my heart owns a doubt

"there's a ghost in the mirror. i'm afraid more than ever. my feet lead me straight into my grave." rodrick tyce. son to millard tyce and andromaque beauroza. heir to queensgarden.

[goldenalchemistx-deactivated201]

Her eyes widened slightly and her brows slanted upward, further enhancing the feline diagonal to her features. If there was one thing she had not meant to do, it was to turn Rodrick skittish and fearful. Aelorene had not wanted to startle him from his reverie or ruin his appetite for his drink. She simply had been teasing him, in her odd, gentle way. Though the expression painted upon his face caused her suddenly taut shoulders to relax, the cords of her muscles unbinding and smoothing over. 

He did look quite embarrassed. She removed herself from where she leant upon the wall and managed to mimic somewhat of a curtsey as a gesture of formality and politeness. “Lord Tyce,” she said. By the stricken look that seemed to freeze in his eyes, she knew that he had recognised her just as easily as she had him. Though her mind held, sometimes, little recollection for the multitudes of names she knew, there were some faces branded into her mind, and that of the Tyce family were only some of those. He seemed to have grown into himself since the last time she had laid eyes upon him.

"It would not calm your nerves, loosen your anxiety?" she questioned, canting her head to the side. It was a long, upheld tradition - by everyone - which reinforced drink as a way to smooth out the frazzled status of their hackles and their goosebumps. Her eyes meandered to the emptied cup, to the sleeve he had used, and finally, back to his face. Her stare and perusal were not judgmental; merely observant, her way of missing no details.

When he asked after her, it was stuttered and sudden, and she found herself straightening. Aelorene was accustomed to taking care of others, not having someone watch after her - though Wiley and Jonaethene tried to do enough of that to make up for the absences of other caretakers in her life. It was apparent, though, that even if she attempted to wake herself up, he would see right through it - and he, too, seemed quite exhausted. “I am dust-covered and halfway to wounded, my Lord, but I have endured worse.” Her gaze softened. “And yourself?”

[rodricktyce]

Letting out a soft snort of amusement at her words – tinged with no small amount of bitterness, though none of it was aimed at her – Rodrick shook his head, sighing as he pushed back the errant locks that fell into his eyes as a result to whence they came. “No,” he hummed, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Wine...” laughing nervously, Rodrick let his head drop, eyes rooted to the floor. “It tends to unsettle me more so, is all,” he added, praying she’d ask no more on the subject.

Brows furrowing in contemplation, Rodrick found himself sorely tempted to brush aside her attempt to return his question in kind. If she were injured... But would she even want to be fussed over in the first place? A woman as she was, in the position she was,  he supposed it wouldn’t do for her to be seen asking for aid so publically. Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he nodded an affirmation. “Well enough, My Lady.”

He felt uneasy leaving such a question unasked, however. Rodrick saw no need for Aelorene to push herself any further than necessary without due cause. Inhaling a sharp breath, he shuffled a little closer to the woman, bringing his voice to scarcely louder than a whisper. “I... understand if such an offer is unwelcome, Lady Aelorene, but, if you wish it, I can have a room prepared and a physician sent for.” Rodrick took another unsteady breath to sustain himself before continuing. “I’d not want you to put yourself through unneeded toil for the sake of my name day alone.”

You care too much, Rodrick, a voice sounded in the back of his head, bringing the smallest hint of a scowl to his lips. A small part of him wanted to reason that they needed to firmly root themselves amidst Fervention’s allies – his mother had her designs, after all – but he knew such an argument was poorly grounded, at best.

[rodricktyce]

Things To Come || Rodrick & Andromaque

[andromaquebeauroza]

 ”Because we may die otherwise.” For so long, Andromaque herself refused to admit to such a consequence as result for her actions. In the depths of her conscience, she was well aware of these grave repercussions. “I wept with such anguish for many nights once I had birthed you and Leone. By giving you life, I also condemned you. The prospect of Deston interfering once discovering I had given Millard not one, but two sons was grave. Part of me was certain I’d awaken to find you murdered in infancy.” Andromaque’s voice trembled subtly, failing to intervene with the delicacy of the topic. “I can be certain that before his death that will end his reign, he will kill us all. It’s inevitable unless we find way to keep our heads in tact.”

     A soft squeeze of Rodrick’s hand validated she was frightened and sought comfort. To this, she’d not admit her vulnerability. There was a pause of furthermore contemplation; her eyes drooping nearly with regret. “I’ve always promised to protect you. But should Deston sack Queensgarden, my body between you and a hundred men will only be a moment’s delay. I cannot lie to you any longer. My word conceals you from the concept of cruelty, but never the act of cruelty.” Lifting her eyes to convey a more hopeful demeanor, her lips turned up and her grasp on his hand became less foreboding. There was another pause before she retracted her hand and stood back to her feet. Her fingers continued to fidget nervously, though her expression was persistent in maintaining a touch of confidence.

     ”Leone is sworn to serve Millard and Nevaeh is blind. Furthermore, a woman. They’d never accept her.” Placing her hands to her hips, she breathed a heavy sigh as though mildly irritated by the insinuation a woman was so irrelevant to reign by her own authority. “If we side now with the Souths, we give them the upper hand, thus assuring their victory. And when they are victorious, we’ll simply take the throne for ourselves. The Northerners would never accept Aelorene as part of their monarchy while you… you would be in better graces.”

[rodricktyce]

Brows furrowing at her confession, Rodrick’s chest grew unbearably tight as she spoke, and the overwhelming desire to flee to his bed chambers and hide beneath the covers grew all the more persistent. He couldn’t help but feel, as much as she considered herself to have condemned he and his brother, they too provided a damnation of their own. It was a thought that sat too ill in his stomach to be tolerable. She spoke with such conviction, such assurance that every word she said were true, that Rodrick wanted to break down entirely. He didn’t need sentiments like that floating about in his head. It’d only add to the waking nightmares he already had to contend himself with. He exhaled a shaky breath.

The image of his mother throwing herself in harm’s way for him certainly didn’t help any.

“It won’t come to that,” he whispered, his words coming out as little more than a hoarse shell of a voice. They were more to comfort his own surmounting nerves than to act as any real contribution to the discussion. Rodrick might’ve possessed the wits of a man in his prime, but within his chest still beat the heart of a child, and all children learn to fear the monsters that lurk amidst the shadows sooner or later.

“If this is what I must do,” Rodrick said with as much determination as his frightened self could muster, “we shall see it done.” To protect our family, he thought to himself. If he had to throw himself into the fray to prevent further bloodshed, he would—with a heart as heavy as ten horses, but he would do it nonetheless.

Setting his jaw into a firm line, Rodrick banished every feeling of dread he could root out to whence it came. ‘Twas not the time for puerile sentiment. A small part of him wondered if he’d ever have a chance at such again. “We’ll need to gain the Northerners’ support. I must be more than just a prince in the West to them. They need to see me as a valid candidate for Vaeldestoria entire.” Rodrick cleared his throat in a half-hearted attempt to hide the crack in his voice. “’Twould help,” he said, voice shaking despite how much he tried to control it, “if I were married with the promise of an heir to come. It would—“ A tremor pulsed at his cheek and he let out a sigh of frustration, hands balling into fists atop his thighs. “It would help if our line were undoubtedly more secure than his.”

[goldenalchemistx-deactivated201]

The longer she had remained in the crowds, the more of a burden the weight of her leather and chain-mail had become. It had been ages, it seemed, since she had rid herself of the road dust and ash - and that streak of blood still remained upon her cheek from the latest attack on their journey. It was with relief that Aelorene had been leaning against the wall for the better part of a long few moments, the back of her head resting, eyes half-lidded, as she scanned the crowd and took a few moments to herself.

She had not partaken in any of the drink, yet her head spun unpleasantly as though she had consumed far too much for her weight. There was also an odd dizziness at the corners of her eyes. Exhaustion, sapping at what strength she had left in her reserves. It had been a couple of days since she had last slept, and she was beginning to force her politeness towards others. Once the celebrations had calmed down for the night, she would withdraw and sleep quite fully. But until that moment came to her, here she was, seventeen, bloodied, and as elegant as she could manage to be.

She must have fallen asleep for a split second, for when she next opened her eyes, she felt a bit more rested, and someone had joined her in this corner - someone with a goblet of wine, who looked frazzled and anxious and overall annoyed. “It seems as though you need something much stronger than that, my lord,” she commented, offhandedly, “to soothe your nerves.”

[rodricktyce]

Rodrick jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice behind him, the wine he’d yet to drink swiftly moving from goblet to tunic. Closing his eyes in frustration, he dropped the now-empty cup on one of the nearby tables before wiping at his sleeve fervently in his embarrassment. Of course, he thought. Of all the nights in the world for something like this to occur, it had to be when someone else was watching. Fate had it in for him, he’d concluded. There was simply no other explanation.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Rodrick turned to face the source of the voice with a sheepishly apologetic expression. He might have been very much aware of his racing pulse beneath the flesh of his neck, though he tried to avoid making any sign of it—and succeeded in such, for the most part. The heavy gulp he took his only tell.

When the woman’s identity finally registered with his subconscious, he could’ve burrowed himself into his finery at the very thought. Aelorene Igniscor. And Rodrick was making a fool of himself. They’d met once or twice in passing, but she certainly didn’t know him well enough to see his behaviour as anything but peculiar, he imagined. A sigh escaped his lips unbidden.

“Any stronger would not be wise,” he murmured, unable to straighten out the stammer in his voice. He wasn’t much of drinker any way. ‘Twas little more than a passing fancy. Wine never much helped to ease his burdens anyway.

He offered her a shrug before fully taking in her appearance, lips parting ever so slightly when he realised how truly familiar she looked in that moment. No stranger to sleep deprivation himself, Rodrick could discern the tell-tale signs of sleeplessness almost anywhere. “Are you quite well, My Lady?” he asked before he could help himself.

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

Rodrick’s words stung a tad. Leone knew it was important to give his family the amount of time it wished, to avoid conversations such as those, yet being the youngest in the Kingsguard was equally important. “You know me too well, brother. I do not intend to spend days with our guests. At least not all of them.” Deston’s party excluded. He swore to keep a close eye on their guests from the North. “That is exactly why they have three children ,Rodrick. You keep them company, I keep them safe and Nevaeh keeps their good humor intact.”

[rodricktyce]

Try as he did, even Rodrick couldn't halt the eye roll that came about of its own accord. Rigorous as Leone's take on the matter might've been, it made for a poor excuse for a family. Were they someone else's children, perhaps. Someone else's siblings or someone else's nephews and niece, but they weren't. They were Tyces--and surely that had to stand for something. He didn't want to think of their family like that. Out of stubbornness or naivety, he couldn't quite determine. With a curt shake of the head, Rodrick sighed. Not tonight. "You could stop frowning, at least. Mother won't need to commission a statue of you, at this rate." He shot his twin brother a pointed look belying the jest. "You're already flesh made stone." 

[irinadashieva]

Visit Original Link

Imagine Dragons - Nothing Left to Say

[rodricktyce]

By his own admission, Rodrick had never been much one for large gatherings. The people were too numerous, the smell of wine too pungent, and the temperature of the rooms too warm to ever be entirely bearable. Large gatherings with the singular purpose of parading Rodrick and his brother about on their name day were decidedly worse, he'd concluded. 

Their guests were far more attentive towards him than they had been the last time Queensgarden hosted such numbers. Some were tolerable, offering their celebratory remarks curtly before excusing themselves and joining the festivities. Others, however, had a tendency to linger. In both the physical sense and the conversational one. Three lordlings had already attempted to (with what he presumed they considered to be subtlety) broach the subject of Rodrick marrying one of their daughters, by his count. Of all the things he didn't want to deal with on his birthday, political alliances very nearly topped the list entire. 

Slipping away from the crowds as discreetly as he was able, Rodrick beckoned a goblet of wine from one of the serving boys before tucking himself away in the corner of the hall. His usual haunt at events such as these, if ever there was one. He just needed a moment to refresh himself--to clear his head, before surrendering himself to a pit of vipers for second helpings.

[tyceleone-deactivated20131105]

   “If it is our celebration, why is it that we can’t engage to activities of our liking” Leone inquired  in an irritated tone. He was never much of a dancer, he refrained from drinking also. There was simply nothing to entertain him in the ballroom. His father’s attempt to take up the opportunity of their biirhday to bring the North and South in the West was failing to amuse him.

[rodricktyce]

Rodrick let out a gentle snort of amusement at his brother's indignation. He might have found the festivities equally as tiresome - though for entirely different reasons altogether - but he couldn't see any good coming from voicing such complaints. The circumstances were what they were and there wasn't anything they could do to change that. "We'd likely lose you to your sword training the entire week, were that the case." He shot Leone a pointed look before turning back towards the crowds. "You cannot blame our parents for wishing to see their eldest on his name day, after all."

[diviaugustus]

Richard + smiles

[rodricktyce]

Things To Come || Rodrick & Andromaque

[andromaquebeauroza]

Andromaque fondled idly with the material of her skirts, pinching the thin first layer of fabric between her index and thumb. Just so as she did in childhood whilst contemplating. It became habitual after sometime; perhaps prompted by a sense of either anguish or vexation. “You are my son.” Andromaque stated matter-of-factly. “And thus, you are no foreigner to Winterhaven. Beauroza blood runs thick in you as Tyce and Beauroza is of royal descent.” Tilting her head with a simper, her sights fixated on Rodrick momentarily before retreating back to her fidgeting fingers in a pause that would permit him the opportunity to ponder her words. “Somewhere down the line, we are in relation to the Winslows.”

Subtly, Andromaque removed herself of her seat, though maintained her position beside the armchair. “It is now clear what The Three have intended. I knew of my significance.” Her simper grew, now depicting a vehement grin occupied by overwhelming sentiment. In a slow stride, Andromaque neared Rodrick and knelt before his seated figure with the intention of meeting his eye. Her hand grasped for his where she proceeded to caress her thumb against his knuckles in an affectionate gesture. “We will aid the Southerners before we seize Winterhaven for ourselves and you will take Deston’s place. Millard will continue his reign over Queensgarden whilst you will have the throne of the thrones. We will be the most powerful family written into history. Would you like that?”

Her earnest emphasis over her own derived tactics could have easily concluded there was no vex, though pervasive confidence in her demeanor. To have Rodrick atop that throne, Winterhaven would be primarily under her influence for years to come. The establishment that was once thriving before her own birth would again redeem itself to the potential of its full glory in given thanks to her efforts. “Let the Southerners kill Deston and his family and we will take the throne. The Winslows, the Haelstarvs. I have no doubt it is what they intend; to remove them entirely of succession. Furthermore, there can be no threat to your claim and you will be the king of Valedestoria. You will hold a title above your father as he still lives.”

[rodricktyce]

“What?” Rodrick spluttered, face blanching of its own accord. If it weren’t for the back of his chair determinedly denying the escape he so desperately craved, or his mother’s hand anchoring against the overwhelming need to flee, he wagered he’d already be halfway across the castle by now. Some small part of him imagined she knew that too—that her touch was meant as much to keep him in one place as it was to steel his nerves.

She couldn’t honestly be suggesting what he thought she was, though... could she? It simply didn’t sit right in the depths of him. Being heir to Queensgarden was a terrifying enough prospect; the idea of seeing over Valedestoria in its entirety was enough to make Rodrick want to bar himself in his bedchambers, never to be seen or heard from again. To be responsible for so many people... Rodrick vigorously shook his head, words escaping him entirely. As far as he was concerned, his mother was wrong to put her faith in him when it came to such a feat.

Rodrick made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand from hers – the weight of his mother’s hand searing through to his bones themselves – but ultimately decided against it, lacing his fingers with hers and squeezing tightly in some attempt to vocalise his concern.

“I’m not—“ A sigh of frustration escaped his lips. Both his throat and his chest felt too tight for any words to ever possibly slip through, his breaths coming out in shallow bursts through tightly-gritted teeth. Valedestoria would not want him. And why should they? He was little more than a boy in the eyes of men, one already plagued by his own demons at that.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Rodrick glanced up at her from beneath his lashes, a myriad of fears lurking behind his gaze. “Why me?”

[rodricktyce]

Second Meetings || Rodrick & Cecilae

[cecilaeigniscor]

Cecilae couldn’t help the smile and laugh that escaped her lips. With those few words, Rodrick had seemed to ease Cecilae in a way that hadn’t happened since they had snuck their way into Winterhaven. She bit her lip after she calmed down, looking at her feet that were slowly but surely being covered by the falling snow.

She seemed at a loss as to how to reply to that. Surely he knew he wasn’t that bad of a dancer. Cecilae thought he could be as good of a jouster. Anything seemed possible if thought about hard enough. Even something as simple as dancing.

"You never stepped on my foot, my lord." Cecilae lifted her head to stare at Rodrick with his smile on his face. She smiled herself. "You were a perfect dance partner." Her thoughts began to drift back to that dance. While she remembered him being slightly awkward and shy at first, she remembered him following along really well; she kept up with him and they didn’t miss a beat that she knew of. 

Her thoughts returning to the now, Cecilae couldn’t help the innate want to ask if Queensgarden had made their decision. The snow had made her remember all that was happening, and Cecilae couldn’t push it away. She signed, her happiness dwindling. This snow seemed to suck all of her happiness away, instead leaving her with this depression that continued to mock her. She couldn’t just ask him though. Her eyes drew shut and she said, “I apologize, my lord. It would seem the snow makes me more aware of things. I seem to be out of sorts.”

[rodricktyce]

A blush crept up upon his cheeks despite the cold, though Rodrick dropped his head in some half-hearted attempt to hide it, a hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Chuckling softly, he glanced up at her from beneath his lashes. “In part thanks to you, I should think.”

Opening his mouth to speak, an unintelligible stammer escaped his lips--a culmination of too many thoughts vying for dominance at once. Clearing his throat, Rodrick mentally prepared himself for a second attempt. "You need not apologize, My Lady. We could move inside, if you like?" If she wanted to remain in his presence, that is. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd prefer to take her leave of him. Laden with knowledge of her true identity as he was.

He could nearly feel his nerves working themselves into never-to-be-untangled-again knots as he waited for a response. It was not often that Rodrick actively attempted to continue a conversation, keenly aware that the people he spoke rarely wished for such anyway.

[rodricktyce]

Best Laid Plans || Rodrick & Irene

[irenehaelstarv]

Irene shifted in her chair, conveying a lack of ease at Rodrick’s confession. Her brows lifted in concern, though she was silent while she pondered upon a well response. Her fingers tapped idly against the wooden arm of the seat in contemplation. Her lips pressed into a thin line before her gaze fixated on the mantel. “I am… sorry.” Her response was not the one she sought out, cursing herself beneath her breath once it had been said. Did she only have her petty apologies to bestow? “Rodrick, what might happen to you if they only exacerbate over time?” It was an inquiry she did not want to know the sincere answer to. “You shouldn’t suffer alone. It is a choice. You are fortunate to have the people in your life that you do.” Nevertheless, Irene understood his hesitation. Her own problematic disorders were concealed to spare herself of humiliation.

With a faint twitch of her lips, she attempted a smile, though failed in this endeavor. “I can relate to your sentiment. I wish only I could assist you when you fear disturbing anyone else.” Finally, her gaze averted from the mantel and turned to Rodrick. “It is like my mother whom sees the sad in my eyes, though when she questions me, I merely smile and imply the day is beautiful to appease her wary conscience. A defiant act of ascending lies intended to heal others as opposed to ourselves.”

Guilt again consumed the ache in her chest when the truth had been voiced. Her brows furrowed together, depicting that an offense had been taken. Standing from her chair in a movement of ease, she shook her head in response. “No.” Her tone was crude, supporting the shift in her demeanor. “You think me to be such an ill friend that I’d jeopardize you in that way? I am the heir to Valedestoria.” With each word, the volume of her voice increased, emphasizing the quivers and cracks. “Even now, I risk your life by conversing with you. Is it not enough?” Irene had by now succumbed to the heavy weight of burdens on her shoulders, her trembling legs threatening to let her fall. When had she last eaten? Could she not recall? The complexity of her situation was difficult for even her to fathom. 

Taking a step forward, her grimace was beginning to lighten, though her agitated demeanor plagued by worry was unwavering. “I am trying.”

[rodricktyce]

Hands balling into fists at his side of their own accord, Rodrick set his jaw in an unbearably tight line, desperate to ignore the answers her question incited. If the... incidents were to worsen over time, he imagined he probably wouldn't be much use to anyone any more. He cast his gaze downwards as he felt the tell tale sign of tears brim his eyes unbidden. At least Nevaeh could distinguish fact from fiction, if only through sheer elimination. Rodrick scoffed softly, shutting his eyes with regret as he let his head drop. Nevaeh had her own problems to contend with, too. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he let his fingers tap an arrhythmic beat against the mantelpiece. “I do not know,” he said. “I imagine I would likely be confined to a single room most days.” For my own protection, he thought sadly. “Under constant supervision, I've no doubt,” he added quickly, unable to completely hide the bitterness that laced the sentiment. Rodrick shrugged meekly. “I hope it does not come to such.”

He'd attempted to mimic her would-be smile, though he also seemed to fail in such, the expression ultimately falling flat. “For what it's worth,” he murmured, to Irene or to himself, he couldn't quite determine, “you do assist me—in your own way. 'Tis... appreciated.” Rodrick hoped such assistance was mutual, though he didn't voice such, unwilling to put such a question out in the open.

The swiftness with which Irene unseated himself took him by surprise, eyes widening ever so slightly before he regained his composure.

His chest grew heavy as she spoke. She was right. Of course she was right. If he were in her position, he'd probably do everything he could to keep her out of harm's way, too. And yet, there he was, likely making Irene's troubles more burdensome than they already were. Rodrick sighed, lifting a hand to pinch at his nose. He was a damned fool.

As she moved towards him, Rodrick let his hand fall back to his side before catching her gaze straight on. “I'm sorry,” he said, with the utmost sincerity. “I'm not helping.” The acknowledgement was more for his sake than hers—as if voicing the thought aloud solidified the truth of it in his own mind.

Closing the distance between them, he tentatively gripped her hands in his. “Tell me what it is you wish me to do – whether it be to desist entirely or otherwise – and see it done.”

[rodricktyce]

A Winter Chill || Rodrick & Wiley

[mrbradleycollins]

"I do not exactly shout my name through the streets.. My Lord. I am but a mere merchant." 

He knew meeting someone from Queensgarden would bring troubles with his cover up. But who were the royals to know everyone in their land? Specially one far from court, living a life lower than the nobles. Most of them wouldn’t even want to know anyone who wasn’t even a noble. 

"Thank you, My Lord." Wiley answered him. Apart from the lies he had said, the part about the East was true and thinking about it still hurt him. All the memories and loss. Eventually he looked back up at the man, giving him a sly smile of appreciation. "It was unfortunate indeed.. I wish it will not be repeated."

[rodricktyce]

Why would a merchant...? Rodrick shook his head--he could look into it later. 

"You and I are alike in such desires," he said. Though he knew very few of the details about the East and what befell it, only managing to garner snippets here and there, it certainly wasn't a tragedy he was keen to see repeated. 

A puerile curiosity stirred in his breast as they spoke. What better way to learn more about the East than ask a direct source? Though he quickly banished the thought to whence it came. The man's memories clearly held no small amount of discomfort for him, and Rodrick wasn't completely sure how much he trusted Wiley anyway.

"If you'll excuse me, Sir Rosset." Folding an arm across his chest, Rodrick bowed at the waist before making his departure, keen to figure out if anyone else knew of this Wiley Rosset.

[slayings]

"Now everything I thought I knew has been shaken. Perhaps there’s no honor in anyone. And each of us is alone."

[rodricktyce]

Second Meetings || Rodrick & Cecilae

[cecilaeigniscor]

He must be freezing. Cecilae wondered what had made him give up his cloak so generously; surely he couldn’t stand this cold any more than she could. She wanted to hand him back the cloak, but at the same time it was so comfortable and warm. And it would probably be rude to hand it back so soon.

"It is cold," she said. She glanced at the snow falling from the sky and let some fall on her before looking once more at Lord Rodrick. "If it’s freezing for me, it must be the same for you. But, perhaps it is not as cold as some of the people here." She glanced at the people she could tell were from Winterhaven.

They acted like the cold personified. Their faces were emotionless, their statures straight as can be. Cecilae could never live here. For one it was too cold, and the people were not pleasurable company either. But, perhaps they merely needed to get acquainted. “How is Winterhaven for you, my lord? Surely you’re more at ease here than I.” Shuffling the cloak tighter, she curled underneath it as a gust of wind picked up and caused some of her hair to blow behind her.

She took the time to study Rodrick more as she waited for his answer. His dark locks blew in with the wind as her hair did, and his green eyes looking at her. Her sisters words echoed in her head. Perhaps you two could become better acquainted… Would Sophrionia be proud of her for speaking to him now? A blush overtook her face. Cecilae couldn’t flirt. Where did one begin for that? Shaking her head, Cecilae tried to clear her thoughts. It would not do to think of things like this. They would make no difference she supposed.

"Will you be joining any joustings, my lord? Or any of the other activities while here?" She smiled slightly, thinking back to his reaction to her asking if he danced.

[rodricktyce]

“They adapt to present circumstances,” Rodrick murmured, shrugging his shoulders as he followed her gaze, sparing a brief glance at their undeniable Northern companions. We all do what we must to survive, he thought. Were the people any warmer, their chances at such seemed far less likely, in his opinion.

Eyes narrowed and brows knitted together of their own accord, he mulled over her question a moment. Was he more at ease than she was? More than likely. Was he at ease in general? Not particularly, no. Rodrick worried his bottom lip between his teeth and inhaled sharply, offering Cecilae a sheepish look. “It is not Queensgarden,” was all he could come up with.

Shutting his eyes tight as a particularly strong gust of wind swept their way, Rodrick let out a nervous chuckle, his breath turning to mist as it met the cool air. He’d had some notion of righting the mess that his hair undoubtedly was in that instance, though he eventually decided against it, absolutely certain it’d only fall out of place again.

“Ah—no,” he stammered, a faint heat encroaching upon his cheeks at her inquiry. Even if his family did approve of him competing in such events – the possibility of him passing out mid-joust from his own sleep-deprived state saw such a thing deemed completely out of the question – Rodrick had never really come around to the idea of it anyway. It was a bit too... dangerous for his tastes. “I bruise too easily for that, I fear,” he added, making some attempt at recovering from his previous stutter. “Though I might accidentally stomp on some unsuspecting lady’s foot in a dance, perhaps,” he said softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

[rodricktyce]

A Winter Chill || Rodrick & Tess

[crystal-wittman-deactivated2014]

"Very true" Tess agreed with a nod, Irene could be doing worse in regards to age, at least Drago was still relatively young and could provide her sister with some joyous times, should she allow it although Tess doubted as much. Irene seemed to have her heart set upon becoming a martyr. "Perhaps a man without such a reputation then," she added with a slight bitterness that almost echoed the cool winds around Winterhaven. "I’m sorry, I should not speak so ill of your Uncle, I am just a little protective over my sister and want to see her happy." But she wouldn’t be happy, that much clear but then again Tess struggled to think of anything that could truly make her sister truly happy. 

"Anyway…" Tess beamed suddenly changing the subject, her sullen mood forgotten for the moment, "What brings you out here in such a bitter cold? I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, I have lived her for a very long time and sometimes I even struggled with the bitterness." She spoke in a friendly manner, her smile seemingly widening, "were you by any chance looking for the joust? I can’t really think of another reason for you to be out here. There are the gardens of course but they are nothing compared to the ones you have in Queensgarden." 

[rodricktyce]

Rodrick frowned at Tess’ amendment. A man without such a reputation… thatwas something he couldn’t argue to the contrary. Lips parted a moment before he breathed a sigh, he shrugged his shoulders, a corner of his mouth twitching. Drago was who he was.

He nodded in understanding as she spoke of her protectiveness towards Irene—Rodrick wanted her to be happy too. Even if it was with someone as unlikely as Drago. He shook his head, rolling his eyes beneath their lids. Not now, he thought.

Relieved by the change of subject, Rodrick let out a soft snort of amusement. Bitter cold, indeed. For a brief moment, he found himself missing home when she spoke of the gardens, but he quickly pushed that aside. A single day away didn’t warrant such homesickness. “Winterhaven has its own beauty,” he offered blandly, tilting his head in contemplation.

Breaking from his reverie with an awkward cough, he bobbed his head in affirmation. “The joust,” he agreed, “though I’m thinking better of it.” Rodrick’s gaze wandered about the courtyard before settling on her once more. “I appear to have met my match in the chill. I don’t know how you bear it.”

[rodricktyce]

A Winter Chill || Rodrick & Wiley

[mrbradleycollins]

"So then you are not used to this climate. I suppose that when you spend some hours outside you forget it’s actually cold."

Because it was what he had been doing. He had been out here long enough to ignore the cold air against his skin and shaking his bones. Turned out he was one of the few to be able to do that, as the man already shuddered at the next breeze. 

"I will not argue with you on this, My Lord. Everyone responds differently to the temperatures. Some are more fortunate than the others to barely notice the cold or the heat."

There we go. No we have not, My Lord. Wiley is the name, Wiley.. Rosset. I fled from the East when I was a young pup, been living on the outskirts of Queensgarden ever since. Few miles from the snows of Winterhaven.”

[rodricktyce]

Forget it was...? Rodrick shook his head, eyes widening a moment in disbelief as he pulled his coat tighter around him. The man was mad, surely. If he lingered in the cold for hours, he was almost certain someone would find him, as frozen as an icicle, huddling under a tree somewhere.

Brows furrowing, he lifted his thumb to scratch at his bottom lip, contemplating Wiley all the while. He'd never heard the man's family name before—though that, in itself, wasn't necessarily cause for alarm, living on the outskirts as he did. Rodrick did wonder what, however, what cause the man had to attend if his family name didn't carry any particular weight. “I've not heard of you before,” was all he said, keeping his voice soft and as impassive as he was able.

“What happened in the East was unfortunate,” Rodrick eventually offered, still unsure of what to make of the man. “You have my sympathies.”

[rodricktyce]

Best Laid Plans || Rodrick & Irene

[irenehaelstarv]

"Far from it." Irene confessed in a hint of reluctance. Rodrick was an exception to her true sentiment. "I am frightened and tired. Just tired." To insist of her fatigue before Rodrick seemed petty in comparison to his struggles. Though it was not a similar struggle of which he faced; only was she tired of living. To that much, she would not confess. His burdens; he had his own to face. Irene would refuse to contribute to that more than she already had. Instead, she’d be persistent to conceal the severity of her situation before him. "But what of you?" She questioned. "How are you, Rodrick? Are you happy. I’d hope so. How are my flowers doing?"

Her smile appeared almost vacant; forced and nearly absent of emotion. “I’m glad they have you to care for them. I’m sure your gardeners grow tiresome and scarcely give the love that is deserved. It is merely their job.” Leaning into the comfort of the chair, her shoulders fell as tension had fallen from them and her eyes appeared droopy; worn. “There are too many folk out there. I don’t like loud noises.” At this, her upturned lips widened with a chuckle to accompany her. “So least, I hope they are enjoying themselves.”

Her smile faded as quickly as it had been presented, trouble by her thoughts that never ceased to fail in disrupting her peace. “I feared you’d be upset with me above all my fears. Above fearing death. I cannot bare to lose a friend; not now. Drago was not my choice. No matter how much I attempt to convince myself he is, there is no truth to such a statement. I beg you are not infuriated with my choice. I hadn’t the intention of this.” Irene had been struck with sudden guilt to overwhelm her. It was a subject she had hoped to avoid, though her mind did not permit as much. “Drago and I both know the union is not of happiness. I am merely helping him. I question at what price, however.” For the time being, her eyes wandered aimlessly, keeping occupied to avoid any contact with Rodrick. “He promised to help me in return. He has offered me more than any other has; a way out.”

Irene bit back her lip, suppressing her sorrow. There was a sense of gratitude that the room was so dimly lit. “I promised him as much as Valedestoria and an heir. In return, he promised freedom. This is why I must unseat Deston. I still have to play my part.”

[rodricktyce]

Am I happy? The question was simple enough. Yes or no. Happy or unhappy. Rodrick frowned, brows knitting together as he cast his gaze downwards in confusion. Was he happy? He was certainly content, he knew that much. Moments of genuine pleasure weren’t so hard to find that he’d be warranted in branding them strangers... but could he truly describe himself as a happy man? His frown deepened, the corners of his lips drawn taut against his skin. He was capable of happiness, he’d concluded, but he didn’t have it yet, not completely.

Sighing, Rodrick lifted his head, though it felt far heavier than it’d ever done before. He’d been tempted to skirt the truth, pretend he was jolly and well for Irene’s benefit – she didn’t need his own burdens cast upon her side of the scales alongside her own – but an ill-feeling settled in his gut at the thought.  He didn’t want to lie to her. By the Sisters, he didn’t even think he ever really could. His face would quickly give the game away, overwhelmed by some sort of puerile guilt. No, he thought. Not guilt. No alternative sprung to mind, but Rodrick knew it was something more deep-seated than that.

“I’ve been better,” he whispered, still tempted to gloss over his own problems. “My...” A sound of discontent sounded low in his throat, a suitable way to describe his hallucinations without inciting a degree of self-loathing escaping him entirely. Rodrick’s arm sliced through the air in a jerky moment and he hoped she’d managed to catch his meaning. “They are...” he sighed, “more frequent now.” His shoulders slumped a little at the confession. “My family—they do not know.” Rodrick caught her eye a moment, offering her a weak shrug, before raising himself off his haunches and moving towards the fireplace, an elbow coming up to rest on the mantel.

He tilted his head back towards her with a solemn smile. “Your flowers bloom the brightest.” Rodrick wouldn’t have allowed otherwise. Visiting Irene’s makeshift garden had already become a habit; he’d pass them by on his usual turns about the garden. Every day, without fail.

Rodrick spun on his heel at her admittance, jaw clenching in an unbearably tight line. He exhaled a deep breath, counting to ten in his head. His anger wasn’t directed at her, not in the slightest. “Irene,” he said, voice hoarse and broken, though he didn’t grimace at the fact as he so often would. “You will never lose me.” Holding her gaze, Rodrick attempted to convey his utmost sincerity as best he could in a single look. Irene was one of the few true friends he had, he couldn’t much bear to lose her either.

“Oh, Irene,” he breathed, head rolling back in disbelief. Putting his thoughts of Drago to one side, he let his arm drop from the mantel, hands hovering uncertainly at his side. A way out... All that for a way out. “You need only have asked. I would've—I could've found some way to help.”