the ocean washes over your grave

When Aemon confessed there had been talk of calling off the wedding, however, Ulises stilled. There was a subtle change in his expression, a slight furrowing of his brow. “I didn’t know that,” he said. He was admittedly surprised to learn there had been some matters happening in the background of it all. The Trant lord didn't know the reasons, since Aemon didn't speak of it, but he had a feeling that the optics of it all hadn't been the only reason he chose to move forward with the planned union. “And that was the only reason?” he asked, his voice a little lower. He wasn't trying to be meddlesome. He was merely trying to better understand his friend's decision to opt in or out of this marriage.

At the lord's admission that he had to marry someone, Ulises gave a slow nod. It was true. For men like them it was never a matter of if they would wed one day, but when. Their titles did not allow for indulgent bachelorhood forever, no matter how loudly one laughed and wished to pretend their lives shouldn't change.

Ulises let out a low breath, a half-chuckle, when Aemon teased about not wanting to become serious like him. “As your friend, I suppose that task does fall onto me,” he said, nodding lightly in what seemed agreement to the pact. And perhaps he was partially agreeing to it. Of the two of them, he was without question the serious one. And it was strange how he turned out to be that way. The sea had taken them both once. The depths nearly claimed Aemon in a single violent grab, and yet the Velaryon lord emerged brighter for it, apparently carefree and more alive after the incident. For his part, Ulises had drifted for weeks between the ocean and the sky, and he returned almost hollowed-out, quieter, dimmer. There was an asymmetry there that he couldn't fully understand. Aemon was casual. Ulises could not be. And yet they remained friends, despite standing on opposite ends of the spectrum about several things.

"it's one of the reasons," he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I mean, look, when we first got engaged, she was an heiress. It was supposed to be about getting a lordship. But she lost it, didn't she? to that bastard brother of hers." aemon spoke casually, as though the loss of parchments was of little consequence to him. "that was when we could have called it off. but that's a bit cruel, isn't it? i'm a lot of things, but i'm not the type to kick someone when they're down."

for a moment, aemon only watched ulises. there was a solemnity that had clung to him since his return, one aemon thought he could understand, given that what his friend had gone through was his worst nightmare. he could not even true give it much thought, the mere idea of it enough to bring a cold sweat to the back of his neck. the very name velaryon was synonymous with tide and sea, and yet, to the disappointment of his father, and he suspected his brother too, it had taken one split second for aemon to hate everything about it. it was something he did not confide in anybody, kept to himself the way he often woke in the night, gasping for air with the taste of saltwater on his tongue, the memory of struggling against the current as fresh as it had been the day it happened. for those who had known the cruelty of the ocean first hand, it was difficult not to let it change you.

watching him was like watching a mummer’s play, the way he was practiced in his movements, like it was a dance and he was the center point of it all. she wondered if he rehearsed these faces in the mirror, if he spent time in figuring out how his eyes sparkled and at what degree he had to turn his head in this light to achieve it. it wasn’t like she was not guilty of something similar, the way she roiled things over and over in her head like water over a stone until it was far past smooth and nearly sand. deimos had given her responsibilities and she worried over how well she was handling the children, how the daily business of driftmark fared under her purview instead of yna’s. she did not worry about how she looked draped across a couch or how her eyes shined in certain lights, as she was vain enough -and self-aware enough- to know she looked dazzling in most any situation.

and even as she dazzled now in the privacy of her brother’s rooms, there was something very human in the way she play-gagged at her brother’s insinuations about the lady penrose. “gross, aemon. i don’t want to think of that.” having had her pillow confiscated, her first instinct was to start punching his arm with both fists. she had no true strength behind the three or so hits she landed until she stopped to huff and cross her arms in a dramatic pout. that was mostly due to him getting up, walking away to pour drinks. “i’m not being a bitch… that’s just how it is at it’s most basic interpretation.” rhaena shrugged, her dramatics melting away as she examined a hem on her dress nonchalantly. her words carried the same laissez-faire sort of delivery as she explained her view of it all. “we get brought out, led around so men can see our birthing hips and whatnot you all find appealing about the womanly body, our pedigree examined for how well-bred we are, and then our fathers or brothers sell us off to the highest bidder.” rhaena looked up at her brother, wondering if he saw courting and marriage in some other way, as a man. at her grown age of twenty-seven, she was less likely to find fantasy in the whole debacle, not that she didn’t hope for something akin to what her parents had. love and partnership and being respected were important to her, or at the very least the last two if she could not have all three.

unfortunately, his moment of irritating her had slipped by, her next words bringing a deep sigh to aemon's lips and causing his eyes to roll upwards to the ceiling. there was little he found more tedious than the topic of marriage at the best of times, never mind rhaena's laments, which firmly crossed into the territory of things he didn't care about at all. "so don't get married then?" he shrugged a shoulder. "if you're so against it. deimos won't force you into it." a marriage conducted under force was, under the law, invalid anyway, though that was a law all too often overlooked, and so aemon didn't bring that up. "why are we even having this conversation, anyway? it's boring." he raised his glass to his lips, drained it in one, and then refilled it.

"and if you start talking about your 'womanly body' again, i'm going to be sick." it was hypocritical, given his previous lewd comments, and what was about to come out of his mouth next. "besides, if it was all about sex and breeding, we'd just take up with the smallfolk and whores. noble ladies are so delicate and fragile. much better birthing hips on a farmer's daughter. it's why there's so many of them." to aemon, matters of marriage were nothing more than a practicality. he wasn't sure he ever really wanted to be a husband, was certain he did not care much for children, but his personal apprehension was outweighed by the benefits. he was a man who had always managed to find a place for himself wherever he went, who survived on influence and favour alone. his choice of bride was not so different, really.

vivd ocean hues tried to find their way through what felt like utter darkness within the king's chambers; though judging by the sound he made in accidentally causing multiple expensive items to fall crashing to the floor as he sought for something specifically, it were as though a rat had scurried in and caused mayhem in its wake. "nothing hits the same when its time to bring the planning out." his mind continued to seem fuzzy, blurred - and when aemon spoke, it was like he heard multiple voices. saw multiple faces of his. there was one flickering candlelight in the corner of the room which let out some ominous levels of light, truthfully with the way it flickered it may as well have been completely put out for all it done was making things look like strange shapes, such as brief reflections in the mirror and the smell of smoke in the very back of his mind.

"i'll have you know it's been in my breeches all night, yeah?" cedric seemed to casually snap back from across the room, still looking through shelf after shelf for something specifically - he heard the sounds of aemon's dramatic sigh from behind him, a sudden sound before there came the sound of manic laughter that stretched from here all the way across the sunset sea. the king of thorns did not even react to such a sudden noise, even the wheezing, for he continued on his mission of finding what it was he was looking for - a mission that was more difficult than he assumed under this cover of darkness.

"don't even need to get it properly out with these..." his hand patted down upon his breeches as he accidentally dropped another object, clearing his throat as he fought his mind not to trail back to whatever heaven he had experienced some hours earlier, and instead continue with his quest of finding the mystery object. what was the name of that knight from the stormlands that was good with quests? where was he when he needed him? "whatever her name was...she was one talented woman, i'll tell you that. talented mouth."

it was then cedric realised he was far closer to aemon than he had realised, as the man had emerged from the shadows like some phantom - it was enough to make golden laughter slip with aemon's own manic one, lower than aemon's but it wheezed slightly more. "seven hells, why the fuck you standing there like that man?" cedric all but managed to yell through his laughter, reaching forward to shove the man from the shoulder for a moment before he saw, through the reflective moonlight, the drips of blood on the marble below. he all but exclaimed when he realised it was going to go onto the rarest of rhoynish tapestries, so rare there was disagreement on what year it had originated from.

"no, no, no - move," cedric suddenly exclaimed, and in that moment, his spare hand had finally found his secret weapon. a bowl of water. and whilst his instinct was to dunk aemon velaryon's head into it, even in this state, he knew better than to do such a thing - that would be cruel. as funny as it would be. he did not need the man dropping dead from his heart stopping; no doubt their heart was already working overdrive. "here, here. move from the tapestry, it's...old." cedric placed the bowl down before aemon velaryon with some force, to the point where some water ended up splashing over the edge and onto his shoes. "did you just spit on my floor? that's disgusting. fucking valyrian." he reached for a spare cloth and threw it over the back of aemon's head, lowered to splash himself hesitantly with the water.

"what? before the month is out?" cedric finally realised what it was had been said; he blinked, as though his mind which always worked a million miles a minute had finally shit down - or been forced to shutdown, to restart. "what's the rush? it ain't like she's going anywhere - you're far more wealthy than her." cedric asked, almost incredulously - it was his bad habit during such periods of time. he did not realise what was a sensible volume to speak in. and so, it seemed as though the whole court of highgarden needed to hear his conversation. "did you cum in her?" he asked, his tone entirely serious as he realised there were stains on his shirt - he slipped it over his head, splashing his own face and mouth with water in an attempt to freshen up. it had worked; the cold water had always revitalised cedric - it was why he bathed in cold water each morning.

that sensation of invincibility was all but gone. what was left was an ache in his bones, the feeling that his head was suddenly too large for his neck to hold up. he did not know how cedric still had the energy to rifle through his belongings, looking for god knows what like a man on a mission, when aemon barely had the drive to walk himself to a chair and throw himself in it. he briefly contemplated lowering himself to the floor, as though lying directly on the marble would help wick the sheen of sweat from his skin.

in the end, he stayed standing, swaying slightly, but he still had enough about him to snort at cedric's protest, and then clarification. "only by technicality, then," he pointed out, a roll of eyes that were more pupil than iris to punctuate. "if you got it wet, it still counts." he might have continued, but the sound of whatever it was that cedric had just dropped clattering across the floor causing aemon to startle, and whatever thoughts were in his mind slipped away. "careful, man." his hand flew to his chest, the rabbit-beat of his heart thumping under his palm.

he had not noticed himself doing it, but whilst cedric pulled his chambers apart, aemon had slowly inched forward, footstep at a time, until he was suddenly standing nose to nose with the man. there was something owlish in the way he blinked in the face of cedric's laughter, though he himself had just been laughing too, as though the sound utterly confused him. aemon spread his arms wide, gesturing around the darkened room. "where else am i supposed to stand?" he asked, not having to wait long before cedric herded him elsewhere, away from tapestries that any other time aemon would have found fascinating, perhaps pressing him on exactly what he meant by old, and towards a bowl of clean water he seemed to have pulled from nowhere.

aemon took his time to dip the cloth thrown upon him in the water, wringing it out in a tightened fist, and slowly dragged it over his forehead, his movements careful and deliberate. he had to admit that the cool touch of it was refreshing against his skin. he dipped it in the bowl again, this time pressing the cloth to his neck, and then, finally, his eyes fell upon a chair. he slung the cloth around the back of his neck, and folded himself into the seat.

"she isn't, but maximus celtigar isn't handing over duskendale until it's done," his eyes rolled, for cedric was well aware that the second son of driftmark had his eyes upon a lordship of his own, and had to swerve from his hope of inheriting rather than buying one when parchments had been taken from his betrothed's hands and placed into those of her brother. "anyway, not like it's rushing. been on the cards for ages, hasn't it?"

CHRIS EVANS

she shifted slightly, leaning her elbow against the bench as her fingers hovered above the keys, tracing invisible patterns in the air. “i wonder sometimes if you think places are only what they give you. titles, coin, influence.” her lips curved faintly, a gesture more of thought than amusement. parchments had given her something quieter, subtler, rhythm, a way of hearing the world differently, a pulse beneath the stones and halls. stormlands music, undisciplined and unpolished, it had taught her that beauty need not be ordered, that it could stumble, sway, and still endure. she let her eyes drift to the floor for a moment, imagining the echoes of her own fingers on those ivory keys, and she thought, not for him, that some things could never be taken, even if the keep itself had.

when he rose to peer from the window, she finally let her eyes follow him, her expression smoothing into something almost unreadable. she watched the way he carried himself, so assured, so certain, as though the world would fall neatly into place at his command. she admired it, in some ways. envied it, in others. “you’re right, of course. you’ll find your seat, and people will owe you their favors. it has a way of bending to you.” she tilted her head, a flicker of something sharper dancing in her gaze. “but i'll not always be content to only trail behind. i have no desire to be silent in matters that matter.”

"what are you on about?" her question was not one even he could spin into something irreverent, though when he lifted himself from his position and crossed to sit on a couch positioned a few feet from the piano, it was languid, his gait giving no falter to the easy confidence he veiled himself with. "places don't make people. you can be anywhere and still be the same person you were where you started." his hand came to rest on his knee, and he looked at her then, his words more pointed than his tone suggested. "people make the places somewhere worth being. and, sorry to say, with your brother at the helm, parchments is not a place that's going to be worth anybody's time." the new lord was still green, but aemon had heard whispers of how he spent his money. myles penrose - storm, whatever he called himself these days - would never wield political influence, because he did not understand the world in which he had found himself. aemon was beginning to think vivienne didn't understand it, either.

there was something underneath his words he didn't outwardly display, something he had never once put into words. aemon was not a man who belonged to any one place, not in the way vivienne thought she belonged to parchments. he had left driftmark as a child, fled from the red keep as soon as staying there became untenable, drifted from gallowsgrey as soon as the safety it offered was no longer necessary. the seat of the court he had built around himself was unfixed, ever changing and shifting at the beat of a hummingbird's wings. she did not see that even duskendale was a concession offered to her, somewhere to put down roots and something to call her own when that was something he'd never had an interest in doing so for himself.

her legs may have been pushed off, but stubborn rhaena flopped them right back, crossing her arms as she listened to her brother, watching him with keen eyes that studied his face. she wondered what joy he got from all of this, of spreading himself so thin in order to manipulate things to go the way he wanted. that was what it all was, in the end, manipulation of minds slower than his in order to get what he wanted. but what did her brother want? was it truly just influence? maybe it made him feel important in some way he might not otherwise. could she even ask him for the answer, or would it be rude? would he even know what the answer would be?

he was saved from the question though when he insulted her intelligence, as she forgot the train of thought as she immediately grabbed a discarded throw pillow and swung it hard at his midsection. “rude!” she practically yelled, moving sit up, her legs swung off his lap as she kneeled on the couch, ready to attack again if he continued. “i should smother you for that. save the penrose girl the effort.”

she wasn’t surprised he asked for her to accompany him versus his fiancee, because she was no fool, she knew her brother was just marrying the girl for -at this point- just the money. once he may have had parchments, called himself ruling lord without putting in work, but the bastard now superseded his trueborn sister. if he had a plan, he’d need money that didn’t come from deimos, or he was unwilling to ask their brother due to probably some sort of patriarchal pride. shame he hated the sea, surely he could press a claim for storm’s end due to their maternal baratheon grandmother otherwise.

he always deflected talk of those who had passed like this, with an easy streak of dark humour. it was debateable if, even after time had passed, he had ever truly registered just how much the velaryons had lost (dead brother. dead father. dead sister-in-law. dead dragons), or if distance from driftmark made it easier to compartmentalise it all, and thus, pretend that it didn't exist, and that they were all just busy across waters he would never sail. there was only one loss that he never spoke about in jest, never spoke about at all. dead mother.

"i don't think she'd want you to save her the effort, actually," he was suddenly serious, leaning in a little closer, as though about to confide in her a great secret. "it frightens me, truly, but i think she actually would smother me, given half the chance. only thing is..." he broke off, sighed, putting a hand on his chest. "i can't say it. it's too horrible." he was clearly enjoying dragging it out, violet eyes twinkling. "the only thing is, it's not a pillow she's holding over my face." his laughter came out in a hoot once he had reached the punchline, clearly suggestive in intent, talk more suited to a brothel than conversation with his kin. that was why it was so funny to him, because he knew it would disgust her, and he was nothing if not a brother who delighted in terrorising his little sister.

her legs were replaced atop his lap, and he gave her a half-hearted flick to the ankle. "you're like a cat, rhae. more i shove you off, more you try and claw your way back." he grumbled. he took the pillow she had launched at him, leaning forward to place it behind his back, as though it had been a great kindness that she had done him and not an attempt to attack.

for the first time since she had walked through the door, something she said had aemon lost for words, the look he gave her one of genuine surprise. "a fatter heiress cow? gods, couldn't have phrased that more repellently if you tried, could you? bitch." the latter word was delivered teasingly, rather than with any malice or insult attached, but something about her wording genuinely didn't sit right with him. "but nah, no, nothing like that. vivienne is a fine enough woman. if i have to be married, it's good that it's her."

Ulises looked at the glass that had been nudged his way, the faintest tug of a smile appearing on his lips. “I remember,” he answered, his voice even, though his dark eyes carried a gleam of amusement. “I'd never seen anyone massacre an agave like that before. I should've charged you for the damage”. His tone was wry, but it was softened by the memory that turned out to be quite a fun time to remember. Those days at Gallowsgrey had been easier ones, lighter days during a simpler time.

The Lord of Gallowsgrey, the one some called the Hanged Man for the gloomy air about him, actually smiled when his friend opened the bottle of tequila and chose to drink some of it with him. “Well, it's yours. You get to choose how it's shared,” he said as he took the glass in his hand, lifting it for Aemon to pour some of the rich, amber-colored drink. Aemon's bride would get to try it on another occasion. For a moment, the thought of Vivienne Penrose hovered at the edges of his mind like a specter trying to be recalled, but he pushed it away. That had been another life. A younger man’s life. Ulises would always cherish the memory of the love they once felt for each other, but so much of the young man he'd been then had drowned in the ocean that nearly swallowed him whole. When the sea spat him out, Ulises Lazarus Trant had inevitably returned as a changed man.

"truth be told, mate, when there was talk of calling it off being thrown about, i almost took the chance then and there," he confessed, an admission he had made to none other. "but it wouldn't have looked good, would it? not for her or me. and besides, she's decent enough as far as potential wives go. i suppose i have to marry someone." he did not delve deeper into the matter, did not share that after losing her inheritance, it felt to him that losing her betrothal was one step too far. that was too sentimental for aemon, and he would hate anyone to think he had a conscious buried under all his bravado.

"it's all just an excuse for a part with some paperwork attached though, isn't it?" he spoke casually, as though it mattered very little. "i try not to think about it too much, anyway. just do me a favour, if i get married and it changes me and i end up going around looking as serious as you do these days, it's up to you to make sure i start seeing sense and acting like myself again." that much, he was serious about, at least.

“You are missed in Driftmark,” he stated simply when his brother asked why he had come to see him. “Your nephew and nieces ask after you often”. His children carried the silent dread of loss, the lingering effect of having seen their uncle Aerion and their mother return to the sea within the same year. “Every now and then they ask if you are still alive, you know? And when I tell them you are, they ask if you hate home. If that's what keeps you from going to Driftmark”. It was Rhaenys who asked that for the first time on the day they buried Yna in the depths of the ocean.

deimos spoke of his children, and for a moment, aemon wondered if he expected him to feel guilty. he didn't, the emotion that stirred within him an odd concoction of defensive and detached. "do they really?" he asked, tone mild, with a cock of his head. "strange that they would miss me there, considering i haven't stepped foot on driftmark since long before they were a twinkle in your eye. surely it would be stranger for them if i was there than if i am not." twelve years old he had been, when he had last seen the shores of the isle he had been born on, left the oppressive press of salt-tanged air behind him. he snorted then, shaking his head a little. "well, i do. you know that."

it was not just the obvious, the fear of the sea that always seemed to linger just out of peripheral vision no matter where on driftmark you stood. perhaps it had been that to begin with, but it had grown greater than that now. it was the weight of twenty years, and knowing that far less people remained than the number he had left behind. his father was gone, aerion was gone, and his mother... his mother, he could not finish the sentence, even silently, even in thought, even after time had softened the initial blow.

“It's almost noon,” was the only thing he said before even uttering a formal greeting. Gods knew how Aemon ran his household and what odd hours ruled his day and nights. For him, for the rest of the world, this time was nowhere near being 'early'. Judging by the state of the room they were in, with goblets, discarded clothing, and the scent of a perfume that would never have belonged to his brother, Aemon had indulged in drink and not enough sleep. “You look terrible”. His words came out more like an undeniable statement than any form of judgment.

Deimos went ahead to look for a jug of water and poured some for his brother. There was nothing particularly caring in his demeanor as he set the goblet with water before Aemon. Nor was there any tenderness in the way he said, “I'm not here about your wedding”. He spoke in his usual calm tone, the kind that bordered on ringing stern more often than not. “Though for the sake of a peaceful union, I do hope the perfume I'm smelling is your future wife's”. The chances of it being Viviene Penrose's perfumed scent were slim, he knew. Given Aemon's reputation, it was more than likely that he was enjoying his remaining days as a man not yet wed.

he blinked for a second, inhaling the scent of the perfume that lingered - definitely not vivienne penrose's scent. "it's mine, actually. it's called an air freshener. the staff always spray it around in the morning," he lied, smoothly. never mind the fact the staff clearly had not even begun tidying up his quarters yet, never mind sweetening the air with whatever cloying fragrance his companion for the evening had seemingly decided to take a bath in. but he had no desire to fight with deimos, simply to slip through the conversation with what remained of his dignity intact.

but then deimos spoke of returns, and he could only mean from dorne, and aemon's demeanour shifted to something more serious. he was no stranger to warfare, but unlike some men, he did not relish in it, nor seek glory from it. "mostly," he said, with a flicker of sincerity. "nothing but a bad sunburn to show for my troubles." where aemon had fought in the desert dunes, deimos had taken charge of the waves, the way a good velaryon was expected to do. the very thought of it brought a surge of bile up aemon's throat that had nothing to do with his hangover.

he sipped the water deimos poured, begrudgingly, though he had to admit it did help his head. the war had not been the first time the velaryon brothers had been separated. in fact, they'd spent more time apart than they ever had under the same roof. even now, in the same room as one another, they occupied opposite ends of it, may as well be in different worlds. there was little point in lamenting how things could have been, had they been raised together as brothers should. there was no changing it now.

The door to Aemon's study was ajar, and he gave a few quick knocks as he pushed it open. “How are the preparations coming along?” the Lord of Gallowsgrey asked, having seen his friend merely staring at some papers and ledgers. He could only imagine the amount of planning an affair of this kind took, with many choices to make and various things for the bride and groom to approve. Especially with the big day approaching, new and unexpected variables could arise that needed smoothing over. Seeing his friend's expression, somewhere between tensely focused and silently overwhelmed, he couldn't say he envied this part of the process. “You look like you could use some time to clear your mind”.

Ulises stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Walking through that door almost marked a threshold of sorts, the lord's demeanor turning slightly more relaxed, as it often did in Aemon's company. “Well, I have some good news for you. You asked me once which was my favorite drink when I showed you the agave fields at home,” he said as he approached the wooden desk and showed the Velaryon lord the dark amber-colored bottle he brought. Back when Aemon was in Gallowsgrey, Ulises had shown him how the jimadores harvested agaves and what the tequila-making process was like. And with full certainty, the Trant lord had told his friend that out of the different varieties of tequila, the very best one was the most aged. “So, here it is. Eight years in the making,” he added with a subtle, proud smile as he set the bottle on the desk. “I wanted to gift this to you to celebrate your wedding, my friend”.

"well enough," in an instant, the frown on his face had disappeared, and but for the extra stubble around his neatly-kept beard and the slight bloodshot of his eyes, it was impossible to tell he was suffering a hangover at all. "or i will be when this paperwork is done." he set it to the side for now. there would be time to finish it later, if he could be bothered to do so. "still waiting for some people to confirm their attendance - i think morgan wylde's disappeared off into the rainwood again, missed the invitation." to aemon, that was the most important thing. not his bride, not the fact he was tying himself to vivienne penrose for a life time, but the spectacle of it, and who would be there to witness it. he was not thinking about the reality of it all, or how his life would need to change, for he was not planning on changing at all.

he took the bottle, eyeing its content with interest. it brought back fond memories of his time in gallowsgrey and its agave fields. "remember the time you sent me to help with the harvesting?" a grin had appeared on his face. "soon changed your mind, didn't you? don't think anybody has ever fucked up that badly before. he'd ended up hacking the thing to bits before ulises had, sensibly, sent him to do literally anything else, and had spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the sun watching everyone else do the hard work for him.

her hands slipped from the keys and settled in her lap, fingers still faintly twitching with the ghost of the rhythm. she didn’t meet his eyes at first. it wasn’t just about parchments, it was about the life she’d spent years shaping in her mind, the one that had always included her home. being allowed to visit it was a courtesy. she supposed she should be grateful. “i appreciate that,” she said quietly, then looked over at him, smile soft but edged in something unreadable. “though i would like you to visit with me. it isn’t the same without someone to listen.”

when he mentioned driftmark, her brows lifted, surprised by the detachment in his tone. she had known he left it behind, but she hadn’t realized how completely. the thought of king’s landing as their home was… practical, she supposed, but not without its cost. still, the mention of duskendale lit a small, stubborn ember within her. perhaps they might have something of their own, not inherited, not taken. just built. but that hope sat uncomfortably beside the memory of what she’d lost, what had once been hers by right, now folded into the life of someone else.

"did i say that?" he raised an eyebrow, tone light as though they were discussing the weather, and one corner of his mouth raised in a sort of amused smile. "no time in the stormlands? i think i said not much." there was a flippancy to the way he spoke, a smooth, unbothered cadence in his voice. in the end, he cared little if it was no time, or not much time, but he knew well the power of words, and how they could be spun.

."you are welcome to visit your home whenever you please, vivienne. but as i said, i will not be living on another lord's charity." he had only the briefest of dealings with myles penrose, only to confirm the engagement would continue, despite the fact vivienne stood to inherit far less than she once did, and figure out the terms of her dowry. he was a man of few words and even less charm, and aemon had little interest in extended periods of time in his company.