@aldricharlaw aldric & yenna
Two days after her arrival to the capital, the skies ceased to weep that dreadful, hot rain and the sun came out, fire-bright and flaming. The air steamed with a cloying, dry heat she could scarce tolerate and the lady Farwynd, normally, so very calm and still like dark, cold waters, was forced to give up her thick furs and velvets for light silk and satin more suitable for such unbearable a heat. Apathetically, she dressed herself in black silks, a gown lavishly adorned with gleaming dark obsidians, laughing that haughty, dispassionate laughter when her handmaid said she should do well to dress in colours, her lord and master might take insult in her going to him in funeral shrouds. Apathetically, she deliberately made the lord Harlaws wait as she sat at her vanity and combed long, dark curls which gleamed like pearls under the glare of the sun, fashioning them into an intricate display which she adorned with a silver hairnet. Upon her slim throat, a necklace made of silver and devilline stones, glistened.
At long last and when the sun had sunk lower into the horizon, she went to meet him down at the shores of Blackwater Bay, with something strange and impatient gripping her heart, so very often frost-cold and dispassionate. Ayenna, rustling her long, black dress, came flowing down the stairs to the ocean, outrageously beautiful and dark like a seastorm, approached, took him by the chin and quite off-handedly lifted his head, turning it right and left, measuring him with a startingly bright gaze. She hummed softly, her face blank and devoid of emotion; he was very handsome, she thought; it took the breath away, how handsome he was; imposing, like thunder. Immediately, the lady Farwynd liked him. She, herself, glowed with a conscious, even demonstrative loveliness, emphasised and accentuated in every detail. Her raven-black locks cascading down her shoulders under her hairnet (it had once been, her mother's ) shone, reflected the light like the feathers of a raven, curling and undulating with every move.
She had bright, drowning eyes. Eyes with teeth. Gleaming dark obsidian. The days to come were in those eyes, deep as fathomless lakes, the days gone by. And beneath that fierceness, that icy veil, something ancient and tender as rain. She brought to mind something otherworldly, opaque; underwater fire or sunken obsidians.
❝ I had somehow fancied that you would be taller. ❞ the lady Farwynd drawled very slowly, a lilt in her voice. Her hands, gloved in black satin, slipped from his jaw to his shoulders, unashamedly feeling at the hard muscle that rippled under the leather of his jacket; she felt along his arms, measuring him, then fixed his collar with swift, sharp, practised movements, her eyes never leaving his. Somewhere at his back, Dramon, snickered, amused by the display. Her mouth, deigned to curl into a faint smile, then, and once she had thoroughly felt at his biceps and forearms, as though about to buy a ship, or war horse, she allowed her hands to drop back at her sides, black fire burning in her gaze. ❝ you have not changed much, my lord. Still, so very striking, much like your lord Father... I am sorry to have kept you waiting!❞ she said then, abruptly changing the course of the conversation, the glimmers of a warmer expression at long last flickering across that haughty, cold face, ❝ This heat does not agree with me well, I fear. ❞
—how fortunate had he been to be away at sea all those years before, avoiding one betrothal arrangement after the next, until his father decided enough was enough; he wouldn’t end up childless and unwed like his uncle. though, following orders had never truly been his strong suit, when it came to his House he would do what he had to do without any opposition. even if that meant coming to King’s Landing to celebrate the name day of a Baratheon King he cared nothing about. for whatever reason they had believed it best for them to meet during said celebrations, so this was the first time they were to meet with the Lady Farwynd after their betrothal was made known to them. the first time his family had heard of the news, it was met by a cacophony of complaints by his good mother and youngest sister. Lord Harlaw would have none of it; quite frankly, it found Aldric agreeable; if it had been arranged, then they absolutely would not take their word back simply because the women of the family thought of it as such an iill-considered and rushed decision to make by their Lord. “I won’t have the witch’s daughter in my home, who cursed the whole of Farwynd house!” Lady Ariyana screamed before storming out of the room to let the men talk as her firstborn son practically commanded. though not particularly thrilled with the idea either, a thought that he kept to himself, it served a purpose as all unions do, and it’d better serve it well for what was in plans; knowing Lord Farwynd, the old man would surely not let such an opportunity pass.
the conversation between the two brothers came to a halt as the Lady of the hour was finally approached them. Aldric thought she looked rather beautiful draped in her raven silks, witch or not. though he found her unashamed approach rather amusing—and he would rather have that than a meek rock wife who would be too scared to even look at him—his expression remained perfectly void of any hint of said amusement. hmm… was what she got in response, paired with a momentary arch of an eyebrow. blue eyes studied her as she fixed his collar; it was true that she was of striking beauty, eyes black like tide in a moonless night at sea, coming in contrast to how fair her skin was. his eyes remained well on her as she proceeded to feel him up, unbothered by Drammon’s laughter in the back. his brother’s amusement was more funny to him.
“then you’d dislike Essos." Aldric stated it somewhat factually. looking at her from head to toe, being in no particular rush as he did so, before meeting her eyes once more. “you’ve never been far from the Iron Islands?” he questioned her statement: for having been in the sea, they have known sun and rain just as much as cold and snow. it was hard to imagine that an ironborn had never been on a ship for at least a moon or two.
