🗲 — a storm is coming. @wyldewillow - Tumblr Blog

Posts

♛ → THE RIVERLANDS present(s) WILLOW BLACKWOOD NÉE WYLDE, the DOWAGER LADY of HOUSE BLACKWOOD. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought NO ONE would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the 39-year-old FEMALE who was BRAVE & LOYAL before they saw the first of the flames, is now BITTER & VENGEFUL after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the sound of a pen furiously scribbling at midnight, muffled screaming into a pillow, the feeling of an embrace so tight that it hurts and a black dress swaying in the wind. ( annabel scholey )

#( introduction. )#tw: death.

deimos-velaryon

Deimos had sensed he was no longer alone in the balcony before Willow actually spoke. Her voice sounded so different now, and yet despite sounder graver than it was in their youth, it still carried him to the past. Back to a time when the world had not yet burned around them, back when the words they exchanged had not yet sharpened or poisoned. The Lord of Driftmark turned, his gaze cold and impassive, taking in the woman he had not seen in over a decade. The years had changed them both, worn them down in some ways and sharpened them in others. Still, beneath the bitterness that had settled into the lady, he could see some traces of the fierce and defiant girl he had once known.

“You must be satisfied,” he said, his tone measured, lacking the cutting edge that had accompanied their last argument. “Never mind the countless who died, at least your father got his way and found his satisfaction,” he stated back with a scoff. He ought to have expected that even after all this time, the first thing there was to say was for Willow to finally gloat. There was a pause, deliberate, as his Valyrian eyes settled on her. “I do wonder if your father would find our realm as he envisioned it,” he couldn't help but add. He did not care to be purposely petty with such a comment, the Master of the Tides merely responded with how he'd been greeted.

The evening air carried the scent of wine and sea salt, remnants of the feast inside the Western palace and the open ocean extending before Casterly Rock. There was no revelry in Deimos, however, for he did not belong among laughter and music, among monarchs celebrating a birth. He studied Willow with the same scrutiny he afforded his nautical maps and ledgers, reading between the lines of what she said and what she left unspoken. “You haven’t changed,” he remarked at last. “Still carrying the weight of old grievances as if they might serve you now”. His voice did not hold reproach, only a tired sort of understanding. Perhaps because he, too, had been forged by resentment now, but his had taken a different shape altogether.

His hands rested on the balcony’s stone railing, fingers tightening against the cold surface. There had been a time when he might have fought to find peace between them, when their clashes had been tempered by something like care. But now? Now, there was only the vast stretch of years between them, marked by war and loss. A truth, simple and undeniable. Whatever friendship had once existed had been buried beneath the ashes of the past. And Deimos, for all his pragmatism, had never been one to unearth the dead. “Is there anything else you wanted to say to me, Lady Wylde? Or Lady Blackwood? I don't know which one you prefer”.

wyldewillow

willow huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned her gaze towards the sea. “you think i care which targaryen sits on the throne?” she asked, though it was not truly a question. she did not expect an answer, nor did she need one. “the blacks killed my family, my father and siblings, and the greens killed my husband ― at the end of the day, the targaryens are all the same.” she traced a gloved finger along the balcony’s stone, her expression unreadable, lips curling with the ghost of old anger. “my father got his way, and we all paid a heavy price for it.” she finally turned back towards deimos, expression sharp, as if daring him to challenge her on this matter.

she scoffed at his remark, a slow smirk pulling at her lips, though there was no real amusement behind it. “oh, you misunderstand me entirely. i do not carry the weight of old grievances — i wield them.” she stepped closer, eyes glinting in the moonlight, voice dropping to something quieter, something sharper. “but not against you. i have little use for friendships long buried.” the words tasted like wine and ash, a truth she had long since accepted. willow had no real friends, she depended on no one but herself. “do you truly believe you are free of resentment, deimos?” her head tilted slightly, genuine curiosity in her gaze. his name slipped from her lips as an old habit. “because i think your resentment is simply better concealed than mine. you always were quicker to accept what you could not change.”

the night air pressed around them, the distant sounds of revelry carried on the wind. she had no interest in the celebrations, in the newborn prince or the court’s simpering flattery. she studied him now, tracing the lines that age and grief had carved into his features. it suited him, she supposed, this hardened version of the boy she once knew. she had always known deimos would survive, always known he was too stubborn to be swept away by war. but did surviving count for much when the cost had been everything?

deimos asked what she had always struggled with: was she more blackwood or wylde now? she still felt like the willow wylde he had known, even if she was different now, but it was willow blackwood who held the power. it was the name her children bore. “i am both, call me what you wish.” she finally answered, her voice softer than before, though no less firm. she exhaled slowly, glancing toward the hall once more before looking back at him. “i am certain we will not meet often enough for it to matter.”

there was a moment of quiet before she spoke up again. “i heard about your wife.” this time there was no bite in her voice. “i would offer my condolences for your loss, but i know how annoying those grow to be. i remember the pitiful stares, the fleeting concern from others, and then they quickly move on while you're still stuck.” willow did not think she had ever truly loved samwell, but she had cared about him, about her role as ruling lady, wife, and mother, and she had been left only as mother to a second-born son. she lost much more than her husband that day.

#( c: deimos velaryon 001. )

wyldewillow

willow could recognise that she was trapped, and the chains only dug deeper into her flesh as armaan spoke. however, she did think there was a way out. not a perfect way, not something that could tie a neat bow on everything, and ensure she stood as the sole victor. but an escape nonetheless, even if she would have to claw her way out from his grasp. slowly a plan was laid in her mind, pieces falling into place. every truth could be moulded to fit another story. it was not about convincing everyone, she just had to convince enough of the right people. the trail she had left, the witnesses of her drinking moon tea, could be used for another purpose. the only trouble was that it could not come to pass before her stepson's title as ruling lord was taken from him. it would be too suspicious otherwise, and she could not risk that plan falling apart. everything she had done, all that had been sacrificed, was to see her son as the ruling lord of raventree hall. under no circumstance would she allow a dornishman to ruin it for her.

there was still silent fury in her gaze as he flung insult after insult her way, and if her son's future was not at stake, she would have tried to grab the letter opener. and while she might not have succeeded in spilling his blood. she was convinced that she would have tried. or she would have screamed and forced armaan to show his hand, forced him into a public stand-off, and let the dice roll and fall as they land. but somehow willow managed to curb her nature, the side of her that loved to watch everything burn. while his touch was gentle, she hated it more than if it had been a slap. it felt like poison seeping into her skin from the contact. but she did not pull away from it. not only because there was nowhere to go with her back already to the wall. “you think you know me?” she asked coldly, as her eyes bore into his. “the only thing you can ever be sure of is that one day you will wish that you had never met me.” she would make him and ben regret every humiliation. she did not care what her actions would do to her. she would happily take the fall as well just to see them lose. as long as her sons remained unaffected, but that was the challenge, the problem she faced, and she suspected armaan knew it too. “and once you are full of regret, then you can comment on how clever you think i am.”

her pride felt like a bitter wine to swallow, and she could not allow him to dictate everything. she finally tore her face away from his gentle hold, as sudden as if he had suddenly burned her. she reminded herself it was poison, no matter how addicting his touch was. “twice a year. no correspondence. i will do it directly to you or not at all.” even speaking those words felt like a climbing a mountain. it was different from before. she had excused her original betrayal with a need for gold, with being given the means to see her plans finally carried out, and her general lack of affection for the riverlands. but now it was just blackmail and betrayal. now she was not a business partner, but a prisoner instead. worst of all, a prisoner of a dornishman. gods, how was it possible to hate and desire someone at the same time?

armaans

꙰

armaan yronwood only smiled. slow, knowing. he let willow's words sit between them, marinate in the thick air of her chambers, where the scent of candle wax and something sweet—something feminine—still clung to the linens. her breath was steady, but he could feel the fury beneath it, the kind of barely-bridled rage that made her pulse beat just that little bit harder at the base of her throat. he could feel it beneath his fingers, even now, where the ghost of his touch still lingered on her cheek. "lady wylde," his voice was almost amused as he addressed her with false formality, as though all need for that had evaporated.

"you sound so sure of yourself. so certain." he let the words drag, savouring them, his eyes flickering over her like he was committing every inch of her to memory.

"you want to know what me losing looks like." his arms folded over the breadth of his torso, his sleeves rolled up to his forearm; that aggression and manipulation had begun to ease considering he had her where he wanted her, and now all that was left was scathing taunting. mocking, as natural as inhaling breath. "i guess we'll never know." he let her sit with that, stepping back just enough to make it clear he was allowing her a fraction of space, but not enough for her to believe she had won any ground. her defiance was a flame, burning bright, but he had smothered enough fires in his lifetime to know which ones could be extinguished and which ones needed to be starved, slowly, until they were nothing but embers. willow would burn for a while yet, but she would burn in the space he allowed her to.

"you know what i see, willow?" he asked, voice dropping lower, softer. "i see a woman who has clawed her way through too much to let herself be swallowed now. a woman who pretends she can still make choices, when really, she made them long ago." he watched as she stiffened, her jaw tight. this world beyond the dunes of dorne was one that was cruel to women; and whilst her sex never crossed his mind, he knew it would to everyone else that mattered in her life. the people who would decide her fate if this went wrong, and that was enough.

"and don’t mistake me for a fool. i know you're planning something the moment i walk from your door."

he exhaled, almost laughing, a quiet thing that barely made it past his throat. stepping back just slightly, he let his gaze drift over her, dragging, lazy, as though he were assessing a piece of fruit at market, debating whether it was worth the bite. she was rigid with anger, but that was the thing about willow—her rage made her reckless. made her desperate. "predictable," he murmured, amused as his figure moved to the silhouette of the door frame, his hand resting upon it as he looked at her one final time. his gaze mocking, taunting and typically smug; looking her entire body up and down as an egotistical smile crossed his darkened features.

"keep playing at control," he said, voice low, careless, his fingers brushing the door handle, as though she were so close to finally having him out of her presence. but he was taking his time now, acting as though he were surveying the room. "i'll see you in six months, keep that stomach empty. i don't like surprises." he didn’t wait for a reply. didn’t need one. the click of the door was his answer as his laughter echoed down the hall.

end of thread.

#( c: armaan yronwood 003. )

devanitoland

she had expected resistance from willow. though they had only met the once, she had given the impression of a woman who did not mince her words, and besides, they had agreed to stay apart from one another. the spies had made that an impossible task, but if they were trailing willow, that meant that she, at least, was a safe person to discuss tactics with, that they were not sent by her. and to willow's credit, she appeared to catch on to what devani was doing. it looked for a brief moment as though she may push back, but argument did not come. despite the tightness in her smile, she offered enough niceties that suspicion would not be aroused, and that was all devani could ask for.

a soft laugh escaped her, a light shake of her head that sent her hair tossing over her shoulders. "sticks, swords, i think us mother's have the right to use whatever necessary to keep our boys close to us a little while longer." she was not worried about the spy reporting that back. devani lied as easily as she breathed. whatever information was being fed back to their benefactor would be a garbled mess of a story, impossible to make sense of. her claiming to have a son was not remarkable, if you did not already know that it was true. what she was doing was deliberate, drawing a connection between them that went deeper than a shared night they'd both rather forget, a reminder they both had a valuable reason for keeping what had transpired hidden beneath king's landing.

and so the charade continued, devani's smile never faltering, the part of an amiable noblewoman engaged in idle chatter coming to her with ease. "i am a traveller at heart, lady blackwood," she pressed a hand to her chest. "but i've seen little of westeros beyond dorne. most of my adventures were across the narrow sea. but this time the charms of the trident proved too much to resist." and so, here she was. "and if I happen to make new friends here... well, allies are always welcome, aren't they?"

her expression remained pleasant, but she hoped willow would catch the warning in them. she did not know if brianna had taken her advice to heart, but willow did not know that devani had urged her to tell someone what had happened, to get her innocence in the matter, and devani's own, to a third party before anybody else could. she did not know devani had already confided all to doran uller. what devani needed to know was that willow herself was not a weak link, not a risk of getting out a version of the tale that painted devani in a different light. after all, she was the one who had stopped any of them running for help on that night. as innocent as she claimed to be, there was still blame.

"but enough about me," she adjusted the shawl around her shoulders. "perhaps you might take the time to walk with me? I've heard such stories about your house - the blackwoods. i would love if you could fill in the gaps." the offer was made, the cover spun for the benefit of any listening ears. it was up to willow now what their next step would be.

wyldewillow

willow’s expression did not waver, though her grip on the stem of her goblet tightened. she was accustomed to masks, to courtly pretence, to the tedious games that ladies like devani wove so effortlessly. she had played them herself, after all, when necessity demanded it. but where devani’s performance was gilded with easy charm, willow’s was sharpened at the edges, honed into something brittle, something that cut if one was foolish enough to press too closely. willow had never been able to truly conceal the bite that she possessed.

“not all allies are worth the investment, lady toland. one can never be too careful who they align themselves with.”

her voice was smooth, deliberate, the words measured, even as she let her gaze flicker towards the lingering shadow of the boy, the spy. she did not trust devani. trust had never been easy for the stormlander, and every time she had let down her guard, she had ended up feeling betrayed. but what mattered more than trust was that for the moment, their goals were aligned. their secrets tangled together in a web neither of them could afford to have unravelled. she took a slow sip of her wine, tilting her head ever so slightly, as if she were simply considering the offer. “very well,” she said at last, setting the goblet down with a careful clink against the polished wood. “i suppose it has been too long since i’ve had the pleasure of indulging in a good stroll. i will answer your questions about the blackwoods the best i can.” the words were light, but there was something in her eyes, sharp and knowing, as she met devani’s gaze.

with unhurried movements, she adjusted the folds of her gown and stepped forward, the briefest of glances to check that the brown-haired boy was still loitering, still watching. the fact that devani had noted him first gnawed at her. willow did not like being outmanoeuvred, especially not when she had already been on high alert. she fell into step with the dornishwoman. “i spent time across the narrow sea too when i was younger. my father thought it would be good for my education, but i barely had a chance to leave tyrosh while i was there.” willow allowed the words to roll off her tongue with the ease of idle conversation while they were still in earshot of others.

as the crowd thinned, she suddenly interlinked her arm with devani's and made a few sharp turns to throw the spy off their trail. she was quick to let go off the dornishman once she was satisfied there were no one around to overhear them. willow finally spoke without the forced pleasantry. “there is another who has been following me for days, a servant girl.” her green eyes flickered towards devani, assessing, weighing, before returning to the path ahead, carrying them even farther away from the crowd. “lady egen is being watched as well, and i can guess so are you.” so that ruled out the spies belonging to armaan. the pattern was clear now. two could be a coincidence, but three were not. “one of them must have snitched, someone else knows and is keeping an eye on us.” willow was once again reminded why trust was a fool's game.

#( c: devani toland 001. )

moonhillsunsets

mariela’s eyes darkened as she observed warrival, the flickering light from the torches casting shadows that seemed to deepen in the spaces between them. she crossed her arms slowly, a small scoff escaping her lips.

“please, no one cares about a couple of widows. i'd say no eyes would be on us, but that would only make one of us, wouldn't it?” her voice was smooth but laced with an edge of annoyance. she stepped forward, her gaze never leaving willow, as if she were trying to read the hidden intentions behind her every movement.

“i’ve been feeling it ever since we arrived in the west,” mariela continued, her tone dipping lower, darker. “someone’s been tailing me—always just a step behind. i thought it was a coincidence at first, but now, i know better.” she took another deliberate step closer, her posture a mixture of casual ease and controlled tension. “i know you’ve had someone watching me, haven’t you? i can feel it.”

mariela’s gaze narrowed, her smile slipping into something sharper as she leaned slightly closer to willow. she let the silence stretch between them for a moment, the flickering torchlight casting uneasy shadows across their faces. "tell me, lady blackwood—why the need for such precautions? what exactly are you trying to protect yourself from?”

her eyes locked onto willow’s, the cold edge of suspicion clear in her gaze. she had no intention of being caught off guard again. not now. not with so much at stake.

wyldewillow

willow's usually stony expression betrayed that she was taken aback for a moment. she felt the need to suppress a laugh, the very idea was ludicrous. she had enough troubles of her own, she did not seek any more. “me? trust me, i have much better things to do than spy on you, lady egen, and quite frankly you seem way too dull for me to take any interest in what you do with your days.” however, she thought of the servant girl that seemed to always be near, lurking in the shadows at all times. perhaps this was a trap set up to lure information out of her, to test what observations she had made.

she studied the other woman with a suspicious gaze, as if she could see her true intentions. as always, the raven-haired stormlander went with the assumption that it was a trick. what were the odds of mariela accusing her of spying when willow herself had a spy tailing her? “you think yourself clever, don't you?” her glare did not dart away from their locked gazes, her voice already tinted with anger. “you accuse me of spying when it's you, who has sent a silly girl, to watch my every move in order to strike first?”

it was an old trick to play the victim to avoid being accused. she had enough experience in that tactic, her dark clothes revealed as much if others had the ability to read her mind. mariela was probably going to cave, and spill the secret of what happened that night, and she was trying to cover up her own involvement.

“well, you can tell the girl that she should work on her discretion if she plans to continue in this line of work.”

#( c: mariela egen 001. )#sorry this is so late!

armaans

꙰

armaan yronwood stood before willow blackwood, his gaze sharp, unblinking. the crackling flames in the hearth filled the silence between them, casting shadows that seemed to twist around the edges of his face. "quiet down with all that shit." willow, ever the picture of defiance, stood before him like a woman who thought she still had some power in this room. armaan had always relished in this, in the subtle games people played when they thought they were in control.

but willow was no different than the others who had come before her—she was merely a pawn, convinced she was playing her own hand, when in reality, she had long since lost the game.

he chuckled darkly, the sound sharp and biting. dooming. "you think i haven’t heard your threats before, willow? every time you think you're cornered, you tell yourself you'll end me, that you'll somehow escape. but you never do. because deep down, you know you won't." he took a slow step forward, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and menace. "you talk about slitting my throat, about being a hero in the stormlands. but where does that leave you? a traitor to your own people, with nothing but blood on your hands. the stormlands won't take you back, willow. they’ll spit on your name and throw you out like the dirt you are. and you’ll still be mine."

armaan stood silently, watching willow closely as she tilted her head, her defiance still simmering beneath the surface. her words about killing him, about making him her target, lingered in the air, but he could tell they were hollow threats. she was angry, desperate even, but not ready to follow through. armaan had known her too long, seen the way she fought against her instincts, the way she struggled with her own pride, even when he was buried in her. she had always been like this—brave in her defiance, but unwilling to fully embrace the consequences. because she was not alone anymore; she had sons who would face consequences for her choices someday.

he watched her shift, that flicker of doubt crossing her face, the flicker of realization that, despite all her pride, she had nowhere to go. nowhere to hide. the weight of their deal had sunk in, and all her defiance suddenly felt like a distant memory, fading in the shadow of her own fear.

"you think you're clever, don’t you?" he continued, his voice low, almost a whisper, but carrying all the weight of his certainty. "you think that by giving me less, by pretending to be useless, you’ll somehow slip through my fingers. you can't help yourself. you’re trapped. like i said." he reached out, his hand grazing the edge of her cheek, his touch cold but gentle, a contrast to the fire in his eyes. "and that’s the problem, isn't it? you’ve always wanted to be in control, but you never were. not really. not with me. not with anyone. and now, you’ve made your bed, and you have to lie in it." there was a smugness on his face. "i'll accept communication every three months. four times a year. you'll be able to do that, yeah?"

wyldewillow

#( c: armaan yronwood 003. )

nestascassian

Gentleman, I have just spoken to Francesco Sforza whose army surround us. And with Lorenzo de Medici. If you execute my husband, Lorenzo will attack us with fire.

#( mirror. )#this does feel like something willow would do lmao

armaans

꙰

armaan yronwood watched the flames consume the parchment, their hungry tongues curling around the edges until there was nothing left but ash. for a moment, he said nothing, letting the crackle of the fire fill the space between them. his eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked from the hearth to willow wylde’s defiant figure, standing before him like some tragic heroine shielding her secrets with her very body. a lesser man might have admired her resolve, but armaan was no lesser man. he was a yronwood, and he did not take well to being crossed.

he leaned back against the desk, the casual arrogance of his posture at odds with the sharp edge of his gaze. “you’ve made a bold move, my lady,” he drawled, his voice low and steady, a viper's hiss before the strike. “bold, but foolish.” willow didn’t respond, but he saw the slight tremor in her hands, the way her fingers twitched at her sides as if she couldn’t quite decide whether to flee or stand her ground. she was trying to be brave, and for a moment, he almost admired her for it. almost. “you think that fire will save you?” he continued, taking a step closer to her.

“do you think burning a single letter erases everything? do you think i have kept no records myself?"

and so suddenly came into realisation the reality of cracking a deal with armaan yronwood. that somewhere along the increase of his lands influence, within nightsong being taken under dornish control, within his closest friend becoming first minister of dorne, there was something abusive in his power. armaan laughed, a low, humorless sound that filled the room like a storm brewing on the horizon. “you think this was just about lys?” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he closed the distance between them.

“you’ve been useful. i've grown used to having eyes and ears within the riverlands, grown used to your value. i've also grown used to the way you clench around my cock when you're refusing to cum yet." there was a sneer there, his judgement not coming in her being sexually active, but rather the fact that it had been with him. on him, the times where he had finished in her and the times where he had finished on her. his voice hardened, the amusement fading as his tone sharpened.

“you should’ve thought this through before tossing your lot in with me. treason doesn’t end when the ink is dry, willow. it lingers, like the stench of a corpse in the sun. and trust me, the riverlands won’t be kind when they find out how you sold them out to me. they already hate you.”

he circled her slowly, his gaze sweeping over her, assessing every crack in her composure. “you don’t have to like me,” he said, almost conversationally. “you don’t even have to trust me. but you do have to understand something very simple: you’re mine now. you made that choice the moment you came to me, the moment you opened your mouth and gave me something worth buying. and if you think you can simply walk away, you’re more foolish than i thought.” armaan stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, close enough to see the defiance flickering in her eyes. it irritated him, that stubborn streak of hers. but it also fascinated him. he leaned in, his voice dropping further, as if the two of them shared some dark, intimate secret.

“this is about control. you want it back. but you’re not getting it, not while i still have use for you. you’re valuable, willow. more than you realise. and i’m not letting you go until i’ve wrung every drop of that value dry.” armaan stepped back then, giving her space, but his gaze remained fixed on her, unrelenting. “you can try to run. you can try to expose me, to play the victim. but we both know how that story ends. the riverlands will crucify you, and i’ll be far enough away to watch the spectacle without lifting a finger.”

he gestured vaguely to the door, as if inviting her to leave her own chambers. “so go ahead. walk away, if that’s what you want. i'll leave. but you'll hear storming at your door in the morning, or you'll find the castle going into lockdown to look for you if you attempt to run. your sons will hear of how they are the sons of a traitor; and i’ll be watching from the shadows, ready for them to thank me that i didn't fill their mother with a dornish bastard.”

wyldewillow

willow was relieved when armaan made the wrong connection regarding the letter burning in the hearth. she'd happily let him think the letter was related to their deal, that she was trying to cover those tracks. but her relief quickly disappeared, the more he spoke and the closer he got. she looked at him with utter disgust as he confessed to being used to their fucking by now, as if she only realised now how many times it had happened. then he said something that caused her to immediately protest. “i am not yours. i belong to no one.” that was a point of pride for her. she had only ever answered to herself since living underneath her father's thumb. despite her protests, willow knew every word armaan spoke was true. he had successfully ensnared her in his web, and all means of escape from their deal seemed suddenly attached with risks she could not afford. she could turn the blame on him, but realistically, who would support her? could she outsmart him? she wondered if the gold really been worth it. she would only know the day hugo became ruling lord.

it was armaan's last sentence that caused her fury to rise up in her throat like bile. every time he mentioned her sons, something in her snapped as she realised that she had inadvertently put them in danger too. “keep my children out of this!” a dornish bastard. that had been her worst fear. all he said was just confirmation that everything fell on her, that it would always be worse for her. in fact, armaan could get her pregnant and claim it as a victory. a stormlander round with a dornish babe. this was exactly why she had taken the moon tea in the first place. she did not trust that he would not try, and he had spilled inside her despite her protests beforehand. she had been pissed, but it had not kept her from his bed. he would know that she'd never choose to keep his bastard, but armaan seemed like the type of man who would feel smug about succeeding in getting her with child in the first place. she was a fool for not fighting harder against her desire for him, a fool for blurring the lines. never again, she told herself bitterly for the tenth time, despite having failed every other time she had promised herself that would be the last time.

willow's gaze had been locked relentlessly with his as he had summed up why she was trapped, but her gaze wandered to the letter opener on the desk. it was too far from her grasp right now. armaan was in the way, and he would stop her before she even got to it. “all this talking, dornishman…” she whispered with her face only a few inches from his. her green eyes focused on him again, still fighting against his ensnarement. “… and yet i could slit your throat at the first opportunity and get out of this. even if your records should prove my treason, i would be welcomed back in the stormlands as a hero if i get rid of you.” willow returned his sneer. she was childishly defiant by now, but it was not in her nature to yield easily, even when she understood the situation she was in. when she was cornered, her instinct was to fight back. even she knew it was not smart to threaten a man such as armaan, but he had just made the mistake of admitting how valuable she was to him, and that made her bold.

if she had the letter opener in her hand right now and a chance to strike without him overpowering her, she believed herself actually capable of following through, even if her hands would shake and her stomach churn. no matter how much she enjoyed fucking him, no matter how she always went back to playing their little game, he had become a nuisance. he was a threat to the very plans he had unknowingly been funding. while she had never killed anyone herself, willow had been the cause of the death of others. their blood had just never stained her hands. a rotting body in the sewers of king's landing was enough proof of that. if she had simply walked away that night, no life would have been lost. but that had always been her problem, ever since she was a child. willow never did walk away when she should, and sometimes that meant she ended up cornered with fingers wrapped around her throat. she remembered her father once telling her that she had a talent for making life difficult for others, but none more so than for herself.

willow finally turned her back on the door and her escape. this was not the day that she would start walking away, nor the day she would start running from danger instead of towards it. she could threaten armaan all day, but it would be of no use. he was one of the few people that she could push and push, and he would never budge an inch. it was why she was attracted to him, it was how he sometimes succeeded in making her submit. she had to change course, take a different approach. so she suddenly pivoted as if she had not just threatened to kill him. “i have no information to give about business in the riverlands.” willow spoke the truth. she had gone right back to not caring about their politics as soon as she had stopped reading the letters on ben's desk. “besides, my stepson is an arrogant prick, and he threw me out of the lady's chambers of raventree hall to prepare them for his betrothed. i don't have easy access to his letters anymore.” her new chambers were in another location of raventree hall now, and it would raise suspicion if she was caught outside ben's chambers or study. “and as you say yourself, the riverlanders already hate me and will not tell me anything, so tricking them into trusting me with valuable information is not an option either. so i guess we're both shit out of luck.”

she supposed that was the only approach now. the less she had to tell him, the less valuable she would be for him, and perhaps he'd find another target. the best part was that it was all true. if he went searching for information, it would be confirmed by staff that she was in a new room in another part of the keep. finally one of ben's little tantrums had proved useful for once.

#( c: armaan yronwood 003. )#god they're so toxic lol #queue.

devanitoland

closed starter for @wyldewillow setting : the litha festival

devani had noticed the eyes on her long before doran uller had confirmed it. she might have played the fool, but that was because it served her well to do so. she was more astute than people gave her credit for, and she liked that they didn't. it let her get away with far more than it would if any believed that she knew what she was doing, and stay out of the things she did not want to involve herself in with a veneer of incompetence.

but any relief that she felt in knowing that some of the eyes belonged to him was dampened by the fact, by his own admission, there was some that were not. it meant someone else had given the order to tail her, and she could only link that to the night in the crownlands. that had been her sole motivation for travelling to the riverlands for this festival. she needed to see if the others were being trailed, too. needed to know if anybody suspected them, or if it were mistrust within their own ranks.

she watched willow blackwood for a while before making her approach, waiting to catch sight of something that would confirm she, too, was being watched. it did not take her long to note the boy with the russet hair, never far from where the lady blackwood found herself. devani hung back, waiting to make her approach, trying to be certain she was right. and then, only when she was sure, did she approach.

"lady blackwood!" her smile was bright, as though she was greeting an old friend. "how wonderful it is to see you again. you remember me, of course - lady toland." play along, she silently willed her, though she was not certain that she would. if she knew what was good for her, she would make this look as natural as possible.

"and that must be your boy, over there?" she gestured to a teenager that she had learned went by the name of sam blackwood, head tilting to the side. "my, what a strapping young man. give it a few years, and you will be beating off the young river maidens with a stick."

"but you have two sons, am i correct? and the other is never far from your side," her voice had dropped, and now, she inclined her head toward the russet-haired boy, the one that she knew without a fraction of a doubt was not willow blackwood's child. he was not looking, would not know it was him that she gestured to, but he could hear them. she could almost see him craning his neck to ensure he did not miss a word, thus her attempt to keep the conversation as innocuous as possible. almost imperceptibly, her eyes widened a fraction, near begging her to understand what it was she was telling her without words. "what a fortunate mother you are, to have such an attentive son."

wyldewillow

willow was not sure how long she had been shadowed, but one day, while still in the westerlands, she started noticing a servant girl always managing to be near her. the next day, it was a boy with brown hair, who always seemed to just linger nearby. first, she had planned to confront them herself, but then she decided that was probably a bad idea. even after speaking to mariela, she still assumed that armaan was the one who had sent them to spy on her. in her mind, there was a good possibility that mariela was the contact armaan had in the vale, and he was spying on her too. willow was not sure what the reason would be for the dornishman to spy on them. perhaps he did actually worry that she would try to accuse him publicly, that she would strike first. but whatever his reason, armaan did not seem like the type of man to need much reason for doing what he did. he was possessive and cruel, that was reason enough for people like him.

she had been pouring a glass of wine as she heard someone addressing her. she looked unimpressed at best at the way devani approached her. she had wanted to keep her distance to the others from that night, and now she had failed twice in a matter of weeks. but she certainly had not expected that kind of greeting from the dornishwoman. her green eyes followed as she pointed out sam. “… or a sword,” she mumbled under her breath in reference to girls chasing after her youngest son.

willow then watched as lady toland pointed out the brown-haired boy, the one she herself had clocked as a spy. she was confused for a moment. why would devani take note of that? the boy looked nothing like her, and there was nothing to suggest he was her son. the words of the dornishwoman were dripping with double meaning. as if struck by lightning, she suddenly understood the game. her lips parted into an unnatural but practised smile, her eyes glittering with an edge of mock delight.

“yes, my sons are my pride and joy, lady toland.”

willow let her gaze slide naturally back toward the russet-haired boy hovering in the periphery. she inclined her head slightly, just enough to suggest, that she acknowledged devani’s implied warning. her hand drifted to brush at her skirts, fingers curling faintly as if steadying herself. did this mean the boy had not been sent by armaan? she began to put two and two together, and suddenly she wished it was only armaan playing his game. if this was indeed related to the murder, and all of them were being shadowed, it was yet another thing to worry about, another trap she had to avoid stepping into. “oh, an attentive son is both a blessing and a burden, wouldn’t you agree? they always seem to have eyes everywhere.” despite her stiff smile, it was easy to tell that willow was annoyed. she considered simply dragging the boy away and force it out of him who sent him, but she was not exactly built for that task with her thin frame.

she turned her full attention back to devani. “and what of you, my lady?” she asked. “what brings you all the way to the riverlands? surely not just the festival, or have the tolands taken an interest in the charms of the trident?” her sarcasm was easily detectable. willow hoped it was enough to give deavni an excuse for them to retreat to somewhere more private.

#( c: devani toland 001. )#queue.

moonhillsunsets

setting: the westerlands, in a dimly lit corridor, mariela sends a missive for a particular member of the six to meet her to discuss suspicions she has ; starter for @wyldewillow

the quiet alcove off the main corridor was dimly lit by a single sconce, its flame flickering against the cold stone walls of casterly rock. mariela stood alone, her dark cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders, the shadows concealing her elegant figure. the faint murmur of courtly chatter and the metallic clink of armor echoed distantly through the halls, but here, in this secluded corner, the air felt heavy with unspoken tension.

she adjusted her gloves, fingers deftly smoothing the leather as though the act would ground her swirling thoughts. The note she’d sent to the widow of raventree hall had been careful in its wording, its intent shrouded in enough ambiguity to deter suspicion should it fall into the wrong hands. discretion had always been her forte, yet this particular meeting left her uneasy.

the whispers had begun only days after their arrival in the westerlands. a shadow at the edge of her vision, footsteps too measured to be coincidental. at first, mariela had dismissed it—a product of her overworked mind, perhaps—but the feeling persisted. someone was watching her. tracking her. the timing, coinciding with the gathering of the courts and the fragile peace of the realm, was too convenient to ignore. and willow’s name had surfaced like an uninvited ghost in her calculations.

she glanced toward the narrow archway, her posture impeccably composed, though her amber eyes betrayed a quiet storm. the sound of footsteps echoed faintly, heels clicking against the stone floor, and the mistress of whispers tilted her head, hues narrowing as she watched the corridor beyond the archway. she hadn’t known the other woman well before the incident. their acquaintance had been no more than polite nods and brief exchanges in crowded rooms. after, though? after, their shared complicity had turned every glance into a reminder of the blood on their hands.

willow stepped into view, her silhouette sharp against the corridor’s gloom. mariela’s chin lifted slightly, her expression composed, as always, though her pulse thrummed faster than she’d admit.

"lady blackwood," she greeted, her voice as smooth and poised as ever. "it seems we’ve both been keeping quiet of late. but now it appears silence is no longer an option."

wyldewillow

when she was handed the message by a servant, willow had been more than surprised to see who it was from. her surprise had quickly transformed into worry, and annoyance that she had to be concerned with this too. she thought of the body in the sewers of king's landing sometimes, but it was becoming an increasingly rare occurrence. she thought it was better if they all simply moved on, and forgot what had taken place that night. it was too late to confess now, it would only look bad for all of them. she was not sure if it was a good idea to meet with mariela. willow was convinced it was best if all six of them stayed away from each other. if one of them broke under the pressure or someone suspected them, they would quickly all become involved with it through proximity. people might also find their newfound acquaintance odd. she only knew lady swann through their families, and no one would believe she willingly wanted to be close to a bracken or a valyrian. but willow knew she could not ignore the message she had received, so she dressed in another one of her black dresses and adorned herself with a cloak to shield herself from the chill and the eyes of others.

she made sure she was difficult to follow by moving all day, going from chamber to chamber, until she was sure she had shaken off anyone on her trail. willow had taken note of a very persistent servant girl. she had brushed it off first as paranoia after her run-in with armaan, but she could still not shake the feeling that something was off. willow had been in sam's chambers for a few minutes, until she made her way to the place where she was to meet mariela.

her lips twitched into a faint smirk, though her eyes gleamed with something colder, sharper. “lady egen.” she stepped into the alcove with a grace that belied the weight of the shadows she carried. her hands, bare and pale against the darkness of her cloak, hung loosely at her sides, but the slight tension in her fingers suggested readiness. “it would seem not, since you so boldly summoned me.” of course, she had an opinion on the meeting place mariela had picked out. “nice place. if we are caught, then two ladies talking in a dark hallway is not suspicious at all,” she said sarcastically.

the flickering light cast strange shapes across willow’s face, accentuating the lines of her jaw and the hollow of her cheeks. she held mariela’s gaze for a beat longer than necessary, testing her composure, before letting her eyes wander briefly to the archway behind. always watching the exits, always calculating. she took a measured step closer, the echo of her boots loud in the small space. “let’s dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?” willow’s voice dropped slightly, her expression hardening. “you wouldn’t call me here unless you thought the risk was worth it, so what do you want?”

#( c: mariela egen 001. )#queue.

closed starter: @deimos-velaryon setting: at a ball in the westerlands, on one of the balconies. context: deimos and willow used to be friends, as they both spent time in king's landing and were around the same age. their friendship ended in a fight as tensions arose before the dance.

willow made her escape from the hall as she witnessed one of the elderly lords beelining for her. she had reached the age where lords decided she was too old for most of them, but young enough for the elderly lords who either had procrastinated finding a wife, or whose wives had already passed on. some already had children and simply wanted a companion, someone to warm their beds. others were still in need of an heir, and willow being the mother of two sons, made her a candidate for those still in need. she fled to one of the balconies, in need of air after spending hours in the stuffy hall drinking wine, and trying to avoid all kinds of small talk.

she almost turned around and went back to the hall when she saw who was out on the balcony. it had been so many years by now, and yet she had still not let go of her resentment. she had never had many friends, pushing away most people within hours, sometimes minutes, of meeting them. but deimos had been a friend before they ended up on each side of the dance. while willow did her best to keep neutral during the war as her father and husband were on opposite sides, she had fully been on the side of the greens leading up to it, and the velaryon had been firmly on the side of the blacks. it was her father who had pushed the agenda that only men should rule, and that the son would always have a right before the daughter. it had been enough to end their friendship. of course, now she would not defend any targaryen, they could all go back to their beloved valyria. she wanted the stormlands to become independent, to be free of the dominion of the valyrians.

willow slipped out as a couple opened the door to go back inside. she took a deep breath as the cool air of the evening washed over her. “so the little brat became king after all.” for the first time in twenty or so years, her eyes met that of deimos velaryon as he turned around.

jaehaerys had still been just a child when they were teenagers in king's landing. she had always referred to him as 'the brat'. she remembered how demanding and unreasonable he could be. when hugo had been nothing but a toddler, she recalled hearing word of the prince demanding to marry her if he had to wed a wylde daughter. of course, he had not cared about the fact she was already married and a mother. whatever the idea had been at the time, it had thankfully quickly been abandoned. ”i did warn you once that my father always got his way somehow. i bet you he stopped rolling in his grave and rested peacefully the moment the crown was placed on jaehaerys' head.”

#( c: deimos velaryon 001. )#queue.

wyldewillow

willow took a lot of pleasure in watching ben trying to figure out how to break the news to sam. his argument was a bad one. she was certain that her son would see through it, just as she had. before she, or even sam, could properly react to his answer, he suddenly changed the subject. she opened her mouth to say something, but then he tempted sam with the only thing that she could not compete with. a chance of adventure, of getting out of raventree hall and on the road. all of which her son craved more than anything else. sam had never been good at hiding his emotions, and his hint of disapproval transformed into sudden excitement from the promise of adventure.

she could probably ruin her son's excitement by reminding him of her sadness of being kicked out of her chambers, but she did not have it within herself to do so. her sons were her ultimate weakness. she knew some people considered her heartless, but they were her heart, each walking around with half of it. she stared daggers at ben for turning the situation on her, wishing he would actually feel each cut. however, she quickly changed her expression into a forced smile as sam turned around to ask her for permission to go. “of course, dear.” they all knew that willow was protective, and she could be strict. but it was rare for her to deny hugo and sam if they truly wanted something. before sam could get more swept up in ben's promise, she put a hand on her son's shoulder to draw him back to reality. “now go on and bathe. you can plan the patrol with your brothers at supper.” once sam had said his goodbyes and disappeared around the corner, willow's expression turned dark.

her gaze turned back to her stepson, and her green eyes were alight with silent fury. there were plenty of things she wished to tell ben, threats of what she had been planning for years. he might have won the battle, but she knew that she'd win the war. she imagined the look on ben's face when he realised that she had taken everything from him. it was the only thing that kept her calm. she took a deep breath. she had to be patient. willow knew she could spin it to her advantage later. she could paint him as the cruel lord who'd take away his grieving stepmother's comforts for his own amusement. “fine, i will vacate my current chambers when my new chambers are ready.” who knew how long that'd take? she could not delay forever, she knew that, there were only so many excuses to give. but she could do so with a few weeks, as it would take some time to move all her stuff, and both chambers needed to be cleaned and prepped.

“is there anything else you want?”

benblvckwood

ben watched as sam nodded, disappearing around the corner to do as his mother had bidden him. it was always a strange thing to witness, the way she was with her sons. he had little doubt that she loved the both of them - as ben did, too, but watching her speak with her children was almost violently opposite to the way she spoke to pretty much anyone else. the boys were easy to love, though, sam in particular, his boyish eagerness a welcome reprieve from ben and willow's bickering.

and it was strange for another reason, for ben had never really known a mother. even when willow had come into his life, there was nobody who had much cared if he had bathed before dinner, or who pushed her anger to the side so as not to dampen his excitement. their father had not been the sort to do so, either. it felt like he were on the outside looking in, at something so alien to him that it felt like he was witnessing something he had no right to.

when sam had gone, he turned back to her, not bothering to conceal the fact he was smug. they both knew, in this instance, he had come out on top, that somehow, he had managed to turn the tables on her. perhaps sam would remember later, and come to ask ben more about his decision. that would be dealt with when the time came.

"when your new chambers are ready, then." at this point, she had no choice but to agree. "just don't be taking your time with it. dragging your feet pretending you've lost something or you're getting sentimental." there was little sympathy for willow in his voice. she had never offered him any, and so there was none to spare for her now.

"nothing else," he turned to take his leave, but could not resist calling back over his shoulder. "have a lovely day, stepmother. enjoy the time you have left in your chambers."

wyldewillow

( fin. )

#( c: benjicot blackwood 001. )#queue.

lucreziasredwyne

∞

lucrezia redwyne’s steps were slow, deliberate, as she paced the quiet courtyard, her hands gently patting the back of her son, callum, in a futile attempt to soothe his discomfort. the soft rustle of her gown—rich and dark with subtle accents of gold—was the only sound besides the quiet murmur of the baby’s soft, discontented cries. she had spent the better part of the hour trying to ease his pain, but nothing seemed to work. she had been a mother for nearly a year now, but there were still nights like these, when the helplessness threatened to overtake her.

she had tried everything—held him upright, walked him along the cobbles beneath the stars, and even massaged his tiny back—but the burp that would relieve his discomfort remained stubbornly absent.

as she walked, her mind wandered to the weight of her duties. the responsibilities of being mistress of ships were pressing, and the demands of her position had only grown since the birth of her son. she had to balance the ever-growing expectations of king cedric tyrell’s council and manage the fleet with a delicate hand. yet, here she was, in the quiet of the night, walking a darkened courtyard, desperately trying to quiet a baby’s cries. there was a momentary relief in the soft sound of footsteps approaching, and instinctively, lucrezia stiffened.

but when the voice spoke, smooth and understanding, something in her softened.

"you do not have to hide from the world because of a crying babe," the stranger's reached her, and lucrezia turned her head to find the older woman approaching. her gaze dropped momentarily to the baby in her arms, then returned to lucrezia, her expression softened in a way that caught the younger woman off guard. she almost found herself reshifting her son in her arms, bringing the shawl down to shield his face; though she kept speaking.

“he’s struggling,” lucrezia murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them. her gaze dropped to the tiny form in her arms, and she could feel the weight of her own exhaustion, the helplessness of it all. “i do not think he is feeding properly, and i don’t know what to do anymore. wet nurses have tried, i've tried...” her voice cracked, and she immediately cursed herself for showing vulnerability. “i’ve tried everything,” she continued, her gaze fixed on the baby in her arms, avoiding willow’s sympathetic eyes. “but it doesn’t work. i’ve tried to be everything... the dutiful wife, a councillor, the devoted mother. but he...” her voice faltered again, and she pressed her lips together in an effort to regain her composure.

"if my son will not properly feed, then what good is the rest?"

the question lingered in the air between them, heavy and unspoken, before she sighed softly and looked up at willow again. there was a visible fear of the unknown on lucrezia's face for a moment, etches of vulnerability, of stress and of fear. there was a slight inhale as she wrapped the blanket around callum, before taking another one in her spare hand, one that was also bundled around him. "i will not ask you to lower yourself to the grass...but if i were to do so, would you show me?" she murmured, the question hanging; she felt a sense of embarrassment for even needing to ask such a thing. but as his crying became more high pitched, and his face began to turn red with a certain intensity, she began to catastrophise in her head.

for she would be found in kneeling in the mud ten times over, if it meant she would be able to stop hearing it. to find something that worked. "i do not wish to infringe upon your time...i apologise for even asking, my lady."

wyldewillow

willow could see how the babe became more and more dissatisfied, and she took pity on the woman. with a silent sigh, she lowered herself onto her knees, trying to ignore that it had definitely become a bit more of a hassle getting up and down lately. “may i?” she had hated it when others had simply grabbed her children, so she would always ask for permission before touching another woman's child. she sat in the grass next to lucrezia while doing her best to guide the other woman to do the exercises she had found helped relieve sam. willow could still remember them all, despite it being many years since her sons had been babes. she sat back and watched as the other tried to do them on her own. she tried smiling at the babe as he looked up at her with red eyes, still screaming, there was a softness in her features that was not usually there. “often you will have to do it a few times before it helps.”

as lucrezia continued, she spoke to try to distract her from focusing solely on the child's cries. “i also worried for my son. he seemed so uncomfortable when eating, but he still grew big and strong, so he must have got what he needed. i am sure your son does too.” she wondered who the lady was. a councillor? but then she heard the small toot of a fart coming from the little boy as his mother lifted his legs and pressed them to his stomach. “keep going, there's almost more than you think humanly possible.”

willow knew how frustrating it could be, and she knew there would only be other challenges in the future, but everything became easier when the child learned how to talk. all a mother wanted was to understand their child, so they could help them and comfort them, and that was why it could be so frustrating with a screaming babe, who could not simply say why they were upset. “i know it does not make everything better right now, but sometimes it helps to remember this will not last, it is only temporary,” she said softly. this all felt strange to her. willow was not used to be in the role of trying to comfort and support others. “it seems like a lifetime away now, but before you even know it, then he will be sitting at the table, talking your ear off and eating all your food.” her boys had often demolished two full plates by the time she finished her first.

#( c: lucrezia redwyne 001. )#queue.

armaans

꙰

armaan yronwood watched the hairbrush sail past him and strike the wall, unfazed by willow’s outburst. if anything, the sight amused him, though he let none of it show beyond the faint curve of his lips. she was like a cornered cat, all hiss and claws, and it only made him want to press harder. stormlanders had always been predictable in their pride. even so, this one—his willow—had surprised him more than once. his. the thought was a bitter indulgence, one he quickly pushed aside.

“scream, then,” he said, his voice low and lazy, almost bored. “let’s see what happens.” he stood with the casual arrogance of someone who knew he had already won, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against her desk. his eyes traveled over her, slow and deliberate, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath came quick and shallow. "you're no katherine serrett to be having me thrown anywere. tits not perky enough." he scoffed, his tone mocking as he looked upon her; and he saw flashes of her straddled upon him, their actions violent. she was afraid, though she’d never admit it. willow wylde never admitted anything.

he gestured lazily to the book in her hand, raising an eyebrow. “going to throw that next? aim better.”

her anger was a thing to behold, a blaze that made her look more alive than he had ever seen her in the quiet, stolen moments they had shared before. but anger was fleeting. anger was a mask. armaan knew that underneath it, there was something else: fear. and fear was useful. he tilted his head slightly, watching her like a hawk might watch a rabbit darting in futile circles. “do you honestly believe you can just walk away? after everything you’ve done, everything you’ve given me?” his words were a blade, sharp and precise.

in truth, her defiance grated on him more than he cared to admit. willow had always been prideful, but this—this was something else. had she grown bold enough to think she could outmaneuver him? or was this guilt, gnawing at her like a festering wound? it hardly mattered. he would not allow her to slip away, not when she had been so useful. not when he had already staked so much on her silence and compliance.

“i'm not ready to accept this all becoming a waste of my time." he said, taking another step forward. his dark eyes bore into hers, unyielding; almost expecting her to scream. he enjoyed seeing her panicked, enjoyed seeing her look toward the door. “who gave you the means to be more than some dull mother of a second and third born?” his voice quietened, but the venom in it was unmistakable. “i’m not a man you can simply brush aside...deal's not done."

wyldewillow

willow knew she did not need to be queen for armaan to be punished. a dornish lord breaking into the chambers of a stormlander lady, she could quickly spin a tale that would stain his reputation. she wondered how he'd react if she actually did it, if she did not care about the consequences, and just stepped back to see the world burn. perhaps it would set off a war between dorne and new valyria, she heard they were on the cusp of it anyway. his childish insults almost made her want to do it ― and yet she would not. armaan seemingly knew that as well, or perhaps he simply knew no one would come if she screamed.

all she had given him? did he talk about the spy reports or the fact she had given herself to him? they had mixed pleasure with business, and now the lines had been blurred. willow's arm lowered as he spoke. her eyes were glued to him, as if armaan would suddenly move to strike like a snake in the grass. she put the book back on the shelf, not wanting to risk destroying something that meant something to hugo. his words did nothing to tame her anger. she did not like him bringing up her children. “don't flatter yourself, yronwood, you're not my saviour.” she knew there was something she had to do, something she needed to get rid of, so despite her heart hammering in her chest, she slowly approached him.

“you gave me an opportunity, yes, but it was my decision to take it.” it was her who had run the greatest risk when she agreed to become a spy for him. “you're not the first lord to provide me with an opportunity, and you will not be the last.” the older she became, the less opportunities there were. but if she truly was in need of gold, willow was confident she could still spread her legs for an elderly toad of a lord, and be married within a week with a fortune to spend.

yet armaan's offer had saved her from stooping to such lows, to endure another marriage. she had still fallen into bed with him, but it had not been for the sake of duty, or for gold. now that she was only two steps from him, she felt it again. the inexplicable attraction. the heat suddenly running through her veins as fleeting images of their last meeting appeared in her mind. armaan was an arrogant prick, and yet she still wanted him. it was infuriating. she was caught in a strange place of wanting to regret what had happened between them, while still feeling incapable of truly regretting any of it. she had walked away from their deal richer, while pleasantly sore and satisfied. she had sworn that would be the end of it though. no more spying, no more fucking. they would be done. but armaan was unsurprisingly refusing to let her get away so easily. the grasp of powerful men was relentless.

“the conflict between lys and the riverlands is over, and your precious investments are safe. there is nothing left to report.” willow's unwillingness to continue their little partnership had nothing to do with her morals. sure, as a stormlander she felt conflicted. but when it came down to it, it was actually quite simple. the longer she was involved with armaan, the greater the risk of being exposed. willow had too much at stake for all of it to tumble down because of a dornishman. “that was the deal we made.” she was now right in front of him, close enough to feel his breath, and close to the desk. her gaze locked with his, although her mind focused on what she needed to do. “deal's done.”

without warning, she moved swiftly and without hesitation. she reached behind him, accidentally grazing his back in the process, and ripped the letter and the parchment covering it from the desk. she immediately took a step past him before he could grab her, and tossed the parchments into the fire. willow turned her back to the hearth, blocking his view of the letter burning to ash. armaan would now know she kept a secret from him, but she would rather that than him finding proof of it. her gaze was drawn to the door, and she contemplated bolting to get away before armaan caught her in his web once more.

#( c: armaan yronwood 003. )

opheliafowler

carrying moon tea in a place where it was strictly forbidden was a dangerous gamble, but ophelia had slipped it among her other healing remedies in her bag. the tea was carefully concealed, nestled between bottles of tinctures and herbs, its presence disguised by the mundane clutter of her medical supplies. there was little reason for anyone to rummage through her belongings, and she had taken care to ensure it was unlabeled, blending into the mix. if anyone did happen to find it, she could feign innocence, claiming she had simply forgotten to remove it before her journey. still, she was keenly aware of the risk. she always was.

but today, that risk seemed justified. the woman sitting across from her had asked for it, her voice steady but laced with urgency. ophelia’s eyes held no judgment, no hint of curiosity to pry more into what wasnt her business, just a quiet, attentive calm as she listened. she had heard many stories in her time as a healer, from whispered confessions to tearful pleas, and she knew when her patients needed more than just medicine. sometimes they needed to talk, to have her help to unweave the tangled threads of their worries. but this woman was different, reserved, composed. she spoke plainly, with no need for embellishments.

“i can assist you,” ophelia said, her voice soft but firm, reassuring. “i will be discreet. whatever happens within these walls remains between us. i swear it.” she met the woman’s eyes, her tone carrying the weight of her words.. “given where we are, though, it wouldn’t be safe for me to give it to you to take away. i can prepare it here, and you can drink it before you leave. it will be safer that way.”

the young healer moved around the small, dimly lit room, her hands deftly gathering the tools she needed. she reached for a kettle, filling it with water, and placed it over the small, flickering flame to boil. as she worked, her movements were fluid and practiced, the actions of someone who had done this many times before as she prepared the tea.

“you may sit if you’d like,” she offered, glancing back at the woman with a gentle smile. “it will only take a moment for the water to heat.” her smile was warm, a practiced gesture meant to soothe anxious patients, to ease their fears. but this woman didn’t seem nervous or distressed. there was a quiet strength about her, a resolve that stood out, and ophelia found herself admiring it.

as the water began to steam, soft wisps of vapor rising into the air, the room filled with the faint scent of herbs. the silence between them was not uncomfortable; it was patient, like the pause between one breath and the next. ophelia prepared the tea with careful precision, measuring out the herbs, her hands steady and sure. she knew the risk she was taking, but she also understood the necessity.

wyldewillow

she wanted to object to the fact that she could not simply pay for the mixture and leave, but she also did not want to be refused service. but she supposed that this would only prove to ophelia that she really was in need of moon tea. “fine.” willow ended up sitting down after all. she watched as the healer got to work. she tried not to think too much of what she was doing. she thought back to when she had been nothing more than a half grown child. pregnant and desperate, and how moon tea would have changed everything for her then. perhaps her life would have turned out different. who knew if she would still be shipped off to the riverlands to marry samwell? at least she knew that she would not spend half her time wondering where her child was, who they were, what they looked like. if they were happy, if they were comfortable. her father had altered her entire life when he sent her away. he had saved one life, and left his daughter to deal with the pain of it. it was not that willow regretted the child, she only regretted everything that happened because of them. the ripples of the decisions made by her father.

the smell of the tea being prepared made her stomach turn. there was something about the smell that disgusted her. “is it almost done?” she asked impatiently. willow was not exactly known for her patience. she then thought about the horror stories she had heard of women not getting the measurements correctly. drinking moon tea was not without its dangers. “nevermind. take your time.” she understood the risks. willow had wanted more children before samwell died, but since she was determined not to marry, there could also be no more babes born from her. if she ended up with a withered womb, it was still better than running the risk of carrying a dornish bastard. she did not exactly love the idea of having to drink the mixture in front of this stranger, but she also did not expect anything to happen. it was only a precaution, something she did to ensure she did not end up in the same position she had been in twenty odd years ago.

“are you not worried about getting caught?”

willow had never been one to make small talk. she had no interesting in discussing the weather, or commentating on others choice of dress, but she was curious about why others did what they did. mostly because she rarely understood their motivations. ophelia would earn some coin, but not enough to get rich. if she did not plan to use the information she learned as blackmail, what was the reason for the risks she took?

#( c: ophelia fowler 001. )#full disclosure i wrote this at 1 am hyped up on faxe kondi so forgive me if it's rambly lmao

benblvckwood

there was always an answer for everything when it came to willow. quick thinking was not within ben's range of talents - not when it came to the crossing of words, rather than blades. no matter how much he prepared for it, she always seemed to say something that took him by surprise. he blinked at her for a moment, trying to grasp at something that eluded him. "well, that's just it, isn't it?" was what he ended up landing on, though he knew himself the argument was a weak one. "you've been there long enough. it's time to let it go." in the end, it did not matter how weak his arguments were. he had decided on his course of action, and he would not be deterred.

sam's appearance had him breathing out, the tension leaving his shoulders just a little. he was under no illusions about who his stepmother was. she was a petty, quarrelsome woman, but not without limits. "leave off him," he muttered, watching as willow fussed over the dirt on sam's face. the boy was nearly a man grown, far too old to have is mother dab at him with a handkerchief. there had been plenty of opportunity over the years for her to bring his brothers into their arguments, but she had never stooped so low. for a brief moment, he thought that would be the end of it.

but it appeared that, when it came to willow's limits, he was sorely mistaken. once again, he was knocked speechless, the anger in his eyes meeting the smugness in willow's. he could not look at sam. despite the woman he had came from, he was still a brother. the two were close, too, as brothers should be. willow had him over a barrel, and she knew it.

because your mother is a cunt, he wanted to say, but miraculously, he managed to hold his tongue. it was a mark of how much he loved his brother that he was able to do so. instead of telling sam the harsh truth, ben changed tactics, instead letting out a laugh, tearing his gaze from willow to sam. "it's just a bit odd, isn't it? having your father's wife in the rooms meant for your own bride." he would elaborate no further than that. if sam had further questions, ben gave him no opportunity to ask them. "actually, sam, i am glad you are here. i have news for you." he spared willow a mere glance, before directing the rest of his words to the boy. "lord vance has asked us to arrange patrols on the road between here and harrenhal, to keep bandits from the road. i would like you and hugo to join me. it is time to get some real experience under your belts."

wyldewillow

“is there anything else you want?”

#( c: benjicot blackwood 001. )

conallblackbar

conall breathed out a loud sigh, on hand coming to rest on his temple. his head was beginning to pound, and he longed to pour a drink or three down his throat and forget this conversation. there were only so many knocks a man could take, and he had taken his share of beatings. each time, he had gotten to his feet, a little more defeated than before, and every now and then, there was a glimmer of hope that perhaps it was the last of it. but then here came willow, reminding him that it would never cease. it would follow him to his grave, and beyond.

and it was useless, telling her that he did not do it, his pleas to his innocence had fallen on deaf ears time and time again, and he had no protests left to give. instead, he merely shook his head, denial and disbelief all at once. "i feel sorry for you." he wasn't sure where the words came from, blinking a little once they escaped his lips. if she could not see how love was a defence, then what sort of love had she known? passion, perhaps, but never the warm comfort of seeing the person you cared for at the end of a long day, and resting your head in their lap. he supposed it was true. when he looked at her, he did feel pity.

the moment ebbed, and he was annoyed all over again. "you're deluded." when her attacks were aimed at him, his responses were only half-hearted, the pathetic growls and a toothless dog. when it came to those he cared for, it was a different matter, and though she had missed the mark when it came to brianna, he would not deny his affection for her - that of family, true to his protests. he did not need willow blackwood to remind him of regret. it was a constant companion, as familiar as his own reflection.

wyldewillow

she put a hand on her heart and pretended to be touched by his pity. but then she suddenly let out a mocking laugh. perhaps lord blackbar would think she was deranged, she did not care. “spare your feelings for someone who cares about them.” one of her strengths was the deep apathy she felt about how others felt about her. she only cared about her reputation because she had secrets to hide. she had plans to set in motion, and she had to make sure there was still a touch of mystery and warmth towards her. it did not matter if a handful of people hated her as long as ten more either did not know her, or if they felt kindness towards her. it was the reason she still wore black. samwell's death had given her the disguise of mourning widow, a powerful disguise that drew sympathy from most who had lost a loved one in the recent wars.

willow only smiled in response. there was no kindness to be found in her green eyes. nothing in her expression changed except her lips curling upwards. “it was a lovely chat, one i am sure you will recall in detail one day.” and as a storm rolling in from the sea, she suddenly changed her tune. her tone now honey sweet. he would pick up on the sarcasm and threat, of course, but those now nearby would think they'd had a polite conversation. “... if you're not too far into your cups, of course.” willow could not hold herself back from dealing one final insult.

without a goodbye, willow turned on her heel and left. a plan of sorts was starting to form in her mind, one that would leave conall with a black mark on his already spotted reputation.

#( c: conall blackbar 001. )#done on my end x

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

🗲 — a storm is coming.