;;the silhouetted

Oh, how gently we'll talk, Oh, how softly we'll tread. All the stings, The ugly things We'll keep unsaid. We'll build a cocoon Of love and respect. lady emira mallister

[benblvckwood]

ben had found himself stood among a loose circle of men, most of which he had last seen bloodied and shouting across a battlefield. they had found camaraderie then, but there was a different type of it here tonight, marked not by being brothers-in-arms, but by ale in the belly and the laughter it produced. snow clung to his boots and his eyelashes, but he barely felt it, snug in his bulky cloak.

though he was a riverlander by birth, ben felt far more at home in the north than he ever did amongst the clover folk. the north made sense to him, no temples, no septons, just the wind in the leaves of the godswood. amongst the riverlords, the ceremonies and songs they aimed at the seven he did not believe in, there was no denying house blackwood stood apart, and ben more than most, thanks to the blood of the mother he did not recall in his veins. but here, where the gods had no names, he felt a little more understood.

ben caught the flutter of movement before he caught her voice, the swoop of fabric against the snow, the way the firelight caught in her hair. perhaps it was the fact he'd been drinking, but ben smiled at the sight of her, a crooked grin crossing his face without him even meaning to. even with her nose pink and her cloak a little too thin for the northern chill, she still looked pretty, he thought, a bright, shining thing against the harsh of the chill.

"lady mallister," he greeted her warmly, her name visible on the air as his breath left him. there was something in the tone of her voice that had his brow furrowing, as though she was giving him a clue he could not quite decipher as he looked down at his own attire - the layers of black wool, fur at the collar, hands tucked into leather gloves, and then back to her. "yeah. yeah, i suppose i am quite comfortable," he said, as though surprised by the notion himself. "and you look lovely, by the way." that was a normal thing men said to women they were engaged to marry, wasn't it?

she was speaking again in that funny way. it was different to the last time they had been together, but ben didn't think he minded it. or at least, he wouldn't if she kept batting her eyelashes like that. still, her words felt like a riddle he didn't know the answer to, and he hesitated before answering, giving her question more thought than was warranted, and still coming up short. the obvious answer was to go inside, but surely she would have thought of that herself?

he frowned, thought a little harder, then spoke. "you're not actually freezing to death, are you?"

[emiravmallister]

.

emira blinked at him for a heartbeat, then laughed softly, the sound a little breathless in the cold. “not yet.” she said. “but i fear it is only a matter of time.”

she shifted her weight, edging just a little closer to him and the bulk of his warmth, as if by accident. the fire cracked nearby, but it did very little against the wind, which seemed determined to cut straight through her cloak. she hugged her arms briefly, then dropped them again, clearly unwilling to admit defeat too openly. yes she was freezing but it was worse to admit she was wrong about being freezing. no she could get that cloak or what was the use of having a fiance.

“i could, of course, retreat inside.” she continued, tone light, almost conversational. like she was debating it in her head. “curl up near the hearth, surrender entirely to northern weather and my own poor planning.” her eyes flicked up to his face. “but that feels like losing. and i hate losing.”

another small step closer, close enough now that her shoulder nearly brushed his arm. she lowered her voice just slightly, as if sharing a secret. “besides, if i freeze solid out here, i imagine it would be very inconvenient for everyone. quite the scandal. lady mallister found frozen to death at king owen stark’s birthday celebration.”

her lips curved into an innocent smile. “so. i’ll ask again, lord blackwood. if a gallant man wished to prevent such a tragedy, what might he do?” she said hoping he finally got the hint

[craneofsteel]

setting: the verdant concord, the reach ; open starter

sora stood near the edge of the large gathering space, surrounded by the soft murmur of conversations, the occasional laughter, and the clinking of wine glasses. the verdant concord was in full swing, and the pavilion hosting the weapons demonstrations was as packed as any of the others. highgarden’s grand gardens were bathed in golden sunlight, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the fresh scent of the fields beyond the estate. people milled about, some admiring the fine craftsmanship of blades and armor, others deep in conversation about matters more political than artistic.

the demonstration in front of her was captivating—a weaponsmith demonstrating a new hybrid between a spear and a pike. its long, graceful shaft seemed to glide effortlessly through the air with every practiced swing, the blade catching the light in a dazzling display. a small crowd had gathered around, and sora, her interest piqued by the weapon's unusual design, had managed to find a small gap in the sea of spectators to get a closer look.

as she moved to lean in, someone tall stepped in front of her, blocking her view completely. sora paused for a moment, blinking up at the stranger, but their broad shoulders and height left no room for her to see around them. she shifted her weight to one foot, gently leaning to one side, but they were firmly in her way.

sora let out a soft sigh, her patience wearing thin as the demonstration continued, the weapon swinging gracefully in the air. she took another half-step forward, hoping for a glimpse, but the tall figure remained unmoving, utterly oblivious to her presence. she shifted on her feet, trying again, a little firmer this time: "excuse me, could you move just a bit?" but the person didn't flinch.

with a brief glance at the back of their head, sora’s expression softened, and she shook her head, realizing they weren’t going to hear her. her shoulders relaxed, her posture straightened once more, and she decided not to push it any further. she gave up, instead attempting to peer around the stranger's broad form, her eyes darting back to the demonstration.

sora shifted slightly to the left, squinting through the crowd, her gaze following the motion of the weapon, though her view remained obstructed. the frustration was small but still there, the feeling of being slightly trapped in the moment, but she resigned herself to it.

[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?”

[emiravmallister]

closed starter for @benblvckwood where and when: a night time during one of the celebration days of king owen stark's birthday

emira mallister had learned many things during her visits to the north—how to politely refuse the few strange dishes they had without offending the host, how not to slip on packed snow in soft-soled shoes, and, most importantly, how to suffer in cold silence for the sake of diplomacy.

but today? today she had had enough.

wrapped in a cloak far too pretty and far too thin for the biting wind, she stood near one of the great fires outside winterfell’s feast hall, holding a goblet of warm cider like it might save her life. her breath curled visibly in the air, and her nose—gods help her—was beginning to turn pink.

“i was told spring had come,” she muttered to no one in particular, pulling her cloak tighter. “this is spring?” she cast a dramatic glance skyward. “this feels like a very elaborate northern prank.”

her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed, with great purpose, on ben blackwood— not-so-brooding, warm-looking ben blackwood, in a cloak that looked about ten times thicker than hers. typical. he probably didn’t feel the cold at all. probably liked it. he had northern cousins, he was probably used to it the way northern men always claimed to be.

she took a sip of cider, then sauntered—no, shivered—over to him. “you look terribly comfortable,” she said, tone sweet, with just the right amount of suffering laced beneath it. “is that wool? or bearskin? because clearly some of us didn’t get the ‘dress like an icicle’ raven.”

a pause. then, with a dramatic sigh and a flutter of lashes: “tell me, ben. if one were, say, freezing to death, and there was a very gallant, cloaked man standing nearby, what should he do?”

she smiled up at him, entirely too innocent.

[amirofmanderlys]

❅

amir huffed a quiet laugh, though it lacked its usual brightness, the weight of the evening pressing against his ribs like the tide before a storm. he knew better than to laugh outwardly in such situations, and yet as he glanced to the side to look at her from behind his hands clasped together, he noted emira approaching her. the room was thick with it—low murmurs, flickering candlelight, the heavy scent of beeswax and old stone. grief sat at every table, in every cup of untouched wine, in the way no one quite met each other’s eyes. it wasn’t unfamiliar; loss rarely was, not in their world. but this one was different.

his hand curled around the stem of his goblet, rolling it absently between his fingers, though he had no real intention of drinking. beside him, emira’s presence was a quiet anchor—familiar, steady, though he could feel the tension wound tight in her. he knew her well enough to recognise when she was trying not to come apart. he smirked at her words, though it was softer than usual, more an old reflex than true amusement. “you’re going to have to be more specific,” he murmured, voice low, though there was an unmistakable warmth beneath it.

“which solemn-faced lord, exactly? because they all look the same after a while.” his gaze flicked to her, catching the way she toyed with the edge of her veil, fingers restless. he sighed, tilting his head back slightly, letting his eyes drift toward the candlelit ceiling. “yeah i’ll stay,” he said after a beat, because he would have anyway. because it was her. “not that i think you’ll actually throw yourself into the sea. too dramatic, even for you.” his smirk deepened, an easy, teasing thing, though the glint in his eyes was softer. “but i’ll stay, unless naija leaves.”

the weight of grief still hung heavy between them, in the silence that stretched just a second too long. amir wasn’t good with silence—not like this, anyway, when it felt like something unsaid pressed against his throat. he shifted, reaching for levity, as he always did. it felt all too common these days, to be sat in small rooms and preparing for burial rites. “you realise, though, if i stand beside you all day, they’ll start asking me how i feel instead.” his tone was light, easy, but his fingers drummed against his goblet, betraying a quiet restlessness. his gaze found hers again, watching the way the candlelight played across her features.

there was something in her expression he couldn’t quite name, something just beyond his reach. he brushed it off, the way he always did. instead, he nudged her shoulder lightly, his smirk returning. "i've never even been to oldtown - and if we're all thinking the high septon did it, i'm not really feeling like having to look behind my shoulder all the whole time."

[emiravmallister]

.

emira exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible over the murmured conversations filling the room. she had been trying, all evening, to push past the weight in her chest—to focus on the familiar faces, the quiet hum of voices, anything to keep herself from truly sitting with what had happened. but now, standing beside amir, she found it impossible to ignore.

she still couldn’t believe demir was gone.

her fingers curled and uncurled around the fabric of her veil as she turned to him, trying to grasp onto something steady. amir is steady. amir is always steady.

“i’ll whisper their names and they will hear it a mile away to come running back over i swear it” she mumbled. “they hear nothing all day until it’s their own name” it was an attempt at lightness, but the usual ease wasn’t there. the words felt hollow, as if she were trying to fill the space with something—anything—other than the reality of where they were, why they were here. but she pushed forward, forced herself to light more. trying to enjoy her time with amir. “honestly it’s better they ask you questions. you can give them a one word answer and they will nod and understand i will and i get a barrage of questions. i think they are just expecting im going to say more”

her lips quirked faintly in amsile as he nudged her back, though her hands remained tense at her sides. “but i do mean it,” she added after a moment, in a familiar pointed tone. “if naijia and you are leaving i wont be far behind”

she let out a breath, glancing toward the flickering candlelight, her expression unreadable. “we should be safe here,” she said finally, the words more to herself than to him. “we should be.” and yet, the unease coiled in her stomach, the feeling that something was wrong, that demir’s death was not the end of it.

she swallowed, then forced herself to look at him again. “just… stay close, alright? we all should” the words came out softer than she intended, unguarded in a way she didn’t like. “i don’t want to find out if i’m right to feel like this.” she couldn’t explain it. some gut feeling she couldnt shake away no matter how many times she told herself she was overrecting

[ofsacredseas]

ayca listened to emira’s chatter with an amused arch of her brow, letting her sister’s playful critique of the lords wash over her like the murmur of the crowd behind them. the air was thick with the mingling scents of rosewater and spiced wine, and ayca’s earlier glow from dancing still clung to her skin, though the warmth had shifted into a guarded awareness. she adjusted the sheer scarf draped over her shoulders as though the motion could dispel the vulnerability creeping into her composure.

“you really are relentless,” ayca replied, her tone dry but affectionate, her lips curling into a faint smirk. she glanced toward the cluster of lords emira had described, her sharp eyes taking them in with a dismissive flick. “that tall one? you’re right—he looks like he’d faint if you so much as asked him for the time."

her teasing faded as emira turned the questions back on her. ayca hesitated, the brief silence filled by the distant hum of a lute and the rhythmic shuffle of dancers’ feet. she finally exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“worried about me?” ayca repeated, her voice laced with mock incredulity. “please. as if any lord could do more than bore me tonight. no interrogations necessary, emira, i’ve been... occupied.” her words trailed off.

when emira’s expectant gaze lingered, ayca shrugged lightly. “fine. if you must know, i did speak with someone,” she admitted, her tone light but clipped, as if the details didn’t matter. “a northman. the brooding, silent type. we exchanged a few words." she waved a hand dismissively, brushing the moment away. “nothing worth noting, truly. it was over before it began.”

arm adjusted as it was hooked onto her sisters. "then, i danced, i drank, i humored a few attempts at conversation, that's all.” her gaze darted to the floor for a heartbeat before she added, her voice tinged with dry humor. her eyes flickered toward the dance floor, where the music swelled and laughter echoed. “but you,” ayca said pointedly, shifting the conversation with practiced ease, “shouldn’t be standing here, lamenting the lack of effort from half-hearted lords. you deserve someone who can match your spirit.”

she gestured subtly toward a lively cluster of men further down the hall, their laughter loud and their movements animated. “there’s bound to be someone out there who knows how to properly sweep a lady off her feet. or at least someone who doesn’t smell like they’ve bathed in the wine barrels.”

[emiravmallister]

.

emira narrowed her eyes playfully at ayca, her grip tightening slightly where their arms were linked. occupied? oh, that was interesting. emira always thought her sister never just spoke to someone without good reason—especially not some brooding northman. and yet, here she was, being unusually vague about it.

“oh, a northman, is it?” emira echoed, her voice dripping with intrigue. “mysterious, silent, brooding? how terribly dramatic, ayca. you know you must give me more than that. what is his name?”

she leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “did he scowl at you across the room before finally mustering up a few gruff words? did he tell you how different you are from all the other southern ladies? or—” her grin widened, “—did he simply fall in love with you on the spot, as so many tend to do?”

emira laughed, though her gaze flickered over her sister’s expression, studying her carefully. there was something about the way ayca brushed it off, the way her gaze dipped for just a second, that made emira wonder if it had meant more than she was letting on. she would have to pry later, when ayca wasn’t as sharp. maybe another glass or two still, if ayca wanted to deflect, emira would allow it—for now.

at her sister’s pointed remark about her lack of a dance partner, emira sighed dramatically. “believe me, i’d love to be swept off my feet, but tragically, none of these men seem up to the task. it’s almost insulting, really. a room full of knights and lords, and not a single one with the courage to try.” at least no one worthy “perhaps i intimidate them. i never was good at the demure quiet type…should i try that? i dont know how good i’d be”

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick listened to her little diatribe about the Bracken lord, wondering if there was anyone so daft to truly believe a word she'd uttered. “A shame indeed,” he responded. “It is an odd thing, is it not? For Lord Bracken, your brother, to busy himself on a day like this. Some might think it offensive, to walk away from the coronation of a king on account of other, more pressing matters”. The Ronan Bracken he knew would never carelessly offend the dragon king in such a way. But then again, he suspected he actually knew the Brackens better than the young lady before him. So his gaze held hers, unflinching, as though daring her to continue weaving her story.

Considering her next words, the Cargyll lord gave a quick nod. “Fair enough,” he agreed, before breaking into a chuckle and shaking his head. “I do call my friends names when in their company. Only then, not behind their backs. If I think they're an oaf, I'd much rather say it to their face,” he admitted easily. “I too value honesty and being straightforward, you see”.

He did know of that Riverlands' honesty —or bluntness— that she so ironically was setting aside for now. “I've some friends from your land of rivers who certainly display that sort of charm, the honesty, you speak of, my lady”. His smile widened as he tilted his head, watching her closely. “Care to guess who those friends might be?”

[emiravmallister]

emira’s smile remained fixed in place, all sweet, practiced ease, but inwardly, her mind was already spinning. well, this is unraveling faster than i’d like. if she had any sense, she would admit defeat, laugh it off, and come clean—but where was the fun in that? besides, it was far too late to turn back now.

“oh, you know how it is,” she said breezily, flicking a hand as if brushing aside his very valid doubts. “a lord’s duties never cease, even for a king’s coronation. tiresome, really. but that’s the brackens for you—always very serious, terribly important men with terribly important matters to attend to.”

she could feel his gaze on her, unrelenting, as if waiting to see how long she could keep up this charade. annoying, she thought, even as the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. most men wouldn’t have questioned her at all.

her eyes gleamed at his next remark. “oh, i’m glad to hear it, my lord,” she said, tilting her head as if in deep thought. “so, if i called you an arrogant busybody, i trust you’d appreciate my honesty?” she smiled. “no….not that that. you seem the sort to keep to yourself…so maybe not an arrogant busybody but i will think of something else”

she let the question linger before flashing him an impish grin. “and as for these friends of yours—hmm.” she tapped a finger against her chin, drawing out the moment with deliberate, theatrical thoughtfulness. “i could take a wild guess… perhaps the deddings?” yes good, a house no one thought of.

[benblvckwood]

emira did not respond right away, instead taking a beat where it felt like she was studying him - something only intensified when her brow sloped upwards. he shuffled on his feet, bracing himself for the jab that he was sure was coming. the look on her face gave little away, and in a way, that was worse, leaving him to stew in the anticipation of it all. he had been less nervy with a blade pressed to his throat than he was when faced with emira mallister's stare. it shouldn't be like this, should it? he could not imagine his brother feeling like this when talking with a woman, nor the other men he had known. aidan tully certainly could not be reduced to quaking in his boots at the sight of a woman's rasied eyebrow, nor could brandon karstark.

he needed to get it together.

the jab didn't come. she was definitely teasing him, lips quirking into a small smile, but it did not feel quite so much of a battle as he had been expecting. the sheer ordinariness of it all was enough to coax a laugh from him, the set of his shoulders relaxing. "can a man not be both terrifying and good with his hands?" he asked, head cocking to one side. "a bit of balance keeps things interesting, doesn't it, lady mallister?"

her apology came quickly, almost stumbling over her own jest, and ben looked at her, nonplussed. it was not just that he was surprised to hear the apology - it was that he hadn't thought what she said was that bad in the first place. certainly not enough to warrant it. he shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head. "s'all right. i've heard worse. you're fine."

his eyes made contact with hers, and he said nothing for a moment, merely holding her gaze. his mouth felt oddly dry. he let out an odd little cough, an attempt to clear his throat. "you're nervous. makes two of us. don't think there's a knight in the realm you couldn't bring to his knees if you put your mind to it." he did not mean to say that, but the words had slipped out before he could rein them in.

he laughed again. "you've been listening to too many ballads about me." the words were blunter than he intended them to be, and he deliberately made an effort to soften his tone when he spoke again. "you're not what i expected either," he admitted, tipping his head slightly to the side. "i thought you'd be more... delicate, i suppose." he did not speak as though it was a bad thing that she was not.

"beyond swinging swords and carving birds?" he scuffed her boot on the path, face screwing up in thought. "there's probably not much to tell you that you don't already know," he pointed out. sometimes it felt like the bards knew more about his life than he did. "war came for me early, and i was quite good at it. or at least, just too stubborn to die, i don't know. i was ten when i left home, twenty when i came back." he paused for a moment, trying to gauge how much to share with her. "i suppose i am still trying to figure out the rest. the kind of man i am, and who i want to be."

a beat, and he looked at her again, as though searching for approval in her expression. "i meant what i said about the raven. if you want one, i'll make it. if you'd like that."

[emiravmallister]

.

a slight smile on her face appeared as he joked. she at least was glad she wasnt the only one nervous. it made some of the tension in her shoulders ease at least. “any knight in the realm do you think?” she said. “hmm, i hadnt thought of trying. now the temptation is out there i dont know if i could resist you know?” she jested.

they walked some more and she listened as he explained a bit of his backstory. emira had never been the type to sit in silence, to let a moment stretch without filling it with words, laughter, or at the very least, a sharp remark.that was very wellknow to anyone who spent more than a minute with her and yet, as ben spoke, she found herself unusually quiet, studying him—not just the words, but the way he said them. the slight hesitation, the way he seemed almost surprised at himself, as if he wasn’t used to sharing so much.

ten when he left home. twenty when he returned. a decade shaped by war.

she had known, of course. everyone knew. bloody ben blackwood, the songs called him, the name spoken with either reverence or unease, depending on who said it. but sitting beside him now, watching him scuff his boot against the path like any other uncertain young man, it was difficult to reconcile the legend with the person standing before her.

ten years old…who looked at a boy and let him go off to war? she barely wished to see her brothers fighting who double the age ben was when he left. she’d heard the fearsome stories and didnt think much about it but seeing ben here now made it feel different.

she tilted her head, a slow smirk creeping onto her lips. “delicate?” she repeated, arching a brow. “how very rude, my lord. and here i was, thinking you might actually like me.” there was no real heat to it, just her usual flair for dramatics, a shield for the strange feeling curling in her chest.

but then, he met her gaze again, and for once, emira wasn’t entirely sure what to do with herself.

she made a small noise, something close to a scoff, though not quite dismissive. “if you’re trying to win my favor, you’re going about it in a very strange way,” she murmured, fingers brushing absently against the carved eagle she had tucked into her sleeve. “but fine. if you insist, i suppose i will accept a raven. only because i’m curious if you can outdo yourself.”

her smirk softened then, just a little, before she added, quieter, “and because i meant what i said, too. you’ve surprised me, ben blackwood. i think i might let you keep doing it.”

[emiravmallister]

location: at a gathering in oldtown. the night before septon demir is to be buried after his murder @amirofmanderlys

the small gathering after dinner should have felt like a comfort. it was only family, only those of the old way, only people she had known her whole life. and yet, emira felt uneasy.

the air was thick with unease and quiet conversation, the dim candlelight casting long shadows along the walls. it was a somber thing, this gathering. there was no laughter, no music, no ease. it wasn’t meant to be, of course—tomorrow, they would bury septon demir. but emira hated the way the room felt stifling, how the weight of what had happened settled so heavily on them all.

she spotted amir across the room and, without hesitation, made her way toward him. she didn’t care if it was obvious—she had spent enough time lingering in tense, stilted conversations with others, making the expected rounds, offering polite words she didn’t quite feel. she needed something familiar, something steady, and amir had always been that for her. he stood slightly apart from everyone,his expression unreadable. there was a steadiness in him she admired—envied, even. she could be a storm, wild and untamed, but amir was the tide, constant, unwavering. and right now, she needed that.

settling beside him, she exhaled softly, her fingers instinctively reaching for the edge of her veil, toying with the fabric as she stared into the flickering light of a nearby candle. “this doesn’t feel real,” she murmured, her voice quieter than usual, lacking its usual dramatic flair. “even now, sitting here, it doesn’t feel like he’s really gone.”

her gaze flickered toward amir, watching the way the candlelight cast sharp lines across his face. she wanted to say something else, something more, but the words tangled in her throat. instead, she managed a small, humorless smile. “you’re not allowed to go far tomorrow,” she said, trying for something light, something easier. “i mean it, amir. if i have to endure one more solemn-faced lord asking me how i feel, i might throw myself into the sea.”

it was easier to joke than to admit that the idea of walking through oldtown into that sept without someone at her side made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

[amirofmanderlys]

who: the old way when and where: set after the assassination and burial of septon demir, the lords and ladies of the old way gather in a room in highgarden. they have traveled for the funeral.

the scent of incense clung to amir’s clothes, thick and suffocating, masking the colder truth beneath—blood, earth, and death. his hands still bore the raw sting of labour, of washing septon demir’s broken body, of wrapping him in linen that could not hide the violence done to him. reverence had guided their hands, but it had not undone the horror. stepping into the starry sept, he felt the weight of expectation settle upon him. the women had remained behind, waiting in veiled silence, their grief heavy in the air. he did not speak at first.

he only walked, slow, deliberate, the echo of his boots swallowed by the vastness of the space. light filtered through stained glass, casting fractured gold across the altar where demir once stood. once preached. once defied. his voice, when it came, was quiet but unshaken. “it was not thieves.” he did not need to say more. they all knew. “we put a man in the ground today for speaking truth.” his fists curled, dirt still beneath his nails. his gaze swept over them, unwavering. “the high septon ordered this. whether he held the knife or not, it was him.”

[ofsacredseas]

ayca sat with her back straight, shoulders tense, hands pressed lightly against her knees. her usual sharpness dulled, tempered by the weight in the room. she watched amir, the way grief hardened into fury behind his eyes, but she did not look long. it felt wrong somehow, to hold his gaze when her own thoughts were so scattered.

she had never cared much for faith beyond what was expected—prayers before meals, quiet offerings at dawn—but this was different. this was theirs. demir had been theirs.

her thumb brushed the fabric of her dress, finding a loose thread she hadn’t noticed before. she twirled it between her fingers as amir’s words settled over the room like stones.

when the silence stretched, she spoke, her voice low but steady. “the high septon will call this a tragedy. an end. the closing of a chapter.” her eyes flicked toward amir, then away. “but it’s not, is it? not for us.” her fingers tightened slightly. “what’s left for us, if our place in the faith is already buried alongside him?”

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

the scent of incense had settled thick in the air, cloying against the skin, but it did not mask the raw undercurrent of grief. lucrezia stood to the side, her hands deft as she folded her prayer mat, though the movement was mechanical, thoughtless. her fingers trembled slightly as she smoothed the fabric, pressing down as if to will the shaking away. her other hand rested against her mouth, a silent anchor against the rising tide of unease swelling within her. she had expected sorrow.

she had expected anger. but this—this sharp-edged confusion, this creeping sense of something unravelling beneath them—this, she had not foreseen. septon demir had been her close confidant, she had always insisted on seeing him whenever she was in oldtown as a girl, and it was he who carried out her marriage vows to omer just some years ago. it had been him to circumcise both of her sons. it had been he who had performed the funeral janazahs of father, mother and son alike. and only recently, she had received him in the arbor on multiple accounts, having taken the time to speak to him of sleepless nights and worries that began to twist and turn in her mind - things she spoke about with no other. and she would not speak with no other.

she remained veiled, the black abaya draping over her in comfort, but she felt exposed nonetheless. the room was filled with the old way, with those who had held fast when others had wavered. the weight of their presence should have been a comfort. instead, it only sharpened her uncertainty. amir’s voice still echoed in her mind. the high septon ordered this. the words had landed like a blow, the force of them reverberating through her bones. why? it did not make sense.

they had been the high septon’s last and truest supporters. when others had sought to twist faith to suit the ruling class, they had been the ones to remind the world of what was right, of what was true. and yet, it was demir who lay beneath the dirt. her voice was soft when it came, barely above a whisper, yet it carried in the hush of the room. “but why us?” she exhaled, shaking her head. “if not us, then who?”

her eyes flickered toward ayca, toward amir, toward the weight of unspoken questions hanging between them all. she looked toward tirius and nasir here, considering they were the ruling lords of their houses. “what purpose does it serve for him to cut down the ones who held his power upright?” she did not say his faith, because that was the question gnawing at her. was it faith at all that the high septon served? or something else entirely? her fingers clenched around the prayer mat.

"we are all he has, or had, left...i cannot make sense of it."

[younescorbray]

younes drummed his fingers on his knee where he sat. there was no smirk upon his face today, his usual expression wiped clear and replaced with a heaviness that he didn't wear well. he had never been a man to play games of politics - he didn't have the time nor the inclination for that - but even he understood this was bigger than one murdered septon. lucrezia's question gnawed at the edge of the room. why us?

he waited for someone else to answer, and when nobody did, he exhaled. "because demir was his own man," he said, more to fill the silence. "maybe the high septon decided that was dangerous?" he looked around, waiting for someone else to add their thoughts to his own. perhaps it was true. they were all here because of demir - because he was one of them, because of what he had meant to them.

he shifted in his seat, one hand brushing against his jaw. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful in tone. "i wonder if he saw what demir meant to us, and worried that we looked to him more than we looked to the high septon. if he saw that as a threat?" he was thinking aloud, grasping for answers he couldn't make sense of.

"either way, does it matter? i think the real question is where do we go from here?" the killing had been brutal, cut down in his own chambers. he glanced around the room again, searching the faces of those in it, looking for any indication that he was not the only one who did not wish to see this crime go unpunished.

[nasirofmanderlys]

✯

nasir’s hands were still damp, the cold water clinging between his fingers as he rubbed his palms together, the last of the dirt scrubbed away but the feeling of it—of the burial, of the weight of the earth—still lingered. the scent of incense curled in the air, heavy and choking, threading through the grief that sat thick in the room. he listened, quietly, as younes spoke, the man’s words low but laced with something brittle beneath. the question hung there, heavier than the smoke. where do we go from here?

nasir let the silence stretch for a moment longer, his gaze dropping to the wet lines trailing down his wrists, catching in the folds of his sleeve. there was a hollowness in his chest, a slow, expanding ache that had grown since demir’s body had been laid beneath the soil. he had thought he might have something—some answer—to offer them. but he didn’t. not yet.

“you’re right,” nasir said at last, his voice rough. “demir was dangerous for those who have taken to power in the faith." he thought of the sept, of demir’s voice rising only a fortnight ago, condemning the brutal treatment of oldtown’s sex workers, calling it what it was—an abuse of power, a sickness in the city. “he stood where others stayed silent. and now he’s dead for it.”

his jaw tensed, the grief sharp against his throat. “but i won’t tear white harbour away from the faith and declare a new head of the faith, not like those disbelieving westerlanders. not for this. the high septon… he’s not the whole of it. the faith is bigger than one man’s rot. we know that.” he lifted his head then, gaze sweeping the room, resting briefly on his brother's own figure, the weight of his grief a mirror to his own. and suddenly, he realised he was thinking of another funeral.

“but i know we in white harbour will stop any coin, donation and all, that has the destination of the starry. not a single copper until we know who that coin serves." his words were a suggestion; he could not dictate any lord or lady what to do with their own lands. but he knew he would stop any and all coin.

[emiravmallister]

.

emira sat unusually still, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her black veil draping over her shoulders like a weight. everything about her felt like there was weight in it. the flickering spark she carried within her felt dimmed. in this suffocating room filled with incense and grief, she felt hollow.

it was unnatural for her to be quiet, but she did not know what to say.

since arriving here she found herself staying close to her sister or amir if she could, anchoring herself to their presence. she watched amir’s grief curdle into fury, saw ayca’s usual composure fray at the edges, and still, she said nothing. she should have something clever to offer, something to make sense of all this—but there was no sense to be made. demir was gone. and the worst part? she wasn’t even surprised.

it should have been someone else, she thought bitterly, then immediately hated herself for it. not that she wished this on another, but demir had been theirs. and now he was gone, cut down like he was nothing.

lucrezia’s voice broke the silence, asking why us? younes and nasir followed, trying to untangle the reasoning behind it, but emira didn’t think it was so complicated. it wasn’t just strategy. it wasn’t just politics. it was cruelty, plain and simple.

her voice, when it finally came, was much softer than usual, lacking the usual dramatics or teasing edge. “because they never saw us as theirs,” she murmured, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. “not truly. we were useful when it suited them, but the moment demir spoke out they cut him down.”

she exhaled, glancing briefly at nasir as he spoke of withholding coin from the starry sept. “good,” she said, simply. “if they wish to silence us, then let them feel the absence of our voices in their coffers as well.” she paused, then added, almost to herself, “maybe then, they’ll remember that we are not so easily buried.”

[ofsacredseas]

the festival lights cast a warm glow over the revelers, the hum of laughter and music drifting on the night air. ayca, her cheeks flushed both from exertion and the wine she’d indulged in throughout the evening, allowed herself to be guided by her younger sister with a bemused grin.

“oh, scandalizing others now, are we?” Ayca teased, her voice lilting with uncharacteristic playfulness. “i’ll need the full list later. it’s only fair.” she stumbled slightly as they neared the edge of the dance floor, laughing it off with a lightness that felt foreign, even to her. lithia had always been her favorite, but tonight, the usual constraints she placed on herself seemed softer, blurred by the festival’s warmth and the cups she hadn’t bothered to count.

“but now you’ve got me curious. you haven’t just been lurking and gossiping by the fountain all night, have you? or is it possible that some charming lord has finally caught your attention?”

her smile widened, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “tell me, is it that shy squire who was tripping over his words at dinner this evening? or maybe that young lord, with his endless talk of ships?” ayca leaned in slightly, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “no, wait—don’t tell me! i’ll guess. was it the one who spilled wine on himself after trying to toast you?”

she gave a mock gasp, placing a hand dramatically on her chest. “emira mallister, are we about to hear wedding bells? should i start planning the festivities?”

despite the teasing, there was a warmth to ayca’s words, her affection for her sister shining through the humor. her expression softened as she continued, her voice quieter but still playful. “whoever he is, i’ll need to vet him, of course. can’t have just anyone stealing you away.”

[emiravmallister]

.

emira rolled her eyes dramatically, though a grin tugged at her lips. “wedding bells? please, ayca, don’t get ahead of yourself. you know i’m much too busy with my music to settle down just yet,” she quipped, giving her sister a playful nudge as they stepped away from the crowd.

her gaze lingered on ayca’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, a rare sight that left emira momentarily disarmed. she was so used to her sister being poised, untouchable, the image of perfection. but tonight, ayca was different—unguarded, almost carefree—and emira couldn’t help but savor it. oh yes she could not wait to tell her all about this later. she was sure in the morning when ayca’s headache was at it’s peak she was going to love telling her all about this.

“oh, but i see what this is,” she said, her voice taking on a faux-serious tone as she looped her arm tighter through ayca’s. “you’re deflecting. you’ve had far too much fun tonight, and now you’re trying to put the spotlight on me. nice try, dear sister, but i’m not the one who’s been twirling around the dance floor like a maiden from a minstrel’s tale.”

emira leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, mirroring ayca’s earlier teasing. “but fine i suppose i can tell you.” she said easily caving in when getting to talk about herself. her eyes flickered over towards a group of lower lords who all seemed gathered together as they had no one to dance with yet. “the older of them asked me to dance though honestly he smells as if he got into the liqors cabinets early, he’s the one who tried to toast to me. the red headed of those would not staring at my chest even as he talked of his ships…..the taller one….is cute but painfully shy.” she sighed. “it’s too bad. i wouldnt mind a dance with him but every time i look at him he looks like he wants to run away” she laughed. “but no one whisking me off of my feet so no one for you to interrogate sadly? it’s like the men arent even trying!”

“come on what about you. spill what have you been up to all night. surely it hasnt been by yourself? any lord i should be worried about for you? or one i should get to dance with you since you are in the spirit?”

[benblvckwood]

it had seemed like such a good idea on paper. tie himself to the mallisters, take the lord's sister - the younger, the one closest to his age, on that he'd been clear - to wife and make an ally of them. he would need them, if bracken was to serve as hand, and if the master of ships could be counted on, it assuaged a little of ben's worries about what that might mean for his kin. so he would take emira to wife, make her his ruling lady, and stand a little more secure. it was the practical choice. logical.

so why could he not think of anything to say to her?

it was not as though he were a shy man. those who knew him well would often remark on his bravado, some calling it arrogance. it was just another form of armour, a suit worn by a man who had been shaped and sculpted in the camps of war, and now without it, did not know who he should be, only that the options left to him did not quite fit right. ruling lord. member of the council. husband to be. he carried titles other men aspired to, and yet, felt like a child playing pretend, his father's cloak too big and too weighty around his shoulders, because in the end, all of those titles would always pale next to the moniker that stuck. bloody ben.

and emira mallister was... who was she, beyond a woman? that was terrifying enough on its own, but more terrifying still was that he knew nothing about her, what she liked and what she didn't. what did she like? who were her friends? what was the key, the magic words he could speak that would convince her that he was worth marrying, not for alliances sake or because her brother said so, but because she wanted to. did he want her to want to? maybe he did. it almost made everything else seem simple. his whole life had been divided into a series or battles, where you either won or you lost, and that was all there was too it. courtship was different, a hidden language he did not speak and could not make sense of.

ben cleared his throat, lips quirking into a small, crooked, abashed smile at her teasing. for all his nerves, he found that oddly grounding. "well," he began, his tone dry. "i thought it would be easier to talk if you didn't have to chase me through the gardens. didn't want to give you the wrong impression, you see." but even as he spoke, he picked up his pace a little, as though she had given him permission to walk a little quicker.

and there was a moment when he wasn't sure if she'd take the gift he offered her, and ben felt incredibly stupid for even considering giving it in the first place. what was he thinking? of course it wouldn't impress her, of course she wouldn't want it. but then she took the eagle, and gave him her thanks, and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "it's nothing," he waved off her thanks, and when she spoke of her assumption of him, he hesitated only for a second before speaking, as though weighing up if he were about to show her too much. "the thing about war is... well, there's more time between the battling than you'd think, and a lot more sitting around waiting to battle," he explained. "and i was still quite young when the dance was going on. not all that good at patience, and didn't have much to entertain myself with. but i had a blade, and you can pick up a bit of wood anywhere. so," he gestured at the eagle, as though that explained the rest of the story.

he couldn't help it. when she mentioned a menagerie, he laughed, some of the tension in the set of his shoulders easing. "you don't ask for much, do you?" he said, with a grin that indicated that it wasn't a slight or a complaint. "maybe we should start with an aviary. a little raven next, to go with your eagle? else i'll be all out of ideas by the time we get to the actual marriage."

[emiravmallister]

.

emira listened intently, her fingers still brushing over the smooth curves of the carved eagle as ben spoke. his voice was steady, but there was a hint of hesitation beneath it, as though he wasn’t quite sure how much to reveal. she tilted her head, her expression carefully composed, though her thoughts churned beneath the surface. so, he whittles to pass the time during war? that was unexpected—almost disarmingly so. she had imagined a man like him, forged in battle and shaped by violence, would have little room for something so quiet, so thoughtful. she wanted to say something about that bu instead, she glanced up at him, one brow arching in a way that had left many a knight squirming.

“well, i must say, lord blackwood, it’s a relief to know you’re skilled with something other than a sword,” she quipped, her tone light but had a edge she had mastered long ago, the faintest smirk pulling at her lips. “though i suppose carving birds is a better use of time during war than brooding around a campfire and terrifying other soldiers.” that's what they said about him right? bloody ben. wasn't he supposed to be scary? terrifying. but here she was looking at a man, and not the myth of him.

she let her words hang in the air, watching for his reaction, before giving him a more appraising look. “a raven next, you say? how ambitious. though i have to warn you, this eagle has set a rather high standard.” she held it up with an exaggerated flourish, as if she were inspecting it for flaws. “if the next one doesn’t impress me, i might be forced to let everyone know that the great ben blackwood’s talents lie in… woodworking and awkward silences.”

her smile faltered as the words left her lips. “i’m sorry… i dont know why i said that. that was mean of me” she was supposed to be here to marry this man not run him away. what would people say then? were they saying anything at all. “i’m nervous i suppose…” she tilted her head up, her gaze locking onto his. she didn’t mean to be cruel, not really—it was just that teasing felt safer than acknowledging the strange flutter of nerves in her chest every time he looked at her. better to keep the upper hand than let him see her uncertainty.

“you’re not at all what i expected,” she said finally, her tone softening slightly like her smile. “i thought you’d be more… brooding, i suppose. all serious and grim. instead, here you are, making birds for me.” she said. “tell me about yourself lord blackwood. i am curious to know more.”

[cfthornsandroses]

matilda’s eyes twinkled as she stared at the slice of meat in her hand, her lips curling into an amused grin. "smoked eel, you say?" she repeated, holding it up with mock reverence. "well, i suppose if i’m going to embrace the spirit of the riverlands, i should start somewhere. what’s life without a little adventure?" she glanced at emira with a raised brow before taking a playful bite, determined not to show any hesitation. but before she could savor it, her friend's laughter filled the air, and tilly’s face instantly relaxed with relief.

"i should’ve known!" she laughed, shaking her head. "you’ve got me all worked up,emira. i swear, you live for moments like these, don’t you?" her eyes sparkled with affection, but as emira continued to tease her, matilda rolled her eyes dramatically. "venison, huh? well, at least it’s not eel. but i’m beginning to think i trust you less with every passing second." she took another bite, savoring the rich flavor, though her gaze quickly darted across the room.

"so, tell me," tilly began, her tone light but with a flicker of intrigue. "what exactly is the spirit of litha supposed to be about? i mean, sure, it’s a festival—lots of food, lots of drink, but what's the deeper meaning behind it all?" she gestured at the crowd, still huddled in their little circles, barely moving, and then towards the crackling bonfires in the distance. just then, however, a lively tune began to swell from the musicians nearby. the sound of fiddles and flutes filled the air, vibrant and infectious, cutting through the otherwise muted atmosphere. tilly’s smile widened as the rhythm quickened, and she lifted her eyes back to emira, the sparkle of mischief returning to her gaze.

"ah, now this is more like it!" she exclaimed, nodding toward the dancers who had begun to gather around the fire. the lady of highgarden lifted her goblet, taking a long drink from it. "come on, tell me you know the steps, you'll need to teach me." she stood, extending a hand out for her friend to take.

[emiravmallister]

.

emira’s eyes lit up as the lively music swelled, filling the room with an energy that had been sorely lacking. she glanced at the crowd of hesitant dancers gathering near the bonfire, then back at tilly, her friend’s infectious enthusiasm impossible to ignore. with a dramatic sigh, she set her goblet down, an exaggerated look of mock reluctance crossing her face.

“oh, tilly, the things i do for you,” she teased, but her grin betrayed her excitement. she took her friend’s outstretched hand and rose gracefully to her feet, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. “you’ve chosen the perfect tutor, of course. i’ll have you moving with the spirit of litha in no time.”

as they made their way toward the bonfire, emira leaned in conspiratorially. “the spirit of litha is about the harvest and wanting to start fresh and new. you’re supposed to let go of any past grievances and think of desire you want for the year. but, if you ask me, it’s also about one thing: forgetting. forgetting duties, worries, and all those rules they love to remind us of. for one night, it’s about revelry—dancing until your feet hurt, singing until your voice gives out.” her voice softened just slightly, her usual playful tone tinged with something more genuine. “it’s about being alive.”

when they reached the edge of the circle, emira turned to face tilly, her smile bright and mischievous. “now, the steps are simple,” she said, lifting her skirts just enough to demonstrate. “one-two-three forward, one-two-three back, spin if you dare. and if you mess up?” she shrugged dramatically. “you laugh, you keep going, and you blame your partner. that’s tradition.”

grabbing tilly’s hands, emira gave her an encouraging squeeze. “come now, lady tyrell. if you can survive smoked eel, surely you can handle a little dancing.” with a twirl and a laugh, she pulled her friend into the circle of joyous dancing.

[benblvckwood]

closed starter for @emiravmallister

he had met emira mallister before, but this was different. their conversations had never really gone beyond polite greetings, and now, they were betrothed. perhaps it was a rash decision, but he supposed there were far worse matches he could hope for. the mallisters were a good family to be aligned to, and emira was undoubtedly a good looking woman. yes, he'd gotten quite lucky.

it wasn't lady mallister that was the issue. it was ben himself. ten years old when he first rode to battle, and twenty when he returned. ten years of his life - all without the presence of women. he knew very little about them, how to speak with them, how to act around them. and he had few people to ask about it. it went without saying that lucius was not exactly the kind of brother one would approach for romantic advise, and the closest thing he had to a parent he had was his stepmother, so that idea was already out of the window. the closest he had ever had was a mortifying conversation with brandon karstark in his teenage years, where he had been informed on the mechanics of bedding one. that, too, would be of little help.

yes, under his bravado, the arrogance he wore, women made benjicot nervous.

"i have something for you," mentally, he patted himself on the back for having the foresight to think to bring something they could talk about, rather than relying on small talk on awkward silences. he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, carved eagle. he had made it himself, whittled it with a piece of wood he had picked up from raventree hall's weirwood.

"it's an eagle. if you couldn't tell." whittling was a hobby he had picked up in camp, was one of the few ways he spent his time that did not involve swinging a sword. "for house mallister. i thought - well, i thought you might like it, i suppose."

[emiravmallister]

.

emira walked alongside ben, the gravel crunching softly under their feet as they strolled through the gardens. the air was crisp, the faint scent of blooming flowers mingling with the late afternoon breeze. it was picturesque, almost uncomfortably so. she was keenly aware of the presence of her chaperone lingering just out of sight—close enough to observe, far enough not to intrude. for propriety, of course, she thought wryly. as if her she’d actually do anything wrong and risk everything.

this was silly though. her marrying ben blackwood. her. a mallister. a man of the old gods. maybe he was not as devoted as she thought. maybe that didnt matter to others. he have a charm about him. gods what would the girls say at the next gathering? would they be happy for her….would they laugh at her. she couldnt imagine anything worse. what would they think? the younger mallister. the spare sister…. was this an honor or something to just be passed off to her? time would tell.

her hands clasped lightly in front of her, emira glanced sideways at ben, studying him in brief, stolen glances. he was quiet, his expression calm but unreadable, and for the life of her, she couldn’t decide if he was shy or simply uninterested. it unsettled her more than she cared to admit. she’d expected… something more dramatic, perhaps? some grand declaration of intent, or at least an air of confidence befitting a man of his reputation. instead, he was reserved, almost boyish in his quietness.

“do you always walk this slowly, or is it just for my benefit?” she asked lightly, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. her gaze flicked to him with a playful smirk, though there was a hint of tension behind her words. gods, is it always this awkward? she wondered, feeling the weight of the unspoken expectation between them.

her gaze flicked to the carved eagle he held out. she hesitated for a moment and took it from him. her fingers running over the smooth wood. it was simple, almost unassuming, yet there was something about it she couldn’t quite place. it felt… personal. too personal, maybe. she refused to let her thoughts linger on it for too long. but when had anyone given her a gift? something they made….it felt strange. instead, she forced herself to focus on ben, studying him for a moment. he was handsome, no denying that, but quieter than she’d imagined. perhaps too quiet. it made her feel like she needed to fill the silence for both of them. “thank you for this” she said. “it is very thoughtful. it’s quite fitting, i suppose. an eagle for house mallister. i’ll admit, though, i can’t quite picture you sitting still long enough to make something like this.”

her steps slowed slightly as she glanced over at him again, searching for any hint of a reaction. “so,” she began, her voice lighter now, “was this a one-time act of goodwill, or should i expect a whole menagerie by the time we’re married? i might like a whole collection” she said a soft smile on her face.

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick was amused by her response, her certainty that he was a man who held others' secrets close to his chest. He did, for those he was sworn to. Otherwise, he understood that a secret can only be kept when it's not even spoken in the first place. But then the lady introduced herself. Of all people in the Riverlands, she gave the name of the one person he was most closely acquainted with.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Bracken,” he nodded politely, playing along if only to see where the lady's ruse would lead. We would wait for the opportune moment to reveal he knew he'd been lied to so blatantly. “I'm High Commander Garrick Cargyll, my lady,” the knight introduced himself, opting to tell the truth even if his companion had not.

The young woman moved about and spoke with a level of confidence that he'd only seen in Riverlander women. So at least that part of her lie wasn't false, she had to be a woman of that realm. “I'd hate to be a friend of yours, Lady Bracken, if you call your friends idiots so casually,” the lord chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them briefly, beginning to look more enthusiastic. “Well, now that your mission has ended, I hope you can aid me with a mission of my own. It is most opportune you are the lady of Stone Hedge, for I'd been meaning to chat with Lord Bracken on behalf of my king. Perhaps you could introduce me to your brother,” he said with a smile.

[emiravmallister]

.

​​emira's smile faltered for a split second before she quickly recovered, her mind racing. of all the names, i had to pick brianna bracken. i should have picked someone more boring. it seemed like a perfect plan in the moment but she hadn’t anticipated that her improvised alias would backfire quite so spectacularly, yet here she was, tangled in her own hasty decision.

“oh, well, perhaps introductions can wait,” she said, trying to keep her tone light and nonchalant as she cast her gaze briefly over the crowd, as if confirming her brother’s absence. “i mean i’d be happy to introduce you… another night, perhaps. he tends to be a touch overprotective, you know, so it’s probably for the best he isn’t here tonight. it saves us both the trouble. and unfortunately, he’s nowhere nearby tonight, on account of… pressing matters. very um…pressing matters. you know as lord bracken, my brother, tends to do.” she shrugged nonchalantly, adding a theatrical sigh for good measure. “such a shame, though.”

her eyes sparkled with a challenge as she continued, “and as for calling my friends idiots? well, if your friends have never made you want to call them a few choice names, then you’re either remarkably lucky or dreadfully boring.” she gave him a sweet smile. “after all, we’re only honest in the riverlands—it’s what makes us so… charming. or whatever else people call us behind our backs” she smiled.

[ofsacredseas]

setting: semi-flashback to lithia, later in the evening long after ayca would normally have departed, she instead has opted to stay, finding lithia to be one of her favorite events, and so she has indulged far more in conversation, food, and drink, perhaps too much of the latter (aka her last stop of the night before leaving) ; starter for @emiravmallister

the lithia festival, despite one amongst many, had long been a favorite of the eldest lady of house mallister. often prone to leave such events earlier in the night, she found herself staying later for this one over the years. she couldn’t quite decide what it was about tonight that had kept her later than previous times, but nevertheless, she was more of a participant in the festivities than she had ever been in, well, ever.

ayca had just removed herself from the dance floor, not often finding herself amongst livelier tunes such as these, but the flushed cheeks gave way to one of the reasons for her more chipper mood. tucking strands of loose raven locks behind her hair, she made her way around the crowd, aimlessly walking towards, perhaps, another person to converse with this evening that she normally wouldn’t, instead spitting her sister from some paces away, and a bright smile came on her features.

“emira!” she called in a sing song voice, closing the distance between the two and weaving her arm into the others. the movement was not entirely abnormal for ayca to conduct, only it was far more affectionate and warm than would normally come from her. “i’ve missed you all evening. how come you have not come and spoken to your favorite sister?” there was humor in her tone, eyes squinting with her cheeky grin, as she guided the younger mallister amongst the crowd to no where in particular. “what has kept you so busy? talking with some lord?”

[emiravmallister]

.

emira’s eyes widened in delighted surprise as ayca wrapped an arm around hers, her usually reserved sister practically glowing with warmth and energy and a certain buzz. oh, this is going to be good, she thought, already imagining the teasing she’d unleash on ayca come morning.

“oh, i’ve been busy, yes,” emira replied with a grin, looping her arm back through her sister’s. “you know me—charming some lords, scandalizing others. you, on the other hand…” she tilted her head, studying ayca’s unusually bright, flushed face. “you’ve been the one giving them something to talk about tonight, haven’t you?”

a playful sparkle lit up emira’s eyes as she steered ayca gently towards the edge of the crowded dance floor. she’d rarely seen her sister let loose like this, and the thrill of seeing ayca’s perfectly composed image cracked—if only slightly—was too rich to pass up.

“oh, it’s a shame i didn’t catch that dance!” emira continued, voice full of exaggerated regret. “you always look so serious; i didn’t realize you knew how to have fun.” her smirk softened into a genuine smile, though, as she took in ayca’s rare, carefree expression. part of her heart swelled with pride and love, that her sister was getting to just enjoy herself. while the other part—a sliver of jealousy—reminded her just how naturally ayca drew admiration, even when she was letting her guard down.“i’m almost afraid of the stories you’ll leave in your wake. tell me, how many hearts did you break on that dance floor tonight?” she gave ayca a small squeeze.

[cfthornsandroses]

setting: semi-flashback to lithia, matilda tyrell joins a party from the reach that attended this event, quickly seeking out her friend, emira mallister, who she first met one summer at the arbor, the two quickly becoming good friends ; starter for @emiravmallister

matilda knew her time need be spent socializing with many this evening, and she found herself making her usual rounds along the room, of course first thanking the tully queen herself before seeing to greet the houses she knew more closely this evening, the remainder of house tully, bracken, ryger, darry firstly, and then of course, house mallister, where she knew she could likely find emira and swiftly depart to do whatever it was young ladies did at these times.

while the lady of house tyrell knew how to throw a good party, she were intrigued by how lithia seemed to play out, though she were used to much glamor in the reach, it were the spirit of the occasion that seemed to fill the room with all of the atmosphere it needed. she found such a thing to be admirable, that lords and ladies could come together so harmoniously this evening. she were convinced should anyone be bored or miserable, it would be their own doing.

she found herself sat at one of the oak tables now, emira seated in front of her, small plates and cups of various foods and drinks before her. another secret to a good party was, of course, what was served, and tilly had always ventured to try a little bit of everything anywhere she went. finger pointed to a cut of meat she didn’t quite recognize. “what is this exactly? and do not tell me i’ll hate it, i really want to try everything.” she insisted, though as she scanned the offerings before her even she knew it’d likely be a feat in and of itself.

[emiravmallister]

.

emira’s face lit up, a mischievous grin spreading as she watched tilly examine the mysterious slice of meat with a curious enthusiam. part of her couldnt help but having a little fun with her friend. “oh, tilly, that’s the spirit!” she exclaimed, picking up her own goblet and gesturing dramatically to the spread before them. “this, my friend, is what makes the riverlands unforgettable. i think that’s smoked eel,” she added with a wink, “and if i remember right, it’s one of the house specialties. briny, rich—perfectly questionable if you don’t dwell too much on what it is.” she smiled bringing her drinks to her lips.

after a moment of seeing her friends face she let out a joyous laughter. “i’m kidding tilly ,don’t worry. it’s venison. just cooked in traditional spices for the festival that gives it that color. but that, my dear tilly, is precisely why i adore you! here we are at litha, and you’re more adventurous than half the knights in this room. ”she said. but as she looked around the hall, a dramatic sigh escaped her. “i swear, everyone is acting like they’re at some stiff council meeting rather than a celebration. look at them! talking in their little circles, barely raising their voices above a whisper.” she rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “it’s like they’re scared to have too much fun, as if the riverlands would crumble if they dared to loosen up.”

she leaned in, eyes bright with mischief. “but we won’t be falling into that trap, will we, tilly? no, no. the music’s been playing all night, and yet hardly a single person’s had the spirit to actually dance!”

[mneverland]

Aslıhan Malbora

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