LANNISTER

the outer ward had become a tide of movement. horses stamped impatiently against the stone, servants hurried between wagons with trunks balanced precariously in their arms, and somewhere near the gates a steward was attempting, with steadily diminishing success, to organize the departing households. asena stood beside her mare, giving the final strap securing her saddlebag one decisive tug. satisfied, she brushed her palms together and scanned the area until she found him.

"there you are, my lion." the words came as naturally as breathing. she crossed the distance without ceremony, stopping close enough to pluck a stray thread from the shoulder of his cloak before smoothing the fabric beneath it.

"hold still." another tug. "better." she leaned back just enough to inspect her work, lips pursed in exaggerated concentration.

"you looked terribly untidy a moment ago. you may thank me once we're safely back in the westerlands." without waiting for his opinion on the matter, she turned toward the bustle filling the outer ward.

"oh." the word came as an afterthought. "i've spoken with my brother." she nodded once, as though that alone explained everything.

"i'm coming with you." another glance swept over the wagons, where her mare stood patiently beside hellebore, her beloved direwolf keeping a watchful eye over the bustle. "it seemed rather silly to marry into a family i'd barely had the chance to know."

Then, there she is suddenly, striding toward him with all the purpose and frankness her House was known for. Her dark eyes were fixed on him and something hiccupped low in his gut and Tytos was helpless to resist the slow smile that warmed his face as she came to a stop in front of him.

"Sweetheart." he says, ducking his head as if he meant to kiss her on the temple, but was stopped short by her fussing. Tytos watched her, aware he was already grinning like and idiot, and preening under the fine half cloak she seemed so worried about.

Once finished and suitably pleased with herself, Tytos reached out to take her in his arms but after a quick twist and pivot that left him blinking dumbly, she had turned away from him.

"Asena-" he began, taking a step forward and keen to follow like the good little kitten he was. The news then, was a shock that stopped him suddenly, his hand still awkwardly outstretched. She had her back to him, and Tytos' voice is high with surprise when he says- "Truly? Your brother has given his leave for you to come with me?"

He can not help himself then, striding forward and clutching her to him with her back to his front. He's grinning into the dark coil of her hair, peppering kisses to her left temple and cheek. Then, he eases her around to face him, smiling down at her boyishly, in a way that softens the sharpness of his angled face and dark pink burns.

He hums thoughtfully, winding his hands up her arms to hold her by the elbows to him. "-I think that's a fine idea, Lady Stark. It seems that I am most fortunate." Tytos tilts his head down, his eyes flickering from the high arch of her lovely cheeks to the adorable curve of her mouth. "-to have a soon to be wife that is so clever."

Then the teasing seeps from his tone and he is smiling, soft and sweet and just for her.

"You will love it, I promise." He says gently. "It...might not be Winterfell, or the North or what you are used to, but I want it to be a home from home for you. I can not wait to show you Lannisport, and the sea-" then he adds, sheepishly and with one of his knowing coy smirks "-a trip out on Redfort might be a suitible welcome gift, among others....assuming you have the heart for sailing, Lady Stark."

His excitement is a real, tangible thing. Soft and pink as the fat head a summer rose. You could hold it in your hands, for how sincere it was. It rolled from him in waves and threaded through his words as he spoke, probably a little faster than he means to but Tytos does not seem to notice.

He is excited.

Excited that she's coming home with him, excited that he will finally be able to show her the rock and the port and the seaside inlets perfect for leisurely strolls. The thinks about her sitting with him in his office, and breaking their fasts of a sunny Westerly morning. He thinks about she might make of the Lions in their cages and the monster crabs that scale the rock wall as if to try their luck at becoming lions.

Tytos thinks she might like it all as much as he does.

"i've developed a greater appreciation for dornish red than i have for their hospitality." the observation was dry, but lacked any real malice. the wine, after all, had committed no crime.

his thoughts lingered instead on tytos' prediction. it was the only sensible course. no king worth following would permit half the realm to scatter while the man who had poisoned his heir remained at large. "i suspect you're right."

his attention wandered briefly toward the open corridor, where servants still hurried past with the restless urgency of people convinced motion alone made them useful.

"though if we're to be stranded together, i'll insist you find us better company than snakes."

"Dornish red-" he begins with only the slightest roll of his eyes. "-I mean say what you will about the men and the woman this far South, but their wine is second to none, I agree."

Tytos tries not to look malicious when he smirks ever so slightly. "-Perhaps they'll give us all complementary casks to take away with us....it's not like we were able to drink much of it given how the night has ended." He glances at Valarr, and strives to keep any sort of resentment or glee out of his voice. He's blunt but careful. Always careful.

"Yes-" Tytos says smugly, angling a little closer to him. He ducks his head and lowers his voice to a muse, giving a coy little look. "I usually am Valarr."

Tytos gives an exaggerated scoff and then, nudges Valarrs shoulder with his own gently "-oh, come then Lord Qoherys. Shall we see what Dornish red we can find? I'm sure there's a deck of cards somewhere too, because we are hardly any use to the Maesters and mummers standing out here moping."

"Truly awful," Maron repeated, voice even, too even. He came to a stop before the man, closer than courtesy allowed. "Aye. It is."

He studied him a long moment. The tutting. The ducked head. The performance of it, so practiced it might have fooled half the hall.

"Forgive me," Maron said, "I don't believe we've been introduced properly."

He did not offer his hand.

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't manage the right words tonight. I find I've little patience left for them." His jaw worked once before he continued, each word set down like a stone. "My stepdaughter is presently in the hands of men who think nothing of poisoning a boy at his own wedding feast. So you'll pardon me if 'how truly awful' rings somewhat hollow, coming from a stranger who looks rather more entertained than grieved."

Something flickered across the man's face, quickly smoothed over, but Maron had spent thirty years reading men across a training yard and a battlefield both, and he did not need long to recognize a mummer's mask when one was worn in front of him.

"No-" Tytos replies smoothly "-I don't believe we have."

The downturn of his brow and the ever so slight curl of his mouth makes him look, suddenly, like he is made of marble. A sort of Sympathy seeps from every pour to the point of poisoning. Tytos slowly, and very deliberately, gives the stranger a slow once over, down the long end of his nose. From the top of his dark head, to his feet and back again, before making a soft, empathy laced noise. Then, he ducks his head again and frowns in displeasure.

"-and I feel for you, Ser Prince." Tytos replies softly "-I imagine tonight has been exceptionally hard for you. Your poor Step-Daughter."

Tytos folds his hands together in front of him, as if to start a prayer and says- "-I can assure you-" he flexes his voice pointedly half way through the sentence. "-that myself and House Lannister are nothing if not sympathetic toward poor Prince Aenyx-"

Tytos purses his lips and gives him a grief stricken, if not a little condescending of a look then.

"-and also toward your step daughter, I shall add her to my list when I say my prayers this evening." Tytos ducks his head, placid and submissive as a kitten, it would seem "-and if it would help-" his eyes rise, pale and eerie as the wall in weeping summer time "-I would be more than happy to lend a garrison of Lannister men to aid in the search for her-" another cool blink "-You'd need only ask."

The demand for an introduction almost makes him laugh aloud, but he swallows the defiance with a thin smile and another, showy duck of his head, all those pale Westerland curls falling across his face to hide his eyes.

Myriamme dips a quick, customary curtsey, “Myriamme Manderly, my lord.” She introduces herself, raising back to her full height, “Of White Harbor.” She is quiet for a moment before deciding to add, “The house with a merman sigil.” There is a playful curl to the corner of her mouth as she whispers it to Tytos, hopeful his previous chuckle is a sign his pride can survive gentle teasing.

“And you?” She prompts with genuine curiosity, “Is Dorne the furthest you have travelled?” Lords - and heirs especially, seemed to have an array of lessons and adventures. In truth, it was no big surprise the Lannister had not listened so closely to his Westeros History lessons, there were likely a dozen other things he was far more interested in, or distracted by.

She nods with silent understanding, and when he asks about her again Myriamme makes sure her composure reflects the ease she feels. Speaking with Tytos Lannister, even briefly, has proven to be a decent distraction. “Very much so. I suppose I should head back to my room now. Just to stay out from underfoot.”

"A pleasure too meet you. A Manderly?" It takes him a moment of clawing desperately through his knowledge of Houses, major and minor, to remember. It's an awkward thing, the both of them just standing there until Tytos parrots-

"White Harbour. In the North, yes?" His smile is warm, if not mostly teeth as those pale eyes flip back up and regard her pleasantly.

"-must be interesting-" then, because he is unable to help himself, says- "-have you seen the wall?"

There's a youthful sort of expectation in his eyes as he blinks down at her. He looks younger, boyish in a way his pinched gold collar and just about visible scars steal away from him. Tytos is smiling at her, still so overly warm toward this stranger he barely knows.

"-ah-" he catches himself, flushing just enough for the colour to climb high up his throat and linger too long on the apples of his cheeks. "-Forgive me, hardly appropriate conversation at present." but he can't help himself, he's never been one known for his restraint.

"Yes, actually-" he replies "-The North remains a dream, I hear Winterfell is a true sight to behold-" he cocks his head to the side, a feline sort of grace in the way his eyes flare and his lips curve upward. Like a particularly cheeky house cat. "-I hear up there you carve faces into trees white as bone-" he stares at her, expectantly. "-is it true?"

He pauses, before glancing down the hall and then back toward Lady Manderly. He tries not to sounds disappointed at the loss of her company, instead choosing to nod and smile polietely.

"Oh, of course My Lady, if you wish-" He steps back, away from her but those eyes, pale as chipped glass, remain fixed upon her. "-I would be happy to accompany you back, should you think it proper." He even lifts his arm in offering.

"-Yes, how awful, It must be to-"

There's a tug at his elbow and Tytos twists his head to glance down, and he is relieved but vexed by the presence of his cousin. Overjoyed to see her wholly unharmed, but troubled by the strapped down expression on her face.

"My Lord-" Tytos says smoothly, over the rambling Lord Estren "-do forgive me-" with that, he allows Alyssia to wheel him away, twisting them both into a corner of the hallway, well out of the way of onlookers and eavesdroppers.

"No-" Tytos hissed back, incredulously. "-Do you think I'd be standing out here idle if I had?"

Tytos sighs heavily, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose, before casting her a long, flat look

"-This is all Dornes doing, I fear, and I don't know if that bods well for us." Tytos shook his head "-attacking the Prince at his own sisters wedding?" He snorts "-They must be as mad as the Dragonlords they seem to want dead so badly."

Then, his expression softens completely as he gazes at her "-are you alright Alyssia? Not hurt at all, I hope?" Then, he can not help the smirk that curls his mouth upward. Teasingly, he tacks on "-I hope the spiders didn't frighten you too terribly-"

She realizes a moment too late that she has misspoke, likely more than once in just a few moments of conversation. It’s unlike her, and Myriamme berates herself silently also blaming the stressful and unusual night. “I apologize,” She offers, glancing at her satin slippered feet, “Learning Westrosi houses and Lords was one of my important lessons. I did not mean to catch you off guard, I am thankful for your kindness.”

Her brows raise slightly in agreement over White Harbour, “Indeed, it is the farthest I’ve travelled in my life, I think.” Myriamme peers over Tytos’ shoulder for a moment just to see if anyone else has wandered out to the great hall, or worse is attempting to eavesdrop. When it’s clear it is just the two of them, her attention returns, “Oh yes,” Myriamme nods, “My brothers.” All of them, she muses in her thoughts, not wanting that piece of information to be intimidating either.

“I am certain they will be just as grateful to you for inquiring over my well-being.”  No doubt, all three of them were stuck in the feast hall for one reason or another still. Whether it be duty, confusion, or…trouble. “I doubt the night is hardly over for any of us.”

"My Lady-" he begins gently, with an ever so slight wave of his hands, dismissing of her concerns but careful not to be outwardly rude about it. "-please, you have nothing to apologise for." He nods, smiling politely. "-and it seems I can not boost the same level of flawless knowledge in regards to the Houses of Westeros. Impressive-" he chuckles "-it's a vast map to be sure."

He stops, looking sheepish for a moment "-I ah-...did not pay much attention to my Maester when I was a boy, to much else to concern myself with-" he shrugs "-or so I thought."

He smiles sympathetically at her "-It has been a trying night for all of us, my Lady-" he stops then, awkwardly but trying not seem like it had been so. "-Forgive me, I do not know your name....nor where your House is."

He glances about himself, to the arry of colourful house silks. Arryn blue and Baratheon yellow, Tyrell green and the dreaded Targaryen black. "I fear Dorne might be the furthest most of these folk have travelled-" He frowns then, turning those cool blue eyes back on her.

"Well-" Tytos replies, ever the gentleman. He ducks his head and in acknowledging nod, half a bow if he dared think of it as such. "-I'm glad. I know if it were my sister, I would like to think someone would make sure she was alright, given your earlier state of distress." His face softens slightly around the mouth, but his brow creases in concern "-I trust you are feeling a little bit more at ease now?"

She could picture it already. The white cloaks would wait until the hour of the wolf to begin their searches, hoping to catch the guilty unprepared. They would find very little of consequence. A lord emerging from the wrong lady's chambers. A jeweled brooch discovered where it did not belong. A servant bribed into silence. Plenty of smaller scandals, very few answers.

By sunrise, half the palace would be exhausted, suspicious, and in a considerably fouler temper than before. Though, truthfully, Rosalyn doubted sleep would find her regardless.

"I doubt Highgarden will notice my absence for a few days longer."

How long had it been since Highgarden had truly felt like home? She could scarcely remember the last time she had remained there for an entire moon. There was always another progress, another court, another duty waiting somewhere beyond its walls.

And yet it endured without her.

The roses would continue to bloom. The fountains would murmur through the courtyards. The gardeners would tend the hedges as they always had, whether Lady Rosalyn Tyrell was there to admire them or not. People would welcome her return -- some sincerely, others because courtesy required it -- but few were ever truly waiting for her. Not there. Perhaps not anywhere.

She looked back toward Lord Tytos, managing something closer to her usual smile. "I only hope this tragedy has not inconvenienced you any further, my lord," she said with quiet sincerity. "We shall pray this is resolved swiftly." Her gaze drifted once more toward the corridor, where guards continued hurrying past in polished armor. "Having too many agitated people confined beneath the same roof rarely improve anyone's judgment."

"Not careless, no, perhaps not even foolish-" he replies with a lopsided shrug "-but, then again, you'd have to be mad or an idiot to attack a Dragon Prince in the middle of a royal wedding." Tytos blinks at her, his smile tight and pointed, but polite "-Wouldn't you agree my Lady?"

He thinks about the shuddering shot of the arrow in the young Princes shoulder, the way it had thrummed to a stop like arrows often do when they've found home. The noise had been thrilling and for a single, heart stopping moment, he had wondered if that was it, that they had a dead Targaryen on their hands. One less mad brat to drive his dragon toward the Rock to aid his even worse cousin. Tytos strapped down the shudder of disappointed delight that bubbled up inside of him suddenly. He averted his eyes from her, in a gesture he hopped would appear more morose than it did longing.

"An inconvenience?" he parrots, head snapping up. He eyes her in silence for a moment before giving her a slow shake of his head. "-Lady Tyrell-" he begins, almost aghast. "-I'm not the one felled by a bolt to the shoulder, like our poor Prince. It is no inconvenience to me, I can assure you." Tytos presses a hand to his chest lightly, the rubies and pearls on his long fingers winking obscenely in the lamp light.

"-I shall pray for his Grace this evening-" Then he smiles at her, clipped but soft. "-and yes, for the swift resolution of this madness, like you do."

"You do not miss Highgarden?" he asks, an eyebrow arching quizzically "-or, and forgive my bluntness my lady I mean nothing by it, have you been sent away like most girls are, to call another corner of the known world home?"

"for the sake of peace..." he repeated, as though weighing the phrase. "yes, that was more or less the conclusion i reached." admittedly, not the first one.

tytos' question lingered longer than the jest before it.

with the thought of that same maester tending the prince, valarr briefly entertained the possibility that the crown prince's greatest danger was no longer the poison.

the brief amusement faded with it.

"they'll dare," valarr answered with certainty. "they've little choice. though i imagine there are a number of souls in this palace suddenly wishing they did not wear a maester's chain."

whatever fear gripped the palace, and there was plenty of it now, did not absolve a maester of his vows. the citadel had built an order upon the promise that knowledge came before all. valarr had always found the ideal...optimistic. tonight would prove whether it was also true. his fingers idly adjusted the cuff at his wrist before stilling. habit more than discomfort.

"whether they can save him is another matter." if the crown prince died beneath a maester's care, every chain in the realm would suddenly become a convenient thing to blame. poison invited panic. panic demanded answers. and when answers were slow in coming, people developed an unfortunate talent for inventing them.

"i don't envy whichever poor bastard happens to know the most about poison." the words were dry, though not entirely without sympathy. "he'll either become the most valuable man in sunspear or the first accused of failing the crown."

"Say what you will though, about those Dornishmen-" Tytos answered dryly "-but the nerve to attack a Prince of the blood at his own sisters wedding-" Tytos snorts incredulously "-they're either brave and bold, or stupid and arrogant. I'd wager a bit of both, if tonight is anything to go by."

He shakes his head and then, to himself mutters in a tone that is hard to place, says- "poisoned in the middle of a wedding feast....Gods above."

Then, he turns his head toward Valarr with a smirk, those pale eyes alight with a striking sort of mirth that juxtaposed the panic around them. Tytos seemed relaxed, like he could call for a pitcher of wine and they could discuss the crown Princes maybe murder further over a game of cards.

"Nor I-" Tytos agreed, his voice dropped then, laced through with enough sympathy as he could muster without it sounding completely false "-either way, you and I it seems, will be going no where fast."

He gives Valarr an affectionate slap on the shoulder, not too hard as to jostle him though. "-I hope you're fond of Dornish red and snakes, Valarr-" he says "-It seems we are to live on both for the foreseeable future. I doubt his majesty will allow half of Westeros to return to their seats before the Princes assailants are found."

at the hunting comparison, the corner of his mouth twitched. "you'd be surprised. i've known men swear a boar was a stag after they'd already loosed the arrow." he paused, as though reconsidering the memory. "usually after missing."

only then did he look back at tytos. the concern in the other man's expression caught him off guard. he considered the question. his brow furrowed faintly, as though the answer required genuine thought rather than courtesy.

"i'm still deciding," he admitted at last. there was nothing evasive about it. if anything, he sounded mildly dissatisfied that he could not offer a more definitive answer. "ask me again after i've had a night's sleep. preferably one uninterrupted by attempted murders."

something resembling amusement touched the corner of his mouth before fading as quickly as it had come. almost unconsciously, his hand found the bandage hidden beneath his sleeve, pressing lightly against it before falling away again.

"my arm's healing. slower than i'd like." it was spoken as simple fact. "the maester insists patience is part of the treatment." a thoughtful crease settled between his brows. "i asked whether anyone had ever taken a blade to him."

"he declined to answer." he paused, apparently giving the matter due consideration. "i considered offering him the opportunity to gain one. purely for the sake of thoroughness."

Tytos inches a little closer, tries not to act as if he is hovering as he rakes bright, keen eyes across Valarr. He's upright, which is good, and he appears outwardly intact enough for Tytos to stand down from his hawkish post.

"Given the Martells misgivings this evening, that might be a tall ask." Tytos replies dryly "-tell me, do the guest room doors bare locks? I forgot to check before leaving mine this evening."

Tytos does not reach for the stretch of dark pink scaring on his throat as Valarr speaks, thought he wants too, and he resists the urge to rub a welt into the still semi-itchy scars that stretch down under the undone collar of his fine linen shirt. The Maesters and urged patience with him too, when he lay abed, poppy addled and rambling about dragon fire. He remembers wanting to kill his Maester afterward. Tytos understood, he supposed.

He snorts then, bemused.

"Maesters will insistence patience no matter the injury, your poor arm could have been hanging on by a thread and they would have asked you to look inward for the strength to bare it, and probably do so in silence as well."

Tytos smiles, though its a small, coy thing.

"As much as I would have thoroughly enjoyed hearing about you slicing some Dornish Maester to ribbons, I suppose for the sake of peace I am glad you did not."

He tilts his head, trying not to sound as amused as he felt "I wonder if the same Maester will see to the dying Prince?"

As innocently as he dares to around Valarr, Tytos tacks on- "I wonder if any of them would dare too."

The Lannister may not have recognized her, but Myriamme was well aware of him even before coming South. Not just through rumors; but through careful teaching. A Manderly was well to know all houses, Northern or otherwise. "I am unharmed, my lord." She assured softly, smoothing her golden locks behind her ears. Faced with Tytos now, she understood why servants whispered about her uncommon fair features compared to that of her brothers. She could hide easily in the Westerlands, but Myriamme struggled to imagine she'd be happy there.

She offered a reassuring smile in return, the gentlest upturn to her mouth, "I am well for now," Myriamme understood Tytos was only looking out for her, but she did not want to appear infantile either. "I just needed space for a moment." Myriamme stood then to introduce herself, hand slightly extended, "Myriamme Manderly, I did not mean to distract you Lord Tytos, I am sure there are more pressing matters at hand."

"Good." he says firmly, but not unkindly. "-I'm glad."

She smiles at him and it's a pleasant change from the hard faced way she had been before, contorted with her fists pressed into the sides of her head. It had looked painful, Tytos thought. He took a step back then, at her request.

"Space." he echoes with another firm nod and tight smile "-of course."

Tytos stands there, tall and gold clad, and blinks in surprise when she offers him her hand, reluctant as it is. He eyes it, almost warily. Her fingers are long and elegant, and he finds that when he offers his own back, it is as tentative as hers.

Their fingers slide together in greeting and Tytos nods at her, clipped but polite.

"Tytos Lannister. A pleasure-" He lets go of her hand as quickly as he had taken it, pausing when she relays his name back to him, unprompted.

"You know who I am?" he asks, unable to hide the surprise as his eyebrows arch high and his mouth opens and then closes, like a beached fish gulping for breath.

"-No-" he says then, perhaps a little too quickly "-No." he repeats slowly with another friendly smile "-you did not distract me, not really, I just wished to make sure you were alright."

Tytos links his hands together smoothly, rings glinting "-I do not think it will be an easy night for anyone, given what has happened." He looks at her, pale eyes catching her gaze before he says- "-White harbour is a long way away, my Lady, I trust you have family here with you to ease the burden of that."

"awful," valarr agreed. his attention drifted briefly through the corridor, taking in the frightened faces, the hurried conversations already hardening into conclusions.

"whoever did this knew exactly who they meant to strike." the words left him before he had quite decided to voice the thought. "there's something to be said for that."

a faint exhale escaped through his nose, absent anything resembling amusement.

"i've developed an appreciation for confirming one's target before acting. it is a lesson that's proven rather costly."

He had not liked Valarr at the beginning, too similar to the Targaryens. Too close in ilk to the icy cold pull of Visenya, with their matching platinum hair and shocking violet eyes. Tytos had seen him and though them mother and son, when he had first met the boy.

So warming to the young man had taken time. Sideways glances at the very nerve of this person, the way he spoke to Alyssia, the way he carried himself, Tytos judged every single part of it. Time had rolled on however and Tytos found himself, post a few hunting trips and nights spend in conversations over ale tankards, thinking that the boy wasn't that bad, physical misgivings forgiven.

Tytos turned toward him fully when Valarr stopped by his elbow, eyes flickering unconsciously from his head to his toes and back, he did not appear injured, which helped ease the racing of Tytos' heart.

"The Prince was always the target, you mean." Tytos said, linking his hands together in front of him, rings glistening in the low light of the oil lamps. "-How awful." he reiterates, with very little feeling.

"Hmm-" Tytos can't help but snort, eyes flickering toward Valarr "-you wouldn't set out to hunt a stag and strike down a badger." He shrugs. "-they meant to kill a Prince and they might yet succeed." He remembers himself then, and adds "-may the Gods strike them all down if that should happen."

With that, Tytos turned toward him proper, nothing but thinly veiled concern in his pale eyes "-are you alright Valarr? i trust the scorpions and spiders did not pinch too hard at your feet?"

Rosalyn's breath caught as the arrow drew her eyes. Without thinking, she took a single step toward the high table.

Kingsguards descended upon the Crown Prince almost instantly, white cloaks closing around him before anyone else could reach him. Somewhere between them, the Queen rushed forward. Someone shouted for a maester.

Another scream rang out as a scorpion disappeared beneath a fallen chair. She froze. Someone collided with her shoulder as frightened guests surged away from the banquet tables. Her gaze searched the hall instead, darting through overturned chairs, terrified faces, and the confusion spilling between the canopies. She caught only fragments -- a flash of Reach green, the familiar shade of her sister's gown, someone shouting for their children -- but before she could make her way toward either Victaria or Gyles, a firm hand closed around her arm.

"My lady." One of the palace guards scarcely waited for acknowledgment before ushering her away alongside the other noble guests, urging them into the palace corridors while soldiers rushed in the opposite direction.

By the time she reached the corridor, the world had become strangely quiet. Or perhaps no sound could reach her through the clamor of her own thoughts. Rosalyn found herself pacing without realizing she had begun, pressing each of the rings upon her fingers until pale impressions bloomed against her skin.

News came in fragments. Lady Victaria was unharmed. Lord Gyles had escaped the panic. There was no sign of Princess Aliandra, though Rosalyn found she could summon little concern for that. The Crown Prince… Nothing.

Nothing beyond hurried footsteps disappearing deeper into the palace and servants whispering words like poison and maesters as though speaking them too loudly might somehow make the circumstances worse. She tried not to imagine what worse could be.

It was then that Lord Tytos's voice reached her. Her eyes met him, though it took her a heartbeat longer than usual to remember how to answer. "Yes..." Her voice emerged quieter than she intended. "It is. And I had thought the worst part of the evening had already passed with that grotesque insult to Princess Rhaenys..." A slow breath escaped her.

Oh. He'd forgotten about the scathing slight toward Rhaenys in all the excitement.

Tytos had never met her, the Targaryen woman thrown from her great Dragon seat into the depths of Hellholt. Dead before she hit the sand, some said, dead in the bowels of a Dornish dungeon flapped others. Regardless, if she was anything like her mad bitch sister, Tytos was glad she was dead. He was glad she had suffered, and he was glad she had died in a hail of scorpion bolts, a blanket so thick it was said to have blotted out the sun for a time.

"Yes-" he parroted, nodding sagely "-a most awful insult against the late princess." He made a soft choking sound, a grief stricken noise in the back of his throat "-and now an attack upon the Prince? Will Dornish arrogance ever cease to amaze."

Tytos glances down, away from her for a moment, twisting the shining gold rings around his fingers, feigning nervousness, as if it had all become too much suddenly.

"-Oh, my Lady-" he starts "-this is a trying time, do not apologise." He gives her a carefully coy but ultimately friendly smile before nodding slowly.

"-I agree. I'm sure we shall be on lockdown come the morning, which I feel is fair. No man with anything to hide should fear the white cloaks when they come rapping on doors at dawn. I hope they are not expecting you home soon, wherever that may be, Dorne seems to be our holdfast from now until they get to the bottom of this."

status: open (0/3)

location/time: after most current plot drop and commotion in the feast halls

There was a sentiment in the North; traveling South only meant trouble. The wedding preparations and celebrations in Sunspear were marvels to be certain. Visions and tastes Myriamme had never seen even in a vast port city like White Harbor. But that didn’t absolve Dorne of the age-old viewpoint, trouble was seeped in the walls.

Myriamme ‘s hands began to wring around themselves from the start of the wedding ceremony, by the time the Targaryen Crown Prince was rushed away by Maester’s for tending Myriamme had swiftly retreated to a quiet hidden alcove just outside the feast halls. She couldn’t breathe here anymore, the Southern warmth pressing fatigue into her bones. She felt lost in these halls, eyes closed tightly and hands pressed hard against her ears.

Lords and ladies frantic hollers and arguments would persist long after all of this was over, and the realm would need to be ready. “I want to go home.” Myriamme whispered aloud, mostly for herself. “I need to be home.”

The silks were the wrong colour though, and the closer Tytos had gotten the more he had begun to realise that she was not a Lannister. She wasn't even a Westlander. Tytos did not recognise her at all, but the girl was upset and the halls were loud and he felt pity lance through him for her in that moment, curled into an alcove like a fleeing prey animal.

He did not dare touch her, but he did duck down ever so slightly to put himself in her line of sight, smiling softly.

"My Lady?" he said gingerly, an eyebrow arching as he trailed her face for any sort of sign that she had heard him "-You seem upset, you aren't hurt I hope?"

Tytos gave her another long, concerned look before clearing his throat "-I could fetch a guard to chaperone you back to your rooms? or to find your family." He softens his voice a little but stays rooted where he is. "What is your name?"

time/location: after the events of the plot drop

This was a mistake. Orys had told Aegon over and over that this was a mistake. A stupid idea. Maybe the only one in the world who could tell him that. But not even he couldn't make the other man see sense. This marriage, this alliance was a farce. Now because no one listened to him, because people thought he was simply bitter about his hand, Aenyx could die. He'd been angry when the Dornish mocked Rhaenys and her death, his favorite sister. The one with enough faith in him to remain in the sky with inaction as he took the Stormlands. He didn't care about some Martell Princess being kidnapped. He cared about Aenyx and Rhaenys memory. Orys stared at the wall in front of him, his inability to take action ate at him. Leaving it in the hands of others, of House Martell who obviously had no control over their people. Or who had done this themself. "How long do you suppose we'll be expected to deal with this inaction?" There would have been a time when Aegon was already in the sky, demanding retribution. But instead he demanded both he and Visenya to do nothing.

Tytos had kept keen eyes on his family though, it was not hard to miss his red clad and pale haired cousins and siblings among the maddening crowd. He had seen Aenyx fall, seen the arrow pierce right through his fine Targaryen brocade and he had watched, so full of delight, as he crumpled. Tytos had risen then, so forcefully that his chair had clattered hard against the sun bleached marble tiles. He'd thought him dead for one bright, brilliant moment.

Until he had loosed a moan so terrible that he could only be thought to be alive and suffering. Tytos had barely contained a heavy roll of his eyes, before being ushered from the hall by copper plated Dornish guards.

Now, he stood face to face with Orys Baratheon, or who he assumed was Orys Baratheon, given the livery he wore and the long dark hair he boasted. Tytos stared a while longer, inching forward only when the Stromlander had raised his voice and asked into the aether.

Tytos reclined artfully against the wall beside the Lordling, close but not too close, and pursed his lips.

"-Hard to say My Lord." he answered "Surely the King would do anything to save the life of his son, as any good father might. And his son a prince as well, and his heir."

Tytos clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, something edging a little to close to disappoint in his tone when he spoke again.

"-Not that i would ever dare to consider such treachery as to put myself in the Kings shoes, but if it were my son? and I had a Dragon?" He snorted "-I'd have burned half of Dorne down by now."