who: @dragoninstormclouds
when and where; flashback to the celebration of king jaehaerys targaryen in kings landing, before disaster struck unwin peake behind the back of his head, brianna bracken was quite enjoying her night.
brianna bracken felt a thrill of unrestrained delight as she stepped into the vibrant swirl of kingâs landing that evening, the city itself seeming to pulse beneath the echoes of celebration. the air was fragrant with spiced meats, perfumed courtiers, and the sharp tang of distilled spirits, the kind that made her cheeks warm and her thoughts a little bolder than usual. she had never been among so many people, each moving with their own purpose, their silks and satins reflecting the lantern light like shards of precious gems, and yet she felt utterly at ease, as though she had been meant to be here all along.
her heart danced in her chest as she recalled the parade in honour of king jaehaerys targaryen, the king who was mostly definitely not queer considering she only remembered he had married niamh tully when she saw her again, the trumpets blaring with ceremonial pride, the banners catching the wind like living things. for once, the politics and the endless murmuring of houses beyond her own seemed distant; tonight was hers to savour. she wandered through the gardens, the grass damp beneath her slippers, and found herself caught up in a circle of laughter and clinking glasses, her friends forming a protective ring of familiarity in the midst of the glittering crowd.
minthara estermont, ever composed despite her competitive nature, leaned against a low hedge with a smile that suggested she was enjoying herself more than she would admit, while fiona graftonâs uncontainable grace cracked with each ball she didnt get into the hole, her brother norbert chuckling beside her. then there was the man, who everyone whispered was the hand of this place, his posture stiff, eyes darting nervously like a bird trapped behind glass, yet somehow he had been drawn into their orbit. brianna watched him, intrigued by the way he seemed out of step with the gaiety, and felt a pang of amusement. how curious that someone with such power could be so socially anxious, a contradiction she relished observing.
the evening wore on, and brianna moved from one dance to the next, her movements a fluid blend of youthful exuberance and practiced poise, her gaze catching the lanterns as if to drink in their light. the whispers of noble families and the clink of glasses became a backdrop to her own private symphony of excitement. she did not notice the shadow stretching behind the crowd, nor the subtle tightening of her stomach when a stranger approached too close, for the world was too intoxicating, too alive for caution to settle in her mind.
when the idea of bowls came up, she joined with glee, laughing at the absurdity of it all again, the smooth wood of the balls warm under her fingers, the stakes entirely inconsequential. she rolled her first ball with more force than intended, the whiskey in her system emboldening her aim, and the sphere flew across the lawn like a comet, veering far off course to collide with a cluster of courtiers from new valyria. briannaâs eyes widened, her cheeks blossoming a deeper rose as giggles rocked across the lawn, anything but graceful. she threw her arms wide and bellowed, half waving at the sight of them in the distance as though she were drowning - but she needed her ball back.
âoh seven fuckin' hells, go on and pass it back here will you?â the sound of her laughter carried across the garden, rich and musical, mixing with the shocked murmurs of those she had inadvertently targeted. she felt her chest swell with irrepressible spirit, the thrill of chaos brushing her skin like fire.
she strode across the lawn, skirts brushing against dew-laden grass, the lantern light glinting off her dark hair, doeling eyes wide and alert, and called across the distance, âwhat, you lot can't throw?â the new valyrian courtiers raised their brows, laughter twitching at the corners of their mouths, but brianna paid them no heed, focusing instead on the challenge of reclaiming her rogue ball. her steps were deliberate, spirited, each one punctuated by the warmth in her chest from the whiskey and the joy of self-assured independence. as she reached the cluster, she swooped to the floor in a blink, picked up her ball, and with a bow that was equal parts mockery and charm, she spun on her wheel to all but strut her way back to her friends, hands in the air as if to show off the ball.