SWORN SWORD

SER GARRICK CARGYLL Sworn sword of Jaehaerys & Jaehaera Targaryen High Commander serving under King Jaehaerys of New Valyria ( mobile navigation )

[garrick-cargyll]

♛ → THE CROWNLANDS present SER GARRICK CARGYLL, the RULING LORD of CARGYLL / SWORN SWORD TO JAEHAERYS TARGARYEN / COMMANDER OF KING JAEHAERYS’ KINGSGUARD. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the GREENS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the THIRTY-TWO year old MALE who was INQUISITIVE & RELIABLE before they saw the first of the flames, is now CONFLICTED & RESENTFUL after seeing the last. they’re often associated with a cloak of white set aside for a new oath, the overwhelming silence as the sole response to a prayer, and the hidden rage that emanates from the incurable wound his brothers carved in him. ( FC: Aaron-Taylor Johnson )  

I. BASICS

FULL NAME: Garrick Cargyll

DATE OF BIRTH: September 9th, 111 AC (Thirty-two years old)

HOMELAND: The Crownlands

OCCUPATION: Ruling Lord of Cargyll, sworn sword to Jaehaerys (Former member of King Aegon II’s Kingsguard), Commander of King Jaehaery’s Kingsguard

RELIGION: Faith of the Seven

GENDER IDENTITY: Cisgender male

MARITAL STATUS: Unmarried

II. BIOGRAPHY

Garrick is the younger brother of the late twins, Arryk and Erryk, and the older brother of the late Amelia, the first wife of his good friend Prince Jaehaerys.

When Erryk defected to the side of the Blacks, the rest of House Cargyll readily swore themselves to King Aegon II to show none of them were betrayers to the one they deemed the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

Garrick didn’t denounce Erryk as a betrayer as emphatically as the rest of his family did, since he felt very conflicted in reconciling his brother’s choices with the loyal brother he’d always known. The twins had been his guides through much of life, and having one of them suddenly break apart from their family and what was considered “the right side” brought a lot of doubt to the youngest Cargyll son. He heard how people around him spoke about Erryk, condemning him, and so Garrick began to question if there was something in him (all of his brother’s teachings) that was worth condemning as well.

It was 129 AC when his brothers perished at each other’s hand. This was an event that Garrick could never fully comprehend, unable to process deep down that his brothers could have looked past their lifetimes together, let loyalty and blind hatred move them to end each other’s lives. He wasn’t on the battlefield that day, but he did see his brother’s bodies after it. To this day, he is haunted by the image and the painful weight of what that represented.

He sought the faith as a source of solace, faced with the harrowing realization that he felt nothing when he prayed. Where others felt the subtle presence of the gods, he was faced with darkness and silence in his mind and in his heart. He never spoke about it to a septon in his confessions, and has continued his practice of the faith despite the sad knowledge that he’s just a pretender. 

With Arryk’s passing, Garrick took his brother’s place in the Kingsguard. He swore his oath, aware that his loyalty would be turned into a weapon. More jaded with the state of the world, he simply accepted that there really wasn’t much left for him to lose, having seen his family destroyed from within. He could be a weapon, and perhaps feel righteous by whatever noble cause his king presented him with.

When the prince and princess of the realm were made to flee and hide for their safety, Garrick swore an oath directly to the king and queen. His watch as a Kingsguard was at an end, for he was to protect their most precious treasures: their son and daughter, Jaehaerys and his sister. He set down his white cloak with honor and made the new oath to be a sword and shield for the Targaryen prince and princess until his dying day.

When Prince Jaehaerys went to the Starry Sept in his pursuit of faith through the Order of the Holy, Garrick followed, keeping an eye on the prince. He was taken in by the Oldflowers family in this time, as he guarded the prince from the periphery should Jaehaerys need his sworn sword in any way.

A key moment for Garrick during the Dance of the Dragons happened when he got gravely wounded in the Riverlands. He was taken in by the Brackens, and Lady Brianna herself oversaw the healing and care of Garrick. A friendship that has lasted to this day formed then, and the Cargyll lord has also befriended Lord Ronan Bracken.

After the unfortunate death of his nephew (Jaehaerys and Amelia’s son), Garrick became the last living Cargyll. His family’s seat, which had been meant to be inherited by Aenar, became his despite having renounced his family’s land at the time of becoming a sworn member of the Kingsguard. This heartbreaking situation called for him to be reinstated as the heir and was named ruling lord.

III. PERSONALITY:

Garrick was an idealist in his younger years, believing in justice as something that was carried out almost magically because it was right. The war proved a ruthless teacher, facing him with the cruel realities of life, which don’t follow any chivalric code. He understood that honor or nobility ultimately don’t mean much, because not everyone plays by those rules.

He has the potential to be deeply compassionate as he used to be when he was younger, however it’s a part of him that has been dying over the years, which is only extented to very few people these days.

He has a curious mind, but it was a part of him that was never nurtured by his family. He received the general education of a lord and wasn’t encouraged to expand upon that. Deep down, Garrick feels he’s not too clever and when complex topics of politics, the natural world, are discussed he generally tends to step away or simply follows Jaehaerys’ lead.

Garrick is a conflicted man in many aspects. He struggles with his faith, feeling he was abandoned somewhere along the line. He’s still aching about what his brothers did, unable to reconcile what ended up happening with the family he grew up with and loved. In his mind, it feels as thought a piece of the puzzle is missing and the brotherly love he had with Arryk and Erryk couldn’t ever lead to the divide that happened, and their last actions. To this day, it doesn’t feel entirely real for Garrick. The sadness and the grief are wound that was never treated in him, and Garrick usually expresses it as anger instead of woe.

On some level, Garrick was the child who got the least attention growing up, being almost an afterthought to some degree. It is likely the reason why he’s grown to enjoy attention as an adult. 

He loves being a devil’s advocate, poking for answers and reasons rather than being the one to give them.

IV. RELATIONSHIPS:

House Cargyll: Both his parents and siblings (Arryk, Erryk and Amelia) are dead. The only blood relation he had left was his young nephew, Aenar, who passed away recently.

Jaehaerys Targaryen: His prince and brother-in-law; Garrick became sworn to him as a promise to the late King Aegon II and Queen Helaena. Garrick and Jae became good friends from a young age, a bond that continues to this day.

Laena Oldflowers: Garrick became friends with Bee Oldflower’s granddaughter during his time in the Reach.

House Bracken: Garrick formed a close bond with Ronan and Brianna during his time healing in the Riverlands.

Open to connections for friends, enemies, and everything in between!

[betweencloakandcrown]

Jae felt comfortable with Garrick, considered him a brother and whenever they were together he was at his most relaxed. If a man truly wanted to know the king then they needed to try getting to him through Garrick and Jae could say with confidence that no one would ever come between them. The Gods made them brothers and even with the loss of Amelia, Jaehaerys would never change how he saw the other. Some days, when he sat alone in his solar he considered naming him a Prince. Prince of the Stepstones but in order to make him more he needed to make sure his brother would have security and heirs. Something the king himself struggled with as he and his wife tried and failed to secure his lineage.

The king laughed and looked at him. "Tell me of your day then. And then I will tell you of my worries. We're becoming old men, Garrick." His voice was light but he concerns were true. In moments of clarity Jae knew that it was important to build the Crownlands up from his court and then spread out to the Stormlands and then work on fixing more of his city. He had dreams of a nice city, of seeing places like Flea Bottom being pushed further and further out of the city. Let the street rats and whores live beyond the walls.

"Someone nice." And he looked at the other fully and decided that he would talk to him before hand and council. "I will to give you the Stepstones. I wish to seem them tamed and ruled by a man who can do so. And I trust no one else to be able to do this but you." Because he knew that they had been tamed before by the late Corlys and he knew they were held about another in his time away from the Crownlands but not they were tentatively in his grasp and he would see his kingdom grow. "I must ask you, if I asked to raise you higher would you answer the call or does it satisfy you to sit by my side as my High Commander?"

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick let out a subtle scoff when the king did in fact ask about his day. “Now I feel bad you actually asked,” the knight said, running a hand through his hair with some nonchalance, “Because nothing of great note happened, I’m afraid. I did train with the Kingsguard. Someone has to make sure they don’t grow soft on Reach wine and the strolling through the rose gardens”. His voice had its familiar dry humor, and he gave a slight shrug. “I ran into a few old friends as well, which I suppose is half the value of these sorts of gatherings”. In truth, Garrick had been pleased to see the Bracken siblings again, engaging in their usual familiarity. He'd briefly crossed paths with a certain Mallister lady too. “A fairly quiet day, all in all. A luxury, I'm sure, you've not have had”.

At the mention of their age, the Cargyll lord's lips tugged up into a half-smirk, evidently amused by such a sentiment. “Older, perhaps, but far from decrepit,” Garrick replied, his words laced with that same understated humor. Yet even as he spoke, his attention remained fixed on Jaehaerys. The High Commander could read him plainly. There was that restless turning, an inner turmoil even, behind his friend’s eyes. His posture remained at ease, but his attention had certainly sharpened. Whatever this truly was, he knew it had little to do with a casual talk of wives or the passing of the years.

The mention of the Stepstones did not surprise him entirely, as the king's words confirmed something he had suspected might come. Not because he wished it, but because he understood the king's necessity to tame that area of the realm. And so Garrick's expression shifted slightly, subtly, as he considered what Jae was asking of him. The Stepstones were an unpredictable, wild piece of land. Of course, Jaehaerys needed to bind it. And of course, he would look to Garrick to do it. For years, he'd been the king's most reliable tool, a most certain weapon. And Garrick Cargyll welcomed that. “I am honored to be your High Commander, my king,” he said, his words steady, truthful as they could be. “It is a purpose I am most grateful to have”. The last Cargyll looked at his king in a solemn, respectful way that lacked the levity of the start of the conversation. “If you need me in the Stepstones, then send me to the Stepstones”. It was as simple as that, really. “Not because I seek to rise higher, but because I mean to serve you in the way you need me to”. But Garrick also understood the ripple effect of such an agreement. This meant more land. It meant another avenue to forge his house's legacy. It meant working to secure a lineage that had thus far paused with him.

[ofsacredseas]

ayca shot him a brief look at the jest, but let it pass without remark. she was heading toward the sept, after all, and wouldn’t allow garrick cargyll the satisfaction of unsettling her. she had pride enough to make that a private vow. if holding her peace meant building a wall between them for now, so be it, better that than unraveling her calm in the face of his familiar provocations.

still, there was something in his admission that softened her. it wasn’t the first time she’d heard a man speak of losing faith, but it was rarely said so plainly. most wrapped it in excuses, too busy for prayers, too long from the sept, not as devout as they used to be. but to say he heard nothing at all, that lingered with her. she glanced toward him, trying to gauge what he meant to reveal by it. perhaps nothing. but it made her feel something on his behalf, all the same.

“i hear...” she hesitated for only a moment. “my own heartbeat. slow. steady.” she glanced down the path ahead. “it sounds strange, i know. but it's like a reminder, that i'm alive, that i still have breath to give. the gods never speak to me in words. not exactly. it’s more like... presence.” she tilted her head, then offered him a rare, wry look. “i could’ve lied and said i hear the mother singing to me. but i think she'd rather i didn’t make up stories in her house.”

she walked a few more steps before glancing his way again. “did you ever hear anything? before?” her tone wasn’t pressing, just... curious. as if she wanted to understand what had shifted in him, and if it could ever shift back.

his answer about the brackens drew a slight nod, she knew enough of them through some mutual connections, but she left it at that. instead, her brow arched at his final remark. “too fond of river air, hmm?” she echoed, amused. “your king does know if you found your bride here, she’d have to learn to breathe crownland air instead?” her voice held a subtle edge of teasing.

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick did not miss the look she gave him. He could almost imagine she had restrained herself from rolling her eyes at him and giving him a frown. One of her sharp, measured looks that let him know she was displeased with him. He'd not meant to annoy her with his comment. Not this time, at least. The Cargyll lord wondered for a moment if he'd struck that same nerve again, the one that inevitably led them to clash in one way or another. Thus far, this conversation had been progressing in a much more civil way, though, a way that felt almost unfamiliar. The corner of his mouth tugged up a little, as he barely contained a subtle smirk. The knight simply raised his free hand in a casual, almost placating gesture. I wasn't attempting to provoke, I was only being honest, the gesture seemed to say.

The pair walked on and silence settled between them as Ayca Mallister studied him. His response was unexpected, he could tell. Garrick met her dark eyes and made no attempt to break or fill the silence. He held her gaze steadily, allowing her the time to read in him whatever she was hoping to gather from him. The knight had offered a real response, nothing wrapped in jest or mockery, something simple and somewhat... disheartening, perhaps. It was a curious thing, faith. It was yet another thing that separated the two of them, another matter for them to stand on opposing sides. She, the faithful. He, the faithless.

Garrick was admittedly surprised by Ayca's answer after he asked what she heard, how she experienced her belief. Her words didn't carry their usual edge or the annoyance he seemed so adept at bringing out of her. She sounded so sincere in the way she opened up about the relationship she had to the gods. That sincerity caught his attention more than any sharp retort the Mallister lady could've given him. “I would have worried if you said you heard voices,” he said in a low tone, the familiar thread of dry humor laced through his words.

His smirk faded gradually, a more solemn expression crossing his features. Ayca had given him truth and honesty, and he decided to answer in kind. He looked sideways again, trying to meet her eyes once more. “I thank you for not lying,” he added in a more thoughtful tone. “Feeling their presence in your own life’s breath… that sounds far more genuine than anything else I’ve heard”. The Mallister lady had a question for him then, and Garrick did not answer immediately. He didn't look away. His steps slowed somewhat as he thought about how to articulate his thoughts regarding his faith. Or lack thereof. “To be honest, I don’t remember,” he said at last. “I remember believing what I was taught to believe, but I don’t recall ever feeling anything… more”. Garrick didn't feel sad or lost or left out. Perhaps faith was something reserved for a select few, for a particular kind of people, and he simply wasn't that. Perhaps his heart had never truly been open to it. And now, knowing that Ayca's was, this became yet another aspect about her that intrigued him, that he wished to understand.

At the mention of his king, a low laugh escaped him. “Wait. Have you sent someone to spy on me, Ayca Mallister?” he asked, a hint of amusement clear in his voice. He laughed again, shaking his head slightly, the jest more evident. “It's funny you should mention that. My king does indeed intend that I find a bride. It was a conversation we had before I came here”. His tone was light as he spoke. He remained curious, gauging her reaction just as keenly as before, now that he had made her privy to a fact that she'd only casually guessed.

[garrick-cargyll]

Of course Garrick caught the way her voice changed when she spoke of the ghosts that haunted some houses' histories, how they made their presence known in a way that left scorch marks here and there. His gaze stayed on her, more thoughtful than teasing. They had the tendency to navigate conversations like that. Currents of light-hearted playfulness that steered into unexpected depths from time to time. The truth was, Garrick only knew bits and pieces of House Bracken's story. The intimate story, not what was written in the history books. He'd only gathered pieces from his conversations with Ronan, and some fragments from what Bri let slip here and there in her unguarded moments. He knew enough to not ask about her mother, for example. Only breaching that subject if she gave him the opening to do so.

Still, he looked at her perhaps a little longer than necessary. “You’ve turned out quite alright,” he said in a soft voice, initially sounding somewhat light-hearted. But his next words made it clear it was more serious, in fact. “For someone who knows what it feels like to be haunted like that”.

When she mentioned the old infirmary wing at Stone Hedge, a corner of his mouth tugged up. He let out a brief chuckle. “I won’t even ask,” the High Commander replied dryly. “You Riverlanders have some strange shit happening in your lands”. There was something in Brianna's homeland that he couldn't quite name, something he didn't fully understand. The atmosphere could be so different from what was known to him. There was an air of something older in the rivers and the woods, some sort of powerful mysticism that wasn't familiar to him. Were there ghosts, spirits or something else in that infirmary? He didn't know, but he'd heard and felt things.

His smirk lingered, especially when she elbowed him harder than he had nudged her. This time, his merry expression wasn't guarded at all. It just came easily, naturally. Of course Garrick knew what he sounded like: an arrogant prick enamored with the idea of himself. He'd not only said those things to pat himself on the back, he'd also said them to elicit some humor out of Bri. And it worked. “You said I look better, still,” he reminded her, a knowing look in his eye. Brianna had laughed half-heartedly throughout their walk, and he could detect those subtle shifts in her demeanor as she made herself let out a laugh. He knew her true laugh so well to know when she forced herself to appear happier than she truly was, masking whatever truly lay underneath. So he could count this moment as a small victory because Bri genuinely laughed thanks to his pig-headedness. “I’m content with getting a compliment every now and then. You’re far too comfortable throwing insults my way the rest of the time”.

Through their walk he could almost feel the weight of what was unspoken hanging in the air around them. What truly had happened to her tonight was there with them, even if he didn't know what it was. She'd made it clear she'd not speak of it tonight, so he didn't press. He simply continued to keep a steady hold of her arm as he escorted her to her chambers, his hand both gentle and firm. That silent sentiment he'd been trying to evoke earlier continuing to echo. You'll never walk alone as long as you let me.

The shift, when it came, had been so sharp that Garrick had let out an exasperated breath, doing nothing to mask his annoyance. He had braced for an argument, and he'd responded in a way that only fanned the flames of that discussion. And then he actually heard what she was saying. Another funeral. Seven hells. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand at the back of his head. “Gods, stop yelling at me, woman. I thought you were being meddlesome, alright?” He'd misunderstood her earlier words and her intention horribly. Now the realization landed so heavily. “I'm sorry. You just... you get on my nerves when you get like that”. There was some exasperation still there, but it had slowly begun to morph into something calmer, more honest.

She'd yanked her arm away from his touch, and the Cargyll lord noticed he was itching to reach out again so they could both be grounded again. But he refrained himself. Perhaps the impulse was just to soothe himself more than it would be to do that for her. She'd said. Not everything was about him. Surely, if he reached out and held her again he'd just annoy her more. “I phrased it all poorly. Very poorly. I'm an idiot. I thought you were just being stubborn and— Well, nevermind what I thought. My thoughts were clearly going in a different direction. A wrong direction”. There was a pause. He let out a sigh, and then he took a small step closer. His eyes settled on her, reading her expression more carefully now than he'd done earlier, when he convinced himself she'd just wanted to start an argument and he'd jumped in without care or thought. As was his damn way. “I'm sorry, Bri”. The words settled between them, simple and sincere.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

there was a sullenness that seemed to dance upon the shadows of her features at the sound of the exasperated sigh that came from the man beside her, that came in the form of her sharp brows becoming knitted together and the appearance of a bottom lip that seemed as though it were going to wobble - it most definitely was not.

perhaps it was the complete anarchy that was the only way this night was to be described, or the fact that at the end of the day she felt so utterly foolish and made to feel idiotic for attempting to express some form of concern, his words were more suitably aimed toward a brick wall than brianna bracken in this moment. how was it they had gone from her feeling a sense of nervous relief in bumping into him of all people, to suddenly feeling as though she would prefer to see anyone's face but his - in the space of what must have been a few short breaths?

"i get on your nerves do i? when i'm being like what?" brianna remained stood within the doorframe, her hands on either side of it - whilst it became clear she tried her hardest to restrain her voice to ensure the volume did not raise, that meant her voice only came out like an angry, wounded hiss. "being like what, aye?" she demanded again, her gaze remained staring up straight at him, her cheeks tinted a rosy hue due to the heat that had rushed to her face in her temperament; if she were feeling less wrapped up in the sense of pride that had been scorched, she would have found the scen quite comical as an external observer.

instead, she just felt utterly foolish, and so she did what she always did when she felt foolish - escalate. defend. keep going on, and on.

"and you get on every last nerve of mine, i'll tell you that for free. and not in a way that makes you appear anything less than an idiotic arse who speaks utter shit from time to time when nobody fucking asked." her arms crossed over her front, ensuring to keep her hand clasped onto her cloak to ensure he did not get a glimpse of the filth that no doubt remained at the bottom of her skirts; that, and the whole game would be up. there would be no getting him to stop, or telling him it were not his concern; and whilst a part of her wished to keep going on, she also knew she needed to get him away from the door so she could close it.

or, she could slam it in his face? the intention was to walk her to her chambers, and she was clearly in her chambers by now. "meddlesome. right." she scoffed, and whilst his apology had clearly went in and out of both of her ears, she could not help but find herself continuing to silently seethe at how stupid she felt. she hadn't done anything to feel stupid about, that was for certain. "i weren't being meddlesome. i was askin' after you, yeah? people do that. i ain't no fuckin mole for the riverlands, nor do i want to know what you and the rest of you be doing in this cesspit of a city!" there were multiple times where her voice, her words, started to ramble over his own and it became a battle of both of them telling the other to be quiet to allow them to finish.

"aye you're sorry. well done. now get lost and leave me alone." there was no want to offer him an apology back, and with one sullen, moody disdained look she offered him, she shut the door with a heavy, sharp, thud.

end of thread.

[garrick-cargyll]

END.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna bracken had never been very good at swallowing her pride, even when her tongue begged her to. she walked beside lord garrick cargyll with her chin held high, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders to hide the ruined state of her gown beneath. the dried blood, the dirt—the reminder of what had happened barely two hours ago—clung to her like a second skin. she could still see it when she closed her eyes, still smell the iron tang of it in her hair. and so she did not close her eyes. she kept them forward, instead, on the faint gleam of candlelight ahead and on garrick’s easy stride beside her.

“oh yeah, that's a solid way to put it huh. every house has its ghosts,” she said lightly, repeating after him and considering what ghosts her own house would have, though her eyes did not meet his, keeping them focused and in front of her. “though some ghosts leave bigger burn marks than others, don’t they? more family poltergeist than common ghostie.” it came out softer than intended, and she quickly masked it with a small scoff, shaking her head.

it was easier, in truth, to focus on him. on the sound of his voice, the deep timbre of it echoing through the empty hall; even if it were nothing but casual foolishness. "speaking of, that section of the keep we turned into that old infirmary wing? still has those noises in the night you heard, by the way." she had always insisted that the rapid increase in strange bumps in the night had been down to his presence, though she would not admit they had continued long since the end of the war. "still ain't no logical explanation for it, before you ask."

a quip or two, a teasing comment, some sort of chuckle or hardened laughter echoing across stone walls and the energetic, upbeat back and forth of their conversations. it was all something she could count on to ignore the dull ache at the very back of her head, or perhaps the slight pit of panic that sat at the very bottom of her stomach, or was it in her back where her corset was tied? some way to ignore the slight thud of her heart that came moments after she slipped herself from his arms - not thinking about why such a beat was happening.

she found herself listening more closely than she ever meant to, clinging to the rhythm of his words, the lilt and fluctuation of his arrogance, the warmth that always crept into his teasing, and the small comments that showed more than he possibly meant to come across. gods, he talked so much, she thought—but it helped. it filled the silence. it drowned out the image of the back of the mans head, of what she had done. she tried to force a laugh, but it caught somewhere in her throat. perhaps because she still saw the fires every time she blinked. when he spoke of jaehaerys and the throne, she hummed faintly, the sound neither agreement nor denial. of course it mattered that jaehaerys sat the throne. but at what cost?

she wondered if garrick ever thought about that, about how many lives were crushed beneath that climb. how much betrayal for the side they had picked. she wanted to ask, but she didn’t.

instead, she listened to him tease her about his damned white cloak, and for a brief, foolish moment, she laughed. “aye, no, you like to think that, don’t you? i just said you look better than an old man would. don’t go twistin’ my compliments now to give yerself something to smile over in yer pillow, big headed prat.” she elbowed him in response to his nudge, with slightly more force than his own - and in response she dodged her waist to the left, as if to dodge any returned movement he would give her. and for a brief moment, she realised they wouldn't be able to have these pointless, foolish conversations if he were dead in some ditch in the marches. so she asked about nightsong, and gotten defensive about it. anything to fill the air. anything but silence - but it felt as though her curiosity and concern was some child’s meddling. her brows furrowed, her lips parting before she could stop them.

“For fuck’s sake, Brianna,”

“well fuck me, forgive me for askin if i needa be scheduling another funeral in the calender’, she snapped and scoffed all in one, her tone equally as defensive as his own - laced with sharp humour that barely covered the sting. “seven forbid i worry if you’re to go and get yourself killed fightin’ for nightsong.” his expression didn’t soften, and something inside her flared—embarrassment, frustration, pride. she crossed her arms, cloak tightening around her chest like armour. had she overstepped? no she had not. she was not daft.

she merely asked if he would need to go to war for something that everyone knew was taken from them.

“shut up, stop going on at me, you smug arse. i know what you meant. i wasn’t pryin’, i was makin’ conversation, same as you’ve been doin’ this whole bloody walk.” she laughed once, short and bitter - it did not sound funny. and then he said it; the thing she zoned in on. the thing she heard again and again. a lack of a clever mind? it was all she focused on, no other part of his sentence. “a lack of clever mind, yeah? what’s that supposed to mean, anyway? that i’m stupid? daft? slow?" the words began to tumble from her mouth as she felt her chest begin to tighten, knowing she had stopped actually thinking about her words long ago. "well fuck off then, if i'm so fuckin dim. fuckin' arsehole, i'll lose my other shoe if i want to.”

at this point she all but assaults her chamber door to get it to open in her annoyance, her voice rising slightly as it opened loudly but creaky. “and tell you what..." she stood in the doorway, whipping her head around as she yanked her hand from his arm, instead both of her hands being on either side of her doorframe as she looked at him. "not everything’s about you, may i add."

[garrick-cargyll]

Of course Garrick caught the way her voice changed when she spoke of the ghosts that haunted some houses' histories, how they made their presence known in a way that left scorch marks here and there. His gaze stayed on her, more thoughtful than teasing. They had the tendency to navigate conversations like that. Currents of light-hearted playfulness that steered into unexpected depths from time to time. The truth was, Garrick only knew bits and pieces of House Bracken's story. The intimate story, not what was written in the history books. He'd only gathered pieces from his conversations with Ronan, and some fragments from what Bri let slip here and there in her unguarded moments. He knew enough to not ask about her mother, for example. Only breaching that subject if she gave him the opening to do so.

Still, he looked at her perhaps a little longer than necessary. “You’ve turned out quite alright,” he said in a soft voice, initially sounding somewhat light-hearted. But his next words made it clear it was more serious, in fact. “For someone who knows what it feels like to be haunted like that”.

When she mentioned the old infirmary wing at Stone Hedge, a corner of his mouth tugged up. He let out a brief chuckle. “I won’t even ask,” the High Commander replied dryly. “You Riverlanders have some strange shit happening in your lands”. There was something in Brianna's homeland that he couldn't quite name, something he didn't fully understand. The atmosphere could be so different from what was known to him. There was an air of something older in the rivers and the woods, some sort of powerful mysticism that wasn't familiar to him. Were there ghosts, spirits or something else in that infirmary? He didn't know, but he'd heard and felt things.

His smirk lingered, especially when she elbowed him harder than he had nudged her. This time, his merry expression wasn't guarded at all. It just came easily, naturally. Of course Garrick knew what he sounded like: an arrogant prick enamored with the idea of himself. He'd not only said those things to pat himself on the back, he'd also said them to elicit some humor out of Bri. And it worked. “You said I look better, still,” he reminded her, a knowing look in his eye. Brianna had laughed half-heartedly throughout their walk, and he could detect those subtle shifts in her demeanor as she made herself let out a laugh. He knew her true laugh so well to know when she forced herself to appear happier than she truly was, masking whatever truly lay underneath. So he could count this moment as a small victory because Bri genuinely laughed thanks to his pig-headedness. “I’m content with getting a compliment every now and then. You’re far too comfortable throwing insults my way the rest of the time”.

Through their walk he could almost feel the weight of what was unspoken hanging in the air around them. What truly had happened to her tonight was there with them, even if he didn't know what it was. She'd made it clear she'd not speak of it tonight, so he didn't press. He simply continued to keep a steady hold of her arm as he escorted her to her chambers, his hand both gentle and firm. That silent sentiment he'd been trying to evoke earlier continuing to echo. You'll never walk alone as long as you let me.

The shift, when it came, had been so sharp that Garrick had let out an exasperated breath, doing nothing to mask his annoyance. He had braced for an argument, and he'd responded in a way that only fanned the flames of that discussion. And then he actually heard what she was saying. Another funeral. Seven hells. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand at the back of his head. “Gods, stop yelling at me, woman. I thought you were being meddlesome, alright?” He'd misunderstood her earlier words and her intention horribly. Now the realization landed so heavily. “I'm sorry. You just... you get on my nerves when you get like that”. There was some exasperation still there, but it had slowly begun to morph into something calmer, more honest.

She'd yanked her arm away from his touch, and the Cargyll lord noticed he was itching to reach out again so they could both be grounded again. But he refrained himself. Perhaps the impulse was just to soothe himself more than it would be to do that for her. She'd said. Not everything was about him. Surely, if he reached out and held her again he'd just annoy her more. “I phrased it all poorly. Very poorly. I'm an idiot. I thought you were just being stubborn and— Well, nevermind what I thought. My thoughts were clearly going in a different direction. A wrong direction”. There was a pause. He let out a sigh, and then he took a small step closer. His eyes settled on her, reading her expression more carefully now than he'd done earlier, when he convinced himself she'd just wanted to start an argument and he'd jumped in without care or thought. As was his damn way. “I'm sorry, Bri”. The words settled between them, simple and sincere.

[jaehaerysiitargaryen-deactivate]

The king's mind wandered. The failure in the marches distressed him. A battle that didn't need to happen and yet he would agree he pushed it there but how could the Stormlords lose? Because you are no longer a dragonrider. The last dragon died when it could have slumbered in wait for a true writer. The entire journey to the Reach he allowed his mind to wander, to search for a victory as he planned out the way to take back the lost lands from the Wyl of Wyl. If he had to drag the man out himself then he would do just that.

He just needed an heir first.

Yet another worry for him and his house. Jaehaerys did not wish to blame his wife, after all it could easily be him even though he had proof he could have a child. No, he would not blame her. He would blame poor timing. It had to be bad timing. Maesters say there were times when it was better to try and have children, they were wrong. He would have to do things his way.

"If I am presented with another cup of grass I will throttle the next person." Jae spoke with annoyance as he leaned forward and then stood, stretching his arms above his head. The hardest part of being king was always being on the go about something or another if you didn't do it then people thought you mad or drunk or whoring or dead or worse, unworthy. Jaehaerys knew being a King came with more than just a crown and power, still, why did it have to drag on?"

"You need a wife and more to your name." Jaehaerys started, it wasn't in the voice he used in council meetings, his king's voice, it was more casual, an observation. "I need the people I trust to have more stability for all they have given in service to me. And to ensure my friends are well taken care of in the grand scheme of it." And there was a scheme brewing in his mind as he walked over to the door and asked for some to at least bring them some fucking fruit and cheese.

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick raised his eyebrows as his friend complained about the tea, looking at him with a hint of amusement. He understood that distaste. “Well, at least we're not at risk of developing a new vice, my friend,” he added with some dry humor. On another day, perhaps he might have rummaged through the cupboards and searched if there was a bottle left in the guest room. Or he might have called a servant to bring the dragon king something stronger. He didn't do it today, not before a feast where so many eyes would be on the monarch of New Valyria and the other guests King Cedric gathered here. Also, he didn't request alcohol to be brought since he was hoping to talk to his friend without them getting into their cups.

The topic Jae brought up so suddenly caught him off guard. “Is that what has been weighing on you, then? My marital status?” Garrick asked, one corner of his mouth tugging up into a crooked half-smile. “I thought you’d at least ask about my day before telling me to find a wife”. The words came with a light scoff, a shield of humor to mask his surprise. Of all the things that might have occupied the king's mind, he hadn't thought that he, and the fact that he remained unmarried, would rank among them.

Still, as quickly as the evasive humor came, the Cargyll lord adopted a steadier demeanor. He leaned back slightly, arms folding over his chest. “I am very well taken care of, Your Grace,” he added after a moment, for his friend had truly done for him so much and honored him more than he probably deserved. But Garrick did suspect there was more about this than just his personal stability. It was politics, and it was projection. “I will begin looking for a suitable lady, I suppose, if it puts your mind at ease”. He paused, studying his friend. Power had shifted their friendship, of course, but not enough to alter the core of it. Garrick did not only serve a king, he stood side by side with a friend. A brother. “Where’s this coming from, truly?” the High Commander asked in a lower tone, taking a few steps closer to where the King of New Valyria brooded. “You’ve the look of someone whose mind is racing a mile a minute. Is there something you'd like to share before bringing it to the council table, my friend?”.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

somehow, despite the mud and filth that stained the bottoms of her skirts beneath the cloak around her shoulders and would stain her incoming nights too, brianna bracken was quietly stunned and numb to find she were in good spirits, all things considered. her hair was mussed, her gown had seen finer days, and she was walking the corridors of the red keep with a single shoe in hand like some half-mad court jester whilst her other foot felt the bottom of the cold stone floor beneath her. but she had garrick cargyll at her side, and somehow, his company could easily soften the edges of a long, long night, it was him.

she prayed the warmth she felt in the pits of her stomach did not spread to a rose tint upon her cheeks, even in the flickering darkness of the red keep's hallways.

“if the name cargyll be controversial, so be any other noble name...” she went on, knowing all too well what he was speaking about. the cargylls had picked their sides, and if that made them divisive, then so was every other noble family in the realm - the targaryens most of all. “you’re alright, yeah. i reckon that’s why jaehaerys picked you. not just for the oath and all, but because you’re new blood. the world’s changed. after the war, it had to. it couldn’t be the same old names swingin’ swords and sittin’ thrones. needed someone who actually knows what it is to bleed for it, aye?” she patted his arm again, the gesture bordering on fond, though her tone bled into a soft mocking as she spoke, almost falsely fawning over the man. “besides, you look far better in white than most old men would.”

she didn’t expect her heel to give out. not now, not here, not while she was mid-thought and mid-sentence, in the middle of praising his career no less. the sound was a sharp crack, clean and cruel. she lurched, her hand flailing out to catch the wall, but she didn’t make it. instead, she collided into garrick, her hands catching his shoulders as his arm wrapped firmly around her waist to steady her. it was instinct, all of it—the stumble, the grab, the flush of warmth that spread from her chest up into her face as she realised just how close he was. his breath brushed her cheek, his arm solid at her back. her hands lingered longer than they should have, palms pressing against the fabric of his tunic, and now here she was, still holding one shoe as her foot walked bare up spiral staircases.

her question regarding nightsong remained on her mind, and his answer momentarily made her go quiet; she had heard so many different things, rumours the stormlanders had lost it, that new valyria intended to get it back. his answer was a shake of the head, what she interpreted as plain and blunt—i don’t know. she watched the movement, watched how easily it dismissed the thought, and something twisted in her stomach. not anger. not quite. just something small and raw, like a gate she hadn’t realised she’d been leaning on had been firmly locked with the heaviest of irons. and suddenly, for no real reason at all, brianna bracken felt...small. as though she had been caught in doing something; a creeping sense of defensiveness began to shift over her.

as though the dornish were not known to be vipers, scorpions in their own lands. even if i had-, and then the shaking of his head; something about it made her feel as though she were some fool, and in truth, quite rejected of any feelings of concern. she stared at him for a moment as he continued talking, a dry laughing escaping about the situation, and despite the way his eyes lit up she found herself feeling more and more defensive. embarrassed. it made her curt, and shut down.

her brows drew together as she let out a breath that sounded more amused than it was, a half scoff in essence as she looked at him - and then looked away, knowing he heard her swift change in demeanor. “oh, right, yes. my mistake. shouldn’t be askin’ about you possibly marchin’ off to the dornish border. that’s clearly beyond my grasp or limits, to hope you manage to survive. far too sensitive, incase i decide to go report back to riverrun - as though you lot losing nightsong is some secret. best stick to light topics like—i don’t know—the weather.” the sarcasm was dry, and maybe just sharp enough to cut. she turned slightly, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders, suddenly keen to be away from his closeness as she moved from his arm being loosely around her waist.

if there was to be a line drawn, she would stick to it.

“i can find my own chambers from here,” she said lightly, lifting her chin and fixing her expression into something of mixed gratitude for all he had done until shaking his head at her, and annoyance. “cheers for the escort, high commander. always the gentleman. now if you'd excuse me, i’ll try not to lose the other heel on my way in.” her voice was warm, still - but still utterly sarcastic. but that warmth had shifted, grown distant—like heat from a dying fire rather than the flame that had burned so freely a moment before. her pride was fickle, and to her, it had been wounded enough.

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick looked at her and tilted his head to the side subtly, as if to say “You know what I meant”. Not every house's legacy was carved out in song, in legend, in cautionary tale. The Cargylls, split into two as the twins had been, were some of the unfortunate few who were spoken of in the same breath as loyalty and treachery, depending on who was asked. Every house had their controversies, that was true. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips for a second. It was half his usual smirk, and half something more nostalgic that he didn't often show and therefore had to be masked with some humor. “Every house has their ghosts, parts of history they'd rather forget,” he murmured after a moment. It was those painful histories one wished hadn't happened that shouldn't be forgotten, though, or history could be at risk of repeating itself in one way or another. But the High Commander didn't wish to sink into self-pity or grief, so instead he looked ahead once more and focused on Brianna's next words. The world's changed.

Had it truly changed so much, though? In some ways it felt like it had, but in others, it felt like they were all still playing the same game and trying to call it by a different name. It was still about kings and queens moving the chess pieces across the board, and men like him still bound to play their parts. “Well, what matters is that Jaehaerys sits the throne after it all. That's what counts”. That was what mattered for Garrick Cargyll. Jae was one of the very few constants when everything else had been lost or ripped away. And the Cargyll lord didn’t say “I’m proud of him”, or “I worry for him”, but that was the weight that he always felt when it came to his friend, his brother.

As Brianna spoke of the Kingsguard's attire he wore, he clung to that comment to let his mind be swayed away from grimmer thoughts. He inevitably took her compliment as something to soothe him and inflate his ego in equal measure. His classic smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Thank you. I knew you liked me in a white cloak,” he said in a teasing way, moving slightly to let his shoulder bump against hers. “You liked this look so much you had to find a way to try it on yourself, huh?” His tone was low and playful, and warmer than most of his teasing remarks. Garrick thought about it, but didn't say out loud that he liked the sight of his white cloak around her much better than he liked wearing it himself.

It was unfortunate that her heel broke like that. Enough inconveniences had happened in Brianna's night, half of which he didn't yet know. But there was a part of him that was also, perhaps unconsciously, silently grateful for that heel. He'd caught her before she could stumble, his arm steady around her as her hands landed on his shoulders. It was a sort of closeness that was different from other moments of proximity the two of them shared. He could feel her breath near his jaw, saw the dark gleam of her eyes meeting his, and for a few heartbeats, neither of them moved. She was steady, no risk of falling down, and yet Garrick didn't feel any sort of hurry to let go. “Careful,” he whispered again, and slowly, almost reluctantly, he took a step back. The High Commander didn't entirely let go, though, keeping one hand at her elbow as if still assisting her to find her balance again.

The moment ended, and it felt like something that would remain etched in Garrick's mind. That look she gave him. He felt a newly found yearning to see that look again, even if he'd just seen it a moment ago. He wanted that dark gaze once more. But that subtle, warm atmosphere that seemed to envelop just the two of them didn’t last, chilling as quickly as it had flared. His answer about Nightsong had provoked a complete shift in Brianna's demeanor for some damn reason. Garrick released her elbow then, and he couldn't help but let out a short, exasperated breath. “For fuck’s sake, Brianna,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t keep up with your changes, woman”. After their shared moment of closeness, it felt so jarring to be standing before her and quarreling about something so inconsequential. “I’m not at liberty to discuss some matters. Believe it or not, this isn’t about you. It's not about passing judgment on your clever mind. Or lack thereof sometimes, as you're proving right now”. His tone wasn't cruel, just exasperated. For someone he saw as a quick-witted person, how had she twisted his words in such a way? “We can talk about the weather instead, if you’d prefer. The weather's less changing than you, at least...”

The Cargyll lord had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when she stiffened and began addressing him with titles, as if she could create distance with formality, and then she went on to excuse herself to head to her room. Of course. He should have seen it coming that she would use that tone, and would act as stubborn and unyielding as ever. “No, you won't lose your other damn heel,” he said matter-of-factly. He didn't wait for her permission, he simply went ahead to take hold of her arm again and guided her the last few steps toward her chamber door, whether she liked it or not.

[garrick-cargyll]

Closed starter for @jaehaerysiitargaryen Setting: Highgarden, the Reach. Later in the day, during the Verdant Concord. A celebratory feast has been arranged for the evening, held in one of the galleries where art and inventions continue to be displayed. With some time to spare before he's due to escort the king to the event, Garrick goes to find Jaehaerys.

He found Jaehaerys in the study tucked within his guest chambers. In their youth, this wasn't the kind of space the knight associated with his friend, but when the crown finally found him, Jae happened to spend more time in places like this one due to matters of the realm. Planning. Learning. Commanding. The door had been left ajar, and the High Commander stepped in with the sort of familiarity that existed between brothers.

“They’ve only brought you brewed grass?” he asked in disbelief as he spotted the tray upon the wooden table. A dainty ceramic set made up of a teapot and a single cup sat there, clearly untouched. “You’d think for a dragon king they might risk offering something stronger”. Something that tasted better, at least. “There has to be some Arbor gold waiting at tonight's event. I can't imagine King Cedric means to toast the grand concord with tea”.

The Cargyll lord moved with ease through the room, approaching the large desk. Just glances passed between them then, with Garrick silently asking to try the tea he derided so, and Jae granting it. The knight took only a sip, and his expression showed he'd not yet found much appreciation for tea. “You’ve a look about you,” he mentioned as he set aside the cup, giving his grace the opening. He didn't pressure, he didn't pry, simply offered the opportunity if the king wanted to take it.

This was hardly the first time Garrick sought Jaehaerys well before the time to escort his grace somewhere. Without fully meaning to, it had become a habit of sorts. Garrick didn't say as much, but his timing was never accidental. After all, before they were Commander and King, they were friends.

[garrick-cargyll]

SHABOOZEY — “LAST OF MY KIND”

This world could be a son of a bitch, well look through my eyes Can't always climb to safety, sometimes you gotta fight Go get it if you want it, keep the fire burning inside You won't never find another like me, 'cause I'm the last one of my kind

[ofsacredseas]

ayca hesitated only briefly, her eyes narrowing not out of distrust, but scrutiny. she searched his face for any trace of mockery, some hint of performance, but what she found instead was sincerity, and something quieter beneath it. not softness, exactly, but restraint. effort.

“you say that like you weren’t halfway through sharpening your tongue already,” she replied, echoing her earlier words, but her voice lacked any real bite now. the edge was dulled, the jab tempered by the faint curve of her lips, something hovering near amusement. her gaze flicked to his still-offered arm, then back to his face. “still. you haven’t drawn blood yet.”

she stepped forward then, the breeze tugging lightly at the edges of her cloak as she closed the distance. her hand slid into the crook of his arm, not entirely trusting, but not cold either. it was a gesture of agreement, not submission. and in its quietness, a sort of trust all its own. “you’re not disturbing anything,” she said at last. “i came for stillness, not solitude.”

they began walking then, the stones beneath their feet worn smooth by years of footsteps, some pilgrim, some penitent, some just looking for silence. her gaze lingered ahead on the path that wound toward the sept, dappled in soft light through thinning trees. it had always drawn her: not for spectacle, not even for comfort, but for clarity. the kind she could not always find within castle walls.

“yes, it is important to me,” she said, after a moment. her voice was quiet but certain. “not for just the gods themselves, i think. but for what i can hear when the world is quiet.” a pause, then a glance up at him. her tone lightened as she added, “though you’ll have to manage your part in that quiet.”

she merely offered a flicker of a smile, one that could be missed in the blink of an eye, but there was something that lingered in her gaze, something soft. acknowledgment, perhaps, of the strange rhythm they kept falling into. from barbed words to shared silences. from wary distance to something else, unnamed.

"so, what brings you to the riverlands? i imagine your business must be swift, with your duties in the crownlands."

[garrick-cargyll]

Her quick-witted response managed to elicit a smirk from Garrick. He even let out a subtle huff of amusement, though not quite a laugh. “And you're so sure you know me that well already, Lady Mallister?” he asked with a pointed look, though this time his words lacked the mordant challenge of previous conversations. The knight nodded after a moment, his slight smile edged with something self-aware. “But well, I won’t argue with you on that. We all use what the gods saw fit to give us, after all. Some get swords. Some get sharp words. I got both and only discipline for one of them, whether I mean to or not”. His gaze stayed on her as he spoke, perhaps to convey he was sincere in what he was saying.

Ayca Mallister managed to keep him wondering if she would agree to his offer or not. A simple request, and yet she managed to add suspense before her response. When her arm finally came to rest in the crook of his arm, the knight offered a subtle nod. For the woman who had annoyed him beyond words during the storm in the Reach, he might have called her acceptance now a form of surrender, and he would have gotten great satisfaction in a challenge won. But at least for now, this was no game. Not when she had begun to show him, perhaps without fully meaning to, that there were other sides to her he wanted to see, to uncover if she was willing.

When she spoke of the sept and what she found there, her voice was laced with a kind of certainty he couldn’t quite name. It was the kind of quiet conviction he’d long since lost. Garrick glanced at her again as they walked, his expression thoughtful, curiosity growing inside of him. “I don’t hear anything,” he admitted. Perhaps a foolish admission to make next to someone who believed so fully. “Not in there. Not anywhere, if I’m honest”. His tone was light despite what he said. His admission didn't hint at a chasm or a void in him, after all, just a simple lack he'd grown used to. It was what war did for many, really. It either enhanced belief or it robbed men of their faith. Garrick was the latter.

“What do you hear? If you don't mind me asking,” Garrick posed his question, even if he knew he was possibly being too forward, too meddlesome. “I'm simply curious about what others find in places like a sept. Or if they find it anywhere else”. He wasn't sure what answer he expected, really. He was intrigued, perhaps hoping to understand through others what he'd long stopped understanding.

When she asked about his purpose in the Riverlands, his posture loosened slightly. It would be easy to assume his purpose was less tied to business than it was to something else. “I'm visiting good friends,” he said. “The Brackens. I make a point to pay a visit to Lord Ronan and Lady Brianna from time to time. They're both dear to me”. He paused, then added with a dry note, “Though I’m expected back before I grow too fond of the river air. The realm’s business does not wait, even for pleasant detours”.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna bracken had never quite mastered the art of walking gracefully in silence—her heels clicked too sharply, her breathing was never quite steady as she from time to time let out low sighs, and her thoughts, gods help her, always roared too loud in her head. "oh, i don't know." she seemed to complain, half missing the genuineness laced in his tone as he continued to taunt her; he made her think so much. too much.

"let a girl not have to use her mind from time to time, will you?" the corridors of the red keep felt too long tonight, the shadows too attentive, and though her hand sat curled comfortably around garrick’s arm, her heart was a kicked-up beehive, consistently buzzing. the sound of her shoes against the stone hallway played as some drum for the flashes which ran through her mind.

he was speaking again. his voice, ever unhurried, grounded, as though he had nothing to worry about ever. she clung to its rhythm, tried to match her breathing to its rise and fall, like waves lapping the hull of a boat. a safe, sensible boat. she glanced up at him sidelong, lashes low. “mm,” she hummed vaguely, hoping it was the right sound for whatever he’d just said. perhaps she should not have brought up his brothers; too much of a line crossed, too personal - or perhaps there was a sense of guilt in reminding garrick that he were the only one left in the whole world of his kin.

what a terrible thing that was, akin to some ancient kindred curse - she only patted his arm slightly, offering comfort for a topic that was never spoken on, only implied. "monotonous - how fancy of you. at least that means the court is safe, aye? boring means safe. less of a headache." that was, unless it came out what had transpired this night. then he would have a murder investigation on his hands. as they turned the corner near the bracken chambers—still three halls from it, where she heard her heel gave an unmistakable crack. she gave him a sideways glance, doing her best to keep the tone light, to pin her mind to his voice rather than her own spinning thoughts.

“what's it like now? bein’ high commander of this whole mess?” her thick, dark brows drew together slightly, her lips twitching in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “do you spend all your days starin’ at maps and talkin’ in circles with knights twice your age?” the only other high commander she knew was omer, who was far more serious than garrick - until a few whiskeys had been down him.

then, quieter, as her mind thought of flames in her own house and the trembling of the walls as a beast made it's landing - the most unnatural and hated of beasts. “do you think you’ll eventually have to take back nightsong for king jaehaerys?” the question slipped out without quite meaning to, softer than the rest, almost like she was talking to herself at first. but then she looked at him properly, her voice low, curious, something more serious hiding underneath the jesting. “i heard whispers the stormlanders lost it. or gave it up. and if that’s true, then…” she trailed off, watching him, trying to read something in his face that might tell her if she was right to ask. she never spoke or thought much of her mother's baratheon lineage; but she thought the stormlanders were warriors. immovable forces.

it wasn’t a dainty snap either, but the unmistakable crunch of fine cobbler’s work giving up the ghost against red keep stone. she pitched forward half a step, catching herself gracelessly on garrick’s arm with a sharp breath through her nose. “shit—” she hissed following a small yapping noise of shock, her voice low and tight, the word escaping before she could tidy it up into anything more lady-like. she stumbled back into place, though she didn’t dare look at him straightaway, busy glancing down at the ruined shoe like it had personally betrayed her.

“well, there goes that,” she muttered to him, lifting the foot slightly and wobbling as she tried to judge whether she could hobble the rest of the way in lopsided dignity. in the end, she bent forward to swipe it from her foot and hold it in her spare hand. “of course it would be tonight,” she added in a tone pitched somewhere between bitter amusement and flat horror, shaking her head as if the gods might hear and show a shred of mercy. they wouldn’t, obviously. not tonight. not after the way the evening had turned; she decided to merely continue walking with one shoe off and one on.

[garrick-cargyll]

“Not use your mind?” Garrick repeated with a scoff, shooting her an incredulous look as they rounded the next corner. “Gods, you could at least be less blatant when you lie to my face,” the knight added in a teasing way, glancing sideways to catch her eye. “You’re always using your mind. Or at least saying whatever’s on it”. There was no mockery in his tone, if anything, Garrick sounded almost fond of that trait of hers. “But fine. Have your reprieve for now. You may ask what you want from me when your head’s clearer”. It had been quite a night for her, after all, even if he didn't know half of it. “You know where to find me”. The High Commander of the Kingsguard would be easy to find near the king's side during the remainder of the events, and patrolling the Red Keep at night to keep the dragon king's guests safe.

As the pair walked, Garrick cast quick glances around the halls, expertly guiding their path in a way that avoided crossing paths with others. He moved with ease, for he recalled where the rest of the men were stationed and the areas they patrolled. He did not say a thing about the way he was weaving their way toward her chambers, but it surely became apparent to Brianna that he was avoiding unwanted eyes. He'd rather not have anyone spot her out and about at this hour with a half-torn dress, and wearing Garrick's cloak.

The Cargyll lord managed to brush aside the mention of his brothers, and he simply touched her hand as they walked. It was a subtle gesture, almost casual, as if he simply signaled he had her covered and was guarding her to safety after her unsafe occurrence from earlier. But that simple touch also meant that there was no fault in having spoken about Erryk and Arryk. He let it pass, aided by her presence in making the unbearable more bearable.

“The court is safe,” he said after a moment, confirming what she had asked. “At least, as safe as any of us will fight to make it. King Jaehaerys' coronation demands it”. His friend, his brother, had finally claimed what was rightfully his. With all their shared history, it was Garrick's duty and life-guiding mission that nothing threatened what Jae had bled and burned to accomplish. The Cargyll lord glanced toward Bri again, his mouth curving into a smirk, “We've tripled the guard, combed through the Red Keep, cleared the tunnels. Everything’s under control”. A pause. “Until a certain reckless Bracken gets into unexpected trouble at night”. He teased, but he also knew there was so much more than what she'd shared. His hand was still atop hers, and his thumb brushed against her skin in subtle reassurance after whatever it was she'd gone through. “You’ve got the timing of a rogue, Bri,” he said with a light scoff, attempting to keep things light.

Her question about his title softened his expression somewhat, draining some of the teasing air he'd had with her just a moment ago. “It’s the greatest honor of my life,” he said plainly, as though that was all that needed to be said. But there was more, of course. “His grace didn’t have to name me High Commander. He could’ve picked someone else. Someone older and more experienced. Someone from a greater house, a house less… divisive”. He didn’t elaborate on what that meant. She knew. “But it’s a way to keep my oath to his father. To keep the oath I swore to Jae as well. All my life he's given me something I can hold to, and I'm grateful for that”. He glanced at her, one brow raised, wondering if she was truly curious about the day-to-day duties he had. “I do deal with some maps and ledgers. I attend meetings and sit at the small council. I go through training drills with the men, and prepare green lords who can barely lift their own bloody swords,” he said, mentioning some of the tasks that occupied his days. “I'm sure you find it all incredibly riveting”.

Then the Bracken lady mentioned Nightsong. The name gave him pause. He'd not expected her to ask about such a thing. His jaw tensed somewhat, and no words came at first. There was a fine line of conversing with one of his dearest friends, and remaining aware that she was of another realm. “I don’t know”. He said it plainly, though. “It’s not something I've spoken with the king. And even if I had—” Garrick simply shook his head, for he wouldn't be at liberty to speak about it. Not here, not with her.

Garrick had clocked the faint clack that accompanied Brianna's steps throughout their walk, but he'd not expected the heel of her shoe to fully snap as it did. When the cracking sound came, the lady lost her footing for a moment, and he caught her on instinct. The hand that had rested lightly on her own turned firm, moving to steady her with a strength born more from reflex than chivalry. He also abandoned the hilt of his sword, his arm wrapping around her back to keep her in place. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice a bit lower. Brianna righted herself, and Garrick's blue eyes flickered to the broken shoe as she examined it. A soft, dry laugh escaped him. “Well, at least it waited until we were near”. The knight tilted his head toward the chambers, only a few steps ahead now. Riverlanders were hosted in this wing of the keep. His arm was still wrapped around her, the pair standing closer than they usually did. For a moment, his eyes held on her, a softer gaze from the knight. He offered, softly, “Come on. Let’s get you safely to your chambers before you break your other one. Enough has happened tonight”.

[ofsacredseas]

the courtyard outside riverrun bustled with the quiet hum of a stronghold in spring, the trills of morning birdsong filtered through the high towers like a hymn. lady ayca mallister stood apart from the noise, near the edge where the worn stone path curved out toward the east road. she wore a simpler traveling cloak, sea-grey, the kind she might have once worn at seagard’s harbor. a small satchel hung at her side, its shape betraying the clink of coin within.

she glanced toward the gate again, half-expecting her guard to round the corner. instead, a shadow fell across the cobbles behind her.

ayca didn’t startle when he spoke, of course he was here. fate had a habit of handing her the people she least wanted to see whenever she was trying to be her best self. she inhaled slowly, the chill of early spring clinging to her scarf as she turned toward him. “perhaps not proper,” she replied, “but i’ve never much cared for proper when it kept me waiting.”

the sight of him pulled something taut in her chest. not unpleasant. not quite welcome, either. he looked rested, which annoyed her. the lady's hand adjusted the strap at her shoulder. “i was meant to have a guard. he’s late.” her eyes flicked to garrick’s. “you, unfortunately, are not.”

a gust of wind stirred the hem of her cloak, and she tilted her chin slightly toward the road that sloped down toward the treeline. far ahead, just beyond sight, lay the little sept carved into a hillside, weathered with age and half-covered in ivy. she’d gone there since she was small. the first time, she’d walked the whole way barefoot, because her mother told her it would teach humility. it had.

“i go to this sept every year at this time,” she said, softer now. “to pray. to give. to remember.” her gaze returned to his, sharper again. “not to spar.” she looked down at his sword, then his arm, before deciding to accept it. “if you’re sincere, you’ll walk and keep your thoughts to yourself. i’m not headed to the sept to be provoked.”

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick looked around casually, certainly taking notice that her guard was nowhere in sight. A subtle smirk crossed his lips, though he was quick to adopt a more neutral expression. It was fortuitous, perhaps, that his path seemed to keep crossing hers at precisely the right time. Or the wrong time, depending on how this conversation went. Ayca Mallister stood before him, her presence as resolute as ever, and he wondered whether she’d be sharp and callous like their first meeting, or unguarded and magnetic as when they’d met in Casterly Rock. There was always a shift between them, an unpredictability that made these encounters feel complicated, unexpected, thrilling.

“You would rather wait for him, or walk with me?” Garrick asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. Her eyes darted to his sword, and the knight raised both hands in peaceful surrender. “Fret not, I've no intention of sharpening it today,” he added with subtle amusement, the memory of her irritation when they first met still lingering in his mind. As exasperated as she'd been then, perhaps she could also look back on it with more levity now.

The Commander stepped a little closer while still keeping an appropriate distance between them. His arm was still outstretched for her to take, a more earnest expression crossing his face. “I’m not here to provoke you, my lady. I’ve never been too good at keeping my tongue in check, but I'll try it today”. His gaze flickered to the old stone path that led to the sept, then back to her. Her voice softened when she spoke of her purpose there, and that was something he'd not dare joke about. “You're seeking your peace there, and I do not mean to disturb that”.

What he'd heard about the devotion of those who followed the Old Way felt true in her case. This was more than routine or tradition. It was something real. Ayca's devotion might be clear to anyone who looked, and Garrick had been paying close attention to her, beginning to see something deeper than just ritual in her faith. He did not fully understand that spiritual clarity some seemed to have, and a part of him both admired and envied people like her. “This is important to you,” he stated more than asked. “I'd be honored to escort you there, Lady Mallister”.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna huffed softly through her nose, something of a laugh in the exhale, though her lips didn’t quite lift; of course he would be able to make her laugh to herself in such a scenario with his easy smirks. she glanced sideways at him, eyes tracing the line of his jaw like it might reveal some secret truth she’d missed in all the years they’d known each other. she half snorted, scrunching up her nose at his comment. "well what could i ask you for if you're offering then?" her skirts swept against the stone as she lifted them delicately with one hand to keep pace, the other burrowed in his elbow seamlessly.

her eyes lifted and widened slightly as he spoke on something they had not ever discussed before. his true inner thoughts in that period of time where he truly danced on the line between life and death with that same smirk on his face. "you know, now i think about it, i don't think i've ever asked you about that before?" still, as he began to speak on it she gave him a comical yet reassuring pat upon the hand he had placed atop of hers, resting within the crook of his elbow.

“no, i weren’t lettin’ you die on my watch. like i had any say in it at all. i didn’t fancy the idea of havin’ to tell ser arryk he was one brother down when he came to get you." it were interestingly how natural she spoke of what had come and what had been lost in the war: even the mention of his own sibling, who too had served alongside ronan and came to stone hedge to check on the wellbeing of his brother once finding himself in the riverlands. "i mostly remember just talkin' to try keep you awake when it was bad. but gods, you'd talk some proper shit sometimes. one time you told me to shut the donkey by the window up at night, and i was insisting there was no donkey. we argued over an imaginary donkey, like three solid times." stress, sleep deprivation - it had played a role. "and it ended up being the deer."

she continued to let him guide her, a sideways glance tossed his way, though her fingers curled a little tighter around the fabric of her skirts each time she heard footsteps behind her. "and besides, the maids at stone hedge would’ve flayed me alive if you’d gone and perished...consider brianna boltonfied. they were right fond of you, y’know — used to flutter about like hens when you so much as said ‘mornin.’ one o’ them near fainted when she saw you shirtless. proper pathetic, really.” she shot him a knowing look as a genuine laugh finally slipped from her lips.

"oh, 'course your eyes light up at that! standard cargyll."

the sound of her laughter momentarily bounced off some quiet corridor of the red keep, and she immediately silenced herself, looking at him and wondering if she had been too loud in some quarter she should not have been so loud in. “aye, well, what a time that was.” she said eventually, her voice low and not nearly as sharp as it usually was, no doubt to the fact she had been running on pure adrenaline up until this point - and now, she felt herself finally being able to give in to the quiet exhaustion. her teasing was unable to be backed up by her voice, and so it were present only in vivd orbs that glinted with mischief - she made it sound as though they had attended the wildest of parties. "you, bleeding and charming the maids and lookin’ like a knight out of some foolish maiden’s dream.”

her - the foolish maiden.

“so, enough of all that.” she said after a beat, voice breaking through the quiet with a touch of mischief curling at the edge of it, tapping his hand again. “how’s your night been, then? any better than mine? bar's pretty high."

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick’s smirk deepened when Brianna asked what she could ask for. When the Bracken lady was around, that particular, easy mood settled over him like a warm cloak against the cold stone air of the Red Keep. “Whatever you wish to ask, give it good thought, Bri,” he said, his voice edged with humor and something more genuine laced beneath it. “I'm in a generous mood now, but I can't swear that'll last. Best not waste it”. His hand pressed a little firmer where it rested atop hers, a wordless admission. He owed her more than he could ever say aloud. Debt, loyalty, and something altogether softer were deeply rooted between them, though he would not voice it in these halls. Not yet.

When she admitted she'd never asked about those feverish, bloodied days at Stone Hedge, Garrick chuckled under his breath. “There is not much to ask, I reckon,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “You were there. You saw all of it”. Her teasing remark drew the ghost of a smile from him as she mentioned Arryk. The name was spoken so naturally, a name he still heard from time to time, and each time it gutted him all the same. Garrick glanced at her again, wearing the same half-smirk, but it did not fully reach his eyes. It happened sometimes —his mind flashing briefly to the bloodied bodies of Arryk and Erryk, shockingly pale... two halves of the same soul mortally wounded by each other's swords.

He had to reel himself back, focus on the memory Brianna was talking about. “The milk of the poppy muddled my mind,” he said, managing to make himself chuckle at that shared story. “You can't truly fault me for the confusion, or for my insistence,” the Commander added, a gleam returning to his eye, grounding himself as he walked by her side down the corridor.

Her chatter about the maids revived some of his usual sharp-edged charm, as if she naturally knew what he needed to hear to return from darker memories. Garrick let out a short laugh, though it was still subtly delayed, as if he had to drag it from himself. The knight shook his head, indicating he did not think he was at fault for those women's reactions. “What? Do not give me that look. I did not try to appear a knight of legend or songs, I was just there trying to survive,” he added, knowing that playing the part would truly return him to his good spirits. Faking it until it felt real. “I can't help it if a maid or two swoon over me,” he added, because, of course, he never denied he enjoyed that sort of attention.

Garrick's lips curved into a subtle smirk, glancing down at her hand where it tapped his. His eyes caught hers briefly, catching that spark of mischief she never quite managed to smother —a small failure on her part he found himself grateful for. “Well, I didn’t end up in Flea Bottom tonight, so it's certainly going better than your shit night,” he replied, his voice laced with mild teasing. “It's been rather dull, truth be told. The usual tasks. Standing guard, escorting some of his grace's guests,” the Commander stated plainly, with no effort to dress it up. There was no flourish that could make it sound better than it was. “If anything, your damn antics turned my night a little less monotonous”.

[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.

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick’s smile deepened, slow and amused, as he studied her carefully maintained ruse. “A lord worth his salt would not so quickly seek to offend a king on the day of his coronation,” he mused aloud, his tone light but edged with meaning. “But who am I to judge your dear brother’s sense of duty, my lady? I’m sure the matters that drew him away were of utmost importance, as you say”.

When she leveled her teasing insult, Garrick let out an unbothered laugh, one hand resting lazily on the pommel of his sword. “An arrogant busybody? Have I made such a poor impression so swiftly?” he asked with mock offense, lifting his brows at her. There was no real sting in his words, only his easy humor. “Though I must admit, your overtly suspicious demeanor was enough to rouse a knight’s instincts. It would be remiss of me not to approach and ensure all was well, would it not?” he added, his tone lowering to a nonchalant reproach.

At her guess, Garrick frowned slightly before letting out a short, incredulous laugh. She was not the brightest one, apparently. He would have thought his mention of Riverlands' friends was all too clear that he meant the Brackens. “The Deddings?” he echoed. “Who in the seven hells are the Deddings?” he asked with some mockery of such a peripheral house. Yet the Cargyll lord did not correct her or hint at the truth. He was alright with letting her spin her tale until she tripped on it on her own.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

her lips parted slightly as if to begin to protest, to offer some casual smooth response in her usual quip form that was laced with nothing but playful contrary, but no words came forth at his request. it was not hesitation, nor indecision, but something deeper, something old and ingrained and familiar. she could not lie to him - she could not lie to anyone. she would not. something about the moment felt incredibly somber for the briefest of comments said in a longer conversation, as though it was an unspoken vow, one she had not realised she had sworn until now, and yet the certainty of it settled within her like a stone at the bottom of a river.

no, she would not lie to garrick cargyll.

so, she only nodded, her chin dipping just once, slowly, in the dim torchlight of the king’s city. the touch at her shoulder was light, but she felt it as if it had been a weight pressing down. "truly." not unwelcome, but anchoring, reminding her that she was here, that he was here, and that there were things she could not run from—not him, not his questions, and not the past that lingered between them like the ghost of a half-forgotten melody. "i got too far over me own head in a city i don’t know," she admitted at last, voice quieter than her usual boisterous, unbothered lilt. "but nothin’ happened. i swear it, garrick. i’m grand, yeah?"

her fingers still toyed with the ragged edge of her gown, the silk torn and fraying, though she had long since ceased noticing the damage. it was easier to focus on that, on the texture beneath her fingertips, rather than the way he was looking at her, seeing her in a way few ever had the patience to. she knew him well enough to understand that his silence meant he was waiting for more, but she had nothing else to give, not without offering something raw, something she did not wish to name. so, instead, she smiled, lopsided and dry, and flicked her gaze back up to meet his.

"ye know, i reckon this makes us even," she mused, as if the weight between them had not just shifted into something unspoken and unbreakable. "all those times i patched ye up when ye were laid out in stone hedge, thinkin’ yerself invincible. i reckon i’ve earned at least a few poor decisions." his lips curled at her words, though whether it was amusement or exasperation, she could not tell. a knowing smirk, one she had seen a hundred times over, one that never failed to stir something both nostalgic and fond within her. the years had changed them, but some things remained the same. he still saw through her tantrums, and she still found comfort in the fact that he did - even if it were reluctantly.

she huffed, shaking her head when he spoke of her owing him a dance lesson, her smile easing into something more natural, something lighter, a light laugh slipping from her lips as though she forgot beneath her clasped cloak there was a mud and shit stained stained dress. "oh, aye, i’d love t’see that," she drawled, mock pity lacing her tone as her hand rested upon the details of her buttons, the smile resting upon her face. "ser garrick cargyll, high commander of new valyria, stumblin’ about like a newborn colt, me tryin’ not to have me toes crushed." she clicked her tongue, feigning deep thought. "y’know, i might just charge ye for the privilege. a whole pouch o’ silver, at least."

his hand lingered a moment longer before slipping away, yet still she did not dwell on it, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating each time she remembered the fact that her neck was bare and her necklace was missing. "c’mon then, ser high commander," she said, tilting her head towards the archway ahead. "let's get outta here before i actually have t’start proper lyin’. would you mind walkin' me back to wherever it is the riverlanders are staying? i'm not even fully sure this is the right way, honestly, i thought it was this way but...it's not, is it?"

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick watched her for a moment longer, his blue eyes searching her face for any trace of deception. He did not quite believe the explanation she'd given. In the end, he let out a quiet breath and just let it be because he that look she had so well. Brianna Bracken was an immovable force when she chose to be. If she was determined to keep her reasons to herself, no force in Westeros would pry them from her. The Commander did not like it, but he chose not to press further for now. It was a battle he would lose, after all, so instead, he embraced the trust that had long been forged between them. So, instead, he embraced the trust that had long been forged between them, giving a knowing shake of his head as a slow smirk replaced his suspicion

“Oh, we are nowhere near even,” he admitted with a quiet scoff. His line of thinking wasn't heading towards where she might have thought, however. “There was a time when I thought I’d surely die at Stone Hedge,” he added, revealing where his mind was at. “You know, I remember waking up in a haze from time to time, barely stringing together any thoughts, but feeling that I wouldn’t last the night. And then I’d hear your voice. I’d see you with the maester, telling me to drink, to breathe, to keep on. Somehow, I’d last another day,” the knight managed a soft smile that gradually shifted into an easy smirk. “You were damn stubborn about not wanting a corpse on that bed. You always did have a talent for being impossible to ignore, I suppose”. It was not often he admitted such things aloud, and yet he did so with an air of playfulness to avoid sinking into sentimentality. But the truth remained that there were only two people in the world to whom he owed so much. Jaehaerys and Brianna.

The weight of the moment lingered between them before he chose to cast it aside with a grin. Brianna named her price for the dance lessons and he chuckled subtly. “Silver, then. A fair price. I’d have thought you’d be more imaginative in what you'd want in return, though”. Garrick offered his arm to her then. “It's this way,” he said with a tilt of her head, indicating the right direction to the guest quarters for the Rivelanders. The Cargyll lord walked with steady, deliberate steps, a man clearly well-acquainted with the inner intricacies of the Red Keep, with its many stairs and hallways.

He still did not know what had truly transpired tonight, and yet he offered silent reassurance as his hand settled atop hers where it rested in the crook of his arm, fingers curling lightly around hers. Garrick did not say anything, but an unspoken truth was clear. Wherever she walked, when she allowed it, Garrick would make sure she did not walk alone.

[garrick-cargyll]

Closed starter for @ofsacredseas Setting: Garrick met with his friends of House Bracken at Riverrun. A day prior to his departure to New Valyria, he runs into Lady Ayca Mallister.

Garrick spotted the unmistakable figure of Lady Ayca Mallister as she stood near the courtyard’s edge, poised with the quiet elegance expected of her station. It was the resolve in her gaze that drew his attention, even before she had the chance to notice him. He could guess where she was going, for he'd seen people beginning to head for the sept earlier. If what he'd heard about those of the Old Way was true, the Mallister lady would be nothing if not dutiful in matters of her faith.

“A lady venturing outside the gates of Riverrun without an escort?” Garrick mused as he stepped closer to make his presence known to her. His voice was laced with something just shy of amusement, his expression unreadable as he welcomed fate for making him cross paths with Lady Ayca. “Surely that’s not proper. Let alone safe”. He let the words settle between them before tilting his head slightly, his blue eyes curious as he met her beautiful, dark gaze. “A devout woman such as yourself wouldn’t wish to be absent, I imagine”.

Perhaps she was waiting for someone who had yet to arrive to accompany her. Or perhaps not. Either way, he pressed on, his tone shifting just enough to sound sincere. “Do you not have someone to escort you, Lady Mallister?” There was a pause, just long enough to let the question linger before he eased back into a lighter tone. “I’ve not attended a service in some time. Perhaps we could both benefit from my escorting you,” he added. The Commander lifted his arm in silent invitation, a flicker of challenge beneath his courtesy. Perhaps he ought not to be, but the knight was certain she would say yes to his proposal. Whether she accepted out of practicality or for some other, more personal reason, he would not know. But he welcomed the chance to steal a little more of her time, and perhaps revisit that last conversation that had lingered in his mind since their last encounter.

[visratarg]

Viserra kept a cynical look on her face, feeling her eyelashes heavy with each slow flutter of her eyelids as a kind of sideways smile appeared. The princess genuinely enjoyed annoying Garrick Cargyll since, well, he took it as a specifically tricky challenge within Red Keep “Love King's Landing?” I said out loud, lightly “So many places for you to love and you chose this... dirty city?” She shrugged, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She knew that none of his answers would be what she wanted, or would like, but that was the fun of it all; squeezing the man's neurons until he lost the thread. At times, because of acts like this, as well as thousands of others, Viserra wondered what kind of fame she would have if she were the daughter of Jaehaerys I Targaryen, would she be like her namesake, or like Saera? The princess would like to know. 

“Of course it was,” he replies simply, casting an oblique glance at me “You're the most fun to torment, Garrick. Who but you, my brother's best friend and sworn sword, would be so defiantly tempting to tease?” She was direct, after all, it was crystal clear that the man in front of her knew her motives, her futile and frivolous motives; Viserra saw no reason to hide it, every glance she made made her intentions clear “I wouldn't be the first princess to play with soldiers, in fact, nor the first noblewoman” She batted her eyelashes innocently “You know” She sighs, clucking her tongue; the princess definitely wouldn't be the last.

A grimace sketched across his face as Garrick took his hands off his chest, rolling his eyes and holding back the urge to smile; teasing was fun, having your teasing refused was, in other situations, annoying, but in this one it was different. Challenging. 

“Who would keep my brother waiting, right?” She repeated, in a low tone. All about honor and duty, it was the essential fact, the balance between the things she liked to provoke “If my company isn't boring, knight” She smiled, setting off to walk beside him.

[garrick-cargyll]

Garrick exhaled sharply, a sound just shy of a chuckle. “You speak that way of your own home? I fear what you might speak of others' lands,” he replied with a click of his tongue, his tone edged with the sort of amusement one might have for a particularly persistent adversary. King’s Landing was no utopia, of course, there were individuals here like the princess, whose smiles hid daggers. Viserra was a peculiar creature, one who wasn't dangerous in the common sense, but for the stupid games she played. And still, despite himself, he entertained her. Or perhaps he only did so because of who was her brother.

“What a bore it must be for you, princess,” he continued, his voice light despite the weight of the words, “If I truly am the most fun to torment. Not some poor wretch who doesn’t know better? No eager soldier or servant willing to lose themselves for a moment of your favor?” Garrick asked with a cold smile, no real mirth in the gesture. “I suppose I should be flattered,” he scoffed. For a man who tended to appreciate a woman's interest in him, that was not the case with the Targaryen princess. He knew what she wanted, what she always wanted from him: to test, to tempt, to see if this time would be the time he cracked. He never did. That was why she kept coming back, not for conquest but for the chase. She did not wish to win him, she wanted to break him.

As they walked, Garrick kept his strides steady, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “You are many things, princess. Boring isn't one,” he stated, his words barely a compliment. He glanced at her sidelong, his smirk returning, though measured. “I wonder, will you walk with me all the way to your brother’s chambers, or will you find some other poor soul to entrap along the way?” He left the question hanging, half a challenge, half an invitation for her to try her luck elsewhere.