FAMILY DUTY HONOR

he straightened slightly, hands clasped loosely behind his back, and let his gaze wander across the concord’s pavilions, catching the way sunlight glinted off glass and steel. “i suppose that’s why we come here,” he added, a hint of acknowledgment in his voice. “to see what endures. to see what others build that can’t be broken as easily as...” his glance flicked back to the contraption, “…well, as fragile as some things we try to hold together.” there was no bitterness in his words, only the quiet note of someone who measured beauty against consequence, admiration against practicality.

then he turned toward her, eyes steady, lilac catching the light, the shadow of that old familiarity settling between them. “i’ll walk,” he said, almost matter-of-fact, but the edges of his tone softened enough to signal he meant it. “and i’ll try not to destroy anything else in the process. though no promises about what my thoughts might do to the rest of this event.” the faintest smile tugged at his lips as he inclined his head and we to fall into step beside her.

The Tully queen looked at the ruined contraption again, and then back at Aegon. “Everything’s fragile,” she said after a moment. She did not speak the words as if that was a negative aspect of things, of life. A subtle smile graced her lips for a moment and she glanzed back at the prince. Both of them had learned plenty about the fragility of life in the way only a generation shaped by war could. Perhaps he had more so a tendency to measure what endured and thought of the pragmatism of survival. While Iona's focus tended to be more on rebuilding beyond the war and finding meaning on what came next. Then again, she didn't have as complicated a family legacy as Aegon did. She didn't carry the same burdens he did.

The Queen of the Riverlands and the Targaryen prince walked a few steps in comfortable silence after he agreed to walk with her. His comment about what his thoughts might do as they continued to course through the Concord made her laugh softly, quietly, a small smile staying on her lips. “Fret not, Prince Aegon. I’ve not asked you to make any promises,” she replied kindly, and for a moment, she was reminded of walking with him through the halls of Riverrun in earlier years.

With his next words, he tried to pick them carefully, "they think your brother will easy to use and prop up for their desires. I don't know what they think in the West or the Reach yet but I know what is said around us. I have heard whispers from traders who come into my ports from the Crownlands. They make jests about weather it will be a dance of fish over dragons. Though, none have voiced true support for him." And he believed it was because of her efforts with the rebuilding, she did not turn away from the damage cause by the Lyseni. It wasn't just Mooton men and smallfolk rebuilding, the presence of the crown and the order of sentinels that protected his folk from the dangers increased that loyalty. As far as he was concerned, Maidenpool folk were loyal and supported one Tully on the throne.

"I will always be honest, your grace. My duty is to dig in the depts of men's souls and the hearts of women and see if there is treachery or honesty. If there is loyalty or something dark within them. And if I cannot share this with you honestly then I am not fit for my place on your council." He took his job seriously, took himself seriously, and the day he thought he couldn't be honest with his monarch would be the day he stopped coming to court to serve. "You owe me no thanks. But I will accept it graciously." Ja offered the nod of his head, a smile as he scanned the room once more.

“Then there is still time,” she said at last, her voice steady, with a hint of relief in her tone. “There is still time to continue our efforts in the realm and let the work shape what is said, and what is believed”. The queen nodded softly, almost reassuring herself that she could continue her duties as she had, focusing on her people. Her rule could continue to be defined through the realm's perseverance, with proof of the Rivermen working together, growing together. She had managed to accomplish that with them before, and she would work to do it again.

I will always be honest, he said. It was a rare thing to hear such words and know they were spoken in truth, not through veils, not as a bargaining chip to gain something later. She did not take it lightly that her spymaster had spoken them. She regarded him quietly, her blue eyes locked on him. “I trust you to do so,” she replied, her tone both steady and soft. Through their conversations and the way their relationship worked, Jalabhar Mooton must have known that he had her trust already. He had it entirely. Some things were important to say, and so the queen said them out loud.

When the Mooton lord spoke of his place on her council, her hand came to rest lightly against his arm. It was a brief gesture, a respectful and grounding touch. “I hope you know there is no one more fit to stand on my council than you, Jalabhar,” she said, and her hand dropped to her side again. “You have proven that, time and again”. And truly, at this point, her spymaster had nothing else to prove to her. He'd proven himself, as she said, and she let him operate in that space complete trust.

still, beneath that hesitation, something steadier flickered to life. she had not forgotten what it was to move with purpose beyond mourning halls and quiet corridors. and queen iona, of all people, was one who might understand the peculiar loneliness of being both needed and misread, visible yet unseen. ayca lowered her gaze briefly, letting her breath catch on a quiet, private thought, that perhaps this would not be a burden, but a beginning.

when she looked up again, her expression was composed, but gentled. “i understand,” she said, voice low but sure. “and i would be honored to stand beside you in such moments, as my brother has." there was calm reverence to her voice, seeing this as an opportunity she had been waiting for, for some time now. "if my presence may offer even a measure of steadiness, then it will not be lightly given.” a faint pause, then a flicker of something almost wry touched her features. “discretion, at the very least, is something i can promise.”

her hands relaxed slightly around the cup, the warmth sinking in once more. “i can certainly agree with that,” she added, softer now, almost as though admitting a secret to the quiet air rather than to a queen. “women like us are not often afforded easy companionship. i may not know what it is to be a queen, but being an eldest sister certainly has it's own challenges." she gave a small sigh, though her gaze held iona’s, calm and steady, "but i believe we may yet find something of that between us, friendship."

her lips curved upward, just enough to signal recognition, not only of the queen, but of the woman behind the title. ayca had never been one to gather people around her without purpose. her circle had always been tight, deliberate. yet in this quiet, she felt something unfamiliar and unforced, an openness, not born of duty but of a shared understanding taking shape between them.

Iona's lips curved into a soft smile, a subtle gesture that was still composed, yet not lacking in warmth. “Thank you for accepting, my lady,” the Queen of the Riverlands spoke, feeling a quiet ease inside of her. There was strategy in her decision to offer this position to Lady Mallister, of course, but there was also a subtle sense of kinship in someone who was perhaps not so different from her. Someone who, maybe, also wished for the sort of sincere companionship the queen sought. “Discretion is always appreciated,” she added with a soft laugh. Gods knew the judgment that went around. Women like them could protect each other in that sense.

Iona was in fact offering her friendship, though she didn't directly state it. Friendship had to be earned, and trust had to be built. She was hoping to earn Ayca's, and that the lady might earn hers in return. The future held promise in that sense, she thought, for she was already feeling a sort of sincere openness from the Lady of Seagard. “There is beauty in being an older sister, I think,” she added, a gentle smile gracing her lips, “But it does come with its fair share of burdens. I think that we trail a strange line that stands between being a sister and something more to our siblings. Not quite a mother, but there is a heightened sense of responsibility over them”. Family, duty and honor, at the end of the day. All of that existed in her role as Aidan's, Mel's and Niamh's older sister.

There was a pause after Ayca asked her what burdens she'd like counsel. The redhead remained silent for a second, taking a sip of her mint tea as she gathered her thoughts and found a way to best articulate them. “I know that I must find a husband,” she began, glancing away briefly. There was a sort of annoyance around the topic, frankly, but Iona did her best to remain composed. “I suppose I'm struggling on various fronts when it comes to that decision,” she admitted. “In some ways, it feels that by marrying, I will validate the criticisms that I can't be a queen in my own right. That a husband will legitimize me in the eyes of those who have thought me unfit since I was crowned. Yet, at the same time, not marrying and not producing an heir leaves the Riverlands... unprotected. Unsteady”. Aidan was her heir for now, but even that felt risky to some extent. The last thing she wanted was to be selfish and put herself before the good of her realm. “Then what if they're right? What if it wasn't Harold... and it was actually me?”. It was a lingering question, still. While she had been blamed for not giving her late husband any children, there was some hope that it hadn't been because of her. Getting married and being intimate with her new husband would give her a certain answer around that matter. And that scared her somewhat, even if she didn't wish to admit it.

niamh almost smiled at that—almost. but the corner of her mouth only twitched, the expression dying somewhere between impulse and instinct. she turned slightly, just enough to glance sidelong at iona now that she had come to walk beside her, that gentle, maddening calm like a reflection cast across still water. “i wasn’t gettin’ lost,” she said, voice a touch too firm, but there wasn’t much bite behind it, completely in denial of the fact they were very much lost.

“i was just tryin’ to get us out quicker, that’s all. the evening celebrations’ll take half a century to dress for, and gods help me if i’m not back early enough to play sweet and serene while jaehaerys enjoys bein’ in one of his moods.”

the sun dappled through the hedges in long green streaks, and niamh’s fingers drifted to the braid at her shoulder, tugging it loose in a habitual fuss. she didn’t like speaking of him. not that way. not where iona could hear the things she didn’t dare say plainly. “he’s in good spirits lately, despite the nightsong situation,” she went on after a beat, gaze fixed ahead. because he did not consider himself responsible, because he put the blame at the foot of the stormlanders who had lost the war on his behalf.

“which means he’s got more to say. about everything. about battle strategy, about the reach’s harvest, about how lady brightflame’s dimples catch the candlelight.” the words were tossed lightly, but her voice cracked a little on dimples, and she hated that it did. "he's so talkative."

“not that i completely mind,” she added swiftly. “a cheerful king’s less likely to burn another town, i s’pose. and the queen that pleases him reaps the fruit. gowns, gifts, the whole theatre of affection.” her chin lifted then, defiant as if daring anyone—iona especially—to suggest she sounded bitter. “but it’s work. harder work than he’ll ever know.” the quiet after her words was a thin, brittle sort of thing. niamh didn’t break it for a time. she just walked, fingers curled tightly now around the edge of her skirts. there was no wind in this part of the maze. the air pressed heavy and fragrant around them, and somewhere close by a bee wandered near her sleeve before buzzing off again.

“It is hard work,” she said, her tone more serious than it had been a moment ago. “It can be exhausting and solitary to navigate a marriage like a battle strategy”. To analyze words and silences, to try to predict outcomes, to placate and to smooth things over, and manage it all in a way that didn't bring about hostility. And to do it all with grace and a smile when others were around. Her gaze stayed ahead as they walked. “It is a heavier burden still, I imagine, when the man you must navigate is a king”. For all the empathy she felt for her sister after having navigated her own battle with Harold, Iona also understood what she'd gone through had been very different from her sister's current situation. Iona had been married to a lord. Niamh was married to a king, and to a Targaryen. There was infamy in the way the gods' toin coss went down in that family for a reason.

They had never spoken much about these matters, really. Not truly. Iona became keenly aware of that now, about how rare it was for them these days to have these sorts of private, unguarded moments. Most of the time, when the Queen of the Riverlands and the Queen of New Valyria could meet, it was for the feasts, the tourneys, the grand events of their realms. “We’ve never spoken much about him,” she added quietly, feeling like she was taking a step into a fragile, vulnerable territory. But as an older sister, she felt it necessary to do so. “About your marriage. About the load you carry”. She didn't speak in a way that was insistent or that demanded a confession from Niamh. She simply gave her sister an opening to speak more, to lay down some of the load here with her, if she wished it.

There was a slight shift in Niamh's demeanor and words, a sort of apology without being directly spoken. When her sister called her own sharpness barking, Iona’s lips curved into a light smile. “I’ve endured your barking all my life, Niamh,” she said in a more light-hearted way, her words almost teasing. “I became immune to it a long time ago, dear sister”. There was that rare warmth in the queen's words, reserved for those select few whom she held close to her heart. And the meaning behind her playful remark was unmistakable: there was nothing that needed smoothing over between them, and it was more than fine that the younger Tully stop thinking and speak freely.

Jalabhar was relieved to hear her say this, at first he worried she would tell him she didn't worry he would worry about having to convincing her. And while convincing her he would threaten his position but this way he didn't have to worry about any of that so he stored away those plans. He crossed his arms behind his back and nodded in agreement. He thought Aidan Tully could have been great, a ruler and powerhouse and instead he returned with sellswords and a promise to pay them, so far they were guests overstaying their welcome.

"I think your brother is a threat, whether his threat is dangerous is unknown but I think he's a problem. He's yet to declare himself to support your reign, he talks about it but there has been no public acceptance." There was one thing he wanted to do, one thing he wanted to present as an option. "He must sign something. Something that declares himself as your heir or whatever you wish to make him. But he declare his support for you." And yes paper didn't always matter but if his name meant anything to him perhaps signing it on something would stop him from trying anything.

“I am not foolish, I know if he meant to accept me as queen, he would have done it long ago,” she added, voicing out what seemed so obvious. By withholding his public acknowledgement and official deference to her, he was harming her. He harmed the Riverlands. Iona hated that he could hold such power without even being the person ruling the realm. “He keeps his cards close to his chest”. Even after losing the crown to her in his absence, Aidan continued to keep his options open, he left room for another turn of fate. She met Jalabhar's gaze then, and for a heartbeat, there was something unguarded in her expression. There was some weariness from carrying the realm, but the Tully queen was quick to recompose herself. “I have heard what is said about me. But what is said about my brother?” she asked, her full attention on the Master of Whispers. It was crucial to know what the perception was inside and outside the Riverlands. Was he seen as the better alternative? She thought about the suggestion her spymaster made, mulling it over for a moment. “To bind him would steady things,” she admitted, “and yet, if I force his hand, there's a risk of turning him into the very thing I’m trying to prevent”. An undisputable opponent.

( tw: murder )

It happened before dawn, when the mist still surrounded the godswood and the ravens had yet to wake. Lucius Rivers entered the chambers of Hugo and Sam, Lady Wylde's sons, and spilled their blood as he had done many times on the field of battle. By the time the guards rushed to the room, Hugo Blackwood lay dead in a pool of his own blood. His younger brother, Sam, clutched at his neck and could barely breathe without choking. The bowman of Raventree Hall cut down three guards as he fled, and despite the trail of blood in his wake, he vanished without a trace.

As a reddish sun was rising, the chilling wails of Lady Wylde could be heard across all of Raventree Hall as she held her two sons, one dead and the other dying. In the days that followed, the Maester called it a true miracle that the thirteen-year-old lord did not perish from the grave injury he sustained.

No one could say what drove Lucius Rivers to such a violent act, though few could claim surprise. The animosity between the bastard and his father’s widow had long been festering, made worse through years of veiled threats over which of Samwell's sons had the truer claim to Raventree Hall. Most whisper that the bastard was consumed by wrath, driven to madness. Whatever his reasons to become a kinslayer, they all disappeared with Red Rivers into the dawn.

The murder of Hugo Blackwood and the near slaying of Sam sent shockwaves through the Riverlands. Rumors have been spreading like wildfire. Opponents to House Blackwood have spoken of a cursed and violent bloodline in Raventree Hall. Some have wielded religion, claiming that Lucius's actions signify the moral decay among followers of the Old Gods. Others have spoken about the sons of the Rain House will not stand by what was done to Lady Wylde and her children. In many ways, the tragedy has also been seen as an opportunity for some.

Aidan frowned as she mentioned Ronan but he didn't go into it because those does were over. How could he talk of traitors when his sister was married to the dragon king or the burned king or whatever they called the boy with the burned face. Brat King was just as fitting as brat prince if he were asked about it but was not asked about it because he was not there. Free of his abductors and half held hostage by the Second Sons Aidan did not know if he would find his way home until he found his way home. Good with a word and dagger in the dark. Returned to a world he did not recognize.

"I could also talk to Cedric. We were friends once, perhaps friends still." It was hard to know what people were when you were stranger. Boys who became men. One a King. The other barely a Prince. What was a prince? A lord with more duties.

She took a quiet sip as her brother brought up the friendship that once joined the two men together. It was telling that Aidan said “we were friends once”, like a man who didn't quite know where he stood regarding his old relationships. None could blame him for that uncertainty, given what happened. But that gave her pause. And it was also worth considering how it could be perceived that the Prince spoke to the King of the Reach before she did. “It would be best to meet as friends first, I believe. Remember what once connected you and get reacquainted with the men you both have become before bringing politics into it”. Iona did not wish to dismiss Aidan, still cautiously navigating how they could work together. “But do tell. Did you have something particular in mind you were thinking to discuss with him?” she asked, hoping to encourage her brother to open up a bit more.

she hadn’t known what to make of the summons. polite enough, cordial, but not familiar. she and queen iona were not strangers, nor were they close. and yet, there was something about the quiet of this room, the absence of courtiers, the simple table laid with tea instead of scrolls, that told her this was not a political courtesy. it was personal. rare. and ayca valued rare things.

iona’s words struck her not as flattery, but recognition, something far more difficult to give. ayca held them, turning them over like stones in her palm.

her answer came calmly, with little hesitation. “i would, your grace.”

but as the words left her, she felt it, something subtle but sure, stirring in the space behind her ribs. change. the shape of it had always unnerved her a little. she’d lived so long within the familiar rhythm of seagard since the passing of her husband, sea air in the morning, the old steps to the sept, the quiet order of things.

but beneath the comfort, there had always been a quiet yearning. something unnamed. not dissatisfaction, but restlessness. and here, now, she could feel the faint outline of what might come next. the possibility of doing more. a new opportunity, a fresh start of sorts.

she recalled her conversation with lucrezia, the desire to focus on her art, and while she knew this would pull her from purely diving into such things, it would offer her, perhaps, more opportunity to connect with others with such interests, too.

Iona’s lips curved into a gentle smile, seeing the other lady's expression shift into something softer and brighter. “I would not ask you to abandon Seagard, Lady Ayca. You have your duties there, and I would not take from your house what it still needs of you. What I ask is that you accompany me to social events”. The Tully queen had no need of an attendant or someone to occupy herself with what she wore, or how her household was run. What she needed was an unassuming ally when all eyes, especially foreign ones, were on her. “As a queen I'm watched closely, and who I bring into my company reflects on who we are as a realm. I wish to have someone at my side who can offer support and advice. Someone I can trust to carry herself with grace and discretion”.

She lifted her cup again, pausing as if to let her offer settle before she took another sip of the soothing tea. “It is no small thing to bear your house name. Your brother has stood steadfastly by my side since I was crowned. He played a crucial role in ending the Lyseni conflict,” she went on, for that was a great service to her and to the Riverlands as a whole that the queen hadn't forgotten. It was only right that she found ways to honor House Mallister. “I see in you someone as loyal as your brother. I have taken notice of the quiet steadiness with which you carry yourself, my lady. And I see someone I have something in common with as well”.

He glanced in his cup before sitting it down, his attention turning back to his queen, turning towards her s he faced her and his back turned to the crowd. Briefly, he wondered if she spoke of the water gardens of Dorne, their methods for surviving in a place no one else could always appealed to him. How much would he have in common with the Wyl's had his people not been driven by the river? A river they relied on even more after the fires. Even the vengeance didn't heal it all.

Iona glanced down at her cup and took another sip of her wine. Speaking of those clever inventions she's seen and those new ways of farming on rivers and bodies of water wasn't something she brought up in vain. The queen knew in her heart that had it not been for Jalabhar, the deathly strike against the Lyseni wouldn't have been delivered. Her promise to support him and his house had not been empty words. “I see it as a way for Maidenpool to flourish once more. I would see the harbor busy again, the streets lively, and the people safe”. There was resolve in her tone, the sort that suggested she already had the beginnings of a plan forming behind her eyes. “I shall speak with Lord Frey, Jalabhar. We'll see it happen,” she added, her lips curving into a subtle smile that held some warmth to it. The queen kept her promises, and so she would see to it that her Master of Coin allocated funds for it.

When Jalabhar’s asked about her brother, Iona let the silence linger for a moment. It was an old habit for her to pause and think before speaking her mind. She had to consider what was wise to say and what wasn't, how to phrase it if she wished to be diplomatic or not. Her fingers tapped against her goblet. “I am worried,” she admitted at last, placing her trust in a man who had placed his loyalty on her. “Whether Aidan wishes it or not, he threatens my rule”. All by virtue of being born a man and little else. “My brother desires all that his blood and his title give him, and none of the burden that comes with it”. She let out a breath and took another sip of Arbor gold. She loved her brother, but also knew if he were to wear a crown one day, he could be the sort of monarch who carelessly harmed a realm in pursuit of his whims.

“if hope can’t survive a soldier’s fingers,” he said, glancing sidelong at the wounded model behind him, “it was never fit for the field.” his tone was dry, but not unkind. his hands came behind him, clasped behind his back, curled briefly. he didn’t speak of riverrun, or of the war. not directly. but there was weight between his words, the past never needed to be named to be felt.

“i wasn't sure if you’d come either,” he admitted. “too many talking heads and gilded promises. the realm’s full of them lately. i'm sure you've better things to do back home.” he looked out through the glass wall where distant voices drifted from the debate forums. “but you’re right. seeing a familiar face, it cuts through the noise.”

he tilted his head toward the broken mechanism behind him. “besides, someone has to test the strength of all this new reach-born brilliance.” finally, he looked back at her, eyes steady. “i’m not made for salons and epilogues. but maybe... i can stomach the in-between.”

“Well, I did plan to come and here I am,” she added after a beat, a gentle smile gracing her lips, looking at the Tragaryen prince with care and curiosity. “After it all, I still believe beauty and knowledge deserve to be seen, recognized”. Her smile was subtle but genuine. The Queen of the Riverlands hoped he might share more about his presence here, or even what had transpired in his life since she last crossed paths with him, but she didn't try to coax more from him than what he would freely give. “I am marveled by what people can create,” she added, sharing the simple truth that she had decided to come not just out of duty, but curiosity and wonder. In her voice was the faintest echo of the bright-eyed girl she had been before the dragons flew over the Riverlands.

"Go on, out of m'way." Aidan opened the door to his sister's temporary solar in the Reach, he didn't like the Reach as much as he once did. Everyone said it was beautiful with it's walls of roses and painted glass but all he saw was a painted up whore showing her best face. Aidan used to love it all as a younger man. And while he still enjoyed the drink and the women there was something in the air that bothered him. A feeling of being left behind that was so much stronger when they were all in the same place.

"I've put on me finest attire, ya grace." Aidan spoke dramatically as she bowed forward with flourish before sitting down and placing his leg on the lounge as he rested his back against the arm. "I thought it wise to look princely for at least a meal or two. Or three dependin' on how boring it all is." That was a good shield, boredom. Aidan wasn't dumb but he wasn't a learned man. Yes, he could read and write but there were few lords who couldn't. But these talks, these debates. It was all over his head.

"I've not spoken to Cedric. Or His Grace I suppose I should call him." That didn't matter, he didn't come to sit before his sister and bemoan what was perhaps lost to him. He came for another reason. Perhaps not the one she or any would expect, a reason that would bring them all comfort. No. "Not that it matters. It feels odd setting appointments to speak to so many. Two queenly sisters is already a great deal. I half expected to hear the Mel was married to the Northern King. Since we're passing out crowns."

A man once said Aidan Tully had the misfortune of having his father's face, it made it difficult to tell when he was joking or when his jest and smiles held a different intent. Aidan didn't agree with these words but the man he knew and the man they knew were different people, Grover Tully was a stranger in the end.

When the prince grumbled about having to make appointments with other royals and nobles, Iona’s expression did not change much. The queen remained composed, with only the faintest tug at the corner of her lips. “Do not take it personally, brother. As bothersome as it may seem to you, it is merely because some of us appreciate being able to organize our days and plan ahead”. It was a matter-of-fact answer, and she said it as someone used to managing far too many matters at once. His next remark, however, about passing out crowns did draw a subtle lift of her brow. She didn’t say anything about it, though, sparing no more time on Aidan's jest that blurred into a complaint of sorts. “Well, with luck, Mel will get to marry someone she wishes to marry,” was all she had to say. It was a true sentiment, for every sister before her hadn't been given that chance.

niamh tully was nearly certain she had passed that same crooked little rosebush twice now. its blooms were the palest pink, almost white, like something that had given up halfway through blushing. the path forked again before her and she did not hesitate—veered left, briskly, the train of her soft grey gown whispering over the gravel. the heat of the day clung to the stone walls of the maze, their neat hedges high and maddeningly perfect. her expression faltered for half a heartbeat. then the familiar set returned, firm and unyielding. “we’re not lost,” she added, gesturing vaguely to the left. “i know where i’m goin’.

somewhere above them, the sun glinted behind a net of clouds, and somewhere behind her, her sister was thinking, no doubt. thinking and not saying a word. niamh didn’t look back.

“it’s this way,” niamh insisted, tilting her chin as she pointed left without waiting. “i remember passin’ that flower bed shaped like a stag’s arse—we're nearly there.” she didn’t look at iona when she said it. there was always the danger that meeting her sister’s gaze would make her think twice. iona didn’t need to argue; she just had to be there, serene and still, and suddenly niamh would start second-guessing herself like a girl asking her older sister whether her dress was backwards. no, best to keep walking.

the silence lengthened, interrupted only by the distant murmur of water somewhere nearby. niamh’s steps quickened as they moved toward the left, only to find a hedge starring directly back at her. she blinked, brows furrowing momentarily as if this were some joke - it were this way. they had come this way. “ye know, ye could say somethin’ useful. instead o’ hoverin’ like one o’ them statues o’ the mother with that vague look on yer face, judgin’ the rest o’ us mere mortals.” the turn ahead opened into a circular patch of gravel surrounding yet another smug fountain, this one shaped like some abstract tree. niamh stopped dead.

When Niamh spoke in exasperation that Iona hadn't given advice or direction, the Riverlands' queen raised her eyebrows slightly. She offered her younger sister a look that was somewhat amused. “No, I was not judging. I was just paying attention to our surroundings,” she replied in a calm tone. Highgarden held a kind of beauty that was more manicured and polished than Iona typically favored, but its gardens were still worth taking in. “And frankly, I was hoping we might converse about more than just the path to follow,” she replied softly, “But you got too focused on finding the right way. I didn't want to distract you”. It had been nice, just walking with her, taking in that confident and fiery energy she often missed in the halls of Riverrun after Niamh had to go to King's Landing. The eldest Tully sister glanced up, a hand covering her eyes from the direct sunlight. “I noticed where the sun was when we entered. The way in and out ought to be in that direction,” she suggested with a tilt of her head, offering something useful, like her sister asked. “But honestly, I had no intention of making our walk shorter”.

the glass halls shimmered faintly, sunlight fractured into pale ribbons across polished stone and smooth steel. it was quiet here, not empty, but reverent, the kind of silence that settled between minds focused too sharply on progress to bother with pleasantries.

aegon stood before a curious device: a miniature siege mechanism crafted in the some sort of signature style of it's maker, all flowing lines and gilded gears, meant to harness the power of water through hidden wheels and narrow channels. it was clever. beautiful, even. but his eye did not linger on elegance. it searched for weight, torque, failure points.

his fingers brushed the gears, just enough pressure to feel the tension in the arm, the slight give in the crank. then, with a faint click and an unfortunate snap, one of the supports gave way.

the small waterwheel stuttered, tilted, and slumped like a man struck behind the knee. aegon stared at it for a moment, jaw still, before lifting it gently and setting it back into place with the delicacy of someone who didn’t often handle delicate things.

a nearby scholar gasped softly, stepping forward in concern. “is, are you impressed, my lord?”

aegon’s mouth twitched, not a smile, exactly, but something near the suggestion of one. “if it holds a gate, it matters,” he said, glancing down at the now-wobbly contraption. “if not…well, it’s art.” he stepped back, hands clasped behind him, as if he’d never touched it.

“Perhaps there should be 'Do not touch' signs from now on, no?” the redhead remarked as Aegon turned, leaving behind the wobbly model of the invention. Her greeting carried no fanfare, just a polite tilt of her head. Once, they had been closer than they were now. Back when Daemon Targaryen sought support in the Riverlands, and his son was welcomed in Riverrun. Time and distance were carved following the Dance of Dragons, and yet, Aegon remained familiar in some way. “You may have just crushed that man's hope of finding a patron to support his work,” she added with a pointed look, glancing toward the dismayed inventor Aegon turned away from. One could only hope he could repair his piece and continue to properly display it for the remainder of the Verdant Concord.

“People lie and posture every day, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice low, each word smooth as oiled cloth. “Just a matter of how obvious they are.”

The cadence of Jalabhar Mooton’s speech was particular—a rolling rhythm that bent at the vowels and clipped at the ends, like a drawl worn thin by coastal winds. There was music in it, unhurried yet deliberate, and when he spoke, it gave the impression of a man who’d spent as much time among smugglers and fishermen as he had lords and diplomats. It wasn’t the Riverlands drawl. It wasn’t the Summer Islands lilt. It was something else—fluid, dusky, and shaped by waters that didn’t care for crowns.

He sipped from his cup before continuing, his gaze drifting toward a marble column where a small group of Westerland envoys had gathered, laughing too loud for this kind of morning.

“I got an eye or four on the Prince des Lions,” he murmured, the words sliding out like a loose thread meant to be pulled. “Found a blond girl who can blend in with their people. Doesn’t speak much—makes her valuable. Folks don’t suspect the quiet ones. And I hear the lion has been more distracted by other blondes.”

Iona trusted the lord's methods, even though she never fully saw the extent of Jalabhar's web of plans. She nodded lightly as he mentioned the blonde girl he could infiltrate. “Keep her close,” she said in a low tone, which was another way of asking he did not risk the young spy beyond what was necessary. “And keep me updated. I don't expect to meet with the prince of his brother anytime soon, but I want to know where we stand when it comes to them. If there's anything that might threaten our footing”.