courage dear heart

multimuse blog penned by sage for theconqueringhq

[gildedheirs]

LIEGE RHOGAR QOHERYS, heir of harrenhal ➼ intro - stats - spotify - pinterest

LORD GYLES TYRELL, of highgarden, former targaryen ward ➼ intro - stats - spotify - pinterest

LORD HARLAN DONDARRION, of blackhaven ➼ intro - stats - spotify - pinterest

LORD OSWYCK TULLY, lord paramount of the trident, of riverrun ➼ intro - stats - spotify - pinterest

PRINCE QOREN MARTELL, crown prince of sunspear ➼ intro - stats - spotify - pinterest

[exfortunas]

"A joke on whose expense?" Andrik vented a long sigh through his nostrils. He knew Gyles was not deliberately withholding details, that the eve was likely fuzzy, and entertaining the conversation at present pained him. Still, his patience had thinned over the course of the last days. The brawl, his encounter with Alyssia, the scathing remarks of fellow Ironborn who did not think him worth his salt, and did not bother to hide as much either. He inhaled, and reminded himself to be kinder to Gyles. "There say there was cruel talk pertaining to his mother's fate. Any man would be expected to lose his calm, never mind how tough his hide may be."

"You're not cruel." He retorted, decisively. "You're obnoxious." A semblance of a smile. "And you'll recover. Abide by the maester's instructions. Try not to sustain further blows to the head." He continued. "Which is why I would suggest making amends with Luceryn. If he proves willing."

He placed the cup of water on a nearby surface. "We say foolish things when our minds are muddled by wine and scorched by this blasted heat. I'm sure you two will sort it out."

[gildedheirs]

“luc!” flightless bird is what he called him. saying that name brought tears to his eyes. the way his mind worked was a travesty - one minute angry, the next minute crying, and the next acting like it had never happened, being perfectly content. the concussion certainly hadn’t helped this. “not rhaenys. maybe aemma.” yet he still circled back to the one who started the fight.

“luc.” this time, it was barely a whisper as he pulled the blanket closer to his face, gripping it like a lifeline. would a man who had spoken ill of a dead mother act like this? he could feel his head pounding, but even now he couldn’t do it.

“give me time, i can find a reason to quarrel with you, too, andrik.”

[moonslost]

setting: house qoherys lodgings, sunspear closed starter for: rhogar qoherys ( @gildedheirs ) TW: injury mention

"father's a fucking idiot."

there were probably more respectful ways to speak of the ruling lord of harrenhal. valarr could not presently be bothered to find one. he stood near an open window, one arm freshly stitched and bound beneath clean linen, his discarded tunic replaced by another that proved considerably more difficult to pull on with one arm unwilling to cooperate. after struggling with it for several seconds, he abandoned the effort entirely and left the ties at his collar undone.

"he didn't know." that was the part valarr kept returning to. his eyes found rhogar across the room.

"he dragged a harlaw before half the fucking realm, accused him of putting a child in our sister, and struck him before he'd even bothered to learn whether any of it was true."

valarr flexed his injured arm experimentally. pain immediately answered and his expression soured.

"and naturally, we followed him."

there was enough irritation in the admission to make clear precisely how he felt about that particular realization. valarr exhaled sharply through his nose.

"we could've stopped it." perhaps that irritated him most. not the wound. not gwin. not even the harlaws. their father had given them precious little time to understand what was happening, but valarr disliked excuses nearly as much as he disliked admitting fault.

"i should've stopped it." his jaw tightened before he looked back toward his sibling.

"you know he's going to say he was defending her."

[gildedheirs]

“He was defending himself and we paid for it. That’s what he’d say. No, he’d say only the first part, and that we should not have intervened.” Needless to say, Rhogar was seething. They found themself pacing, otherwise they would tap their feet against the marble beneath them. It was either one action or the other, and he couldn’t do what he truly wanted to do. Being with Valarr was the only way to not give the same treatment to their father. He was their only restraint.

“I cannot believe the gull of him! He hardly let our sister say a sentence before he threw the punch.”

Valarr speaks of stopping it himself. They both knew it was impossible to stop their father from acting once he put his mind to it. Yet, when he was inert, it was just as difficult to get him to move. it was frustrating, and it was boiling over spending decades with him.

“You’d get not a word, maybe a glance about your wound that should’ve been our father’s. You’d think Dominic knocked our lordly father up the way he was acting!”

[ofembcrs]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: lord gyles tyrell @gildedheirs 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: tyrell chambers

luceryn’s strides were purposeful as he moved through the halls toward the tyrell chambers.

his conversations over the past several days had settled his course, and now he pondered only his initial approach. he would show remorse for his actions, not the message they conveyed.

it was he who should have seen it coming. once the conversation strayed to the war, to the victories and losses, he should have anticipated that someone might touch on the loss at hellholt. to react in the moment was to be clumsy at best, careless at worst.

still, he sought answers. what reason could lord gyles have to harbor such thoughts?

he found the door at the end of the corridor, just as lady rosalyn instructed. “lord tyrell, i hope i do not disturb your rest. it is luceryn. if you have a moment, i would like to speak with you.”

[gildedheirs]

This was a dream. It had to be. His formal tone conveyed none of the joyfulness of their youth - the sneaking around Dragonstone was replaced with stoicism, the years passing by them. Was it only the events that happened at Lemonwood that brought this out of Luceryn, or had these thoughts been lingering in him a while? Did he have any idea it wasn’t Gyles who spoke those words?

The door clicked, humming as it swung open. Gyles wanted to hug Luceryn, but he was as still as a shield. So instead, he hovered, arms slightly out before taking steps away to withdraw. He didn’t know. Gyles’ shoulders slumped, moving slightly for the much taller man to get past him before closing the door.

He leaned against the door for support, the world still spinning. Better than it had previously, but it seemed to come in waves now. The mental toll of this inevitable conversation certainly didn’t help. If anything, it went against the maester’s instructions. “You have my attention, Luc.”

[idlelight]

open starter ! setting: lemonwood, early afternoon post-affray.

the chaos had given way to a sort of uneasy calm. the amusement he'd derived from the brawl and its immediate consequences had died down as he picked his way through what remained of the grand encampment. myles moved as carefully as anyone who'd had as much to drink as was sloshing about in his system possibly could. funny, he thought, that the best night ( or morning ) of sleep he'd had in recent times had been under a collapsed pavilion. a snuffled laugh escaped voluntarily and he kicked something underfoot out of the way and he muttered to himself, "when fate hands you lemons..."

pale eyes scanned their surroundings lazily, zeroing in with impressive accuracy upon a prize among the rubble. "throw them back in your most gracious host's faces, by the looks of it," he dove forward, collecting the stoppered decanter of dornish red and, in prioritising its safety over his own, entirely lost his balance. reached instinctively for whatever happened to be near enough, almost sending himself to the floor anew upon the realisation that it had been a person and not a post. "oops," myles breathed, a sheepish and apologetic smile blossoming as he straightened and released the unfortunate soul's clothing from his grasp. "forgive me, that was... unintentional. i must commend you on your... steadfastness, though. truly exemplary." he squinted them at a moment, draining his prize of a not-insignificant amount before continuing. "i must ask, is the impression of a watchtower intentional, or are you unwell? or searching for something?"

[gildedheirs]

These two were peculiar together. Rhogar had continued on as the world continued on after the events of the night before, finding the fighting to be ultimately for naught. It changed nothing. To contrast, Rhogar barely kept any drink in their system. Why did they feel responsible for this imbecile? With a sigh, they grab Myles, and feel Myles grabbing them back. Their posture remains straight, and if their face changed at all, it only grows more tired as time dragged on. That drink dragged on, forcing them to blink. They should've just ran, but here they remained.

"If I do something intentional, you would know." Like rescuing the man who truly didn't want to be saved. They took the bottle from his hands, and tossed it back down onto the ground. "Can you tell the difference now?"

[sword-born]

Having not seen her older sister since ensuring she was alright after the fight had broken out. Daeynara sought out the other Targaryen daughter, figuring the best place to look would be in the area she was sharing with the Martell prince, Qoren. Before she could open her mouth in an attempt to inquire about her sister's whereabouts, he was springing a question on her, looking quite concerned. Looking behind her to see if there was someone else he had sought to address, but finding no one, a puzzled look overtook the princess' features for a moment. "Found anything....Ah, no? But I was hoping you might know where Vissera was. Why? Is everything alright? Is something important missing?" Daey asked, eyes growing wide with concern as her mind leapt to wild conclusions about something potentially being wrong with her sister.

[gildedheirs]

This was one of the worst people to ask that question to. He bolstered a smile as the realization hit, but he feared it was too late for that. “Ah, there is no need to worry, Princess Daenyara. Simply looking for information from last night, that is all." She didn’t have to know all of the inner workings of the council around him. But she might have known about Roast, and from what he knew of Viserra’s sister, he feared it would hurt her constitution if she knew he was lost amongst all the fighting.

“Your sister is doing well. She’s been resting, last I heard - no sneaking out for her currently. It’s been quite the night for us all.” A pause broke when he realized his manners were lacking, especially for the Crown Prince. “Please, sit. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

[sword-born]

When her brother steadied and stopped her giddy motions, the younger Tully's expression fell slightly, bracing for a denial of her request and perhaps even a gentle chiding, but when her plea was instead met with a query and then fully relented to, the smile on her face broke open into a grin. Clapping her hands together in a pleased gesture, Casella nodded and drew back slightly as to bring Oswyck away from the edge and towards the dance floor. Only after she had begun to move was the Riverlander struck by his playful words. Scoffing in jest, the raven-haired lady rolled her eyes and let out a soft tut of disapproval. "Please, I could never manage actually being royalty, mother thinks me distractable enough as it is."

[gildedheirs]

He moved in a way that counterbalanced Casella, but was far too clunky, similar to a stone gargoyle whose hinges had just been discovered by an onlooker. It was a sight to see - two siblings enjoying each other’s company. Oswyck wondered how many more times they’d get this chance. He hoped for many more despite the distance.

“We have been blessed by royalty, here and home.” Even now, he could let out a laugh as they spun. He was grateful to their hosts, hopeful in the arrangement between the Targaryens and Martells. “I don’t have the heart to send you into the Targaryens, and I doubt they’d look towards us for prospects.” He leaned in to whisper the next part. "One solace for us all."

[sword-born]

It would have been impossible not to see the gears and mechanisms beginning to turn and whir in the Stormlander's mind from looking at him. Anyone with even a modicum of clean vision could observe the thoughts beginning to churn in response to her slightly mischievous tone. If this had been a trap, Bellaria would have witnessed him readily accept the bait and ask for more. But it wasn't a trap, at least, not entirely. Though it would have been easier to pretend that were the case. Ignoring the contemplative mood that fought to take control, the raven-haired lady merely smiled, shrugging ever so slightly in response before taking a long look around until her dark eyes landed back upon Harlan, gaze not wavering. "I would say I find myself most satisfied by my surroundings, thank you for concern, my lord." The words were practically a purr. "And yourself?"

[gildedheirs]

If this was a trap, Harlan was trying to shut it down as soon as he could. Yet, a part of him wanted to see where it went. Where was this Bellaria in those letters? She acted like she knew what she wanted, but what she wanted wasn't public knowledge. Harlan certainly wasn’t going to give it to her if it was anything he had. No matter who was flirting with him, he would refuse it.

He blinks at her response before gesturing to the scenery around him. “You are that fond of these trees?” A grumble followed. “It’s adequate for its needs.” How could he compliment the place that held him captive, even if it wasn't this exact place? The least he could do to calm himself was stare at the stars, contemplating their placement. “You seem like you have been here a while, Lady Uller. What do you require assistance with?”

[shambleslily]

it was safe to say Aemma had already wanted to go home, now she really wanted to leave Dorne. the comment about her mother and the fight between her brother and Lord Tyrell that she got caught in between was enough to make her want to drink her weight in alcohol to avoid everything that happened.

though it seem the Seven decided to test her once more as she ended up walking through door after realizing she had gotten her directions mixed up. though once the other spoke to her she turned to look at the person to reclaim before realizing who she stood in front of.

"i do not know what it is you are looking, your grace. i can maybe find my cousin for you." she answered quickly once she saw it none other than the prince of dorne.

[gildedheirs]

Of course the guards wouldn’t do anything about Aemma entering. Yet, when she said she could go get a cousin, a thought formed that he couldn’t squash down before it was fully thought: which one? The Targaryens were in almost every region of Westeros, and soon to be in Dorne to stay. The so-called cousin could be anyone in the family, Viserra included. She was accounted for, and he was grateful she was ultimately okay. Yet, Aemma could be saying she’d grab Maegor or Aenyx for that descriptor. It meant nothing to Qoren. He had his own cousins within the Yronwoods, but not throughout all of Westeros like those cockroaches.

It might have been rude to stare, but this particular cousin of Viserra’s truly did look peculiar. He quickly concluded that this was most likely the short Arryn. Now being face-to-face with her, that description was certainly apt.

“There is no reason to worry others, everything will be fine, Lady Arryn.” In fact, Viserra, the very cousin, had been the reason for some of this worry. She was already in the know, yet Aemma being in it made him uncertain about it. “It is only my nature.” A breath follows. “I’m glad to hear your brother is improving.” He hoped this meant that the event would improve, as well.

[exfortunas]

Andrik did not press for a more detailed response right away, nor had he need of ushering in the maester to explain to him what exactly had befallen Gyles. He may have spent far too many years of his young life far from the Iron shores, but he knew what a blow to the head looked like. To the point where one would think some of his crew believed they had been blessed with iron skulls. "You bit him." He echoed, reclining in his chair as he folded his arms before his chest. His long legs dangled on either side of the chair, a rather comical sight. There had been a point boyhood, where he had simply outgrown common facilities.

"Suppose he is responsible for the mighty whack to the head you sustained." Andrik leaned over to the bedside table, and poured two glasses of water, one he unceremoniously held before Gyles whilst he lifted the other to his lips. He set his own glass down once more, before finishing his point. "Who knows, might even be an improvement to before." A short-lived grin. Gyles may not have been in a mood for jesting, but Andrik felt his commentary was rather apt, regardless.

"Why did he punch you?" He finally asked, inhaling a long gust, before exhaling just as deeply. "What was said?" If it was too taxing to piece together the events, Andrik would simply return when he was more alert. Such were the perks of nurturing his friendship.

[gildedheirs]

"He hit me first." These first words were quicker, with a bite to them, similar to the one he gave Luceryn. Even still, Andrik brought a cup to his lips, the cool liquid doing nothing to help. At least, not now.

No response was given to his jabs. It wasn't worth the effort. He knew everyone wanted him to shut up - why would he give people that courtesy?

"I don't know," is his ultimate answer. A long pause ensues, one that allowed too much breath to pass. "I made a joke, but he only got more mad." If he had heard the Caron lord, he would have bit him instead. A part of him thought that he should have just stayed with Emeric - perhaps none of this would've happened. "Who would say words like that? I'm cruel, but not unkind to the dead." Another beat follows. "My parents, excluded."

[star-scry]

They were playing at some game though Emeric had yet to learn its rules. Like some variant of Cyvasse where he had been dropped upon the board halfway through the match, left to puzzle out each move as it came. Whenever he thought he had found the pattern or strategy, Lord Gyles would overturn it with a sardonic smile or a particularly biting word, and he would be lost again.

This sudden shift in his mood felt as though it came too easy, far too easy. After all the awkward meetings and quiet failures that had passed between them in Highgarden, he could not believe a cup of sweet summerwine and a handful of jests had truly turned the tide. Emeric did not believe it. If he had learned one thing about the man that he hoped to make his betrothed, it was that Gyles did little without purpose and this unexpected shift to kindness was unlikely to come free. There was like to be some design beneath the pleasantries, some hidden motives beneath the conversation. He could not yet see what but as had become the norm in the months since he had first met Tyrell, it only sharpened his curiosity. He found himself still wanting to follow the current wherever it might carry them.

"Then I ought to keep close company with those of a tarter disposition. Sweetness without tartness cloys but a little sweetness softens what would otherwise be too sour to stomach." 

He gave Gyles his brightest smile, guileless to all appearances, and deliberately steered talk away from furthering this back and forth before he lost control of it all and the conversation ended in another disaster.

"And what of the rest of your evening, Lord Gyles?" he asked. "Have you any plans laid?" 

[gildedheirs]

Now, the ball was in Gyles’ court. He could spit in Emeric’s face and call him a fool in a million different ways, but he feared he’d only bolster that dimpled smile and laugh that ever-so-grating laugh. Instead, he watched the other lord like a python watching its prey - rolling a shoulder in the process like it was an itch he couldn’t scratch.

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this feeling. He’d felt it many times when Emeric attempted to broker peace with the Tyrells. He felt it the most intensely at that dinner when he looked at Gyles and discretely asked for his hand in marriage. He knew it was a demand that Alester couldn’t refuse. That itch made him want to claw Emeric’s eyes out and spew profanities no noble should speak aloud.

So, it had reduced from overboiling to a simmer. For now.

He speaks of them together. Yet Gyles knew Emeric couldn’t tame his tartness, an everlasting effect on those he came across, nor could he tame his reputation. In fact, this match would only make some worse, he was sure of that.

So, if he couldn’t fight this match, why not have some fun in the meantime? See how much this beautiful jester could dance?

“It’s unbelievably stuffy here, don’t you think?” There it was, that shrill voice again. It always meant he was up to something.

He leaves no room for Emeric to interject. “I have no plans other than to leave this place. How would you feel if I spent that time with you?”

[astra-ferxus]

Maron came through the door already tight-jawed, the sound of the fighting still ringing in his ears from wherever he'd been when word of it reached him. He hadn't liked leaving Deria's side except for the time it took to find Qoren, not with half of Lemonwood still in an uproar and no one able to give him a straight account of what had actually happened. His hands weren't steady either, not with temper, though he did his best to smooth the edge from his voice before Qoren turned.

"Not yet." He shut the door behind him, the anger from the corridor still sitting plain on his face even as he tried to gentle it for his stepson's sake. "I trust nothing has happened to you or Viserra?"

He crossed the room properly now, eyes searching Qoren over as though he might find some injury the boy hadn't mentioned. Sorry, man. Maron had been struggling to correct himself that Qoren was a man now. A married man, and the future Prince.

"What about the other guests?" His voice dropped, quieter, more careful. "Did you see someone hurt on their way here?"

[gildedheirs]

This was a lost cause. All of it. Yet Qoren clung to hope, even as he was pushing thirty years. It would one day be his rock to push uphill to no avail.

There was this unsteadiness he noted within Maron. It was worse than it appeared out there. What detail did he miss that made this change within him?

“No,” he finally says, shaking his head. After the decades of being by his side albeit with Maron in another role, he still reverted back to being the protector. Qoren had wanted to have a speckle of that sort of strength, but every time he tried, it only made someone get hurt. Ultimately, Qoren knew his strength was not the same as Maron’s nor Yorick’s nor Deria’s, and at the core, it stung. He couldn’t even keep his betrothed safe. In fact, he hadn’t even known she had slipped into the fray without guards.

“Viserra’s safe thanks to Eleana. Gods know why they were out there!” He sounded exasperated, turning away, watching the curtains sway in the gentle breeze knowing it was only Maron. It seemed peaceful now, but how long would it remain?

“No one seems to know what happened. Everyone became frenzied. This is not who we are as a people. I don’t want to believe that is what Aegon’s people are either.”

Yet, Maron asked another question. In hopes of lighter days, he jokes. “There are some hurt, but being attended to. I know better than to get in the way of the maester. My presence would only make their injuries worse as they plead for mercy to me. Did anyone dare bother you out there?”

[moonslost]

valarr stepped into the room with the faint look of a man who had been inconvenienced against his will. one of the attendants, breathless, insistent, and entirely too eager, had intercepted him in the corridor and, through a mixture of urgency and poor explanation, managed to rope him into assisting with a search. for what, exactly, had not been made clear. only that it was important, and that the dornish crown prince was involved.

he had expected something of consequence. instead —

"no." the answer came before qoren had even turned. immediate. clipped.

"i've found only the servants searching gardens, kitchens, and half the estate for…" he paused, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. "…roast."

the name did little to inspire confidence.

"i assume there's a reason half of lemonwood is looking for him, my prince?"

[gildedheirs]

He had told one servant. How in the Seven Hells did this noble find out about the cat’s name? For a moment, his brow furrowed before he sported a smile. Appearances were of utmost importance now. He had made sure that wounds were attended, the land ensured to be well, and assisted with the clean up delegation. Yet, Roast being gone remained. That was all to stew on. The politics between the Tyrells and Arryns were of little importance to Qoren.

“Apologies for my attendants. They hardly know who is who to bother with meaningless chores.” Even though Valarr knew, what point did it have to worry him? Or, well, bore him as Qoren thought.

There was no point in telling him that he was the reason Viserra was almost injured the night prior. Neither was there one in telling him that he was technically Viserra’s dear cat, but a gift for the new union. Even though Qoren didn’t care much for mammals, he had grown fond of his betrothed. If she cared so dearly for Roasting Fork, he would care for him too.

Yet, with him being missing during the fray, in came a growing fear of their future. How many generations would it take to have peace - to still be separate but understood by each other? What would happen when people found out Viserra was to have a child, something all royals were expected to do? Would there be as much of an uproar as now?

It was no matter to dwell on it. Instead, he could later plan for it. For now, all he could do was calm down.

“They must have finished their other duties and are now playing with Roast. He’s a trickster, you see.”

[exfortunas]

Open ( 0 / 3 ) .

Location: Lemonwood, the first morn in the wake of the affray.

Following the tumble before Lady Amira's tent, Edric had divided his time between ensuring his lady betrothed was not left completely distraught, and tending to his children who had accompanied him to Sunspear, and consequently House Dalt's seat of Lemonwood. He knew the seat well, knew the faces that occupied it, that carried its legacy, did not only open their home to all guests that had journeyed from regions north of Dorne -- but wished to follow House Martell's precedent of forging peace. That he was enraged with the happenings, and felt thoroughly that the Marcher nobles had exploited Dornish hospitality, verged on an understatement. After breaking his fast with Obella and Trystane, and having them prepared for their return journey to the Old Palace, he entered the hall where people with injuries sustained were being tended to. "Have you need of assistance?" He asked another, hands clasped behind the wide plane of his back. For all his youthful follies, he was no stranger to battlegrounds and wounds. The sights did not discomfit, only what had sparked the madness, to begin with. "Injuries are aplenty, I suspect the maester of House Dalt is spread decidedly thin. But I can clean and dress a wound well enough; I've known my fair share of them."

[gildedheirs]

It was certainly a night.

Oswyck and his family were luckily far away from the fray, but what had happened remained in pieces. In fact, he had hardly known - the first night in a fortnight that Violet had decided it was time to sleep. For once, the ruling liege Tullys were able to rest. It seemed the rest of the world couldn’t.

Despite this carnage, there was an air of hope that he wanted to cling to. Would such an alliance prevail? He had tried to broker peace with the Iron Islands, and received similar uproar. People never really changed, especially when opening old wounds.

He stood with his hands clasped in front of him. “No,” was his swift reply. “You seem to have found the one person to not have been a part of the carnage.” Finally, he looks to the other. “I am merely looking to put myself to use to show my appreciation to my hosts. I fear most people do not feel the same currently. So, how can I help?”

[exfortunas]

@gildedheirs .

Location: Gyles' private quarters, following the events at Lemonwood.

Andrik spared Gyles but a short glance, not bothering to inspect in detail what damage he had sustained during the brawl. They had maesters to patch them back together; he had come to talk. He dragged up a chair to his bedside, and sighed heavily as he settled into the seat. "What in the seven hells compelled you to do that? You have your wits about you on a camel's back. But you lose all sense when faced with a man's fist?" His brows knitted into a deep scowl, light blond hair tumbling forward to frame his face as he shook his head. For all the machinations of Westerosi courts and the tangle of shifting politics they navigated, Andrik had found a sense of belonging with those who had also been bound to Aegonfort and Dragonstone in wardship. A sense of family, never mind their differences in upbringing, beliefs, even loyalties. Or so, he had thought. "And Luceryn. Of all the people you could have fought. Next time, if you feel a desperate need to punch someone, punch me. I would have just grabbed you by the scruff of your neck."

[gildedheirs]

All that came out of Gyles' mouth were grumbles and weak attempts at waving Andrik off. As usual, all he heard was a noise in his ear. Even when he tried to hear the other man, he only caught glimpses of his words, Andrik's frame still spinning. The maesters could help relieve the pain, but not the spinning.

It takes him longer to retort than usual, not even bothering to try to get up. He remains laying down, eyes appearing farther away than normal. In this state, he could hardly speak his truth, taking breaks between words, some words slurring. He just wanted to rest, but plenty of people weren't allowing him to do so.

"It wasn't me." At first, that's all he can say. Time seemed to drag on before he could say further words. He knew Rhaenys was beloved by all of the Kingdoms, especially the Vale, but was the enemy of Dorne. He had seen how much love Luceryn and Aemma held for her, and how much her people loved her in return. When his family left, he saw the hole in Luceryn's heart reappear. It was something that he understood, but only when Rosalyn left.

The Targaryens left a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he couldn't ignore, but he wouldn't be so bold as to announce it in the tent he shared with their cousins. Instead, he hadn't been paying attention and was joking with another. He had been too merry to realize someone was talking about Rhaenys, and said choice joke words. "He punched first. I bit and kicked, no punching."

That wasn't the point. How could he say it? Instead, all that he did was close his eyes and groan, shoulders slumping. "Not me."

[gqldblqqded]

Aenyx lets out a tolerant chuckle at the high-strung reaction he’d inadvertently roused from the other man. “Fancy yourself an astronomer, Lord Harlan?” he ignores the question and walks closer, angling himself in such a way that it’s clear he isn’t seeking to catch a glimpse at whatever the Stormlander guards so jealously. “— or a poet? Seeking inspiration from this beautiful place to pen a love letter?” his tone is lightly teasing.

Has Dondarrion inspected the sky long enough to notice Vandal’s shadow? Would he even be able to tell what it is he saw? And would he care enough to speak of it to others? Aenyx isn’t sure. It might serve one who maybe still harbors aversion towards the Dornish to sow distrust between them and the Targaryens who promised to leave their dragons behind. He doesn’t think either Aegon or Deria would be particularly amused by his pointing out Vandal kept only to the skies.

[gildedheirs]

That voice. He hadn't noticed, at first. His back straightened, eyes watching the Prince from afar. Of course he doesn't care about what is going on, instead toying with his prey. How convenient for him to take a walk in the groves to find Harlan led astray.

Harlan's eyes follow Aenyx's form as he comes closer. The sky was different here, he could tell that much, shifting and turning. Yet, there were changes he couldn't understand. His thoughts had not shifted towards a dragon being in the sky - no matter if it was Vasha or Vandal, did it really matter? He kept his distance which Harlan would have appreciated if he had known. Yet, he would've appreciated it even more if Aenyx had done what Vandal was doing right now.

"You hold me in too high of a regard, Prince Aenyx," he remarks. "I am but a novice, and love letters are far below me. Decades ago, perhaps I would give my final words in those letters. But now? No."

[sword-born]

Bellaria approached quietly and with intention. She had seen the Dondarrion Lord head towards the grove and had slowly drifted her way over, curious to see if anyone might join him. But, seeing the instruments he had taken with him it soon became clear to the raven-haired noblewoman that his goal had in fact been solitude to engage in a hobby he'd made mention of before in their correspondence. A small and perhaps even sentimental smile formed on her lips as she watched, enjoying the observation for a moment or two before stepping more heavily to announce her presence. "Not long. Would you like me to depart, my lord?" Bellaria asked coyly, raising one eyebrow. "I was merely enjoying the atmosphere."

[gildedheirs]

She had been the first to approach him. How stupid he had been to be so engrossed in his favorite activity, he hadn't realized who it was. It could be the wrong person, even Bellaria could have been that, and everything would be ruined. Even now, she seemed to be toying with him. He watched her come closer, noting how she knew exactly how to play the little lady that knew nothing. Then, eyes went back to the activity at hand. Why did he feel embarrassed about this? It was because he was trying to keep her at arms-length, and she somehow found a way to come closer every time. Even now.

"No," was his quiet, simple answer. "Is the atmosphere enriching enough for you, Lady Uller?"