decision was made for her, with Fionn stepping out and past Austen to stand in front of her.

“You look lovely Roselyn, come, I’m sure your betrothed would find himself happier having something so beautiful on his arm,” Fionn offered quietly, a reassuring smile and a comforting look in his eyes.

Rosely nodded, lightly taking his arm until she was brought to stand beside Austen, her eyes meeting his as her breath was stolen right from her lungs. It had been a day and a half since she had last seen him, mostly due to her own apprehension that he would grow sick of her presence around him, and the fear that she might tell him the truth if she stayed near him too long. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she dipped into a curtsy, bowing her head as she had been taught before again finding his eyes and offering a small smile. Please smile, please tell me that seeing me does not make you wish to run and throw yourself into Blackwater Bay.

The conversation her arrival had interrupted seemed to fall back as if it never had, leaving her standing close to him and searching for the right thing to say, the right greeting that would not make his brows furrow or his mood worsen.

“Hello,” she said quietly, not really sure what else to do other than that. “I feel as though I have not seen you for weeks rather than days.” No, stop that he’ll think you are blaming him for it. “Not that it has been long, I am sure you are busy with the duties someone of your station is required to have.” No, that's worse! You sound like you’re speaking to a stranger. Swallowing again, she looked around the room for a topic that was safe enough to bring up, one that would not make her look so idiotic in his eyes. “The sept is beautiful today, I hope that we might also have a day as lovely as this...for our own wedding.”

Everything felt so wrong, standing there pretending as if he wanted to be making small talk with her about things he took no interest in, dancing around one another as if they were afraid of saying the wrong thing, it all should have been different. It had been so easy to talk to him before, but now each word felt as though she was making a thousand stumbling blows, so finally she leaned in closer to him, lowering her voice so their words would only be between them.

“I...I am sorry Austen,” Roselyn breathed, her voice shaking as she looked between them, her hand lifting as if she wished to take his arm and then thinking better of it. A melancholy smile curled at the edges of her lips as she let her gaze wander over his form and then to his eyes. “You look handsome, even Rhaello might find himself paling if stood beside you.”