setting: highgarden, the verdant concord ; @nathanielserrett
the music in highgarden drifted like the stench of too much perfume in too small a space, soft strings and laughter braided beneath lanternlight and climbing roses. aslan stood apart from it all, a dark seam in silk and shimmer, one gloved hand resting at the pommel of his sword more from habit than threat. the verdant concord had drawn half the realm into the reach’s golden embrace, lords primed and polished, scholars hungry for patronage, merchants smiling too easily. he watched them the way a man watches weather over open plains: patient, unreadable, already measuring the storm beneath the pleasant sky, waiting for the rain to come.
he had seen her earlier. clementine, bright as spring itself, moving through the garden paths with that careless grace that made men foolish, especially if they remembered her as she once wa without a septa’s robes and veil. the sight of her had soured the wine before it ever touched his tongue. it was not jealousy, he would not give it such a soft name, if he would dare name it at all, but memory, sharp and unwelcome. some ghosts wore robes instead of chains, reminding him of his penance time and again. his jaw had set then, and it had not quite loosened since.
“serrett,” he said at last, voice low and even as nate passed within reach. aslan stepped beside him without invitation, gaze still fixed on the crowd. “tell me, how do you manage to act as if you enjoy these gatherings? or have you found something to actually make it more tolerable?” a faint tilt of his head indicated the swirl of diplomacy and polished ambition around them. “all this talk of unity and shared harvests. it sounds beautiful when spoken aloud.” his mouth twitched faintly. “but it smells like shit.”
his eyes shifted then, settling on the other man with steady weight. there was no smile, only tempered scrutiny. “i intend to make more rounds through the west on our journey home. i’d like for you to accompany me, particularly as we draw closer to those within the rock who have yet to speak the oath.” he reached for a bowl of nuts, cracking one between his teeth as if to grind down the bitterness of the words. guilt stirred low in his stomach, unwelcome, inconvenient, and he swallowed it with the salt.
