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@steelworn
⭑ steelworn‚ dependent and associated with 103ac, telling the story of a multitude of muses. all crafted with love by is (she/her). do not interact unless affiliated, mature themes will be present.
lord daemian celtigar, of claw isle, second sons sellsword. lady falyn tyrell, of highgarden, heir to the mander. lady cassella fossoway, of cider hall, prev. lady of lemonwood. dame betha rivers, of stone hedge, knight of house bracken.
rivers a, savannah lee smith, twenty-five, cis woman, she/her ⭑ the hand of the late king welcomes BETHA RIVERS, the bastard of stone hedge and a knight of the seven kingdoms, to the kingsmoot. the realm knows them to be loyal and determined, but the master of whisperers has unearthed information that speaks to their stubborn and flighty tendencies. to dream of them would be to dream of wind that whips through curls as she is seated upon her great courser, the thundering hooves kicking through grassy plains; a lance held tightly in one hand, a shield nestled in the other as she speeds towards a victim; breathing in the freshness of the riverlands and feeling the humidity warm against her skin. they themselves dream of any house but blackwood on the throne. time is an unwieldy mistress, and only she may tell who will sit the iron throne when the dust settles.
information page.
ANNIE GROVER
Cruel Intentions - 1.04 Delta
FATED FOR … any and all.
FOUND IN … the courtyards, following the funeral.
the ebony collar of their jacket scratched unhappily against the inked column of his neck, only irritating him further. it was a somber drag. funerary and travel, punctuated by the miserable image of the lady lannister trailing after her husband's clean picked bones. death had always bothered the reyne. a plague. a poison. a pointed sword. it could find any of them at any moment — reducing your achievement to an insignificant death. we shall never see his like again. words muttered in passing, empty grief over a corpse they did not know. what frauds.
“it's all fucking bizarre,” sevan says, features reading his distaste. tucked between pinkening molars, the knight chews at a wad of sourleaf. a miserable attempt at calming their frayed nerves. “everything i hear about this damn feast is a curse.”
cassella could not help the small laugh she had let out at the young liege's words, a hand resting against her barely protruding belly. "i would not say i disagree with you, though i am sure there had been some nice moments we had missed." she could only guess or hope. it was hard to do so when it came to the whole of westeros, she had not grown up in it like most of the others within king's landing did. she had grown within the lemon groves of dorne, free and lively. only by marriage was she forced into their customs and traditions, though a kingsmoot is not something she would have pegged the council to agree upon — the iron islander traditions never looked upon well by the mainlanders. "it is a wonder to me that no one has slinked back to their dwellings, though perhaps they do not wish to make suspicions worse, my liege."
ADITI RAO HYDARI in FITOOR (2016)
there's nothing she wants for more than to sink into his embrace forever. his voice washing over her , his touch so effortlessly warm. she had forgotten , how a home could be built from only two arms and the way they held her. like something precious , to be endlessly cherished. for as long as she had gone without them , how unfairly easy it was to fall right back in. the feeling of the weight she had carried for the entirety of the night lifted so suddenly , like the darkness chased away by candlelight , and suddenly she could breathe again. holding as much as she allowed herself to be held , she fully melted into him , taking comfort where it finally , finally came. ❝ the gods would not be so cruel , i would not allow it of them. ❞ uttered with a stubborn assurance , like a claim before them all. for she knew intimately , the pain of sitting at the bedside of one so loved , and she refused to entertain even the thought of either of them in such a situation. ❝ i will not have you at my sickbed , and you must never put me in a position to sit at yours. if you were to catch it , daemian … ❞ the words fading into the worst of her fears , she shook her head as if the motion alone would ward off the disease. it would not do , to think on it , at risk of inviting the possibility of it a chance to take flight. here , in the embrace of the one who loved them most , tucked quietly into the quiet of the woods , nothing of the sorts would ever touch them.
his words to follow are steeped in a truth better left unspoken for the sake of her own heart. as right as he is to say them , a part of her wants to refute them as soon as they befall her ears. for the injustice of their lives , for the reality they found themselves in. forced to leave the side of the one she loved , and now speechless to argue against the reasons why. for she knew as well as daemian did the risks of their meeting here , even now , and the impossibility of explaining themselves if they were ever to be found. still , it only caused for her press her fingers harder into where they held him , to rub her cheek in protest against the dip of his shoulder. ❝ it wouldn't have mattered. i would sit through every last one of their questions if it meant i could remain at your side. ❞ with bared teeth and the doggedness now so deeply ingrained in her , she would have sat through the humiliation of laying her soul bare before them all. even if it meant sacrificing the secrets of her heart ; of being forced to speak on the dreams that she'd held close for years.
it is only upon what comes next that she is able to appreciate how the night had played out. for not being forced to reveal the truth of her heart before an audience , but in the privacy of their embrace. heart pounding in her chest , she raised her hands to hold his face between them , directing his averted gaze until it returned to meet her own. ❝ daemian celtigar ⸻ my daemian. ❞ and while her eyes held a glassy sheen , this time the tears were not for heartache , but for the rush of overwhelming happiness. ❝ i have waited a lifetime to hear these words from you , but even longer to tell you. ❞ running a thumb over the scar upon his jaw , she finally set the truth free. ❝ i love you. i have always loved you , daemian. i never stopped. ❞
despite the circumstances of their reunion and the ones that lead to him holding her amidst a wood, daemian could not help but feel grateful. he had never been known to care for much, especially not when it came to nobles. he had seen sickness. watched it ravage through villages of smallfolk only for them to receive no help from those that were supposed to be overseeing them. it made it hard for him to care about those that laid in the sickrooms of the red keep. karma is what it was. whatever gods had been real spiting those that deserved sickness to befall them. surely, he would not share these sentiments with syrenna, not when her own stepmother — something he had not been used to since learning of lady baratheon's newest endeavor — had laid in one of them. that would just be cruel of daemian and the last thing he wished for when he had syrenna in his arms for the first time in nearly a decade was to be cruel. the only thing he cared about right now was her, the rest of the red keep be damned. "there will not be a day where i will have you sit at my sickbed, sapling." daemian's voice is filled with a love that had been hidden in the back of his throat for years, an affection that is rare in his life and one he gives to no one but her. "you have already seen me battered and bruised, i believe that is enough illness for you to have seen of me." he thinks of worse. everything that had transpired in essos: the blood, the carnage, the death. now is not the time to think on that though, not when he has a moment of peace away from everything; not when she is in his arms, and he feels whole again. her stubbornness does make him laugh, his chest rising and falling in quick movements. "ever my stubborn girl." it is sickeningly soft, his nose coming down to rub gently against the skin of her cheek as he breathes in the scent he had missed so dearly. in this small pocket of peace, where it was just the two of them, daemian could forget he had someone waiting for him at the end of an altar. all that mattered was syrenna. daemian was sure that is all that would ever matter to him, especially now having her back in his life. he did not know how long that was going to last, nothing good ever came with standing next to him. the confessions he had left out in the open, the ones tumbling from his lips now had his body tensing under her hold. reluctantly he lets her grab hold of him, violet eyes that were sheened over with fear looking into her own. daemian had never feared something like this. to stand with his heart being handed to her, wondering if she would hold it tenderly or let it drop to the ground with a squelch. hearing syrenna call him hers makes said heart thunder inside of his chest, a hope rising like bile in his throat before it's bursting. "you love me," his words are breathless as they leave him, "you have loved me." his fingers dig into where he is holding her waist, pressing himself into her flesh and drawing her close once again, until their noses touch and his lips ghost across her own — an almost kiss. "i have wished to hear you say that since i was just a boy. oh, my syrenna, you are a dream come true."
「 ⚔ 」 STATUS ﹕ closed. 「 ⚔ 」 LOCATION ﹕ their chambers idk roll with it. 「 ⚔ 」 WITH ﹕ @steelworn ( & cassella )
it would have been easier to remain home, to hide entirely from obligation. edmure wondered if they still could, draw up some sort of excuse to say their farewells early and fall away back to their beloved orchards. then, he could sit beneath the lemon trees with his beloved wife, feeling her stomach round out and swell to accommodate their growing child. it would be the third born amongst the citrus, the fourth created from their union, the fifth they called their own ; it did not matter which branch bore the fruit, only that they were plucked ripe and plump. it was a breath of relief when he finally returned to their chambers and found his wife safe, unwinding, away from the mourning and the courts. if it hadn’t been for their son’s reluctance to return to his own quarters, edmure would have joined her much sooner. “the moment we are able to return home, the better,” spoke the lord with a sigh, welcoming the woman into his awaiting arms, “are you well ? how is our babe ? ”
it had been difficult for cassella to deal with the passing of her good-sister's husband. perhaps he might not have been the best man she had known, but the idea of her own husband leaving her left a hole inside of her chest she does not know could ever be mended. the anxiety rising within her at the thought makes her heart beat quicker, wishing he was with her to calm her down. that is what he was to her, the calm without the storm. perhaps there had been storm in the beginning throes of their marriage, but she believed that it was those that got them to where they are now. four children and one on the way, the love they shared clear as day through that alone. of course, the thought of edmure would bring him forth to her. if she were to believe in anything, it was that their fates were tied together. falling into his awaiting arms feels like coming home, her arms finding their place circled around his neck, and her head tilted to look at him. "if it were not for the our nieces and nephews, i am afraid i would have said we do not come at all," cassella had only cared for them when she had heard the news, had only come to support her family. the kingsmoot was nothing of concern when her husband did not vie for it, her support would go for house lannister and their bid. "the babe has been giving me trouble, though all of your babes have always managed to do so," she gives a light laugh in jest as she slides a hand down his shoulders and chest, bringing it out to jab into his chest in accusation. "it is nothing to worry for though. the children we have brought with us, i worry more for. how do you think they fare? i have not seen them since the morn." there's a sad lilt to ther voice, “you either, my husband. what is it that has been occupying you?”
closed. for maelora celtigar, @liver-y. location. the sitting room between the celtigar chambers in the red keep.
daemian had always hated when his mother called for him. he hated it as a child and he hates it now even more. he also hates that he still listens. a man of eight and twenty and still following the word of his mother like he was some dog on a lead for her. it made him fume, the fact that she had called him back from essos with a threat. he should have just ignored her, kept to his business of destruction, but he also knew that he couldn't. his mother would have guards personally sent looking for him, ones that were instructed to bring him back by any means necessarily and daemian quite liked his hands and he was sure his mother was okay with him losing one to get her way. he does not bother to sit down when he arrives to the sitting room between their chambers, not wishing to be close to her where she could put a hand on him in some fake greeting. he had no intentions to stay long, what he wanted was to hear whatever it was his mother had to say and then move on with his life and forget about it. he was sure it was some plot for the throne that he did not care about, a claim that they were deserved dragons and all of the nonsense she had been talking about since he was a child. daemian was not sure where the targaryen madness had come from, but he was sure the celtigar's started with maelora. "what." his voice is cold as he speaks only a single word to her.
location: the red keep, during the recovery of the victims starter for @firedreamt ; @balonstrong ; @steelworn ; @hclvedhearts !
myrcella had forgotten the last time she had enjoyed a peaceful sleep. perhaps it had been before the harvest feast. perhaps even earlier than that. the days had long since blurred together beneath a haze of sleepless nights and feverish uncertainty. every time she closed her eyes, she found herself wandering places she did not understand.
the dreams had begun as fragments. a goblet overturned upon stone, a raven beating itself bloody against a window, and then hallways that stretched endlessly through the red keep, lined with open doors and filled with mutterings she could never quite make out.
an ugly part of her had begun to blame herself. she had dreamt of death before, but never something like this. never an event so large, filled with so many people.
the thought lingered stubbornly at the edges of her mind no matter how often she tried to dismiss it. she should have said something -- should she not? another thought would follow swift. and what would you have said? would you have risked it? the questions circled endlessly, offering neither comfort nor answer.
the worst, at least seemed to be passing. servants no longer hurried through the keep with the same frantic urgency they had carried only days before. life, though remained shaken, was beginning to move forward once more.
myrcella stood alone upon one of the red keep's balconies, fingers curled tightly around the cold stone railing. night had settled over king's landing, the city below reduced to scattered lantern lights flickering against the darkness. she should have been resting. instead, she stared out toward the distant sea. if she surrendered herself to sleep, dreams would be waiting for her once again -- patient as ever.
falyn had experienced loss before, a heavy one that sits upon her shoulders still to this day. her mother had been a wonderful woman. she was kind, caring, tender, and remembering those things always brought a sorrow upon the lady tyrell. that her mother would never know her granddaughter, even if no one was ever to know her truly. her mother would not see her grow up and into the seat of highgarden. she would not watch her get married in front of the septon and praying to the seven. it hurt more to remember such things, that her mother, while she lived a full life, could not live it to what should have been the end. the thought haunts her well into the night. falyn unable to sleep, even with her daughter tucked neatly in the cradle beside her bed. normally, that would have eased all worries within her head, that she had her daughter safely by her side without any prying eyes, but she could not get the stench of death out of her nose. it was suffocating, burning up her nostrils each time she took a deep breath in. she needed air, anything that would stop this. hastily, she rips the blanket off of herself, standing up to smooth out the shift she had been wearing before throwing a cloak over herself. she did not care to be seen in such a state, not when her mind was wandering and she needed to get out. she wrenches the door open after having checked to see that talie was still sleeping soundly. "do keep an eye on her." she tells her guard as she leaves her chambers to wander about the keep. she does not intend to find any company, but a lone figure draws her in. they had only seen each other a few times since their arrival in king's landing, but there seemed to be a mutual respect between the two. "lady myrcella," falyn calls to her as she approaches, "do you mind if i join you? the night might be more peaceful with company."
time after her father’s passing seemed to move in slow motion. when rosamund had first gotten the news , she’d felt almost sick , her shakes getting so bad that her mother had forced some sweetsleep in her milk to calm her down. it had left her dazed and confused , unable to comprehend what was happening most days. she’d hidden herself away in her chambers and cried until her eyes were puffy and sensitive , janei the only one she allowed to come in. when the hurt had lessened into a dull ache , accompanied by a certain guilt whenever she thought of how silent his scathing remarks would be , she had dared to go outside. the libraries of the red keep didn’t bring her as much comfort as they should have , and her embroideries seemed like a frivolous way to keep the guilt at bay. instead , she chose to walk to gardens that lined the red keep , getting some much needed sun after being inside for so long. janei stayed at a respectful distance , allowing rosamund to keep to herself. her gaze remained unfocused on the glittering seas in the distance , only breaking their focus when she heard her name be spoken. “oh.” it slipped out before she could stop herself. it had been so long since she last laid eyes on falyn , long enough that her features had begun to fade from her memories. looking up at her now it seemed that she hadn’t remembered her at all. she was still beautiful. “lady tyrell … falyn.” her bottom lip wobbled threateningly , but she motioned to the seat next to her. “there are certainly … a lot of things are happening , aren’t they ?”
it is strange for falyn to see rosamund after so many years. not that she had ever believed the younger woman to be strange in spirit, but more so that years ago they were supposed to be wed and now falyn could hardly even call themselves acquaintances. her heart ached at knowing that. she had felt something for rosamund, something she did not quite know how to describe. an affection that had passed by them. she feels part of it now, the small sliver that was left of the bond they had grown before it broke. "it is good to see you, rosamund, even in these times." her heart lurched in her chest, the idea of rosamund's father having passed — even if falyn was sure the man despised her and her family after the betrothal. falyn bunches her skirts to make them fold nicer as she places herself upon the bench. her hands clasp in her lap and her head is turned to keep her attention on the woman in front of her. "there are," falyn's voice is soft, gentle, syrupy as she speaks. it is not unlike all those years ago, when the two had just been girls together, but ones with a future that did not exist now. it makes falyn sad to think of, to know that the woman before her had grown in the years they had not been together. that her face was still her own, but more mature. how could falyn have let the years pass without so much as a word? it was cruel and if they had been anything, it was friends. "i do not know whether to offer my condolences," it is not because she does not want to, of course she does. how horrible would she be if she did not? but, she knew was rosamund was feeling in this moment. falyn too had gone through the same. "when my mother had passed — may the seven have mercy upon her — i could not stand to hear more after the first few." she is honest, earnest. "it is not because i was not grateful that they had thought of her, but because it did not fill the hole of what losing her left." it has been years — three — since lady posey tyrell had been taken by the stranger. "it is difficult... death."
LOCATION : kings landing, after cerion lannister's body has passed by STATUS : closed ( @steelworn )
erik couldn't believe that someone had died. let alone someone as important as the ruling lannister. mara, the heir was not ready to be ruling lady but neither was he when he was thrust into the role. although he did not know much about her but he knew she did not like him. he made his way through the crowd, he wanted to at least pay his respects. the drowned gods power was weak on land but he still prayed, just in case. erik also felt less powerful here, he was like a fish out of water. he sighed after he had a glance at the mourning wagon. it reminded him of his own father. it was hard to lose someone before you were ready. he only wished his own son never had to go through this. he shook his head, he couldn't think of rodrick right now. he had things to do. erik turned towards the small groups of people mourning the late lord. he walked through another group, who seemed to be crying. it seemed like many people were upset over his death. erik did not particually enjoy the lannisters but he was not going to be cruel in a time of mourning. he offered the single person standing near him a bow and a concerned glance. "did you know the late lord well?" he asked.
while daemian had grown up visiting with the lannister children, he had never known cerion all that well. most lords were not fond of him, even at a young age and he could not quite fault them for that. he had a reputation that followed him everywhere he went, one that daemian was quite fond of sometimes — the idea of people being afraid of him had always made something jump within his chest. could he be called cruel for that? surely. but he had been called cruel for even worse things and he never bat an eye. it would be no different now. not even when the lord lannister were to be buried or burned or whatever it was the lions partook in. his death did not matter to daemian, though the looks he would get from his mother and sister if he did not attend would have been a worse fate. so he goes, but his mind is blank. death was natural, well, perhaps death by poison was not natural, but cerion was getting older — surely everyone was prepared to say goodbye to him eventually? even daemian knew that he would probably not make it to the age that the dead man had. "have you ever known me to cozy up to the gracious lords of our land, erik?" daemian's head lolls to the side to look at the man that had sidled up next to him. it had been many years since he had last seen the youngest greyjoy, but out of everyone that daemian had abandoned in westeros, he was sure erik would be the last to truly get teary eyed over it. "i do not believe i need to ask the same of you, you had never liked setting foot on the green lands. have you been faring well in this terrible time?"
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfated for . . . open to all . located in . . . the red keep's godswood, early morning on the sixth day of cerion's body being in the sept of baelor .
in a nest created by the thick roots of the red keep's heart tree, desmera is curled into a vague semi - circle. knees pulled up, arms tucked in, she commandeers a pile of leaves as the pillow upon which to lay her head, the dim twilight sun only just beginning to warm the chilled tips of her nose, the tips of her fingers. to stand and stretch her limbs, the line of her spine long and curved, would mean to have to pick the remnants of the godswood from her hair, to descend from the heart tree's domed tangle of roots and prepare to join her father in the sept of baelor once again. she could not imagine staring at cerion's body for the third morning in a row, stones in places of eyes, her stomach empty and rumbling because she had yet to break her fast. the nobles close enough to hear her belly's lament may think she had formed a penchant for the taste of human flesh! that could not stand. so she remains, one eye cracking open at the sound of another's approach, a low hum in her chest. this was her spot, after all. " it is early to be disturbing others, is it not? the keep is still aslumber. "
cassella had always been known to wake early. from the moment the sun began to peek itself over the horizon, dark brown eyes had cracked open to witness the beauty of orange and yellow cast along her home. to feel the warmth begin to heat her skin and the world begin to wake up around her. moving from lemonwood to cider hall had been no different, though apples were in the mix now as well. one of them, she had known to wander off quite often. ever since she had been a young girl, cassella had found desmera places that others would not even begin to look. it is where she stumbles upon her now, pressed against a heart tree, "and yet you lie awake, sweetling." cassella's arms holding a satchel of honeycakes and sweet berries. "sit up, eat with me."
closed to @steelworn (for falyn) setting: day after the mourning feast for lord cerion
the desire to explore was quickly dashed by the reality of the situations at hand. perhaps the stale air in hightower these past moons rotted her brain and dulled too many senses for it's only after the sobering encounter with taliesin that seraphina is reminded the dangers that lurk at every corner and the bubble in which she lived most her life. but also reigniting determination to create a life for herself (and her siblings) here in Westeros instead of fleeing. mayhaps the oldest among the seven were more aligned to their father but the realm would suffer under lord perceon, and his children would continue to as well even if some refused to see it. too many thoughts, too many eyes. she decides to venture out from the hightower guest chambers once more (she hates how she's more reliant on solitude now, loathes the isolation but seeks shelter in it).
she arrives outside the tyrell suites with a bundle of florals as a peace offering, a soft apology, a token of sisterly love, a congratulatory gift. falyn ought to have been the very first person she sought out when she slipped away. sera waits till she spots a familiar and trusted lady's maid and asks them to help arrange a meeting between aunt and niece.
at the promise the rest of the tyrells were occupied elsewhere and that falyn would be retrieved, seraphina sits in a lounging chair in falyn's guest room with some tea and the bouquet in a vase. it's not long when the maid returns with falyn in tow.
"i know it's rather presumptuous of me to steal part of your afternoon but i think a reunion is long overdue. i'll trade you tea and some sweets for the pleasure of your company."
falyn had spent more time at the grand sept than normal. it was customary for her to pray every day, the routine something she started with her mother when she was a little girl. it reminds her of the woman. gentle, warmth, and peace that she could only seem to find within her faith right now. what had transpired within the red keep was horrifying. from what was believed to be a plague to a poison — someone had poisoned these people. her friends, foes, and acquaintances. even if the latter two did not matter as much as the former, it still ached inside of her chest. how could someone even think of doing such a thing? the fingers were pointed in every direction — towards the celtigars, who had none fall ill, but who had wished for the throne over their valyrian fellows, the targaryens. the greyjoys who had been known for nothing but trouble. the redwynes for the supplied wine. even the lannisters despite one of theirs now fallen. falyn had never been fit for these aspects of court. the cruelty and deception. she had been too soft, too trusting, too kind. nothing like those that came before her and surely nothing like those that would come after her. how was she even meant to handle the seat of highgarden after her father went hand in hand with the stranger. she could not let anyone know that though, especially not her cousins who were always keen to see her fail in one way or another. it made the chamber she had been in a safe place amidst the madness. though safe was also a person, her aunt. a funny thing she had remembered growing up, being older than seraphina, but having her as an aunt. if anything, she had grown to be more of a sister. their lives so intertwined with each other's secrets that there was no one she would trust — save for vaiora — more, and upon seeing her, a relief flooded through her chest. "i would say you are saving part of my afternoon," an honest admission as she take the seat near her, "it has been far too long, sera." falyn reaches over to her, taking the closest hand into her own. "you had never returned the letter i sent. had something happened? i had begun to worry."
the events of the previous night had been an endless test of syrenna's patience. one that had begun with no warning , and now seemed to have no end in sight. an onslaught of emotions , from euphoric highs to haunting , hunting lows. to have had the man she loved more than life itself so close , to have her affections confirmed , and then to have them so cruelly ripped away in the same breath. returning to her quarters within the keep had been one of the most impossible things she had forced herself to do. from checking in on her family , then to hearing of lady helvis' first symptoms of the sickness. the long hours had passed in a cycle of constant worry , restless and relentless. sleep had refused to come , and yet they had been barred from seeing to the sick ; a caution borne of the unknown illness , and the fears that it would begin to spread. a memory too close for comfort , that had dragged her back into sitting at the bedside of her fading mother , and now the chance that another would follow.
lady helvis may have held the title in only name , but syrenna was no closer prepared to saying goodbye for a second time. but the night had passed , and those who had fallen ill still lived. coming accompanied by the empty assurances from the maesters , syrenna had wanted to push them further , but had relented before the tired face of their father , and their quarters that drowned in silence. she had lasted for as long as she could in their presence , until finally , finally , she had to flee. finding herself surrounded by the copse of the godswoods , while lacking of a proper weirwood to collapse before to pray , there was a calm to be found when all she could see around her was the embrace of branch and woodlands. and as always , the gods were swift in their answers to her. even with her thoughts so heavily clouded , and her heart pulled in so many different directions. the singular call of her name was enough to have her breaking free of the frenzy that threatened to overtake her. honing in on his voice , there wasn't enough time to search for its location before he was there before her , falling to his knees. knelt on the cold of the dirt , but with his hands so warm , her response was barely a gasp of his name upon her lips ; her own hands falling to cradle his face , their gazes locked and impossible to turn away from. not that she could ⸻ not that she ever would.
❝ daemian ⸻ daemian. ❞ little more could be said , letting his words wash over her , when relief sat so heavy at the surface. encouraing his hands to confirm what his eyes clearly questioned , she allowed herself to remain soft under his touch , to stroke soothingly in return. ❝ i'm alright , i am. the sickness has not befallen me. ❞ and while he appeared untouched by the sickness as well , he was clearly plagued by a stronger fear. spurred by the overflowing emotions of the previous night , she pulled at him until he was standing before her , only then allowing herself to fall forward into his arms , and eventual embrace. tucking herself closer until her face was hidden into the curve of his neck , and their breaths could align from being pressed chest to chest , her arms were firm in their hold where they moved to encircle him. ❝ i was so worried ⸻ tell me you are unharmed as well. ❞ muffled from where they were spoken into his skin , she breathed in the relief of having him there , of having the chance. ❝ i cannot believe you forced me to leave your side. i would have stayed with you , i should have. ❞
seeing her spread relief through him, hearing her tell him he was alright even more so. there was no world that daemian could live in where syrenna baratheon did not live. he could handle being across the narrow sea from her again — not that he wished to, or at least he did wish to go back, but not without her —, but he could not handle the thought of her going to old gods while he still lived. it ached him to even think about and he shouldn't, not when she was in front of him and as well as she could have been while a plague passed through the red keep. he tugs her closer to himself, wraps his arms around her shoulders and lets his face fall into the crook of her neck, much like she was doing to him. he could smell the wood and freshness of her scent, one that was making his mind clearer, dispelling the worry he had been feeling the whole night as chaos erupted. "i am alright, sapling, completely unharmed. i am only glad that you are well, if i had to visit the sickrooms to see you i do not know what i would have done." his words muffle against her skin, sending warm puffs of breath across the patch, his lips ghosting across it. oh to press his lips there with purpose. "i would not leave you again and especially not like that." but was he not going to eventually? leave her for the arbor or for claw isle, let himself settle into the normalcy of a life wed, but a life not wed to the one woman he had ever truly loved. it makes his saliva thick in his throat, extra effort needed to swallow the lump it created. "i did not wish to—" daemian's voice is gentle as he addresses her, "you could not have and you know that, there would have been even more questions and none that we could answer." he thinks back to mere hours ago, the stone walls of the keep where he had spilled every last secret of his affections for syrenna. the confession he had muttered before chaos had begun. i love you. it makes shame sit hot in his stomach. she had not said it back and while he wished to believe that she meant to, he was not sure if she really did. perhaps the hope was the buzz he had felt after the rushing words and heightened emotions. "last night—" daemian begins, pulling away from her, but not far enough where their bodies were not still touching, just enough to look at her. "what i said... that i—" he swallows thickly, for once nerves are set alight within him, "i love you." it burns coming out, but feels so right at the same time. to have her in his arms and tell her all he had ever wished to tell her. at the same time there is fear, enough that he turns his head away so that she does not see the look on his face, the hurt that would show if she would not say it back. "i—" courage drains from him, but he still manages to say: "i meant it. that i love you, that i still love you so deeply it hurts." daemian hangs his head, soft locks of valyrian silver fall into his eyes, "i will love you even if you tell me you don't or you never did. nothing could change how i feel about you, syrenna."
fossoway b, aditi rao hydari, forty-six, cis woman, she/her ⭑ the hand of the late king welcomes CASSELLA FOSSOWAY née dalt, the lady of cider hall, to the kingsmoot. the realm knows them to be resourceful and nurturing, but the master of whisperers has unearthed information that speaks to their judgmental and spiteful tendencies. to dream of them would be to dream of the fresh scent of lemons wafting through the air, something sweet yet tart, as they grow upon the branches of their trees; goblets clinking and cups of dornish red are poured to the brim, laughter bright amongst those at the table — something infectious; a radiant smile, something warm and bright and beckons people forward, but can hold an edge when she pleases. they themselves dream of house lannister on the throne. time is an unwieldy mistress, and only she may tell who will sit the iron throne when the dust settles.
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Falyn's eagerness settled within her like a promise. Dawn loomed with something brighter than the sun alone: an exit, however temporary, might be just what Shiera needed. She need not aim so high as the gold roses of the Reach—any flower or fruit or fieldmouse would suit her, as long as they offered her shelter she could not be plucked from. Falyn's friendship would mean much, in that direction. Wait, she told herself, even as the music stretched around them like her smile. A faint pink had overtaken the Tyrell lady, hued like roses. Imaginations of other sorts stretched out, pink and gold.
"Only natural," she said softly, suppressing the curiosity such a tale evoked. She would learn, in time, what the lady meant; or she would not. Nothing ever came from pushing a confidence that one had not yet earned. "I suppose I do not understand, but that is merely a matter of perspective. Perhaps I have never seen the possibilities there may be beyond a dip in the bay, or a late night honeyed cake pilfered from the kitchens. I would be eager to hear what else there is, though. On the morrow, then? As we explore the Street of Flour, or walk down the docks? I would be delighted to join you in your explorations, my lady; how else to make certain you do not pass by something wonderful without so much as noting it? You shall have to tell me your preference in sweetmeats; we must find something to challenge Highgarden's best cooks."
It was perhaps unlikely. And perhaps Lady Falyn would smell the stench of Pigrun Alley or Sowbelly Row, that stretched under the sun's heat to encompass entire streets around them, and remember with whom she walked. Perhaps on the morrow she would not wish to explore the city at all, or not with current company...
But perhaps she would.
END.
even though everything was different , it was as if no time had passed between them. rosamund felt her heart soar with relief at the thought that he hadn’t forgotten her. that the time had passed but their fondness for each other had not. “oh , but you are ,” rosamund replied , equally offended , even though as her eyes could not hide the happiness within them. “you are teasing me , and you’re enjoying it. just like when we were younger. is it still that my knight is the only one allowed to do so ? is this why you have returned to westeros , to tease me until i’m out of breath ?” rosamund points a very un-ladylike finger into his chest , before melting back into his arms. it seemed as if neither one of them were ready to let go just yet. “you are ,” she added , with a flush to her cheeks that wasn’t from the small cup of wine she’d previously finished. “handsome , i mean.” his compliment got stowed away for later , once she was in her chambers and could take them in in safety. dreams were not for the young lannister to keep , but it would be protected at the bottom of her trunk with the rest of his gifts. every time a new letter had arrived , a new gift , her longing for his companionship had returned tenfold. not as a haunting , but as rays peeking through clouds after a storm. quiet and hopeful. daemian had returned to her. maybe not as whole as when he’d left , but he’s there in one piece. “you never left my thoughts , not once.” his arms are still warm around her , still an embrace that was tighter than most people dared. he’d never glossed over her illness , but he hadn’t treated her like she was broken either. everyone around her , even her siblings , kept things from her in fear ( or out of pity ? ) that her body would turn on her. everyone reassured her that that wasn’t the case. only with daemian did she believe that to be true. “little lion of five and twenty ,” she proclaimed proudly , for it was a feat in and of itself. “thank you for … you always believed in me.” rosamund caressed his scarred cheek once more and immediately missed his embrace once he let go. the echo of his lips against her skin would be buried next to trinkets and dreams. rosamund looked at his extended arm and accepted it gratefully. “as long as mara doesn’t see us ,” she replied. “she seems to think fruits are the only acceptable treat for me. i don't understand it. please , get me into trouble again , my dear knight.”
END.
