a sudden desire

[wispygrace]

ruling lord emmon blackwood - intro lady myriame manderly - intro lord lancel reyne - intro

[fateofcrvwns]

In many ways, Annaya found her youngest sister to be the sibling she was fondest of while simultaneously being the most difficult to deal with. Perhaps it had something to do with being reminded of herself of sweeter, more naive days, a hint of egotism masquerading as genuine affection and frustration. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. Matters of that sort were far too emotionally revealing for her liking and thus remained primarily in darkness only to find faint light cast upon them at random moments such as this...when she found her focus divided, and thus more easily infiltrated. And with it came a suggestibility which left the mistress of laws slightly more inclined to indulge Myriame's whims. But, the inclination was easily overridden by hard won discipline.

"Bemoan my intervention all you wish, but there is a difference between enjoyment and veering into a territory some might consider wanton." Annaya sighed softly. "This is not White Harbor. The stage is far more vast and the players significantly less inclined to do any of us any favors. Let alone refrain from besmirching a young noblewoman's name for the sport of it." Although understanding and empathy for her sister's free-wheeling agenda sought purchase, the brunette had to deny them in favor of practicality. "This is not a place where anything should be left to chance if one has the ability to control." Winterfell was undoubtedly a more subdued place than the home where they had all come to be grown, but if only Myriame could see how beneficial it would be for both herself and the family and not seek to leverage this perceived future injustice to act out of turn. "And thus, I will think of it as it needs to be thought of, for the good of you and our kin. Which means I will not seek out a fresh glass for you at this time. If it makes you less fond of me, so be it." Annaya retorted, though her voice was less argumentative than contemplative

[wispygrace]

myriame fell silent. her gaze drifted downward, lingering upon on the worn stone beneath them. for a long moment she said nothing at all. when she finally spoke, there was a strange softness in her voice. "you sound remarkably like our father." she stated, a faint smile touched her lips. it was one born more from memory. 

"papa always used that tone when i had done something wrong." she let herself sink back until the her head met the cool stone wall with a dull knock. her eyes wandered toward the ceiling as though she might find him looking down from somewhere amongst the cracks. then, lowering her voice into an exaggerated imitation, she declared with theatrics, "if it makes you less fond of me, so be it, myriame." the words ended in a fit of giggles. "gods..." she covered her mouth, shaking her head. "it is exactly something he would have said." her eyes found annaya again, the corners of her lip trembled. "seven save me, you even have his face when you're scolding me." her mockery wasn’t intending to be cruel, it was largely affectionate. though she was most definitely laughing at her poor sister.

 she drew another breath and continued the performance. straightening her back and lowering her voice,  "for the good of you and our kin." she repeated annaya's words again but this time the humour died before it had properly left her lips. the words rang strangely in the chamber. for one impossible moment the words no longer belonged to annaya, they belonged entirely to him. she could almost hear their fathers voice through them. she remembered him as he had been, his arms folded as he delivered those same patient disappointments. there had never been rage in them but a strong sense of certainty. for the good of you. for the good of our house. a knot tightened low in her belly and the smile slipped from her face.

"...for the good of our kin," she repeated quietly, the words carried weight now. responsibility, duty, they all settled upon her shoulders. heavy and foreboding. in that moment she felt painfully young and foolish, perhaps annaya was right. white harbour forgave impropriety in ways that kings landing would not. she suspected winterfell to be the same. myriame had always delighted in gossip, she had rarely considered what it was like to become its subject. 

a long sigh escaped her. "very well." she rubbed at her brow before meeting annaya's gaze with a tired but earnest expression. "i understand what you are saying. i shall endeavour to think more carefully upon how i am perceived as to not wound our house"  the admission came reluctantly, but honestly, "lest we become the very centre of the gossip i so dearly love to spread. but i cannot promise i shall become dull overnight."

[tridcntspearl]

Semi-Closed Starter for @soulrcts @northernseer @illuminvtes @wispygrace Setting: A Feast™ (i'm not feeling particularly creative)

── .✦ “A fascinating thing, confidence,” Cerelle mused, her gaze drifting across the hall. “Give someone enough wine and they begin mistaking the absence of interruption for agreement.”

Her eyes settled upon the lord in question as he continued his increasingly enthusiastic tale, one hand already reaching for another goblet.

“I fear Lord Peasbury is one cup away from challenging someone to a duel.” Turning slightly toward the person seated beside her, she lifted her own cup. “Someone should perhaps remind him that time has been considerably less kind to him than his memory.”

[wispygrace]

lancel was halfway through his bite when he turned to view lord peasbury. upon seeing the chatty lord, a soft snort escaped him before turning back to his sister, “let it be me then,” taking a half sip of his goblet, "i'll be happy to receive such a challenge, show the old fool to keep his mouth shut when it is unwanted.”

his gaze lingered on cerelle as the humour slowly faded from his features. his brows knit together, a faint crease settling between them as some quieter thought took hold. "...is that how i appear to others?" he was only thirty eight. hardly an old man. there were knights still winning tourneys with ten, fifteen years on him but even so he could feel his age creeping up on him. this job was aging him. a tourney could make a man believe himself immortal, the roar of a crowd that cared only for courage and skill. the small council taught precisely the opposite. his mouth twisted and immediately lancel regretted his words. words of self doubt. but if there was anyone he could let down his walls with, even for a moment, he supposed with cerelle he could.

[sherotten]

carnelian  orbs  fell  upon  the  master  of  coin  ,  a  smile  produced  through  venom  upon  his  lips  in  the  company  of  the  other  .  snakes  ,  dragons  ,  beasts  and  men  .  were  they  not  all  the  same  ?  for  few  could  measure  his  interest  ,  to  captivate  it  and  make  sure  it  stayed  .  the  lord  reyne  ?  he  could  have  his  interest  for  like  speaks  to  like  and  while  the  world  swayed  in  it's  honeyed  liqour  ,  they  would  drown  each  other  in  wine  and  poison  .

"  no  ,  sadness  is  not  a  terrible  thing  ,  yet  do  we  understand  this  one  lord  reyne  ?  the  one  where  beasts  fell  dead  upon  the  ground  ,  coiled  in  their  own  venom  as  sickness  depraved  our  royal  houses  beloved  companions  ?  "  small  tilt  of  his  head  and  the  hand  of  the  king  studied  the  other  .  a  worthy  match  ,  or  perhaps  something  entirely  different  ?  a  laughter  which  does  not  meet  his  eyes  echoes  between  the  two  ,  not  too  loud  and  yet  not  unnoticed  .  "  yes  well  ,  it  comes  with  the  job  does  it  not  ?  every  join  which  leaves  the  treasury  is  one  we  need  to  replace  and  how  do  we  do  so  ?  "  such  questions  were  meant  for  the  table  ,  not  happy  gatherings  of  the  nobility  .

"  however  ,  you  are  quite  right  -  this  is  not  the  time  nor  place  to  consider  the  realms  coin  .  "  he  hums  ,  lifting  his  goblet  to  his  lips  ,  drinking  the  poison  which  sooths  every  man's  soul  .  "  how  is  your  wife  ?  "  the  question  is  abrupt  ,  yet  one  which  finds  them  upon  common  ground  .  a  hightower  ,  married  to  a  reyne  .  he  was  not  blind  to  the  posibillities  ,  then  again  ,  he  was  not  blind  to  the  beast  cunning  next  ot  him  either  .

[wispygrace]

lancel gazed at the lord tyrell for a moment longer. he allowed dohyun to talk, the lord hand never spoke anything plainly. “the dragons falling to sickness, now that is a tragedy for the ages. one that reminds us that we are all but men in the end, not gods, but wearisome men.” his gaze wandered, settling for a fleeting moment upon maelor amongst the assembled lords and ladies. 

even dragons perish.

his eyes flickered back to dohyun a small grin on his face and his tone lighter, “but dead or not we learn to respect their presence all the same."” whether he spoke of dragons or the men who claimed them was left unsaid. however that is all he would say on the dragons, human or otherwise.

lancel’s dark eyes narrowed at the mention of his wife. what game was he attempting to play? for he most definitely had a game in mind. but lancel liked games, he found himself to be rather good at games. he closed the distance between them by a measured step, neither hurried nor hesitant. "she remains well, both oldtown and the children demand much of her" he answered evenly. " but she has never been one to shrink from duty, the burdens of that city would bend lesser shoulders." he leaned in a little closer to the lord hand, his voice lowered "but i suspect you know as much already so i must wonder why you ask."

he held dohyun's gaze without blinking, the silver lion of castamere did not bare his teeth without reason. over the years he had built a careful intimidation around him, so he did not retreat. as he never had. to yield ground without purpose was to invite others to believe you could be moved.

lancel reached out then, resting a firm hand upon doyhun’s shoulder. the grip was deliberate, firm but impossible to ignore. to any watching eye it might have appeared a gesture of easy familiarity between powerful men. maybe it was. maybe it wasn’t. time would surely tell. "if there is business between us, let us spare one another the dance. i confess my patience for half truths grows thinner with each passing day."

[fxllencrxwn]

Location: Fourth day, during the performances and plays

Open to anyone

Ashara was bored and anyone that would pay a little attention to her could see that. Plays and performances were not something she enjoyed, she did not see the appeal in them. Ashara much preferred watching melee tournaments or jousting competitions, anything that involved violence and possible death. Her presence here was necessary and the only reason why she agreed to come was because her father had asked it from her. Ashara would definitely rather be anywhere else, whether it was back home in Pyke or out in the sea aboard her ship. At least there was wine, even though it was far too sweet for her taste. Ashara took a long sip from her goblet, a sighed escaping her lips. "I cannot believe people enjoy this and waste their time watching it." She commented, more to herself than anyone else.

[wispygrace]

plays and performances weren’t something emmon had ever been overly interested in. it was all a bit melodramatic and unrealistic for his taste. still, he understood why others gathered to watch, it was hope. hope was a precious thing. and there were worse ways to spend an hour.

on the stage, a woman in a blue dress clutched a babe to her chest, weeping loudly enough that those at the back of the crowd could hear every word. something about a sick child.

emmon watched in silence. the child was was breathing evenly, and the mother's sobs were theatrical rather than desperate. with the supposed healer entering only moments after her cries. emmon quickly figured that the potion would restore the child, the mother would praise the seven despite the potion being made by the healer, and the crowd would applaud as though they had witnessed something remarkable.

“i agree with that sentiment to some extent.” he replied to the lady next to him... a greyjoy? that was the strangest thing about this experience “i find something a waste of time if it is easy to figure out,”

"there," he continued, pointing to the actors,  "the mother's child will drink the potion, and after a suitably dramatic pause, rise as healthy as ever.” as if on cue, the baby gave a loud cry. the mother collapsed in grateful prayer, thanking the seven above. emmon's expression remained unchanged. "it is difficult for me," he murmured, "to admire a tale that strays so far from reality."

[soulrcts]

hubris  dotted  each  interaction  that  she  had  waded  through  thus  far,  but  none  quite  infuriated  her  as  the  lingering  audacity  of  the  lord  frey.  a  smile  that  reminded  her  uncomfortably  of  her  deceased  husband  enough  so  that  even  tidbits  of  conversation  added  in  by  other  lords  of  the  reach  was  not  enough  to  alleviate  the  distaste  that  had  settled  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach.  she  knew  the  stare  she  had  leveled  onto  the  riverlander  was  one  that  was  far  from  cordial,  borderline  hostile  in  its  sharp  nature  but  calanthe  knew  it  was  not  her  that  had  made  him  balk.  the  presence  that  joined  her  was  one  that  she  need  not  glance  towards,  only  released  the  soft  breath  she  had  held  lest  she  speak  her  actual  thoughts  and  damn  the  consequences  of  it.  “  lancel,  ”  cala  greets,  the  relief  heard  in  her  tone.

her  answering  smile  was  somewhat  strained,  a  light  laugh  escaping  her.  “  if  only  it  was  just  that.  ”  pauses  then,  gaze  lingering  on  the  frey's  back  with  an  intensity  that  would  set  the  man  on  fire  if  it  could,  before  the  conscious  act  of  softening  once  she  returns  her  attention  back  to  her  husband.  “  lord  frey  believes  that  i  should  have  had  already  betrothed  jessamyn,  and  to  one  of  his  grandchildren.  he  felt  the  need  to  remind  me  that  i  was  not  so  far  from  her  age  when  i  was  betrothed.  ”  reminders  not  in  the  form  of  the  love  of  her  children  of  simon  dondarrion  always  enough  to  sour  whatever  good  mood  that  she  may  have  held,  but  it  was  something  to  be  pondered  over  later.  the  months  had  passed  both  quick  and  too  slow  since  she  had  last  seen  lancel.

“  no  matter.  i  attempted  to  visit  your  office  earlier  and  was  turned  away  due  to  your  supposed  busyness.  are  you  too  busy  to  see  me,  lancel  ?  ”  a  smile  turns  up  her  lips,  hand  moving  to  press  over  his  chest,  first,  then  slid  to  occupy  space  upon  his  forearm.  “  surely  you  could  make  just  a  little  bit  of  time  for  me.  ”        

[wispygrace]

lancel scoffed, his face twisting with open annoyance. "betrothing jessamyn? to a frey grandchild?" he let out a low breath, "the freys are persistent, i'll grant them that, but certainly not-" he broke off with a dismissive roll of his eyes, as if the notion itself did not deserve a complete thought.  yet when his gaze returned to cala, the words died altogether. his gaze followed hers to find the old lord frey, and the intensity to which she looked at him. it was what lancel both loved and feared about his wife, though he would have it no other way. 

 "the freys may see fit to promise their children while they still chase butterflies through the yard," he said at last, his voice losing only some of its mockery, “but there is merit in waiting. needn't rush such things.” his eyes found hers once more, a look that spoke more than what needed to be said. waiting had served him well enough, time had favoured him beyond measure. it had brought him her. there were worse lessons a man could learn than patience. though he knew well enough she had not had the same luxury of waiting. 

he chuckled as her hand found his chest, fingertips gliding idly over the embroidered silver fabric before trailing slowly along his arm. "oh? " the single word came with the faintest trace of amusement. the gesture drew a crooked smile from him, smoothing away the last remnants of frey irritation. his own hand slipped to her waist with easy familiarity, resting there before drawing her a little nearer. "you came all that way to my office," he murmured, one brow rising with playful disbelief, "only to have some overzealous guard tell you i was supposedly occupied? i fear i have trained them too well, love. but they'll answer for such a crime against me" his smirk widened, softening the sharpness that had lingered from the talk of marriages. 

his thumb traced a lazy circle against the small of her back. lingering there as his gaze held hers. there was mischief in his eyes now, but affection beside. "no, i am never too busy for you, calanthe" he affirmed. the truth of it was perhaps dubious but it sounded true enough. perhaps a small part of him deep down wished it to be undeniably true. maybe that was enough. "if you'd sent word it was you, i would have dismissed whoever was with me without a second thought."

he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his tone lowering further as his smile deepened into something unmistakably roguish, "but if you had walked in regardless..." his hand tightened slightly at her waist, pulling her closer against him, "i suspect i would have dismissed them even faster."

"although enough of what could have been, to speak of the now... well you have me here do you not? the time has been made for you"

[sherotten]

open   starter   for   :   𝘥𝘰𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘺𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭   &    𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯   [   capping    at    0    /    3    ] location   &   time   :   𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩   𝘥𝘢𝘺   ,    𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥   𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭   .

the  past  days  had  been  filled  to  the  brim  with  tournaments  ,  celebrations  and  what  one  could  call  a  good  festive  time  .  the  hand  of  the  king  had  been  close  to  his  grace  most  of  it  ,  yet  there  were  settings  where  his  words  could  not  reach  the  king  either  .  standing  against  the  grand  hall's  cold  stone  wall  ,  he  watches  as  a  play  is  being  put  forth  by  travellers  .  his  hand  holding  a  goblet  of  red  and  onyx  locks  are  lose  down  his  back  .  carnelian  orbs  see  someone  approach  and  with  a  gentle  nod  of  his  head  ,  he  is  courtly  .  “  it's  a  nice  play  is  it  not  ?  it's  depicting  the  former  riders  is  it  not  ?  ”  a  tilt  of  his  head  as  he  studies  it  ,  before  turning  his  hues  to  his  newfound  companion  .  “  i  wonder  ,  should  we  allow  this  ?  im  afraid  sadness  would  spread  amongst  our  royal  court  .  ” 

[wispygrace]

lancel gave a shrug before turning his attention back toward the play, his cup idly playing in his hand, “is it? i was barely paying attention.” he mused. lord dohyun tyrell. lord of highgarden. hand of the king. more importantly, a thorn forever lodged in lancel's skin. the reachman had a way of appearing whenever it suited him least, slithering through court with such assurance. always at maelor's shoulder, always bending to whisper some counsel into the king's ear.

a snake. and lancel knew it.

lancel exhaled through his nose and lifted the cup to his lips, though he drank little. "of course we should, sadness is not a terrible thing," he said, his voice muffled by the rim of the goblet. "some of these mournful lords may seek their comforts elsewhere in the city before the night is done." a faint smile tugged at his lips, "wine, brothels, dice, every melancholy lord spends gold more freely than a cheerful one." his eyes slid toward the lord hand beside him, lingering there with quiet meaning. "gods know we'll need it if we're to recover even a fraction of what this spectacle has cost." no expense spared for this celebration of unity. but at what cost? cost of the coffers. which would, of course, be up to him to recuperate.

then with a quick smile, lancel shifted his expression to something easy and laidback. he leaned back slightly with an easy smile, rolling the goblet lazily in his hand once more. “ah. but perhaps it is the master of coin in me talking. it seems i’ve lost the ability to look at a celebration without counting the cost of cheer.”

[divinaelis]

location: on one of the many red keep's balconies, hours after the velaryon heir's loss against the ruling lord of raventree hall -- day two of the event open starter for ( 0 / 3 )

the applause had long since faded from her ears. the court had already found something else to occupy its attention, as it always did. a few matches of cyvasse were hardly enough to hold the realm's interest for more than a handful of passing conversations, particularly when the outcome had seemed almost inevitable. a ruling lord had prevailed. the velaryon heir had fallen to a player with decades more experience. there was little shame in losing. at least, that was what everyone kept insisting. whether laenora believed it herself was another matter entirely.

laenora stood upon one of the red keep's balconies overlooking the sea, the evening breeze tugging lazily at the silks gathered around her frame. somewhere below, waves broke rhythmically against the cliffs, indifferent to victories and defeats alike. she had come searching for silence. instead, she found herself replaying the match move by move. not the final checkmate, the move before it. no -- the one before that.

her fingers absently traced invisible paths across the stone balustrade, as though the weathered stone had become another cyvasse board entirely. she could still picture every piece exactly where it had stood. every sacrifice. every feint. every decision that had seemed entirely reasonable in the moment. in the end, it had not been a single brilliant move that defeated her, but the quiet accumulation of many. the realization was strangely comforting.

the sound of approaching footsteps stirred her from the endless replay unfolding within her thoughts. she did not turn immediately, allowing the silence to linger for another heartbeat before speaking with the same easy composure she had worn at the end of the match.

"if you've come to offer condolences," she said lightly, her gaze still fixed upon the darkening horizon, "i've been thoroughly reassured that there is no shame in losing."

only then did she glance over her shoulder. a faint, polite smile finding its way across her features as a stray breeze lifted the pale streak woven through the left side of her dark curls.

[wispygrace]

emmon quirked an eyebrow, “and they would be correct, my lady”. in truth he hadn’t meant to seek out lady laenora. their match at cyvasse had not lingered long in his thoughts, not for want of her talent, but simply because it was over. a game was a game. the pieces were swept from the board, victories counted, and defeats endured. the world marched on without care for either player. he had played too many matches over too many years to dwell long on matches.

emmon stood beside her, quietly watching the waves. the lingering salt in the air and crash of waves reminded him of oldtown. the thought brought an ache in his chest he could not wholly name. whether it belonged to memory, to age, or to past regrets, he could not have said. his knuckles clenched on the railing as his brows furrowed.

“your technique proved..." he frowned slightly, searching for the proper word as a pause lingered between them. "disciplined. you never chased an advantage that was not there, nor did you lose yourself when fortune turned against you." the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "though, perhaps, you afforded me a touch too much respect. cyvasse rewards boldness as readily as caution. there were moments when a risk might have unsettled me."

His fingers wandered into his beard, absently stroking through the patches of silver that had claimed it these past years.“even so, i thought you played wonderfully.” he continued, a faint smile now obvious, "had you found me on an off day, with my attention wandering, i daresay the match would have been yours.” he gave a small shrug, as though dismissing his own victory.

[hellbcunds]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃: myriame manderly ( @wispygrace )

she'd been walking aimlessly since the announcement that morning, the haunting visual of her sister so pale and washed out that she has trouble scrubbing it from her mind. wouldn't want to, anyway. it'd been far too long since she'd seen her, or had all of her sisters under one roof again. somehow she'd found herself ending up at the stables, letting the mares calm her as she runs her hand up and down ones snout, letting it calm her overflowing anger. she hoped to end up with no company there, that everyone would leave her alone until she was reasonable to be around once again. no luck, the footsteps that she hears approaching quickly dampening her already sour mood. when she raises her head to take in who it was, it did little to help, the manderly woman hardly someone she would willingly spend time with. " lady manderly. do you not have anywhere else to be? "

[wispygrace]

myriame hated stables, the dirt, the smell, everything. she didn’t particularly like horses either. something in their eyes made them untrustworthy, nor was she a good rider. nevertheless she was here to check on her brothers prized horse. an unfortunate wager lost to him had seen to that.

with a grimace on her face, she walked through the door where she spotted lady lysara. before she could utter so much as a greeting, lysara had already taken it upon herself to offer some remark. myriame scrunched her nose in open distate, "i have a number of places i would rather be," she said coolly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve, "and a number of places where i am wanted." her eyes narrowed as they traveled deliberately from lysara's face to her shoes and back again. a slow inspection, judgemental in nature, "evidently, i cannot say the same for you."

the horse beside them suddenly tossed its head, the movement sharp enough to draw a startled flinch from myriame. she stepped back instinctively before she could stop herself, her heart giving an irritating leap in her chest. she allowed a brief silence to settle between them as she considered her next words. "You must be quite glad to be married to a stark. particularly when one's own family finds itself the subject of such unfortunate discussions." her head tilted slightly, a small smile on her lips. her tone was honey sweet, you could almost mistake it as sympathetic but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

"but how fortunate that now when people look upon you, they see a stark first." her eyes glittered mischievously "and only remember the arryn after." perhaps it was foolish to provoke her. but lysara's cold remark moments before had left myriame feeling defensive, and when myriame felt defensive she often became remarkably unkind. an unfortunate trait.

[arkhan-rpg]

— deva cassel

( credit : arkhan )

[bareruin]

her frustrations should not have amused him. they were not amusing. the road had been miserable, the delay unnecessary - yet he had to work to keep the humor from his face. avan had resolved to let her finish before giving answer, though a quiet breath escaped all the same. " modest requests from the lady, " he replied too evenly. impossible to fulfill, that she knew well. he allowed a moment of silence to pass between, eyes shifting toward the halted wagons then back to myriame again. a solution presented itself in that glance, though he knew his aunt would have something to say about him dipping into her stores. a later problem, he decided. " the wine should prove simplest of the three. " avan extended an arm toward her, a silent offer.

his own thoughts had been drifting north for days. every mile from winterfell carried another concern well beyond his reach. each of them were helpless in some way or another, and neither of them wore it particularly well. " then you will be pleased to know a man lays toiling in the dirt at this very moment. " he delivered the report faithfully enough. " i understand him to be very uncomfortable. "

[wispygrace]

myriame's frustration shifted to a mischievous smile. she slipped her hand through his arm and drew him closer to her, eyes bright with amusement. her eye line followed his where she found him to be eyeing a certain wagon. one which she had previously noted to hold lady lysara’s store of wine. a dangerous thing to notice. for lysara that is.

"oh?" she purred, drawing the word out. "surely the ever noble, stoic, proper, boring, lord stark would not be proposing..." she pressed a hand dramatically to her breast and feigned a gasp. "...thievery? from your aunt, no less." she nudged his shoulder lightly with her own, “they send men to the wall for such an act, you know. ” letting out an airy laugh as if such law amused her.

at the mention of a man toiling in the dirt she shrugged, glancing around making sure no one would be watching the act that was to take place, “it does please me, as long as we manage to successfully obtain some amusement for ourselves as we wait for this farce to end” she glanced back up at him, a quirk in her eyebrow.

“you will be drinking with me will you not? or have you lost all sense of joy from your life?” she leaned closer, lowering her voice as though conspiring treason.

"for if i must steal your aunt's wine myself, i shall expect you to help carry the evidence." for a moment she studied him, searching for cracks in that stark reserve. starks were forever trying to look and act like stone statues. myriame had always preferred men who remembered they were flesh and blood. surely underneath all that stone there was something more, there had been once. "besides," she added, a grin tugging at her lips, "if we are caught, i can simply blame you. no one ever suspects a lady."

[thesoldiersminute]

Sinners dir. Ryan Coogler | 2025

[fateofcrvwns]

Although in theory her mother, brother, and good sister were also keeping an eye on her two younger siblings, Annaya knew better than any of the three of them just how much chaos, however unintentional, her sisters could stir up if left completely unattended. Of course, the brunette was at a disadvantage as the Red Keep was far larger than White Harbor and as Mistress of Laws there were plenty of people eager to monopolize her attention. But, the noblewoman had been doing the best should could to keep eyes on Wylla and Myriame which was exactly when she had extracted herself oh-so-politely from a tedious conversation with the always overzealous Lord Butterwell upon seeing her youngest sister beginning to fall a bit deeper in her cups than Annaya liked to see. Excusing herself graciously, the older Manderly sister wove her way over towards the hallways at the edges of the space to wait for a moment to intercept Myriame. Of course, the moment she looked away to check that Lord Butterwell had not attempted to follow, the very same sister came barrelling into her. With a small huff, Annaya looked between Myriame and the spoiled front of her dress, which now apparently matched her sister's. Biting back the desire to scold or chastize while they remained out in the open, the mistress of laws firmly took hold of the younger Manderly's shoulders and steered her until they were back in the latter's private guest chamber. "To call you tipsy might be as vast an understatement as to refer to Dorne as slightly warm." Annaya noted sternly. "Sit, before you cause any further damage to either of our attire or your own self. " She loved her sisters dearly, but sometimes she was grateful they did not all live in the same place at all times anymore for if they did, the brunette feared her headaches might grow more regular again.

[wispygrace]

myriame let out a sigh, “ oh annaya. i could see you watching me, you know. your furrowed brow was quite evident from my position.” her sister, of course it was her she would bump into. annaya was not the mistress of laws for nothing, the firm grip on her shoulders proved as much. still, she sat as commanded though not before giving the faintest roll of her eyes. it was a gesture she had perfected over the years. subtle enough to deny if challenged, obvious enough that annaya would surely catch it.“ am i not allowed to enjoy myself now and again?” myriame asked, groaning into her cup.  

"i am to be married soon," myriame continued, her tone softening somewhat. "before long i shall be a stark in winterfell," her fingers traced idle circles around the rim of the empty cup, though there was a small grin on her face. "think of this as one of my final outings as a manderly."

once they returned, she would trade salt air for biting snow. all for avan's cold, aptly northern, restraint. the north was not known for laughter spilling easily into its halls and avan certainly had little laugh him in anymore. she would simply have to take humour where she could find it. 

“but if you are to lecture me on propriety,” myriame added, glancing up at her sister with tired mischief returning to her eyes, “at least allow me another cup before my scolding begins."

[wispygrace]

setting; day four, during the performances. @soulrcts

lancel bit the inside of his mouth, the room had turned into a flurry of whispers. the arryn matter. well what was there to say? that was the game. the arryns happened to be on the backfoot of the game. besides, maelor looked positively happy watching the performances, and a happy maelor was the best maelor to deal with. a happy maelor made everyone's life easier. particularly lancel's.

with one final sweep of the room, lancel's eyes found her. calanthe.

his wife stood apart from much of the noise despite being surrounded by it. ruling lady lady of house hightower, she possessed a peculiar gift for commanding attention without seeming to seek it. a few lords were speaking to her when he spotted her, though speaking was perhaps too generous a word. they appeared more interested in earning her approval than offering conversation. lancel let out an amused huff through his nose.

for a brief moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her. the torchlight caught in her hair. her expression remained composed, unreadable to most. though lancel had thought he had figured out most of the signs now. he knew the slight narrowing of her eyes when she found a conversation tedious. the careful smile she wore when diplomacy demanded patience, the realisation brought a small warmth to his chest. it was then he crossed the floor. dancers spun across the raised stage though lancel paid them little attention, his destination was considerably more interesting.

sliding easily into place beside her, he offered the assembled lords a pleasant crooked smile. only when they were gone did lancel turn fully toward his wife. an easy grin rested upon his lips. 

"so there you are." his voice low, but still warm "for a moment i thought some lord had decided to whisk you away whilst i was distracted." his eyes flicked briefly around the hall, eyeing the room up,"or worse. that some ambitious lord had cornered you and begun explaining trade routes that you were already aware of, buti i was preparing to intervene." his grin widened with a slight pause as he chuckled  "heroically, of course." lancel tilted his head slightly, studying her. "though judging by the look on your face, perhaps i should instead be offering condolences to whoever was foolish enough to offer you boring conversation.”

[wispygrace]

setting; training yard @hellbcunds

lancel brought down another blow. the mace crashed into the training dummy with a splintering thud, sending straw bursting from its seams. he drew a ragged breath through his teeth and swung again, shoulders rolling. he pressed after it relentlessly, enjoying the pursuit as much as the blow itself. there was satisfaction in driving something before him, in forcing it back inch by inch until it could no longer stand. at last the post cracked. the dummy toppled into the dirt in a rain of straw and splinters. only then did lancel lower the mace, his chest heaved as sweat trickled down his brow and along the sharp line of his jaw.

the weight of the mace hung comfortably in his hand, familiar as an old friend. he planted its head upon the ground and stopped for a moment's rest. training reminded him how to win. it was an easy lesson to forget amidst ledgers and accounts.

 as the master of coin, he often found himself longing for enemies he could simply strike down. no expense spared, maelor had said. those three words had cost lancel more sleep than any tourney. as his breathing steadied, his thoughts returned unwillingly to columns of figures and dwindling reserves. wine from the arbor. musicians from dorne. dancers from lys. every smiling lord and lady expected extravagance, and extravagance demanded coin, coin that had to come from somewhere. lancel grimaced and then he laughed. a bitter sound escaped him as he imagined the treasury's condition once the festivities were done. somehow he would make it work. he always did. it was then he noticed the figure standing nearby, a flash of crimson and gold caught the corner of his eye. tharion lannister no doubt. lancel turned toward him, resting both hands atop the pommel of his mace. 

"tharion." the name left his lips easily enough, void of warmth.

"you should have announced yourself. another moment and i might have mistaken you for something worth hitting." his gaze drifted between tharion and the shattered dummy "though the resemblance is striking."

[baelorsbae]

[soulrcts]

there  were  a  plethora  of  reasons  as  to  why  calanthe  despised  events  like  these.  she  had  never  enjoyed  being  in  situations  where  the  entirety  of  the  realm  gathered,  or  even  just  a  fraction  of  it,  due  to  differing  opinions.  tempers  that  could  rear  their  heads  where  many  did  not  have  self  control.  the  second,  were  instances  like  this.  the  pristine  white  of  her  gown  that  she  had  sent  to  be  made  by  family  in  lys,  worn  for  the  first  time  and  now  covered  in  a  merlot  color  that  would  never  wash  out  no  matter  how  hard  her  maidens  tried.  “  lady  manderly.  ”  calanthe's  voice  was  like  a  whip  in  the  dark  of  the  corridor,  practiced  on  her  own  children  to  the  point  where  now  they  straightened  up  immediately.  “  do  you  find  this  to  be  amusing  ?  that  you  have  ruined  my  family's  gown  with  your  inability  to  hold  your  wine  ?  ”  a  patient  woman,  to  be  sure,  yet  when  her  son  of  ten  and  three  had  better  manners  that  a  woman  that  had  well  come  into  her  own,  little  of  it  employed. the  stickiness  upon  her  skin  in  the  face  of  the  laughter  annoyed  her  more,  plum  hues  narrowing  into  slits.  to  attempt  to  speak  to  a  fool  would  fall  onto  deaf  ears  —  and  while  calanthe  hightower  could  be  accused  of  being  many  things,  but  foolish  was  not  one.  “  i  hope  it  remains  this  amusing  to  you  in  the  morning,  my  lady,  when  you  will  need  to  explain  to  your  family  that  their  coffers  will  be  less  due  to  your  impudence.  ”

[wispygrace]

“no, not amusing at all, lady hightower. the desecration of beautiful silk ranks amongst my greatest travesties.” the words were spoken with all the gravity of a serious plight, not without a flicker of amusement in her blue eyes. though truth be told, if their positions had been reversed, she would likely have made just as much fuss. more than likely more.

“yet i must say,  wearing white…” she peered at the fabric. from the way it sat, the slight sheen, it was almost certainly lyseni,  “-lyseni silk to a feast is not the brightest of moves,” she continued. “accidents happen all the time, as clearly is evident.” she gestured broadly to the bright wine stain on the bodice. it truly was a shame, the gown was gorgeous. whoever had made it possessed gifted hands. sadly, that made two gorgeous lyseni gowns ruined in a single evening.

the amusement faded from her face when lady calanthe spoke of informing her family. oh she could care less about the monetary implications, the manderly coffers could deal with it. despite the hardships in the north, the manderlys ran a steady ship. no. having to sit through a lecture from both her mother and brother would be less than ideal. she could already hear her mother's voice, sharp and relentless. her brother would be no better, speaking gravely of dignity, and the responsibilities that came with bearing the manderly name. as if she had not been hearing such lessons since she was old enough to walk.

“lady hightower, surely you were young and carefree once. " a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she fluttered her lashes with practiced innocence.  “i do believe this small matter can be resolved between us without the interference of my family. there is no need to create unwanted issues between house manderly and house hightower over an unfortunate accident.”

her eyes drifted once more to the damaged silk. she studied the stitching, the quality of the silk, the intricacy of the embroidery. surely she could estimate the worth of a single gown. “a gown such as this... i believe four golden dragons would be more than satisfactory to cover the loss”

how, exactly, was she meant to acquire four golden dragons without alerting her brother? that, she decided, was a problem for future myriame. present myriame had a far more important battle to win. but if there was the slightest chance it would spare her an evening trapped between her mother’s disappointment and her brother’s endless lectures, it was worth trying.