#a.b. threads;

[brxndished]

immediately after his reunion with cyrenna, aren asked to be taken to cassana. like his younger sister, it had been far too long since he had last seen the lady of storm’s end, and when the door opens to reveal her he cannot help the sly grin that tugs at his mouth despite the grim circumstances that brought them together. he bows low and dramatic, all flourish and familiarity, as though they stood in happier times. “my dear sister,” he says lightly, “forgive my late intrusion. i’ve only just arrived and thought it best to greet you before i attempt to recover from three days of sleepless nights; preferably in the comfort of an actual bed.” when he straightens, the humor fades just enough to reveal what lies beneath. he meets her gaze, the relief of seeing family again edged with anxiety and quiet regret. “i’m very glad you reached cyrenna and the children before i did,” he adds more softly. “that they had someone to lean on, after everything. i would have been here sooner had the news of the fire reached me in time.” a pause, searching her face. “tell me, how are you? and how do things stand here?” he clasps his calloused hands before him, back straight and proud despite his tousled hair and well-worn clothes. @lilaccsimus

[brxndished]

ser aren baratheon is bone-tired when he finally swings down from his horse at dun fort well past sundown. days of hard riding through foul weather have left him battered - dark shadows bruise the skin beneath his eyes, his black curls whipped wild by wind and rain. he barely feels the ground beneath his boots before the reins are taken from his hand and he is ushered through dark, quiet corridors, boots echoing softly, until a door opens and he is led inside. cyrenna stands before him. his stomach twists painfully at the sight of her. the raw panic that seized him when news of the fire first reached his ears had burned itself into grim determination on the road, a foolish, desperate belief that if he rode hard enough, arrived quickly enough, his presence alone might shield his siblings and their children from further harm. but now? now he sees her clearly. not a queen, not a symbol, but a young woman hollowed by loss. a widow, a mother clinging to a crown forged far too soon. aren crosses the room without thinking and pulls her into a crushing embrace, holding her as though sheer force might keep the rest of the world from breaking in and beating her further; as though he could anchor her to something solid and familiar. “renna,” he murmurs at last, drawing back just enough to look at her, his voice rough with exhaustion and grief. “i’m so sorry.” @qelitsun