in defiance of all reason.

rodrik forrester ; heir to ironrath ; sharp as the north winds. a mumu blog penned by bella.

[ofwolfswood]

DACEY MORMONT

                         open starter || northern celebrations

Dacey found it disconcerting for the words ‘Lady Stark’ to be slipping from her lips to address someone other than the late Catelyn Stark, so for this reason while she attended the festivities celebrating her King’s new marriage, she stayed away from the guests of honor.  Or at least, that is what she told herself.  There were many other feelings at play in her mind, but ones she refused to acknowledge, out of loyalty, out of unwillingness to cross boundaries, and afraid of knowing the true thoughts on the matter.  

And much like before, while waiting for peace talks, Dacey was much too high strung to really enjoy any sort of celebration, and instead she found herself pacing the borders of the encampment, mug of ale in hand untouched.  The feeling in the pit of her stomach was back, boring a hole through her stomach, making it near impossible to drink or eat or be merry, no matter how merry the circumstances were.  Last time, she had not acted on that feeling, and Catelyn had ended up dead, and later people went missing.  And even now, as they celebrated their return, the hand of fear would not loosen it’s grip on Dacey’s innards.

And this time, it felt worse, and she knew the reason why.  Robb’s new wife brought along with her a whole carriage load of new things for Dacey to worry about.  The only strength the North had over the other kingdoms were their absolute unity and belief in their King.  But after Robb’s announcement of his new wife, Dacey heard whispers.  And for people to be whispering around Dacey, a sword known to rarely leave the King’s side…That said more about their discontent than their words ever could.  Dacey could see their strength, their one virtue over others splintering before her very eyes.  And that made her very uneasy.

Uneasy enough, that as her ears pricked to a noise behind her, in a fell movement her mug was dropped and lost somewhere on the bed of leaves below and bow was suddenly in hand, arrow knocked and ready to be let loose, pointed at the source of the noise.

“I’ll warn ye, the rest of the camp may be in their cups, but I am not and my aim is true.”

          he had warned against the match since he had first heard of it - since he had returned from euron greyjoy’s ship and been welcomed by rumours he didn’t understand at first. and rodrik had resented it: they were forresters, sworn vassals to the glovers. their place was at ironrath, to roam free in the wolfswood, to know where they belonged and where they didn’t. and they didn’t belong at winterfell, they never would. but vows had been exchanged in front of the old gods, vows that would bind their two families together forever, and there was no turning back - not now, not anymore. and as much as the warrior wished to ease his mind, he knew a storm was brewing on the horizon. the last time a forrester had dared to love, his brother had paid the price by losing his home and his true love in one fell swoop. but mira had angered the north. and rodrik knew even wolves could not fight an army on their own.

         perhaps he looked dour at his own sister’s wedding, but he felt an outsider amongst the festivities: his family was not in attendance, not his lady mother nor his youngest siblings. yet there were lords and ladies he scarcely knew or cared for, soldiers he had bled with but never truly spoken to, and childhood friends who seemed to be nothing more than strangers now. making his excuses, rodrik went in search of a quieter corner of the camp - desperate for a moment to himself so he could think. or perhaps even use a tree as a training post, his sheathed blade hanging from his belt. but when he heard a voice from ahead, the forrester heir stilled. dacey mormont was unmistakeable, of course: she was a fearsome warrior and sworn sword to the king in the north, and rodrik had heard much of the mormonts from his lord father. so when faced with the point of her arrow, he knew to stop dead in his tracks. 

        “ i doubt anyone would disagree with that, ” he replied wearily, scrubbing a hand over his tired features. he was buzzing with nervous energy and a hint of rage he couldn’t quite place. he felt at ease with the vanguard, but celebrations exhausted him and smalltalk had never been a strength of his. “ might i join you? ” if nothing else, rodrik could not spend another moment with drunkards toasting to a hurried marriage. “ this seems to be the only peaceful place tonight. ”

[messmikkelsen]

[eddaras]

thefrasers‌:

sidney & charlotte + dancing & smiling, as requested (x)

@ofwolfswood​

[cilly-murphy]

x

[exilednorth]

( @ofwolfswood )

[mybodywakesup]

[ofwolfswood]

@exilednorth @miraxforrester 

[ofwolfswood]

@wolfofwinterfcll​ | rodrik + robb | the wedding

he was happy for his younger sister - despite everything that had happened: rodrik had been a boy of ten when she had been born, and he had been protective of her ever since. perhaps he was far older to play with her or be her friend like he had with asher, but he was still her eldest brother. and a rushed wedding didn’t sit all too well with him. house forrester was a small, insignificant vassal - their sworn overlords were the glovers, not the starks. and he didn’t want to think what robett glover might think of them now or what the repercussions might be for the rest of them. rodrik was too meticulous to understand a quick wedding, without the king asking for their father’s permission first and instead rushing for the sake of a new love. he didn’t understand any of it, not when his own betrothal to elaena had been broken off for politics, no matter how much he had once loved her. it had been the right thing to do - the only thing to do. 

but he was still her brother, as much as he disapproved. and it helped that nobody expected him to burst into happy laughter, because rodrik was a northman in the truest sense: he couldn’t have managed it anyway. their lady mother was absent - as were all of their siblings - for there had been no time for them to join, and he felt all the more an absolute outsider in a celebration meant for his own family. excusing himself from the revelry, the forrester heir walked out into the open air of the northern camps before realising the king in the north was standing nearby. “ your grace, ” he greeted with a curt nod, his jaw set. rodrik would never speak out of turn because he was raised better than to ever do something so thoughtless, but it didn’t mean he could pretend to be overjoyed with either robb or mira’s actions. “ my congratulations - i hope the old gods bless your union. ”

[ofwolfswood]

open starter : harry’s celebration 

he had never been this uncomfortable in his life. ever since that one incident at robett glover’s nameday feast, rodrik had made sure to avoid parties and celebrations whenever he could. he had never loved to drink, his small talk was a little too small, and crowds made him feel less and less at ease. but the familiarity of the northern encampment had become almost too familiar of late, and the eldest forrester had wanted a moment away from the mess of war and the rigour of spending each waking moment amongst his fellow soldiers. as powerful a leader lord hardyng was, he had arranged the perfect event for everyone - highborn, lowborn, everyone in the middle. it was one night where petty arguments over kings he didn’t care for and realms that mattered little to him were left outside of the inn, and rodrik needed that momentary relief. 

he sipped on a horn of ale until he could feel the tangled knot of his reluctance loosen, retreating into a dark corner where nobody would bother him. but the inn was overfull with people from every corner of the seven kingdoms and beyond, the air thick with the din of roaring laughter and chatter. gathering to his feet, he wove his way through the thicket of guests, finally getting another drink before bumping into someone and watching the ale slosh all over the floor. 

“ my apologies, ” rodrik said to the person he knocked into, a faint smile of apology on his face. he quickly downed what was left in the cup - little though it was. “ i didn’t see you there. ”

[stevenrogered]

You know, maybe we didn’t fail her after all.

[ofwolfswood]

@exilednorth

[nefertiris]

[ofwolfswood]

@eddaras

[ofwolfswood]

ASHER FORRESTER

for two years, not a day went by where asher did not think of his last days in ironrath. he’d raged, raged at the injustice of it all; for a man so quick to give himself over to his emotions, he had plenty of anger to go around. when he first awoke in the mornings, his thoughts would go first to the look in gwyn’s eyes when they’d been discovered, then to the look on talia and ethan’s faces when he’d held them close to his chest, his tears hidden in their hair. when he went to bed at night, no matter where or with whom, the stern and unfeeling look in his father’s eyes as he’d passed the sentence, in rodrik’s right behind him, sent him off to his slumber. every minute of every day was a reminder that his family had sent him away, never to be heard from again, for the sin of falling in love.

but somewhere amongst the strange sights and constant company in the free cities, he realized he wasn’t angry anymore, not truly. so far from his home and his family, asher could admit to himself what he had known all along - he understood. the whitehills were their enemies, and he had blindly crossed that line as he had crossed every other one. he had killed innocents just to keep their secret safe, had soiled the sacred weirwood grove with their blood; what else could his father have done? so while asher knew, understood, why he’d been sent away with strict instructions never to speak to his family again, it never really stopped hurting.

seeing his family again dredged back all the old wounds he’d buried under bloodshed and beer and beddings. always wearing his heart on his sleeve, asher could scarcely stop himself from lashing out at the brother, the friend, he’d just got back. “father did what he had to do,” asher agreed coldly. “do you think i knew what to do? i spent the last decade of my life not even knowing if you all were still alive.” a part of him wanted to hit something, to run away, but he stayed, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “what could possibly have changed anything, rod?”

the fact that father’s decision made more sense than not - that the whole wretched plan made sense - was the gods playing a trick on all of them. but when rodrik had found out that forrester honour had been built and balanced on lies and deceit and a false truth that they all believed to be their legacy, he had felt sick. and he had never looked at their father the same way again. his own lady mother didn’t know - would never know. none of them would, they couldn’t. that was what father had said; the only thing they could agree on. it was the heir’s to bear until another came along; a family secret that could never leave the family, not ever. but it made him rage to think asher had been sent away, forced to keep from writing to his brothers and sisters, when lord gregor forrester had hidden his own shame away in an heirloom he was already hiding away.

“ father did what he had to do, ” rodrik repeated hollowly, fingers steepled together so hard they hurt. maybe mira was still angry with them over the whole incident, but she was too young and too sheltered to understand any of it when it was happening. and he had let her direct her anger at him - he would allow it once, and only once - but he couldn’t imagine any of them ever speaking out of turn with lord gregor. “ but father isn’t as honourable as he would have us think. ” it scared him, the fact that he was so like their father. asher was brash and lived every moment to the fullest; but rodrik was cold and stoic and did anything and everything to maintain his honour - to do his duty. even shun his favourite sibling, the brother he had always been so close to. what else was he capable of?

“ i’m too stubborn to die, ” he joked, a smile twitching on his lips but he drew it away with a sharp breath. “ so are you. and someone would have written to you, asher. ” rodrik’s face was marred with solemnity, blue eyes bright even in the dim light; a furrow appearing deep between his brows. “ mother prays for you every night - d’you think she wouldn’t have sent a raven? ” at the question, he shook his head, busying himself with his cup. it was only water, too warm and too stale, but he gulped it down anyway. “ father has his secrets. ” the north grove, never spoken of but still there - hidden away from the rest of the north. nobody knew of it, nobody ever would. and the half-siblings they would never meet - what would become of them?  “ things nobody can know, asher. not mother, not the starks, nobody. and i don’t know what to do about any of it - i don’t even have you to confide in anymore. ”

[ofwolfswood]

@eddaras​ | rodrik + eddara.

staying patient all week had paid off when he led the northern contingent, cutting down every ironborn man who thought he could escape justice by fleeing on ground. rodrik’s blade swung with calculated precision, wrathful and unforgiving, and it wasn’t long before they had incapacitated the very men who had attacked their camps mere days ago. the north had lost good men that day, men of his own that he buried with his own hands, but they didn’t lose any this time. as maron greyjoy’s longship ventured close to the shoreline, the eldest forrester had climbed aboard and finally breathed just a little more easy. the last time mira had left for unknown places was to serve margaery tyrell; now, it was greyjoy pirates who took her hostage. once he had seen everyone safely ashore and thanked the man who had ensured their return, rodrik had walked down the gangway - blue eyes scanning the land. 

that was when he saw eddara - no, lady eddara. the last time they had spoken, he had been an utter fool. his father would say that every man was allowed at least one moment of weakness, but rodrik had enough faith to know that she never deserved that. he had rehearsed the apology in his head enough times since it had happened, staring up at the starless expanse of the night sky every night and wondering if it would be enough. but every word of his apology escaped him now, his chest hollow and breathless. asher would probably laugh at him, tell him he was overthinking once again - like he always did. but rodrik could swear that eddara was worth all the moments spent trying to piece together a decent apology and an explanation that he couldn’t justify no matter what he said. he drew a deep breath, stepping onto the gravelly sand. 

“ my lady, ” he began when he finally reached her, ducking his head low in greeting. the warrior couldn’t claim to know everything about her, but he knew her enough to guess that she was helping whomever she possibly could. and in all honesty, rodrik knew not what to do: he could lead in battle and plan a strategy, yet he had never had any need for easy conversation. but for her, he would try. “ i fear i owe you an apology for our last meeting. ”

[ofwolfswood]

“What was your intent? What was it?” [Asher]

the question left a metallic taste in his mouth, like he had bitten on the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. he wasn’t good at confrontation - he never had been: rodrik was near unmatched with a blade, leading the northern vanguard and sleeping amongst fellow soldiers, but the right words did not come naturally to him and his emotions were locked away in his chest until he could hear ribs cracking. but this wasn’t just anyone. this was asher, the brother he had always called friend before anything else; his constant companion growing up, even if they had been two extremes. he was ice, whereas asher was fire ; he was method, whereas asher was impulse. asher had always made choices without thinking - without fear - and it had terrified him. until his little brother had strayed too far and faced exile. how had they come so far from who they were? 

it haunted rodrik that he hadn’t said his goodbyes to asher when he had the chance, taking their father’s side because that’s what he had been told to do, and stepping in as the heir he had been raised to be. they were all different men now.

“ i don’t know, ” he managed quietly, a scoff punctuating his words. it was the most honest thing he had likely ever said. he didn’t know. he didn’t know why he followed their father without question, he didn’t know why he had chosen not to hug his brother goodbye one last time. “ is that what you wanted to hear? that i was stupid and young and that i didn’t know what to do? ” rodrik look at the man he had always loved fiercer than any of his other siblings; there was scarcely a memory he had that he hadn’t shared with asher. “ the others would never have understood, and father - ” his blue eyes were cut from ice, hard but melting. there were secrets their father had shared with nobody else, had told him to take them to his grave. it was the burden of their to protect the family, and it was a burden he would bear alone. but the eldest forrester wondered if he could trust his brother with it. “ father told me things that changed everything, asher. ”

[oh-shitnice-deactivated20140728]

[zombeesknees]

#favouritest no-dialogue moment

[ofwolfswood]

EDDARA TALLHART

In the few days since the attack on the camp her father had scarcely let her leave his side, too terrified that the Ironborn might come back for more captives. For the most part she was happy to humour him when she could admit to being more than a little wary of that too. She knew that she was lucky to have a father who cared so deeply and even though at times she felt stifled by his protectiveness, she would much rather be with it than left to fend for herself in a world that was not nearly as bright as she had once thought.

With plenty of time on her hands for reflection as she stayed within the tents that those with House Tallhart had pitched, she had wanted to keep her hands busy to thwart any particularly bad memories of what had happened at bay. It was all still mostly a blur to her and she had decided that it was far better that it stay that way than allow dark thoughts to consume her. It had given her plenty time to work on something for the man who had saved her life.

With a promise to her father she had set out to find the man in question, bright smile instantly on her features as she spotted him. “Lord Rodrik.” Clear, melodic tones chimed across the distance between them as light steps carried her closer. She had heard from her father that men seemed to struggle to keep their shirts in one piece whilst on the road and so she had done her best to make one in his size. Deep forest green with small embroider around the collar. Gently, she held it out to him. “I know it is not much and does not even come close to the deed that you did for me nor the injury you received whilst doing it. But I hope that with this at least you might not forget my gratitude.” 

Guilt settle itself onto pretty features, gaze lowering, when she could not help but feel as though if he had not been so busy helping her then perhaps he might have been of more used to Mira. It saddened her greatly to know that the other woman was missing and she had been praying every day for her safe return. “I was so very sorry to hear about your sister. If there’s anything I can do for you or your family, please let me know.”

@ofwolfswood​

rodrik had grown quieter and quieter in the aftermath, preferring solitude to anyone’s company. he respected trees far too much to use one as a training post, so it had taken everything in him not to let his rage consume him. he was angry at the ironborn for taking mira - for the fact that nobody had stopped them, nobody had saved her. he was angry at their father, with his politics and his patience and his strategies that amounted to nothing. he was angry at asher for turning up with the targaryens, of all people - angry that his brother had been exiled in the first place. but more than anyone else, rodrik was angry at himself: for not being able to stop any of it and resenting every single bit, even as he looked up at the dimly lit morning sky stretch over them. the eldest forrester was dutiful if nothing else, so he followed orders - putting one foot in front of the other and doing what was asked of him. 

he had been tethering his horse - wincing as his movements pulled at the healing scar of his wound - when he heard lady tallhart’s voice. glancing towards her immediately, his irritaion clearing for a moment as hope replaced his foul mood. rodrik knew that the only time he had set aside logic for sentiment, for ideas of perhaps even finding love, it had been with elaena. but when that had ended bitterly, he had learnt better. 

“ lady tallhart, ” he began, polite but short. there was no smile across his face, nothing beyond quiet acknowledgement as he inclined his head in greeting. there had been a moment in the midst of the chaos - while she was patching his wounds and he had been listening to her talk, watching the light in her eyes stay put even after what she had suffered, that rodrik had felt something in him give just a little. but then he had caught sight of her talking to asher, and he had known not to expect anything. while he had never had any talent with charm or honeyed words, his brother had always been blessed with happy manners. rodrik didn’t blame the younger forrester, he blamed himself: it annoyed him to think he ever hoped for differently. the gods had played their joke.

taking the shirt from her, he knew it must have taken an expert hand. and time. “ i don’t know when i may have occasion to wear it, but thank you,” rodrik said, solemn and wooden. “ it is not necessary to thank me, my lady. i only did my duty. ” he avoided her gaze, swallowing around the discomfort rising in his throat. at his sister’s mention though, his expression shuttered immediately. that wasn’t her fault - it was his. mira had been upset at him, angry with him, and he hadn’t tried hard enough to fix it. all of a sudden, rodrik sunk back into the lessons he had learnt of being a northern lord. “ it is kind of you to say so, my lord father will appreciate it. ” before he could stop himself, he had already spoken again. “ and you - are you well? ”

[ofwolfswood]

EDDARA TALLHART

Everything had happened so fast that she almost felt as though her vision would remained blurred for the rest of her days. It was almost too much for her to focus on, flashes of sword and screams reaching overwhelming levels. All she was aware of was her own panic, trying to fight but failing as grips much stronger than her own blows threatened to carry her away. Suddenly she hit the ground and even less made sense to her from that point. She knew that someone was dispatching of the men who had proven too much for her but she barely focused on how it had all happened. The first thing that sank through the fog of confusion had formed in her mind was the bright red that disrupted his otherwise dark silhouette. Soft words slipped from her lips without thinking, immediately focusing on his wound above all else. “You’re hurt.” 

Slight hand was slipped into his much larger one without any hesitation, finding comfort in the slightly rough skin that her own smooth fingertips were met with. It did not bother her that they had become stained with blood when she was far too grateful to be saved, wholly focusing on the good in that action instead of being even the slightest bit unnerved by the lives that had been taken. Once she had risen to her feet she looked up at him, earnest clue in sky blue eyes. Gently she placed her other hand over his, a small squeeze given to show gratitude for an act she was certain she could never repay. “You did not have to injure yourself for me, my lord but I am so very grateful nonetheless.” Soft words were delivered and with the last tone she slipped her hands from his.

Pause overcame her as she tried to find the best response that would give him no cause to worry. “I am unharmed.” It felt far too soon to decide if she would truly emerge unscathed from the ordeal when for all there were no real marks upon her skin, she was certain that there would be more mental wounds to deal with later. However she knew that there was no opportunity for her to allow herself to succumb to the nerves that threatened to shake her, small tremors still running through her despite her best efforts. She had no intention of being a liability for Rodrik and so she drew upon every bit of Northern ice that ran in her veins to stand up that little bit straighter. Blue eyed gaze falls to the sword that he had discarded to come to her aid and she picks it up with equal determination and gingerness. Small smile flickered over her lips as she held it out to him when there was no doubt in her mind who the better warrior was, a hint of lightness in her tone when she needed to find some sort of brightness to cling to. “You would be far better with this than I.” 

you’re hurt. for the skin of a moment, rodrik had no idea what she meant. but glancing down, he realised that she was right. it hadn’t sank in, not when the blades that had cut into steeled skin and worn leathers, and his wound didn’t hurt now. there would always be worse, and there would always be more important things to tend to. like her safety. “ i’m not, ” he reassured automatically, but the edges of his words were hazy and soft. he would stitch himself up afterwards - after the camps had been cleared and everyone he cared for was accounted for and within safety’s grasp. he had done it before, even if his hand could be unsteady and his body weak. right now, rodrik knew he had to get her away from here. away from having to stare into the blank, decrepit faces of men who would have harmed her and taken her away, and away from the blood that was seeping into the yellowed grass. “ but we must leave here before you are. ” the din of soldiers could still be heard in the distance, tyrell men if he had to guess but he didn’t want to guess at anything in the middle of this. he wanted to be sure there wouldn’t be more pirates out to harm her.

rodrik had spirited willas to the medical tent, certain that he was safe in the care of healers. it was the safest place to be - so that was where he knew he would take her, even before he had moved towards the open air. her hand was small in his, soft against his calloused skin and warm even in the cold of the evening. but there was strength behind her grip, and he allowed a breath of relief to string through him. the eldest forrester paused at her words, lost for the briefest moment - so brief that he wondered if he imagined it. he towered above eddara - no, lady tallhart - but he ducked his head low to listen; blue eyes finding blue eyes. “ of course i had to, my lady, ” rodrik immediately in reply, hand curling into a loose fist as hers left it. he didn’t know what to say - he never knew what to say. she didn’t have to thank him.

there were men strewn around them, men who had meant them harm. it would not do to stay here, like chickens in a fox’s den. but at her joke, rodrik exhaled a low chuckle; a little reassured that she seemed to be truly unharmed. “ i daresay it might be useful, ” the heir to ironrath returned, taking the sword from her and sheathing it. the faintest of smiles was on his lips, but it disappeared before anyone could prove it.  gesturing for her to carefully walk with him through the camp, rodrik placed a bracing hand on her back to soothe any doubts of danger, quietly affirming that he as there to keep her safe. but then he thought better of it. it was only a short walk to the tent, but his guard was still up. he knew how to fight and he knew how to protect, but it was the aftermath that he was most afraid of. how many forrester men must have not survived? his wound had begun to twinge, but he ignored it best he could, features tight from discomfort. “ the healers should still examine you - lord willas and lady sansa are already there. ” his words were uttered with care, but they were still gilded with the warrior’s instinct.

[ofwolfswood]

@ivcrybird | rodrik + sansa.

it was after everything. after he had fought alongside willas tyrell and seen the man to the medical tent; after he had failed to save tommen baratheon but caught eddara tallhart just in time; after his injuries had been patched up as best they could and blood wiped from his leathers and blade. the eldest forrest had found out about mira too late, and the guilt had started to chip away at him. he hadn’t been there for her, hadn’t even talked to her in days save for curt words exchanged, and their last fight was still freshly emblazoned in his mind. then his sister had been kidnapped - no, she had volunteered to save another. and as proud of her as he was, he knew he couldn’t sail a skiff after her or cut through a thousand ironborn just to get her back. so rodrik had busied himself with every menial task in the northern camp, fetching boiling water and chopping wood until his hands were sore and his skin flush from exertion. but it had helped.

pushing into the medical tent, he checked on a few of his men - sitting by his squire for a few moments to ensure that his cuts had not been too deep. once he was done, he made his way towards the redheaded stark daughter, head low in greeting. rodrik knew that tyrell men had gotten her out of harm’s way as they had been attacked, spiriting her away as the onslaught grew worse, but he was yet to check on her. “ lady sansa, ” he greeted, as stoic as ever. but there was a faint undercurrent of exhaustion in his voice, and a light of concern in his blue eyes. “ i’m glad to find you well - is there anything i can help with? ”

[gargoyles42]

[ofwolfswood]

MIRA FORRESTER

When Mira left Ironrath in favor of the South, she was optimistic that she would see her family once again. It was only expected when she left, knowing it would be months to years time before she saw them. She thought of them often and wrote them countless letters that limited the distance in her mind. Highgarden had been sweet to her as it had to everyone who could ever be a guest here. Over the years, it had grown so familiar to her that it felt like another home. She did not think that without a guilty conscious, knowing where her home was. Her heart would always belong in the North. It was where she had lived and had family, never wanting anything or anyone to replace it. She missed the snow gathering on the branches in the Wolfswood. She had heard of the return of her family in Highgarden, her heart fluttering in her chest with the proximity she had been longing for over the years. 

It took her only a moment to recognize her brother. Years had been kind to him, giving him the appearance of a full man. He was only a little taller than when she left, but the same attractive face she knew had not changed. His cheekbones were more defined and his features were sharper but it was Rodrik and he felt like home in her arms. “You look older, like an actual man now-” Mira released a small squeal as he lifted her, barely able to contain herself. “He’s-he’s here-father is here?” Mira’s gaze shifted as if to find her father and hoping for the appearance of the King in the North as well. She knew every update from her family joining with Robb Stark in the North on his campaign, being dutiful to the North. Mira’s smiled deepened at the small pouch, holding it close to her chest as if it would bring the twins to Highgarden. “I hope they are doing well, as well as Asher. I have only heard as much news about the family as I can, but would love to see everyone once I am able. Oh, I have missed you as well, Rodrik. It has been good-better than King’s Landing was. It is not Ironrath but they have been just as nice to me.”

rodrik was often accused of being too withdrawn, too cold - talia had told him to stop being such a septon the last he had seen her, and his lady mother had constantly asked him why he wasn’t sentimental after his betrothal to elaena had dissolved into nothingness after years of courtship. he didn’t have answers for them; no witty retorts, no comforting laughter. he was who he was, and whom he’d always be. but seeing mira right then, he felt happier than he had in the longest time - a wide grin borne of relief and love and happiness, refusing to fall from his lips. “ an actual man, am i? ” rodrik teased, a carefree laugh rocking through. he was seldom this relaxed, this content - he never even spoke this much and all at once. his men would never have recognised him. “ father’s been hoping to see you since we made course for highgarden - he’ll be so pleased. you should join us for supper tonight, i want to hear everything about the south. ” the last word came off with just a hint of contempt, but he wanted to hear about his little sister’s adventures.

he slung a gentle arm around mira once more, pressing a kiss to the top of her head like he had the day she had left ironrath. at their brother’s mention though, rodrik tensed immediately - inhaling a sharp breath and he pulled away just a bit. “ mother didn’t mention anything about asher? ” mira would find out soon enough, he was sure of that. lord gregor forrester seldom mentioned his second-born son anymore - if ever. slowly, they had all begun to mention him less and less: their mother would pray for him, but the others were kept in the dark. ryon was still a boy, perhaps he barely remembered asher at all. and they had all been so young, decades younger than the eldest two forresters. as rodrik had mourned the loss of his closest friend, mira hadn’t even been told. “ we haven’t heard from him, mira. ” not a single word, not since he had left their home. he would never let it slip, but it angered him - that his brother had been so foolish and their father so harsh. rodrik took a deep, tired breath. “ come, let’s sit. ” 

settling on the edge of a nearby fountain, he tried to recount the memories. “ you remember gwyn whitehill? ” they had known the whitehills since childhood, and he had always disliked the girl. “ asher was exiled to essos after he fell in love with her. ” rodrik’s voice was soft, laced with disappointment. but he held his sister’s gaze throughout. “ by father. ”