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He had told one servant. How in the Seven Hells did this noble find out about the catâs name? For a moment, his brow furrowed before he sported a smile. Appearances were of utmost importance now. He had made sure that wounds were attended, the land ensured to be well, and assisted with the clean up delegation. Yet, Roast being gone remained. That was all to stew on. The politics between the Tyrells and Arryns were of little importance to Qoren.
âApologies for my attendants. They hardly know who is who to bother with meaningless chores.â Even though Valarr knew, what point did it have to worry him? Or, well, bore him as Qoren thought.
There was no point in telling him that he was the reason Viserra was almost injured the night prior. Neither was there one in telling him that he was technically Viserraâs dear cat, but a gift for the new union. Even though Qoren didnât care much for mammals, he had grown fond of his betrothed. If she cared so dearly for Roasting Fork, he would care for him too.
Yet, with him being missing during the fray, in came a growing fear of their future. How many generations would it take to have peace - to still be separate but understood by each other? What would happen when people found out Viserra was to have a child, something all royals were expected to do? Would there be as much of an uproar as now?
It was no matter to dwell on it. Instead, he could later plan for it. For now, all he could do was calm down.
âThey must have finished their other duties and are now playing with Roast. Heâs a trickster, you see.â
âmeaningless.â valarr repeated the word, one brow lifting. that was not quite the impression he had gathered from the servants he'd encountered. somewhere between the kitchens and qoren's chambers, he had learned that roast was a cat, that roast was missing, and that apparently finding him had become important enough to involve anyone unfortunate enough to ask what all the commotion was about.
valarr had made that mistake himself.
"your attendants seem remarkably committed to a meaningless chore."
his attention shifted briefly toward the doorway before returning to qoren.
"and either your cat is very popular, or you're giving them too much credit," he countered. "if they'd found him, i imagine one of them would have thought to tell you."
perhaps that was unnecessarily blunt. valarr did not particularly care.
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cerelle's eyes followed the other's hand as the stray drop of wine disappeared with little more than a brush of embroidered silk, and only then did the tightness she hadn't quite realized she'd been holding slip quietly away. she had never minded making an entrance. making one by ruining another lady's gown, however, seemed considerably less appealing. there were some first impressions that even charm struggled to recover from. "only your sleeve?" she echoed, a smile already tugging at the corners of her mouth. "then i shall consider the evening an undeniable success."
the laugh that escaped the other woman drew one from cerelle in return, light and entirely unforced. she lifted her own goblet almost instinctively at the remark, turning it ever so slightly between slender fingers as though examining the wine herself. perhaps years of navigating crowded feasts had simply taught her body to protect perfectly good arbor gold before anything else. there was something vaguely embarrassing about that realization. she decided not to dwell on it.
"cerelle lannister," she introduced herself, inclining her head just enough to acknowledge the rather unconventional circumstances of their meeting. "and seeing as i've already quite literally run into you, it seems terribly unfair if i remain the only one properly introduced."
the name brought with it immediate recognition. lannister was hardly one that required explanation, even this far south, though amira gave little indication beyond a slight lift of her brows.
"cerelle," she repeated, committing the name to memory.
"amira yronwood."
she offered a graceful inclination of her head, though the formality felt almost belated after their rather unconventional introduction.
"there. now we may pretend we had the good sense to exchange names before nearly spilling wine upon one another."
amusement lingered in her expression for another moment before giving way to genuine curiosity.
"have you been enjoying sunspear, lady cerelle?" she asked. "i hope your first impressions of dorne have involved fewer collisions than ours."
there were probably more respectful ways to speak of the ruling lord of harrenhal. valarr could not presently be bothered to find one. he stood near an open window, one arm freshly stitched and bound beneath clean linen, his discarded tunic replaced by another that proved considerably more difficult to pull on with one arm unwilling to cooperate. after struggling with it for several seconds, he abandoned the effort entirely and left the ties at his collar undone.
"he didn't know." that was the part valarr kept returning to. his eyes found rhogar across the room.
"he dragged a harlaw before half the fucking realm, accused him of putting a child in our sister, and struck him before he'd even bothered to learn whether any of it was true."
valarr flexed his injured arm experimentally. pain immediately answered and his expression soured.
"and naturally, we followed him."
there was enough irritation in the admission to make clear precisely how he felt about that particular realization. valarr exhaled sharply through his nose.
"we could've stopped it." perhaps that irritated him most. not the wound. not gwin. not even the harlaws. their father had given them precious little time to understand what was happening, but valarr disliked excuses nearly as much as he disliked admitting fault.
"i should've stopped it." his jaw tightened before he looked back toward his sibling.
"you know he's going to say he was defending her."
"if you pull that thread any tighter, i'll have more use for a butcher than a maester."
the man tending to valarr's arm did not dignify the remark with an answer.
perhaps wisely.
valarr sat with his tunic stripped away and blood drying in uneven streaks along his skin, watching the needle disappear through the edges of a gash he had acquired somewhere between his father's fist meeting dominic harlaw's face and the water gardens descending into complete fucking chaos.
he knew well enough whose blade had made it. gwin harlaw had gone for rhogar. valarr had moved to intervene, too late to stop her, quick enough to draw her attention, and she had turned on him as well. the dagger sweeping across his arm before he could fully close the distance.
the entire affair had been an exercise in what happened when men acted before they bothered to think. his father had accused one man, struck him before receiving an answer worth believing, and within moments half the courtyard had apparently decided violence was the most sensible contribution they could make.
valarr included. that realization had done little to improve his mood. then his sister had spoken.
it wasn't him. and somehow everything had become considerably worse. the missing kingsguard was another problem entirely. one valarr intended to think about when someone was no longer pushing a needle through his skin and he could wield his sword once more.
"enough." the maester ignored him. valarr's jaw tightened. "i said â"
the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention toward the doorway.
alyssia. of course.
his betrothed had managed to find him half-dressed, bloodied, and in a temperament ill-suited for company. for several seconds, he merely looked at her.
"if you've come to tell me i look terrible," valarr said at last, "someone has already beaten you to it."
the maester pulled another stitch tight. his expression immediately darkened.
Her question, her unmistakable surprise, had him arch a brow in unvoiced wonder. Of course he had considered her comfort -- but then again, a long stretch of time had passed between childhood friendship, and the arrangement of their houses to unite. It was not by chance that the betrothal had been announced the same year of Edric's father's passing. The old ruling lord Allyrion would have welcomed his son's efforts to strengthen Dorne, it was but a shame that he had not lived to witness his son grow into a man worthy of governing Godsgrace. "I thought it might do our minds some good." He answered, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. His fingers were adorned with gold rings, caught in the daylight with every shift. Their shimmer was not so much ostentatious, as it served to spark intrigue.
Edric liked for his jewellery to tell stories. One ring had been passed down from his late father, and his father before him. Another, he had purchased in the shadow city beneath Sunspear, after his first attendance at court. Its band was a pair of slender serpents entwined about one another, their emerald eyes the size of pinheads. A third, boasted no famous craftsman. It was from a Volantene market, and he had simply liked the workmanship. Coincidentally, it was from his stay that had led to the birth of his daughter. "I suppose rest would have been preferable, but we shall see to that in Sunspear." He offered her a smile. "I should not wish to doubt Lord Emeric's character; I've never heard of reason to do so. But what I will say, is that I have seen far lesser men succumb to the influence. I hope it was only wine and wounded pride." His deep-brown eyes narrowed. "But the latter makes not merely fools of men. It can make them dangerous, I've learned. Especially if they feel righteous in their cause."
When she asked of his children, his eyes softened. "They were awoken by the clamour. Trystane was easier to settle; Obella is frighteningly clever for her age. She pressed for answers I did not have." He sighed. "I deliberated on whether I should travel with them. I thought it would be safe to traverse Dorne, what with peace being hailed." He spoke candidly, because he was curious of her opinion on the alliance. His loyalty in House Martell was steadfast, as was his mistrust in the dragonlords. "Perhaps we had better see the marriages come to fruition, first. Before we praise this alliance." It was well and good to proclaim peace -- but another thing entirely to live it, and trust in it.
Edric offered her his large palm, then, calloused by duty. To lead her to where they were to lunch. "If you would."
amira followed his words with quiet attention, her gaze falling briefly to the rings adorning his hands. she wondered at the stories behind them, each different enough from the next that she doubted they had been chosen without reason. there was something strange in realizing how much of his life had passed beyond her knowing. she had known him once, in the uncomplicated way children knew one another, but the man seated across from her had collected years and stories she had not been there to witness. the curiosity lingered, though the conversation carried her elsewhere before she could ask.
"emeric has always been a good man." there was certainty in the words. she had known him since they were children, long before either of them had grown into the people duty required them to become. "though i suppose even good men are capable of foolish things."
her expression softened at the mention of his children.
"poor sweetlings." sympathy colored her voice. "you could not have known." her gaze returned to his. "you brought them somewhere you believed they would be safe. there is no fault in that."
his words regarding the alliance gave her pause.
"perhaps you are right." she had spent much of the celebrations hoping that what had begun at sunspear might become something lasting, but hope alone had never made a peace endure. she thought briefly of eleana, and of the certainty with which she had defended that hope only days before. she wondered what her cousin would make of her hesitation now. likely something accompanied by a rather triumphant scowl. the thought almost made her smile.
yet amira had not changed her mind. not entirely.
"a marriage is easier promised than lived, and peace easier declared than kept."
still, something gentler remained in her expression.
"but i think we must allow ourselves to hope for it. cautiously, perhaps." the corner of her mouth lifted. "i do not think dorne has ever been particularly skilled at giving its trust freely."
when he extended his hand, her gaze dropped briefly to his open palm. she placed her own within it without hesitation, allowing him to help her from the carriage. she let out a slow breath once her feet met the earth. the open air carried none of the heaviness that had settled over lemonwood after the fighting. there was only the warmth of the sun overhead and the familiar scent of dry grasses carried upon the breeze.
"you've made me rather curious about this luncheon now," she said, a hint of warmth returning to her voice.
Bellaria nodded almost sagely, finding her companion's considerations of the matter surprisingly poignant. These visitors by and large did not know Dorne or its ways or what its people had truly endured and enjoyed. In many cases this was the furthest and most they had ever deigned to travel. And it was all to feed the ego of the Dragon king. How many of them would have ever undertaken this journey of their own volition to sincerely appreciate her desert homeland? Before she fell too deep into thought and subsequently grew indignant, the Uller lady pushed herself back into the present moment in time to wink in subtle response to Amira's words. "Mmm a fine question, Lady Yronwood. I suppose that would depend on what you find remarkable. I would consider this unremarkable given the inability of most men to maintain even the facade of fidelity but it will perhaps amuse you nonetheless to hear that the lord heir of House Webber has become infatuated with a lady of House Dayne and has offered to give up his claim to his future ruling lordship in exchange for her hand....this of course, much to the chagrin of his wife of fifteen summers."
whatever amira had expected, it had not been that. her brows rose before she could school her expression, and for a moment she merely stared at bellaria.
"he offered up his inheritance?" the question escaped in disbelief. amira had heard of men surrendering far more for love, but infatuation was another matter entirely.
she shook her head, the beginnings of an incredulous smile tugging at her lips. "forgive me, but lord webber sounds a fool."
amira glanced briefly toward the passing crowd, suddenly wondering if any of the faces among them belonged to the unfortunate parties in question.
"does the lady dayne return his affections? or has he decided to surrender his inheritance before troubling himself to discover whether she would even have him?"
she turned back to bellaria, curiosity having thoroughly overcome whatever reluctance she might have possessed moments before.
"and his poor wife..." she shook her head softly. "fifteen years, only to have one's husband lose both his senses and his lordship at the sight of another woman."
the corner of her mouth betrayed her as she leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice.
"you have made a terrible mistake telling me this." she leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice. "now i fear you shall have to tell me everything."
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âI am not most, my lord.â A faint smile lingered upon her lips, touched with something between amusement and quiet resignation. âMuch to my occasional misfortune.â
Her gaze drifted back to the goblet resting between her hands, as though she had only just remembered it was there. Turning it slowly by the stem, she watched the amber wine catch the lanternlight, the surface trembling ever so slightly with the movement.
âI would argue the wine is rather sweet as well,â she mused, narrowing her eyes at it with almost theatrical suspicion. âThat is precisely what makes it so untrustworthy.â For a brief moment, she simply observed it in silence before giving the cup the smallest tilt. âOne rarely thinks to be cautious around pleasant things.â
valarr regarded the goblet for a moment before letting out a breath that almost resembled a laugh. "perhaps you've found a better argument against it than i have." the corner of his mouth lifted, though only briefly.
"i've found pleasant things aren't usually the problem." his gaze settled on hers. "it's trusting them to be more than they are."
his attention drifted briefly to the garden around them.
"a kind word doesn't make someone honest. nor does a smile make them trustworthy. though if we're to start distrusting everything pleasant, lemonwood may prove more dangerous than i thought."
he paused, as if considering whether there was anything more worth saying on the matter.
"still, i'd wager the wine isn't what's troubling you." his eyes flicked once more toward the goblet. "though i suppose it makes for a convenient culprit."
he left the observation there. whatever occupied her thoughts was hardly his business unless she chose to make it so.
when: morning after the lemonwood banquet, month 07 of 21 ac
where: lemonwood, dorne
who: qoren martell & open
All of this was a disaster! Actually, he hadn't expected the fighting to culminate here, but it took longer than he thought it would for the water to overboil. The crown prince couldn't ruminate on this, a pressing matter clinging to the forefront of his mind: there was his mother, his step-father, his sisters, the twins, and his betrothed, yet there was a presence missing.
Where was Roast? Where was the little rascal that he had grown used to being by his side? He wasnât there, by his food or water bowl, and wasnât trying to cause a ruckus. He hadn't heard the crinkling of him sneaking food or shoes across the room either. This was strange. Something was wrong. This little voice kept nagging at him. Qoren tried to put it past him, knowing he was probably being adored by a guest and he was soaking up the attention. Thatâs what he wanted to hope.
Yet, Viserra had gone out in search of him the night before, almost getting injured in the fray. She hadnât seen him either, but who could in that chaos? Now that they were to leave Lemonwood, he was afraid little Roast would be left behind. He was still young - barely out of kittenhood. He wouldn't know his way to his new home, even if he tried! That much, Qoren was certain. He had only been in Sunspear for a month!
Expecting another to come through the door, he speaks before he turns around, hands wringing in front of him. It was a cathartic motion that barely seemed to help now. "Have you found anything yet?" Then, he turns. This was not the attendant he sent into the fray. Maybe they hadn't heard anything after all. What would they do, then?
valarr stepped into the room with the faint look of a man who had been inconvenienced against his will. one of the attendants, breathless, insistent, and entirely too eager, had intercepted him in the corridor and, through a mixture of urgency and poor explanation, managed to rope him into assisting with a search. for what, exactly, had not been made clear. only that it was important, and that the dornish crown prince was involved.
he had expected something of consequence. instead â
"no." the answer came before qoren had even turned. immediate. clipped.
"i've found only the servants searching gardens, kitchens, and half the estate forâŚ" he paused, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. "âŚroast."
the name did little to inspire confidence.
"i assume there's a reason half of lemonwood is looking for him, my prince?"
Location: The day after the Lemonwood affray, approaching noon, en route to Sunspear.
Edric had known a litany of fights over his years. Some of which he had merely observed, perhaps uttered a wager here and there, won some coin, lost some a handful of times. Rarely had he initiated fights, for they were the easiest way of ending a promising eve all too abruptly. No cup of Dornish red sweetened a black eye. He was set on making merry, on drawing joy from life's indulgences, and saved fists and steel for training courts and battlegrounds.
When the commotion had reached his tent, he knew the clamour to be loud enough that those with slivers of reasons that had not been drowned out by wine and war tales needed to be put to de-escalating efforts. That had been his intention, until he looked to Amira's tent, until he saw two lords threaten to embroil her in their scuffle.
He had wanted to ask her if a sorely-needed apology had yet been issued. He wished to hear of her thoughts, if the wine was truly to blame, or if she believed Dorne had invited a much greater problem into their midst. And if so -- he selfishly, irrationally, wished to whisk her to Godsgrace, with his children who had travelled alongside him. But in the spirit of a new dawn, he would not overwhelm her with such questions.
Their carriage came to a halt as late morning dwindled into noon, and he offered her a smile. "We are halted because I took the liberty of having a luncheon arranged for us, beyond the confines of this wheelhouse." They had left early, and would sit long enough that their limbs would thank them for a stop. "We will be flanked by two of my personal guards. If you've no appetite yet, we can simply find a suitable perch and enjoy the fresh air."
the gentle sway of the carriage had nearly lulled her to sleep more than once. she had watched the countryside pass in thoughtful silence for much of the journey, though every so often her mind wandered back to the previous night's chaos. even now, an unexpected shout from somewhere farther along the road was enough to make her turn instinctively toward the window before reminding herself there was nothing to fear.
the carriage slowed. then stopped. amira turned as edrick spoke, surprise softening almost immediately into a smile.
"you arranged all of that for us?" there was something undeniably thoughtful in the gesture. after the unrest of the night before, she had expected nothing more than a quiet journey back to sunspear.
"you've been thinking of my comfort." the observation escaped before she had time to weigh it, accompanied by the faintest hint of color rising to her cheeks. "i would like that very much." her fingers unconsciously smoothed a wrinkle from her sleeve.
"i keep telling myself it was only wine and wounded pride." a small smile found its way back to her lips, though it did not quite reach her eyes. she lowered her gaze.
"but seeing emeric like that..." a small sigh escaped her. "i think that frightened me more than anything else. for a moment, i truly believed we were under attack."
she hesitated then, a thought only just occurring to her. "i never asked after your children." there was an unmistakable concern in her voice now.
"were they frightened by it all?" she folded her hands together, her brow knitting ever so slightly. "i have been hoping they were spared the worst of it."
Ever since she had set foot in Dorne, there had been a quiet uneasiness following her. Perhaps it was the speed of everything. Gylesâ betrothal. The crown and Dorne drawing closer. The way old enemies now spoke of unity and a shared future. Everything seemed to be changing at once, and Rosalyn had never been fond of feeling as though the world was moving faster than she could prepare for.
Eventually, as guests began to wander away from the banquet to explore the orchards or retire for the evening, Rosalyn found herself remaining behind, seated beneath the lemon trees, watching lanterns sway between the branches above her, a glass of Dornish wine resting lightly in her hand.
She had spent the entire day trying to find something to place the blame for the discomfort she felt. And not being able to find it was deeply inconvenient.
The citrus scent that filled the air was bright without being overwhelming, softened by the sweetness of the blossoms surrounding her. The food had been exquisite, the estate breathtaking, and their hosts gracious. Even the people themselves â despite the whispers and careful glances she had noticed throughout the day â had been nothing but welcoming.
She had no true reason to complain. None that she could name, at least.
Perhaps that was what frustrated her most. The uneasiness had not come from anything tangible, but from within. She understood the reasoning behind the changes. Understanding them did not make them any easier to accept.
For once, she allowed herself the small indulgence of not immediately setting the feeling aside. A rare moment of quiet displeasure before she returned to being the warm and gracious presence everyone expected of her in the days to come.
She had barely finished the thought when she noticed she was no longer alone.
Had they been there too long? Had she neglected a conversation?
Rosalyn straightened slightly, her usual composure returning. The smile she offered was warm and familiar, though perhaps a little softer than usual. âI do apologize if it seems as though I have become too engrossed in my own thoughts, my liege,â she said lightly, lifting her cup. âI assure you, it is only a temporary affliction.â She took a deep breath. âI must admit, I have found that Dornish wine is dangerously misleading,â she added. âIt tastes far too innocent. Though I fear the lemon cakes may have been the greater threat.â
valarr had never cared much for feasts. they were obligations, nothing more, and before long the noise of the hall had driven him out toward the gardens for quieter air. lemonwood was calmer once one stepped beyond the music, the scent of citrus carried easily on the breeze. it reminded him little of harrenhal, though he supposed that was for the best.
he spotted lady rosalyn beneath the lantern-lit branches, a cup of wine in her hands. he might have passed her by, but his boots on the stone gave him away before he could. at her apology, his expression barely shifted.
"i've yet to meet anyone who suffers from thinking too much," he said, remaining where he was instead of stepping closer. "most don't think enough." his gaze flicked to the goblet, then back to her.
"so it's the wine, then?" he asked, a faint edge of humor in his tone. "i'd have thought the cakes were the real danger. easier to blame something that tastes sweet."
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( finn bennett, cis male, he/him ) HARK! I believe the heralds are announcing the arrival of VALARR QOHERYS, the 25 year old, LORD of HARRENHAL. They are known to hold loyalty towards THE CROWN and little birds sing of them being ADVENTUROUS & SELF-RELIANT. When one dreams of them, images of the smell of pine and smoke, forgotten shrines beside lonely roads, a cloak drying by the hearth. comes to mind. However their RESTLESS and COMPETITIVE nature can make for difficult times. Time will only tell what their true intentions are.
BASICS
FULL NAME: valarr qoherys
TITLE(S): lord of harrenhal, ser
MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : he hates nicknames
GENDER & PRONOUNS : cis male, he/him
DATE OF BIRTH & AGE:Â Â 8th day of the 10th moon, 4 b.c. ; twenty-five
ORIENTATION :Â Â bi-sexual, bi-romantic
BACKGROUND
PLACE OF BIRTH : harrenhal, the riverlands
EDUCATION : maester.
RELIGION : faith of the seven (publicly), the old gods of valyria (privately)
LANGUAGES SPOKEN : common tongue, high valyrian.
FAMILY & RELATIONSHIPS
FATHER :Â lord quenton qoherys, open (50+).
MOTHER : lord/lady/liege utp qoherys nee utp, open (50+).
ACTIVITIES: swordsmanship, sparring, jousting, camping, playing cyvasse
HISTORY
born the youngest son of house qoherys, valarr has never known the burden of inheritance. while his elder sibling, rhogar, was groomed for liegeship, valarr was afforded a freedom few noble sons ever truly possess. he found little joy in council chambers or courtly spectacle, gravitating instead toward the training yard, the stables, and the open roads beyond harrenhal's walls. it was there, with a sword in hand and horse beneath him, that he discovered both purpose and peace.
though educated by the castle's maester in the histories, customs, and languages expected of a nobleman, valarr always preferred lessons that left dirt beneath his nails rather than ink upon his fingers. his knighthood was earned through discipline rather than ambition, becoming a reflection of the man himself: steadfast, practical, and unwavering in the face of hardship. where others sought glory, valarr sought competence. to him, honor was measured not by songs or accolades, but by whether those entrusted to his protection returned home alive.
life within harrenhal has tempered whatever youthful idealism he once possessed. raised within a castle synonymous with ruin and sacrifice, valarr came to understand that leadership often demands impossible choices. he has little patience for lofty ideals untested by reality, believing that being right does not always mean being kind, just as mercy without resolve can prove every bit as dangerous as cruelty. it is a conviction that has earned him respect from soldiers and suspicion from courtiers alike, for while he does not relish sacrifice, neither does he shy away from demanding it of others if he believes the alternative would claim even more lives. valarr has long accepted that there are moments when every path leads to bloodshed; in those moments, he would rather carry the guilt of choosing than the guilt of hesitating.
for all his practicality, there is one indulgence valarr has never managed to abandon: his valyrian heritage. where others are content to let old customs fade into memory, he clings to them with quiet determination. he speaks high valyrian with deliberate precision, studies the histories of old valyria with an almost obsessive curiosity, and privately keeps to the rites and traditions passed down through his bloodline. to many, it is little more than reverence for his ancestors. to valarr, it is a refusal to allow their legacy to vanish entirely, even if all that remains are fragments carried across the narrow sea.
those closest to valarr know there is little pretense about him. he speaks plainly, keeps his promises, and places great value in loyalty freely given rather than blindly demanded. his devotion to house qoherys is unquestionable, though it is expressed less through politics than through service. whether patrolling the roads, training alongside his fellow knights, or tending to the horses that have always offered him greater comfort than crowded halls, valarr has built a life defined by action rather than words.
now betrothed to lady alyssia lannister, valarr faces a different kind of duty, one that cannot be settled with steel alone. marriage is another obligation to honor, another oath to uphold, though whether affection can be forged as readily as loyalty remains a question only time can answer.
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