courage dear heart

"Is he okay?" she exclaimed, pushing herself through the crowd to where only a barely dried puddle of blood laid on the ground where Lord Manderly sat. She wasn't going to make this about herself but, having just spoke to him a few hours prior, she felt a sense of guilt that she couldn't shake. If she had done more maybe he would've been okay? "Please... Please tell me you know something? Anything?"

“He’s breathing,” was all Rhogar could say. They had found a second home in the stables, as usual, and this crowd was far too much. It was never enough for Menyce, who wanted all the attention towards her. Yet, even she was freaked out. She didn’t want to venture out, wide-eyed at those that came towards her unless they had food. What all had she seen?

setting: before their wedding

she is supposed to marry the martell heir in a couple of hours. over the past couple of months during her time in dorne, she and her betrothed has gotten along rather well. so well in fact that they have shared many nights together. which if her parents were to ind out they'd either faint or, her father, would combust.

her nerves made her stomach quesy, her palms sweaty, she was so deep in her thoughts she did not hear qoren enter. she did not know until she turns and sees him, "hey.... you ugh--- ready to get married? you still have time if you wanna make a run for it." she joked.

A flash of horror crosses Qoren’s face at her words as he studies her. Was she that nervous? Or was this a joke? Unease bubbles up within him, forcing him to wipe his own palms on his thighs. Hopefully she didn’t notice that.

No, it had to be nerves. There was no need to internalize these words and turn them into stone in his mind. No, this would not be the basis of their marriage. The weight of Dorne and Westeros, eyes peering at them, sneering - that was the reason for these awful thoughts.

setting: the wedding feast (after the elopement of cassian dayne and aemma arryn was ousted)

-

viserra had much on her mind. she is a married woman now, a martell. much more that she worries about some of which involve those close to her. she was not expecting the sudden news that her dear cousin was married to another.

"that was certainly not the wedding present i was expecting," she commented to the person aside from her, more or so talking to herself than anyone else.

Harlan was glad to be away from the bickering nobles. While he detested the Targaryens and wanted the Martells to be separated from the Kingdoms, the bride and groom seemed to be handling it well. Now, the separate kingdoms were joined by love thanks to Aemma and Cassian. It put a harsh lump in his throat that he couldn’t fully swallow. That is, until he hears these mumbled words.

A cousin of Brienne’s had tried to upend his wedding, and now there was only a mixture of sadness and disdain towards the dragonfire the Targaryens harnessed within him now. What was then a scandal, was now grief. He’d even take back the nagging when he would visit from her.

"Do you mock me, Tyrell?!" Gwin snarled in the noble's face. The heat was truly starting to get to her aggression. She scoffed and turned her back on him. "I'll make sure of it that you tell no one of our interaction"

He should have let her go, run away, and pretend this never happened. Who would believe him? But she spoke. Oh, she had to speak. His eyes followed her, low and slow as she tried to make her exit.

His hand met hers, the very one that bid him farewell, drawing her back into the fray. The shadows were their friends here, even Gyles knew this.

It’s a breath away from the noise. With Bellaria safe, a part of Harlan feels that he should go back to let others escape, but another part was selfish. The yelling, the clattering, and the refusal of others to listen was frustrating to the Dondarrion. It was quieter out here, even if it murmured. It didn’t feel as stuffy, even as he readjusted his own collar as his weight shifted to his other foot.

She could see right through him, even now. There was no sense in hiding from her. No matter the words he spoke, she would know the truth - whether now or later. So, he nods at her first words. “Busier than you think, and when you think it's at that level, add more business to it!” Jokes, something he must make to keep his sanity. It was his way of coping with the worrying. About what? Oh, everything. Every little thing had to be perfect, for fear of the unknown.

“Well, why can’t -“ Gyles’ words cut off, biting his tongue as his face scrunched up. Even if he was in the wrong, he would double-down before he would admit it. The face is held long enough before arms are crossed on his chest.

The heat had a way of pressing everything flat. Thoughts. Breath. Even time itself seemed to stretch thin beneath the weight of the sun, until the world became nothing more than light and sand and the slow rhythm of her own steps. There had been too much noise these past months, the desert, at least, was honest. Rosalyn had wandered farther than she likely should have, alone save for the dunes and the fragile peace she had been trying to recover. It should have been soothing. It usually was.

Then she realized she was no longer alone.

At first, she said nothing, did nothing, but her fingers had already begun to tremble. She reached back, her hand finding the gold stick that held her hair in place. She turned then, looking for the other, the gold pin lifted in her hand, its narrow end pointed outward.

“I would advise you not to take another step.” Her voice did not shake. That, at least, she managed. The wind moved around her, through her loosened hair, through the thin fabric at her sleeves, but she held her ground. Even as her pulse betrayed her, even as the reality of it pressed in – She could not defend herself. Not truly, not here, not with this.

Still, she held the pin as though she knew exactly where to place it, how to strike, how to follow through. As though she had ever been taught such things. Her fingers tightened around the gold, small and elegant and entirely unsuited to the role she had forced upon it.

Someone had said the sister he hadn’t seen in months had gone into the desert alone far too long ago. It felt useless to search for Rosalyn, but the thought of her being lost to the sand and knowing he did nothing would eat him alive. For once, their roles were reversed with Gyles knowing where she would be and Rosalyn was avoiding him.

The sun bore down on them, and even though it was starting to set, it was still brightly hot on the dunes. He was too far away to make her out, but the second he heard her voice, he started running to her. No matter that she was threatening him - these threats meant nothing to Gyles. How many did they throw at each other during all of these years? His face was filled with hope, his form hidden by supplies that he carried on his back.

Who: open to everyone!

The last eight months had not gone the way Gwin had planned them to. What should have been eight months of plundering whatever poor merchant that crossed her harbor, it had been filled with dealing with her brother's grief and a trip to the North to return poor Lady Lynara and Softpaw.

It wasn't in her nature to be gentle or grieving. So naturally, Gwin mourned with violence. Lynara was a woman wronged and Gwin wouldn't let anyone forget it.

Whatever mess she left behind in Ten Towers was not her responsibility until she returned from this useless wedding.

Instead she sulked in the shadows, overheating and vicious. Gwin listened to the idle chatter around Sunspear. Maybe she'd find a way out of this heat, near the water, That would cheer her up. Maybe horrify a few citizens along the way. They do entertain her so as they panic. She gracefully walked her way to the edge of Sunspear.

She heard footsteps behind her. Gwin's mind dismissed the possibility that the stranger was probably also looking for relief. The only people besides her family that sought her out now were only her adversaries. The Harlaw spun on heels and grabbed their collar "I suggest you stop whatever you think you are doing and forget you saw me" she let go of her poor victim and pushed them away.

For once, Gyles was not the one giving someone grief! At first, his eyes do not notice the Harlaw, focusing on the horizon. He was staring at the way the sun made the dunes dance beneath their rays, blinding an unsuspecting person in its dust.

Before he even knew what was happening, he was being yanked back. A scream doesn’t even come. Instead, he blinks, even as his momentum wants to continue to sink himself into the sand. He doesn’t let himself do so, feeling sand deeply caress the inside of his nails. Oh, this was worse than if he had fallen.

For what felt like an eternity, Oswyck was studying the painting, trying to find some meaning in its strokes. Could he see what she said? Absolutely not. There were feelings in it, but it was only expressed.

On his painting, there was a single curved line that was running out of ink at the end. He could say that was how felt, but that might not really express anything deep down. There was no design, no feeling, no idea what he was doing. Whatever idea there was initially, it was gone.

Rhogar misinterprets Piperette's reaction as being aghast towards them, making them pull Menyce’s reigns with a slight jerk. She refuses to move, content with where she was, as if she was proud to be eating and not listening.

Perhaps she had a point - keeping their steed happy might prove useful. Menyce's ability to find anyone in the dunes could help for once! At Harrenhal, she would be the one to cause trouble, frequently attempting escape to end up at the square. But could they reign her in? Time would tell! Yet, they felt so distant to everyone around them, time distant as well.

In response, they nod. They get it, finding words mean nothing in this. Their gaze falls down to Menyce, who was stealing Tuls' patch of grass, and yet they stood in harmony.

In truth, the squeaky slipper was but a detail that charmed Qoren to their uncle. They could have it fixed in a moment, but they kept it. For this! In a moment of seriousness, he finds the metaphor laughable.

It does not fully reach his face, simply looking at Yanyaros as they flit about the room. Was that what they remarked about? He feels his eyes squinting from holding back the face he wanted to make. There’s no way to alleviate this without letting the laugh out. So, he does not change that face made out of stone.

There was no denying their predicaments, and there was no way they could go against two crowns. Yet, Qoren was certain he could persuade Viserra to join their side. In a way, it was bringing down a dragon - taking one of their own pawns against them. Oh, he felt his insides lurching thinking about Viserra or Vasha, a creature that acted at the whim of their dragonrider, in this way. Does he voice it? No, words spread far. Not before their wedding day, not when it’s unsure.

“Arianne will not easily become one of them, and she cannot be sent alone. We have both known her for her entire life; She does not back down from challenges.” Would this be a blessing or a curse?

“You speak as if you are the one being married, not I.” This is a joke, he speaks this as he paces, himself. His footfalls are muffled but each one is distinct as each foot follows the other. “Or you with fifteen paramours. That would be a level of jealousy I would not want to endure.”

Each of his paramours had been so easy to turn away for her. Despite the love they felt for one another, there was something there that he hadn’t experienced in years - the wanting to spend the future together, and the wanting to endure struggles together. It was a strange feeling he couldn’t elaborate on. He simply wished she had any other name.

They were no better than the other nobles, mingling with one another. Luckily, these two were not strangers to each other, unlike whatever is unknown in the crowd.

Maybe it was reckless of him to do the race. It was not as if he had much experience in dorne but he knew how to ride well. The years of experience should play a big role and yet Kaito felt as if he now shouldered the responsibility of making both Housw Hightower and House Tully look good. Especially now that it seemed Lord Oswyck had his family and other responsibilities.

Whether it was reckless or a blessing was soon to be told; Oswyck was not the one to give it that label. He had his own tirade of travels in his youth. Now, he was Lord Paramount, now with a piece of the Stormlands under his care. It was not something that came easily to him, but he had been prepared for almost thirty years to assume this role. The unknown was no longer exhilarating, but terrifying.

Kaito speaks of their now intertwined family so easily, as if they hadn’t started on shaky feet, which Oswyck silently thanks the gods for. How could he bear the weight of arranging a marriage that was a disaster? While Oswyck had attended the wedding between his sister and his new brother-in-law, Maris and Violet had stayed behind. The entire time he had been gone, he was terrified to receive any raven with a teal seal.