who: @percival-templeton when: some weeks into the court of the vales return from the westerlands, there is news regarding the knight of ninestars. context: the aftermath of a skirmish. percival returns to the eyrie wounded, after an ambush that he suspects was set up by domeric stone.
the door creaked open with the weight of a man broken but unbowed, the heavy scrape of boots against stone loud in the hush of the queen’s solar. ravella arryn didn’t look up at first. the air still smelled of smoke and steel—battle’s sour breath—and something bitter beneath it: blood, not quite dry. her fingers drummed the armrest of her chair, nails clicking soft and sharp in the vast silence, before she let her gaze drift towards the figure now looming near the hearth.
he was a soldier, a knight of the vale; never would he take to his bed and implore for an audience to be there. he presented himself as men should be.
“you are late, lord commander.” she said, voice flat as the winter sky beyond the narrow windows, sounding as stern as she always did when they addressed one another. her eyes flicked over him—armour cracked and filthy, the gleam of blood, both old and new, streaking his temple where it matted the dark of his hair. “and you’re bleeding. again.” it took one look at him to realise that something had clearly taken place, and judging by the sounds of the mayhem and upheaval within the courtyard with the return of the lord commander's hunting party, this had to be it. it were common for her to see the knights of the vale bloodied from sparring; practice, was near perfect. less illusion, more realism.
she had kept herself away from the matter, lest it cause unrest and distress to the falcon son in her womb, ready to cleanse the world and put a right to all that was so utterly wrong.
she didn’t ask if it was his blood. it was obvious. the slow drag of his breath, the stiffness in his shoulder where it pulled too tight, the slump that pride alone barely held upright. ravella tipped her head, considering him like one might an animal that’d come home with a torn ear. it made him more appealing; attractive even, something that caused her gaze to linger just a moment too long. she cared not if she noticed it. “i imagine it was all terribly noble,” she drawled, rising at last, the silk of her gown whispering against the cold floor. she crossed to him, boots silent, though her presence pressed heavy in the room.
“swords raised. banners flying.” her fingers, cool and idle, traced the edge of his gorget, where the steel had been torn open by some near-fatal blow. she did not need to ask him who he thought was behind the ambush; all had heard the words exchanged by the men at the doors of the council following a regular meeting, in which pride and tempers had finally boiled over. it was only a matter of time before one of them made the first strike; they would be the death of one another, she thought - quite fondly.
she moved towards the table where maps lay scattered beneath the soft spill of candlelight, their edges curled and singed. her hand hovered over them before dismissing them with a flick. “do you intend to behead a snake this day?” she asked, a cascade of dark tresses hung over the small of her waist as she fixed him a look; she did not need to say the name. she wanted to hear him say the name.