there was no riddance of the all-consuming array of the sun. so she expected, and so she knew. not here, not there, not anywhere. she tries her room and the age of the stone fails to secrete, as the poorly insulated walls enclasp the heat, never to let go. their main grail to put her to sleep from inflicted spells of vertigo and lethargy. what century was this built? she wonders, though her thoughts plodding as they cogitate. not a man would last a winter within if it had been the north. the insulation would have never passed an idea, if that.
she dresses herself, as if a lady ever did. one maiden stood before her with hands placed on her shoulders to keep her upright, another fanning her, and the last tying her corset. “ so beautiful it is, but i wonder who would choose to make this home. ” she chokes on her words, as the laces tighten. her handmaidens only titter, not at their bemusement, but because they feel they must. real company … and a glass of dorne grand cru would serve her suffice, an ample distraction. the maidens pull to a side, and she inhales; one second, two, three go by and she exhales. “ i head to the castle now, do with the seconds as you please. i thank you all for your assistance. ” she nods, as they run off like three little mice, lined up and without a word more than, “ thank you m’ lady. ” or “ of course, m’ lady, whatever you need, m’ lady. ” she near wished her help did not arrive yet. she much liked the independence she embellished when on her own. how uncouth of her to even ponder, but it stood true as day.
lysara saunter to the castle, only to take an interest in the garden. there she sat below a tall tree offering much shade to her satisfaction. a servant carries out to her a glass of wine. “ at last. ” the servant’s shadow disappears at his ushering, to reveal a man plucking from the garden, but he did not look like a gardener. with curiosity, she returns to her feet to linger not far behind, only to jerk back at his so sudden acknowledgment, “ oh, but i saw it very well. ” she looks down at the pink rose, “ what will one rose do for a lady , that a bouquet could not ? ” she scans his all, taking in the flair of his wear and that of a house arryn pin, “ i am sure it would not be difficult for someone of your stance to request. ” she then curtseys, low, but not as low as she would for a lannister king or queen, “ your royal highness, ” she knew the arryn king to be old and grey, wrinkly in skin, the man before her was not so fitting, and yet she was at first skeptical if he was a prince, considering the looks did not match that of his sister or brother. “ being in dorne, i would suggest, purchasing cloth over stealing rose. one you can obtain only here, the other, anywhere. and if you are to pick flower, i suggest the daisy, roses can at times symbolize pain, whereas daisys are strictly to signify loving truly. ”
although his demeanour remained aloof and his face emotionless, a small sense of amusement washed through rowan at the sight of the woman jerking in front of him; he had caught her off guard. while his eyes gazed over the nursery of pink roses, carefully observing each one to ensure that he chose the one with the least amount of imperfections, he had heard soft footsteps and the swishing of a woman’s skirts slowly make its way closer to behind him. rowan’s endless years spent hunting and training allowed him to have sharp ears. well, that and, it helped that he was able to spend an ample amount of time with his younger sister who was deaf. the pair would often communicate by sign language, meaning that their time spent together was quiet. rowan became accustomed to the many noises that came from silence. “ah,” rowan says, his tone filled with slight jest, “well, you must name your price then so that you can unsee it.” the corner of rowan’s lips tugged into a small smirk before returning the woman’s curtsey with a low bow. “my lady. prince rowan arryn, at your service.”
now that rowan had a moment to observe the woman that stood in front of him, his eyes gazing at her pale, light-toned locks and her viridescent eyes. throughout his entire childhood, his tutor always told him stories about how those with green eyes were determined. rowan always thought this to be an overgeneralization made by his tutor, but now here he stood, in front of the woman with green eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel the determination, and resiliency radiate through this woman. “for this particular lady, one rose is all she wants. we collect them together -- every time i travel somewhere, i bring her home a flower. then when our collection is full, we take the pressed flowers to my late wife’s grave to honour her. she loved flowers, you see. it allows for my little one to do something meaningful for her mother as well. though she does enjoy daisies. perhaps you can join me and help me find one?” rowan gestured to the path that led through the rest of the gardens.
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