what it takes to survive

mychel redfort. 29. third son of house redfort. loyal to the lord of the vale.

[ofredforts]

CLOSED || MYCHEL + MYA || THE RED KEEP ( @myastxne )

Mychel found he was quite relieved to have so many people crammed into such a small place; it made avoiding someone rather easy. Never in anything less than a crowd, it was a simple matter to hide behind a column upon the sight of a familiar head of curls or to act oh so engaged in any conversation so as to make any distraction impossible. It was unavoidable that Mychel would make some enemies amongst the women whose bed he shared; even he was not foolish enough to think otherwise, and so he had learned from experience how to prevent any uncomfortable confrontations.

Except, it seemed that Mya was avoiding him too, and that - that was rather unusual. No one avoided him, practicing the same evasive maneuvers he employed with such ease. No one but her, and much as he supposed he couldn’t blame her, well, it just simply wouldn’t do. Was the need to make her face him worth actually facing her? Likely not, and yet he found his mind constantly wandering to her whenever she left the room as soon as he entered.

When he ran into her - quite literally, backing away from the Lord of gods-knew-where and directly into his former flame - Mychel had not quite made up his mind on just what he was going to do about Mya Stone. The gods, it appeared, were far more decisive. “My lady,” he said, all grandiose manners and a cheeky smile. “Sincerest apologies, I did not mean to run into you so rudely.”

[ofredforts]

CLOSED || MYCHEL + YSILLA || CHAMBERS ( @ysillas​ )

It seemed everywhere he looked, there was another beautiful woman. King’s Landing, Mychel feared, could be the death of him in more ways than one. Cersei’s feast had been no exception; who knew half the noblewomen in the kingdom cleaned up so well? Perhaps Mychel’s gaze had strayed a few times during the event, and perhaps he’d find some secluded corner of the castle to take one of them in the near future, but no matter. He’d learned young to put on a show when needed, to act like the perfectly pristine and reputable gentleman in the rare times when a fourth son was expected to do so.

As such, it came as more of a shock than it should have when he watched the mask of happy matrimony drop from his wife’s face the second the doors to their chamber clanged shut.

Arm still warm from where she’d held it as they walked from the Great Hall, and smile not yet fallen from his face, Mychel studied her with interest. Their marriage was certainly not one of love, and he’d be a fool to think otherwise, but it still took him aback for a moment every time one of them let the facade fall. Expression cooling quickly to one of neutrality, he mentally shrugged his shoulders and settled into the familiar pattern of distant cordiality. “Well. Glad that’s over with. Who do you think drank the most? I’d wager the Queen herself, but hard to tell when half the attendees were off piss-drunk.” Turning away from her, he busied himself with taking off his lavish coat, done up in the Redfort colors, before turning back to her almost as an afterthought. “More wine, my lady?”