desire

Her warmth extend to his children's welfare eased some of the tension held in his frame. "It should have been safe; the journey was not very long and they were thrilled to travel beyond Godsgrace." His head had ached by the end of it, with how many questions they had directed at him. "Perhaps they would enjoy a jaunt to Yronwood, when we're permitted our leave from court." He offered her a smile that touched his eyes. He would much enjoy that, himself.

"I have told them of you. Obella asked of your beauty." He breathed a soft exhale, amused. Fond. "Trystane did not much care for the news. His wooden knights hold his heart." Although if Obella took to Amira swiftly, she would win Trystane's trust just as easily. He looked to his older sister's guidance in most things.

Her wisdom carried a soothing quality that he mused on for a moment. He believed he had enjoyed her mind, her empathy, even as a boy. But he'd hardly had the words or the wits to understand as much. "We are a proud and stubborn people, but we also have much to be proud of." He hummed. "But you are right. Hope and obstinacy need not be at odds."

He had passed on instructions to an attendant, for a blanket to be laid out beneath the shade of a suitable tree. It was a short walk to where the luncheon had been prepared, an array of little dishes and a pitcher of chilled wine. The Allyrion guards stood a short distance away, by a cluster of cypress trees. "Court will place hardwood and polished silver between people. I thought we might enjoy a break from that." He looked to her, and gestured for them to settle on the blanket. "I have learned not to turn heel from duty." An implicit admission. He had tried to, before. "But I like to remind myself there is a vast world beyond carved halls and curated conversation. A simpler world. Honest."

"there is plenty at yronwood to occupy curious minds. though if obella asks as many questions as you claim, i fear our maester may have finally met his match."

amusement lingered until he revealed precisely what his daughter had asked of her.

"my beauty?" a faint flush warmed her cheeks, accompanied by a laugh she made little effort to suppress. "and what, exactly, did you tell her?"

there was something endearing about knowing he had spoken of her to them at all. amira had wondered, more than once, what his children might think of the woman who would one day become their father's wife. she had no desire to arrive in their lives as an expectation imposed upon them, least of all when they had not chosen this marriage any more than she and edric had.

"as for trystane, i would never presume to compete with wooden knights. i know better than to enter a battle i cannot win." until now, his children had existed mostly in stories shared between them. the reminder that she had begun to exist in theirs as well made the future before them feel suddenly more tangible.

she followed him toward the shade, taking in the luncheon that awaited them. her earlier teasing softened into quiet appreciation. there was something intimate about its simplicity, particularly after days spent among crowded halls and celebrations where every conversation seemed to carry another beneath it. amira settled upon the blanket, carefully gathering her skirts around her before looking back to him.

"you always did prefer the world beyond carved halls."

the observation came with a small smile. some things, it seemed, had survived the years between them unchanged.

"i wondered if duty might have changed that." she paused, considering him. "perhaps it has changed you in other ways."

"i remember you differently," she admitted after a moment, her attention returning to him. "before godsgrace was yours to govern. before either of us had reason to think very far beyond the next day."

“He was defending himself and we paid for it. That’s what he’d say. No, he’d say only the first part, and that we should not have intervened.” Needless to say, Rhogar was seething. They found themself pacing, otherwise they would tap their feet against the marble beneath them. It was either one action or the other, and he couldn’t do what he truly wanted to do. Being with Valarr was the only way to not give the same treatment to their father. He was their only restraint.

“I cannot believe the gull of him! He hardly let our sister say a sentence before he threw the punch.”

Valarr speaks of stopping it himself. They both knew it was impossible to stop their father from acting once he put his mind to it. Yet, when he was inert, it was just as difficult to get him to move. it was frustrating, and it was boiling over spending decades with him.

"seven hells." the movement pulled unpleasantly at the stitches, and whatever amusement had briefly broken through his temper disappeared behind a wince. his hand went instinctively toward the bandage before stopping short of touching it.

"if you tear my stitches making me imagine that, i'm blaming you. not gwin."

though blaming rhogar would hardly be any fairer than blaming the woman whose dagger had actually opened his arm. perhaps another might have possessed the good sense to watch their father throw the first punch and remain outside whatever followed. valarr was not that person. nor, apparently, was rhogar. still, their suggestion that the wound ought to have belonged to quenton instead drew valarr's attention back to the linen bound around his arm.

"and no, this shouldn't have been his." the answer came without hesitation.

"gwin went for you." valarr looked back at them. "i'd do the same thing again."

that decision, at least, required no reconsideration. he could find fault in everything else that had followed their father's fist, but he would not believe there existed some version of events in which he stood idle while his sibling was threatened.

he might tell rhogar otherwise, of course. with a straight face and no small amount of conviction, valarr would insist that the next blade drawn against them was entirely their own problem. perhaps he'd even wish them luck before leaving them to it.

"the worst part is that you're right. he'll say we had no business intervening." his mouth twisted. "as though either of us was going to stand there politely while he started a war with the harlaws."

there would be no apology from their father. valarr knew that much already. quenton would retreat behind the righteousness of protecting his daughter, and every consequence that followed would become unfortunate but necessary.

only now there was no harlaw to blame. there was a kingsguard. the thought had been sitting unpleasantly at the back of valarr's mind since his sister had spoken. a sworn brother of the kingsguard had broken vows made before gods and crown, gotten the daughter of the lord of harrenhal with child, promised her something, what, precisely, valarr still intended to discover — and then vanished.

disappearing made the man either a coward or a problem. possibly both. worse, it made the matter larger than their family. a harlaw could have been dealt with between houses, however disastrously their father had chosen to begin it. a kingsguard belonged to the crown. whatever punishment followed would invite royal attention, and whatever mercy was offered would invite questions of its own. valarr's jaw tightened.

"and now we have a sworn kingsguard somewhere in the realm who apparently decided his vows were negotiable."

his gaze followed his sibling through another turn across the room.

"sit down before you wear a fucking path through the floor. you're making me nervous."

Day 10: Favorite Location

He had told one servant. How in the Seven Hells did this noble find out about the cat’s 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.

“Apologies for my attendants. They hardly know who is who to bother with meaningless chores.” 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 Viserra’s dear cat, but a gift for the new union. Even though Qoren didn’t 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.

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.

"when was he last seen?"

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."

"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."

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.

"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.

"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."

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.

“I would argue the wine is rather sweet as well,” she mused, narrowing her eyes at it with almost theatrical suspicion. “That is precisely what makes it so untrustworthy.” For a brief moment, she simply observed it in silence before giving the cup the smallest tilt. “One rarely thinks to be cautious around pleasant things.”

"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.

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 wasn’t there, by his food or water bowl, and wasn’t 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. That’s what he wanted to hope.

Yet, Viserra had gone out in search of him the night before, almost getting injured in the fray. She hadn’t 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!

he had expected something of consequence. instead —

"no." the answer came before qoren had even turned. immediate. clipped.

"i've found only the servants searching gardens, kitchens, and half the estate for…" he paused, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. "…roast."

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.

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. Gyles’ 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 –  despite the whispers and careful glances she had noticed throughout the day – 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?

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."

Aerion + Smirk & Smile & Dimples ☺️✨