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

[azhefa.]

Removed

[fortissimo]

𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍
house tully | location: red keep courtyard | tags: roselyn & rheva | mentions: rhaello, viviana, sylvaine, lancelot

\\\\\\Although he wasn’t exactly sure what had compelled him to wrap up the two most influential ladies in his life (excepting his lady mother of course, given that she was somewhere else at the moment and no doubt collecting gossip from some other unfortunate lord or lady or worse, trying to negotiate some marriage alliance for Rheva) into a hug, Austen nevertheless found himself reluctant to let go. He’d acted on impulse, pulling them in before he could think too hard about it and regret his decision, and he would have liked to stay that way, simply suspended in space and time, ignorant to the sea of people socializing around them. Having Rheva at his side felt natural, having grown up with her for years, but holding Roselyn close was a rare treat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d embraced her without pause — perhaps some time ago when they were children and had not a single care in the world. It felt warm and right to hold her even for just that moment, and he relished in that feeling. However, upon being addressed by Roselyn, Austen found himself looking into her gray eyes once more - dangerous hooks that drew him with just a glance, he could drown in them and he’d end up thanking her for it - and he was alarmed at the sheer sadness he saw there. Recoiling immediately as if stung, he promptly let go of Rheva and Roselyn and stepped back, taking a momentary pause to try and wrap his head around what she’d just said.

\\\\\\Had he done something wrong? Unwittingly hurt her somehow? He thought that what he’d said earlier had sounded perfectly reasonable; they’d been talking about their shared history together only moments before, after all, and only a fool would think they had it easier now than they did in their childhood days.

\\\\\\… Why did he always end up saying the wrong thing around her?

\\\\\\It was probably for the best that Austen ended his silly little side embrace then and there anyway. He could see Fionn looking at the three with poorly disguised amusement, though that playfulness quickly melted into concern at the look on Roselyn’s face, and he momentarily felt bad for leaving his little brother out of the moment. Then again, Fionn had plenty of shared history with Roselyn and Rheva - plenty that Austen had had to miss out on, when he was stuck listening to his maester drone on and on about the many great houses or the history of Westeros or what-have-you - so perhaps fair was fair, in this case. More than that, though, embracing a lady in public, even if it was his sister and a boyhood friend he secretly held far closer to his heart than he should, for longer than necessary was not exactly up to the standards of societal propriety. At the very least, a quick look around suggested that no one had really noticed, busy as they were with their own engaging conversations no doubt, besides maybe the servants.

\\\\\\His first instinct, of course, was to play the part of the mother hen, the responsible big brother looking out for his friends, ask her what had upset her and do anything within his power to remedy that wrong. However, she had moved the subject along so effortlessly that he wondered if she was even aware of how heartbroken she’d looked in that instance. Perhaps she didn’t know, and it would be rude for him to say anything about it? Or perhaps she did know, and simply did not wish to talk about it, did not wish for any pity or empathy? Judging by the light-hearted comment made by Rheva - to which he shot her a playful glare - and the newfound attention Fionn was giving to Roselyn, his siblings had picked up on it too.

\\\\\\“Now I resent that,” Austen remarked to Rheva, echoing his brother’s words from earlier, “those adventures may have been totally and utterly foolish but at least they helped us to build character!” He resisted the urge to snort at his own answer, awful as it was. Honestly, he had no excuse for dragging himself, Roselyn, and the twins into so much trouble. They all seemed like such good ideas at that time, yes, even going to High Heart at night to try and fight - er, find, rather, yes he certainly meant find - ghosts, and it was only upon reflecting after the fact that he would realize what danger they’d been in. Whereas Rheva had less derring-do, the Tully boys had far too much growing up. Thankfully he had mellowed out… mostly… by the time he’d reached his teenage years. He liked to think so, anyway. It would be awfully tragic if Roselyn looked at him and still saw a silly, gangly boy growing into himself, trying to fake a natural confidence that he didn’t quite have just yet. Now that he’d been governing Riverrun for the better part of three years, he’d like to think he had matured at least a little bit, although he nevertheless suspected that there was still a small part of him that was raring to lead Roselyn, Rheva, and Fionn in another exciting expedition into the Riverlands. If only they could, given all the responsibilities that had led them to part ways in the first place. He wondered what Mattias would say if he could see Austen now. Would he be surprised at the person his friend had grown up to be?

\\\\\\“I don’t know if they helped us build character, but they certainly taught us all a bit of common sense,” Fionn said teasingly in response. Well now. Touché. But that was rich coming from the man who had convinced them all to go to High Heart! More genuinely, the younger Tully remarked to Rheva before Austen could snark back, “That is a lovely wish, though.” Fionn looked thoughtful for a moment, before adding, “I might change one thing about the past. For the sake of a friend,” but Austen paid little mind to it. He wasn’t an expert on his brother’s mind, the man could be talking about anyone for all he knew. Worse still, maybe he was regretting his decision to join the Kingsguard and the lifelong vows he had to make to get there.

\\\\\\Rheva’s wish - that they could all be together again - was indeed a nice one. Austen secretly hoped for the same thing, but he knew that even if the Seven found a way to throw them all together in Riverrun again, things would never be the same. Fionn could only be there if he renounced or was stripped of his White Cloak, and Austen suspected that such a thing would haunt his brother to the end of his days. And as for Roselyn and Rheva… it didn’t take a maester with a fifteen link chain to realize that their respective parents were keen on marrying them off soon. It was the responsibility of a lady, Roselyn’s father and Austen’s own lady mother would no doubt reason, to one day wed and oversee her husband’s castle. What a load of malarkey! If Rheva wanted to stay at Riverrun for the rest of her life, she should be allowed to, and if Roselyn wanted to be the Lady of Seagard, that should be well within her right to do so instead of having to worry that her father would pass over her for any living male relatives, as he had ended up doing. Although, if he was being frank with himself, Austen would much rather have her overseeing Seagard simply so that he wouldn’t have to see her marry another man. At the very least, it would mean she would never be too far away, staying in the Riverlands instead of being sent all the way to the Arbor.

\\\\\\The thought, then, occurred to him — why were they all so stuck in the past? Since the start of this conversation, they’d been reminiscing about memorable childhood events and now they were thinking about what they could have changed. Was their entire group afraid of moving on, of what the future might bring? It was a sad, sobering thought. As for himself, Austen knew it wasn’t the future that scared him. If he was to be honest, it was living the rest of his days without telling Roselyn how he felt about her. Circumstances had thrown them together after he had resolved never to speak to her again, as if fate itself was testing his resolve to do so, and he had a hard time imagining himself freezing her out again come their return to the Riverlands. As a man who prided himself on his own candor, it felt like not telling her the truth of his feelings was a lie by omission in and of itself. He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t, not when he knew she had already given her heart away to Fionn. Embittered at the thought, he found himself taking another long drink of his wine.

\\\\\\After finishing his sip, Austen realized he still hadn’t answered Roselyn’s question yet, but it required more thinking than just the first thing that came to mind. There was the thought of stopping Mattias from leaving for Essos, but who was he to get in the way of his friend’s dream? Then, there was the obvious answer: yes, I would change things so that you might love me instead, but how could he say that to her? Was that not selfish of him to wish her affections lay elsewhere instead of with Fionn, his dear brother who deserved all the happiness in the world? Would that not make him a monster, a dreadful creature who didn’t care for the feelings of anyone other than himself? Wasn’t it his own self that had, not too long ago, thought that the world didn’t run on what-ifs and hypotheticals?

\\\\\\Oh, he had tried to shift her gaze to himself, to capture her attention with jokes and adventures and whimsies, but he had only ever been successful in doing so temporarily. In the end he had failed, and he had thought himself to have graciously given up. He simply didn’t know the secret to her heart, and he had to learn to accept that, though it broke his heart to admit it.

\\\\\\So instead of the first answer that came to mind, Austen put on a smile and lied through his teeth: “No, I suppose I wouldn’t change anything.” He decided against elaborating and, seeing that Roselyn’s cup had been drained of its contents, quickly found an excuse for himself: “Oh, I see you’ve finished your drink. Allow me to get you another!” Seeing that Rheva also did not have a drink in hand either, he set his own chalice down on a nearby table and left their little group to get the drinks and, more than that, to recollect himself. As he found the nearest servant and grabbed goblets for the two ladies, he noticed the Lannisters had at last arrived. Better late than never, he supposed, though even in his present state of mind he couldn’t help but notice that the eldest son wasn’t with them. Rhaello would not be pleased, and Austen personally was not keen on having to witness whatever temper tantrum the king might throw upon finding out. He wouldn’t have minded mingling with either of the golden-haired lionesses, the Lannisters being close neighbors to the Riverlands after all - but not just that, they had been the first to have been attacked in the recent ironborn uprising and he hoped that Lannisport was recovering quickly - but he had drinks in hand and company to get back to, so he instead nodded at them in lieu of an actual greeting. Maybe they could catch up later.

\\\\\\Returning to Fionn, Roselyn, and Rheva, Austen handed one chalice to his sister, the other to Roselyn, before addressing them. “Well, you can’t leave us hanging; what is it that you all would want to change about the past?” Honestly he mostly addressed it to Rheva and Fionn, asking Roselyn was moreso a courtesy - he didn’t want to make her feel left out, he never wanted that - because he already suspected her answer, had known it for years now: no doubt she wanted to tell Fionn how she felt about him, thus stopping him from joining the Kingsguard in the first place. Then they could have wed and had the happy ever after they both deserved, and Austen would continue to rot in Riverrun alone, letting his unrequited feelings all but consume him.

[radio.active.]

𝐙𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘𝐍

fourth son of the eyrie, charge of the red keep ⋈ courtyard of the red keep
tags; rohana, wyllam⋈⋈⋈ mentions; ro, wyllam,

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indentIf he had not been in clear view of the entire court - and very aware of the many factors of this incredibly uncomfortable situation - Zephyron might have laughed out loud. There was nothing funny about it in the slightest, in fact the tension he could feel even from this distance made his skin crawl with a thousand beetles, but it was all his mind could think to do. The entire interaction before him, of a spitfire lady from the Vale all but baring her fangs and shredding Lord Hightower before the entire court, was quite a step up from his earlier state of mind-numbing boredom, though he would rather pitch himself into the sea below before he said such a thing to Rohana. No, the woman would happily rip him apart with glee if he even hinted toward the entertainment he found in watching her verbally spar with the Hightower man.

indentBefore he could think much more on the prospective doom, Ro hurried towards him. He opened his mouth to say something 0 after all, greetings were still customary for kin, were they not? - but the woman moved far too fast. He could only just process her words before she was half-stalking, half-sprinting away with the two cups, and the slightest of chuckles escaped him. For one thing, there was absolutely no reason for her to call him by some honorific title. He was no more a lord than any other fourth-born son, and even if he were he would hope that family were allowed a little wiggle room about the titles.

indentThe humorous air quickly disappeared, however, when it occurred to him that Rohana had not just been idly bickering with Lord Hightower. The ungodly smirk that crossed the man's face should have told Zephyron plenty, though the too-gentle way she had taken his goblet from him and the measured words of greeting certainly finished the job. Any other man would have moved to defend the honor of family, though Zephyron was quite aware that Lord Hightower could - and possibly would - hurl him into Blackwater Bay. Unfortunately, his own restraint meant very little to deter the actions of others, and Zephyron felt what little hope for survival he had seep away from him as Lord Hightower cast him a withering stare. What had he done? As far as he could recall, the only thing of note was Rohana approaching him and nothing more. Zephyron turned away to try and avoid the man's gaze as much as he could. Gods, Ro could not return fast enough. Even turned away, he could feel the other man's glare boring holes through the back of his skull.

indentWhen the lady finally returned, passing the cup that was now filled to the brim with wine, Zeph released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I hope you don't intend to abandon me, dear cousin, your companion seems to dislike me," he chuckled, only kidding a little bit. "I'm sure you would not be opposed to a break from his company anyhow. I know we haven't had a chance to speak much in recent years, but only a fool would think you would change so much as to tolerate such a brute as Wyllam Hightower."

[archeron.]

✧✧ 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ belongs to no one . location: winterfell . tags: none . mentions: none ]

She belonged there.

With her white hair and fair skin and the dress of the south she might not have looked the part, but deep within her chest below the thick fur that covered her shoulders there was one thing that the young woman was sure of - she belonged there in the North.

Little snow flurries fell lazily from the sky, a few of the flakes landing on the tips of her fingers as she held them up to examine the barely there droplets of water that formed the second those delicate bits of snow touched her warm skin. Some had nested in her hair, almost unnoticeable with how few shades divided the silver and white, and a few had even clung to her fluttering lashes. The snow seemed to be called to her just as much as she was drawn to its silent song.

For a week and a half she had been moving through the keeps of the North, stopping to inquire about precious metals and stones to be carted back to her home shop in King’s Landing and to listen to the murmurs of smallfolk who openly discussed what had been called in Winterfell. A rally. One under the name of the illegitimate daughter of a lost king, nonetheless. Secrets had value, and the ones promised within those looming grey walls she passed through were almost as precious as the silver ore she had also been given a lead on. The blacksmith favored by the Starks would surely have a supplier that would accept payment to add her name to their books, that would be a far easier task than collecting what else she intended to sell. Rhaello, mad as he was, would be intrigued to know the specifics of what his favorite sister was feeding to the northernmost members of his kingdom - or at least his master of whispers would. The price would be enough to buy her a roast she could eat on for a week if she played her cards right, and with the income from her jewelry sales her rent would be covered as well for at least another month or so, depending on if the rat of a man who owned her room would raise the price seeing how easily she could hand over the coin.

A shiver ran down the length of her spine at the thought, the cold not having hardly bothered her since her arrival in the untamed North. There was very little that could weasel its way into gnawing at the woman, but seeing that man’s crooked grin as he held out his paw like the greedy rodent he was made her stomach lurch with disgust. The sharp twist of a retch had her pulling up the reins of her mare and left her leaning to the side of the saddle preparing for the worst and finding the best. As quick as it came the nausea faded into the summer snow, melting just the same as the flakes on her flesh and leaving a refreshing kiss of cold on her flushed cheeks. Growing up she had been told the North was wild and untamed, filled with vicious things that would chew on her bones long after she was gone, but all that she had seen was nature - raw and beautiful.

Her mother would have been happy there, or at least she thought she might have. They had spent so little time together before the cough had taken her, but she knew that beautiful woman would have flourished in the snow. King’s Landing had taken too much though, and her grave sat just outside the walls with only her name to signify she had even existed, but her daughter remembered, just as the North did. She remembered her smile and her laugh, the sound of her voice when she would sing to her at night, and how beautiful her eyes had been, and she knew that her mother had belonged there too. After her father had left without knowing what he had created her mother should have gone North, but the world had been cruel and kept her locked in Fleabottom. No one ever truly left fleabottom.

She would though. She would leave and she would make a life for herself. She would.

The blonde made that silent promise to herself as she came to a halt just within the walls of Winterfell, the great keep looming over her and framed in the most perfect sky of grey. There was a beauty in the plainness of the architecture of the North, one she also felt herself admiring far more than the intricacies of the south where elaborate richness was far more in fashion. Here everything had a reason for existing, everything had a use and a purpose, and she respected that far more than those who spent all their coin on lavishes they did not need. She starved while some lady fed her dog a meal of young veal - it was disgusting.

Not here though, here her name did not define her. She was practically a ghost in the halls of the palace of snow, and she easily floated towards the sound of voices. They were within the walls, and she held little desire to draw attention to herself, so instead she lifted the hood of her cloak to cover her silvered hair and cast most of her fair features in shadow. Reaching for the bag of coins at her hip she moved not towards the main doors and the rally within but instead towards where a few stray servants warmed their hands over a fire. Two women and three men all stood shoulder to shoulder, and none seemed intrigued as she joined them and held her digits above the flames, some flickering in her pale irises as they stood in silence.

“I am looking to purchase some silver for my shop, is the smith in?”

“He’s in with them,” one of the women replied, jutting her chin towards the large doors of the keep. “He’ll be happy with business soon enough. She’s going to be queen, even got those sand snakes up here in the cold.”

Sand snakes...the dornish.

Oh, now that would be worth at least a few golden dragons, and a smile spread across her lips at the shared chuffs of amusement made by those around her. Warmth spread from the flames into her veins, renewing a vigor that had never fully gone out and bringing her gaze up to watch as a few bodies began to emerge back into the crisp air. Perhaps more information might add to her purse before the sun set that night.

“Thank you, I suppose I shall find myself a room for the night then,” the woman returned softly, already knowing from how the woman was looking at her what would come next.

“No places left open miss, not less you want a stable for a bed,” the portly female tsked before glancing to one of the men and then back to the stranger. “You can share my room for the night. It’s warm and you won’ catch a cold. What is yer name though? Should at least know that before bringin’ ya in.”

Perfect.

“You are too kind,” she sighed before bringing her gaze to the older woman. “Asterin. My name is Asterin.”

[archeron.]

❧☙ 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house westerling . location: casterly rock . tags: leo . mentions: none ]

Soft earth groaned under the turn of carriage wheels, small clumps of it being ripped up by hooves and tossed back in the same movement. The journey was not long by any standard, they had left that morning with the sun and it still hung in the sky as the Rock began to appear on the horizon, but still in the mind of the sole occupant of the carriage it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Four months had gone by since she had last been there - four months - and yet her entire life had changed completely. The small swell of her stomach under the fabric of her dress was evidence enough of that. Lira’s hand rested on it as she peered out the small window, the wind from what speen the cantering horses had drawn up brushing by her face and twirling a few locks of her auburn hair free from the simple design she had made herself. The past month she had refused to let her handmaidens dress her, the fear of their whispers keeping her door locked at night and her eyes open as she stared out the window willing the gods to give her some sort of answer. Some path that made sense.

There was no promise that he was even there at the Rock, he might have joined his family in the call to King’s Landing - where her own had left for days prior. The keep might be empty and her one chance to speak to him before...before everyone knew what they had done would be too much to hide any longer. Would he even remember her? There was always the chance she would emerge from her carriage and he would not even recall what her name was, and yet there was some small voice within her thoughts that whispered he would. He had been her first in so many ways, and from what he had told her that night so had she for him, but that meant little to most. It was a fleeting moment in time that would be replaced with a greater love story than a few stolen glances and too many glasses of wine. Yet it meant so much more to her.

Each time she thought of him she could only remember how she had felt walking into that party. It was being thrown for one of his siblings, the exact reason long forgotten, but it had been the first time her parents had invited her to attend with them. Casterly Rock had been beautiful, but he had been magnificent. Leander Lannister. His name still tasted just as sweet as honeyed toast each time it was on her lips. When they had arrived she had seen him across the room talking to one of his sisters, and the moment his eyes were on her there was a feeling she had never truly felt before that had bloomed in her chest. For so long she had been content to be in her sister’s shadow, or not mentioned when the Westerling family was brought up in conversation, but when his eyes had landed on her she had not wanted to hide. She had liked being seen by him, and she had been drawn to him from that moment on. When they had talked he had been such a gentleman, not even seeming to notice when she shyly gave him compliments on his talents as a knight that she had heard of, and when she had laughed at his jokes it had felt as if for once someone had noticed her. It was glorious, and soon enough she was in bliss just being in his presence. What had spurred her to finally press forward and kiss him she did not know, more than likely the scarlet liquid that had given her the bravery to first greet him, but nothing would even compare to the kiss that had come from him after. Or any moment after. It would be a lie to say that she loved him, Amelira did not know if it was possible to love someone after having only spent one night together, but there was a fondness for him that had never faded even after returning home to the Crag.

Even now she felt that flutter of excitement towards possibly seeing him, even over the heavy dread that weighed on what news she carried to him now. Leander had been kind, surely he would be again knowing that he would soon enough be a father.

Unless he sends you away, then what of your child?

“Mother give me strength, and let him understand. He does not have to love me, I only wish...I wish…” The words fell away as the turning of wheels and pounding of hooves again overtook the silence. “I wish he might help.”

If word had not already gone out to her family on a raven’s leg then soon enough it would. An unannounced arrival at Casterly Rock was no small dealing, and there were far more ears and eyes that lived within those walls, so soon enough the Lannisters would know of her visit and so too would her parents and siblings, and then the truth would follow shortly thereafter. Just the slightest thought at having to reveal her pregnancy to her parents brought a thin sheen of sweat to the surface of her ivory skin. That would be a later battle though, and one she hoped she might not face alone after having spoken to Leo. Leo, that was what he had asked her to call him when he had brushed her hair behind her ear and said she was beautiful. No one had ever told her that, not even her mother, and she had believed him. At least in his eyes she had allowed herself to believe that when he looked at her, he saw something worth looking at.

“And you little one, I ask you to be kind so our first meeting might not be me losing my breakfast on his riding boots,” Lira cooed softly, her dark irises flickering down to where her hand rested.

She had not yet felt the baby move, but she was sure of its existence. Her courses came the same every month as sure as rain or the tide, and yet they had been absent for four months now, the fifth approaching much faster than the others. The sickness had come first, always in the mornings and at night and when she happened to smell something that assaulted her senses quite spitefully, and not long after that more and more symptoms had begun to appear. By the second month she was certain, and the fear had set in in the same breath, and then had come the nights spent without sleep imagining what had to be every scenario that could possibly come from the trip she was now making. Turning her away. Laughing and mocking her. Asking if she was sure it was his. Happiness and joy. Tears of anger and excitement. Yelling and whispers of assurance. All of them had lived in her head for so long they had started to have the same essence as memories. They were all real and fake and wrong and right all at the same time. Soon enough one would become a memory, only she had not even the slightest inkling as to what it might be.

Dirt gave way to stone as they passed through the well guarded gates of the Rock, her eyes lingering on a few of the knights as they swept by, only to again turn to the looking keep. Only when they came to a stop and the door had been opened for her did she begin to notice the smallest of details. How did it look so different from the last time she had visited? The colors seemed somehow duller without the moonlight reflecting on it, and the stones lacked the same luster she had noticed running over them with her bare feet with Leander just behind her. That memory hurt the most, how he had kissed her under the stars in the gardens away from prying eyes and ears. It had been the last moment before they…

“Lady Westerling, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Lira spun around and nearly lost her balance as she came face to face with a woman she was vaguely recalling from her last visit. She was a lady’s maid...perhaps Lady Vaera’s?

“I-I um, I wish to...I am here to call on Le-Lord Leander Lannister? Is he in? I have a-”

And there he was, looking just as he had that night emerging from the same doors she had once walked through. He looks every bit a Lannister lion.

And for a moment he had been hers.

“I...I did not know if he was home.”

[archeron.]

Ψ Φ 𝐑𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐜𝐞 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house royce . location: red keep courtyard . tags: wyllam, zephyron . mentions: none ]

There was a secret behind those blue-grey eyes.

It swirled like a storm off the coast - threatening and beautiful, and carrying the promise of both destruction and rejuvenation. The rains would bring life to the earth again, washing away the dust of a drought and soaking the soil with the nourishment needed to sprout new flora to feed both wild and tame, and in the same second strike down an ancient tree with a crack of lightning splitting the wood into splinters upon that same ground. Rohana was just the same, intending one of her carried glasses to revive something that had withered with time and another to destroy that which her nature deemed to be a threat. With a practiced poise the lady floated out from the kitchens and back into the courtyard, stepping around other guests and focusing her intense stare onto the two males whom she would soon enough deliver her gifts to. Not even a drop of the scarlet liquid spilled from either brim as she first approached Zephyron, balancing the goblets as if they were equals when truly they were nothing of the sort.

Nothing on Rohana’s fair features gave away the ruse, not even the corners of her lips that subtly fluttered as she came to pause beside her cousin and offered him the cup filled completely with a sweet dornish red, the other held close to her hip as she watched him take the stem of the glass in hand. The relief at her return came on bated breath, one released from the lips of the Arryn as he secured her gift in grasp and relaxed in her presence. One dark eyebrow arched ever so slightly when the male first spoke and aired his first impressions upon her about the other brute who stood off just a short ways from them with a peculiar look on those handsome features. Jealousy? She nearly laughed and broke the immense boredom that had nested in the rises of her cheeks and the curves of her full lips, but her composure held as her gaze languidly drifted towards her relative with the same disinterest as a fat hound watching a mouse run past.

“A dog is a companion, what stands before you is more akin to a pestilence than anything worthy of companionship,” Rohana retorted lowly, her gaze meeting his for a moment before again darting away.

Speaking to someone who shared blood with her was still raw, and as such she stood with a safe bit of distance between them and kept her eyes from truly meeting his. Zephyron had done nothing to harm her, in fact he more than likely had not heard of what had sent her from Runestone to the capital in the first place, yet it was her father she saw looming over his shoulder each time they spoke. She wanted to feel some sort of comfort in having someone who had known her before there, but her pulse quickened at the mention of lengthening their private conversation in favor of finishing that which she had started with Wyllam. How tempted she was to glance over towards the Hightower startled her, making the thoughts that normally came in such organized patterns scramble to nothing. Only one shouted above the rest, her own voice echoing in her skull as she stared at the boots of her companion.

I want to see him cower first.

“I do wish to speak with you more, and your observations are true to notice how little I desire to spend more time than absolutely necessary with Lord Hightower,” the brunette replied. “I must first deliver his goblet to him so as to free myself from his bidding until he finds himself fancying to make more demands of me. I shall return to your side shortly, cousin. It has been far too long.”

Turning her chin towards the taller male she dipped into a small curtsy, her eyes staying on his for a moment longer before again rising and turning towards her charge. Thoughts of how she might run him back to Oldtown fluttered through her head, though none seemed to be as simple as she would have liked. Writing to his father might do the trick, though that seemed juvenile and a waste of time considering it would take the man days, if not weeks, to arrive at the capital just to scold his overgrown child. No that would not do, and there were far more subtle ways to manage to slide under the skin of a man like Wyllam Hightower. Their egos were both an asset and their greatest weaknesses at the same time, and if used correctly could send them to their knees. What a pretty sight that would be, to see Wyllam kneeling before her, looking up with a pitiful look in those beautiful eyes as he apologized for every word he had ever spoken to her - of every second of her time that had been wasted on him. Then the compliments would come, she could almost hear them as she set her eyes back onto her prey. One day.

Nipping her bottom lip between her teeth she made the short walk towards where Wyllam stood, still basking in the knowledge that he had felt jealous at seeing her attention elsewhere. If it was so easy to sway him then she would speak to every eligible man in the courtyard to drive him absolutely mad, if only so he could see he held no claim over her. She belonged to no man, and especially not one such as him.

The skirts of her gown rustled with each step she took, though the noise was covered by the hum of chatter coming from the guests all around them. Rather it was the soft brush of the silk against her stockings she focused on, making it far easier to keep her expression blank as she rejoined him at his side and lifted the goblet up so he might see it.

“Your wine, as requested,” Rohana purred before bringing the rim to her lips and taking a drink for herself. As expected the flavor was more water than wine, but she made no sign that anything was amiss as she finished her sip and offered it to him, their eyes meeting with another burning challenge.

“If it is a mirror you desire, Lord Hightower, I would gladly point you in the correct direction if it meant you would stop admiring your reflection in my eyes.”

[archeron.]

𓅃 𓅃 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house mallister . location: red keep courtyard . tags: austen, rheva . mentions: fionn, bryden ]

There were less stars in the sky than the amount of times that Roselyn had imagined what it would feel like to be embraced by Austen Tully. Properly embraced, not just in the awkward hugs they had shared as children, or the side hugs that came when the four of them had been in a group. No, the proper kind of embrace where his arms would wrap around her waist and hold her so close she could feel his heartbeat in his chest. The kind where she could bury her face in the curve of his neck and breathe in only pine and rain and whisper how much she had always loved him - and he would say it back. It would not be because she was crying from having fallen from her horse or because she missed her mother so much it felt like her heart was being torn right from her ribcage. He would hold her because he wanted to, not because he felt some duty to as her friend. There were nights she had lay in her bed staring into the darkness imagining the feeling so she could finally find sleep after having spent the entire day missing him.

The feeling of his touch was not one of those embraces, but it was the closest version she would ever come to know - and it killed her. Having even some part of him was the cruelest reminder that when Rhaello grew bored of them all again and sent them back to their keeps, he would not call on her. That silence that had haunted her for years would return and he would never be the man standing in the hall of Seagard asking for her hand, or even an afternoon with her. Austen would return to Riverrun and forget her again, and she would still lay in her bed recalling those few perfect seconds where she had almost known what it would be like to be held by him. It was all a wound that hemorrhaged as her eyes met his and for once she could not hide the sadness that had been pooling behind her grey irises since she first realized there would never be anyone who could be him.

He knew. He had to have seen that despair she had always hid with such practiced skill, and her attempt at changing the subject had done nothing but draw more attention to the fact. That was why he pulled away so easily, taking with him the warmth of his arm and the familiar safety of his presence with him. He had seen her and was disgusted by the weakness that he saw, yes, that had to be it. There had been so many women, and men for that matter, people that held promise, that had passed through Austen’s life and she was so glad to have been one of them, but there would always be that girl inside of her standing in the middle of her name day celebration watching him talk to another girl and having run to her room to keep anyone from seeing her cry. She had told Fionn she was sick, and it had not been completely a lie, and through her door she could hear him sigh and drop to the floor knowing the truth. It was the same in that instant, the look in his eyes as he watched her fighting that same battle but without the comfort of a door to keep her from the world.

It was Rheva though, that beautiful wonderful woman, who found her voice and gave the first answer. To be children together again would be a dream, and nothing short of a miracle if it were ever to happen in this lifetime or the next. What she would give to be back with Rheva both feeling the apprehension of agreeing on another exploration of an abandoned house or the dark cellars of Riverrun. Roselyn would have paid any price to be back there with her friends - her family she had chosen, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Fionn had his place in Kings Landing being the knight he always dreamt of being. Austen was Lord Paramount of the Trident and would find himself a wife one day whom he would treat as if she were the queen herself, and Roselyn would be happy for him. And herself and Rheva would be wed too, and perhaps to lords near enough to each other that they might find comfort in visits. Their destinies had frayed like streams from the river, and each day it felt as if they had drifted too far apart to ever truly meet again.

Though it was forced, a small smile did appear like a ghost from High Heart on her lips, a silent sparkle of thanks in her eyes as she looked at Rheva with affection. Her teasing remarks always came at the best of times, this being no different. Even Austen was drawn into the topic, thankfully looking away from her so for a moment the mask could slip away and her pain could be properly felt while he placed his own views on those adventures out for the world to be known. Building character? Roselyn almost laughed at that, his excuse sounding so much like the boy she had known trying to fumble his way through an explanation to a stern maester or a cross septa, the logic so utterly Austen that any melancholy faded as she again turned to him, a new glimmer in her grey eyes. It was so easy to love him, like becoming aware of your breath the moment you wake in the morning and the refreshing cold rushes into the lungs and soothes the soul. Austen was her air, and how she had spent the last three years without him, she could not even begin to understand; she only knew it would be nearly impossible to be without him again.

Fionn, logical as always, added his own opinion to the mix, claiming the common sense they all had - or did not have - came from those wild adventures. She understood how they could carry fear for Rheva, or how they might have been foolish to the eldest member of their group, but when it was her gaze falling back on those memories she only felt fondness for them. They had been the times she had felt so loved that she could have burst. They were the moments where she had forgotten her mother was gone and that with each passing year she was nearing the time she would have to leave. Those adventures had kept away the pain in the times that mattered, and she had never properly thanked any of them for it. She had taken it for granted, and it was the biggest regret that she had, behind one. One that Fionn too knew of as he offered a rather vague at face value answer to her question, though the meaning did not go unseen by the Mallister lady. Fionn would give up his one chance to change something to better her life - a notion as poetic and chivalrous as the man who had made it.

Once she had thought that it might have been easier if she had been able to love Fionn, not because he would have loved her back without question, but because there would have been a reason why he could not love her. Being a knight had always been his dream, and knowing he was living that dream would have been more than enough for her to set aside her feelings in favor of duty, but with Austen there was always that lingering voice asking what she could have done, or said, to have his affections. Not knowing was the deepest striking blow that came with loving Austen Tully. One that not even a thousand goblets of mead could have drowned out.

“I recall those adventures fondly, they were some of the best of memories, moments where we could…” Where we could stop reality. Times where I could love you without fear. “Times we can look back on and laugh at now.”

Austen had not yet given his own answer to the question, and the consideration that she should ask him directly emerged from the fog of her mind, but just as her inhibitions slipped and she was turning to Lord Tully he was giving that exact reply.

Nothing. He wanted nothing changed.

Roselyn had not expected him to confess some secret love he had carried for her as long as she had loved him, but there was still some disappointment in the pit of her stomach that he would not have wished for anything different. Some selfish part of her had hoped he might have wanted her to have never left Riverrun, or to have wished for Fionn to have stayed. Anything was better than nothing, and it was nothing she was staring into the face of. Had he not so swiftly changed the subject to the empty glasses in hand she might have been left with a look of disappointment on her face, instead it was drunken confusion she gave as he took her cup and Rheva’s and disappeared into the crowd. There had to have been a questioning look on her face as she had looked first to Rheva and then Fionn, completely at a loss for words further than, “what just happened”.

“I might...take my leave sooner than the meal, I feel a bit, um, woozy.” It seemed improper to admit she had trouble holding her drink, and that the batting of her eyelashes was a halfhearted attempt at clearing the fuzziness of her vision and mind. “I would not want Austen hearing...my admissions, um, of affection under the, haze...of wine.”

Had she told Rheva of her feelings for her eldest brother? She could not recall...if not now she knew. Fionn would have told her, Rosely reasoned as her mind flickered from thought to thought. Her trunks needed unpacking. Bryden once teased her that Austen had replaced her with the Bracken boy. Was the weather supposed to be warm again in the morning? A walk would be nice. Austen always enjoyed walks. The seventh king of Westeros was Rhaello’s great-great-great-great...When was the food supposed to be laid out? As long as it was not quail. Austen had the most beautiful-oh he was coming back. More wine would be good.

Without much thought Roselyn reached for the offered chalice of wine and took a deep drink of it, only vaguely registering the concerned look on Fionn’s face as the liquid joined the mead she had already drank. There was no harm in dulling the pain just enough that Austen would never see that sadness in her eyes again, no, she was fine and could take care of herself. It wasn’t as if it would make any difference if she did not have that third...fourth goblet of wine, Austen still would not love her, and she would still not be a lady worthy of him. Which made it far too easy for her answer to slip from her loosened lips when asked what it was she would change about their past.

“I would have you dance with me on my sixteenth name day instead of that girl from the west...it was the only thing I had really wanted,” Roselyn replied smoothly, not even really registering that she had said the words aloud versus in her head. “And I-I would...um...I would have asked Bryden to...marry Rheva, so we would be proper sisters.”

[brunchman2000]

▓▓▓▓ 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ▓▓▓━━ knight of casterly rock - he/him - twenty five - link; ✧
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
xxxxxxxxxxxx𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐; amelira • 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗; casterly rock • 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜; amelira, the lannisters
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

indentsword met sword and steel rang into the early morning silence, paired with grunts of exertion. leo blocked the sword that was threatening to slice across his face with one swift movement, taking advantage and pushing forward to whack the hilt from his opponent's hand. the sword fell to the stone floor with a clang and leo stood staring at it, panting, as he lowered his own weapon and dropped his guard. he turned his gaze on the older man standing in front of him, who also stood panting, sweat beading his forehead. suddenly a sly smile broke out on his lips and he moved to pat leo on the back with a loud clap. leo smiled too, placing his sword back in the weapon rack as ser arryck algood placed a good-natured arm around his neck. his mentor chuckled dryly, his age sounding with each crackled guffaw.
indent"you're getting slow, old man! soon I'll beat you before you even have a sword in your hand." leo's voice was light and playful. he always loved to torment his former master, the one who had raised him to knighthood and taught him all he knew about fighting. as much as leo laughed about ser arryck's age, there was a hint of sadness behind each barb, for it was true that he was getting slower. of course, he was still a worthy and seasoned knight that would give any young hedge knight a run for his money, but it was becoming more apparent with each day that passed that ser arryck was feeling every ache in his joints. "save it lannister. you know that I could beat you in my sleep. I let you win that time, out of pity of course." ser arryck spat back with a grin, breaking away and returning his own practice sword to its stand. leo just laughed and rolled his eyes in response. as his former mentor ambled off, probably to get breakfast, leo turned to look up at the early morning sky, letting out a happy breath. the sun was a pale gold and the sky blue and lovely, with the barest wisps of clouds gracing the heavens. it was truly a beautiful morning and he was glad to be able to see it, to be left to a quiet courtyard. the men were still inside waking up or eating and most of his family had recently left for king's landing at the request of the king. leo had chosen to remain at the rock for the time being, partly because he had no business going to the capital and partly because he felt it was his duty to protect their home while so many lions were leaving it.
indentleo gave one last satisfied look at the early morning sky before crossing the clearing and heading back into the warm halls of casterly rock. he passed a few servants who nodded and smiled, but kept moving along. in truth, leo quite missed his siblings. sure, he liked the quiet, but all his life he had never known much peace. the halls seemed empty without the ringing laughter of his golden brothers and sisters and despite the sun shining it seemed just a little darker. they would be back soon enough, he knew, so he tried to keep his thoughts from going too far down the lonely hole. he was left to wonder what he would do with this day though. he had already sparred and ser arryck would certainly need to rest for several hours before going at it again. leo supposed that he could start by breakfasting and then perhaps going for a ride down to the beach. but he couldn't help but slightly resent that, for part of him longed for some action. the last time he'd put his fighting skills to the test had been years ago in the ironborn uprising and then... he'd gone a little too far. what he really longed for was a fight that didn't end in taking a life, but was more than just friendly sparring. he knew that would be a little hard to achieve though.
indenthe turned a corner into the main hall and saw his mother's maid speaking with someone, whom he couldn't immediately see. the two people glanced over at him as he walked in, however, and then... then leo finally saw who the other person was. he could feel memories flooding back into his mind; a party, late at night, drinks and laughing and kissing... and so much more. here she was, the very woman he'd shared those memories with. she had crossed his mind several times since that fateful night, but her features had gradually started to fuzzy with each day that passed. but here she was in front of him and her face was beautiful and lovely and she was glowing, despite looking rather shaken. amelira westerling. even her name was pretty, a line in a poem or a lyric in a song. this woman was special. she had been special enough so long ago, the only woman that leo had ever been close to, the only woman he had been close to since.
indentthe words died on amelira's lips as she looked at him expectantly, something hidden in her expression that he couldn't quite place. it took him a moment to realize that he should say something lordly and proper, welcome her as a guest. although what he really wanted was to kiss her and share sweet words like they did that night. if only...
indent"lady westerling, what a joy it is to see you again. to what does casterly rock owe the pleasure of your visit?" his voice was lined with a rich happiness, all shock wearing off to beam into his usual positive aura. he was genuinely curious as to why amelira had come, and especially without any kind of escort.

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐑 𝐇 𝐀 𝐄 𝐋 𝐋 𝐎

xxxking of westeros // mentions: pretty much half of westeros lmao // tags: bea

xxxHe held the silver ring at eye level between them, the ruby glinting in the glow of the braziers, but all the while, Rhaello kept his eyes on the storm-grey of her irises as she looked at the ring. It was evident that he had caught her off guard and he felt as if he had the upper hand. As if looking for an assassin in the shadows, Eurybea looked skeptical and wary. But alas, to her surprise, the only murderers in the room were the king and the dragon coiled upon the dais. If he had wanted her dead, Rhaello would have long-since had it arranged and done, but the truth was that the ironborn fleet was an asset, and the people of the Iron Islands were hard as steel. The support of the iron fleet would come more easily and efficiently if he had the Lady Reaper on his side. And besides that - Eurybea Greyjoy was an asset as well, an investment worth making.

xxxThe slightest hint of a smirk curled over his lips as she snatched the silver ring from his hand, turning the piece of jewellery around in the firelight to inspect it. The jaws of the cruel silver dragon glinted in the fire, the ruby the colour of blood. It was the only adornment he ever wore; the only indication of his household that wasn't part of his own natural appearance. Now he stood before the iron throne, in plain black, only differentiated from the brothers of the Night Watch by the richness of the fabric. Rhaello didn't need to boast his household with fine clothes or jewellery. His crown, seldom actually worn, was a thin and plain iron band, stark against the pure white of his hair and the pale violet of his eyes. Where others belonging to noble houses boasted their sigils and colours, Rhaello did not feel the need; the iron crown and the dragon clearly indicated his power.

xxxTo give the ring away held significance in more than just the sense of it being a proposal; it was Rhaello's immediate family history, all the blood of his enemies had once been smeared across that band of silver, from his own father to the traitors during the uprising. Nevertheless, Eurybea did not return the ring, instead keeping it neatly in the clasp of her hand, though she claimed she would not be a meek decoration for his court. He might have sneered at that; the throne room was so sparsely decorated, with only two Targaryen banners hung from the ceiling on either side of the throne. The members of his court were fools and flatterers, of course, but what court was really any different? "I didn't offer you to be by my side to be a decoration. You have power. And we are more alike, perhaps, than you care to admit." Rhaello said, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. "I do not expect to control the tides; only the sails. I would not presume to have power over something so wild."

xxxSo, now that they were agreed, Rhaello's eyes trailed to the doors at the far end of the room, as he made the descent down from the dais, brushing past Eurybea's dark cloak. Their footsteps rang out across the empty room, and as he opened the heavy oak doors, two of his kingsguard bowed deeply. He passed them without a word, Eurybea at his side, and Rue slipping ahead on silent wings down the wide corridor leading to the open-air courtyard. The dragon took her place upon the raised dais, by the elaborately-set table that would host Rhaello, his small council, and now, his betrothed.

xxxThe bustling chatter and general merry-making quietened as Rhaello stepped through the crowd with Eurybea, taking their places by the dais. When the crowd fell silent, he raised his hand - now bare of the silver dragon - and looked out over the masses. "The Lady Reaper is to take a new name and title as Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men." his voice rang out, clear and concise. He almost smirked at the looks on all of their faces; some disgusted, majority shocked, a few furious, some curious. None of the people in the courtyard seemed happy about the arrangement, or at least, not genuinely happy; of course, the fools and flatterers were smiling broadly, as expected. "And in light of this," Rhaello continued, gesturing to the grand maester, "I have arranged the following betrothals to bind our alliances together."

xxxAt that, the ancient grand maester Harwin Hawick stepped up upon the dais, the chain of his order clicking with an ominous ring. The old man cleared his throat and unravelled a scroll, squinting to read his own writing in the glow of the braziers. "By declaration of His Grace, King Rhaello Targaryen, First of his Name; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; protector of the realm; lord of the seven kingdoms; I hereby announce the following marriage betrothals." He coughed, then continued. "The Lady Daena Velayron of Driftmark, and the Lord Zephyron Arryn of the Eyrie. The Princess Ameria Martell of Dorne, and the Lord Trystan Lannister of Casterly Rock. The Lady Rheva Tully of Riverrun, and the Lord Jarrod Mormont of Bear Island. Lady Azariah Uller of Hellholt, and the Lord Torr Harlaw of Harlaw. The Lady Maegrah Bolton of the Dreadfort, and the Lord Eros Arenwel of the Crownlands. The Lord Wyllam Hightower of the Hightower, and the Lady Rohana Royce of Runestone."

xxxThe maester continued down the list, until a good majority of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes across the realm were matched and paired. About halfway down the list, Rhaello had taken his seat at the head of the table, poured himself a goblet of iced water, and surveyed the masses with satisfaction. When the announcement finally came to a close, many people simply stared with open jaws, shocked beyond belief. After a long moment of silence, a cheer rang out across the crowd and the few that were happy with the arrangement made up for the sour faces of those who were less pleased.

[archeron.]

❧☙ 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house westerling . location: casterly rock . tags: leo . mentions: none ]

So he was real.

For the last few nights she had almost convinced herself that the perfect knight whom she had danced with at that party had been a figment of her imagination, spun from gold and crowned in moonlight. When she had been a girl her nursemaid had told her stories of nature spirits that were given one night to become human, and when they took their form it was of beautiful girls and handsome men that would use their chance to steal away with a human before the sun rose in the morning. For some time she had even begun to wonder if Leander was some fantastical being that had managed to capture her attention and hold it long past waking up beside him the next morning. No, he was not some piece of nature given a human form, he was the son of her family’s seated lord, and he was very real standing there in the main hall of Casterly Rock.

Had there been music and voices being lifted up all around them, elaborate bouquets of flowers and displays of food, and the lives of at least a hundred other souls around them the setting would have been an exact rendition of her memory of meeting him for the very first time. Instead there were only the three, well, four, of them and a strange silence hummed in all corners of the room as she stared at him. It was far more real standing in front of him rather than her mirror practicing how to tell him gently that what secret she hid under her dress belonged to him. There had been no one else...ever, so there was no question as to who it was who was the father of her child, but that decision still lay with him, or it would once the truth came out. For now it took everything in her small form not to press her hand to her stomach as she sometimes did while thinking of her little one, and it took even more to swallow down the wave of nausea that rolled through her gut at the smell of whatever incense was being burned in the room. Lira tried to straighten her posture, or will herself to fall into a practiced curtsy as was probably the politically correct thing to do in that moment, but she only stood frozen, trying to gather enough lucidity to form some sort of words that were not an immediate announcement of their - her - predicament.

He looked almost as shocked as her, and for a moment she almost wondered if he did not recognize her. Both of them had had quite a bit to drink that night but she could still recall his features almost perfectly before that moment. Then again he was not her. He might not remember how she had told him to call her Lira, or how she had laughed when they had gone running through the halls with their hands locked together so tightly as to not lose one another, or how she had leaned into his touch when he had pulled her hair pins out of her tresses after complaining they were far too tight. Did he remember their whispered words under the cover of darkness? Were her words of affection still as clear in his mind as his were in hers? Those smaller details were what reminded her that she had felt very strongly for him despite having been strangers upon meeting. It was hard not to run to him and pull him into a tight embrace, but an action such as that felt as if it were too intimate for where they stood now. No letters had been exchanged between them in the following days, weeks, or months, though she had written one after the discovery of her condition. Sending it had felt wrong though, and it had been the driving decision on what had brought her to stand before him now, to deliver something as important as this to him.

Lady Westerling.

Lira almost scrunched up her nose at hearing that title come from his lips, though her nostrils did flare just a touch. Her name had sounded far better when not so formal, but she reminded herself that they were no longer at a party where conversation was more free, and that his mother’s lady was standing just to her left looking rather curious about the whole appearance. At least her brother should have been accompanying her, or even her sister as some sort of chaperone, so having the young lady show up announced with no one but her carriage driver as a companion was surely telling far more than her lips ever would. Under the older woman’s gaze she felt as if she were showing far more than she was and that the truth was written all across her features in thick letters for all to see.

Unwed and pregnant with a knight’s child.

At the very least he sounded somewhat pleasantly surprised to see her, his tone carrying that familiar joy that had drawn her in in the first place.

“Please, Lady Westerling is my mother, Amelira, or Lira, will do just fine,” she started out, shocking herself with how even she was able to keep her own voice. “I have come to speak to you actually, Ser Leander. There is, um…”

The words fell away again as she met his gaze, those clear blue irises the same shade as the sea that lay just through the open windows. She had not noticed how bright they were before when only shadow had haloed them. There were no hidden emotions behind them, not even caution as to what she was doing or annoyance at having stumbled upon a guest he had not been expecting, only a flicker of recollection and kind greeting.

He remembers me.

“I have something I wish to speak to you about,” the young woman finally managed to stutter out, this time in a voice much smaller and meeker than before. A few stray tears even threatened to prick in the corners of her eyes but she batted them away, forcing them to join the ball of emotion caught in her throat as she stepped towards him and gave a small curtsy. At least some small part of her manners still managed to tear through the worry. “Might we walk somewhere? You will have to forgive me; I only remember small parts of Casterly Rock.”

A quick glance showed that the lady who had greeted her still stood watching them, seemingly too keenly on herself for Amelira’s own liking. It was like the woman could see straight through her.

“In private, possibly?”