you win or you die.

“        no,   i   should   be   in   the   ground,   or   sunk   to   the   bottom   of   the   nearest   lake.        ”        she   waves   off   his   delicate   concerns.   it   was   rather   difficult   to   hold   thoughts   in   her   mind,   and   upon   muttering   her   own,   she   is   immediate   in   forgetting   them.   a   normal   persuasion   of   the   milk,   your   grace,   once   you   no   longer   need   it,   it   will   no   longer   affect   you.   did   he   accept   her   congratulations?   she   doesn't   ask.        “        will   you   be   the   one   to   put   me   there,   lord   harlon?        ”        phrased   in   the   most   content   of   tones,   satisfied   at   the   idea,   but   then   she   holds   a   hand   up:        “        don't   answer   that,   the   kingsguard   will   consider   it   high   treason   regardless   of   the   empty   throne.   i'd   hate   to   get   blood   on   their   cloaks   and   your   …   ah.   …   highgarden   silk.        "        harlon   carries   the   presence   of   one   who   deserves   the   place   on   the   council   and   to   rule   highgarden,   of   that   much   delfina   can   agree    —    however,   it   is   about   the   principle   of   the   thing,   and   the   targaryen   seal   already   lies   in   support   of   falyn   tyrell   and   her   implied   wishes.

“ah,  no,  i  simply  was  concerned  for  your  wellbeing,  princess,”  harlon  says,  bowing  his  head  respectfully.  “i  mean  no  disrespect,  of  course.”  it  is  true,  he  was  genuinely  concerned.  if  he  were  in  her  position,  he  wouldn't  be  so  ready  to  return  to  the  business  of  things.

“i  will  leave  you  to  your  thoughts,  then,”  he  says  politely.  “should  you  need  of  me,  do  not  hesitate  to  send  for  me.”

“no,  unfortunately  i  have  not  had  the  heart  to  prod  him  on  the  status  of  your  arrangement  given,  you  know,  his  bedridden  state  at  the  moment.”  he  gives  her  a  look  from  the  side  of  his  eye,  but  says  nothing  more  on  the  matter.  “good,  good!  i  am  glad  that  the  two  of  you  are  happy,  you  know.  truly.”  did  it  sound  convincing?

"some  more  so  than  others,"  she  acquiesces.  she  has  yet  to  decide  if  she's  restless  staying  ---  or  restless  at  the  thought  of  returning.  all  she  has  known  is  the  routine  of  bracken  land  and  horses,  never  given  the  freedom  to  travel  for  any  reason  beyond  that.  even  now,  it  was  for  her  family  that  she's  here.

"my  family  seeks  what  they  always  do."  and  she  says  no  more.  let  the  never-ending  feud  fill  the  gaps.  still,  she  eyes  a  necklace,  lifting  it  up  for  inspection  before  showing  it  to  myles,  a  glint  of  tease  in  gaze.  "though  what  does  your  new  betrothed  think  of  castamere,  hmm?"

“of  course,”  he  says.  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  brackens  would  be  chasing  after  the  blackwoods  and  should  either  put  their  name  out  there  to  be  considered  for  royalty,  the  other  must  indeed  follow.  he  looks  down  at  the  necklace  she's  accquired,  inspecting  it  with  his  own  gaze.  “she's  let  me  tell  her  little  of  it,”  he  laughs.  “she  despises  me,  you  know,  myria.  says  that  her  mother  will  give  me  an  earful  whenever  it  is  that  she  returns,  put  me  in  my  place  so  to  speak.”

she finds herself incensed by his very presence. it is no fault of his own, of course. the ruling lord reyne has done nothing but wish to advance the influence of his house. still, desmera reviles what she cannot understand —  and she understands so little of politics. she stands stiffly, fingers fisted in the black silk of her skirts. she must keep her hands busy, lest they act of their own accord. desmera endures his compliments for her brother with pursed lips. " she has written — " she begins, " and is due to return the day of the council meeting. you shall see her there, will you not? hopefully she will wait to speak with you, lest she embarrass you before your aged and so very boring peers. "

“embarrass  me?”  he  cannot  help  but  to  laugh.  “i  mean,  i  know  this  is  not  an  arrangement  that  either  of  you  two  like  but…”  he  sighs.  “i  will  speak  with  her,  though.  i  intend  to  reassure  her  that  her  daughter  is  in  good  hands,  even  if  neither  of  you  see  that  yet.  and  i  don't  blame  you  for  that,  either.  you  know  so  little  of  me,”  he  says.  “but  i  intend  to  prove  myself  to  you,  lady  desmera,  should  you  allow  me  to."

you let him guide you. you do not remember the climb back through the keep, only that your feet continue to move because he asked them to. because somewhere between the river and the red keep he had made you a promise. i'll send my best men. they'll search. they'll keep searching until she's found. that promise alone is enough to keep you from tearing free and throwing yourself back into the blackwater. when he lowers you into one of the great upholstered chairs within the targaryen apartments, your body sinks without protest, soaked clothes clinging unpleasantly to your skin. your hands rest limply in your lap. somewhere nearby, cedric speaks quietly with one of the servants. you stare ahead for a long while before your voice finally finds him. "...what did you ask her?" he turns, and those familiar ocean eyes meet yours. limpid and unwavering. nothing like the dark water still swallowing your thoughts. you look at them longer than you mean to. somehow they quiet something inside you, if only for a moment. the tears never truly stop, they simply continue without your notice now, warm tracks slipping down numb cheeks. another servant enters beside a maester carrying a small tray. glass clinks softly. herbs. then the unmistakable sweetness reaches you. milk of the poppy. "...cedric." your brows knit together as realization settles over you. you know why. he is only trying to keep you from breaking apart completely. yet another fear quietly takes root beneath the grief. what if the bay has not only stolen your ma? what if it takes this too? what if, when all is over, the lions stray from the dragons, and you lose the truest companion you have left?

you drink because they ask you to. because resisting would require a will you no longer possess. the warmth spreads slowly through your veins, softening every sharp edge until the world begins to blur around its corners. your maids undress you, wash the river from your skin, dress you in clean linens, settle you beneath the covers of your bed. by the time they send for him again, you are already drifting somewhere between waking and sleep, eyelids heavy enough to ache. the door opens quietly. you find him through the haze almost immediately. shame prickles warm beneath your skin. you were taught better than this. princesses are not meant to ask for comfort. they are meant to endure. yet your lips part before pride can stop them. "...can you..." you swallow, blinking slowly against the poppy pulling you under. "...stay until i fall asleep?"

he  leads  her  back  to  her  chambers,  lets  her  get  settled  before  calling  for  servants  and  maesters  to  tend  to  her.  “hm?”  he  hums  whens  he  finally  speaks  up.  “you  needn't  worry,”  he  tells  her  with  a  gentle  smile,  one  meant  to  disarm.  he  continues  instructing  those  under  his  charge  to  care  for  her,  to  make  her  comfortable.

when  it  is  time  for  her  to  be  changed  and  bathed,  he  bids  her  farewell,  but  promises  to  return.  for  he  too  must  bathe,  as  he  had  been  completely  soaked  to  the  bone  in  the  waters  of  the  bay  chasing  after  her.  and  not  to  mention  there  were  various  small  injuries  littering  his  body  that  needed  tending  lest  they  get  infected.

he  eventually  returns  and  seats  himself  at  her  bedside,  looking  over  her  as  she  lays  there  so  still  and  so  calm.  a  completely  different  picture  than  what  he  had  seen  of  her  back  at  the  river's  shores.  he  nods  when  she  asks  him  to  stay,  smiling  gently  down  at  her.  “of  course,”  he  adds  softly.  “for  as  long  as  you  need  me,  i'll  stay.”

“the  position  of  fraternizing  alone  with  a  bastard  is  compromising  in  and  of  itself,  my  lady,”  he  tells  her.  “but  i  do  so  agree.  it  would  be  wise  to  squash  such  rumors,  lest  they  begin  to  spread.”  of  course,  he  wouldn't  actually  be  doing  that.  no,  instead,  he  would  be  keeping  a  close  eye  on  the  so-called  heir  to  highgarden.  part  of  him  wished  to  speak  with  the  mistress  of  whispers,  though  he's  not  sure  what  good  that  might  do.  for  now,  he  will  have  to  employ  his  own  little  birds.

“i  never  said  such  a  thing,”  he  says  with  a  slight  tilt  of  his  head.  “being  cordial  with  bastards  is  one  thing,  cousin,  but  to  remain  close  to  them…  it  is  a  very  compromising  position,  for  a  lady  of  high  birth,  you  know  that,  don't  you?”

“your  mother  sounds  like  she  was  an  amazing  woman,  i  wish  i  had  gotten  to  meet  her,”  she  says  sweetly,  looking  down  at  the  hand  placed  on  her  arm.  she  looks  up  to  her  with  a  gentle  smile.  “and  rebuild  we  shall,  soon  enough,  i  hope  at  least.  it  would  be  quite  nice  to  get  this  whole  kingsmoot  business  sorted  out  finally..  it  feels  like  ages  since  we've  had  a  true  ruler  to  look  to.”  of  course,  the  guidance  of  the  hand  was  one  thing,  but  the  word  of  a  monarch  was  another.

“it  does  not  surprise  me  that  you  feel  such  a  way,  my  lady,”  he  begins.  “indeed,  i  do  think  it  is  best  that  we  keep  our  distance,  as  you  said.”  he  allows  for  silence  to  hang  in  the  air  for  a  few  moments,  lets  her  think  that  she  is  safe.  “…but  you  know,  i  did  hear  a  rather  interesting  rumor  about  you.”

“ah  but  of  course,”  he  says,  “never  you,  my  lady,  oh  promised  one!”  he's  just  teasing  her  now.  he  cannot  help  but  to  make  himself  laugh.  “and  how  is  my  friend,  hm?  are  the  two  of  you  getting  along  better  these  days?”  he  asks  as  if  the  two  of  them  had  not  been  locking  lips  just  a  week  prior.  how  quickly  he  seems  to  forget  –  or  rather,  bury  at  the  very  back  of  his  mind.  it  was  wrong  to  do,  after  all.  what  with  them  both  being  promised.

trystane  waited  patiently  for  this  meeting  to  finish,  he  had  wanted  to  see  the  reactions.  the  suspense.  it  was  killing  him.  he  paced  a  little  while  he  knew  the  meeting  was  occurring  but  it  didn't  stop  him  from  making  his  way  towards  the  gardens.  he  found  them  creepy  ...  even  as  a  child.  they  were  too  quiet,  he  hated  it.  all  he  had  there  were  his  own  thoughts  but  after  the  events  the  occurred,  he  thought  perhaps  he  could  spare  one  or  two. he  heard  the  sounds  of  doors  and  feet,  which  caused  him  to  move  out  of  the  way,  back  deeper  into  the  gardens.  when  he  noticed  lord  harlon  sitting  on  the  bench,  he  approached.  trystane  held  his  hands  up.  "i  do  not  wish  to  disturb  you,  lord  harlon  ...  i  just  ...  was  curious  what  was  said  in  the  meeting."  he  admitted.  "i  was  eagerly  awaiting  it's  end  to  see  if  my  grandfather  would  tell  me  but  i  cannot  seem  to  locate  him  anywhere."  the  fossoway  admitted.

he  looks  over  trystane,  wondering  what  thoughts  are  dancing  around  in  his  head.  “and  what  do  you  think  of  all  this,  my  lord?”  he  questions  curiously.  “and  how  is  your  father,  by  the  way?  i  understand  he  was  injured  in  all  the  chaos.”

“you  are  quite  kind,  lady  falyn…”  she  sighs  dreamily,  looking  over  to  her  with  a  smile  before  looking  off  into  the  distance.  “i  may  come  to  rely  on  that  kindness  in  time.”  it  would  be  nice  to  have  a  woman  in  power  as  a  friend,  and  hopefully  soon,  as  family.  “indeed  we  shall…  hopefully  with  this  move  to  dorne,  we  may  soon  put  all  this  nonsense  behind  us.  i  do  hope  they  are  able  to  deliver  on  what  they've  promised.”

the princess targaryen witnesses far too much of the gardens for her liking. at least for the time being, her legs regain their strength. she has no shame in the usage of a walking cane to assist her, loaned with due diligence for her recovery and the kingsguard still loyal in the near distance. it imbues her with confidence, enables her to believe she might, in fact, improve. her stride much shorter than it should be, a near unrecognisable gait, but she becomes known enough around the corner: hair at last tidied, no visible bruising, and the sheer covering which prevents too much of the light from hitting the exposed talon-marks upon her chest, still allowing them visible. a sharp glean, like a cat's eye, lands upon lord tyrell. "and how would the lord of highgarden help me with council business?" ... a pause. "ah yes. that's right. congratulations upon being master of laws, my lord. i do hope it suits you despite its bad luck. it seems any who sit upon aegor's council drop like flies."

she smiles. it doesn't reach her eyes. "i blame you not for needing a clear head amongst the rabble. everyone has an opinion on the decision. but to talk about it would disrupt my leisurely stroll. you'll hear none from me." she waves herself away, as if reducing herself to a decoration.

but  if  she  is  to  remain  a  contender  for  the  throne,  she  would  certainly  need  to  show  face  around  here.  it  would  be  expected  of  her,  despite  what  had  happened.  she  cannot  seriously  be  still  aiming  for  it,  could  she?  not  that  harlon  truly  cares,  of  course.  truthfully,  while  his  loyalties  were  currently  with  the  lady  of  claw  isle,  they  would  ultimately  lie  with  whomever  could  assuredly  promise  him  highgarden.  his  spot  on  the  council  is  a  great  honor,  too,  of  course,  but  he  will  not  give  up  on  what  is  his  birthright.