legends are slippery little things

“I remember you.” Myriamme smiles back at him, delighted her presence all those years ago did not slip into an abyss of memory, “The Eyrie, the horses. Of course I do.” Every region in Westeros seemed to have their own gems of beauty, and the Vale was no different. “I am glad to see you again.” After all, it meant Jon had not succumbed to sickness, injury, or anything else that could so easily snatch a life away.

She nodded in understanding, “I did not get much rest either. I think all the wedding guests are eager to return home…whenever we are given leave, that is.” Myriamme finally nibbles at one of the exotic fruits on her plate, she doesn’t want to linger on the unpleasantries of the previous night, but it seems to hang heavy in the air. “Such a shame.” She mutters under her breath, before continuing determined to shift the subject, “I trust the Vale continues to do well?”

dorne had never promised its people an easy life. it had taught them instead how to endure one. perhaps that was why its spirit had survived dragonfire, grief, and every hardship that had come before. not because dornishmen believed suffering would never find them, but because they refused to let it be the end of them. tonight, amira clung to that lesson as tightly as she knew how.

"but it is difficult to watch the place you love become somewhere unrecognizable in the space of a single evening."

myriamme's sympathy drew a quiet breath from her. "thank you." she looked down for a moment, watching the little beetle disappear into a crack between the stones.

"my cousin has always had more courage than most people i know." the corner of her mouth lifted, though sadness lingered behind it. "i find myself trying to remember that."

it was easier than imagining where her cousin might be now. "i have to believe she is still fighting to come home."

“That’s just it, home should be certain.” Myriamme exasperated, though at no one in particular, “It seems strangely cruel that it isn’t.” Dorne had an expansive and complicated history, and the Lady Manderly knew she would not be able to understand all of it through one interaction. She just tried to imagine how it would feel if the events of the night happened in the North, and she found it hard to conjure in her mind. Banners would be raised, banners were always raised when it came to the affairs of men.

She clasped her hands loosely behind herself, “I am sure she is handling it to the best of her ability.” No one could say Dornish women were soft, that was for certain. “I suppose all any of us can do is wait.”

"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.

The Wall. The inquiry nearly startles Myriamme, her shoulders tightening again like she’s bracing in defense. Noble ladies did not go to The Wall, but the Lady Manderly has dreamt of it on more than one occasion. A massive, isolated structure, made of deathly cold ice  and stretching to what seemed to be the ends of the earth. Her grandmother told the typical nursery stories, but her dreams were always sharper – like she was really there witnessing hairline fractures that an unprepared Night’s Watch did not tend to. She would wake up freezing.

“The farthest I’ve been is Winterfell.” She answers briskly not wanting to linger on the subject. Not in strange territory, with a Lannister she hardly knew. But Tytos inquiries seem to pick at sensitive subjects without even great effort. “Weirwoods.” Myriamme murmurs, keeping her voice soft so it does not come across as a harsh correction. There was more to the trees than their faces. They were everything.

She takes in a steady breath answering , “They worship the old gods in the north, past White Harbour, godswoods are far more plentiful. No one knows for certain about the faces. If men carved them, or if they’ve always been there.” The trees kept their secrets too, and Myriamme decides that is all she is willing to share.

“You may escort me,” Myriamme agreed, mostly against her instincts. But she doesn’t want to scurry away like a frightened dog, and make the watching Lannister Lion that much more curious. She rests a hand on his offered arm for their walk; staring at the red fabric on the sleeve of Tytos’s shirt, and then a question bubbles from her throat, “Do you visit the Rock often, Lord Tytos?”

his fork played around with the stuffed grape leaves, eyebrows furrowed in deep in concern, jon was lost in his thoughts. it was quite late into the morrow and he had only now gotten out of bed and found the desire for breakfast after everything he had witnessed. the atmosphere was uneasy around sunspear, and how could it not be? the arryn could not shake off the feeling that the worst was yet to come.. had not what happened been just a warning? so, whoever did this, just how far were they willing to go? he had not gotten much sleep the previous nights and when a voice spoke at first sounded much further away in the distance. only it got clearer and louder, did he realize someone was next to him, speaking. "what?" a look of utter confusion paints his features, before truly coming back to being present. "my apologies, i was quite lost in my thoughts. i did not mean to pay no mind to your words.. which i'm also hoping you will repeat." the arryn hopes his words are received in a lighthearted manner. the gods knew there was too much tension around already.

She’s gathered a plate of fruit for breakfast, but it’s been several minutes since she’s touched it at all. Myriamme is contemplating the previous night’s events, and even more so if she should retire to her chambers to eat in peace when she notices him. Jon Arryn, late to breakfast just like a handful of other wedding guests. Myriamme observes the Arryn silently, keeping her gaze and head mostly downcast so no one can accuse her of staring.

A curiosity prickles in her chest, as she’s noticed the Lord one or two times throughout the celebrations. An old memory surfaces again, from years past when she visited the Vale as a child. The journey had been arduous even by sea, and singular, but Myriamme remembers him. She has to muster the courage to stand with her plate and approach him, wondering while she closes space between them, if he’ll remember her too.

“Good morning, my lord.” She greets softly, not wanting to catch him by surprise. “Well, perhaps not good, given all that’s happened…but I’m glad to see Sunspear is still functioning as it should with so many guests in attendance.” Myriamme gulps, realizing she’s rambling, and as she sits across from Jon she blinks back at him as his attention seems to come forward for the first time.

She hopes she’s not blushing, because she certainly feels embarrassed enough, “It wasn’t important. I see you have just as much of an appetite as me,” Myriamme motions between their lightly picked plates. “You did not sleep well?”  She was sure many could relate, herself included.

Gwin stared at the water hypnotically. Her stay at Dorne had earned her more than a couple of scratches and bruises. She was fine with that, though, as she wallowed in the thrill of the fight.

The race went as expected. Hardly anything of note. Had Gwin been better with horses, she would have joined to intentionally cause chaos.

Her eye caught a shuffle of skirts besides her, before meeting the eyes of Myriamme. Gwin stared, unbothered by Myriamme's unsettling gaze.

"You are quite far from White Harbor, merling" She growled lowly to Myriamme. Gwin had never enjoyed the company of the Manderlys, but their ships always proved for good reeving. "There are plenty of hungry sharks around" Gwin gave Myriamme an unhinged grin.

Keep your enemies close. Myriamme always thought it was a quiet and effective tactic. She’d certainly never put herself next to Gwin Harlaw for the joy of it, they were hardly the pair of ladies to be seen practicing needle stitch in the same circles. But it was a wise idea, a safe one, to keep an eye on her antics while most everyone was so far away from lands they called home.

It was nearly amusing, how Myriamme’s mere presence seemed to get under the other woman’s skin. Her green gaze flicked at her, and the Manderly shrugged her shoulders responding cooly, “Don’t misrepresent yourself Lady Gwin, you are surely more of a slippery eel.” Myriamme’s lips pursed as she caught glance of a few of the scratches across Gwin’s skin, “Did that play out the way you thought it would?”

The air along the docks was cooler already, more pleasant than the hot winds and humid air that ruled the heart of Sunspear. Jory had endured the southern heat better than most of the Northmen. Better, perhaps, than he cared to admit — and there had been pleasures enough to be found beneath its relentless sun. Even so, after a moon's absence and the absolute madness of the wedding festivities, his thoughts had turned north with increasing insistence. Winterfell and the North called him home. 

Ravens had come faithfully from every corner of the North while they had been away. Their maesters and castellans had sent word of nothing but peace and quiet and no cause for alarm. Jory trusted those who had sent them but reassuring letters were a poor substitute for his own eyes. He would not rest easy until he had crossed Winterfell's gates himself and seen that its walls were still standing and its people safe.

Truth be told, he had never entirely believed this grand wedding to be what it claimed. Too much pomp, too many great lords and ladies summoned from every corner of the realm — it had all smelled faintly of dragonfire and deceit. Perhaps that was the Northerner in him, forever expecting treachery beneath every smile. Yet he could not shake the suspicion that the feast had been little more than an excuse to draw the realm's great houses far from their seats while Aegon's servants studied their strengths, searched their keeps, or sifted through their belongings in hopes of uncovering whatever secrets had been left unwisely hidden.

A gull wheeled overhead with a shrill squawk before diving toward the deck of the ship where sailors cursed one another and the birds as they ducked the attack. Jory rested a gloved hand upon one of the weathered pilings and gave an amused shake of his head as his eyes turned from the scene and followed the sparkling green sea northward as though sheer will might hasten their departure home. 

Boot heels scraped against the dock behind him, measured and unhurried. Jory did not turn at once, he had spent enough years in courts and camps to know that those who wished to be unseen seldom announced themselves so plainly. 

“I had nearly forgotten what quiet sounded like,” he said at last. “Even the gulls seem less quarrelsome than half the nobles who came south.”

Only then did he glance over his shoulder, one brow lifting in quiet acknowledgment of his unexpected company.

“What brings you to the docks? A fondness for salt air?” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “or are you, like me, already thinking of the road home?”

There was no way she was falling asleep in her assigned chambers tonight, not for a long while. Myriamme decided to pass the time wandering outside. Perhaps not the safest thing to do, truth be told, but with most nobles frantic in Sunspear castle, and guards combing the grounds, Myriamme decided the risk was not exactly overwhelming.

Wandering her way to the docks, she recognized the silhouette of the Stark before anything else. Myriamme watched him for only a few moments in nighttime stillness before he inevitably called out. When he did, Myriamme stepped forward so they were standing side by side. She knew what he had been watching without even having to ask, she had been watching it to. A way home.

“Both, I think, Lord Jorah.” Myriamme answered honestly with a tilt to her head, “I long for the North too. But standing here it feels like several seas, not just one, keep us away.” The Manderly folded her hands behind herself, “Indeed I am beginning to understand the term, ‘a fish out of water,’ a little too well, now.”

"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?"

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.”

Elyse? Myriamme turns to look at her good sister, feeling her shoulders relax ever so slightly just at the glance of a familiar face. “Yes…alright.” The Manderly murmurs in agreement, eyes flickering to find a ledge to sit upon. “I know, I am sorry I didn’t mean to concern you Elyse it was just…” Myriamme’s lips purse as she tries to find the right word to express not fear, but complete overwhelm, “Well, it was loud.” She decides on, only sounding slightly dejected.

“I am glad you aren’t still trapped in the hall.” Myriamme speaks, laying a soft hand on her good sisters arm for a moment, “Fear can drive people to do peculiar things.” She waits for a moment before asking, “When did you see my Lord Brother Benjen last?” Naturally, her oldest brother could take care of himself, but Myriamme still held concern for him and his wife not by his side.

"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."

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.”

"no," she agreed quietly. "it was only made to bear the blame." the words settled between them, carrying far more weight than the tiny creature ever could. for a while she simply watched it continue on, wondering if anyone else would stop long enough to notice it before crushing it beneath an unwitting heel. myriamme's question drew her thoughts elsewhere.

"i do not know." the admission came more easily than she expected. she was tired of being the person who knew what to say.

"i imagine princess deria will wish to keep everyone here until there are answers." a small breath escaped her. "and after tonight, i cannot say i blame her." she rested her forearms lightly upon her knees, her hands folding together. after a long silence, she looked back to myriamme.

"i think i envy you a little." the confession surprised even her. "you still have somewhere to return to." she paused. "i fear that, wherever i go, this night will be waiting for me."

“Of course,” Myriamme agreed quietly. It was what any competent ruler would do, she imagined. However, traitors didn’t tend to come forward and announce themselves. The realm could be stuck in Sunspear for some time still. She bit her lip anxiously at the thought, glancing sideways at Amira when she provided an admission.

Myriamme felt slightly guilty, she chuckled at herself, “And here I was, jealous you were closer to home,” The Manderly shared her own thoughts, “But you are right, consequences of tonight will weigh heavier in Dorne than in the North.” Her gaze softened, “You have my sympathies for that, and of course the princess…” Myriamme’s voice trailed off. She didn’t want to assure Aliandra would be found, she hardly had the position or knowledge to do so, but the royal was in her thoughts. “I am sorry the night turned so wretched, is all.”

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?"

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."

aliandra. her cousin echoed relentlessly through her thoughts. she had watched the evening descend from celebration into horror with the detached disbelief of someone waiting to wake from a nightmare. the insects, the screams, the prince collapsing. each moment had seemed impossible until the next proved somehow worse.

princess aliandra martell is in our custody.

the words refused to loosen their grip. somewhere amid the chaos, another thought forced its way forward. edric.

she wondered whether he had reached the prince before the maesters. whether he had gone in search of aliandra. whether thoughts of obella and trystane had found him as swiftly as thoughts of her own family had found her. earlier they had spoken of peace, of children running through the halls of yronwood and godsgrace as though such a future were waiting patiently for them. now she scarcely knew what hope was meant to look like.

it was only when another voice carried through the corridor that she realized she was no longer alone. i want to go home.

home. the word settled heavily within her. for a fleeting moment she found herself longing for yronwood, for sunlit courtyards, familiar faces, the quiet certainty that had once seemed so ordinary she had scarcely noticed it. but the thought vanished almost as quickly as it came. home would not undo what had happened here. aliandra would still be missing. prince aenyx would still lie fighting whatever poison had found him. her family would still stand at the heart of a conspiracy threatening to tear apart everything they had spent years trying to build. there was nowhere she could go that this night would not follow.

amira turned. tucked away within the alcove sat lady manderly, hands tightly clasped together, looking as though the world had become altogether too large. for a moment, amira almost continued past. she was not certain she possessed enough composure to steady anyone else when she could barely steady herself. yet leaving her there felt somehow impossible. she crossed the remaining distance slowly.

"my lady," she called, her own voice sounded quieter than usual. "may i?"

she gestured toward the space beside her before lowering herself to sit, drawing one slow breath that did little to ease the tightness in her chest. silence settled between them.

"...i wish i could go home as well."

She sensed the other woman's presence before opening her eyes to fully register her. Myriamme felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her, and she straightened; eyelids fluttering as she attempted to compose herself. Moments of silence stretched between them, as Myriamme was unsure how to respond to the Lady Yronwood - perhaps being in ones company was enough at the start. Her bright green gaze wandered to a stray black beetle scuttling in the hall just feet away from where the two ladies were perched.

"It's not its fault." Myriamme murmured, still focused on the beetle who seemed to only be trying to escape to the freedom of outdoors. No bug nested in a rich wedding cake with a hundred others, someone put it there. She shifted then, "Do you think they will give us leave soon?" The Crown would have the final say, but it was Sunspear they were bound to and Amira knew Dorne far better than Myriamme herself. There was a hole for her here, she longed for the Wolf's Den and the weirwoods nestled inside. Something to ground her before the desert swept her away.