nothing gold can stay.

lord mathis of house rowan, second son of goldengrove, ruling lord of standfast, five and thirty years.

[ofgoldengrove]

♛ → THE REACH present(s) MATHIS ROWAN, the LORD of GOLDENGROVE. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the THIRTY-FIVE year old MALE who was BENEVOLENT & VIVACIOUS before they saw the first of the flames, is now IMPRACTICAL & FLIGHTY after seeing the last. through the ash, now they struggle to find the fragile page of an ancient book, hand drawn maps of the stars, an ever-wandering mind. ( berk cankat ).

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[anya-snow]

Anya conceded to his words with a subtle laugh, feeling the comfort of the light-hearted back and forth that had begun to form between them soon after they met all those years ago. Back then, she'd only felt so at ease speaking plainly with him, even teasing him, because she'd believed him to be an equal to her when they met. Lowborn. It was a miracle that hadn't changed when the true nature of his position was revealed. The Northerner appreciated that about him, how he'd ensured she knew nothing had truly changed between then. And while so much had actually changed for her and for him since those days, at the very least, it felt like the dynamic between them had not.

“If your tactics are just to ensure pure, blunt honesty, I'm happy to oblige,” she added with a wry tone to her voice and a playful gleam in her eye. In some ways, Anya did not walk around in the same way she did when she was younger, almost as if she were wrapped in barbed wire, contentious and callous to all. But she still carried herself with a Northern attitude, and certainly continued to speak that way. Mathis had been on the receiving end of her sharpness a number of times, so he wasn't at all unfamiliar with the bluntness she hinted at.

The raven-haired lady looked to the side as he spoke, taking in his words. You do walk like someone who’s never planned to be trapped anywhere, though. There was truth to that observation. It was the sort of demeanor that, despite everything, she continued to display and hinted at her past habits in more ways than one. On one hand, it was a sort of readiness that whispered when to flee, something that helped her stay one step ahead of rejection or disdain. “I suppose it's the sort of skill you learn when you don't belong in a room,” she mused, giving a nonchalant shrug. Nowadays, belonging or not, it was still useful to find ways to walk away. Nowadays, it did feel like it was because she wanted to step aside, not that she felt compelled to.

Anya gave him a deadpan look, containing the urge to roll her eyes at him when he said he wanted to have Arbor gold. So predictable. They were in the Reach, and he was picking the drink that originated in those lands? “Thank you,” she said empathically when he said he was inclined to let her pick. “That was a disappointing first choice. Not that Arbor gold isn't good, but—” she cut off, tilting her head in a way that seemed to say 'Come on'. Looking at where they were, it was far more exciting to try something new. “I've never tried Gallowsgrey tequila before,” the Northerner added, raising her eyebrows with a pointed look. First time for both of them.

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis caught the deadpan look she gave him and huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm with surrender rather than defense. it had always been easy to fall into this relaxed ease with anya. despite the years and all the things life had handed them, they still seemed able to settle into the same rhythm around one another. he appreciated the normalcy of it, especially now, when so much else had shifted. “all right, all right,” he said, lifting a hand slightly as if conceding a lost argument. “you’ve made your point.” his mouth curved in quiet amusement. “reachman picks reach wine, hardly daring of me. i suppose i deserved that.”

he glanced toward the direction she’d been leading them, thoughtful rather than bothered by the correction. “gallowsgrey tequila it is, then,” he agreed easily. “a first for both of us feels like the right kind of choice tonight.” there was something about the way she framed it that suited him better anyway, trying something unfamiliar instead of retreating to habit. mathis had always been adventurous, but lately he preferred the comfort of routine. it were nice to feel the comfort of adventure again, for the first time in a long time.

her earlier comment lingered with him a moment, though, and his tone softened when he spoke again. “for what it’s worth,” he said, voice quieter beneath the thinning hum of the crowd, “i never thought you didn’t belong in a room.” he didn’t dress the thought up or soften it with too many words, mathis rarely did. his gaze flicked to her briefly, steady and calm. “most rooms just aren’t built for people who say exactly what they mean.” he had spent most of his life surrounded by pretty things and venomous words, and he’d always preferred rooms where people were simply as they were, not what everyone wished them to be. perhaps anya had grown more comfortable in her new place in the world, but she was still herself all the same, and he had always respected that.

then the corner of his mouth lifted again, easing the weight before it could settle too long. “besides,” he added lightly, “if we’re going to risk this gallowsgrey drink, it’s probably wise you’re the one choosing. you strike me as someone who knows the nearest exit if it turns out to be a terrible idea.” he gave a quiet laugh. “there was a time i tried some sort of whisky - brightwater, i think, or something like it. smooth enough that i drank the whole bottle before realizing my mistake.” he shook his head faintly. “i was hungover for a week. i’d prefer not to repeat that with tequila.”

[anya-snow]

The faintest spark of amusement gleamed in her dark eyes, and a light smirk appeared on Anya’s lips. “Oh, thank gods. My savior,” she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm. The Northerner remained her usual blunt, wry self, yet there was something a bit more lighthearted in her demeanor that only surfaced in the company of very few. “I'll give you this: You do have a suspiciously good sense of timing”. It was neither an accusation nor praise, just that simple acknowledgment of that rare habit of his, something she had always quietly appreciated.

As the Rowan lord mentioned an escape route, the raven-haired woman tilted her chin up. Her eyes narrowed a little as she observed him, and she let out a subtle, thoughtful hum. “You flatter me so I’ll share my plan,” she mused. There was a small pause, and then the corners of her lips tugged up into a restrained smirk. “Clever”. As she tilted her head toward the direction she'd planned to head to, her expression was calm, albeit somewhat conspiratorial. It was almost as if they were sneaking away for something forbidden, even if that wasn't the case at all. He spoke of her knack for escapes, and Anya responded with a low chuckle. “You make it sound like I’m a burglar”. But it was true that she always seemed to have an exit plan in mind. She'd made a habit of it all through her life. It was useful knowing the quiet ways out, walking through paths as unnoticed as possible.

Once they slipped past the crowd, their pace became more leisurely. Anya glanced sideways, taking a good look at Mathis. It was always a relief to see he hadn't changed much since the last time she'd crossed paths with him. She saw him and saw the same steadiness she remembered. That familiarity was reassuring. “You’re lucky,” she began, then looked ahead again. “I happened to spot an ideal place for a drink earlier this week”. It was the kind of hidden, little places one found as a merchant looking for trade, for deals, for new goods. “Because of the Concord, they're selling local and foreign drinks. Arbor gold. Dornish red. Northern ale. Gallowsgrey tequila”. There were even liquors she'd not heard of before. “So what will you have, Mathis?”

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis let out a low breath of a laugh at that, the sound easy and unguarded. “savior might be overstating it,” he said, glancing sidelong at her as they walked, “but i’ll take suspiciously good timing where i can get it.” he gave an exaggerated shrug, there was no pride in it, just that familiar acceptance that some things stuck to you whether you meant them to or not. “truth is, i’ve found it’s usually better to arrive right before patience runs out. people say more honest things then.” his mouth curved faintly. “or they’re just grateful to leave.”

he followed her lead without question, stride unhurried, eyes already cataloguing exits out of old habit. “a burglar,” he echoed, amused. “no, but you do walk like someone who’s never planned to be trapped anywhere, though.” it wasn’t a criticism, if anything, it was said with a quiet respect. “it’s a useful skill. half the trouble at gatherings like this comes from forgetting there’s always another way out, and actually taking it.” the crowd thinned as they went, the noise softening into something more manageable, and mathis felt that familiar loosening in his shoulders that came with having space.

at her list of drinks, he considered it seriously, as though she’d asked him to weigh treaties instead of cups. “arbor gold is tempting,” he admitted, thoughtful. “feels wrong to pass it up when it’s offered properly.” his gaze flicked to her again, steady and curious rather than expectant. “but i won’t pretend the northern ale doesn’t have its appeal. it’s stout, strong.” a pause, then a faint grin. “dealer’s choice, then. you found the place, you might as well decide what suits the evening. i’ll admit though, i don’t think i’ve tried gallowsgrey tequila and i am curious.”

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

lucrezia had always liked the late light in her sitting room—the way it softened the edges of things, how it caught the golden embroidery of her kaftan and made the fabric seem alive. the sea wind rolled faintly through the open windows, carrying with it the sound of the gulls. she felt, for once, still. it was not a state she knew well. she let her head fall back against the cushions, her hands lifting in mock surrender when mathis cut her off with that infuriating composure of his, insisting she stop circling around the same topic.

“fine, fine,” she murmured with a grin that gave her away completely, the kind of grin that meant she was far from finished but would pretend to behave for now. “i surrender. clearly, the knight of golden grove knows all the ways of the world and i, poor thing, have yet to learn them.” there was teasing in her voice, light and familiar.

“though i will point out that you only know there’s a world because you’ve had the luck of seeing it. the rest of us are left to make do with maps and stories and the occasional letter from those too busy having adventures.” it was something she had said to him from what felt like the beginning of time, and she always would; not letting it go. it was easy, falling into this rhythm with him—the measured calm he brought into her rooms, the quiet steadiness that always managed to ground her. she reached for the teapot between them, pouring the last of the chamomile blend into their cups, the scent mingling with the faint brine that drifted in through the shutters.

“you’re welcome to the arbor whenever you want, you know that,” she said softly, almost without thinking, as though the offer had always been there waiting to be spoken. “the arbor is far too quiet for my liking lately. perhaps you’d even see some of the men from heart’s home while you’re there. younes has agreed to send a small workforce to help with the harvests. most of our own men will be out on the ships this season, and i cannot let the grapes go untended.” she didn’t elaborate beyond that. he was clever enough to see what was unsaid—that this was not just about labour, but a quiet act of help extended to another. she took a slow sip of her tea to disguise the faint warmth that crept into her cheeks at the thought.

when he mentioned her children, though, her whole face lit up in that way it always did when they came into conversation. she laughed, soft and bright, setting the cup down. “arlo and callum,” she said, her voice a mixture of fondness and disbelief, as if she still hadn’t quite come to terms with how quickly they’d grown; the age where one blinks and you miss something. “you’re right—they look nothing alike. arlo has my hair, darker skin too - callum is fairer, with florent eyes, and the softest voice you’ve ever heard. he looks like a little girl sometimes. they squabble like old men but they’re inseparable.” she shook her head, smiling to herself. “they hardly even look like brothers."

“and isra?” she asked, tone lighter than the weight of the question. she did not see the point in pretending the girl didn’t exist, or that she was something to be ashamed of - not from her perspective, at least. it was known that mathis rowan had a daughter out of wedlock. “how is she doing? if ever you want her to be around other children—aside from her cousins, i mean—she’s welcome here. arlo would adore having someone new to talk to, and callum could use a friend who doesn’t try to throw rocks at gulls.” there was no pity in her tone, just a straightforward sincerity that only came from shared experience.

“how are you finding doing it on your own?” she tilted her head slightly, studying him as she asked the question; fatherhood. she remembered telling garland frequently that it wasn't good for men to be alone under their own roof; she wouldn't openly suggest mathis marry, but she was curious to see whether he had considered it.

she leaned back into the divan, stretching one leg over the other, and let her gaze drift toward the open courtyard beyond. the sky was blushing into shades of pink and amber. “i’m looking forward to the verdant concord,” she said, her tone brightening again, as if she were glad to leap toward a different subject. “i know, i know—it’s all trade and treaties and people pretending they like each other. but i’m curious to see what the other realms have been creating. the reach prides itself on its abundance, but the north’s craftsmanship has become exquisite lately, and new valryia… well, you know the valyrians love a spectacle.” her fingers tapped against the armrest, a nervous habit that betrayed her unease. “i just worry about the dornish and the valyrians being in such close proximity. i don’t trust that it’ll all remain civil, not after nightsong.”

for a moment, she went quiet. she hadn’t meant to bring up dorne at all, but the thought of jasveer jordayne lingered, and she realised too late that mathis would already know. her gaze softened, the smile slipping from her lips. “i heard about lord jordayne,” she said quietly, the words barely above a murmur. “i’m sorry, truly. i know you thought him a good man.” the silence that followed was full, not heavy—one of shared understanding. she let it linger a few breaths before speaking again, her voice low, careful. “do you think you’ll go to see his family? i imagine they’d want to hear about him from your perspective - and you'll have so much to say.” she remembered mathis after helena was murdered by her own brother, the darkest chapter in their realm's history; lord jordayne was someone he spoke of, fondly.

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis listened the way he always did with her, fully, without the need to interrupt or steer, letting her words find their own shape in the room. when she teased him, he only huffed a quiet breath of a laugh, the sound low and fond. “now, now, i’ve never claimed to know all the ways of the world,” he said mildly. “only enough of them to recognize when someone’s walking the long way around a thought.” his gaze flicked briefly to her grin, amused rather than exasperated. “and you do that better than most.”

he accepted the tea when she poured it, cradling the cup between his hands, the warmth grounding. “though you’re not wrong,” he admitted after a moment. “i was lucky, albeit selfish. i still am, in ways i don’t always remember to name, lucky i mean. but maps and stories matter too. half the places i’ve gone, i first knew because someone else loved them enough to speak of them.” his eyes lifted to hers, steady. “and letters have a way of telling truths that travel can’t. they linger.”

at the mention of the arbor, he paused, thoughtful rather than surprised. “that’s generous of you,” he said quietly. “thank you, lu.” he stated, mind wandering to the days of summer when the arbor was anything, but quiet. where they would jump from high points, feast on grapes, enjoy bonfires on the beach. it was a simpler time where there had yet to be a civil war that tore itself across this continent, that tore their group apart for so many years. though there was a feeling of sorrow in the memory, mathis chose to focus on the joy.

when she spoke of arlo and callum, his expression softened in that unguarded way it did with family, or those who were, in all but name. “they sound exactly as i would’ve imagined,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “different as day and dusk, but bound all the same. tirius and i were much the same, still are.” he tipped his cup slightly, a quiet, private toast. “it’s a good thing, that closeness. the world does its best to pry brothers apart soon enough.” the motion stilled when she asked about isra.

“she’s talking a lot now,” he said, voice gentler, pride threaded through the restraint. “notices everything, too much.” he did not flinch at the openness of her offer, only inclined his head. “thank you. truly. i don’t know yet what shape her world will take, but i don’t intend for it to be a small one. and as for doing it alone…” he considered the question, eyes drifting briefly toward the window. “it’s…quieter than i expected. harder in ways i didn’t anticipate. but i’m managing. some days better than others. i think she’d love the company of your boys. maybe help keep the peace, or join forces with one” he gave a soft laugh.

he sipped his drink as he nodded slowly, the verdant concord something that pressed on his mind as well. “your worries aren’t unfounded,” he said. “gather enough pride and old wounds in one place and call it diplomacy, and something is bound to fray. still, there’s value in seeing one another face to face. fewer shadows to hide in or parchment to hide behind.” his mouth curved wryly. “i’ll admit, i’m curious myself. the north has surprised me before.”

when she spoke of jasveer, the room seemed to still with her. mathis did not answer at once. when he did, his voice was steady, but quieter. he didn’t know the man very long, but his wisdom impacted mathis more than he could’ve ever thanked him for. “he was,” he said simply. “a good man, and a rare one.” he met her gaze again. “yes. i think i will go. not yet, but soon. some condolences deserve to be delivered in person, and i owe him that much.” he let the silence settle again, comfortable rather than strained. “thank you, lucrezia. for remembering him. and for asking.”

[tiriusrowan]

"Sure, there's no way she gets this strong, willfulness from her father. Brooding in a corner." And Tirius briefly, in a moment of brevity dramatic expression and gestured with his left hand. "I call it my Mathis face. Though lately, it's more a Tahir face." Tirius leaned up and took another drink from the cup before he refilled it, the tea was strong and it would keep him up but he would be awake anyway and it better to have something strong to fight against the stretch between being awake and sleeping in the hours before the council meeting. Things were not going well. He was tired. Exhausted. And he needed some time to get his thoughts together and to focus on the road ahead. There were more important things happening in life that the chaos of his apartments.

"You wouldn't add to my plate, Mathis. I'm hard on you because I love you. And I know you can take care of yourself and your house. Aye?" Tirius listened to the rest of though and he paused briefly, he was the oldest. He couldn't put the weight on him but all at once everything that had been wrong cracked the surface, his throat tightened and he began to fight back the urge to cry. Tirius didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do. And he ddn't want to break. If he broke, they would never put him back together.

"Thank you." He whispered the words time passed between them.

"You know what I want to eat? I want a table of everything." At the mention of food he suddenly remembered he was hungry. He needed to eat something or he would sure be found dead at his desk. Tirius from his chair and walked to the door calling out in the tongue of people for someone to come to his office and then he turned to look at Mathis. He would enjoy this time with him. It wouldn't be like before. "What should we have? Should we make it like old times when father would come home and mother would have them breaking breads and olives and cheeses and so much fruit and then meats." He looked toward the ceiling. "I wish to eat until I'm septon fat."

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “brooding, is it? that’s rich, coming from you.” his grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, light flickering behind his eyes. “if you’ve got a ‘mathis face,’ i’d hate to see what tahir’s looks like. my poor nephew must look ready to set the table on fire.”

he leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other, the easy humor softening into something steadier. “aye,” he said after a moment, voice low but sure. “i can take care of myself. of her. and i know you don’t mean it cruelly when you’re hard on me. never have. i used to think you were just trying to keep me out of trouble, but now i know it’s more than that. you’ve carried enough for both of us, more than you should’ve had to.” he hesitated, glancing toward his brother’s cup, the faint tremor in tirius’s hand that most men wouldn’t have noticed. “you don’t have to hold the line alone anymore. not with me here.”

when tirius called for food, mathis rose too, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. “gods, that sounds like a feast,” he said with a grin. “and you know i’ll never turn down a full table. bread still warm, cheese sharp enough to make your eyes water, a roast so tender it falls apart with a sigh.” his gaze softened, the memory painting warmth across his features. “those were good nights. before the noise and the crowns and the war. just us, and laughter, and the smell of mother’s damned pears in everything.”

he chuckled, clapping a hand on tirius’s shoulder. “let’s eat like that again. talk of nothing but old stories and what isra’s broken this week. forget for a while that we’re meant to be men with titles and responsibilities.” he squeezed lightly, his voice dipping quieter, almost fond. “you look like you could use a night where you’re just my brother again. nothing more. and i mean that in a fun way, not in a way that'll make you go grayer.”

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

lucrezia let her gaze linger on him for a long moment, her olive poised between forefinger and thumb as though it might slip from her hand if she looked away. when he said it made sense, that the girl belonged here, she felt something twist within her chest—an ache of relief tangled with guilt, that she was not losing her mind. that she was not getting wrapped in her own head, and in her own feeling of emotion; her eyes would always give it away, and her expression appeared an open book. but this was not all entirely based on emotion - no, as much as many would argue otherwise.

it was based on another matter most would not care to make their own life difficult over. and that was simply a tough pill to swallow, regardless of what she was choking on at all. “i should never have involved you so directly in what has spiralled so far out of my own grasp. i told myself i would shoulder it within this household, but the truth is—” she exhaled softly, setting the olive aside untouched, “—the truth is i can barely draw breath without feeling as though someone is whispering that i am too emotional, that this is nothing more than grief clawing its way through my decisions. that i defend garland still, even now, as though my heart has made me blind.”

her eyes softened then, though the rest of her posture remained taut, as if even the sofa beneath her could not quite coax her into ease. “perhaps they are right, in part. perhaps i am guilty of it. no, i definitely am." she drew a slow breath, the incense smoke curling between them as she spoke, shifting herself to sit comfortably against the cushion as she listened briefly to the sounds of chattering servants in the courtyard. “but i look at her and i do not see some liability, nor some pawn to be shifted across a board. i see a girl the world already marks for trade, already strips of choice, already seeks to make into currency. and somewhere along the years i just cannot find myself able to abide it anymore.

"it would feel treacherous not to fight for her.” how could she not? were they not twisted mirrors of one another already?

her gaze flicked briefly toward the window, as though the thought of the braavosi sealord lingered there in the dusk beyond. “and even if people don't care for the girl herself, there's the practical part of it, no? the sealord would have her as a trump card. and yes, it'd be easier if stripped her of her title and returned her to her bravosi kin...and yet in however many years her claim will show up again. on a horizon, or in some letter linked to our trade with braavos; i just fear providing them with a rope to tie us with. omer said it best, you know...you don't make concessions like this. comes back to bite."

she turned back to him then, her eyes catching his steady ones, her lips twitching faintly into that knowing curve that carried no humour. “and gael, well, you know as well as i how his brother made a habit of sidlining him until the very end. gael has been clear enough—he supports his niece’s claim, but do not mistake that for wanting to be directly involved in her care..." and she trailed off for a moment, letting out a low exhale - the hightower brothers, entangled to the very end with the sound of that damned chirping raven. "not that i blame him, considering garland never trusted him with anything...let alone his own daughter. why should gael need to change his life now?"

and lucrezia never thought to ask why, according to that logic, she should have to change her life.

she reached for her glass then but did not drink, only letting her fingers rest against the rim, grounding herself in the cool metal. “the council will decide, yes. i know it. and the thought of it makes me sick. because it will not be about her, not really. it will be about men clearing garland’s debts, righting garland’s missteps, making tidy of garland’s memory. but...it is for the council to decide.” she could not, and would not, overstep the council. it was not her right, not her position; the thought had never crossed her once.

“honestly, thank you." she felt her own heartbeat slowly decreasing, as though his words gave some relief to her mind that she was not being weak, or foolish; but was she being selfish? was she being temperamental? never had she refused to change on a position as this one before, and it was only a thorn in her side that it led back to the hightower itself - just her luck. "i'll let you know, if it gets to it. hopefully not. and, i am sorry to involve you in this headache directly...” she said at last, her voice low, steady, though it carried the weight of something fragile. and perhaps it was the ray of light that peeped through the window, or the bird, but she let out a soft cheeky scoff, as though she were laughing, clapping with the sounds of her bracelet briefly chiming, as if in false celebration in their traditional clapping rhytmn of the old way. "holiday's over now, mathis rowan. mashallah, welcome back to the circus."

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis listened quietly, letting her words settle around him like the slow exhale of a room after a storm. he did not flinch at her self-reproach, did not offer platitudes or reassurance she had not asked for. instead, he allowed the space between them to hold the weight of her honesty, of the ache and guilt and resolve coiled together in her chest. there was a rhythm to her speech, a careful measuring of thought and emotion, and he understood it as he always had: she spoke with precision because she trusted that he would listen, and he did.

“lu,” he said finally, voice low and steady, a calm tether in the midst of her storm, “you don’t need to apologize for bringing me in. if anything, it’s clear why you did.” his hands folded lightly in his lap, fingers tracing a circle absentmindedly. “you’ve carried enough in your house, and you’re right, she’s not a pawn, and she’s not liability. she’s alive, she’s here, and she deserves to know the place she comes from, not just the promises others would wrap around her like chains. we both know how that would go."

he paused, letting his gaze drift to the window for a moment, following the fading light across the courtyard. “i’ve seen too many hands try to shape a life like clay only to have it crack in the sun,” he added, turning his eyes back to her, steady and certain. “if she’s meant for more than someone else’s design, it’ll be because she had roots. and roots don’t grow in someone else’s soil forever.” the words were simple, but carried the weight of experience and quiet conviction, the kind he had honed in years of seeing the world both flourish and falter. "after all, what better place for roots to grow than in the reach?"

he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, not in urgency but to anchor himself beside her. “the sealord, the debts, the men at the council, they’re all pieces of the game, yes. but the girl isn’t the game.” he let that settle. “we can’t control what’s done, but we can guard what’s ours to guard. and this, her, this is yours. omer is right, can't give that up, but i understand the danger that itself could bring, too."

mathis’ gaze softened as he heard her speak of gael, the subtle entanglements of family and loyalty threading through her explanation. “i know him,” he murmured, “and you’re right. he supports her claim. i think he’ll act when he must, and he’ll act with discretion. that doesn’t lessen the weight you bear, but it does mean she’s not entirely alone.”

he straightened, reaching slowly to take another olive from the bowl between them, a small motion to steady the moment. “for what it’s worth, lu,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that never needed display, “whatever the council decides, whatever comes next…you’re doing what’s right by her. by blood, by duty, by sense. you’re not weak, you’re steady. and that steadiness matters more than they’ll ever admit.”

finally, a faint smirk tugged at his mouth as he allowed a flicker of levity to creep in, despite the gravity of the conversation. “ah the circus…” he shook his head lightly, amusement softening his tone, “well…i suppose i should’ve known better than to expect a quiet return. mashallah, indeed. lead on, lu.”

mathis let the moment hang a beat longer before letting a lighter edge creep into his tone. “but enough of grim matters for a moment,” he said, tilting his head with a small smile. “tell me, how have you been keeping yourself these past months? isolating myself was...nice for a while, but yet again, i have missed so much.” he leaned back, hands folding comfortably across his chest, letting the warmth of the room and the fading light settle around them. “now i know there’s a whole world outside of council and claim and duty, i want to hear about it. your children, the gardens, the wine. is the arbor gold particularly sweet this year?”

[anya-snow]

She had been standing near the edge of the gathered crowd, her arms loosely folded across her chest. Her dark eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the speaker rather than on him, her thoughts long disconnected from whatever it was the man was saying. He was an expert in his field, no doubt, but her attention had been lost when he started speaking of agricultural jargon and a tangle of moral principles that flew over her head. Anya had already decided to slip away, caring very little if her escape was noticed or not. She turned around, and she could only stop short. Mathis Rowan had just arrived by her side, and she felt the tug of each old memory in which the lord and the then-blacksmith found each other during their traveling years. “Hi,” she greeted simply. The shift in her expression was immediate and fully unguarded, with her prior severity softening into something rare and warmer.

At his question, Anya let out a soft scoff. The raven-haired lady shook her head. She'd stopped paying attention gods knew how long ago, and had clearly not been enjoying the lecture. “Not in the slightest,” she replied, her voice a hushed sound so she wouldn't entirely disturb the rest of the audience. “You have a knack for finding me when I’m ready to walk away,” the Northerner said, a gleam of amusement present in her near-black eyes. Years ago, their paths intersected often and somehow the Rowan lord would find her nursing a drink alone at some small tavern or eating broth and bread at the corner of an inn, only to strike up conversation as if no time had passed at all between one encounter and the next. He always found her when she was done with the noise and the people around her, and frankly, she almost hoped she would run into the wandering Rowan when her work took her from one town to the next.

When he claimed to be there for the wine and clever company, she glanced down at his hands, then back up to his face. “Do you?” she asked, her eyebrows arching lightly. “You seem woefully empty-handed for a man with such a purpose,” she stated dryly. A subtle tug at the corner of her lips followed, a restrained smile that still managed to reach her eyes. She shifted slightly to fully make her way to the edge of the crowd and looked at him, tilting her head. Let's go, she mouthed.

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis felt the familiar ease settle over him at her words, the kind that came only from old rhythms you never really forget. “maybe it’s just the noise i can’t resist pulling you from,” he said quietly, tone colored with a humor gentler than a jest, “or maybe i’ve just got better timing than most.” he’d always had a way of stumbling onto her in those in-between moments, when the crowd pressed too close or the day felt heavier than it should. there was no design to it, at least not one he’d ever admit, it was simply how his steps carried him.

he glanced down at his empty hands then, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth before he lifted his gaze back to hers. “fair point,” he admitted, warmth flickering in his voice. “seems i came unprepared. but i’ll remedy that in a heartbeat, if clever company’s willing to share her escape route.” it was an easy give, letting her dry remark land and turning it over with the same patience he’d offer a friend he’d known all his life. mathis was no stranger to being teased, and it sat well with him, like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

when she mouthed the words, he didn’t hesitate. a short nod carried his answer, and his steps matched hers without question. the murmur of debate faded behind them with each stride, and mathis let himself savor the simple truth of it, two people walking away from a crowd that no longer held them. “lead the way,” he said, voice low but steady, a smile curving at the edges of his tone. “after all, it’s your knack for escapes that keeps me following close.”

[conallblackbar]

closed starter for @ofgoldengrove setting: conall and mathis catch up at the verdant concord

the beer tent was full to bursting at this time of day, welcoming an influx of new arrivals who had come to seek refuge from the harsher heat of the afternoon sun. it was fortunate that conall and mathis had been there for a while, occupying a table close enough to the open side of the tent that the heat of the extra bodies did not stifle them. the chatter grew louder, punctuated with the occasional burst of laughter, and the smell of oils and perfumes grew stronger, but for now, the two of them were all right where they were.

despite mathis' absence until recent weeks, it felt like very little time had passed between them, their conversations taking on no hint of awkwardness. perhaps it was because conall was used to long periods of time without seeing others. it was part and parcel of being a sailor. the months at see often made it so relationships would need to be paused in the meantime. he was more relaxed than he had been in a while, a product of the beer they had already drank, his smile coming to his face a little easier.

"no, no, mate," he shook his head in response to the question mathis had just asked. "it's just no outsiders on the shields. you should be fine. ask the king if it bothers you, though." the shield islands, like the arbor, had been closed to those not born of the reach throughout the events of the concord, but that did not apply to mathis. "you're still a reachman, aren't you? it'll be fine." he stretched back in his chair, cup still in hand, though half-empty.

"truth be told, though, if you're looking for a rundown on what's been going on since you've been away, i don't think i'm the man for the job." he chuckled. "keep to myself most of the time, when i'm not on a boat or the isles or the riverlands. and the lords," he jerked his head towards a nearby group of lordlings, from the vale by the look of them. "just seem to be getting younger and younger. or maybe i'm getting older. either way, i'll bet that lot were still hanging off their wetnurse last summer."

it was then that a woman breezed into the tent, her attire designed to draw the eyes - cut low at the front, cinched at the waist, the kind of gown he'd be embarrassed if it was his sister wearing it, but given that he bore no relation to the lady, he could not help but let his eyes catch and linger against his better judgement. it was a long few seconds before he managed to tear them away again, a flush creeping up his neck as he took a drink.

he looked up again, and caught mathis looking at him, clearly having noticed conall's lapse. "don't start," he laughed again, shaking his head. "i'm far too old and tired to be looking in that direction." but clearly, he'd looked. it was not the norm for him. he could barely remember the last time he had looked at a woman like that, even with drink in his system. certainly not since his wife had drawn her last breath. he refilled the both of their cups, more for something to do to ground himself.

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis let out a quiet laugh at conall’s words, tipping his cup back just enough to take a measured sip. the warmth of the beer spread through him, but it was the easy rhythm of conall’s voice that settled something deeper. “i’ll take that as a yes, then,” he said, letting the words hover lightly between them, “reachman through and through, even if my own feet have wandered more than they should.” there was no teasing in it, only the quiet acknowledgement of shared history, of trust that needed no proof.

he leaned back in his chair, letting the heat of the tent and the chatter around them fade into the background. conall’s reluctance to recount the happenings of the months gone by suited mathis perfectly, he never needed the full picture. “fair enough,” he said softly, voice low so only conall could hear over the din. “truthfully, i never expected to catch up on it all at once. sometimes it’s better that way. bits and pieces are enough for now, and i prefer it like that, less to carry, more to notice for yourself.” his smile was quiet, thoughtful, the kind that came from knowing the world despite the world shifting so abruptly for him during his absence, that some things, some friendships, remained intact.

he shook his head lightly at conall’s gesture toward the young lordlings, chuckling under his breath. “i can’t argue with that,” mathis admitted. “they’re all sharp enough, i’m sure, but no one learns patience by being coddled. we were all the same once, though maybe with fewer lessons remembered.” he tilted his head, studying the man before him with the calm attentiveness he always carried. “you’ve kept yourself well, though. still the same conall who’d rather sit quiet than shout over the lot of them.”

but when the woman passed, mathis didn’t comment on it, he only watched conall’s flush, and the subtle tension in his shoulders that followed. it was natural, and the lord of standfast noted it without judgment, though he had to restrain a smirk as he caught it, letting the sight settle without teasing. “ah, don’t worry about it,” he said, letting the words float lightly. “we all have our moments, and you’ve more than earned a quiet distraction now and then. come on,” he added, raising his cup slightly in a small gesture of camaraderie, “let’s drink to being here, and not needing to see the whole world at once, and...not letting our foolish youth get the better of us." he stated, noticing the younger lords near them still ogling at the woman from a distance.

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

lucrezia plucked another olive from the shallow dish at her side and pressed it to her tongue, the salt and oil sharp against the roof of her mouth as she pulled away from his embrace, making a slight face to express they were good. she chewed slowly, thoughtfully, before slipping the pit between her fingers and placing it into the small bronze bowl laid nearby. her hazel, kohl lined hues remained on mathis all the while, expression unreadable but not unkind. the truth was she had not been entirely sure where to begin. her concerns were not singular, nor were they fully formed — they moved like threads in a basin, overlapping, tangling, weaving a larger pattern she was only now beginning to recognise.

“i missed the way you speak,” she said at last, a faint smile ghosting her lips as she leaned back slightly on one arm, the olive-green silk of her kaftan catching the light where it clung to her hip.

“as though sense and calm is the easiest thing in the world to reach for.” her eyes flicked toward the window briefly, as if checking the hush of the corridor beyond. it were true; even when he were the most bothered about something, mathis rowan held the ability to ensure he never came across irrational, or too much of anything. there were times in her life that had gotten under her skin, where she would have pleaded for some sort of hint or reaction about any number of things, she understood it now. years late, but she had got there in the end.

“i need that, now. someone to tell me openly and honestly if i am being brash, or if what i am going to ask is too much.” she offered him a small knowing look as she moved her dark tresses from her face, ensuring her face was free of the locks that threatened to free themselves from her loose updo.

she reached for another olive but did not eat it this time, simply rolling it between her fingers. “rosaria, garland's daughter,” she said quietly, the name soft and almost swallowed by the sound of the incense hiss. she prayed she would not see his face drop at the mention of yet another ghost of their lives; for she felt as though her own bottom lip would begin to tremble. she could not fall into the habits of reminiscing and regretting the past, not when there was matters to be done. when they would need to sit together and work through their troubles as their parents had done before them.

“she is still with us, under my roof. and, let us just say it has become an issue, as some in the household would argue we are harbouring a liability to my own boys."

she would not go into details; not specifically. not mention her husband by name; for even she knew it would teeter on dancing on lines, crossing them, and spitting on them to speak of her marital disagreements with mathis rowan. whilst she knew he would not intend to sabotage, she knew it were a matter of respect that she too would wish to be returned to her. and yet, the implication was clear. “there are some who argue we ought to hand her over for convenience, and gael would do what needs to be done quietly, and that this would settle things in oldtown.” her tone did not shift, still gentle, still warm — but beneath it there was something cold and stubborn, like steel hidden under velvet.

it would not take much for any of the reach to know of the complicated web of closeness and regret that was the relationship between garland hightower and lucrezia redwyne; her responsible male guardian, in some shades. her friend, in others. her opponent, in the shadows.

“i have no intention of handing rosaria over so she might live beyond my reach. i know not what the sealord of braavos would have of her future, but if she is to be the lady of oldtown, she will be raised here.” she paused. her eyes found his again, steady and unflinching now; a world away from girlish shyness, or giggling - but hardening. not at him, but in her resolve. “i am not blind to the danger. i know she’s a risk. i know pirates do not forget insults, nor debts left unpaid. but she is under my protection. and more than that—” she swallowed, “—she is the last of him. she is my blood. and many would not understand that, not in the way we were raised to.” there was a brief quiet as she maintained his gaze, a sense of raw vulnerability on his face, and as she watched him contemplate and listen, there came a quiet voice in the back of her mind.

have i crossed the line?

she gulped a little, her hand resting on her own thigh as she leaned back slightly against the sofa. because what she was going to admit next, was enough. "i trust nobody but myself to protect her status and right as ruling lady of oldtown." it was a path she had walked, and her footprints were already in the sand; all rosaria needed to do was follow them. "i fear what he might do if he thought it were for the realm, or his house, or his honour. and if cedric agrees with him, then i have no one left in the room to catch the blade before it falls.” the closest she would come to speaking on it. she had crossed the line, she knew it; deep within her gut. she saw it unfolding before her already, knowing there would be no peace once she closed her own door. a beat passed.

“so i come to you. not because i think you would fix it — but because i trust you to tell me if i am wrong. and if i am not, then i need your eyes. just for a while. until i find another way.” her gaze softened slightly, moving her knees to allow his own some more space sat beside her. “if it comes to it, will you take her until there is a solution?"

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis sat across from lucrezia, letting the silence stretch between them without tension. he’d always known she chose her words carefully, particularly when they were heavier than they appeared. there was a quiet ceremony in the way she composed herself, olive pressed to tongue, gaze steady but distant. he didn’t rush her. it wasn’t his way. his hands were clasped lightly in his lap, one thumb tracing a slow, thoughtless circle against his knuckle as he waited. he could feel it coming, the way people who’ve seen war know the scent of it long before the first blow lands.

when she finally spoke, when the name rosaria passed her lips, he didn’t flinch. his jaw only shifted slightly, his brow not quite furrowing, but settling in that way it did when he was thinking a few steps ahead. lucrezia’s voice stayed warm, but the weight beneath it was ironbound, and he respected her for that. she hadn’t come to him for pity or poetry. she wanted truth.

his smile came gently at her earlier compliment, soft dimples appearing without him meaning them to. he knew what she meant, his calm, his tone, the way he so often masked unease with ease, but he no longer wore it as armor. it wasn’t to deflect, not anymore. it was simply who he was. and still, she saw through it. she always had.

many wouldn’t understand that—not in the way they had been raised to.

mathis took a breath, slow and steady. this wasn’t just politics dressed in softer tones. it was personal. legacy and blood, yes, but also memory, and love, and duty twisted into something messier than titles. it were not something that could be understood so simply by those that did not understand the ties that bound those of their way together.

“it makes sense,” he said after a moment, voice low, even. “the girl belongs here. not just because of blood, or name, or whatever the sealord might think he’s owed, but because this land is what will shape her. if she’s meant to rule oldtown, she ought to know what oldtown is, not just in name but in dust and stone and sky.” he waved a hand lazily toward the open window. “she can’t learn that from across the sea.”

he exhaled, a slow breath through his nose, then leaned forward to take an olive from the bowl between them. he popped it into his mouth with an ease that undercut the heaviness of the conversation, though his mind was still tracing every turn of what she’d said, still, it didn't take but a moment for him to answer her most important question. “i’ll take her,” he said simply. “if it comes to that, yes.”

his gaze met hers then, steady as it had always been, and for a beat, he said nothing more. there was no need to ask what her husband thought. that silence said enough, he could insinuate enough, but he would not press directly. “this’ll go before the council, then? or are you hoping to keep it closer, for now?” he leaned back slightly. “and gael, what’s his stance in all of this? what's he think of her?" his tone was light, but there was a carefulness in it. he wasn’t here to start a fire. but if there already was one, he needed to know where it burned hottest.

aside from gael, mathis let his thoughts drift to what cedric might make of all this… and tirius, and omer. but he didn’t ask. not yet. their opinions would come to him in time, one way or another. for now, the one that mattered most was the other lord hightower.

he hoped, at least, that gael was standing beside lucrezia in this. standing for rosaria. they’d always seemed close, lucrezia and gael, in the way that counted, steady, respectful, loyal. as far as mathis knew, there had always been understanding between them. he could only hope that still held true now, when it mattered most.

after a moment, he added, quieter, “for what it's worth, lu, what you're doing here, it's...well...it's alright by me.” and that was true. his voice held no judgment, only the quiet steadiness of a friend, even when the path ahead looked uncertain. “i’ve seen too much to believe things are ever as simple as right and wrong.”

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: the verdant concord, highgarden ; starter for @anya-snow

it hadn’t been long since mathis rowan returned to highgarden from standfast, and yet already, the place had begun to wrap itself around him again, like the ivy curling up the old stone columns, steady and patient. at first, the gardens had felt quieter than he remembered, their greens dulled by the weight he’d carried back with him. but in the weeks since, with time to think and breathe and simply be, things had begun to shift. the green had returned to his eyes, not just around him but within him, and he knew better now than to take that clarity for granted. it was a rare gift in a world that moved too fast and asked too much.

he lingered at the edge of the crowd gathered for one of the more impassioned lectures of the day, something to do with moral obligation and mechanized plows, maybe both. it was hard to tell over the overlapping debates and half-snide responses dressed in civility. mathis had always found these kinds of talks a bit exhausting when they were too public. there was something almost indecent, he thought, about sharing your deepest ideas with a hundred strangers at once. he preferred the quieter corners, where talk could turn honest and names and publicity didn’t matter so much.

a familiar sweep of raven-dark hair caught his eye and tugged a grin onto his face before he even realized it. weaving through the crowd, he found his way to yuan anya’s side, tilting in close with the easy, grounded warmth that never quite left him. “well hey there,” he murmured, careful not to disturb too much. “good to see you again.” his eyes flicked briefly toward the stage, then back to her with a crooked smile. “enjoying this mess? they lost me somewhere between ‘dialectic balance’ and ‘plowshare innovation.’ i’m just here for the wine and clever company now.”

[lucreziasredwyne]

who: @ofgoldengrove when and where: the verdant concord, the lady of the arbor seeks out the second son of goldengrove; or the lord of standfast, as he is now called. context: a much needed catch up featuring some interesting decisions.

her knee had been slightly bouncing as she waited, unable to touch any of the food which she had intended to be grazing upon to try and quell the nerves; no, they felt as though they were eating her alive for the decision she was making. one of complete quiet and secrecy, that had not been dsicussed with anyone; though she knew there would be consequences in her personal life, she knew it were her right. blood was blood, and kin was kin; no man should be expected to help secure a child that threatened his own, and so she would no longer ask that of him.

that did not mean she did not intend on removing rosie from the picture, as was her right as her legal guardian - she knew when something was too big of a risk.

the servants had just finished replenishing the brass incense burner when lucrezia rose from her divan, soft silks trailing behind her, and waved her hand with a soft firmness that brooked no argument, and yet still reached out to her oldest with a sense of affection and reassurance. "bırakın bizi, lütfen," she said — leave us, please — her tone still gentle, but final. she did not raise her voice, she never needed to - but it was understood that she expected complete privacy in this moment. the hush that followed was one of obedience as much as understanding, rather than anything of suspicion; perhaps a look of curiosity, rather than anything else.

the servants offered short bows and curtsies before slipping out like drifting smoke, and only when the door shut behind the last of them did she turn fully toward him.

"mathis," she said, as though the name itself warmed her mouth; she crossed the room in three unhurried strides, her slippered feet whispering against the floor tiles. she kissed both his cheeks in turn, her hands resting briefly on the breadth of his shoulders. "canım dostum." my dear friend. her gaze flicked over him then — the beard he’d grown thicker since the last she saw him, the sun still caught in his skin like it always had, the way he held himself, as though the weight of standfast had settled in his bones. her fingers lingered for a moment more before she let them drop.

"you look the same," she said, though it wasn’t quite true. he looked older, yes, and yet familiar in a way that tugged something within her chest. nostalgia always had the ability to have it's way with her. she turned slightly, gesturing to the cushions arranged beneath the arched window, the smell of fig and amber still hanging in the air from the oil lamps. "we can stay here, if you like. or we can walk, if that would settle your nerves. i know you never did like sitting still when i had something to say." her smile was wry, touched with affection, though a faint crease formed between her brows. it was strange, in truth — how quickly the presence of him brought her back to herself. the self that was not redwyne or mistress of ships or daughter of arlo, but simply lucrezia. the girl who had stolen honey-drenched pastries from the kitchens with him and read letters aloud in the candlelight when they were both meant to be asleep.

once, foolishly, she had imagined it all leading somewhere else — the easy laughter, the shared language, the secret glances when court grew too loud and they needed only to look at one another to feel understood. she had believed, in the way that young girls did, that one day she might be his wife. but this? this was better.

time had taught her the importance of lines drawn in the sand; of not ruining things that were important due to impulsive moments on a whim. there were certain bonds too precious to gamble with, and hers with mathis was one of them. she knew his heart — not all of it, perhaps, but enough. and she trusted that he knew hers in return. that had always been enough. "i hope you do not mind me sending for you like this," she said, remaining stood against the arch as she allowed him to decide whether they stayed, or whether they walked - sitll, her posture was languid yet composed.

"i meant to speak with you sooner when i heard of your return, but the days pass too fast, and the council seems always to be at war with time." her fingers brushed over the edge of the tea tray, though she made no move to pour. her eyes lifted back to his face. "i heard how things have settled in standfast. you’ve done well, mathis. babalarımız would have said the same, were they still with us. seninle gurur duyarlardı." they would be proud of you. a breath passed before she tilted her head, eyes narrowing with the kind of measured attention that always preceded her difficult truths. "but that is not why i called for you. i need to speak to you — truly speak to you, without ears pressed to the walls. i have concerns, and i trust you more than any other to hear them plainly. and please, tell me if i am in my own mind."

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis didn’t rise to meet her touch with any particular flourish, nor shrink from it. the kiss to each cheek, the way she said his name, these were familiar things, well-worn, easy. like the scuffed edge of a favored boot, or the bend in a trail he could ride blind.

“canım dostum,” he echoed, with a ghost of a smile, brushing a kiss to her temple after she’d kissed his cheeks. “it’s no bother at all. it's good to see you, lucrezia,” he said, steady as ever. “i mean that.”

he took a breath, surveying the space, the incense still curling from the brass, the arched window spilling light across cushions arranged just so. her chambers always did look like they belonged to someone important, but it was the details that reminded him who she truly was. no court pretender, no soft lady spinning silk out of small talk. lucrezia redwyne was rooted. clever. sharp as a pruning knife when needed, and twice as useful.

he smiled, just a little. “you never did like when i stood pacing.” he stating with a knowing look, she never had to state as much, but he appreciate the thought. the lord of standfast lowered himself into the cushions without protest, elbows resting on his knees, posture unbothered. “so here i am. still.”

a hand went to his chest at her compliment. “thank you, lu. standfast’s quiet,” mathis said, leaning back slightly, one hand resting idly on his knee. “but it’s honest. nothing grand, nothing gilded, just land that asks for care and gives it back if you’re patient enough. i’ve learned more watching fields grow than i ever did in a court chamber.” he paused, a faint smile flickering. “and there's a boy there, brannic. sharp-eyed, too clever by half. he started following me on my rides, asking questions i didn’t always have answers for. so i gave him a place. not as a squire, not yet, just someone to look after. it’s good for him. it’s been good for me, too.”

he listened. didn’t interrupt. let her speak without leaning too close or trying to read too much between the lines. their friendship had never needed the weight of sentiment or grand declarations, just the quiet trust that one would show up when it mattered. and she had, often. he owed her the same.

“i’m not surprised the council’s been keeping you running,” he said, voice even, thoughtful. “they’d sooner chase their own tails than find a straight line through a simple answer.” he shrugged. “but you’ve weathered worse.”

his brow rose slightly at the mention of her concerns, though his expression remained open. not alarmed, just focused now. “you don’t need to ask me for plain words, lucrezia. you’ve had them from me since we were barely old enough to reach the top shelf in the kitchens.”

he leaned back just slightly, one boot tapping idle rhythm against the floor. “tell me what’s on your mind. i’m not here to judge, and i’m not here to fix it unless you ask me to. but i’ll listen. properly. that’s what friends do.”

he glanced at her then, with the kind of dry affection only an old friend could manage. “and if you are losing your mind, at least you’ve gone mad in better taste than most.”

[tiriusrowan]

Tirius Rowan paused in the threshold of the sitting room, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he took in the sight of his brother. It was a strange thing, seeing Mathis here, set against the fading light of Highgarden, as if a memory had stepped into the present. The brothers had never been particularly close; duty had shaped Tirius too sternly, and Mathis had always been easier with the world than he. And yet, love was there—unspoken, deep-rooted, stubborn. Tirius cared for Mathis the way old oaks cared for younger trees growing wild around them: protective without ever being gentle, present without needing to announce itself. He was relieved to see him, even if he struggled to show it. That familiar curl of a smile tugged at Mathis’s mouth, and Tirius felt something heavy inside him shift, something that had been weighed down too long.

The past months had been cruel to him. The slow, ugly collapse of his marriage, the tightening noose of the realm’s unrest, and now the black thing he had agreed to with his king—all of it gnawed at the edges of his soul. Tirius carried it the way a soldier carried his sword: always at his side, weighing him down, never to be set aside. But those were burdens a man should bear alone. He would not burden his brother with such things. Not when the world had already demanded so much from them both.

Closing the door behind him, Tirius crossed the room and, with a tired half-smirk, patted Mathis’s cheek in a fatherly way, the old habit sliding into place before he could stop himself. Tirius settled into the chair across from him, the leather creaking softly beneath him. "Things are moving as they always are, brother," he said, voice dry but not unkind. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if their mother had written Mathis, spinning tales of Tirius’s failures with the same relish she reserved for sharpening her sewing needles. Likely she was too busy waiting for his marriage to collapse entirely to write anyone.

He leaned back, folding one arm over the other. His next words were quieter, but no less sincere. "How is your child?" The child he had saved when all thought Mathis dead. A decision Tirius had never questioned, never regretted. "I sent packages, gifts and things babies need."

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis laughed, low and easy, when tirius patted his cheek like he was still seventeen and reckless. some part of him would always be, but not in the same way. he let the sound linger between them like sunlight after stormclouds—brief, warm, a reminder that they could still laugh even when the weight of the world sat between them.

he watched his brother settle in, sharp eyes not missing the tiredness tucked in the corners of tirius’s mouth, the way his shoulders no longer sat as square as they once did. mathis didn’t ask after it. not yet. he just nodded, like he understood, because he did. more than most. things moved. things frayed. still, they went on.

he let his hand settle over the armrest again, fingers curling slightly. “thank you, she's loved every bit. the nursemaid says she clings to that stuffed hare like it’s alive,” he said, voice quieter now. “she’s just begun to walk, stumbling around like a knight after his third cup. fell right into a rose bush last week and came out with a grin like she’d won a war.”

he laughed under his breath, but it was short-lived. “she’s strong. willful. quiet when she wants to be, but mostly she just… watches. like she already knows too much.” he paused, thumb brushing idly against the wood. “i don’t know where she gets it from. maybe mother has been telling her things when i'm not listening.” he jested.

a beat passed, heavy and not unpleasant. “i didn’t come here to lean on you, to add to your plate,” he added, sitting up straighter. “but if you ever feel like you can’t keep walking without breaking something, you don’t have to pretend with me. i’m not a child anymore, brother.”

then, after a breath, his grin returned, faint but bright at the edges. “and anyway, someone’s got to make sure you don’t start speaking in full septon’s riddles. seven help us if highgarden becomes that dull.” he looked around the room. "have you eaten yet? i'm starved myself. could catch up over a good cut of venison."

[mellaratully]

.

mellara turned at the sound of his voice, the familiar lilt of it pulling her attention faster than she cared to admit. for a moment, the festival around them seemed to blur—the music, the laughter, the sun-dappled chatter fading just enough to make room for him.

even in a surprise to herself her lips curved into a smile, soft but steady. “mathis…lord rowan” she said correcting herself, with a polite incline of her head, though her eyes betrayed something gentler. 

“forget you? i ..i could never forget you.” she said. was that too fast? or too forward. how she was doubting every word she said now. was this silly to even talk to him? no. the court didnt know.

but he looked well, or at least well enough that it stirred a warmth in her chest she hadn’t expected to feel so sharply. her fingers fidgeted at her side, brushing her skirts as if the fabric might ground her.

“you look different,” she said lightly, tilting her head. “not so much changed… more like—refined by distance.” she smiled again, smaller this time. “standfast must have agreed with you.” she said. “honestly the quiet of it sounds lovely. hills and horses and quiet. it sounds peaceful”

the breeze stirred the curls around her face, and she glanced briefly toward the fields, giving herself a breath before meeting his gaze again. “as for me… i’ve kept busy. riverrun is always full of something—duties, festivals, gossip,” she added with a dry little laugh. “not quite as busy as others there but it’s enough.”

her expression softened further then, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features before she reined it back. “it’s good to see you, mathis. i didn’t expect to. i’m glad you're here.”

she hesitated, as though about to say more—something weightier, perhaps more personal—but instead she simply gestured toward the tables. “have you eaten yet? a drink? would you like one? i could get us one.. or you. you a drink i mean” she said finding herself nervous. there was a faint pink to her cheeks as she looked at him fully now. waiting. curious. guarded, but not closed.

[ofgoldengrove]

mathis’s smile was easy, no sharper for the years that had passed, only touched by a quiet familiarity. he caught the nervous way her fingers brushed her skirts and the slight flush to her cheeks, but he didn’t press it, didn’t read into it more than was fair. mellara had always worn her heart closer to the surface than most at court, and he’d liked that about her, still did, in a simple, steady way.

“lord rowan,” he echoed, feigning a little wince as he stepped closer, a lightness to him. “you’ll have me feeling old before the sun’s even set. just mathis, please.”

he shifted, glancing once at the tables where cider and bread waited, the sounds of the festival winding around them, fiddles, laughter, the low hum of a good harvest day. it was a good backdrop for old faces and easier conversations, and he found himself glad for it, for her.

“refined by distance,” he repeated with a low, amused breath. “more like worn down by it, if you ask me. but i’ll take the compliment.” he looked back at her, his tone still light. “and you, you look well, your grace. seems riverrun’s kept you busy enough.”

he glanced over his shoulder at the long tables, the jugs of cider catching the light, the plates piled high with steaming bread and roasted meats. he turned back to her, his grin easy, unhurried.

“a drink sounds like just the thing,” mathis said. “but only if you’ll have one with me. no sense in drinking alone when there’s better company to be had.”

he offered his arm out to her, casual, a gesture full of open comfort. “come on, mel. tell me all the best gossip from riverrun. i’m long overdue for a scandal or two."

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: during the verdant concord event, mathis takes refuge in a smoking down with cedric ; starter for @visxionaries

the den was tucked behind a curved hallway in highgarden, past the better-lit parlors and music rooms, and deeper still into the belly of the castle. it smelled of pressed flowers and pale smoke, threaded with the hush of conversations meant not to be overheard. everything here was dim—intentionally so. a sanctuary of shadows and thought. the walls were paneled in dark oak, the same wood that cradled them now in high-backed chairs, smoothed by age and touch. their seats were cushioned in green velvet, the kind that remembered every movement for a moment longer than it should.

mathis sat with one arm slung loosely along the carved rest, posture relaxed but composed. not stiff, not lazy. just… at ease. there was a quiet calm in him now, the kind that doesn’t ask to be noticed. a far cry from the court-gilded boy he’d once been—quick to speak, quicker to smile. that spark still lingered, flickering when he met someone’s eyes or when he laughed under his breath at something dry and clever. but there was weight in him now, too. not heaviness, but grounding.

he rolled the unlit pipe between his fingers, more a gesture of thought than habit. the lacquered stem caught a flicker of light and held it like a secret.

"you know," he began, settling into his usual calm but thoughtful manner, "i was walking through the gardens earlier today, and i stumbled upon something that caught my attention. there were a group of painters there, using that old technique. fresco painting."

he paused, letting the memory sink in for a moment, eyes glinting as he turned to cedric. "it was strange to see, really. most people don’t seem to appreciate it these days, not in the way it deserves."

mathis leaned forward slightly, his gaze growing more intense as he spoke. "the thing about frescoes, especially in a place like this, is the way the medium breathes. it’s alive, almost, changing as the plaster dries, the colors blending and shifting with every stroke. i watched them work for a while. it wasn’t anything grand, like a heroic battle or a dragon soaring through the skies. no, this was more... personal."

he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at the memory. "they were painting simple moments. scenes of children playing in the garden, a breeze rustling through the trees. not the kind of things you’d expect to see immortalized in such a way."

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: longtable, the rye sowing festival. mathis is visiting to support a family friend as he has recently returned to court from standfast, and runs into a certain princess he got to know more intimately during the kingdoms' time in dorne ; starter for @mellaratully

the scent of freshly turned earth lingered in the air, mixing with the sweetness of cider and the warm spice of roasted apples. the rye sowing festival was in full swing, laughter and song weaving between the golden fields as farmers and nobles alike took part in the ancient rites of the harvest.

mathis rowan stood at the edge of the gathering, the autumn sun catching auburn strands within his brown hair, lending him the air of something out of an old song. but his gaze was not on the fields nor the revelry, it was drawn, unbidden, to a princess of the riverlands, with striking red curls.

“princess mellara,” mathis greeted, his voice warm, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “i was starting to think you’d forgotten me entirely.”

he approached her, the buzz of the festival fading into the background. he had been away for some time, after all, lost in the quiet of standfast, where the world moved slower and the days stretched longer. but seeing her again, with the same ease and grace she always had, brought it all back, how time, for all its passage, for all of life's trials, never seemed to truly change certain things.

“though,” he continued, a light chuckle in his voice, “i suppose i can’t blame you. standfast is nothing like the bustle of court. plenty of hills and horses, but not much in the way of... interesting company.” he shifted his weight, glancing around the festival briefly before meeting her gaze again. “but i imagine you’ve found far more to occupy your time than i have,” he said, the warmth of familiarity in his eyes, unhurried and easy. "how have you been?"

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: highgarden, after mathis receives a letter from lucrezia, he decides to return to court, firstly to see his brother, but soon his stay will become less temporary and more prolonged (set before the death of septon demir) ; starter for @tiriusrowan

mathis was led through the familiar halls of highgarden, the soft click of his boots against the stone floor echoing in the quiet. he passed through the long corridors, decorated with tapestries depicting scenes from the reach’s history, each one a reminder of what had been and what was to come. he had always been fond of this place, the warmth of the stone, the smell of roses in the air, the quiet hum of life that surrounded the castle.

his thoughts turned to tirius, to the months that had passed since they'd last shared any real time together. the letter from lucrezia had been a catalyst, yes, but it was his brother that brought him back. he’d distanced himself, lost in his new keep, new duties. in the beauty of standfast and away from the court, finding pieces of himself he had lost in the sands of the summer isles.

finally, he arrived at the sitting room where he’d asked to meet the hand. the door was already cracked open, and mathis stepped in, his eyes scanning the space before settling on the window. the fading light of the day streamed through the glass, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. it was a simple room, but one filled with warmth, a stark contrast to the weight that had been hanging over the reach for so long.

the door opened, and mathis looked up, his mouth already curling into an easy smile. "ah, there he is," he said, rising smoothly to his feet. "i was beginning to wonder if you'd send a steward in your place." his tone was light, teasing, but his eyes searched tirius’s face for something deeper, something unspoken.

he gestured toward the seat across from him, making himself comfortable once more. "i thought it was about time i paid my brother a visit," he continued, keeping his voice casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "too much time spent away, and people start to think you've disappeared altogether. besides, i figured you'd appreciate a familiar face that isn't asking you for anything."

he leaned back slightly, fingers drumming lazily against the arm of his chair. "so," he exhaled, letting the silence stretch just long enough before filling it again, "tell me, how is everything?"

[cerissalefford]

location: set before the hollywood glamour dance @ofgoldengrove

crowds had never been her favorite. the sheer volume of people always set her on edge in a way that she was reluctant to admit. her mother used to say she was shy around strangers but outgoing with friends. performing for an audience was easy—thrilling even—but navigating through a sea of unfamiliar faces on her own? that was something else entirely. it made her heart race, anxiety creeping in. but tonight, she wasn't alone. she had mathis by her side, and just the thought of his presence made her exhale slowly, grounding herself with a sense of calm she couldn’t quite find on her own.

she slipped in her last earring and stepped back from the mirror, giving herself a once-over. the outfit was perfect, elegant but not overdone and something she would at least feel comfortable in. "i think i'm ready to go." she called over to mathis, her voice steady now.

as she walked over to where he was finishing up in front of the bathroom mirror, she glanced at him with a soft smile. "do you think your brother and lu will be there?" she asked, genuinely curious. "my siblings should be… but who knows, they're always tricky to pin down." she let out a small, amused laugh.

reaching up, she adjusted the collar of mathis’s suit jacket, smoothing it out until it sat just right. her fingers lingered for a moment as she looked at him, admiration clear in her eyes. "you look so handsome," she said softly. having him with her made facing the evening—and the crowd—a little easier.

[ofgoldengrove]

there were not often times where mathis spruced himself up, but he knew with cerissa in his arm, he wanted to impress her by giving his best effort this evening. though the fancier clothes were not comfortable, he couldn't deny that it were fun to have an excuse to look this nice. perhaps he should take her on dates more often where this specific attire was more commonplace. he knew, too, that cerissa would probably not be in her most comfortable element in the crowd, and had already been devising an excuse for them to dip early when she called for him.

he stood, hands slipping into his pockets as he walked over to the vanity where she had finished readying herself, and a grin spread over his face. she looked serene, like something out of a movie, which was fitting for hollywood glamour night. she had asked him something, but it took him a moment to process what she even said. "sorry...what was that?" he questioned, walking over to place a kiss upon her temple, then standing to his full height as she faced him and straightened his collar. "yeah, i think they'll be there, i don't see why not."

mathis then place a gentle kiss to her lips. "and you look beautiful." he intertwined his fingers with hers as he began to lead them out the door and down to the event. "if you want to leave, just let me know. you know i don't mind being the party pooper." he joked. "i'm sure with your siblings there, too, it'll be a great time."