* / 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑚

name:  alyvia lannister neé rowan

nickname:  livia

age:  twenty eight years old

birthdate:  april 28th, 112

house:  rowan / lannister

native region:  the reach

There were many ghosts in the past of  Cedric Tyrell; though most remained mere memories buried within pages of tales and lessons, most. It were not as though the man was opposed to meeting the souls he once crossed paths with; for he knew there would have been a reason for their paths to cross again, and yet he knew this matter was entirely different. This matter was one that stretched back years, to golden fields of golden roses, and endless vineyards, and meadow-like orchids; a time where the wine of youth spilled freely. 

The Rowans were the only thing Cedric would consider family, or perhaps it was the example of what he wished his own family to be, and what he knew they could never become; for that level of love and affection within the walls of Highgarden had long been extinguished. Regardless, there was a time where the Rowans were truly to become his family - in a time of courtly love, of chivalry, and of passion that soon resulted in secret late Summer nights behind chiffon curtains. 

If Cedric Tyrell knew love, perhaps that would have been it; for what else could have been that level of perfection? The familiar Fragrance of jasmine water, nectarine blossom, white amber; bottles of wine. They were essentially moulding into family long before vows would ever be taken before the Gods; Lord Tyrell and Lady Rowan, often spotted among the vineyards and orchids, sometimes with the youngest daughter of House Rowan upon his back, before their brother would join them for an afternoon by the river.

 It was perfect - it should have been perfect, that was what the man constantly told himself, ignoring the growing sense of emptiness that came over him each time he left Goldengrove’s iron gates. What was it that the Gods had made so wrong within himself, to feel the smile slowly fading from his features each time he watched her walk away; for he knew she deserved more, and expected more, than he would be able to give her. The betrothal, which was naturally presumed to be definitely going ahead, broke as a result of defeaning silence; a silence that lead to the Sept of Highgarden, two black shrouds, and a missing Lord that went by Ced among the smallfolk. 

“Lady Lannister.” He greeted, his tone strangely flat as he paused slightly in his steps as she turned a corner, finding themselves in the other’s presence, and looking at one another face to face. How long had it been? What was their last interaction? The man was ashamed to admit he was not sure if he even could remember, or bring himself to. How the past came to haunt those who thought they could ever leave it behind. “You look well.”

Alyvia Rowan had always been a force, even as a child she never did anything half heartedly, her passions, her friendships, to all her bonds she gave all of herself and more. The young woman had always believed that suffering monotony would be the path to her demise, she desired her life to be filled with passion, and disruption in the best of ways. Having lost her mother as such a young age a part of her had almost immortalized the woman, and the relationship her parents had shared. As young as she had been she could only recall moments of happiness and bliss among her parents in the years she had some recollection off. And of course her fathers seemingly unending sadness in the months after, her mother’s lose had felt to her like something having been forever broken within their family. With all this Alyvia grew up idolizing a perfection that perhaps did not truly exist, at least that was the conclusion she’d come to after her illusions had come undone all those years ago, along with the promises spoken and those left unuttered.

Even before their engagement Cedric Tyrell had been a distant but constant presence in her life, a dear friend of her brothers whom she had met time and again when she visited home, or Highgarden. He’d been handsome, charming, and seemingly unburdened for he was not born to rule. When her father told her he was considering her betrothal to him, it had been all too easy to get swept up in the pretense, in her youthful naivety she’d never once considered a betrothal could be broken, thus the dreams she wove of her future knew no bounds. It was all truly the sort of perfection you could only get in your youth when the troubles of the world feel far off in the distance, a time when it’s all too easy for one person to become your whole world.

Loving him may have been foolish and insubstantial but it had felt like so much at the time that when the bubble burst, it felt as though she was left hollow. Afraid of wanting so much, ever again. Alyvia had wanted nothing more to erase him from her mind and heart entirely for so long now, and she’d been convinced that she’d succeeded in just that. Cedric Tyrell had been no more than a distant memory, avoidable in that no one spoke his name to her, news of his endeavors were of little consequence for a time. Though all that had changed in these last few months. Now that he was the head of state, after having seized that claim in the way that he had, with her own brother closer to him than ever before. The woman had prepared for them to come face to face after all this time, and she had expectations of how she might feel, yet in the moment all of it was forgotten, and all she could focus on was the tidal wave of emotion that swept through her where there should have been an absence of any care what so ever.

Her frustration was not with him so much as it was with the realization it brought her. That flood of emotion held up a mirror to how little she’d really cared for so long, how little she felt in the marriage that had persisted twice the length of her engagement to the Tyrell prince. That lack of feeling or care was now all that she could think about, it felt as though she’d woken up only to realize she was drowning. The unhappiness she’d not acknowledged for so long was making itself known, emboldened by memories of what it had felt like to be happy for a time.

Time felt as though it was sweeping past her in the days that followed, her mind always else where as she followed along with the monotony of the preparations to depart, all while following the social graces expected of her without wavering in the slightest, that much she’d at least learned in the last five years. So the polite smile, and formalities of greeting came easy enough to her when she encountered him again unexpectedly. Though her face remained impassive no warmth in the gestures, mechanical as they were. “As do you, your Highness. We did not get the chance to speak at the dinner, with more pressing matters to tend too. But please, allow me to congratulate you on your recent nuptials. May the Seven grace you with a long and joyous union.”

"Truthfully, my question to you would be what does it really matter?" She retorted. Alyvia may not have always been around in her sisters life, but she was still her family and she knew her enough to know her nature. And who truly could be the perfect ideal, the nobility of Westeros coveted so? Was that ideal not inherently flawed for all the self actualization it sought to squander in women.

( continued private conversation at the Dornish Reach Banquet )

On her fourth glass of wine by this point, glad for the arbor imports Alyvia perked up at the news the Dornishmen shared. She looked over at her older brother with a raised eye brow trying to gage his reaction. Though she suspected he’d schooled his face prepared for this topic to come up since he’d already been approached on the matter. Of her three unmarried brother quite frankly she really only had hopes for there younger brother, despite his age. Mathis had always had the soul of a wonderer, he enjoyed his indulgences and she knew her brother well enough to know a political marriage would not be the foundations for a joyous life for him. Though she suspected he’d pay his dues, much like she and so many others in their status of privilege had. It saddened her nonetheless as she held his gaze. Then just moments later before he could even respond Lord Blackmont across the table from her had his outburst. She stood then to go speak to her brother. They hadn’t had the chance to speak beforehand as she and Addam had arrived late, it was unfortunate that their first conversation face to face in nearly a year would have to be amidst this tense climate. “I don’t reckon they even expect you say much at the moment, until they’ve settled matters between themselves.” She said in a slight whisper with a wayward smile on her lips, not hugging him like she’d intended upon greeting him since it really wasn’t the time.

perhaps it was the sound of her own heart beating fast deep within her chest, or the slight pink flush that she battled to send creeping back down from her complexion, guinevere felt as though the sounds of the flutes and the laughter coming from the dance floor were a million miles away as she made her way back into the celebration hall. her own mind currently consisted of thoughts of a celestial nature; of constellations strewn across a black ink sky, and the humbling beauty of the moon. it was only when the woman heard a familiar voice, with an alarmed, seemingly frustrated tone so different to her own sense of strange calm did the lioness of lannister finally come back down from her own thoughts; with a force strong enough to knock the wind from her lungs. 

asil; how she remembered the kind orbs of the handmaiden that often doted on her closest friend. she remembered the dimples of her smile, notably, and how many of the lannister guards seemed to go out of their way to speak to the freckled face woman. she also remembered the sight of her pale, lifeless eyes; crimson pouring from the wound beneath her gown. the woman remained in silence for a few minutes, her mind spinning rapidly; for how long had she been running from the events of that day, and how many lies had she tangled herself in? noticing the courtiers around them slowly turning their gaze in the pair’s direction, no doubt surprised by the growing rage within the brunette, guinevere grabbed her hand firmly upon her friend’s wrist and led them back into the hallway she had just come back from; smiling sweetly in the face of courtiers, though it were cold. 

letting the doors close behind them with a heavy thud, she looked around at the woman, emerald orbs widened as a sense of adrenaline began to wash over her. “alvyia.” she began, placing a hand on her old friend’s shoulder, as if to try and get her to see reason. “compose yourself.” she paused, letting out a low breath; they both had be scarred by the events of that day. “not here, okay?”

･ﾟ✧

At a time in her life when Alyvia had even drawn away from the comfort of her dearest friend, alone in a keep full of strangers who looked at her pity for she was very young and likely believed to be entirely inconsequential, she’d had Asli. The woman was more than a ladies maid to her, at times she was the older sister she never had, often filling in for the best friend she’d fallen out with. Alyvia Rowan had never been one to take her relationships lightly, she loved with all her heart and soul, and thus her absence would remain a gapping hole in her heart alongside all the others taken from her too soon.

With the ferocity which she loved, came a fury rage towards anyone who might harm those she cared for. In the months since the tragedy that had taken her city, when Addam was away and the ruling was her to pass, Alyvia had been downright ruthless in her judgements against those with any association to the incident. To be faced with the person who had inflicted the most harm to her that night she wanted nothing less than to see her head on a spike.

Her unbridled rage was clear in the dark set of her eyes, brows pulled together in fury. While Gwyn’s touch seethed her for the moments it took them leave the room, once they were out of the hall she took her wrist back, her slender frame nearly quaking. She paced further down the hall, further away from the celebratio to escape the noise, and prying eyes so she could have her fury in peace. “I can not stand to see that vile woman in celebration along side all the rest, Gwyn! Not when I can picture the bloody blade in her hand. She did not kill a solider, or guard, those who place their lives in the hands of the seven when taking weapons into their hands, no she was an innocent woman. She did not need to be cut down the way she was!”

Alyvia really hadn’t known what to make of the way the dinner between the Dornish and Reach ended. Though given her own biases she couldn’t help but feel offense on her brothers behalf. He was in her eyes a promising suitor for anyone, though there was a sense of relief for him as well this the uncertainty might give him some more time to reconsider the decision. Alyvia had resolved not to even think about Cedric. Reaching Gwen’s quarters after supper the following evening, she wanted nothing more than to forget about the things that troubled her in her friends company as she had countless times before. She also was anxious to know the state of her mind right now. Her love for the Arryn king hadn’t faded in all this time yet she was soon to be married to that hotheaded Dornishmen. Seeing as it well past the time for visitors, she was surprised to find the Lannister princess readying for bed, “I was hoping I might stay here tonight, if that’s alright with you?”

Beyond Gwen if there was anyone Alyvia truly felt content in the presence of in the Westerlands it was Aunt Lanna. The woman was not her aunt by blood nor marriage, though having grown up alongside Gwen she’d taken to calling her as such and she truly did feel as comforted in the older woman’s presence as in her Aunt Alyces’. Thus Alyvia was excited to meet her for tea that afternoon, though she came sporting a bottle of Arbor white for good measure. Once formally announced the lady of the port joined the older woman in the terrace , it was a pleasant day for the vale the winds not quite as biting, and the sun making an appearance every so often from behind the clouds. “I recall a time when we used to chitter over the married women who could be seen clutching their wine glasses as the day peaked, now I am one of those women. Unabashedly I might add.” She said with a radiating smile as she went forth to greet the woman.

Once again seated at the raised dais in the Great Hall, the seat her husband rarely had the chance to occupy in the last six years since she’d called this keep her home, Alyvia took audience with the lord commander of the city watch, and a few of the guards stationed at the southern end of the ports. They had taken a man in custody, whom they suspected of being Ironborn. These men whom she’d met with regularly knew better than most her distaste for the islanders west of the port, for the great trauma they’d inflicted on her city only a few short years prior. The wounds of which still festered.

Alyvia had, by use of her husbands seal, implemented many harsher measures on the those suspected of bearing ill will towards the city or it’s inhabitants since that incident. For all the feminine wiles she never abandoned, her justice was never soft. “Hold him no longer than a fortnight, Sir Byron. And you shall only press for more rigid questioning should he fail to offer a valid, and verifiable reasoning for being within the city walls. We are no longer in open conflict with the Ironborn.” And though those were the words she spoke, the rigid set of her jaw openly betrayed her personal feelings on the matter, this was perhaps the only matter in which that could be said, as she’d learned to steel herself well over the years.

She listened intently to the commander as he relayed to her more details of the transgression, that was until her gaze fell on her sister who lingered near the double doored entrance to the hall. In an instant the tension in her posture eased as some of the anger left her at the sight of the younger woman she was so fond of. “Please send a runner with any updates.” She said in dismissal as she stood from the seat, nodding farewell to the gathered company. As the room began to clear the Lady of the Port finally stepped down from the dais, to greet her sister. A brilliant smiled filled her face as she stepped forward to embrace Luciya the moment she reached her. “It has been far too long, you can not imagine my excitement when you wrote of your plans to visit. Though I’m happier still finally seeing you after all this time!"

tyrin is somewhat taken back by her response. she is sturdier than he had expected. no longer a girl, no longer a ward; she was a lady now. a ruling lady in the absence of her husband, his long known, long respected cousin. his cousin he assured content in marriage, but not happiness. happiness was never granted. not in tyrin’s marriage, and certainly not his. tyrin heard the whispers, and the gossiping throughout. the discontent of alyvia, given the betrothal it would culminate, a betrothal to a prince no doubt. discontent so provided, so acknowledged. now tyrin was left to wonder, did he trap his cousin in a marriage, the same as his father trapped him? what would alyvia provide, what could alyvia provide to the lannister name. 

a letter? she provided a letter touched by the tyrell seal. but why would the tyrell prince send word for tyrin, to her? - not even his own sister, and tyrin’s wife? tyrin sits up in his chair, before taking the letter into his hold. the question lingers, as tyrin meets the eyes of the lady for a seconds worth, before beginning to read. he mutters the first sentence, then falls silent. again his marriage proves it’s worth, tyrin nearly implodes, the newfound information sending a raging vibration up his spine, though he does not raise his voice, he does not scorn his wife’s name, he holds himself steady, “… very well, we must go.” 

tyrin skims the letter again, “by we i mean our forces, we must pull out of this battle and the next, for we have our own.” there is a vexation in tone, no matter how subtle, still apparent, tyrin wishes not to discuss it with her out of all. “where is your husband now?” he asks of her, for he will have to be made aware to deal with the situation while tyrin cannot. and again he skims, “you will need to write to both the prince and the lord, for i cannot risk the tyrell or the tully spies getting their hands on my own. they will searching for mine, and they will be finding.” alyvia proves to be of use after all, of significant use. 

･ﾟ✧

Tyrin Lannister was a man Alyvia had once sought some sort of sordid approval from, as a young girl she was more used to having the men of her family entertaining her every whim. Being the youngest sister of three brothers -- at least for the longest time, had had it’s perks, and her father was no less putty in her small hands. Gwen’s brother on the other hand paid her no mind at all, and even at the age of ten she didn’t handle such a dismissal well. Now whether or not he approved of her mattered little to her, what was of importance was she remain in good fate with the man for the sake of her affairs in the Westerlands, he was the king after all, and that unfortunately still meant something. 

Her soft eyes watched as the man read over the letter, not missing the dips and bows of his expression, and not at all surprised considering the gravity of the situation. No matter her conflicted feelings over the reason she was the recipient of this letter, she was still pleased to be the conduit through which this sensitive message was passed on. If only so she was seen as a more valuable piece on in this elaborate game they all seemed to be tied up in. If it was unavoidable, then at the very least she wouldn’t be entirely useless. 

“On the road I’d imagine, I departed from Lannisport just a week prior to him. There were pressing matters that required his attention.” Her voice betrayed none of it, but that too had frustrated her considerably as she’d been looking forward to having her husband accompany her in the travel. Not over worries of her safety but rather for the precious time they required of one another. “Of course, your Majesty. I shall make haste and have the letter sent off by this very evening.”