when the gyre widens on a window, wave breaks when saint peter loses cool and bars the gates when atlas acts a man and makes his arms shake when the birds are heard again...
Edmure’s finger hovered over the doorbell of his sister’s house, or rather, Robin’s now. With the last interaction between uncle and nephew not being one of great amiability, the older man hesitated as he collected his thoughts. His nephew’s words of ‘then do something about it’ had struck him a bit harder than he thought they would, and he found them echoing in his mind for day after. The doing of things always seemed to be where Edmure faltered, to the seeing of things through. But not this time. While before he had been concerned of the weakness that would be assumed if he spent too much time grieving his sister’s death, he now realized making sure those who caused it payed would be only a show of strength. A reminder to all that the River Kings were here before them and would be here after, because they look after their own, regardless of changed names or syndicates. So he would do what Robin had asked, avenge his mother, but first he had an offer to make him. So finally, his finger depressed that small white button, and he listened as the bell rang out, and he waited at the door step, eager to see what his nephew’s answer would be when he asked.
The house felt too big; too empty. He’d never lived anywhere else in his life, and abandoning the place would be like admitting defeat to the Lannisters, so he couldn’t imagine leaving, but he always felt so alone, now. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to be where he’d feel less alone, but the feeling still lingered nonetheless. Robin tried to occupy his time for a majority of the day, even with menial things - the more occupied he was, the less likely he was to be overcome with grief again. That’s why he’d pulled every book from the shelves in the library, why he was in the process of reorganizing them in alphabetical order, as opposed to organized by category, the way they had been before. The sound of the doorbell caught him off-guard, though. Who would be coming to visit? Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way down to the front door, looking through the peephole once he got there. Surprised to see his uncle, he unlocked the door before pulling it open. “Uncle Edmure,” he greeted, somewhat skeptical. “Good afternoon...” He looked around to see if his uncle had brought others, but it seemed like he was alone. After a moment’s pause, he pulled the door open a little more. “Do you... want to come in...?”
She had always been a firm believer in that old adage that you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar and she knew that it was a mindset that had won her friends and allies over the years. There was nothing truly calculated in the way she reached out to others though when she generally simply wanted to help - so long as it didn’t conflict with The Citadel. When it came to Robert Arryn her intentions were noting but genuine, feeling endless amounts of sympathy for him. Becoming motherless was no easy thing after all and she couldn’t help but hope that the two of them might be able to provide one another with a little solace. She’d been pleased when he’d accepted her invitation for lunch and even more pleased when she saw him walk in. Smile settled on rosy lips, doe eyes soft as she greeted him. “I’m so glad you could join me. I’ve heard the food here is wonderful but we’ll see, won’t we.” She at least wanted him to get settled before she started asking him how he was.
How could a period of time feel like the blink of an eye and an eternity at the same time? If Robin closed his eyes, he could swear that he was still standing beside his mother at some event or another, could swear he could feel her hand on his shoulder or his arm or his back, guiding him to the right decisions. But there was also that loneliness that dug a bigger and bigger hole inside of him with every passing second. And the fact that no one seemed to be as mad as he was irritated him, to say the very least. There had to be someone who could do something to help him. He’d kill Cersei with his bare hands if he had to, but he knew he’d need at least a little bit of help. And who was he to turn down kindness? So there he was, in a restaurant he’d never even thought to set foot in, sharing a meal with Margaery Tyrell. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see.” He nodded in response, crossing his ankles once he was seated. “How’d you find out about this place, anyways?” He hated small talk, but he knew that it was a common courtesy, so he’d play the game.
✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ ROBERT ARRYN ]. some say [ HIS ] resemblance to [ GAVIN LEATHERWOOD ] is almost uncanny, but the [ TWENTY-TWO ] year old has been in the capital for [ HIS WHOLE LIFE ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ AFFILIATE ] of the [ ARRYN ] family: perhaps that has made them [ SKEPTICAL ] && [ COLD ] of late, when they used to be so [ IMAGINATIVE ] && [ STEADFAST ]. during the daylight hours, [ ROBERT ] can be found working as a [ JOURNALISM STUDENT ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ BE BY HOZIER ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.
“ robin. ” acknowledgment as shireen swirls the glass in her hand, an eyebrow raised in appraisal; shifting to place her back against a wall. it was strange to see him here, had it been her father murdered she’d likely not show her face in public, ‘less it were to burn everyone to the ground in a fury of vengeance. she doesn’t know kindness well, an alien emotion on the best of days, but she can act through it. traverse it as best as she can. “ you’re very brave to be here, pequeño halcón. ” at the very least, she’s honest, though she doubts it accounts for much now. “ i’m sorry for your loss, as is my father. ”
“Shireen,” he acknowledged in response, knowing better than to let his own anger at the world at the current moment get to him in responding to her. He was never involved with the Family (with a capital F, as opposed to his family, which he was closely involved in), therefore, he didn’t really know how stable (or unstable) the relationship between the Arryns and the Baratheons was. He didn’t want to be the tipping point one way or another, so he decided that mature professionalism was probably the best way to go about this conversation. “Is it bravery or just stupidity?” Deciding against thanking her for the compliment, Robin trailed a finger around his champagne glass, a childish part of his mind hoping to hear that familiar ringing sound that never came. “Thank you. It’s appreciated.” The unspoken question lingers in the air: will you back me if I were to do anything about it? He would not let the murders go unavenged; would not let his mother die in vain.
Expression softened when she realised who it was, endless sympathy felt for him when she knew what it was like to lose a mother so publicly. She at least had the rest of her family all around her but she wasn’t quite sure who Robert had - hopefully more than it seemed. “Maybe a wise choice, I don’t really know why I’m still playing. But you’ve got to be in it to win it - or so they say.” Not that she thought she’d be winning anytime soon when she’d just decided to focus her attention on the young man sitting next to her for as long as he’d allow it. Grief was no easy or simple thing and she knew it affected everyone differently and yet she still wanted to at least try to lighten his mood. She was certain that Lysa would have wanted her son happy. “Happens to the best of us. Especially when the champagne goes down so smoothly, even if I do say so myself.” Grin flashed over rosy lips, tone full of playful confidence when she’d been the one who’d made all the drinks selections. “You can sit as long as you like so long as you promise not to laugh at my bad luck.”
“Well, if you’re having fun with it, I don’t really see a reason to stop.” Money wasn’t an issue, after all; he knew better of the people here than to assume that it was. Robert would be the first to admit that he didn’t know the difference in taste between good champagne and bad champagne. In fact, he didn’t know the difference between any alcohol, good or bad. He didn’t exactly have the time in his youth to drink, and, by the time he’d started college, most of his friends were on the wealthier side - there was no need to skirt any expenses and buy cheap liquor. “You only say that because you picked out the drinks for the night and I know it.” Resting his elbow on the edge of the table, and his chin on top of his fist, he shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know the rules. You could have the worst hand of your life, and I would be just as in the dark as I would be if you had the best. Can’t laugh if I don’t know what’s going on.” Plus, to laugh at misfortune was unkind. Maybe he didn’t know that before recent events, but he definitely saw it now.
A wave of sympathy washed over Aliya, watching as voyeuristic gazes befell the younger, like vultures over a freshly deceased carcass. Aliya knew what it was like to have people whisper about you, especially after the loss of a parent. She’s dealt with that her whole life, thankfully Arthur was there, acting as a shield, protecting Aliya from the very worst. But who did this boy have? From the looks of it (not that she had any evidence) no one. With a heavy sigh, the Dayne waltzed up to the boy, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Having fun?”
He could feel people looking at him, and it only increased his irritation. He didn’t want to be their source of pity. He didn’t want them to think Poor Arryn boy, with no one left in the world for him. He was no powerhouse, this he knew, but he would find out a way to make them stop pitying him. He would do what it takes for revenge, no matter how long it took. He almost jolted at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, startled out of his own thoughts. Blinking at the question, his expression remained blank. “Oh, yeah, great night,” he answered sarcastically. “All of my friends are here, so why wouldn’t I be?” He knew it was not the time or place to be unnecessarily unkind to someone who seemed to only have the best intentions for him, so he just took another sip of his champagne, looking down, and mumbling an apology.
While she’d spent the better half of the evening fluttering around the room and greeting as many people as she could, eventually she’d found a moment to enjoy one of the poker games on offer. Though it wasn’t going all that well for her, perhaps due to her mind being elsewhere. Usually she’d have paid more attention but for once she found herself not minding that the house always won when she knew that the money would be going to a good cause. Lips pressed together in a show of playful disapproval as she laid her cards on the table with a light shake of her head in gentle self deprecation. But just as soon as she’d played at being put out, bright smile slipped back onto rosy lips with gentle laughter bubbling up from them. “Maybe I should have brushed up on my poker skills before now.” Nose wrinkled in mock chagrin, doe eyed gaze brightening as she shifts the focus to the person sitting next to her. “Is your lucky any better?”
He’d really only taken the seat as a sort of distraction for himself. The longer he stood at the edge of the party, the angrier he got. And it was probably best for everyone there if he didn’t start a fight with the next person who crossed his path. That’s how he found himself at the seat, though declining to buy in. Margaery, before all of this, had been a comforting presence to him. Maybe she would help him now, too. But, in all honesty, he had no idea what was going on - Robert had never gambled before in his life, nobody had ever taught him how to play poker, and he didn’t understand even the most basic aspects of the game. “Oh - no, I’m... not playing,” he replied, shaking his head. “Don’t know how to. Just... needed to sit for a minute. Too much champagne, you know?” A lie, but that was beside the point.
jon finds that it’s often, now, that they find themselves in spaces far above their station. sure, they may have the lineage of kings, but jon felt all too common ( at least that’s what they try to tell themselves ). they’re here, at this gilded charity event, due to their strange new affiliation with the tyrells – well, not so much an affiliation as jon helped margaery and mace both. but what are they to do, as they can’t afford to drink and they surely can’t afford to play, besides people watch. it’s nearly a miracle that jon catches sight of robin, a more than familiar face among the crowd. ‘ what are you doing here, kiddo ? ’
He and Jon’s relationship was always an odd one. They weren’t the closest pair, but, then again, Robin’s relationship with most of his Stark cousins could be considered strained. That didn’t mean he held grudges against them; his family, extended as they may be, was the least of his worries right now. (That isn’t to say that he didn’t note absences, of course). “I’m here to get a tax write off for a charitable donation, can’t you tell?” He snapped before realizing that the words were coming out of his mouth. Biting his lip, he then glanced over at them - that was no way to treat family and he knew it. It wasn’t Jon’s fault that he’d been alone for much of the past month. “Sorry,” he then mumbled to them. “Just... needed a night out of the house, I guess.” Probably best not to mention his still-forming revenge plot. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he took another tiny sip of the champagne. “What are you doing here?”
It was fairly clear from Robin’s face that Edmure’s absence had been noted and taken down in a spreadsheet of wrong doings, and with that realization he sighed. Of course he had attended the small, private funeral held for both Lysa and Peter, and while his sparse appearance may have seemed perfunctory, it was anything but. He had so deeply wanted to stay (well, he wanted to do more than stay, he wanted to rage, he wanted to wail, he wanted to shake his fists at the sky), but as Admiral, with the RIver Kings so deeply in disarray, weakness could not be tolerated, and he knew if he spent any additional time with his family, it’d be seen as just that. He had things he needed to attend to, and to push them to the side for even a moment could spell quite literally death for Edmure, or even for the River Kings as a whole. “Well, let’s put it this way: You look how I feel. Not great.” He and Lysa had never been particularly close, and had drifted even further since her move into the Valemen, but he still loved and cared for her, she and Catelyn both had such a strong hand in raising him that of course he was grieving, despite his outward appearance. “You know I would have been with you if I could.” he whispered strongly, both trying to be discreet but also let his passion on the topic be known “–But ever since your grandfather died I don’t have that luxury.” How childish would he sound if he said all he wished for was his father back? For him to help him with all these newfound responsibilities that he know bore as Admiral? “—But I’m…” Sorry didn’t feel like enough, it felt hollow. “…Just let me know what you need. If you need help, or for me to leave you alone, or with packing up the house, whatever.”
Robin knew that many people in this city held no positive opinion of him; whether that was because of his over-attachment to his mother well past his formative years or because of his personal choice to stay out of most of the business aspects of this turf war, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed the dislike was better than the pity that he got as a sickly child. Nevertheless, he hated the way that weakness was treated within the city. He knew that he was seen as an image of weakness, but he could turn that weakness into anger, into revenge... somehow. He just had to figure out how. “Oh, you don’t feel great? Forgive me, Uncle, for my assumption that you were unaffected.” He had seen Edmure at the funeral - through his own tears - though few words (if any, it was all a blur in his mind, now) were exchanged. “Ever since my grandfather died...” He felt his anger rising up within him once again. “Let’s see... that’s my grandfather, my father, my mother, and my mother’s... Littlefinger,” he muttered the name under his breath, no love lost by that death, “all in just over six years.” Robin held up a finger with each name, looking his uncle in the eyes. “And who does that leave for me?” Raising his eyebrows, he barked a laugh at the final comment. “Packing up the house? You think I’m leaving? No, no - that would be admitting defeat to the Lannisters and the Greyjoys. You want to do something? Avenge her. Help me avenge her. They killed her, you know it as well as I do. So do something about it.”
The event had been Edmure’s first real outing other than work since the so-called wedding, both out of grief and fear that he would’ve also been killed if he had been in attendance. And despite his easy smiles and conversations where his charm was laid on thick, Edmure had a knot in his stomach the entire time. Sure, this wasn’t a gathering of the families, it was a public event, but who was to say something couldn’t happen here just as it had at Lysa’s wedding? After mingling for awhile, this feeling of inevitable dread drew him into closer and closer orbit of those he knew, and eventually he found himself next to his nephew. He really wish he could have been more present in the last weeks, but despite Lysa’s role in the Valemen, the River Kings foundation still cracked in the wake of her brazen murder, and Edmure had been spending a great deal of time paving it all over, trying to make sure a crack didn’t become a fissure. “How’re you champ?” he questioned. It was stupid, he knew, but he didn’t really have the words to comfort a son grieving his mother, so brutally murdered. “How’re you holding up?”
Why had it taken him so long? His mind provided the thought for him, though the thought did not burn his tongue. Wasn’t family supposed to look out for each other? Or was it just because he had a different last name? How he hated the way this city was run; how he hated how it pushed him away from everyone else, the only survivor of his immediate family. He had never felt so alone before. “How does it look like I’m holding up?” Robin snapped in response, the poison touching his lips despite any effort he may have made to hold it back. He knew he certainly looked worse for wear; even though his clothing was as fine as ever, he had yet to touch any garments in his closet that had any touch of color aside from black. He was very clearly still in mourning. “Where have you been, exactly, Uncle? If your intention was to make your priorities clear to me, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.”
He didn’t want to be there. In fact, the very last place he wanted to be was mingling with King’s Landing’s elite. How pathetic this whole thing was, so soon after the murder of his mother and they were all pretending like nothing had changed. Just another ordinary evening in King’s Landing, another boy orphaned without a second glance. As he sipped from his complimentary glass of champagne (slowly, he wasn’t willing to give money to anyone or anything that he couldn’t completely trust) - he let his eyes wander the room. Enemies, all of them. Unless someone could prove themselves a friend.
✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ ROBERT ARRYN ]. some say [ HIS ] resemblance to [ GAVIN LEATHERWOOD ] is almost uncanny, but the [ TWENTY-TWO ] year old has been in the capital for [ HIS WHOLE LIFE ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ AFFILIATE ] of the [ ARRYN ] family: perhaps that has made them [ SKEPTICAL ] && [ COLD ] of late, when they used to be so [ IMAGINATIVE ] && [ STEADFAST ]. during the daylight hours, [ ROBERT ] can be found working as a [ JOURNALISM STUDENT ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ BE BY HOZIER ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.
tw: death
Twenty-two years ago, an unexpected child was born. Unexpected didn’t mean unloved, though - the moment he entered the world, Robin Arryn was loved unconditionally. His mother never expected to have a child, let alone one that would light up her world in the way Robert did. She nicknamed him Sweetrobin; her songbird.
As Robert grew, he remained as attached to his mother as he was the day that she brought him into the world. Also as he grew, she realized that her son was not as healthy as he first appeared. Robert spent a good amount of his childhood in and out of the hospital; he was also diagnosed with photosensitive epilepsy at a young age.
He was aware of the mafia growing up, but he wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t want to take sides; he was never a fighter, not even in situations that called for it. Robin knew he could lead a perfectly happy life if he were to join, given the sole fact that his last name was Arryn, but, in his mind, joining his family’s ranks meant getting himself into trouble he wanted no part of.
Robin was never dumb; he understood his family’s involvement in the city, understood what their place was, but he never liked journalism. He much preferred the arts - anything from painting to drawing to acting was preferred to sitting at a computer and typing up gossip on the city’s elite (while the gossip was always interesting, it was less fun when it was public knowledge).
The death of his father was the first thing to really rock his world. He had just turned seventeen, and, while he and his mother were undeniably closer than he and his father had ever been, he could tell that Jon Arryn’s death affected her strongly. The house felt quieter, his mother less joyful, and, in his father’s place was Petyr Baelish, a man whom Robin had no love for.
Since his father’s death, he’s felt guilty, obligated to take the spot that was filled by Baelish back. His mother always told him that he was the man of the house, which was what led him to choosing journalism as his area of study over art. He just wanted to make her happy.
Of course, he had his own life, too. His high school days were behind him, and, now, in college, he started exploring his sexuality, his body, interacting with those around him now that he’d been fully healthy for just over four years. He was done being ridiculed for being in the hospital for weeks on end, ready to become his own man, ready to show his mother (and Petyr Baelish) that he could be independent.
He disapproved of their marriage. He never liked Baelish, never liked what he stood for, never liked the people he surrounded himself with, and never liked the way that his mother looked at him. But he was a child, in their eyes - he could be won over with gifts. He just wanted his mother back.
How he wishes he died with her. How he wishes he could erase the memory of seeing her body hanged from a balcony. He was crippled, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to scream. He had to be dragged away from where he stood, his tuxedo untouched; whoever killed his mother clearly forgot about Sweetrobin, about the poor boy’s attachment to her. He sobbed until he was out of tears to shed. The wound is still raw in his chest.
While he affiliates with the family that grew from the roots of his last name’s past, he doesn’t particularly want anything to do with them. Then again, he doesn’t particularly want anything to do with anyone at the moment; he’s still reeling from the loss of his mother, best friend, and confidant (all in one person), and he’s not sure how (and if) he’ll ever recover from it.
He would take his family’s mafia over the Lannisters and Greyjoys any day. His anger has been sparked; he wants revenge. But who is he to claim vengeance? He’s just a student, after all.
wanted connections !
come back to us, we’re here for you: members of the arryn family who want robin to be initiated for whatever reason; they’re seeking to replace his sorrow with the drive to join the family by initiation. they see how he’s reeling from the brutal loss of all that he loved, imagining that they can redirect his intense emotions into the business side of things - after all, it’ll be easier to avenge his mother with support.
spit on the grave: lannisters and/or greyjoys who have no love for robert, and for whom robert has no love in return. he suspects them of killing his mother, and he will do what he can to get back at the families who took everything from him.
sweet boy, where have you gone?: childhood friends, past hookups, exes - anyone who knew robin in the past but feel isolated from him now. he’s become a much colder person since the murder of his mother. these are the people he would turn to (whether that be for a hookup or just a conversation over coffee) in past times of trouble. now, he’s isolated himself from them, still in mourning.
pluck a bird’s wings, you get what you deserve: people trying to encourage robin’s anger - they don’t like the lannisters or greyjoys for whatever reason, and they see robin’s dismay. they know he could be a powerful weapon, if properly trained.
