who: @cellaceltigar
when and where: one of the quieter libraries of kings landing's red keep, wylliam swann finds himself with unexpected company.
the library was one of the few places in the red keep where lord wylliam swann could still find something resembling peace - especially since his sister had moved back into the swann apartments within the red keep. nestled in a shadowed alcove, the faint scent of parchment and candle wax in the air, he worked through an ever-growing stack of petitions from stormlanders. the ink on the pages blurred together after hours of reading—disputes over fishing rights, grievances about the celtigar taxes, and thinly veiled complaints about the crown’s decisions, many of which wylliam himself had argued against.
his jaw tightened as he scratched out another note in the margins. his reprieve was gone, so now he hid here, in this corner of the library, attempting to focus.
the flicker of a candle beside him made the shadows dance across the table. for a moment, he allowed himself to lean back, rolling his stiff shoulders and momentarily moving his spectacles from his face, using a hand to wipe over his features. there was a manner in which he needed to speak to jaehaerys about this all; the man's first initial reaction was to shut it down, and yet wylliam knew he could not simply let this go.
the silence was disturbed by the faint rustle of movement—deliberate, not the haphazard shuffle of a servant shelving books. wylliam did not look up at first, assuming someone had wandered in to retrieve a tome. but the sensation lingered, an inexplicable prickling at the nape of his neck. someone was watching him. he kept his head bent over the petition in front of him, his quill hovering above the parchment, and his brows furrowed in momentary confusion - eventually, curiosity—or unease—got the better of him. he glanced up briefly, his gaze meeting hers.
it was a woman, standing several paces away, her silver hair catching the candlelight like molten moonlight. her amethyst eyes, too bright, too piercing, were fixed on him. he knew instantly who she was. lady marcella celtigar. he looked back down as quickly as he could, his pulse quickening, though he had no real reason for it. the celtigars and their tax policies were an irritant at best, a menace at worst, but he’d not expected to feel such an instinctive reaction—wariness that sat low in his gut, like a lead weight. perhaps because all knew of the growing tensions between wylliam and the ruling lord of house celtigar.
yet when he glanced up again, he found her still looking.
he frowned slightly, his confusion genuine as he looked momentarily over his shoulder, only then realising that there was only a window behind him - nobody else she could be looking at. “is there something i can help you with, my lady?” the words came out polite, though there was a stiff awkwardness to them that he couldn’t quite shake. why was she stood there looking at him so curiously? wylliam’s fingers tightened around the quill, and he leaned back in his chair, trying to project a calm he honestly did not feel, his brows still furrowed. “...do you usually sit here?” he gestured vaguely at the seats before him, though his attention was now entirely on her.
