who: @briannabrackens when and where: semi-flashback to riverrun, in the days running up the yuletide balls getting into the full swing of it, ronan is getting ready for bed when his sister randomly decides to visit him. context: ronan finds out about the murder of the peake.
ronan bracken sat on the edge of his bed, boots half-untied, the heavy fabric of his tunic creased from the day’s wear. the stone walls of his quarters caught the flicker of the hearth, throwing long shadows that crawled up to the timbered beams above. he rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there, his mind far from the warmth of the room. the maester’s letter still sat open on the table, its edges curled slightly from where his damp fingers had gripped it too tight - as he read aspects of her condition getting worse. he didn’t need the bloody maester to tell him that. he could read it between every carefully penned word.
memory’s fraying. longer gaps now. refuses to eat some days. he exhaled sharply through his nose, a bitter sound, and let his head hang for a moment. she wouldn’t want this, he thought, before quickly shoving the guilt aside. there wasn’t time to dwell. there never bloody was. his mind slipped, as it often did, to the other thoughts swirlig in his mind. to conall. their talk still lingered like smoke in his thoughts—thick and hard to shake. there was a strange comfort in having conall back, even if he came draped in ambassador’s colours now. but still, the sting of cedric tyrell’s probing stuck with him. who was he to question the riverlands?
ronan clenched his jaw. the whole conversation gnawed at him, not due to any actions or words taken by conall but rather the whole situation. it resulted in the lines between duty and friendship blurring in ways that left a bad taste in his mouth, and he knew he would need to actively work to ensure lines did not cross.
he thought about the way in which he had been so certain there was nothing wrong in encouraging omer to have a drink in the moment, the familiar burning taste down their throats causing much laughter, and yet as night came there was a strange feeling of guilt and panic about it which had begun to settle itself firmly upon his shoulders. had he made a mistake? ronan exhaled hard through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, when a sudden knock at the door pulled him from the spiralling thoughts. he frowned, glancing at the dark window—it’s late for visitors. “aye?” his voice cut through the quiet, rough with the weight of the night.
the door creaked open, slow and deliberate. he didn’t need to see her face to know—it was brianna. no one else stomped about the halls at this hour like they owned the place. “bri?” he sat up straighter, squinting at her in the low firelight. “it’s gone midnight woman, what’re ye doin’ here standin' by my doorway like that? seven hells.” there was a beat of silence, her figure still half-shadowed by the doorframe. ronan felt that old flicker of unease. late-night visits weren’t her usual way—not unless something was wrong.
his voice dropped, the edge of worry creeping in. “did somethin’ happen?”
