Aila who loves to play with swords in the mud, and whose wide eyes hold show nothing but the gullible mind behind them, needs her aid in understanding the harshness of the world, naturally. Of Westeros.

Her fingers spread along her niece's shoulder, flicking off unseen dust, her own lips turning down at the worry. "We are far from the only family to remain unharmed. House Swann is well. House Celtigar are unphased." If one does not counting the younger's betrothal, "Perhaps they are worthy of suspicion as well, in fact...We must observe them. Two betrothals with House Redwyne is surely a sign of..." Something. The thought has only come to her now, and she needs ruminate upon it. "We were much more mild with our drink. I know you did not disgrace us during the feast, hmm?" Her smile is wide, though without teeth.

With the hand on her shoulder, the youngest Tully is reminded of many moments when it seems that her aunt does not like them. Love them, yes, Aila would say so. Like, however.... They truly did their best as children to stay out of the way and make minimal trouble. Admittedly not always successful with the messes and the sprinting through halls, there was especially a time when she grew taller over a short season and found it hard to coordinate their own limbs. But while Aila knew they were no great pride of House Tully, they at the bare minimum always did their best to conduct themselves with dignity as befitting of a great house. "No, I did not drink much." If one didn't count them shoving a puff pastry as Lady Falyn turned to face them, then yes Aila did not disgrace House Tully during the feast.

“ah,  so  we  are  alike  in  that  way,  then,”  she  muses.  “it's  strange  to  think  that  any  one  of  these  houses  here  could  now  take  the  throne…  isn't  it?  though  maybe  not  for  you,  as  i  imagine  you  are  quite  used  to  a  kingsmoot  at  this  point  in  your  life,  lady  harlaw.”

"they'll find a way to blame us for this too, y'know? if things go wrong, and they will. you cannot gather ambition under one roof and not expect bloodshed." yerin takes a sip of her tea. "despite assumptions, i do not wish for war. it is expensive and a waste of lives lost. i pray the drowned god and whatever gods you believe in that we are spared tragedy." the loss of her child still so fresh, it mattered little who sat the ugly throne as long as there is deliverance.

from across the hall, she sees one of her sisters acting up and lets out a long, tired sigh. "i wish you a pleasant rest of your evening. i have a stain, and other matters to attend to." she tips her head respectfully before taking measured steps through the hall to intervene on behalf of whatever poor soul seora had taken to toying with.

there was peace in being where one was supposed to be. supposed to be, in willas's case, referred merely to where his father would expect him to be —  would prefer him to be. it had little to do with his divined path, or where he himself felt the most comfortable. he longed for the darkened corner of a tavern, where he could sit, be unrecognizable without his height on display, and do whatever he pleased. instead, his brain thrumming painfully in his skull and his ass still sore from the saddle, he leans against a barrel and wonders at the roster of sick. his father and elyas had disappeared into conversation directly upon their arrival to the red keep, leaving no time for questions. he trusts that ceryse will do the seeking of information, that she will know all it is that he does not  — but ceryse is not here. forearm rested on the pommel of vigilance, its carved green flame leaves angry indents in his skin. " do you know any of the names of those who have fallen ill? " he asks, gaze angled downward towards the red dirt at the tip of his boot.

it was how she managed to send a few ravens, gathering bits and pieces of information while they journeyed from oldtown. with the oldest of their siblings and father preoccupied by their plans, she had to take whatever opportunities presented themselves. "...i do. and i'll tell you if you do not question how i know. nor imply to anyone that you heard it from me."

ah-rin  almost  laughs.     not  because  anything  about  this  conversation  is  particularly  comical,   or  particularly  entertaining,   but  because  this  is  not  the  first  time  her  sister  has  asked  questions  she  already  knows  the  answer  to.     despite  the  self-imposed  distance  between  her  and  her  family,   they  are  of  the  same  blood.     they  have  known  each  other,   in  brief  moments  and  visits  stolen,   long  enough  for  the  both  of  them  to  understand     —     she  has  never  enjoyed  obedience,   has  never  desired  stupid  things,   like  peace,   love,   happiness.     no,   it  is  freedom  she  lusts  after,   and  power,   whatever  shape  that  may  take.     and  perhaps  she could  recognize  a  certain  resentment,   aimed  at  her  and  seora’s  neglect,   but  she  was  not  made  to  shrink  small  in order  to  fit  another’s  vision.     dark  gaze  drifts,   away  from  her  sister  and  again  toward  the  window.     outside,   the  sun  shines  and  the  wind  blows:     the  weather  is  perfect  for  sailing,   which  only  adds  to  her  growing  irritation.         ❝         speaking  plainly  hardly  sounds  like  us,   now  does  it?         ❞         the  irreverent  younger  sister  is  a  role  she  could  never  quite  escape,   not  even  after  moons  at  sea  and  hours  spent  separated.   

in  the  other’s  low  notes  she  hears  the  exhaustion  brought  upon  by  loss,   by  grief,   and  where  other  hearts  may  soften,   hers  remains  steel.     one  hand  idly  toys  with  the  coral  ring  adorning  her  finger,   turning  it  once,   twice,   three  times,   all  while  she  considers  her  next  words.         ❝         i  want  the  same  thing  you  do,         ❞         what  had  previously  been  a  voice  full  of  mockery  twists  into  quiet reluctance,   lips  pursing  as  she  looks  at  yerin  once  more.     her  body  moves,   legs  uncrossing,   elbows  coming  to  rest  above  her  thighs,   head  tilting  to  the  side.         ❝         the  iron  islands,   ripped  from  the  greyjoy’s  hands.     our  family  receiving  the  justice  it  is  owed.         ❞         justice  or  revenge,   the  distinction  does  not  truly  matter,   not  to  her.     a  blood  debt  must  always  be  paid.     that  glimpse  of  empathy  vanishes  as  quickly  as  it  had  arrived,   replaced  with  a  smirk,   tugging  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth.         ❝         tell  me,   yerin     —     what  is  it  that  worries  you  so?         ❞

she never knows what to expect so she lets ah-rin speak, taking a long drink. no, they did not want the same exact thing though. talking seora down from simply killing the greyjoys was no easy feat but managable, ah-rin, however... while it seemed they were of the same understanding, never underestimate the younger's ability to twist intention behind seemingly direct words.