flowers are only flowers because they fall.

sora tarth, of evenfall hall, nine and twenty. sister of lord akhirah tarth, the evenstar, mother, warrior, lady.

[craneofsteel]

♛ → THE STORMLANDS present(s) SORA TARTH, the LADY of EVENFALL HALL. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-NINE year old FEMALE who was DISCIPLINED & RESOLUTE before they saw the first of the flames, is now TORN & GUARDED after seeing the last. they’re often associated with elegant, precise movements, the depths of an ocean beneath a calm exterior, silken armor, delicate to the touch yet unyielding in strength. ( anna sawai. )

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[mintharaestermont]

"and it was," minty gave a toss of her head, sending her braids fanning out over her shoulders. "and nobody ever even shared their gifts with me, either. a conspiracy." minthara had been a twin at birth. her namedays had never been her own, even now that myrcella had been dead near a decade. it had always been a source of jealousy that most other people had a day entirely to themself, one which need not be shared, even with a ghost.

her hand idly ghosts against her own neck at sora's words, as though checking for the imaginary break. "well, it hasn't happened yet. even when you haven't been there," she pointed out, cheerfully, though it was the latter statement that caught her attention, looking at sora with curiosity in her gaze. she had always thought that she knew the tarth siblings well enough, granted that she had bonded closer with akhirah than either of his sisters. still, she had been a fixture in their lives since their youth, believing that she knew them well enough to be familiar with the ebbs and flows of their lives. "what do you mean by that?" she asked, dropped her hand and tilting her head. "the hard way"

if it were rude to ask, minty did not seem to notice, or more likely, did not much care. what she did care about was sora's insistence that she would not cry if minthara was not a presence in her life, minty's mouth falling open in mock-offence. "that's horse shit and you know it. just imagine how bored you'd be. it would be unbearable for you." her insistence was justified, she thought. when she had returned to greenstone after her extended stay in the capital, everyone had said how much quieter it had been. it was because they had missed her, minthara just knew it.

"yeah, well, who needs teeth anyway? my grandmother only has a couple left, and she gets by just fine." in her mouth, her tongue ran over her own teeth, gently poking at each one until she was satisfied that none were loose and in danger of falling out the next time she bit an apple. having no teeth was all well and good if you were pushing seventy, but minthara did not think she'd like it very much at the ripe old age of twenty and six. "i dunno about fish. what kind of fish can you catch in the mander, anyway?" they were both from islands, and if sora was anything like minthara, growing up alongside the ocean would make her picky about seafood. "maybe cheese? can't go wrong with cheese, can you? i bet reach cheese is fancy, too. everything else is."

[craneofsteel]

the lady of tarth gave a small shake of her head, a faint smile following after. minty had always reminded her of a piece of herself she kept tucked away, more often hidden than allowed to surface. part of her envied it; another part felt quietly protective of minthara because of it. “well, perhaps on my next nameday i will feel generous and share,” she said, teasing, though half-serious all the same. “or i shall send you a surprise when you return home, just for you.”

dark eyes watched minty's hand go to her neck. “and it won’t, so long as i am there,” she added with a slight nod. but at minty’s question, she paused. the words had come too easily, slipping past her guard before she had the chance to weigh them. it had felt almost like a revelation in the moment, one she had no real desire to unravel aloud. there were too many threads she could pull at, too many quiet truths and old impulses that could give specific meaning to it. sora clicked her tongue softly as she considered, then chose the simpler path. “oh, just… sometimes joy lasts longer when one is more careful, that’s all.” she left it there, light enough to pass.

deciding that was answer enough, she moved on as minty did, slipping her arm through the other’s with easy familiarity, her hand resting lightly against her forearm. “yes, i would be absolutely bored,” she conceded, glancing sidelong at her. “do you know how long i’m left to my own devices on tarth? i expect letters when we leave the reach.” her brows lifted slightly, the expectation half-jest, half-serious.

“that sounds like a life well-lived for your grandmother, then,” sora added with a quiet laugh, shaking her head faintly. she supposed by that age, such things mattered less. it was a gift in itself to see so many years. her gaze drifted toward the stalls as she considered the options. “mm, nothing good, i imagine. if they have anything decent, it likely came from the arbor at best.” she mused on it briefly, uncertain whether river fish could ever quite compare. “cheese, then,” she decided, though her nose wrinkled slightly. “they say the worse it smells, the finer the delicacy.” a small pause, then, dryly, “perhaps the wine will make it tolerable. i’ve not had much of reach cheese myself, you may know better than i.”

[craneofsteel]

“history is fond of singular heroes, but the isle of tarth offers a rarer account. when lord akhirah stood before the realm’s troubles, lady sora stood beside him - not louder, nor lesser, but steadier still. where one faltered, the other remained, and thus neither truly fell.”

— archmaester theomar, on the stormlords of the sapphire isle, citadel archives

@fortheakhirah

[fortheakhirah]

☯

akhirah of tarth did not know whether his sister within these halls had always been the one to show little - there was never moments, at least of which he could remember, which made him think sora had ever been the emotive sort. the type to burst from the seams, or find herself unable to withhold what rambles were coming from her tongue. "wylliam swann objected, at least openly and clearly..." he clarified, a hand moving to rest upon his bearded jaw as he considered the narrative of events. that conversation by the rushing banks of the mander.

"but he's never thought revolt was the method we ought to use." akhirah took no personal offence at the stance of the hand, simply because it fitted with his previous pattern of behaviour and thoughts. they would have to do this without the backing of him.

"the lord paramount seemed unclear. as though he was making up his mind." in this moment though, he wished that something would give away how she was feeling: the man was never the most adapt at understanding and reading women, and whilst society often deemed them the fairer and more gentle sex, he wished he had something more to grasp onto in this moment. instead, it were as though she merely responded with more questions - questions to gain her footing, questions to gauge where they would be on a greater scheme. "he's got time. none of us are planning on offensively picking up arms against the crown." that did not mean arms would not be used against them - and thus was the reason he picked the term offensively.

he briefly thought of morgan wylde, and what steps he would make next to solidify his stance - there was little room to remain undecided now. and that thought slowly even made him feel a sense of nerves.

did she not entirely approve of the decision he had made? was she displeased with the fact he had made the decision himself without consulting her? it was entirely within his right as ruling lord to make those decisions in what he thought was best, but in this brief moment of reflection, there was ample space to sit and converse with his sister about the decisions that would be made in the name of their house. only, akhirah knew all too well why he had decided this himself - because he could not afford to allow anyone the opportunity to try and talk him out of it. one moment of weakness and the walls of self preservation would swarm over all.

"yes, lord swann will speak to the king first. i will also send forward a written stance to the master of coin, and to the lord hand. i don't trust him to not do anything and edit the document himself." this did not have to become something larger than it was: he was only refusing to give what they did not have. all they needed was one person to openly say they could no longer afford this - it could start a wider effect. and even if it did not, it would send enough of a message. "if there is a summons, i will attend." he had no intention of painting himself the traitor, after all. whatever they decided to paint him as.

"did you not have a friendship with the queen once?"

[craneofsteel]

sora listened as he answered, her posture unchanged, though the rhythm of her breathing slowed slightly as she absorbed the names. he did not ask her feelings, so she would not give them. he was her brother, but he was also her lord, and she did not just obey, but she trusted in his choices. wylliam swann objected, openly, and clearly. that alone did not surprise her. she had always known him to be measured in matters of conflict, a man who weighed consequence long before action. the lord paramount’s uncertainty, however, lingered longer in her thoughts. undecided men were dangerous in their own way; they moved when the wind finally chose a direction. she rested her fingers lightly against the rim of her cup, considering the shape of what akhirah described.

“that sounds like him,” she said quietly of the hand, neither critical nor approving. there was no sharpness in her tone. if anything, there was a quiet understanding there. “he was never fond of wildfire where a simple lantern might suffice.” sora had known that even when they were younger, when debates had been games played beneath summer trees and beside long tables of maps. rebellion, logic, had never suited wylliam swann’s mind; restraint had always been his weapon of choice. she would not admit she felt a pang of sadness at this, however. she inclined her head again when akhirah spoke of the lord paramount. time, then. time for him to decide which weight he wished to carry. sora suspected that decision would come soon enough, whether he desired it or not. men could linger in uncertainty only until the world demanded otherwise.

when akhirah explained how he intended to proceed, letters sent plainly, his stance recorded without alteration, she felt a faint approval settle beneath her calm. it was careful without being timid. refusal declared, but not sharpened into open defiance before the whole of the court. she lowered her gaze briefly to the tea in her hands. “that is wise,” she said after a moment. “written words leave less room for interpretation.” there were many things the crown might accuse them of; ambiguity did not need to be one of them.

the bells outside had softened now into a steady rhythm of prayer, drifting faintly through the open air. sora’s mind had already begun its quiet work again: supplies, trade routes, which captains could be trusted to bring grain without drawing too much notice. these were problems she understood how to solve. this was where her steadiness was useful. whatever storm followed, tarth would endure it as it always had: quietly and patiently.

but when akhirah asked his next question, something flickered across her expression before she could still it completely. not anger, not quite sorrow, but something more complicated than either. her gaze lowered for a brief moment to the table between them, and when she spoke again her voice was softer than before.

“yes, once,” sora answered. the word came simply, though the memories behind it were anything but. she could still recall laughter carried through gardens, the careless confidence of girls who had not yet been separated by crowns and courts. “we were young.” she lifted her eyes again after a moment, meeting her brother’s gaze with that same quiet composure she had worn all morning, though the warmth there had cooled into something more thoughtful. “i cared for her then.” a small pause followed, almost imperceptible. “i suppose… i still do.”

she did not immediately ask how that piece fit now. truthfully, she was not certain herself. friendship belonged to the past they had shared, and now duty belonged to the present they lived in. sora folded her hands once more, settling back into the calm she carried, which looked so easy for her, but in truth it was a measure of the restraint she had practiced carrying over the years. “why do you ask?”

[grantaere]

Shōgun — "Chapter Eight: The Abyss of Life"

[fortheakhirah]

☯

he remained completely silent as she spoke, ensuring he was not chewing too loudly on his mackerel which was salted perfectly to his taste, ensuring to listen carefully to each word she spoke and prioritising what was needed and what actually was not worth a response. a small part of him recognised that his unannounced visit had no doubt disrupted her usual routine, something the tarths of the isle took incredibly seriously - even in his spontaneity, there was a rigid structure and routine to it most times.

"your hospitality at this early hour is appreciated, sora. i will try to be more timely next time." the dance of politeness continued, and whilst it was surface level, it was not laced in falsehood; he would take her own schedule and preferences more into account the next time he returned from a venture, even if the situation were urgent. some things could wait, and upon reflection, he wondered whether this was truly urgent enough to show up at her door early in the morning - it was merely the start of something. or was it needed?

it was needed; he quietly settled. she had not been in the loop regarding their home whilst he was away, and now was the time she needed to know what would be happening. his back straightened then, taking a moment to pause his focus from the food - it would be impolite to continue speaking on their next topic over food, and the miso could do with some more time to cool down. so he leaned back comfortably against the pillow behind him, enough to indicate he was comfortable, but with enough of a line that he did not appear as though he were lousing around in his own chambers.

his arms crossed over one another as they remained across his lap, listening carefully to each thing said by his sister as she expressed what it was she knew.

"debt to the west, of all kings." akhirah commented, as though to add to the point she had made: the most unpractical of all, something the dragon conqueror was desperate to unravel from around him. but at what cost? he nodded in acknowledgement, as though to confirm what she had heard was the truth - the geld had been levied unevenly across new valyria, leaving most banners of the stormlands to carry the burden. the panels of royal commissioners sent to each circuit of the realm had been trained with scrutiny, and it had resulted in widespread resentment and economic hardship.

"it's resulted in many of the free folk having great dependence on their lords, who are too, strained. there is limited mobility - whilst they could be encouraged to shift to kings landing to find work, they cannot even afford the journey." he leaned forward to have some of the tea, as though to give his sister some time to digest the information he shared. he thought it important to pause between communication, to allow the other time to digest - his own mind thought of his conversations with minthara estermont and tirius rowan, as well as his most recent conversaiton where he had laid down his final judgement - despite the pleading of the hand of the king.

"and we too have felt strain. prices have risen i hear, due to demand - but few can afford common items. the price of a plough being sold, i saw myself when coming through the villages..." he trailed off, his mouth momentarily drying. angry smallfolk were dangerous, but so was a dangerous king, was it not? what path would he tread? it was looking upon sora that was throwing him off, knowing he would be dragging her into it. and so he thought of his next words carefully, clearing his throat as he watched the steam rise from the cup he placed back down. and then, he spoke as though he spoke to a partner.

"i have decided we, and our smallfolk, will not be paying the increase. to keep things moving, the smallfolk will pay the original rate made in the last month of the late queen. we will use it so important more food in - because we will not be paying the crown anything." there was the sound of bells from the courtyard, and the sound of a bong being hit - the prayers had started, and it were almost perfect timing, for he knew they would need them. "the hand and the lord paramount both know."

[craneofsteel]

sora received his courtesy with a slight inclination of her head, as measured as the rest of her movements had been that morning. the ritual of manners continued because it always had; it was the language they trusted when the ground beneath them shifted. she did not correct him about timeliness, nor reassure him it was of no consequence. instead, she accepted the promise as it was offered, silently noting that men like her brother rarely arrived early without reason, and that this was his keep to order, or not, as he wished. she took another small sip of tea, letting the warmth settle, her gaze steady on him as he gathered himself.

she listened carefully as he spoke of debt and burden, of uneven levies and quiet desperation, her expression composed enough that it might have been mistaken for distance. inwardly, none of this surprised her. she had anticipated the shape of it long before he named it, felt it in the way captains chose their words, in the tightening of ledgers, in the subdued gratitude of villages that once offered more. still, hearing it laid bare carried its own weight. she folded her hands together, thumbs resting lightly against one another, a posture of attention rather than defense.

when he spoke of the smallfolk, of their dependence and their immobility, something in her softened, just a fraction. tarth’s isolation had always been both shield and snare; it protected them, but it also made escape costly. she thought of faces she knew by name, of offerings left at shrines, of children who watched her birds with solemn curiosity. rising prices did not shock her. resentment did not either. she had learned long ago that hunger sharpened anger far more quickly than injustice alone. she inclined her head again, acknowledging what he had seen with his own eyes, what she had sensed from afar.

by the time he fell quiet and set his cup down, sora was already prepared for the next words. when they came, they did not jolt her, at least, not outwardly. inside, heat rushed to her cheeks, a flicker of feeling she did not entirely mask. there was anger there, though not aimed at her brother. it was for the circumstances, for being conquered by dragons yet again and finding themselves pressed beneath the will of a spoiled prince turned king. refusal, open and declared, was a dangerous choice. she breathed in slowly, the sound of distant bells threading through the silence between them, a small comfort, and let the moment settle before she spoke. calm, she had learned and practiced, was its own armor.

“you have decided,” she repeated softly, not as a challenge but as a statement of fact. her gaze did not waver. if they would not pay, then scrutiny would follow; that truth needed no voice to exist between them. instead, her thoughts turned to the names he had now confirmed. the hand. the lord paramount. friends, if more distantly now. children once, who had shared imagination and strategy and laughter before titles had hardened them. even the queen had been her friend, once…still. though their affection would not shield tarth, it might shape what came next. “and they objected,” she added quietly, not accusing, only curious.

she shifted then, just slightly, the lady of evenfall hall settling more fully into herself. her thoughts had already moved ahead to what must be gathered and set aside: rice, tea, smoked fish, dried fruits, all things that could be stored for a time, if needed. “will the hand speak to the king on tarth’s behalf, with our answer?” she asked evenly. even with fear and frustration coiled beneath her composure, she chose the language of unity; despite distance and difference between them, she trusted akhirah. her gaze did not leave him as she finished, voice calm and precise. “or will you give our refusal its voice yourself?”

[fortheakhirah]

☯

the sound of the birds chattering away through the open doors and windows played some strange backdrop against the scene that was unfolding before him; a flurry of movement as she indicated for tea, when in reality he felt his stomach squeezing and making quiet noises out of hunger rather than thirst, and still he only bowed again out of respect when she was willing to call for anything to be given to him. a gracious host in her quarter of the hall she had played, and she had always played; it was rare he visited her in such occasions in such scenarios, and yet usually he did so when he was sharing his intentions of taking up another quest on behalf of one who asked it of him. he did not request gold, only a mere favour back someday as was usual in the realm of chivalry and knighthood; only this may be the most treacherous of quests he had chosen to undertake.

and in doing so, for the first time, he would not be undertaking it alone - for he knew they would not see them a seperate entities, but a unit. collusion, perhaps even the word that would submit them to the mercy of a dragon king considering what the sentence would be.

he sat formally across from his sister as the attendants began to quietly pour the tea, before bowing in their own way; before the most experienced left however, akhirah asked quietly for some food to be brought alongside the food. in his mind, he thought it better than to ask sora to have it ordered when she had already intended for it to merely be a tea ceremony - however the man needed food. his stomach was rumbling, and he was not the type to be as patient when he was hungry. 'you have kept your quarters in good condition. there is good lighting from that window." it were not as though he did not know what to say, it was rather the opposite: it was polite and good manners to thank and compliment one's abode when they were playing host to you.

this was only natural, part of their very weaving; their parents had raised them to ensure they remained graceful and civil, rather than yelling and play fighting with one another - and it had stuck, even as they had aged. he leaned back as the tea began to be poured, and he thanked sora once more before beginning to drink from it.

"yes, the wind in particular offered me no patience." akhirah nodded, almost engaging in useless small talk before coming to the true crux of the matter; he noted she had recognised the weather and considered his wellbeing, and he found himself grateful for it. he too thought often of her wellbeing when he was travelling and away, though there was no place that would be safer for her than their own sapphire isle. "but i am here." it was then a tray of food arrived, placed before the lord; he did not consider whether sora too wanted some food, as he had only insisted on one serving - if she were hungry, surely she would have just insisted they break their fast together? he looked down upon his usual breakfast, picking up his chopsticks and mixing the grilled fish with the rice as he awaited for the soup to cool. when she asked the question, he nodded in acknowledgement, as though to assure her that he would tell her the whole story and leave nothing out.

"is it still too early in the day for you to break fast?" he asked, looking upon her cup of tea and realising he did not quite like eating in front of her when she was not.

he put his food down, ensuring to lower his voice - he did not ask for the servants or attendants to leave, for they would know. they would hear, and he believed it their right to know what may soon be forming in the skies over their home. they need be swift and prepared to answer, lest they be questioned by the king's sadistic tax man. "what do you know of lord celtigar's taxation policy regarding the stormland banners?" he asked, wishing to gauge how much she knew so to tailor his explanation as such.

[craneofsteel]

sora inclined her head at his question, a measured gesture that acknowledged both his concern and the unspoken etiquette beneath it. she had not intended to eat, not yet, but to leave him alone with his meal would be discourteous, and discourtesy between them carried more weight than most. she lifted her hand slightly, signaling to the nearest attendant with a soft word for something light, fruit and bread, nothing that would truly break her discipline but enough to share the table. inwardly, she noted how easily he unsettled the order of her morning simply by arriving unexpectedly. outwardly, she remained composed, cup cradled between her palms. “it is earlier than i prefer,” she said evenly, “but not so early as to make a guest uncomfortable in eating alone.”

she listened as he spoke of the wind, of the journey, of being here at all, and allowed the polite rhythm of it to settle. small talk had always been their armor. manners and discipline taught from a young age that seemed to come far more easily for akhirah than it did her, even now, though it never showed. not anymore. sora let her gaze drift briefly to the window he had complimented, the pale light slanting in from the sea, before returning to him. “the light is kind at this hour,” she agreed. “it does much of the work for me.” it was easier to discuss stone and sun than the jump to reason he had risked the crossing. still, curiosity pressed at her thoughts, a quiet, persistent thing she kept carefully leashed.

when the tray was set before her as well, modest and unassuming, she thanked the attendant and waited until the room had stilled again. she did not miss the way akhirah lowered his voice, nor the fact that he made no effort to clear the space. if this concerned the isle, then the isle would hear of it soon enough. at his question, her expression did not change, but something sharpened behind her eyes. of course this was to do with their new king and council. lord celtigar’s reach had grown long, and not by accident.

“enough,” she answered after a brief pause, choosing honesty without embellishment. “the crown’s debts do not disappear simply because they are inconvenient. they are being paid in coin drawn from banners that can least afford to protest.” she took a small bite of fruit, more for show than hunger, and set it aside. she had read the notices, heard the murmurs from captains and stewards alike. stormland levies raised under the language of necessity, enforced with a zeal that suggested something more desperate beneath it. “tarth’s contribution has increased,” she continued calmly, “as have the expectations placed upon it.”

she folded her hands again, posture straight, every inch the lady of the keep. she wondered how deep this ran, whether this was merely another tightening of the crown’s fist, or the prelude to something far more dangerous. taxes could be survived. scrutiny could not. she studied her brother as he ate, as if weighing him against the unspoken shape of the problem. he had not crossed rough seas for figures and ledgers alone.

“what will tarth’s response to this be?” she asked at last. tarth, deliberately stated, because whatever decision its lord made, they would all live within its wake. agreement was secondary to loyalty; he was her lord and her brother, and where he led, she would follow. she lifted her cup again, meeting his gaze over its rim. whatever this was, it was no longer his concern alone. by stepping into her morning, into her hall, he had already made that much clear.

[fortheakhirah]

who: @craneofsteel when and where: the isle of tarth, following akhirah's meeting with the hand of the king and the lord paramount of the stormlands, akhirah tarth decides it time to break some news to his sister.

dawn light spilled like molten gold across the isle of tarth, turning its pale cliffs the color of burnished pearl as the ruling lord pulled into the bay; he had sailed through some conditions he probably should have tried to wait out from a safe distance, however the man felt as though he were transfixed on one thing he needed to do - he could not risk another managing to put quill to parchment and passing on the message to her before he did. this was a moment with a gravity he felt all too well, as though he were a rock that could be tossed to the bottom of the depths with the sense of weight he felt upon his shoulders; it did not have to be him, that he knew.

logically, it could have been any other lord of the stormlanders to do this - and all he could do was hope that eventually, he could inspire some change. and yet still, he did not expect others to follow in his steps: a heroic curse, was one that plagued akhirah of house tarth, as though he were a crane that threatened to fly far too close to the sun that could burn his wings. still, at least he would land in the sea.

the sea breathed softly against stepped stone quays, where slender minarets rose beside tiered pagoda towers, their eaves curved like the wings of cranes in flight. silk banners stitched with crescent moons and sunbursts fluttered above tiled roofs of indigo and jade. the scent of salt mingled with incense drifting from harbor shrines, where carved wooden spirits stood beside intricate mosaics of lapis and onyx; the smoke from them made it clear they had only been in use some minutes earlier, that he could tell by the mere scent. and still, as he seemed to chase the rising sun with the speed in which he climbed the mighty steps leading up to the main keep, he again risked flying too close. too quickly. for akhirah tarth knew that this was the only one of the things he needed to do this day.

and the most tremendous, being a letter. a letter that once sent, could not be taken back - and he would watch the bird until it was no longer in his sight. he bowed his head in respect toward the eldery servants, those who had raised the two of them under the same sun for years, before continuing to walk towards a not so familiar wing; it was rare he stalked this part of the hall, and yet he knew she would be awake, for he had seen the cluster of birds within her private garden eating their morning feast. he stood outside the door of her private apartments, not considering that it was too early to wish to speak of such serious matters, but his back straightened nonetheless as giant drum was beat once to announce his presence. he heard the sounds of a windcatcher above him as he waited. and thought. would he need to try and send her to duty? she would insist to fight alongside him, if it came to it; but they could not both risk perishing and being swept up in treachery.

and yet still, he was stubbornly prideful in his notion of honour: they would both stand united in intention. whilst survival would call on her to make it clear to the valyrians she played no role in this, he knew they had been raised to perish together if need be. and so he waited until he heard the door open, before bowing in the presence of the lady of evenfall hall, bringing his hands to clasp together. there was a formality between them, as there always had been; it was in their custom, to address one another with titles and terms of respect. "forgive me sora, for i know it is not long since sunrise - but know i bring news."

it was then he indicated toward her chambers, and for a moment his gaze remained fixed on a new type of bird within her chambers. what bird was that? he did not think even he knew. "may i enter?"

[craneofsteel]

the mornings on tarth were a gift she never took lightly. sora moved through her routine with practiced calm; prayer spoken softly while the horizon blushed gold, a measured stretch of meditation as the sea breathed in and out below her balcony, tea poured and allowed to steep just so. she scattered seed along the low stone rail of her private gardens for the birds that gathered there each dawn, a familiar flutter of wings and quiet chirring answering her presence. the isle’s isolation had always been its blessing; it kept the world at bay, let her hear her own thoughts. and yet, some mornings, it pressed close in its stillness, a loneliness she acknowledged and then set aside like an unneeded blade.

she was enjoying the salt heavy air, extra heavy with the presence of looming clouds and rougher seas, when the sound reached her. it was distant, but unmistakable. a single drumbeat. sora stilled, fingers pausing mid-motion as the birds scattered in a flurry. her brow knit faintly. the waters had been restless; she knew that as well as any sailor. akhirah had not been expected until tomorrow at the earliest. the fact that he had come at all, and through such conditions, settled uneasily in her chest. he had always been willing to take risks, but that willingness rarely came without cause. she set the seed bowl aside and turned toward the door, her calm held together by discipline rather than ease.

when she opened it and found him there, freshly arrived and already carrying the weight of intention, she inclined her head first, proper and composed. “akhirah,” sora said, voice even, as if she had stated a restrained my lord rather than uttering her own brother’s name. her eyes searched him briefly, taking in the signs of travel he might not bother to notice himself. the formality between them was as natural as breath now, learned young, reinforced by distance and unspoken tensions, but beneath it lay the familiar pride of shared blood, even when paths diverged. she stepped aside without hesitation. “you are welcome. please, come in.”

her wing of the keep bore the marks of constant use: low tables set with scrolls and folded cloth, her naginata resting in its place along the wall, free of dust or neglect. cushions were arranged with care but without any sort of ceremony. it was the quiet evidence of a life actually lived within its walls. the scent of tea and incense lingered in the air. sora gestured him inside and closed the door behind them, the sounds of the sea softening once more. “you’ve arrived earlier than expected,”  she noted, observational, though beneath it lay a clear understanding. this was not a message meant for raven, nor a visit made for pleasantries. she could scarcely recall the last of those. “the waters were unkind this morning.”

she moved to pour another cup, setting it before his place before taking her own seat. the birds had already begun to return to the rail outside, curious and unafraid. sora folded her hands neatly in her lap, posture straight, gaze steady on her brother. “it’s strong,” she said quietly. “the tea.” inwardly, her heart thudded a little faster, though nothing of it showed, another thing she had mastered with time, alongside her once fiery temper. now, more than anything, she felt wary concern rather than a flare of irritation at the sudden arrival. “well,” she continued evenly, “what news do you bring?” and she wondered, not for the first time, who had died, or what distant shore called to him next, or whether, against all expectation, he meant to say he would finally stay.

[mintharaestermont]

"oh, no, no. i was definitely selfish. you must remember. i used to cry on other people's namedays because i didn't have any presents for me." the minthara who had fostered in tarth had arrived a spitfire of a thing, always able to make herself the centre of attention, but her less desirable were tempered by her loyalty to those she called friend. it was then that her generosity and affection poured out of her, even if the rest of the world still got her mischief and rough edges on full display. "luckily, age has changed me. i'm practically perfect now." she couldn't help the laugh that burst out of her, and she looked at sora to see if she was laughing too.

she liked what sora said, about her finding joy in things. "you could, too, if you were more reckless," she pointed out. "but that's always easier when you've got someone else to do the watching for you. no point looking before you leap when there's a sora behind you shouting that you're about to dive head-first into a ditch."

the estermonts were a large family, and minty was a little sister to many, but she did not mind adding another with sora. in a way, they almost were, save for that they shared little blood. they had shared a home during formative years, and annoyed and adored each other in equal measure. "no you won't," she said, with no small amount of confidence. "i entertain you too much. you'd be lost without me. you'd be crying and everything. 'where's minthara?'" the greenstone lilt was dropped from her voice when she spoke the latter two words, to something more akin to the tones that marked someone's speech as being from tarth, though she had never quite been able to drop her accent entirely, and it still coloured the sound.

she quickly dropped her teasing, though, at the prospect of food. "oh, thank you. i thought i'd starve." she clutched her stomach dramatically. "i'll definitely make it up to you tomorrow. i'll bring you pastries and fruit and cake. so much sugar your teeth will rot."

[craneofsteel]

sora’s mouth curved despite herself, the corner of it betraying her before the rest of her expression followed. “oh yes, i do remember,” she said lightly, eyes warm with the memory. “you were inconsolable. i think you accused the world of conspiring against you.” there was no judgment in it, only fond amusement, and understanding. with her friend’s declaration of perfection, sora gave a quiet hum, skeptical but indulgent. “practically,” she agreed. “i’ll allow it. growth comes in the smallest of mercies.”

she listened, head tilted, as the topic turned to that of recklessness, and for a moment her gaze slid away to the bustle of the concord before returning. she herself had been reckless, ill-tempered, once upon a time. perhaps meeting minthara, the feeling of obligation, and strict instruction from her father, to be a better example for their ward, had a hand in molding her more than she’d like to admit. “someone has to keep you from breaking your neck,” sora replied calmly. “and i don’t shout. i warn. there’s a difference.” another beat passed then, softer. “joy found after looking lasts longer. i learned that the hard way.” she did not elaborate, only reached out to straighten a fold of minty’s sleeve, a familiar, grounding gesture.

at minty’s insistence that sora would be lost without her, she let out a quiet breath of a laugh, shaking her head. “i would not cry,” she stated simply, deadpan, then paused. “…much.” her eyes flicked toward minty, amused now, and she gave her a gentle nudge in return with a smile curling upon the corners of her mouth. “but yes. you do have a talent for filling silence. i’d be far less entertained without your presence.”

the dramatics earned a fond look as sora guided them toward the food stalls, already scanning the offerings with practiced ease. “pastries, fruit, and cake?” she repeated, thoughtful. “that sounds less like repayment and more like a threat.” still, there was warmth in her voice as she added, “very well. but if my teeth rot, i’ll hold you personally responsible, you know. now, where shall we start? fine wines and cheese, or venison? i doubt their fish is any good here, but i might try it if you insist on it.” she had always been particular about food from the sea anywhere, but tarth.

[anya-snow]

Hearth and fire, her friend said, and the raven-haired lady couldn't help but laugh a little. “Gods, you paint me in such a poetic way,” Anya added with a slight smirk across her lips and a quick shake of her head. Born a Northern bastard and raised a hardened blacksmith, she had never thought of herself with such warm imagery. Instead, as her previous surname suggested, she had always been associated with the cold, with iron and soot, with callous hands and hard work. Still, hearing Sora speak about her in such terms did bring a sense of warmth to her chest, aware that sometimes friends viewed each other in more favorable ways than one could see themselves.

As the Tarth lady imparted ancient YiTish wisdom and spoke of her mother, Anya's expression began to soften. Kiyomizuno butaikara tobioriru. Take the leap. She had always thought of herself as someone who did just that, who was quick to adapt and shift, to take risks in order to survive and keep moving forward. “Take the leap,” she murmured, glancing toward the platform Sora had pointed out. “I like that. And I like knowing your mother said it to you. I can picture the scene there.” There was an affectionate gleam in her eyes, somewhat amused but also touched that Sora had shared that memory with her. She made a mental note to think back on that YiTish phrase the next time she hesitated between taking an uncertain step forward and holding on to what lay behind her.

She followed her friend’s lead as they entered the terrace, kneeling on the cushions with an ease that revealed familiarity with the Tarth's traditions. Having grown up with a certain distance from her own YiTish roots, Anya had only begun to learn in the last few years of her life some practices that originated in the Golden Empire. Many came from her uncle Jinhai when he first visited and from Anya's studying after that. Some more came thanks to her closeness to Sora. “Yes, I’d like that very much,” she agreed when Sora mentioned visiting the family's library.

Anya never had formal tutoring like nobles and royals did, but what Myrna Ryder, a dear friend of her late mother, had managed to teach her had given her enough tools to build on what interested her. With all the travelling she did as a blacksmith, an interest in maps inevitably sparked. It seemed fortuitous that her current role dealt so much with them. “I’ve always loved maps,” she admitted out loud, unsure if it was something she had ever said to Sora. “I find they tell stories in some way. What is shown, and maybe more importantly, what can be left out”. A whole world couldn't be reduced to images on paper. Many elements needed to be reduced, simplified, or omitted entirely. If one paid enough attention, what had fallen through the cracks could be just as revealing as what made it to the page. She had discovered that in her current work, following those missing threads and doing more research could be even more essential than what was plainly shown.

[craneofsteel]

sora’s smile lingered, a quiet curve more felt than seen. “poetic or not, it fits,” she said simply, as if stating an observable truth rather than offering flattery. “iron only softens when near heat. you’ve never been cold, anya. only forged.” there was no dramatics in her tone, sora meant it plainly, and that sincerity carried more weight than any pretty phrasing. she reached to pour tea for them both, movements steady, almost ritualistic, as though grounding their conversation in something tangible.

“my mother said it with her hair still dripping down her back,” the lady of evenfall hall added after a moment, voice low with a faint note of fondness. “my father kept shouting that she was going to catch a chill. she ignored him, of course.” her eyes drifted toward the water beyond the terrace, remembering the sun on the surface, the shock of cold, her mother’s laugh when she sputtered back to the docks. “maybe that’s what leaps are for. not just for leaving, but for being reminded you’re alive when you hit the water.” she didn’t say it like a lesson, more like a memory she was still deciphering herself.

a small hum left her as anya spoke of the maps, and sora tipped her head thoughtfully. “mm. i’ve always liked the blank spaces most. the ones marked only with little notes, uncharted or unknown waters. people pretend those places are empty, but they’re only waiting for a name.” she glanced at anya then, something sharper and softer both glinting behind her dark eyes. “you’d fill them well. not just with ink, but with meaning.”

she settled comfortably beneath the dappled light, one hand resting loosely around her teacup. “after we eat, we’ll find the maps. and if there’s nothing worth keeping, we’ll make our own instead.” her lips curved, subtle with amusement. “ani would be insufferable if he heard me say that, but perhaps that’s reason enough to do it.” she shrugged lightly, though the suggestion held more humor than intent. to leave the island for long stretches would take far more than idle whim, something far more important kept her anchored here.

with a quiet exhale, she set her cup down, having finished the last of her drink. “well, shall we move on to the sake?” she asked, tilting her head toward the small porcelain flask waiting at the center of the table, a small grin upon her face. “or would you like to savor your tea a while longer?”

[sotohpecnerefer]

Anna Sawai

[mintharaestermont]

in truth, much about the verdant concord went right over minthara's head. she had never been the cleverest - not when it came to things like this, academia and philosophy and all the things that had never interested her. it had been said before that she had a clever mouth, but she didn't think it was quite the same. she half-heartedly hung at the edge of lectures and debates, listening for a piece of information that she could spit out at dinner, just to see her brother's look of surprise that she had actually learned something. so far, she was coming up short, her attention drifting in mere seconds, and after a demonstration on water wheels left her wanting to drown the inventor in one, she had slinked off in search of something fruity and alcoholic that might make all these academics a little more interesting.

it was not until she had a glass in hand that she spotted sora tarth, her expression instantly shifting from one of boredom to one of joy once she had turned to see who had called her name. she had long been fond of the tarths since her youth, fostered on the sapphire isle, and so as she drew closer, she thought nothing of winding her arms around sora to hug her in greeting.

"a music box?" she held out her hand, waiting for sora to hand it to her. once she had it, she wound it gently, turning the crank with a careful hand so she could hear it's song. she recognised it within the first few notes, a children's song familiar to her. "it's tyroshi," she said. "or the song is tyroshi. my mother taught it to me when i was small." she cleared her throat, waiting until the chimes of the box looped around to the beginning again. then, she began to sing, her voice soft and sweet. "little bird, little bird, fly no more, your wings are too soft, your song is too sore," she handed the box back to sora. "or something like that. i never knew what half of it meant. i always thought it was about me. selfish little beast, wasn't i?"

she nudged her shoulder against sora's. "i want one." she announced. "i'll have to come back for it tomorrow, though. i forgot my coin purse in our apartments. didn't think they'd have any cute little bits like that. thought it would be all books and shit." she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "you always had an eye for the best things. must be tiring being so clever." she thought little of gently tapping sora on the forehead, always tactile with her affection.

"are you hungry?" she asked, mostly because she was hungry herself, though the aforementioned lack of coin purse had prevented her doing anything about it. "i saw a table over there selling food. if you got them for us we could go and eat it by the mander. i'll pay you back later, i promise."

[craneofsteel]

sora returned minty’s embrace with an ease that only came from old familiarity, the kind of comfort born of years spent under the same roof. she let herself smile, soft and genuine, when the song spilled from minty’s lips, and she shook her head faintly as if to scold but without any weight behind it. “selfish? hardly. i think every child makes the world about themselves. it’s how we learn to place meaning in things.” her tone carried warmth, not correction, and her fingers brushed the lid of the box closed with care, letting the last notes linger in the air.

minty’s playful tap on her forehead drew a quiet laugh from sora, the kind that lilted low and didn’t last long, but was no less real for its brevity. “clever? no, just watchful,” she answered, glancing toward the crowd, then back to her friend with a small, knowing smile. “you were always better at finding joy in things quickly. it takes me longer.” the words weren’t self-deprecating, only honest, sora had come to favor steady footing over leaps.

her gaze softened as minty grinned up at her, and she tilted her head with mock exasperation. “seven help me, you haven’t changed at all. still flitting about, pestering me like a little sister who refuses to grow up.” the fondness in her voice betrayed the tease, and she nudged minty’s arm gently. “one of these days i’ll stop humoring you.”

with a light touch at minty’s elbow, she nodded toward the rows of stalls, silks shifting around her as she turned. “come then, before all the good food is gone.” her mouth curved in a half-smile, more playful this time. “and if you must insist, you can buy me something sweet tomorrow to make amends. i won’t argue.”

[anya-snow]

She couldn't help but laugh a little, the sound more a light scoff than anything else, as her friend spoke of taming who Anya was. It had been a strange and complex balancing act for the bastard-born lady, as she juggled everything she'd been with what she was expected to be, and let some things fall through her fingers while she held on tight to others. “Aye, they won't. I let them with a few things. But others I just don't want to let go,” she added with a subtle smile, but there was a flicker of something else, something worn. “I try to live up to some of the expectations, do what I can, and do it well. But my hands will always be calloused by the work that helped me survive, and I will always prefer my father's cottage over a grand bedroom. I'm not ashamed of who I was, you know? If I let go of that past, I'm not sure what would be left of me”.

She glanced toward Sora, meeting her friend's gaze with a kind of quiet sincerity, the unspoken understanding that often passed between them. “But it means more than I can say to know you’d still travel North for me, with both a sword and lecture”. Sora’s steadiness and warm friendship were some of the greatest gifts the raven-haired woman had ever been given. Even more so because she understood Anya as more than a bastard, a blacksmith, a lady, or as someone who was still figuring out the in-between spaces she inhabited.

When Sora spoke of feeling at peace, Anya gave a slow nod, thoughtful. “I understand the wish for peace more and more. I do crave it for myself,” she said. “Share your secrets, please,” the Northern lady added with a soft chuckle. Perhaps she's always been too restless to grasp for peace, built by a world that so often needed swords and being the one to craft them. These days, she thought more and more about simply wishing for people around her to be safe. Anya's gaze remained thoughtful, but her eyes did soften a little at her friend's tender remark about sunshine. “You’re the first to call me that. Most would say I'm more winter than warmth, I'm sure”. Snow by name and by everything else.

“As much as I do feel comforted by being in Winter Town and Winterfell, I have always enjoyed going to other places,” she easily admitted. Once, it had been out of sheer necessity, but nowadays she could afford herself the luxury of making a stop like this one, someplace she wished to be. The warm smile that crossed her lips was an unspoken affirmation that she was pleased to have come to Tarth, even more so, to be able to stay for a bit to see her friend. “I don't know if I could charm a pirate, or anyone else, but I do wish to see more of the map”. Westeros was all she knew, after all. “I’ve yet to cross the Narrow Sea. Yi Ti has been on my mind for years. I wish to see my father again, see the land our family came from. But always stops me every time. A duty. A storm. A tie I can’t cut”.

The pair came closer to the keep, and Anya was warmed by the thought of a familiar hearth waiting inside. “Thank you, Sora,” she said in her own sharp, Northern way, yet with genuine gratitude. “Gods no, I don’t need any feasts or the fanfare. A walk, some food, and chatting with you makes me more than happy. That is all I could wish for”. That was what Anya honored in her life, the quiet, real moments. The ones that asked nothing of her except to be present, and be herself without guarding herself, and without pretense.

[craneofsteel]

the lady of evenfall knew something of navigating the edges, of belonging enough to be held to expectations, yet always feeling a step sideways from what was intended. sora was born with name and title, yes, but that hadn’t made the molding any gentler. it only meant the walls she was shaped within were carved from polished stone rather than plain wood. she didn’t envy the weight anya bore, but there were moments she wished she could’ve forged her own shape the way anya had, calloused hands, honest fire, choosing what to keep and what to let fall away. sora had learned to temper her own flames until they resembled grace.

“mm. hearth and fire,” sora repeated, pleased with the image. “anyone who says otherwise hasn’t had the sense to sit close enough to thaw their fingers.” she smiled as she said it, chin tilting just slightly, her voice warmer now, touched with fondness. anya wasn’t all edges, no matter how the north liked to shape her. even here, away from snow and storm, she carried the steady heat of someone who had built herself brick by brick, and had never forgotten how to offer warmth back.

at anya's remark of traveling, the lady gave a soft snort. "you may want to talk to akhirah then, he'd have lots to share." there was no bitterness in her voice, but something close, a soft resignation, perhaps. she often found herself standing in place, there on tarth, whilst he set on another adventure. he had a wanderer's heart, to be certain. "you know, that makes me think of something my mother would say. kiyomizuno butaikara tobioriru. it means…take the leap. just do it. there's never the perfect time." that was not sora's way, not really anymore. she looked out to the distance and pointed. "she taught me that jumping off the jetty into the water just over there. quite literal, my mother."

the terrace soon welcomed them with its golden hour hush, cushions scattered like fallen blossoms and a low table laid with simple dishes. sora knelt first, and gestured for anya to join her. "after we eat, we can go to the library and perhaps rummage around to see if there are any maps or books that catch your eye. i'm sure akhi has something stored away from his travels." she picked up the porcelain teacup, savoring the flavors a moment before continuing. "then i thought later maybe a little bonfire on the shore would be nice too. since you're so frigid." she taunted.

[ormundshightower]

ANNA SAWAI — Golden Globes 2025 by Chantal Anderson

[aidantully]

Aidan enjoyed weapons that didn't require such close contact, choosing the bow as his main choice and the axe as his second. But he was intrigued by the weapon but he found he didn't like it as much as the halberd but it only gave way to his biases for the axe as a close combat weapon. Dragging his tongue over his lips he stepped through the crowd, stopping with his arms crossed over. And as someone tried to move around, he stood firm, the crowd was packed in closely in such a tight spot. But then a small voice reached his ears and the Prince of the Riverlands faltered and finally stepped to the side to give her space.

But as he was moving he saw her peering around him or attempting to and it made him chuckle some. "Move. The Lady is trying to see." Aidan said to the person next to him as he moved to stand to the left of her, his arms crossing behind his back.

When the Prince of Loaves and Fishes returned from the East with his closely cut hair it was initially difficult to tell who he was but when the copper curls began to peak out some knew immediately which house the man belong too or at the very least, which region he came from and as such the Prince chose to keep his hair close.

"Do you plan to use this weaponry?" The tone wasn't mocking, mostly one of curiosity. "Never seen a lady wield." Well, he thought, he'd never seen a woman wield a spear of wood and steel and that thought made him smile at a joke no one heard. "Don' want to be one of the lad in the thick of battle watching some green boy swing that about." Aidan decided he was unimpressed. He looked toward the woman again. She was unfamiliar to him.

"Forgive my rudeness, I am Aidan Tully. Prince of Loaves and Fishes."

[craneofsteel]

sora blinked as the stranger in front of her finally shifted, startled into motion by a voice that didn’t belong to her. the man moved, and she saw the weapon swing again in a flash of polished steel, graceful, sharp, purposeful. she exhaled, her line of sight now unobstructed, but her gaze tilted to the side where her unexpected rescuer had positioned himself.

“thank you,” she said, a flicker of dry humor in her voice. “i wasn’t sure if he’d ever notice me. or if i’d be stuck staring at his back ‘til the next demonstration.”

the weapon spun once more, its arc glinting in the light, enough to draw her eye, though her attention soon drifted back to the man beside her. he introduced himself, and she turned to face him properly, curiosity sparking as recognition settled in. a tully. she remembered him only faintly from long ago, back when she’d been much closer to his sister, niamh. there was no bitterness there, if anything, quite the opposite, but it felt odd to reach for a thread so distant, a friendship that belonged moreso to a younger version of herself.

“sora tarth,” she offered in return as she studied his expression, the sharp lines of it softened by that grin threatening at the edge of his mouth. prince of loaves and fishes, he had said, and it earned a faint lift of her brow, but she didn’t question it, despite the small lift at the corners of her mouth. “a generous title. bread and fish feed more than steel ever could.”

her gaze tracked the sweep of the spear-pike once more before she spoke. “no, but, i’ve trained with weapons like it, though i prefer the naginata—well, something like a polearm. it favors patience over brute force.” she paused, considering. “this is not one i’d carry into a battle, though.”

she glanced up at him, catching that subtle air of skepticism. “and you, prince of loaves and fishes? you don’t seem too taken with it,” she noted. “perhaps you are an axe loyalist?” her tone teased gently, though not unkindly. “or are you one of those archers who think everything is a little too close?”

[niamhtullys]

♧

niamh had not meant to go that way. she truly hadn’t. it was foolish, reckless even—jaehaerys would be speaking with the tyrells, and her presence was expected soon beside him. and yet… she had caught a glimpse of dark curls, the set of a familiar jawline, that particular angle at which sora tarth always tilted her head when something caught her attention. that tilt was burned into niamh’s memory: countless campaigns with dice and parchment, stolen hours discussing fictional realms more merciful than their own. and now—here.

the queen of new valyria did not announce herself. she merely stepped forward through the crowd and, in doing so, accidentally blocked the very thing sora had been trying to see.

for a moment she just stood there, spine straight, hands folded loosely before her, gaze fixed on the swinging blur of metal in the sunlight. and then came the voice—soft, a little strained, oh so familiar. niamh didn’t turn at once. instead, she smiled faintly, her eyes fixed on the glinting weapon ahead as she said, lightly, “you always did prefer the polearms. i said they were unwieldy and pretentious, and you said they had poetry.” then she turned. sora looked older. not aged, not weary, but… sharpened. stormland steel made flesh. niamh could not say whether it was the war taxes, the distance, or the inevitable passage of time that made her look so. she only knew it made something throb quietly behind her ribs. "hello, old friend."

“i didn’t mean to stand in your way,” she murmured, though her gaze didn’t waver. “i saw you and—well." she hesitated. not because she didn’t know what to say, but because there were too many things she wanted to say, and too few that she was allowed to. “i have missed you.” the words came plainly, no gilding. no grace, no poise; just a mere statement. she cared not if she were stood close to other courtiers; a part of her was desperate to ask sora if she would be her lady, and yet she wondered if that would somehow be an insult to her. she was too free for such things, and considering the nature of the court, she would not wish to put her in such a position.

“you and your birds, and your impossible dice rolls, and the way you used to bring lemon cakes to every session even though no one liked lemon cakes, and your ridiculous insistence that your rogue could also be a knight if she ‘believed hard enough.’ niamh laughed quietly, but it faltered. “you made her a knight anyway. we let you.”

( of all the crowns it is the paper one i miss most / back when no court was grander than the floor of a dusty library )

[craneofsteel]

sora paused at the voice.

at first, she didn’t believe it. not entirely. the words cut cleanly through the noise of the crowd, and though the tone was lighter than memory had kept it, the cadence was the same, the way she paused before poetry, the almost fond scoff beneath unwieldy. the summer haze, the scent of iron and blooming rose, the thrum of a pike cleaving air, all of it faded as sora saw her, truly saw her. with hair red as fire she thought herself foolish for not realizing who stood before her in the first place.

queen of new valyria. crowned and armored in titles and consequences, standing tall amid sun-drenched petals and bronze steel. niamh of storms and fire.

sora inhaled once, slow and steady, a breath that held both the weight of the past and the distance of the years. "you remember that?” she asked quietly, lips curving, almost wryly. “i never did convert you to the elegance of reach polearms, did i?. i memory serves me right, you said they looked like they were made for dancing, not for war.”

her voice was soft, careful, as if the years had turned sharp edges into gentler slopes. the bow of her head that followed was respectful, not quite courtly, not quite personal. somewhere in between. a gesture for a queen, but from someone who had once called her by name around a candlelit table littered with dice and half-eaten lemon cakes.

"your grace,” she said, acknowledging the crown first, because she must. but then: “niamh.”

sora’s expression flickered at the memory of the rogue-knight, so absurd, so full of belief, and she gave a low laugh, warm but brief. “she believed. that was enough. and you let her. you always did know when not to ruin the magic.” then, quieter, “i missed you too.”

the crowd shifted again behind them, people brushing past, murmuring about craftsmanship and crossguards, but sora stepped slightly to the side, just enough that they were no longer blocking anyone, nor being pressed by the tide of the curious. her hands folded loosely in front of her, fingers brushing over the embroidered sash that cinched her robes. a garment that blended both her eastern heritage and western, patterned in pale storm clouds and silver cranes.

her gaze flicked to the weapon on display, graceful, yes, but not exceptional, and then back to niamh. her voice was gentler now, less formal.

“this piece isn’t much, truth be told. clever, but not clever enough to deserve a crown’s attention.” a beat. “perhaps we might find something a bit more intriguing." she gave a small shrug, glancing to the queen now. "would you walk with me? perhaps we may even find some lemon cakes on the way, and you will indulge me yet again." she added, a soft smile upon her lips.

she didn’t say come with me, nor I’ll escort you, only would you walk with me?, a question not uncertain, but deliberate, like a quiet favor asked with no expectation of return, as if the tensions of new valyria and the stormlands, and all that lay between them could be set aside, just for a while.

[emiravmallister]

.

emira was, quite frankly, bored out of her mind.

the music exhibitions had ended, the lectures on composition and bardic history had wrapped up for the moment, and now she had wandered into an area of the verdant concord where everyone seemed utterly obsessed with swords, pikes, spears—whatever sharp, pointy thing happened to be swinging about in the courtyard.

with an exaggerated sigh, she wandered through the clusters of nobles and craftsmen, trailing a hand lazily along a low stone wall, searching for something—anything—to occupy her attention.

it wasn’t the weapons that caught her eye, but the sight of a girl trying—and failing—to get a decent view past a mountain of a man planted firmly in front of her.

emira grinned to herself. well, this was something she could fix.

making her way over, she came to stand beside the other girl, her head tilting slightly as she assessed the situation. she leaned in just enough so only they could hear.

"terrible, isn’t it?" she said with a dry little hum. "to think we’ve traveled all this way just to admire the stitching on some lord’s cloak.”

without waiting for a response, emira cleared her throat loudly and then, adopting her sweetest, most innocent voice, addressed the wall of man before them.

“my lord, forgive me, but some of us who are less blessed in height would dearly love to see the demonstration.would you mind terribly moving your immense frame slightly to the left before we both expire of boredom back here? or perhaps crouch just a little?"

there was a startled murmur from the man—and a few chuckles from the onlookers—before he shuffled awkwardly to the side. emira turned to the girl with a victorious smile. “there. much better, isn’t it?” she extended a hand, her tone still bright and teasing. “emira mallister. and you are?”

[craneofsteel]

sora turned at the voice, caught off guard by the sudden presence at her side. her brow lifted just slightly, a flicker of dry amusement crossing her features as the woman spoke, bold, utterly unbothered, and startlingly effective. when the tall man moved aside, sora blinked, her view unobstructed once more, and let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

“that was…” her voice was low, steady, but wry at the edges, “a far more successful approach than mine.”

she looked at emira fully now, studying her with the practiced ease of someone used to measuring people quickly, how they carried themselves, how deliberately they chose their words. there was a glint in emira’s eyes that reminded sora of the sea before a storm: bright, teasing, but not without depth. the kind of presence that drew attention and didn’t particularly mind what it did with it once it had it.

“sora tarth,” she offered, with a slight nod of her head, brushing back dark tresses that began to blow with the breeze. “of evenfall hall. i know your house, but i am afraid i haven't had the pleasure of meeting you yet, suppose now is as good a time as any." sora grinned at the younger woman.

sora’s gaze followed the shifting crowd toward the next setup. brass and lacquered wood glinted in the sun, some mechanical contraption built with far more care than purpose, it seemed. it looked like it might collapse or fly apart if handled without precision, but it had drawn a circle of curious onlookers all the same.

“are you interested in these sorts of things?” sora asked, glancing sideways at emira again. her tone remained even, but there was a note of genuine curiosity there. “or just curious today?”