who: @calla-lefford when and where: semi-flashback, the gates of lannisport during the gathering of the realms context: some years ago when the rpg was set in dorne, amir helped save calla from a sand storm; they had forgotten about it. until he saw a familiar face. and heard her horse freaking out.
the golden light of late afternoon stretched long over the stone walls of lannisport, gilding the air with that hazy warmth only the westerlands seemed to possess. amir manderly rode at an easy pace, the steady rhythm of his horse’s hooves lost beneath the clamour of the city’s gates—merchants barking prices, the clash of metal from distant drills, and the constant hum of the gathering swelling like the tide.
he sat tall in the saddle, the stark direwolf stitched silver over his dark cloak, though he wore the badge of his office—the merman of white harbour—at his breast as he talked to younes corbray to his left.
the sea was close. he could smell it in the breeze, that sharp tang of salt threading through the dust. but then came the sharp, panicked scream of a horse. amir’s head snapped toward the commotion near the gates, where a mare bucked violently, nostrils flared, hooves striking the air. her rider—a flash of sunlit hair, curls torn loose from their braid—struggled against the fraying reins. the horse twisted, dangerously near the stone edge where the cobbles dipped steep toward the ditch. one wrong step and—
amir didn’t think. heels to his horse’s flanks, he surged forward, the crowd scattering as his mount cut through with practiced ease. the mare was all wild muscle and terror, eyes rolled white, until amir’s hand caught the bridle in one hard pull, anchoring her mid-buck. “easy now—woah, girl—steady!” his arm strained with the force of it—the raw strength of the beast nearly tore free—but his grip held. what had he gotten himself into?
the mare’s chest heaved, lathered with sweat, hooves skidding against the stone before she stilled, trembling beneath his hold. the mare fought it, snorting thick and wild, but the pressure broke through her panic.
she staggered sideways, hooves scrabbling against the stone before her weight sank heavy beneath amir’s hold, breath coming in great, shuddering bursts. “seven hells,” he muttered, running a palm over her slick neck before glancing up at the rider. and there she was. the same fiery red hair, the same narrow emerald catlike gaze that widened in a face of panic. the memory hit quick—a storm in dorne, sand swirling so thick you couldn’t see your own hand. she’d been half-buried by it, her curls crusted with sand, skin raw from the grit, when he’d pulled her out, coughing and cursing the gods. he hadn’t thought of her since.
“you again?” he drawled, mouth quirking as he patted at the horse, half hearing something from younes corbray about being hungry and not having the time for this. “didn’t think i’d be pulling you out of trouble twice. does nature have it out for you?” he didn’t wait for an answer. he tugged the mare’s bridle once more for good measure, before tossing the reins back her way.
