house of fools

when she pressed the purse into his palm, his hand closed around it, the leather warm from hers. the weight felt different now—not the loss or the recovery, but the exchange itself. he studied her briefly, deciding whether or not there may be more up her sleeve yet. “lady luck’s favor comes cheap,” he repeated, lips twitching. “i think that may be your second lie to me, already.”

his eyes followed her line of sight toward the tavern ahead, its windows glowing gold through the encroaching dusk. the harbor’s din was louder there, sailors shouting, bards striking up tunes meant to drown out regret. “you’ll find the ale here thin,” he said as they began to move, tone low, steady. “the sort that tastes better when you’ve no other choice.” his words might have sounded dour, but there was the faintest curve to his mouth now, a humor so subtle it might have been imagined.

a hand pressed to her chest, a short gasp escaping her. "count yourself lucky. usually i'm on the seventh or eighth by now," she chortled. "but that, my lord, was no lie. do you never wonder at why the people who have the best luck never seem to deserve it? it's because lady luck is a woman. the harder you try, the less interested she is in you. she'll always turn her favour upon those who give her little regard at all. thrill of the chase." sh was deflecting from his point, all casual smiles and toothy grin, brushing entirely past the fact she had robbed him. "second lie," she scoffed, repeating it again. "didn't realise you were keeping a tally."

her eyes drifted to the tavern, and she shrugged her shoulders. "you're not really selling the place to me, you know." and yet, she stepped forward anyway, gathering her skirts in one hand. "but it'll do. are you familiar with it, or just inns of a similar nature?" unless he was particularly familiar with gulltown, it would likely be the latter, but that was something devani understood. she'd travelled enough to know the character of a tavern just by looking at it, down to the taste of the drink and whether or not there would be sawdust on the floor.

there was not a part of armaan yronwood that did not focus his mind on the consequence of each conversation, idea or notion: what would be the most fortunate consequence for him, and him alone? what would bring the most fortune, whether it be in physical form or whether it be something he could cash back in other forms, it were always the most prominent aspect of every trade off. this situation was no different, and the only reason he remained in the same quarters as the lady of ghost hill was because she knew and understood that; there was no excessive use of emotive language to try pull at his heart strings, nor was there any theatrics of tears and a moment that would end up being awkward for her and her alone. those who asked for favours were quick to find ways to beg, to do something to clearly demonstrate their clear distress and upset - but devani toland had fortunately gotten to the point quickly, and calmly.

"it's not a no." he agreed, his hand coming to rest upon his full beard as they stood in the alcove, a look crossing his features as he listened. a part of him wondered if it would be another noble family, or a greater lineage from across the narrow sea; and when she assured it were nothing but volantene mercenaries, he shoulders visibly relaxed and a cocky smile, even a scoff, slipped from his lips. she was this worried about a couple of mercenaries from volantis. "mercenaries?" he waved his hand, as though to dismiss it from there. yes, they could take any form, but they also did not understand that if they laid a hand upon any of his men, armaan yronwood would ensure they were buried alive head up, and choked on the scorching heat of dornish sand. if there was any sight of pure panic or worry on her face, it had ceased the moment it was time to talk details, logistics, and what was in for armaan yronwood. still, there was no denying the fact that he did feel a sense of ego inflate in knowing that one needed him for help; that in their moment of stress, it was he that seemed like the best situation.

it made sense - for he was, entirely that. the man that could get someone in, and out of a situation. he had made himself into that man, and he would keep himself that man. "will ask a question that is needed, devani toland. it is obvious you do not want to share, and by now it's obvious i would not care." what was in it for armaan yronwood, was the fact she had helped him out in an event, a chapter of his life he had actively worked to try and forget about. how he had reached the depths of his lack of care and humanity, and had subjected both of his sons to a life without a mother for the sake of wanting to remove something he no longer wanted in his life. for fear she would take and mould his sons against him one day, the way she always would fixate on everything he did wrong - she would have painted him a monster to the only two he wanted to look upon him with love in their eyes. and he could not risk the idea, the idea of his legacy being spun and turned against him by exaggerated claims and the manipulation of their mother who was all too quick to come to tears. in the end, negligence had made kabir and ishaan motherless; but there was no forgetting who was the hands of that negligence.

"i can make you a deal."

and perhaps, there was cruelty in realising that the woman who had been so firm to embrace her strengths, had died on the childbed as had many other woman - but it was something he buried deep within him. nature had taken its course. he had merely concocted it, and devani toland, ever the actress, had been a willing part of it. he owed her for that, if only for the fact he wanted to ensure he had done something to help her lest her conniving nature turn against him in the future. none could ever tell with women such as her, that had roots but chose to rip them from the earth with her own hands - he needed to watch himself with her, lest her reckless gust of wind destroy what he had been building. still, he needed an in on volantis; for there was someone he still saw needed avenging, something him and the sword of the morning had quietly been planning. foreign relations be damned.

"you take a unit of yronwood men and use the banner. your toland men focus on defending your son, wherever he is now. wait, where is he?" armaan asked, suddenly realising he needed to know how long the men would be moving with devani toland. the journey would be from the reach of all places - this could have been far easier. "then, i will send men of my own to hunt for volantene mercenaries taking an interest in a toland child, or ghost hill. your house is not important enough for them to care otherwise." he tapped his hands upon the table, as though the plan were forming together in his mind - he liked it. it gave him a rush. "then, you tell me whether you want them alive or dead. if they manage to drop any yronwood bleed, one will die - as is custom. and when we are done, you will use your contacts across the narrow sea to try and track the location of some volantene courtiers i've been meaning to make business with."

"you can't throw a stone without hitting a mercenary in essos," she shrugged a shoulder, an innate casualness to the gesture, but underneath it, devani was tired. it showed in the slight droop of her eyelids over reddened eyes, and the way she leaned against the nearby desk, wood pressed into her thigh. "i just was fool enough to marry one." it had not escaped her notice that she had spent her life fleeing from consequence, the ones that followed her hasty marriage chief amongst them. now that she was standing still, all she had left in the dust behind her was crawling out of the woodwork, and she did not wish to focus on what else may rear its head.

but though fool was her more natural demeanour, there was something strategic that lurked at the core of devani toland. she was someone who always had a backup plan, another method with which to wriggle through unscathed, and when there was not one, she was quick to create it. that was what armaan yronwood was to her, a plan b that she now found herself grasping for, and when he uttered those words, that he would make her a deal, she would have agreed to anything that he laid before her on the table, and worried about what it may cost her later.

"the boy is at ghost hill," devani said, as though such a thing were obvious. she did not bring kheerat with her, though now she regretted such a choice. but then, at least ghost hill was defensible, by both land and by sea. she knew not how she would have kept kheerat safe here in the reach, not when there had been an opportunity to slip letters unnoticed into her private quarters. within her own lands, her men would know how best to protect him. but it still left with it the issue of getting from the reach to the entire other side of dorne, quickly and with little notice.

if there was offence intend on his dismissal of her house, devani did not take it, instead nodding her head. "no, not really." she agreed. "it'll be the location that attracts them." the dornish may not have been a seafaring people, but the location of the ghost hills upon the coast of the sea of dorne made it a convenient port for essoian vessels. it was how devani had made her flight in the first place, all those years ago. she did not dwell upon the motivation of her son's paternal relatives, though, because she found what armaan was saying, the deal he was offering her, far more interesting, gaze coming into focus upon his face as she considered it.

the offer to hunt the mercenaries was beyond what she had expected. she had come to him for an escort, not an army, and knew that he did not hold her in enough regard to offer the latter, though whatever his reasoning for her was lost in that moment. there were things about armaan yronwood she would never know, and it was likely this would be one of them, but it did not stop the burning curiosity within her.

the banks of the rushing currents of the mander this night had become the scene of merriment personified; under the glow emitted from lanterns that were soon going to flicker out, there was a group of individuals sprawled across the muddy banks that had no doubt been in more sober states before. the scene was not one of danger or anything that made passers by peer anxiously; no, for one of the men had taken to sitting closest to the bank and ushering away any who had danced too close to the edge. the last thing they needed was this night to end in tragedy, with the current dragging a member of their group away - who would have to take on their shift in the morning? mir slapped the mud from his hands as he paid no attention to the mud on his clothes, using his foot to kick away the particularly rambunctious braavosi woman who had all but adopted them from the river's edge.

"what did i tell you about the edge, eh?" he called from his comfortable position, sprawling back on his elbows as he accidentally sent an empty bottle of wine to slip from the bank and into the river; he half went to try and grab hold of it before realising halfway through it was not worth it.

he was done dancing for the night, and pretended not to notice two of his coworkers at the pottery stall sneaking away from behind the trees; as though she had not insisted that she would go and look for him upon him announcing his need to pee at least half an hour ago. it was then he heard more joyous whooping and his somewhat blurred gaze followed to find the sight of more workers bringing some instruments, a range; yet there were two that caught his attention almost immediately. the sitar and the tabla, both originating from across the narrow sea opposite his homeland of volantis, and instead from the rolling dornish dunes. they appeared of interest to him, and whilst the dancing continued and the sounds of laughter rung through his ears in the best of ways, he left his defensive spot by the river bank to move toward them, wanting to see them closer.

the strings of the sitar appeared normal, and when he tapped the back of the tabla and checked the tightness of the chhavani against the base, he knew they were instruments of good condition.

"...these are expensive?" mir stated, yet his words ended up sounding more like a question - this would have belonged to merchants at least, and if not, nobility. the set of mischievous twins before him shrugged, rambling something about selling them to make money from them; and it was only then his gaze lifted to the sight of the barge on the mander itself - a different sort of party. for those who lived in the world above them, always above them, needing even the water to separate them from their lessers having their own celebrations on the bank of the river during their one night off this week. it was then his half drunken mind realised the both of them were soaking wet, and it had not taken long for him to put the dots together - the impish fool had all but managed to swim to the pleasure barge and hoist himself up, somehow bringing back with them not one expensive instrument, but two.

"you'd drown over some goat skin and strings? you idiot." he asked one, cleanly slapping him around the back of the neck, however it was then he wondered just how the twins had managed to bring them back dry. had they held it over their heads as they swam? how did the river not kill them?

the other bolted before he could give him a whack, laughter echoing - and when the pleasure barge grew closer, he noticed the silhouette of a woman rummaging through something, only being able to tell it was a woman due to the length of her hair. he suddenly found himself knowing he needed to spin some tale, or be accused of theft - whilst being completely dry. it was obvious he had not swum across, especially because he was not the best of swimmers - but gods knew what these nobles could do. "my lady!" mir called from across the currents, hoping his voice carried both over his music and her own - but he waved both of his arms as though he needed saving. she did not see him, and so he began waving more.

in that moment, though, floating down the mander with the sun warming her skin, she was not thinking about that. it was not the first of the parties she had thrown since arriving in the reach, nor was it likely to be the last. with each, devani felt the urge to go bigger than the one that had come before. it had culminated in this, an event under the open air rather than within her apartments, the presence of the barge announced long before it rounded the bend of the river and came into view by the music that emitted from it.

it was all going well, until she found herself pulled from the hookah by a panicked musician, who had somehow misplaced their instruments. "they cannot have gone anywhere," she pointed out, and yet she still found herself rummaging through the pile of objects discarded at the edge of the boat while the charcoal burnt itself out in the bowl. she did not hear the man on the bank calling, did not look up until the splash of water caught her attention. it took her all of two seconds to understand why she had been called, for he held the missing instruments in his hands. devani rose to her feet, arms folding across her chest, and nodded her head in answer to his question.

"the mystery is solved," her grin was easy, eyes dancing in a way that made it plain that she knew exactly how the stolen objects had made their way across the mander to the gathering upon the bank, and was amused more than offended. in truth, she was impressed more than anything. how he had managed to steal from her, when it was usually her who pocketed things that belonged to others, all the while remaining dry as a bone. she could see no vessel of his own that he might have used.

she turned her head, calling the order to the crew to steer the barge close to the bank, and it was not until she used the dornish tongue to do so that it hit her that he himself had not. she had always had a gift for languages, and spent enough of her life in places where she did not need to use her mother tongue. often, she found herself conversing without thinking about what language she was speaking in, but the man on the bank was, by appearance, as dornish as she was. it was another mystery to file away for later.

"i won't ask, though i'm dying to." the barge was now as close to the bank as it could get. it would take nothing more than a small jump for him to come aboard, but she held her hands out anyway, one gently taking the sitar from his grip, the other there for him to grab to help him if he chose to leap. "will you join us? we are heading back to highgarden." his clothes marked him as smallfolk, but it wasn't as though devani was unused to spending time with people who did not come from the same sort of background as she.

lord armaan yronwood’s gaze lingered on devani toland, sharp and unblinking, as if measuring the weight of her plea against the inconvenience it imposed upon him. he did not like this. he did not like anyone telling him what to do, much less asking for banners, men, and movement that could cost him more than he wished to pay. yet here she stood, offering the smallest window of leverage, and he could not simply step aside. he was chained to this game by rules he did not honour, not by threats he would ignore, and by a careful reckoning of what it would mean to refuse her.

conspiracies were countless, but they always had a manner of crossing paths - it was part of learning to live with the lies and the deceit, being able to see one another and their actions not being the first thing that arose to them.

“back under yronwood banners,” he said, voice low, almost bored. the words were not a question, nor a promise—they were the barest recognition of her audacity. he shifted, one hand idly brushing the letter she had pressed into his palm, the paper light and fragile, yet carrying more weight than any gold or blade. his eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with the quiet, dangerous patience of a predator assessing a prey too clever for its own good. he did not appreciate the fact she did not appear as prey, as something or someone easy to mould.

“i do not give men lightly, nor do i move them out of favour. understand that,” he added, each word deliberate, meant to impress caution rather than kindness. he kept his gaze on her, cold, steady, as if daring her to misread his intent.

to decrease his number of men whilst in reach lands would not be the wisest of choices, considering his actions along the marches against the lands of tion peake - an intentional strike. he wanted to reassert his dominance of the marches, to remind himself and this new master of coin of how matters truly worked between the red valleys of their borders. "if anything, giving you my men for your supposed urgent journey is...not to my benefit."

but she had done him a favour, many moons ago; a major one. and he did not want to give her the opportunity to use that in this game of cards.

he moved a fraction closer, just enough to close the space but not enough to appear obliging as another passed by them, ensuring his voice was lower than the sounds of chattering and the music increasing in volume. “you know this, but you do have a way of placing people in situations that are a pain." armaan straightened then, shifting his weight back, cloak brushing the floor as he took a deliberate step toward the door and rocked his head towards it, as if to indicate her to follow him. “do not presume my involvement changes anything between us,” he said, the edge in his voice subtle, a reminder of limits rather than threat as they ducked out of the main door, his hand casually slamming the door to the main apartments behind them.

in the split second it took her to follow him through the door to somewhere a conversation could be conducted in privacy, her mind was already in gear, rifling through counter arguments to any protests he might have. she had long treated the truth as something that was optional, sometimes offering it far more freely than she ought to, and others concealing it in its entirety in something that made a better story. if she had the measure of armaan yronwood correctly, he cared little for stories. had he been a softer, more sentimental sort of man, that might have been the right option, but a part of her suspected it would only damage her case with him. all that was left was truth, or at least, as little of it as she could get away with telling him.

"i understand perfectly," she nodded, with none of the flippancy that usually marked her tone, for there was none of it to be found now. her eyes flicked to the letter, still folded in his hand. why had she put it in his hand? "i do not beg without reason." beg, because that was exactly what she was doing, and she wasn't too proud not to get on her knees for it if it would get her what, in that moment, seemed like her best option. it was not the only one she had. if he refused, she would make the journey on her own. it would simply give her the advantage she needed.

"that's not a no," perhaps it was foolish to say out loud, as though pointing out that he had not refused her would lead to him doing just that, but in that moment, there was a glimmer of hope that he might agree. "i don't ask for all of your men. just a handful. enough to sell the deception." the rest of the travelling party, she would fill with men of the ghost hills, though the chartreuse hues of toland banners would not be seen. "it is the banners that are important."

it was a lesson she had learned when she was too young to even recall where she had learned it. bait and switch, using the confidence of your opponent against them to misdirect. when aegon the conqueror and his sisters had sought to burn ghost hill to cinders, they had sent out a fool in the lord's attire to meet him, and that had bought them enough time to escape the flames. what she proposed now was the same trick repackaged, a toland travelling as a yronwood to slip under the noses of those looking for the former.

"not to your benefit right now," she conceded. "but it could be. in the future." there was little hesitation in offering such a promise. armaan yronwood might not need anything from devani toland in the immediate present, but that did not mean tallying the score between them in his favour would not be to his advantage one day. what had once transpired between them had undoubtedly tilted the scales in her direction, though not entirely, since she had got what she wanted out of it, too, and here she was giving him an opportunity to swing them firmly back his way.

what would happen when he recalled the favour, and what he would ask of her when he did, was a bridge to cross when the time came. it was a worry to deal with later, the only thing she knew for certain that armaan was not the kind to forget a debt owed.

"i am aware of that," she attempted a smile, though her expression was too weary for it to ring true. he had led her into her private apartments, and though the room was dark, she knew it well enough to cross to a cabinet in the gloom, withdrawing from it two glasses and a bottle of dornish red. she filled the glasses, leaving one on a side table for him to take if he wanted it, and sinking into her couch with the other in hand. "but you presume more than i do. i'm not asking this of you because i think we might become the best of friends. i am asking because the fact we are not means there will be no questions asked."

devani eyed the paper in his hand again at his question, as though he clutched a scorpion rather than a scrap of parchment. "they must be here," she admitted. "or they wouldn't have been able to send me a note. but it's not reachmen. they're volantene." it was only the slightest tremble of her hand as she lifted the glass to her lips and drank that betrayed the fact it had genuinely rattled her. "i won't waste your time with the details. you know i have a son." she had kept his existence hidden until her brother had lain dead, but she had not been hiding that for several months now. kheerat's face swam through the swirling smoke of her thoughts then, his smile, still a little uncertain around a woman he was only just starting to know, but sweet all the same.

lord armaan yronwood had thought since the lady of ghost hill returned from wherever she had been for years, devani toland threw her parties like one might throw dice—without any care for where they landed, so long as they made a sound.

the chamber was drowning in light and smoke, silks hanging like webs from the beams overhead, lanterns bleeding colours across the haze. men and women lounged on cushions, their laughter thick, their gestures lazy, the perfume of wine and hashish muddling into something sweet and rotting all at once. armaan sat with his back to the wall, a low table between him and three others, his cards scattered like broken promises. he had played his hand well enough to leave a mark, to remind them of his habits, his skill, his willingness to bleed them of coin if he wanted. the damage had been done.

it was not about the money, never was. it was about the memory they would carry, the irritation that lingered.

his goblet sat mostly untouched, the liquor enough to warm his chest but never cloud his wits. he had no intention of staggering out like the rest of them. his body still ached where the ink had been driven into his skin, the new tattoo stretched across his back like a fresh scar. ryon wyl’s hand had been heavy that night, the needle biting deeper than necessary, and armaan had endured it with a grimace that turned into a laugh. the skin still pulled when he shifted, though he did not let it show now. pain, in its own way, made him feel alive. he raked in his winnings with a careless sweep, offered no more than a smirk at the groans around the table, and rose from his seat. the hookah pipe beside him sent its final curl of smoke towards the ceiling as though in farewell.

enough. he had made his show, had his fill, and the room was beginning to feel smaller than he liked.

it was as he crossed to the door that he saw her—devani herself, standing in the lantern glow like some priestess of her own chaos and undoing. unruly humid curls were undone, her eyes fixed on a letter she had just broken the seal of, lips parting as if she had read something that struck. she did not look up as he moved past. he did not slow. nor did he attempt to navigate around her - as though he expected her to be the one who made herself smaller at his approaching figure. his shoulder clipped hers, and the parchment slipped from her fingers to the floor. armaan let out a low laugh, sharp and amused at her own misfortune.

“what sort of host hides in the hallway.” his tone mocked concern, the corners of his mouth betraying him as he found amusement in the look on her face. he did not bend to pick the letter up, nor spare it a glance. he was already turning to go, his hand brushing the carved frame of the door, when something in her face caught him. the look was not outrage, nor irritation—but as though the walls were caving in on them. in that moment his mind seemed to creep towards that of a defensive instinctive, wondering if there had been some extra threat from across the border - as if devani toland would ever know what to do with something like that.

nights like this, where drink and laughter flowed free, money exchanged hands, and whatever she had been smoking that reddened the whites of her eyes hung pungent in the air, were not an uncommon occurrence. it was never a thing of formality, no invitations sent. her door was open to any who had heard of her little gatherings. it made it easy for the boy who had delivered the note to slip in, put it in her hand, and slip out again before devani had even pulled herself away from her conversation to look upon his face.

she'd a mind to open it then and there, in front of everyone, but once she had took herself into the corridor to read it in peace, it was a relief that she had not. that was of small consolation to her, however, scrawled upon the page in the bastard valyrian the volantines spoke were words that made her heart claw against her ribs. she'd frozen there, in the shadowed hall, face paling and eyes fixed upon the page, willing the words to change, as though if she stared at them hard enough, they'd wiggle around on the page and reform as something she could swallow.

she did not know how long she had been standing there when a sudden jolt broke her from her reverie, so unexpected that the letter fluttered lazily to the floor. she crouched to pick it up, long legs bending at the knee, before looking to see who had disturbed her; armaan yronwood, not a friend, not an enemy, but a one-time conspirator in crimes she had long since forgotten in favour of new ones.

she straightened, clutching the letter a little tighter. any other time, there would be a brazen laugh and a quick retort on her tongue for him, but this time, it did not come. she just looked at him, eyes wide even in her haze, the look of a caged animal watching its master approach with rod in hand.

and then it was like her mind was working in overtime. she needed to run. back to dorne, first, to collect her son, the boy whose existence she had only just made public, and then... to where? she didn't know. she could not go back to the east, not with a child in tow and people on her heels, but neither did the other kingdoms of westeros appeal to her. there was a churning in her gut when she realised that, despite all her instincts telling her to, there was nowhere to run to anymore.

she folded the paper in half, and then again, and for no particular reason, put it in armaan's hand. "i need to get back to dorne," she was trying to sound calm, confident even, though there was no mistaking the tremor in her voice that betrayed the fact she was riding on pure desperation. "and i need to get back quickly, and discretely. it is better if it is kept as quiet as possible." if she could get back to dorne, and ensure kheerat was in her care, she would be one step ahead. that might be enough of an advantage.

her son's father had cared for him well in his earlier years, when she had left him behind and left a gaping hole where a mother should have been. but he had died. if his family's threats were driven from love for kheerat, perhaps there could be a compromise to be found. but though it was not explicit in the letter, it was clear between the lines. it was title and claim and money they sought now that kheerat was heir to all three, and they had found her softest flesh and praised a blade to it in an attempt to get it.

“tied tight,” he echoed, again, more to himself than to her, his mouth a hard line. “and yet gone.” he didn’t look at her, not yet. his eyes moved through the crowd like a blade through cloth, cutting each stranger into something known or unknown, danger or not. even as she leaned on him, laughing, playful, his attention was elsewhere. focused. the world didn’t turn on smiles, in his experience. it turned on small mistakes and quiet betrayals.

he gave a shrug of one shoulder. "some do not have one worth knowing." edrick stated dryly, glancing towards her. "but i assume you do." she wore fine clothes, held herself with enough grace she must be a lady of a noble house, or an incredibly talented actress. "bolton. edrick bolton." he offered in return.

he turned at her gasp, half expecting trouble. his brows pulled together at the sight of her crouched by the barrel. the motion had grace, but the place, shadowed, off the main path, set his instincts prickling. when she stood, purse dangling in her fingers like a trinket, his jaw tightened. for a moment, it seemed he might snap. the lines of his face held the shape of frustration, shoulders squared like a man ready to reprimand.

"assuming makes an ass out of you and me," she said, sweetly. "tell me what makes a name worth knowing, and i'll tell you if mine fits the the bill." she was being deliberately slippery, elusive to the point of annoying, and enjoying every second of it, as much as she had enjoyed slipping his coin purse from his belt, untying his sturdy knots with lithe fingers and utterly escaping his notice in doing so.

and he knew it, too. she could see in his features that he had pieced it together, could tell her stumbling across his purse was no happy accident. but he could not prove it, nor could he argue her thievery when she was offering the purse back, not a single coin lighter.

he didn’t speak at first. he just sat there, letting the silence thicken between them like mist rolling in off the bay. his fingers drummed once, twice, then stopped. his eyes hadn’t left hers since she said the boy’s name.

"kheerat," he repeated softly, like tasting it. then he leaned forward, elbows on the table, firelight glinting off the lines carved into his weathered face. "aye. that’s a fine name. strong."

he didn’t say the other things pressing at the edge of his tongue, that she was mad for trying this, that there were a thousand things that could go wrong, that bringing a boy across half the bloody continent with half the realm still cracking from the war wasn’t exactly what most’d call smart.

instead, he just shrugged one shoulder, slow and easy. "i know the reach well enough. might even owe a favor or two in oldtown still. not the sort who’d ask questions about a boy and a tired knight lookin' for work. if we ride fast, cut through the south past bitterbridge, we could skirt the worst of it. gods know the lords there still don’t look twice at men without banners."

he reached out then, tapping two fingers against the rim of her cup. "but you’ll need to let me handle the speakin’ once we’re past the docks. won’t do to have a mother lookin' like she’s about to bolt every time someone sneezes too close."

then, softer, less for her ears than the world itself: "and don’t worry about the boy not knowin’ you. he’ll know what matters. that someone came for him."

"i don't know why i chose it. kheerat, i mean." she had been in his life long enough to give him a name, but little else. there was utter sincerity in her voice, a softness that made it sound alien even to devani's own ears. "it means the one who sings to god. it's silly, really, because i'm not even all that devout or anything like that. i think i just liked the idea of it." she wondered briefly if kheerat liked to sing. it was one of the things a mother should know, but devani didn't have the answer to.

walys didn't tell her that her plan was a bad one. in fact, he offered her a solution to the bits she didn't have figured out, and for that, she was grateful, her appreciation enough that she reached across the table, took his hand in hers, and kissed the back of it. there was no verbal thank you, but that action was enough.

"i'll follow your lead," she agreed. "and i won't bolt. not this time. reckon i've run out of road to run on, anyway," as much as she made light of it, there was truth to it. the unthinkable had happened, and devani toland had reached a point in her life where she was tired of running.

the wind tugged at the banners strung between the rooftops above, faded cloth rippling with each gust that swept in from the harbor. gulltown’s cobbled streets glistened underfoot, damp from sea spray and the scattered dregs of spilled ale. lanterns bobbed overhead, their flickering glow casting long, shifting shadows across the press of bodies still winding through the festival. music echoed distantly, pipes, drums, a woman’s voice raised in a song about sailors and saltwives.

edrick kept his stride even as they walked, letting the crowd swallow them again. he didn’t try to shake her off, at least, not yet. it might’ve drawn more attention. her grip was light, almost absent-minded, like this was all perfectly ordinary.

“leather,” he answered at last, eyes scanning a row of stalls where a fire-eater gathered a small crowd. “dark brown. worn smooth at the edges. half-full, give or take. no sentiment.” he paused, then added, “but it was tied tight. whoever took it was fast.”

he didn’t sound angry, only matter-of-fact. the kind of man who’d catalog a problem rather than rage at it. his eyes moved as he spoke, sharp and restless, watching pockets, fingers, the subtle shifts in movement that might betray a cutpurse. but he didn’t look at her.

“you’re right, though,” he said after a beat, tone softening just slightly. “this lot’s thick with thieves. people travel from all over for the harbor festival, sailors, sellswords, half the dregs of the narrow sea. no one notices a missing purse in the middle of a song or a crowd leaning toward fire.”

he glanced her way then, just briefly, the corner of his mouth tugging into something that might’ve been a smile if it weren’t so fleeting.

“still. generous of you to help a stranger. most would just keep walking.”

he let that sit a moment, the clamor of the festival rising behind them, bells chiming, a pig squealing in the distance, someone shouting about oysters. edrick tilted his head toward the next lane, narrower and quieter, but no less busy with tables full of wears and idle chatter.

she turned her head, giving the perfect appearance of a woman scanning the crowd. she had always been a talented actress, but the fly in the ointment today was the fact she was enjoying herself far too much to keep a straight face. turning away from him served a dual purpose, part of her little game, but also to conceal the smirk playing on her face.

"tied tight?" she repeated, her voice thoughtful. "whoever took it must have been awfully light-fingered." she was quite pleased with herself for this one. it had been tied tight, but not tight enough that her quick fingers hadn't made short work of the knots. she had no reason to take it other than for her own enjoyment, for the fact she hadn't stolen anything in ages and she had felt the urge to do so. she didn't need his coin purse.

she'd give it back, she decided.

she laughed when he queried her name, in a way that made her sound utterly delighted. "you can call me lady luck, if you'd like. I'd take it as the highest of compliments," she pressed her free hand to her chest. "but that's probably because i've been called far worse things," she did not elaborate further, instead leaning a little heavier on his arm as she hopped over a puddle of ale upon the floor. "you expect correct, though most people do tend to have one, so it's not the biggest leap of logic. my name is devani." she didn't explicitly ask for his, expecting that it would follow.

a theatrical gasp left her then, and she dropped his arm, moving to a barrel resting in the mouth of an alley way. as she crouched to the ground in an effortless swish of silk, one hand subtly reached into the folds of her silks, removing from it a coin purse, dark leather, half full, and worn smooth at the edges. she made a show of retrieving it from the ground it had never touched, catching his attention as she arose from where she had bent.

ruqaiyah let out a breath that came out more like a laugh—sharp, breathless, incredulous. "you weren’t made for one place?” her voice turned cold and lilting, as if she were entertaining a joke no one else was in on. “you weren’t made for it, so we were born to sit and wait for you to flutter off and find your next whim?"” her chest rose and fell rapidly now, but her posture was still perfect, held together by the sheer force of her ego and the fact she knew she looked good. she had lost inches on her waist, as seen by her newest dress; devani would eat her words.

“that's not FAIR, you make it sound like i had you CHAINED!” she continued, tone curdling into something mock-sweet as her voice continued to rise - and despite the fact she were furious, she also loved the fact she had devani here in this moment. arguing with her, giving her full attention.

“you were in my house, you wore my clothes, you sat on my bed. you let me braid your hair while you told me—promised me—that i was the one person who understood you. and you’re telling me now, that you left because you were sixteen and had stuff on your mind?” she took a step back, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. her nails dug into her own arms, but she didn’t care. she wanted to feel it. wanted to ground herself in anything other than the ache that was pulling at her ribs. there was something in her voice now that even she could not quite contain. a tremble, brittle and buzzing with humiliation.

"you don’t get to call me dramatic when you made me feel like i was mad. like i had imagined the whole thing. you said you’d never leave me. you said—” she bit the words back like they were acid. “you said i was the only one who saw you.” her voice cracked, just once, and she swallowed hard, eyes narrowed in fury at her own weakness.

she had to take a moment to steady herself - to take a deep breath and focus only on the air in her lungs until she could feel that anger ebbing out of her. she had never spent much time around children, but this was how she imagined it would be dealing with a particularly hysterical toddler. "when did i say you were supposed to wait for me?" she asked her, a knot appearing between her brows as they furrowed together. "i never asked that of you, ruqaiyah. what everyone else does when i am not there is not my problem." she did not say the words to be cruel, did not even register that they were. it was the mark of a woman who had never in her life made the effort to maintain a bond over time and distance.

for a brief moment, she allowed herself to think, for the first time, on where they would be had she stayed, had she fulfilled promises a different version of herself had whispered in secret. she knew not why she had said such things, save for the fact devani toland had always been prone to bending the truth. when she thought of it, though, there was the realisation that ruqaiyah may not have bound her with chains, but it would have felt like that eventually. it was how it had been when she had wed. no matter how ruqaiyah protested that she wasn't shackled, devani knew in her bones that they would have got to that point.

"not chained," she spoke lightly. "not yet." and on the matter, she said no more.

it was something she had gotten good at over the years, picking up and leaving when it felt like the walls were closing in. perhaps that had always been something she could innately do, and at the time she left ruqaiyah, she had already sensed the binding forming, soft and silken and meant to feel like a gift.

and yet, she still stood here, still listened as ruqaiyah flung back into her face the ruins she had left behind her all those years ago. she didn't flinch, not even when the crack in ruqaiyah's voice came. she simply stood there, taking in what should have been resolved a decade and a half ago, had she given it half the chance to. "stuff on my mind," she could not help but scoff at the way ruqaiyah had boiled it down to something that sounded so trivial. "i was wrong about that one, wasn't i? you didn't see me at all." her head was shaking.

she did not understand why it was so hard for ruqaiyah to see it from her perspective. the world was small when you were sixteen. it was easy to take something good, and make it the centre of all things. but they were women grown now, and devani's world had broadened, across seas and plains and cities the girl who had loved ruqaiyah dayne had never even heard of. "i did mean it," she spoke almost casually. "when i said it, i meant it. that does not change the fact i needed to go." because when she had made her plans to leave westeros, her promises to ruqaiyah had not factored in at all.

sobhitad:  एक chai अनेक mewd

“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.

once they were sure that there was no further eavesdroppers on their trail, willow's face changed entirely, her gaze sharper as it landed upon devani. for her part, though, devani altered very little about the way she carried herself, her body language open as ever, expression warm and tone laced with pleasantries. she did not know willow at all, beyond what brianna had warned of, and had no reason to treat her as an enemy when as far as she knew, they were in the same boat.

she tucked a stray curl behind her hair, fingers trailing to brush at the gold chain at her throat. on the surface, it looked like a nervous gesture, but any who knew devani well, which was admittedly very few, would know it to be a signal. she was thinking, calculating, weighing up what to say about the conclusion she had reached. "or," she began, the thoughtfulness leaking through into her voice. "it's one of the others." it had been where her mind had gone first - the idea that this was one of their co-conspirators. "i thought it might have been you at first. wouldn't have blamed you. a quick offence can be a decent defence." she glanced at willow again, something akin to amusement in her eyes. "but then i saw the boy watching you. if mariela egan has reported the same, that rules out three of us. wait, no, four," she corrected herself swiftly. "it won't be brianna bracken, either. she's too frightened for that and she isn't the type to know how to weaponise a secret. unless she's managed to pull the wool over my eyes, in which case, i have to applaud her skills."

that left only two - marcella celtigar, and elenda swann.

"if there is a third party invovled, it would be convenient for an insider to feed them half-truths, wouldn't it? point the finger elsewhere to hide the blood on their own hands? if there is a new player in the game, that's what i'd wager." she didn't mention that she herself had confided in doran uller, nor that she had encouraged brianna to speak to her brother. that much, willow did not need to know.

his fingers curled around the edge of the table, grounding himself as the weight of her words settled in his chest. her son. of all the things he had expected her to say, that had not even crossed his mind. she was too careful, too good at slipping between the cracks of the world, never staying long enough to let anything, or anyone, take root.

he should have known better.

walys exhaled through his nose, shaking his head just slightly, the ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "well, fuck," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "ye always did have a knack for surprises."

he leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully now. the way she held herself, the way she spoke, it was all the same, all laughter and ease. but now he knew what she was hiding underneath, and it changed things.

"so, discretion." he tapped a finger against the wood, considering. "right. i can do that." his voice was lighter now, as if the weight of her admission hadn’t settled heavy on his shoulders. "but let’s get one thing straight, ya? i’m not doing this for boots. i’ve spent me whole life getting mud on me; a little more won’t kill me."

his smirk softened, something fond behind it. "i’m doing this because it’s you."

then he downed the rest of his drink, setting it back on the table with a renewed sense of conviction, perhaps the thrill of some sort of adventure, however small to him, but fragile it was to an old friend. "but since yer offering, i will take a new pair of gloves."

the moment past, and devani merely nodded her head, the firelight catching on the gold in her ears, though her smile turned bright and playful again. "ah, come on. not like you to turn down a pair of boots. you've changed, walys." she was deflecting again, shifting in her seat as she tapped her fingers against the table in thought. as much as devani toland enjoyed playing the fool, she was sharper than she looked.

"right, the plan," she cleared her throat. "an old acquaintance from selhorys has put him on a ship bound for the reach. it's due to arrive at the end of the week. he'll be listed as crew. cabin boy." nobody would be paying attention to a cabin boy on a vessel like that. it should be easy enough to get him to westerosi shores, and for walys to make the collection. it was getting him back to dorne that was the issue.

"i don't know the reach," she admitted. "i don't know how to collect him and get him back into dorne without someone picking up on it. once we're in the marches, i think i can make it back to ghost hill. but there's that bit in the middle, isn't there?" she looked to walys then, as though hoping he would have all the answers for her.

she cleared her throat a little. "kheerat - the boy - also won't know who i am." it was an admission that could stir judgement. it was no small thing for a mother to leave a child, especially not at such a young age as she had left behind her son. "he won't remember me as his mother. i'm just a woman who knew his father once. i think it is probably best that i am the one to break that news to him, you understand."

the streets of gulltown are thick with bodies, the press of merchants, sailors, and festival-goers moving in slow, uneven tides. the air is heavy with the mingling scents of roasting meat, salt, and damp wool, the heat of so many people packed into narrow streets making it stifling. edrick moves steadily, his gaze shifting over the vendors and their wares without much interest. bright silks flutter in the breeze, cheap steel glints under torchlight, voices rise and fall in a ceaseless hum of barter and boast. he has no use for any of it. he is here because duty demands it, nothing more.

his hand moves to his belt, fingers seeking the familiar weight of his coin purse. nothing. he stops, his chest tightening with slow, simmering irritation. he glances back, eyes sweeping over the crowd, but it is a fool’s errand. too many faces, too many hands, all moving, shifting, vanishing into the press of bodies. he should have noticed. he should have felt it. a mistake, however small, is still a mistake.

he turns to move, stepping back into the throng, and nearly collides with a woman in red silk. she is close, the scent of citrus and spice catching in the air between them as she halts, gaze flicking upward to meet his.

"gone, just like that?" the hand that had grasped for her purse found its way to her chest, splaying out as though the very idea of it was shocking. "honestly, you get all sorts at these kind of things, don't you? how dreadful." there was a slight twitch to her lips, but nothing else to show her amusement. he may have mistaken it for awkwardness, if she was lucky, which devani frequently was.

it had been a while since she'd needed to take from someone else. certainly, not since she had returned to dorne. even in essos, most of the time she had relied on wit, wiles, and favours she never intended to return. still, her light fingers had come in handy more than once, and there was always that secret, private thrill in taking what did not belong to you, an invisible triumph she had missed. she had seen his purse dangling on his belt, and it had felt like an easy mark. so far, that instinct had proven right.