his days in dorne were dragging, split between the trident kingdom’s manor and the martell’s castle. either submerged in disputes surrounding that of peace and trade, or absolutely nothing at all. by his father’s advising, he would not take even a second alone to roam or even a step farther than arm’s length away from the tully’s newly established kings guard who’s armor still bedecked the silver trout flopping between a river of blue and a sky of red; water and blood, the two secretions comprising the riverlands. the very riverlands bordering all, but dorne, and those very borders being hoisted and closed only months before, calling for the need of permits to convey cargo through, and a price to be paid to their bank.
not many were all too pleased with the tullys as of the moment. some accused them of stealing funds by putting a tag on other kingdoms trades. the tullys would acclaim that they were only making up for the many years their lands had been taken advantage of; destroyed by feuding nation’s bloodshed simply for being middle ground and the tullys having to rebuild in their wake. their actions were justified … or so his father would think and work to convince.
but it was not his father with the target on his back, because even though it and everything was his father’s ideas, they were passed by him: brynden tully, the river king. oh, how unusual it was and unaccommodating, he’d admit. he did not have the passion of a king, nor the drive, proper upcoming, or brains. the lack of very brains would lead him to the merchant’s market today. he could not blend in anywhere, if not for the men that followed him whether from near or far, then his height and the red in his hair. he was doing exactly what he was told not to when there were unknown and unmet enemies that did not hold the title of king or lord before their surnames, but rather targeted the many in disguise. he truly was never safe, and it was the understanding that pushed him to stop hiding and instead live.
though anxiety-driven, no hidden fact, he was adjusting quite well during his first trip. many offered fruit and fish, snippets of silk and their finest of glasswork, but all were kindly repudiated, as brynden would deny with a beholden grin to show his appreciation and apologies. after all, they did not need to put forth offerings, he was not their king, and the many that knew it did not hold back spit and slurs at his entourage. his old self that roamed the streets of lannisport was more adjusted to the latter, making it feel more like home, even if not his home now, a home he knew before.
he saw a child sitting on the steps of a brothel near a stand with beautiful tapestries, the child played all alone with a stick as if it were a sword, speaking to people of the imagination as if they were caught up in battle. brynden loomed cautiously, lifting a hand to wave off the men nearing in, insisting he refrain from the interaction. brynden would drop to a squatting position to meet the child’s eyes, no matter how bewildered or petrified the child would react he would commence a conversation, questioning why the boy was alone only to discover his mother was a whore at work. he inquired his motives with playing in this world of make-believe, and the boy would respond excitable, moreso than he himself ever did to anything really. brynden would reach into his coin purse, loosening the strings keeping the bag at his side as he did, and give the boy enough coin to buy himself a real sword, or at least a carved wooden one more accommodating than a torn piece of a bush.
when he pulled to his feet and meant to proceed through the many stalls lining the streets, his attention would be lost once more by a girl at the stall nearest. his eyes fell again, his neck starting to hurt from all this bending, only to meet a face more familiar than any he had seen thus far or even knew yet, more familiar than his own fathers or even the baker who helped make him the man he was today, a face whose lips he brushed and eyes he got lost in more times than he could count. the same face that led him here today, got him stuck here today, as he would end the most appeasing chapter of his life and any possibility to fulfill his one longed endeavor, to find her.
feelings of bliss, joy, excitement filled within him, but it was not long after that euphoria would be replaced with resentment, anger, and a sense of sadness. she was alive, she left him without even a goodbye, she never wrote. “ … ” he wanted to say something, but there were so many words flooding his mind, he could not align them, then he found one. “ adelayne? ” his voice tremored, all of his emotions competing to convey.
Adelayne watched with a mixture of confusion and curiosity as the red-haired man seemed to be looking into her very soul -- looking at her so intently that she had the sudden urge to shift away from him or hide from his gaze. But he trapped her there, and the longer the moment between them passed, the more she felt as if she had done something wrong. What was causing him to look at her like he had discovered a hidden secret -- oh, Seven, did he know her secret? -- only for the sunshine-happiness to be snuffed out by a sudden rain storm, as if she’d managed to stab him square in his heart. What was it about her that made this stranger so distraught in her presence? Perhaps it was because he thought her a thief, her kind warning nothing more than a show before she stole the coin purse that threatened to fall and vanish into the bustling crowd. The bastard knew she should have not ventured outside of the Martell’s castle. It was too soon, and this interaction made it all the more clear. But she wasn’t a thief, nor had she ever done anything to wrong this red-haired stranger--
That voice -- it was deeper, now. Despite the years it had on her own, its owner had always been slow growing. Gentle, with a boyish tone to it that had whispered with her and laughed with her. Whom had shared things with her that it hadn’t with others. The voice was the same, she was sure. She’d know it anywhere, even with the deeper tone and how it had become somewhat coarse and gravely. It didn’t quite seem possible. Rather, perfectly impossible -- because while the voice was strikingly familiar, the mouth it came from had changed even more drastically. Adelayne found herself starring at his lips as it formed her name, moving to his nose, and up to his eyes, before taking in the whole of his face. It was his eyes that made her finally recognize him, her body startling so hard she had to take a half step back. Her hand rushed to her mouth as she released a soft, shocked gasp. “Brynden...?” No more than a whisper. It was all she could manage -- a rush of feelings and thoughts of the past and the possibility of a future that had simply been intangible for two young souls on different paths. Longing, heartbreak, the softer moments and the arguing.
Still unaware of just who her baker’s boy had become, Adelayne closed the space she had created between them. Two more steps forward -- the guards around him visibly tensing, though she did not notice as they took clear and deliberate steps towards her-- and Adelayne was grabbing him, wrapping her thin fingers around his forearm without truly meaning to do so. But she had to know -- she had to know he was real, and that this was not a dream she would wake up from. She was just as dumbfounded as he seemed to be. But despite her own joy and anger, she had guilt, too. So much guilt, for vanishing into thin air and stealing away to King’s Landing without telling him goodbye. How could she? How could she ever even try to explain?
She couldn’t even tell Vida.
Adelayne squeezed his arm, a clear shake beginning in her fingertips. “Y-you -- I-I -- how--?” She couldn’t form the words, stuttering and blubbering like a blind-sided fool. “What a-are you d-doing here? What about the bakery? And The Watch? You can’t b-be -- how can y-you be in Dorne? I-in Sunspear?”
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