CLEVER FOX

LADY RHEA TARLY (née FLORENT) LADY OF HORN HILL, MISTRESS OF WHISPERS "Look like th' innocent flower, but be the serpent under 't" ( mobile navigation )

[rhea-florent]

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME: Rhea Tarly née Florent AGE: Thirty-one (Born June 19th, 113 AC) STATUS: Ruling Lady of Horn Hill, Lady of Brightwater Keep OCCUPATION: Lady / Mistress of Whispers MARITAL STATUS: Married to Lord Harlon Tarly CHARACTER ALIGNMENT: Chaotic neutral MBTI: ENTP (extraversion, intuition, thinking, perceiving) RELIGION: Faith of the Seven VIRTUES: Astute, Persuasive, Adaptable, Challenging, Assertive & Charming VICES: Distrustful, Self-Preserving, Argumentative, Insensitive, Indulgent & Resentful

BIOGRAPHY

The union between Lord Allun Florent and Lady Yara Farwynd was seen as a peculiar one right from the start. What could a lord from the Reach and an Iroborn lady have in common that they might wish to join in matrimony? Lord Allun was already a widower with a young boy who lost his mother on the childbirth bed. The lady of Sealskin Point was in no way the sort of wife anyone expected for Lord Florent, even less after the untimely death of his first lady wife, a dignified Reach rose through and through. But the dead eyes of Lord Allun Florent found light again and somehow Yara Farwynd found a way to fit into that small family that had been marked by so much grief already, bringing warmth and love to it, and eventually a new baby to make their family grow: Rhea.

In the end, just love wasn’t enough. A wedge was there between Lord Allun and Lady Yara, too different to complement each other, but also to clash in ways that left no room for compromises. Whether it was the cultural differences between their homelands or something that laid merely in their distinct personalities, that wedge grew and grew. Lady Yara found refuge in the trips she took to the Iron Islands to maintain close relationships to her people. She often took her step-son and daughter with her, and it was Rhea who found this other land more intriguing, more exciting, almost as if that Ironborn part of her bloomed near the sea, as if there was truly salt water in her veins. She was already a teen when the visits to Great Wyk became longer, and she could tell her mother began to resent more and more having to return to the Reach, to a place that was feeling less like home even if Lady Yara never truly said it. Rhea could read the contempt in her mother’s eyes and detect the icier nature to her voice. 

The Dance of Dragons began and the world sank into turmoil, fracturing the continent in favor of Greens or Blacks. Rhea was in the Iron Islands with her mother when she learned about Dalton Greyjoy’s plans to sack Lannisport. The Westerlands were allies to her people in the Reach and the young woman could feel the inner conflict about being in possession of that knowledge. It is wrong, she remembered thinking, making up her mind, choosing a side. Her attempts to inform her cousins, the Tyrells, led to nothing as she was quieted by her own mother. The Sack of Lannisport inevitably took place and with House Farwynd aiding House Greyjoy, Lady Yara was branded a traitor and exiled permanently from the Reach. Rhea, however, was arrested as soon as she set foot in her homeland again and it all might have had a bitter end had her cousin, Cedrid Tyrell, not intervened on her behalf.

The shadow of those past events still loom around Rhea isn’t the most widely liked person amongst the peoples of the Reach and the Westerlands. The best she can do now is make herself useful to the man who saved her life and who treats her more like a sister than the distant half-brother that all but looks down on her. So when Cedric requested her to be the Mistress of Whispers of his small council, Rhea didn’t hesitate to accept.

[rhea-florent]

Closed starter for @betweencloakandcrown (Omer Florent) Setting: About a month after the end of the Verdant Concord. Rhea has been gathering information and investigating who might have been behind the murder of Talia Hightower (née Tarly).

There were no definitive answers yet, but the few leads she'd managed to dig out led to one place. Oldtown. Once again, the threats against the Hightowers came from within. If it were up to her, she'd have delivered the news at the Council and see it all catch flame and burn for the Master of the Arts. She wasn't investigating for his sake, after all, but for Harlon's sake.

Rhea had never cared much about the Hightowers. It had been years since they became more of a nuisance than an asset. But the Mistress of Whispers knew that her brother had a good enough relationship with Gael, so she thought best to meet with him first to get his opinions.

Little after entering her brother's study, she'd confirmed what she and others had been suspecting. Talia had died by poisoning. “It was a mixture of Tears of Lys and a small dose of belladonna,” Rhea told Omer. The mixture had made the poison act so swiftly without needing to use a very large dose of either. “The Tears of Lys were delivered in Oldtown, one week before the concord,” Rhea told her brother as she showed him a folded parchment. It was a brief, hectic letter in which a merchant fearfully admitted to a cousin of his that he'd not included all the merchandise that was transported in the cargo manifesto he was meant to make. Through the man's writing, it was evident that he feared for his life. In his letter, he confessed to having agreed to the illegal transportation of "perfume" after the safety of his family had been threatened. The merchant asked for his cousin's help to take care of his wife and son if something unexpected were to happen to him.

“He is dead now, if you're wondering. Sudden passing under 'mysterious circumstances'...” the Mistress of Whispers added with a serious expression. From what she'd managed to learn directly from the cousin, the merchant's death had happened in a similar way to Talia's. “My attention is in Oldtown. I'm pulling more threads there,” Rhea added, wondering if her brother's mind was going to similar places at her own. It was both a disgrace and a damn joke that the Hightowers continued to be attacked from within their own land.

[cfthornsandroses]

matilda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding the moment rhea steered her clear of the exhibit, her smile softening from something practiced into something real. she smoothed her skirts as they walked, more out of habit than necessity, and cast a glance back toward the sculptures being crated away. “you may have just saved my life,” she said lightly, though there was genuine gratitude beneath the teasing lilt. “or at the very least, my ears. i’m fairly certain he was only a few moments away from explaining to me what i thought about the piece.”

she glanced sideways at rhea then, green eyes bright with amusement. “you’re very convincing, by the way. if cedric ever needs a someone to terrify people into obedience, i’ll recommend you at once.” there was a small laugh at that, airy and warm, before it faded into something quieter. “and yes, your instinct was entirely correct. he meant no harm, i think, but gods, he did love the sound of his own voice. i nodded so much i worried my head might fall clean off.”

as they slowed their pace, tilly's steps grew more relaxed, the tension easing from her shoulders now that she was no longer performing attentiveness for an audience that did not see her. “i don’t always mind it,” she admitted, fingers absently brushing the edge of her sleeve. “sometimes it’s easier to let them talk and smile and be agreeable. it keeps the peace. but today…” she shrugged delicately. “today i was tired. tired of being clever in the right way, or pleasant in the right measure. i’ve had enough of being a pretty little ornament for them to admire.” she punctuated the thought by sticking out her tongue, playful despite the truth beneath it.

she looked to rhea again, this time with a fond, knowing smile. “no, i wouldn’t have stayed. not for all the marble in that hall. thank you, for noticing, and for the rescue.” matilda adjusted the pearls at her throat with a single finger, as if recalibrating herself after the encounter. it always took her a moment to come down from wearing a face, something she’d been forced to do endlessly of late. “i must thank you properly over a drink, and perhaps conspire about how best to frighten the rest of these men back to their homes, so we might enjoy the gardens in peace again.” her gaze flicked briefly toward the gathering she was more than ready to see thinned. “have you ever tried pear brandy from tyrosh? there’s a merchant here selling it, and i’ve heard others rave. i think his pavilion is just that way.”

[rhea-florent]

After the lady said she'd saved her life, Rhea couldn't help but let out a short scoff. “You're welcome,” she said. She knew from experience that being taken away from an insufferable, boring man did feel like a lifesaving feat. Sometimes one could be polite about it, but other times that nonsense had to be cut short. Matilda was much too polite for her own sake, unfortunately.

“Am I? Thank you very much,” she said with mild surprise. Or at least she pretended to be a little surprised that her acting might be convincing. If only the Tyrell lady knew that Cedric was very much aware of how to make use of Rhea's talents, and how to weaponize them as well. “Huh. I wasn't attempting to be terrifying,” she mused, though the notion that she might have scared the little Westerner a bit was quite satisfying, “I was going for an air of uh... ” she hummed, thinking about the right word, “No-nonsense, I guess. With a touch of 'there are more important things than you, my lord' or something like that”. The Mistress of Whispers laughed again, and looked at Cedric's cousin, content to see the lady appear more at ease.

The pair walked side by side, and Rhea paid attention to the young woman as she spoke about being able to smile and nod, to be agreeable even when she wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation. “Oh, you're stronger than me. I do not have that skill,” she said, admiring that Tilly could have that kind of patience. The words that followed were quite interesting, Rhea thought. Tired of being clever in the right way, or pleasant in the right measure. “That does sound exhausting,” she added, her tone a bit more serious.

Rhea's mind went elsewhere for a bit, ensuring she remembered the lord's face. Perhaps he ought to be reminded he'd been speaking to Matilda Tyrell. He was at the Tyrell's home. It shouldn't have been her behaving with care to be pleasant in his presence. Her attention was back on Cedric's cousin when the topic of wine and conspiring was brought up. The Mistress of Whispers smiled, a little mischievous grin across her lips. “I've not plotted anything in ages,” she joked, “I love the sound of that”. Rhea raised her eyebrows with interest as Tilly mentioned pear brandy. She'd had it once before and recalled it tasted divine. “It's been a long time. I do think I should get reacquainted with that drink,” she said with a nod, pleased with the Tyrell lady's suggestion. She tilted her head then, indicating she was happy to follow where Tilly led them.

[fiadhvance]

closed starter for @rhea-florent

the tavern fiadh had been singing at that night was one well known to all who called themselves clover folk. there was something comfortingly familiar about the scent of it, ale and roast meat, the permanent fog of smoke that hung around the rafters and the way laughter mixed with music when she played. it was one of her favourite places to try out new material, figure out what worked and what didn't and making any necessary tweaks to her work.

she'd already finished for the night and changed out of the brighter, more vibrant clothes she wore to perform in. it would be fair to say that fiadh's usual attire was anything but drab, but when she performed, her dresses had more frills and ribbons to it, simply because it looked better on stage. she had left a ribbon in her hair, grass green against copper-gold, simply to keep unruly curls away from her face.

"you came!" her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the fire by the time she reached rhea's side, wrapping her arms around her in a quick hug of greeting. she'd spotted rhea while she was singing, even given her a merry wave before her hands were too occupied with her lute, but the look on her face was just as excited as it had been when she spotted her the first time. "i think that went well. it seemed like it did, anyway. what did you think?" she slipped into the seat opposite rhea, resting both forearms on the table and leaning forward so that she could be heard over the din of the pub. rhea's opinion mattered to her, perhaps moreso than anyone else in the room.

"except the drums in that second song. i'll need to tone them down next time. i was looking over at the window and i could see it rattle in the frame," she'd been worried about a bill for the glass at the time, but now, the whole thing just seemed funny. "what are we drinking?" she asked, tilting her head to examine whatever was in rhea's cup. "it isn't often that i get you all to myself these days. we need to make it special."

[rhea-florent]

Rhea's care for others was something she usually kept closer to her chest for a variety of reasons, with displays of affection rare and mostly kept to private spaces or moments in which she knew no one else was looking. The environment in which she had been raised and shaped deemed any form of care for others a clear weakness, after all. Gradually, the Mistress of Whispers had been chipping away at the behaviors she'd learned from both her mother and father regarding those ways of viewing attachments. Some of those patterns instilled into her by Yara and Allun she'd disregarded, and some she'd kept. And she'd also opened herself up to learning better patterns from others. One thing she had learned from those other individuals —like Harlon, like Lucrezia— it was to simply be there. And so when her dear Fiadh had a performance, Rhea was there.

The Mistress of Whispers had enjoyed the music so thoroughly, tapping her heel against the wooden floors as she followed the rhythm. She didn't have an artistic bone in her body, and as such held such a deep respect and admiration for individuals like Fiadh or her husband, who could create images and evoke emotions through artistic expressions. Through Fiadh's music, she could see the rolling hills of Wayfarer's rest, hear the rivers of Brighwater Keep, smell the rain-soaked valley of Stone Hedge. Fiadh's music was the very essence of clover folk life, and that was such a rare gift.

“You were wonderful, bláth!” Rhea said with a grin as she got up from her seat to hug the young lady. “I particularly loved the third song, the melody was catchy. I swear I could barely stand still,” she added with a chuckle. “Do share the lyrics later, darling, I'd love to sing along next time you perform it”. She didn't have a blessed voice like the Vance lady did, of course, but who cared. She'd still sing at the top of her lungs and simply enjoy the merriment of chanting in a pub.

Rhea didn't have much to say in terms of musical feedback and the technical aspects that Fiadh surely had in mind for how to make her next performance better. She could only speak of the feeling in the audience. “If you say so. I think the lot of us would have clapped if the windows broke with the music,” she added with a smirk. The whole audience had been rowdy and cheerful, like a proper clover folk crowd, and they had all been hanging on to her every word as she sang.

When the Vance lady inquired about her drink, Rhea smiled. “This, my dear, is a damn good dark stout. Proper beer, if you ask me”. The Mistress of Whispers got up and looked around for the barmaid. When the pair made eye contact, Rhea raised her drink and indicated they needed another one just like hers.

[rhea-florent]

Closed starter for @romanprester Setting: Highgarden, the Reach. After weeks of visitors, the Verdant Concord is about to come to an end.

Rhea spotted the man and noticed that he spotted her as well the moment she walked out to the balcony. It was the last feast for the Verdant Concord, the last gathering in which Cedric honored his guests. Thankfully, they would all begin departing in the morning and throughout the rest of the day. She was content to see them all leave, particularly the Westerners. Soon, the halls and gardens of Highgarden would fall to their usual rhythm again.

The Mistress of Whispers could have ignored Lord Prester. She could have nursed her goblet of Arbor gold and just look at the night sky in silence. Something in her stirred, however. A sort of ancient resentment that lived at the core of her, a festering wound she never bothered to heal or put to rest. “Lord Prester, isn't it?” she asked casually as she turned to the man. She looked at him inquisitively, a polite smile on her slips, yet the gesture appeared cold.

“I remember you from some years ago. The Reach and the West proudly coming together for battle in the Isles”. The war that ended Ironborns. But that wasn't the only time she recalled seeing him or hearing his name, however. She recalled all too well those Western houses which staunchly supported Alaric's arrest of Rhea nearly a decade ago, as Cedric's brother folded under the pressure of the Lion King. She blamed them for what was done to her as well, she blamed them the same as she had blamed Alaric. “Do you not miss the sea, my lord? Landlocked here for the duration of the Concord? Though I imagine you must be glad to head home tomorrow”.

[becomeundone]

It’s not about Inisherin. It’s about one boring man leaving another man alone, that’s all.

Kerry Condon as Siobhán Súilleabháin The Banshees of Inisherin (2022)

[rhea-florent]

Closed starter for @cfthornsandroses Setting: Highgarden, the Reach. After weeks of visitors, the Verdant Concord is about to come to an end.

The last day of the Concord had finally come and the Mistress of Whispers was barely hiding her relief at watching guests beginning to depart. Rhea had never been fond of vacant chatter, and though she could wear the mask of pleasant civility with expert ease when the occasion called for it, she disliked it greatly. Pleasantries and diplomacy weren't to her taste. Never had been. Rather than spending her time admiring artists or inventors, her attention had been placed on quietly tracing the vanishing trail left after the death of Lady Talia Hightower. She could wave off at the foreigners as they began to return to their keeps, for every whisper indicated that she shouldn't look at suspects outside of their own borders, but within.

Not everyone seemed so eager to retreat and leave the highly social season of the Verdant Concord behind, however. As the lady strolled through one of the exhibition areas, where sculptures and paintings were beginning to be taken down and packed away, she found Lady Matilda Tyrell engaged in conversation with a blonde-haired lord. 'Engaged' was perhaps too kind a word for the scene she saw. Rhea passed judgment immediately. No doubt he was a proud, little Westerner entirely convinced his opinions mattered to someone other than himself. Matilda, although nodding and appearing as polite as a lady could be, did look like someone who'd been trying to get a word in and was unable to due to endless monologue. It was perhaps the sort of thing only a woman might be able to detect, because time and time again it were women who were on the receiving end of interactions like this in which lords remained blind and gladly oblivious.

“Lady Matilda,” she called, approaching the pair. “The king has asked for you”. Rhea's tone left no room for question. She did not offer an apology for the interruption either, and only offered a sharp smile to the lord. “It is quite urgent. We should not keep King Cedric waiting”. She tilted her head to the side when her clear blue eyes found Tilly's, indicating the urgency to leave.

“Ced did not call for you, don't worry,” she said once they walked out of the exhibit's area and were well out of earshot from the gold-haired lord. “You mask exceedingly well,” Rhea added after a moment, almost praising the Tyrell lady's ability to keep such a well-crafted facade of politeness and grace. “I've been in similar situations before. Men talking my ear off, convinced they have fascinating notions that must be shared to enlight me,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Some men were helpless in that sense, too oblivious because of their ego and vanity. “I saw you and thought, 'She looks miserable and he has no idea', the buffoon”. Rhea glanced sideways at Cedric's cousin, the corner of her mouth curving into a witty smirk. “Tell me, was my instinct correct? Or whould you rather have stayed to finish that conversation?”.

[fromspringandfire]

lilac gaze swept over the gardens of highgarden, vivid with life and color. the hum of bees and the distant murmur of fountains created a serene backdrop, yet the weight of court lingered even here. she ran her fingers gently along the petals of a blooming rose, her expression thoughtful. “the gardens here are beautiful,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. “there’s a peace to them, even if it doesn’t quite reach the heart of the castle.”

she turned to rhea, her smile faint but genuine. “court has its intrigues, its splendor, but i’ve always found my heart rests easier in the country. there’s something grounding about open fields and the sound of the wind in the trees. i feel... freer there.” she hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. “highgarden is close, though. it carries a piece of that ease, even if it’s still wrapped in silk and whispers.”

laena’s eyes flickered to rhea’s fan, its steady motion matching the measured cadence of her words. “you seem at home here, my lady,” she continued, her tone lighter now, almost teasing. “i imagine the rhythms of court are less tiring when you navigate them with such ease and grace." her tone was genuine as she offered a small smile.

she glanced down, her fingers tracing idle patterns along the lace of her sleeve. “still, i’ve tried to make my place here, even if it doesn’t always feel like it fits. maybe that’s why i find solace in supporting others. if i can make something easier for someone else, it makes the court’s weight feel a little less heavy.”

her gaze lifted again, meeting rhea’s. “but you—you seem at home in it all. do you ever long for something simpler? or does the rhythm of court life suit you too well to leave it behind?”

[rhea-florent]

Rhea’s eyes followed the idle path of Laena’s fingers against the rose petals, a part of her wondering whether the gesture was unconscious or designed to showcase softness. It was in Rhea's nature to suspect, to consider everything might be carefully calculated. Either way, it suited the king's mistress —that appearance of grace and effortless gentleness. “You speak like someone whose heart belongs in the country,” she said, folding her fan again with a soft clap of its ribs. “I imagine you are enjoying Hollywell, right? I’ve not been since the king granted it, but it must be a pleasant space. It must be, if it's been touched by your careful hand”. Her voice held no edge or veiled meaning. It was only an observation. A woman who once diligently crafted the most beautiful gowns in all the Reach had to place as much care in every aspect of her life. Even by Laena's own admission, she found solace in caring for others.

At the mention of her ease in court, Rhea offered a faint nod. Her lips tugged up into a half-smirk, a smile that was almost unreadable in its intent, but not unfriendly. “You learn quickly when you must,” she said simply. Before Cedric's time, the court had never granted her much kindness, not even with her father’s name, since she had been tainted by her mother’s Ironborn blood. She could still recall the eyes that followed her as a girl during the visits to Highgarden, equally curious, cautious, and cold gazes. “The Reach rarely extends warmth to anything it deems unfamiliar,” she added lightly, as though commenting on the weather. It was an attitude Rhea was not free from, either. If anything, she participated in it often, as her own caution and suspicious nature had been born out of survival more than anything else. “Braavosi brides, dragonblooded women, daughters of the Iron Islands...” she trailed off, showing that track record that ranged from polite dismissal to outright rejection. “You may begin by acknowledging you will never please all of them,” the Mistress of Whispers added with some nonchalance, referring to the Reach court. “So, you might as well behave as it pleases you”. She let the words linger, a subtle offering meant more as a reassurance than a form of comfort.

Laena’s last question gave her pause. It was in the past years that Rhea had truly built a life she was proud of, a life that even made her happy. Her split infancy in Brightwater Keep and with her Farwynd kin wasn't something she wanted to speak about. “What I left behind is nothing I miss,” she replied, leaving no opening to inquire more about. “And what I’ve found here... well, it keeps me occupied”. A beat passed before she turned her gaze back to Laena, her expression wry but not unkind. “The court is full of games. But fret not, you happen to have the strongest ally of them all,” she added with a subtle smile. Laena Oldflowers stood closest to the king than anyone else, after all.

[omerflorent]

who: @rhea-florent what: before omer departs to deal with braavosi pirate and get a temperature from various knights around westeros he visits with his sister.

Omer Florent stood in the center of his solar at Highgarden, the heart of his command in the Reach. The room was large and imposing, as befitting the High Commander of the Reach. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of battle and the proud history of House Tyrell. A large, polished wooden desk sat at the far end of the room, its surface scattered with maps of the Reach, strategic reports, and sealed letters awaiting his attention. Several chairs lined the room, all worn from use, where officers and trusted advisors had sat across from him as they discussed matters of war and defense.

He stood at the window for a moment, watching the golden fields stretch out in the distance. He had grown used to the weight of responsibility, but it did not make it any easier. There was much to do before he left to deal with the growing threat of the Braavosi pirates. He turned in time to see Rhea as she entered, he offered a smile as took a seat. "I'll be joining in some of the fighting soon."

He gestured to the maps on his desk. “There’s a storm brewing, and I need your sharp eyes more than ever. The pirates in our waters are only the beginning. I’ll be visiting some kingdoms, I want to see the state of their waters, ask fighting men what they know. I'm sure there are angles I'm missing. I just, before I do all of this, have you heard anything? Is anyone siding with these pirates?"

[rhea-florent]

Rhea stepped into the solar, knowing she had not been summoned for pleasantries. f Omer had wanted a simple reunion, he would have chosen a different setting. Quick nods were exchanged between the siblings as a greeting, and the Mistress of Whispers made her way to the Commander's large desk. Her gaze moved over the maps and scattered missives before landing on her brother again. “No one is openly siding with the pirates,” she said plainly. “But men with something to gain rarely make their dealings known. Smugglers, merchants looking to protect their trade routes, or even those who bear grudges against the Reach might be willing to slip a few coins into foreign pockets for the right price”. Her voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything that suggests such arrangements. If I find anything, I will ensure you learn about it”.

She crossed her arms, considering his words more carefully now. He would be fighting again. Omer Florent was one of the best swordsmen in the continent, and yet she did feel some concern quietly blooming in her gut. “And where will you go first?” she asked, quick to focus on the task at hand. “If I know your destination, I can start gathering intelligence before you even set out.”. The clever foxes could join their strengths that way: him wielding his sword, and her ensuring he never strode into battle blind.

[visxionaries]

♠

cedric’s steps did not falter, his gaze steady on the garden path ahead. the cool morning air wrapped around them, a pleasant counterpoint to the heated undertone of their conversation. rhea’s frown, though fleeting, was not lost on him. "what are you on about?" he asked, glancing to her side as he noticed the ire upon her features. he knew her displeasure intimately; it came like the prick of thorns beneath a rose’s bloom—sharp, insistent, and entirely expected. her words, even softened, carried an edge, but cedric let them hang in the air a moment before responding, his tone calm but unyielding.

“you’ve always worked well with what little you’re given. that's your point.” he said, a faint smile curving his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. a slight jab, cocky in nature no doubt. “this will be no different to your usual method. you’ll make it work."

cedric slowed his pace, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he turned slightly toward her, his vivid ocean hues flicking to her face. “let’s not dwell on the particulars of what you don’t know. instead, perhaps you can tell me what is known to you—about harlon.” the shift in subject was deliberate, the mention of her husband pointed. “he’s distant. quiet in court, even quieter when the council convenes. it’s unlike him.” his voice was low, threaded with something resembling concern, though he carefully masked it.

“i don’t have the patience to play the guessing games he seems to prefer these days. if he's pissed off with something, do me a favour and get it out of him will you?”

he stepped toward the edge of the path, running a hand lightly over the stone bench they’d passed earlier. “i imagine you know more than i do, as usual” he continued, his words casual, as though discussing the weather, though the intensity in his gaze betrayed him. “it isn’t like harlon to retreat without reason, and i suspect the cause is something more than simple disinterest.” there was a level of exasperation in her words of cedric tyrell as he referred to his brother; the brother none knew he had. it were strange; for all the years they had known eachother, he considered him a brother - and yet, the ties of blood felt distant. "is he having some crisis or something?

[rhea-florent]

Rhea let out a slow breath through her nose, forcing her shoulders to remain relaxed as she walked beside him. This will be no different, he stated. A faint, humorless scoff escaped her. It was a neat dismissal, wrapped in Cedric’s usual confidence. “Of course I will,” she murmured, because there was no other alternative. She had learned long ago that her cousin’s trust was not a thing freely given, not even to her. The king expected her to work with the scraps he offered, to shape scattered pieces into a useful web of information that suited his purpose, and so she would. But she did not always have to like the way he positioned her to achieve his ends.

The Mistress of Whispers did want to pry into the matter of the Dornish blade he had sourced, to tug at the loose threads he so carefully kept out of her reach. But Cedric, ever the master of deflection, had already turned the conversation elsewhere. Her husband. Harlon. Rhea’s expression hardened. She knew what Cedric wanted: for her to smooth things over, to coax her husband back into the fold with soothing words and careful hands. But how could he not see what was so plainly evident? Harlon’s silence was not a puzzle to be unraveled nor some passing mood to be eased. His legitimization as a Tarly, while it saved his life, had put him in a precarious situation for the rest of his life. It had bound him to a name that would never fully be his, made him a lord in title yet left him an outsider still. Rhea had seen the way it weighed upon him. The feeling of being an imposter, of not being what he'd been proped up to be, made to wear a noble name while some still doubted him being worthy of having it.

Rhea slowed her steps, turning her gaze toward her cousin, unreadable. “If you wish to know what troubles him, you must ask him”. Her voice was steady, encouraging even, but there was definitely a finality to it. Speak to your brother, was what she did not say out loud. “I am his wife, not his keeper, Ced. And I will not be your spy in my own marriage,” she added with a pointed look. A softer woman might have reassured him, offered some gentle word to placate his concerns, but that was not who Rhea was to her cousin. “What he has shared with me, he has done so as a husband confiding in his wife, not as a man unwittingly offering up information to your Mistress of Whispers”.

That was a line she was not willing to cross, for it could ruin the very foundation of the life she had built with Harlon over the past years. “You should know what his position in this world cost him,” she continued, her tone edged with something quiet and knowing. That was the only hint she could offer to her cousin, to her king. “And if you have only just now begun to think about it, then you are far later to the matter than I expected of you”.

[ronanbrackens]

who: clover folk group meeting at one of the yule celebrations context: there is none, they are all vibing and there is no thread order.

the warmth of the hall wrapped around ronan like an old cloak, though he found himself watching more than joining the revelry. the clover folk were loud tonight—louder than usual—but that suited him fine. he leaned on the edge of the hearth, the heat licking at his back as his eyes wandered over the gathering.

“omer,” he called out, his voice rising above the din. “ye’d best not let caitria rope ye into another daft contest. last time, she near snapped yer wrist.” he raised his goblet to his lips, fighting a grin as omer waved him off with a muttered curse. no doubt that was nothing like how the event had taken place; but still. ronan would have no issue in irritating omer for the sake of it.

his gaze shifted to the corner where fiadh and rhea were working on brianna’s hair. “fiadh,” he called, unable to hide his amusement, “if ye can make her look half-decent, i’ll name ye a miracle worker.” brianna’s glare shot his way, but he met it with a half drunken scoff. the room roared with laughter, and ronan let it carry him, the weight of the season sitting just a little lighter on his shoulders.

[rhea-florent]

Rhea wasn't used to adorning her hair in braids, or weaving flowers through the strands to create a traditional Yule look. Fiadh had good skill in that, and the Mistress of Whispers was good at copying and replicating what the Vance lady did.

Her focus was split but not diminished, paying attention to what Brianna and Fiadh said, while also being aware of what happened around. A trick of her trade, she supposed. So she raised her head when Ronan spoke about her brother, turning in Omer's direction. “Ah, but our Commander wouldn't weasel away from a challenge like that, would he?” she raised her voice, speaking teasingly about her brother.

Just as Rhea herself had teased her brother, Ronan poked fun at his sister. Was it a common trait amongst clover folk? The Mistress of Whispers definitely saw that merry playfulness more amongst her kin than she did others. “You have too little hair to have an opinion on this, Ronan. When we care for your input, we'll ask,” she quipped with an amused smile before she glanced at Brianna. They were nearly done with her hair and she looked like a queen. “You're a right beauty, eilit”.

[visxionaries]

who: @rhea-florent when and where: set following his conversations with halima yronwood and tirius rowan, cedric tyrell sees his spy mistress the following morning. they are enjoying a leisurely morning stroll, following cedric's first official meeting with his newest member of the family - cillian.

the morning air was cool, touched with the scent of fresh blooms from the gardens surrounding highgarden’s sprawling paths. cedric tyrell strode with an unhurried grace, his gaze fixed ahead as lady rhea tarly walked beside him, her pace matching his. their surroundings were idyllic—soft birdsong, the murmur of fountains, and the golden light of dawn spilling over the emerald expanse of their home—but cedric’s thoughts were far from tranquil. “a plan has been set into motion,” he began, his voice calm but with an edge of finality. he didn’t look at her directly; his eyes lingered instead on the vibrant rows of roses they passed.

“it is delicate, rhea. not one for prying eyes or wandering ears. yet, like all plans worth their salt, it will require your expertise to guide it to its inevitable conclusion. in a few days, or weeks, or months, events will unfold, and the realm will turn its gaze where it’s meant to. you will not speak to me of this again, nor will i speak to you. our silence, as always, will be our strength. when it is done, the results will speak for themselves.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained calm. “this is not for the council. not for tirius rowan...not for tion peake. not for omer, not for lucrezia...they will have no part in this." that was a lie regarding tirius rowan; only, he would not implicate tirius as being fine with the murder of one of his own. not when they sit at the same table, and there already remained tension between tirius and rhea that he was not blind to. he clasped his hands behind his back, the cool morning breeze brushing against his face. “there are whispers already, as there always are. but they’re unfocused, scattershot. i need them shaped, narrowed. targeted, in the aftermath of something specific.” he finally glanced at her, his hazel eyes sharp and expectant.

cedric paused near a low stone bench, his gaze softening momentarily as an attendant walked by holding a young girl—his cousin's daughter helena, —her laughter echoing across the garden. cedric offered a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. when the child had disappeared around the corner, his expression hardened once more. “you’ll ask no questions about the particulars of the plan,” he continued, his tone lowering but firm. “you to understand the need for discretion, even among allies. i've already sourced someone willing to sully their blade; all you need do is spin the blood to face toward the high septon when it comes."

[rhea-florent]

The Mistress of Whispers walked alongside her cousin, a leisurely walk that appeared inoffensive by all accounts. Not like the tangled scheming and plotting for the toppling of pieces around the realm that it actually was. The king spoke of plans within plans, and unveiled secrets that even Rhea was in the dark about. Frankly, she hated not knowing, and the fact that her cousin was asking of her to not dig deeper. She glanced at him with a mild frown, skeptical. He was asking to keep tied hands of the person he'd asked to weave secrets to begin with. Cedric bore the name Tyrell as his banner, but truly, he was more a Florent than anything else. Dear Eloise's blood had not been diluted one bit.

“I don't like this,” she murmured, “I cannot work with what I don't know, Ced”. There was merit to compartmentalizing information, that she knew far too well. But surely the king knew her usefulness was diminished when she was left partially in the dark. Rhea had no trouble keeping matters out of the council —there was plausible deniability then. But she had stained her hands before, and could do so again for the good of the realm. It was the beauty of working with the veil of secrecy and anonymity.

It had been a long time since the whispers sullying the faith had begun. Matters like that took time to flourish and Rhea had been gardening the talk, the perceptions, with utmost care. A final blow was coming, she gathered, from her cousin's words. “I understand discretion, you know that,” the lady said with a firm nod, casually glancing around the gardens. For all the loudness in Rhea's usual demeanor and bold personality, she was as skilled in discretion, subtlety, calculation.

“You're the one who will need to work on being more discreet, dear cousin,” she said as she lowered her tone. “A Dornish woman?” The Mistress of Whispers gave the king a pointed look, tilting her head slightly. The whispers informed of that meeting, and if Rhea had managed to learn that, there was the risk other spies could have gained insight into it too. Other than that broad descriptor nothing else had been learned. No name. No specific ties to one house or another. Still, she'd worked to diffuse any murmurs around it, invalidating, twisting, replacing information. “So you've sourced your blade from Dorne,” she stated then, quietly. She did not even phrase it as a question.

[harlonvflowers]

.

harlon looked up at rhea, his heart catching as it always did when she used the words mo shíorghrá. my eternal love. he wondered if she knew how much power those words had over him, how they could make him feel like the world wasn’t quite so heavy when she said them.

but tonight, the weight still clung stubbornly to his shoulders.

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, stubbing out the joint in the small dish on the table. the ember hissed, a sharp little sound in the quiet of the study. “you shouldn’t be up. you need rest.”

even as he said it, he reached for her hand, gently pulling her closer, craving the comfort of her touch. he pressed his lips to her fingers, lingering there a moment before looking back at her. her eyes, always so sharp and knowing, were softened by concern. it made him feel both grateful and guilt-ridden all at once.

“i just…” he began, hesitating, unsure how to put his thoughts into words without sounding ridiculous. he gestured vaguely at the empty air. “i don’t know, rhea. everything feels so… off. you’re you. my wife. the mistress of whispers. the woman who could untangle a conspiracy while rocking a baby to sleep. and i—” he stopped himself, shaking his head with a small, humorless laugh.

“i feel like i’m playing at being a lord. horn hill’s fine, the reach is stable, but it’s not enough. it’s like i’m standing still while everyone else is running ahead.” his voice grew quieter, as if confessing a sin. “i’m thinking of going to highgarden to see cedric, but i hate the idea of leaving you so soon. of leaving them.” his eyes flicked toward the door, toward where their son slept, his guilt etched clearly on his face "you deserve more."

[rhea-florent]

Rhea shook her head lightly, a quiet indication that he needed not to apologize. “You need your rest as well,” she said, as this was not about her. She brushed his hair with her fingers and moved closer to her husband, feeling his gentle pull. The lady did not say anything else, giving space for her husband to open up and give words to what was tossing and turning in his mind.

The Tarly lady listened intently, letting Harlon speak without prompting him to go in one specific direction or other. She had begun to build some suspicions in her head given his demeanor in the past weeks, but it was different to actually hear him say what was weighing him down. Harlon's story was a complex one —grown up as a noble bastard, an artist free to pursue his desires, a man locked up unjustly for the faults and the sins of another. And then he'd been thrown into the position he had now, covering up secrets. Perhaps it was always meant to become suffocating at one point.

“Don't speak of what I deserve, Harlon. What I deserve is what I want in my life,” she spoke firmly, yet there was an undeniable undercurrent of love in her words. “I want you. I've wanted you for years, and I will continue to want you, mo shíorghrá. So do not even dare suggest that you are less than what I deserve or want in life”. Rhea held his face in both of her hands then, sharp blue eyes looking intently at his dark gaze. “We build what we can with what we have, and you've already given me so much”. He had given her a loving partnership that was so much more than anything Rhea might have dreamed of when considering marriage before. He had given her two beautiful, healthy children. He had given her a true home.

“What do you want?” she asked him then, her voice soft but steady. “Do not think about the realm, or me, or duty,” she added, encouraging her husband to truly consider what might help to lift the weight he felt on his shoulders. Think about what might be enough. Rhea brushed her thumbs against his cheeks and gave a light nod when he mentioned visiting Cedric. “Talk to him,” she reassured him that it might aid to speak to him. To his brother. “Don't worry about us, we'll be fine, my love”.

[fromspringandfire]

laena smiled faintly as she stepped into the garden, her eyes immediately drawn to the vibrant blooms swaying gently in the breeze. the soft chirping of birds overhead was a welcome relief from the tension that had begun to settle into her chest in recent days. she glanced at Rhea, noticing the fan she had in her hand, her face slightly flushed. "i can’t blame you for indulging in a bit of wine,” laena added, her smile growing warmer. “after all, traveling all the way from the west… we all could use a bit of relief.”

she couldn’t help but wonder at the truth behind rhea's words, her studying expression. It was clear there was more beneath the surface, but laena chose to focus on the kindness in the moment, not the questions that swirled around her. “I’m glad to be back, truly,” she said with sincerity, her voice soft and comforting. “it’s always nice to be home. even the gardens here seem different," laena continued, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "so full of life, just like it always has been. i think that’s part of what i’ve missed most—this place feels like it breathes alongside us."

she looked back to the other now, a smile still placed upon her features. "are you enjoy a bit of reprieve from everything today? i’m sure the court will catch up to us soon enough."

[rhea-florent]

Rhea’s gaze lingered on Laena —Florent blue eyes always studying, discerning. Her lips curled into a smile, a pleasant enough gesture to pass as friendly, yet not entirely devoid of the lady's peculiar edge. “It is a joy to be back, isn't it? Highgarden feels so different from the West. Less gaudy, less turbulent. I can actually hear myself think here,” she scoffed as she reopened her fan, a quick flick of her wrist sending that relieving, fleeting breeze against her skin.

The Tarly Lady had no interest in speaking about gardens, frankly. She enjoyed the fresh air but did not ponder on anything about her surroundings in poetic ways. She pondered on the people she crossed paths with, and Laena happened to be someone who intrigued her. A woman so closely entangled with Rhea's cousin, yet to the Mistress of Whispers, the king's mistress remained someone whose intentions appeared somewhat clouded, a bit too perfectly polished. For Cedric's sake, Rhea played nice and did not regard the seamstress turned king's companion as someone to be spied upon.

“I'm sure you are. We all are content to be back,” she said at last, agreeing with her statement. “Though the visit to the West, as taxing as it was, allowed us all to reunite with friends from other regions,” she mused more conversationally, as she had been fortunate to meet with the clover folk from the Riverlands there.

Rhea tilted her head then, as if weighing Laena’s words about reprieve, her fan slowing in its motion. “Ah, reprieve,” she echoed, her tone light, yet layered with something sharper beneath the surface. “I wouldn't say so. Let's just say I do enjoy my duties at court,” the lady mentioned. Even in the gardens, a spymaster was still at work in some sense. “What about you? Have you earned a moment's peace, my lady?”

[fiadhvance]

amusement quirked on fiadh's face, though it was not without sympathy. "ah. so you've met your match with him." she was teasing, the glance she gave little cillian mock-stern, despite the fact her smile had not shifted an inch. "are you going to cause trouble for your mother, little one?" she still spoke gently, afraid to disturb his peace, but with none of the high-pitched cooing many took on when talking to small people. such things gave fiadh such a jolt of second-hand embarrassment that she could never quite bring herself to do it. she spoke to children as she spoke to adults, though admittedly with a little more tenderness.

it was not a pleasant thing to hear that pregnancy had not been kind to rhea. having never been through it herself, fiadh wasn't sure she quite had the words to offer any advice in the matter. "i'll be sure to remind you that you said that when the next one comes along," though she was joking, she was not without sympathy.

"and i'm glad you're on the road to recovery." with time, rhea's suffering would be but a memory. "and while you regain your strength, you'll have me." her visit to horn hill, was not planned to be a long one, but neither did she plan on being idle when she was here. as with all her visits, she would play with helena, spend time with rhea, and get to know the newest tarly. "i have missed you and helena, you know."

[rhea-florent]

Rhea could only chuckle at Fiadh's comment about meeting her match in her infant son. “Possibly,” she said, grinning. Cillian, her little fox, was a Florent through and through, and Florents were never easy. Her boy was behaving well enough with the Vance lady, a very welcome respite. The Mistress of Whispers enjoyed the sight, for there was something undeniably soothing about seeing Fiadh here, so natural and at ease in her home, as if she belonged among the stone walls and sprawling hills of Horn Hill.

Setting her teacup aside, Rhea shifted in her seat with a sigh, her gaze settling briefly on the Riverlander. “I know, I know,” she waved a hand, dismissing the comment. She remembered how it had been when Helena had just been born, and how the notion of having another child wasn't something she wished to entertain much. Here she was now, a mother of two. “I mean it now I truly do,” Rhea stated, “But I know eventually I'll think differently again and you'll be helping me care for more babies eventually”.

Rhea's expression brightened as she smiled at her friend. “I am deeply grateful for your assistance, Fiadh. You have saved me many times over. And I have to say, you had been missed here as well,” the lady added. “And now that you’re here, I think we should make the most of it. I’m sure Helena’s already made plans to kidnap you for herself, have you tell her some stories. So I do have to make the most of your company when she lets me”. Her grin returned, a clever and playful gesture. “Perhaps you’ll even indulge me with some of your stories? Tell me what you have been working on lately”.

[conallblackbar]

if only it were as easy as rhea's words would suggest, that he could hold his head up high and not give a damn what the world thing. it was a trait he quite admired in rhea. she did not let the taint of accusation cow her. but then, it was different. he might not have physically raised his hand to abigail, but the mental damage they had inflicted upon one another was all too true. he was still to blame, no matter what those who loved him wanted to believe. "i think you have a little more faith in me than i deserve, rhea."

there was no topic of conversation, not his deceased wife, not his brother, not even his own complicated feelings at seeing his kin flourish, that could dampen his joy for rhea in that moment. if there was one thing conall was grateful for, it was that he was born clover, a community so close it was as though they were one large, extended family. when one celebrated, they all did, and this was news to be celebrated.

"since when have you needed my permission for anything?" he teased her. "don't be making a scapegoat of me because you've decided to make your husband's life difficult for the next few months, rhea tarly." conall let out a snort of laughter, his head shaking at the thought. "but truly, i am pleased for you. i'll raise a glass for you and the little one tonight."

[rhea-florent]

Rhea immediately frowned as he spoke. “Ah, seafóid”. Nonsense, she was quick to dismiss, waving a hand as if to send away the very words he'd uttered into the air. Conall was much too dear to her for the lady not to have faith in him even when he stubbornly kept lowering himself so much. Perhaps especially when he behaved in such self-deprecating ways. “I'll always bet on you, Conall”.

For many years of her life, she had existed in so much isolation. There had been a deep-rooted sense of solitude within her family as Allun Florent and Yara Farwyn caused such a chasm in every relationship that Rhea attempted to have. How she had hated Omer for a period of her life, and felt certain that he despised her in return. How separated she'd felt from the clover folk too. Allun and Yara had fed her so many notions of distrust, of self-preservation above all, of a harsh world that had no real place for someone like her. There had only been two options: Either tame the iron blood to make herself palatable for the Reach, or forsake her father's blood to harshen herself enough for the Iron Islands. No middle grounds. And yet, here she stood today, having uncovered the kind of existence she felt comfortable with. Rhea did not believe in the gods —not seven of them, not a drowned one—, but how she counted her blessings these days for the family she recovered, the family she'd built, and the family she'd found along the way.

The Tarly lady looked at her friend with so much appreciation and couldn't help but grin as he called her out. “Fine, fine, you're right,” she agreed, also in laughter. She considered it a small victory to elicit some joy out of her friend, even if only briefly. “Do drink two glasses, my friend. Drink the one that I cannot drink for now,” she made a playful grimace, because gods, how she would miss her wine for the next few months.

[harlonvflowers]

location: in harlon's study in hornhill. a few weeks after the birth of his son. @rhea-florent

​​harlon sat in his dimly lit study, the faint glow of a single candle casting flickering shadows across the room. the sharp scent of smoke curled around him, a joint balanced between his fingers burning slowly. he exhaled a long, measured breath, watching the smoke dissipate like the worries in his mind refused to. this wasn’t a habit he’d ever meant to pick up, but tonight, the quiet crackle of the burning leaf felt oddly comforting. familiar. it was something to focus on, something to do when his thoughts grew too loud.

the guilt gnawed at him. rhea was just down the hall, hopefully fast asleep, or at least pretending to be for the baby’s sake. she deserved the rest after all she had endured—bringing their son into this world while still managing to pull the strings of the realm like a master puppeteer. she made it look effortless. graceful.

and then there was him. harlon, the bastard lord, stumbling through his duties like a child learning to walk. he knew he wasn’t doing poorly; horn hill was steady under his watch but it wasn’t enough. it didn’t feel enough. people’s quiet reassurances echoed in his ears, but they did little to soothe him. he wasn’t like his wife, who wielded secrets like weapons, nor like his friends, whose voices carried weight at council meetings. he knew he couldnt join them. best to keep his distance to quel the rumors.

he took another drag, letting the ember eat away at the roll. highgarden. it seemed the next step. an attempt to make himself useful, to build alliances, to do something. but the thought of leaving her—leaving them—so soon after their son’s birth felt like a betrayal.

harlon rubbed at his temple and let his head fall back against the chair. the candlelight flickered, the smoke curling upward like a silent prayer. but then he heard a noise and quickly turned to see his wife illuminated in the doorway. “shit…you shouldn’t be in here with all the smoke” he said trying to fan it away. “i thought you went to sleep”

[rhea-florent]

Cillian had finally fallen asleep under the spell of clover lullabies and the rocking back and forth in Rhea's arms. Her patience —which had never been her strongest attribute— was tested each time she had to put her baby to sleep. He was a restless little thing, even as the small bundle he was now. Even in silent desperation to have her son close his eyes and rest, the lady did her very best to remain composed. If she got stressed, the chances for Cillian to fall asleep lessened considerably. A baby easily picked up on what a mother conveyed, after all. So calm and composed she had to remain to soothe her little boy, and for the sake of her own sleep.

She carefully placed him in the cradle and moved to the bed, watching him remain quiet and peaceful as he dreamed. She attempted to conjure sleep for herself. Harlon was still in his study, she could see the hint of light from down the hall slipping beneath the bedroom's door. The Mistress of Whispers sat up, setting the covers away, and gave one last look at her sleeping baby before sneaking out of the room.

Rhea did not mind the smoke as she entered her husband's sacred space for thinking, for creating, and sometimes for spiraling as well. The last one, she'd noticed, had become a more recurring occurrence as of late. “Oh love, I could practically hear you thinking from the bedroom,” she stated simply as she moved closer to him, leaning against where he sat. Her tone was half serious and half playful, as it often were. “Your mind's been troubled these past days,” she mentioned, caressing his jaw with two fingers. “Talk to me, mo shíorghrá,” the lady continued, her hand moving to his hair, tenderly brushing it.