;; into the mountains

Lord Roman Prester did not have fond feelings for northmen, let alone those of House Manderly. And that included Amir Manderly. There was something about the smug lord that swaggered into the room and tried to command the attention of everyone around them in the same way Northmen did anything. Roman thought they were untrained dogs so when he rounded a corner to witness Axell Royce beating on him, he watched momentarily and then stepped away, he would find the other later. At some point.

The point would come sooner rather than when he found the High Commander of the Vale smoking away from those around pompous, perfumed lords of the reach and the dog smell of the north. He was certain they would be lurking around waiting for their chance and while Roman never sighed away from conflict it would not due for a Westerland Lord to fight alongside a man of the Vale after what their dead King did to the Princess.

axell did not bother looking up at first when roman joined him. he knew the man’s step by now, measured and unhurried. axell took another drag from his cigarette, smoke curling slow from his lips as he flexed his hand. blood had dried dark across his knuckles, split skin already stiffening.

“personally, i would have stabbed him.”

that drew a quiet huff of amusement from axell. he finally glanced sideways at the westerlord, one brow lifting faintly.

“i would have ” he said, voice rough from smoke and the lingering heat of the fight, “if i didn’t think it would put everyone’s panties in a twist.” he smirked then, slow and satisfied. “the north would start howling. the reach would start whispering. and suddenly i’m the villain of the evening. well…more than i already am”

he tapped ash to the stone at his feet, rolling his shoulder once as if shaking off the last of the tension. there was no shame in him. no regret. if anything, he looked pleased.

“i thought i was on my best behavior” he added dryly. “i didn’t kill him.”

his gaze drifted back out into the dark, toward the distant glow of torchlight and music still spilling from the hall. muffled laughter carried on the wind, as if nothing had happened at all.

“i even stopped when they pulled me off. that’s restrain enought.” another drag. another thin stream of smoke. there was a flicker of something colder beneath the humor, something sharp and unrepentant.

“he’s been asking for it since the dance. figured i’d finally oblige.”

amir’s jaw flexed, and though his body didn’t shift, his eyes cut sharp to axell’s face. there was that tone again, the way the man slid words in like a knife under the ribs, slow and deliberate, with that twisted humour that always felt like it was crawling over his skin. he hated the way axell spoke—like he was toying with something he thought fragile, like he could break it just because it amused him. “see, that right there,” amir said low, his voice hard and flat as stone as he extended his hand as axell leaned in, not directly pushing him away, but acting as a block in itself. "“is why your big brother need to get you back on your leash."

"talk too greasy. all that ‘ruin you’ shit—man, don’t let them big shoulders gas you, all it'll take is one pop to the head and i'll listen to whatever shit your blood got to say to me when you already six feet under seeing your mama again.”

his lip curled just slightly as he finally turned to face him, letting him see the look in his eye: sharp, unblinking, coiled like a spring. “and let me clear somethin’ up—you ain't ruin shit. which is why i be stood here, talkin this shit in your face.” he shifted his weight slightly, a small step that squared him up without making a scene, but it was enough to show he wasn’t budging an inch. "and i been talking that shit to your face, nah?" he wasn’t as big as axell, never would be, but he had that wiry muscle, that speed, and a reputation for putting men on their backs with his fists when a sword weren’t close to hand.

his gaze flicked, deliberate, from the hilt of axell’s sword back to his face.

men could threaten him with a million different words. call him a million names. do what they wished to him, it meant nothing. there were only a few scraps of honor he still bothered to fight for, if it could even be called that anymore. there was no honor in axell royce. he had buried it long ago, killed it alongside the impostor he once let the world believe was dead. perhaps it had rotted even before that.

something in him went still.

moments ago, he had been eager, almost amused by the game of getting under amir’s skin. now there was nothing. no anger. no aggression. just a sudden, hollow dark quiet. his face gave nothing away, but his eyes did. cold. sharp. empty. then they shifted, darkening like a predator when it finally decides to strike.

whatever restraint he’d been holding shattered.

his hand fisted into amir’s shirt, gripping hard enough to drag him close, fingers biting into cloth and flesh alike. his other fist followed without hesitation, swinging down and cracking against amir’s cheek with brutal speed. he usually held back in fights like this. let men think they knew his strength, let them grow comfortable in their ignorance. it was useful, letting them taste only a fraction of what he could do, saving the rest for when it mattered.

he didn’t give a shit about tactics now.

he wanted to break bone. to crush. to erase that smug look from amir manderly’s face. the sheer audacity of it of thinking he could speak to him like that, as if he had any right. it was a slight against him to think they were equals. it was enough to make axell see red beneath it all.

“if the trees could speak,” she murmured, “they’d know more than most lords at court.”

her voice was even, a soft hush like snowfall, but there was something taut beneath it, like a drawn string, waiting to snap or be loosed. the way he spoke, half teasing, half warning, stirred something in her. not fear. not quite irritation, either. she took in a slow breath, eyes following a raven’s shadow as it cut through the fading light above.

“you think i came out here to be safe?” she asked, quieter now. not mocking, curious, maybe. amused by the presumption. her gloved hand brushed the pouch at her hip, filled with dried petals, bits of bark, a rust-colored root she hadn’t named aloud in years.

finally, she turned to face him fully. her cloak shifted with the wind, and the look she gave him wasn’t soft, it rarely was, but it was honest. searching.

“you talk of danger as if it’s something that only walks on two legs and hides in trees.” her gaze flicked to the knife at his belt, then back to his face. “but you and i both know that the worst things don’t come snarling out of the dark. they come smiling.”

she stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like a creature testing the edge of another’s territory, not threatening, for she could never be seen as threatening to a man who was the envy of the mountains themselves, but narrowing the space between them with quiet purpose, as though drawn by instinct more than intent.

“and they offer protection,” she added, tilting her head slightly. “as if that’s not a kind of trap all its own.” her smile was faint, unreadable, the curve of her mouth gone before it fully formed. “i know what lurks in these woods, lord royce.” her voice lowered, softer than before. “perhaps you should wonder why it hasn’t come for me yet.”

she let the words linger between them, slow and curling like mist rising from damp earth. then she tilted her head, a flicker of something sharp in her eye as a low, amused laugh slipped free, quiet and unexpected, breaking the stillness with ease.

axell’s gaze lingered on her as she closed the distance, the faintest tightening at the corner of his eyes betraying interest more than threat. he didn’t move to meet her right away. he let her take that ground, let her choose how near she wished to stand. power wasn’t always in the advance. sometimes it was in allowing the other to step into your shadow.

“if trees could speak. he said at last, a low huff of a laugh escaping him, “i’m sure they’d have more secrets than anyone would ever want them to know.” his eyes flicked briefly to the trunks around them, dark and ancient, before returning to her as he entertained such a strange fucking thought. if trees could speak and knew things then there would be a lot of trees he would have to go cut down. they would have seen to much of what he's done out here.

he shifted his weight, boots quiet on the damp earth. “and no, i didn’t think you came out here to be safe. only a fool thinks these woods offer safety.” his voice roughened slightly. “i talk of dangers because i’ve lived among them. i know what stalks these paths because, once, i was part of it.”

the admission wasn’t prideful. it was simply fact. a past worn like old scars beneath armor. the time he spent with the mountain men was worth it as he could use it to tear them apart one by one.

her nearness didn’t unsettle him, but it did sharpen his attention. bold, or unafraid of the rumors that clung to his name like smoke. he took a single step closer in return, just enough to make the space between them charged, not crowded. he wondered if she was naive, stupid or simply didnt care. whatever it was he was fine to let it play out.

“maybe the things out here haven’t come for you because you don’t move like prey like others might” he mused “or maybe they are waiting for the right moment. or maybe you have just been lucky. a roll of the dice that mind land wrong one time" he said. "all it takes is for one time"

at her question, his mouth curved again. thin, knowing. “looking for trouble?” he repeated softly. “trouble finds me whether i look for it or not. today, i was making sure it didn’t find you first.”

when she heard the telltale snap of a twig beneath a boot, she didn’t flinch. her posture remained as still as the forest around her, though her eyes, cold and sharp, flickered briefly toward the sound.

"lord royce," she said, her voice as soft as the wind but carrying an edge to it, like a blade slipping through silk. she didn’t need to turn to know he was there before he spoke. he had that way of moving, too deliberate, too sure of himself to remain unnoticed.

she let a beat of silence settle between them, the only sound the dancing of leaves. finally, she spoke again, her words laced with a dry amusement.

“following me now, are you?” her tone was not sharp, just dry, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to find herself being trailed through the woods. “how... considerate."

her lips barely curled into something that might have been a smile, though it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. "if you'd wanted to join in, you could’ve at least waited for the second verse,” she added, her voice dipping back into its usual quiet steadiness.

axell’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming at the corner of his lips as he stepped closer, the heavy leather of his boots muffled by the mossy ground. he didn’t rush her, didn’t force her to face him entirely—he knew better than to press too hard, too fast. some things were better when they came willingly.

“i wasn’t aware you considered singing to the trees a secret worth guarding,” he drawled, voice low, rough-edged. his eyes, dark and steady, moved over her carefully, lingering not on the delicate lines of her figure, but on the sharper edges—the coolness of her stare. perhaps there was a faint wariness tucked behind her amusement. smart, he thought. smarter than most of the women who fluttered around the eyrie.

he stopped a few paces from her, hands loose at his sides, posture deceptively relaxed. “and if i wanted to join in,” he said, his tone carrying that same low, rumbling humor. a slight smile on the ghost of runestone’s face “i would have.” he let the weight of the words settle, watching to see how she reacted. testing the waters.

the breeze stirred between them, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked earth and pine. his gaze didn't waver.

“you’re right, though,” he said after a beat, voice dipping lower, more serious. “secrets are dangerous things.” he let the statement linger between them before tilting his head slightly, studying her. “lucky for you, i’m good at keeping them.”

his smile, if it could even be called that, was quick, sharp, and gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“you shouldn’t be out here alone,” he added finally, the edge of something harsher creeping back into his voice. “next time, if you insist on sneaking away, you best bring a sword—or someone willing to wield it for you. i know what lurks in these woods more than anyone.”

ravella arryn’s palm connected with axell’s cheek with a resounding crack, her rings biting into his skin and leaving a faint line of red in their wake, the blow echoing across the room. she saw a flash of something cross his orbs, and for a moment she found herself noticing how similar his eyes were to his brothers, before she landed another crack of a strike across his face. the blow wasn’t born of anger—it was deliberate, calculated, done of enjoyment. “do not presume to take liberties with me.” she said, her voice low and edged with frost. still, she made no effort to rise from his lap.

"do you know what ancient bloodline you put your hands upon?" instead, she adjusted herself, spreading her thighs on either side of his knee and leaning forward until her breath ghosted against his jaw.

“you are a man of action.” her voice softened, becoming almost a purr. her hands slid around his neck, her nails tracing the edge of his collar as though testing the strength of his resolve. “always so eager to prove it. i wonder, axell, what you wouldn’t do for me.” she shifted closer, the neckline of her dress dipping low enough to draw the eye, though she denied him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. instead, she let her lips curl into a faint, knowing smile as she met his gaze now, her hand moving downward to the red mark on his face, her touch lingering.

“if i asked you to kill jasper,” she began, her words slow and deliberate, “would you hesitate? even for a moment, if i told you his existence was a threat to everything we have built?” there was a specific reason for the choice in her wording; a resounding call to what she had once been the only one to know.

her fingers tightened slightly at the nape of his neck, a reminder of the hold she had over him, her fingers tracing lightly a moment later. it were as though she herself did not know how to touch on him, and yet she shifted further upward, letting him settle himself beneath her. “rowan’s bastard,” she hissed in his ear, the venom in her tone palpable, and yet her hand slithered where it should not have. her husband's brother had her spread out upon his lap, and she felt him against her. “if others will not believe me when i name him illegitimate, if they whisper of his claim as though it holds any weight, i will not have it. and neither will you.” she paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them.

axell barely flinched at the first strike, though the sting of her rings biting into his skin sent a slow, burning heat across his cheek. the second blow came just as sharp, and this time, he exhaled something close to a chuckle, low and breathless. the sharp taste of copper bloomed on his tongue, but he made no move to wipe away the faint trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. no, he only looked at her, his smirk edged with something darker.

she had not moved from his lap.

his hands remained firm at her waist, his fingers twitching slightly, restraining the instinct to grip tighter, to remind her that he was still the stronger of the two. of how easily he could take if he chose. but that was not the game between them. no, their game had always been one of push and pull, of power traded like a blade between them, never quite knowing who held the sharpest edge.

instead, he let her move as she pleased, spreading herself over his knee, pressing herself against him with purpose, with intention. his breath hitched, only slightly, and she would hear it, would savor it, would know how easily she could unravel him. and yet, even as she tested the strength of his resolve, it was hers that intrigued him more. the way her nails had gripped on along his collar. with everything he had been through the sharpness of her nails felt like nothing.

her words slithered against his skin like a serpent winding itself around prey. jasper. arron. she spoke of blood and whispers, of names that did not deserve to be spoken in her presence, names he would see erased if she willed it. his jaw clenched as her fingers traced over the red mark on his cheek, as if soothing the wound she had left, as if laying claim to him in a way no other could. no one else would dare mark him and stay with him. it’s what made her different. made her important. she shifted in his lap once more, her hand on the back of his neck. his own gripped her waist tighter, suddenly not caring if he left bruises on his brothers wife.

he tilted his head slightly, his lips grazing the inside of her wrist as he spoke, his voice rough but steady. “you already know my answer.” a pause, deliberate, measured, before he let the full weight of his words settle between them. “you need only ask, and it will be done.” the web have been weaved around him. he was caught in it and he did not care. he had let her weave her web. he wanted it.

a promise. a declaration. a sentence.

he had always been hers, though perhaps never more so than now, with her hands at his throat and her command at his ear.

@amirofmanderlys

the golden light of the westerlands’ great hall reflected off polished armor and gilded tapestries, the air thick with the clamor of celebration. lords and ladies moved like pawns across a chessboard, exchanging pleasantries and thinly veiled insults as they toasted to the lannisters’ newest prince. axell royce stood near the edge of the gathering, his imposing frame casting a long shadow against the opulent walls. his jaw tightened as his gaze fell on a familiar figure among the crowd.

amir manderly.

axell’s lips curled into a smirk, sharp and humorless, as he began weaving through the throng. his boots echoed on the stone floor, the heavy tread purposeful, until he stood behind amir. he waited a moment, long enough to let the other man feel his presence before speaking.

“well, well,” axell began, his gravelly voice cutting through the hum of the hall. “lord amir manderly, enjoying the lannisters’ hospitality, are we?” his tone was laced with mockery, the words almost drowned out by the music and laughter surrounding them. “i wouldn’t have expected to see you here. doesn’t your lot like to gather just all by themselves? i hear that’s true more often than not.”

he stepped closer, his size towering over amir as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough for only the two of them to hear. “though i suppose i should give you credit. it takes a certain... resolve to walk into a den of lions unarmed.” his smirk deepened, his eyes cold. “but then, you’ve always had a peculiar way of choosing your battles, haven’t you?”

axell straightened, lifting a goblet from a passing servant’s tray without breaking eye contact. he raised it slightly in mock salute. “here’s to seeing old friends,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “and the bonds forged in fire.”

amir felt the weight of axell's presence before he even heard the first words. there was something about the way the man moved—slow, deliberate, with an air of suffocating confidence—that always set him on edge. it was the same now, in this glittering hall full of hollow laughter and clinking glasses, where nothing felt real, where every gesture, every word, was a performance. axell's voice sliced through the din of celebration, its rough edge grating against amir's nerves.

he didn’t turn immediately, not wanting to acknowledge the intrusion too soon. the words hung in the air, but amir’s face betrayed nothing. inside, though, he could feel his pulse quicken. axell royce was the kind of man who enjoyed ruffling feathers, and in a setting like this, where everything was a game of politics, amir wasn’t about to let the man see he’d succeeded. his own thoughts were sharp, a quiet war between wearing a mask and giving into the urge to retort.

"you've got a habit of showing up when nobody asked," amir finally said, his voice low but unwavering, not quite turning to face him. he could feel axell’s shadow looming behind him, but he refused to let the taller man loom over him in more ways than one. and when the man turned to look upon him, looking at him up and down as though he were wondering just what exactly he wanted now. he was all too aware of the fact he were not as good with a sword as axell was, nor was he as tall; but he'd et into a bust up rather than stand there and allow someone to talk reckless. "do i look like a drunk woman for you to be bothering me? fuck off my dick."

his gaze remained fixed on the sea of people ahead, but he could feel axell's eyes boring into him, the weight of them, trying to provoke. amir could almost hear the smirk in the man’s voice as it slid past his ear. "i don't care what you're on about right now." he took a moment to let the words sink in, his own false smile fading into something more neutral; this had been going on throughout the war, was it really going to continue after it too? "you get what i'm saying?" he felt the old unease rise again, the flicker of impatience, but he tamped it down quickly. what axell didn’t understand—and what amir wasn’t about to explain—was that he had no need to prove anything to him, or to anyone else in this hall.

axell chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that rumbled low in his chest. the response was expected—amir always bit back, always had something to say, even if it was laced with irritation. that was what made this so fun.

“you wound me, manderly,” axell drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet as he finally took a slow sip. his eyes never left amir, watching, assessing. axell always thought he had always been quick to temper, easy to rile up. “no warm welcome? no gratitude for an old comrade-in-arms? i thought you northern men were supposed to have manners.”

he took a step closer, deliberately crowding amir’s space, smirk still firmly in place. “but i’ll admit, you’re right about one thing. you don’t look like a drunk woman—drunk women usually know how to have a good time.” his smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “you, on the other hand, always look like you’re bracing for someone to kick you in the teeth.” he tilted his head slightly. “is that just your natural state, or did i ruin you that badly?”

axell let the words linger, watching his face for any reaction at all. a slow satisfaction unfurled in his chest. he had spent too many years making sure amir manderly knew exactly where axell believed he stood—beneath him.

at amir’s final words, axell exhaled a short laugh, tipping his goblet slightly in mock salute. “girls?” he echoed, feigning confusion. “i didn’t realize you kept track of my interests. that’s cute.” he leaned in, voice dropping low enough that only amir could hear. “but if you’re worried i’ll be sniffing around someone you care about, you should say it plainly.”

"lord royce." dip of pinned coils is the only formality she gives him. his features may escape her at the moment, but comments on his stature are cemented into the parts of her mind where irritation makes home. amirs descriptions of the man, though negative and exaggerated in his ire, were aligned enough for her to know who had come to interrupt her rouse of social interaction. ​"and it seems you have a habit of singling us out instead of confronting the pack. is there a particular reason for that?" doesnt bother to meet what she assumes to be a smug gaze, not until a goblet of deep red liquid rests between fingertips adorned in sparkling silver rings. only then do the matching set of hues reunite. his are different though. theres something lacking within them, even now as charm snakes its way around his taunting words.

axell’s smirk deepened, a glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he watched her, taking in the way she held herself. proud. guarded. she wanted to keep him at a distance, but that only made him want to push further.

his gaze flickered over the silver rings on her fingers, the way the deep red wine glistened against the candlelight as she raised the goblet to her lips. he could almost hear the others irritation in his mind, the way the manderly lord would seethe if he saw them speaking. that thought alone made this moment all the more enjoyable.

he exhaled a quiet chuckle, rolling his shoulders in a mockery of nonchalance. “cut from the same cloth, are you?” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “then tell me, lady naija, do you carry their burdens as well? their grudges? their tempers?” his voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable, though his words dripped with challenge. “would be a pity in a lady as… beautiful as yourself”

he shifted his stance slightly, as if appraising her anew. “you ask what makes you different.” a pause, deliberate. “simple. you actually interest me.” he let the statement hang for a beat, savoring the reaction it might pull from her before continuing. “your brothers? predictable. men so easy to provoke it’s almost a bore. but you?” he lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it again. “i think there’s more to you than the dutiful sister, the loyal daughter.”

axell leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel more intimate, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “and i like knowing things others don’t.” he let the words settle, watching her carefully, curious to see whether she would deflect or lean into the game. either way, he was already enjoying himself.

When he held the roll out to her, her expression didn’t falter, though her eyes briefly flicked to the courtyard’s periphery. No one seemed close enough to notice. She plucked the roll from his fingers, her movements effortless, almost casual. Rolling it between her fingers, she waited a few beats, long enough to appear unaffected, before raising it to her lips for a quick drag, the faintest curl of smoke exhaled as she turned her head away.

axell chuckled lowly, the sound rough like gravel beneath a boot. “curiosity,” he repeated, taking the roll back from her fingers with an ease that spoke of familiarity like they have done this more times than he could count. “that’s a dangerous thing, cousin.” he took another drag, the ember burning bright for a moment before he exhaled, smoke curling between them like an unspoken challenge. “you should know by now, i don’t give answers easily.”

his dark eyes flicked over her, assessing. there was no doubt she had potential—more than most of the noble ladies who wasted their days gossiping and preening. but potential without direction was a blade left to rust. and axell had never been one to let something useful go dull.

shifting his weight, he glanced around the courtyard before leaning in just slightly, voice dropping lower. “you’re right about one thing. i do keep people guessing.” he flicked ash from the roll, eyes never leaving hers. “but i wouldn’t want you to think i do it without purpose. better to keep them guessing at times i don’t like to be predictable for many reasons”

he straightened then, rolling his shoulders. “so tell me, ginny. have you been entertaining yourself while i’ve been away, or have you been waiting for me to return and make life more interesting?” his smirk deepened handing the roll back over to her.

ravella arryn moved with the deliberate grace of a black panther, a predator, every step echoing softly on the stone floor as she approached axell. her black velvet dress trailed behind her like a shadow, the neckline revealing just enough of her pale skin and the swell of her corset to command attention without needing to ask for it. raven curls that had been on either side of her shoulders seemed to have now slipped behind her ears to tumble down her back.

she had realised as a girl how to wield her beauty like a weapon;how she had persuaded that salesboy to allow her the apple without any coin. how she had gotten his head caved in for looking at her, when she wanted to be looked at. it were sharper than any blade; and axell royce was a man who bled far too easily. “always,” she echoed his words, her voice low, though there was a faint undercurrent of mockery in the way she said it. “such a small word for such boundless devotion. it’s almost poetic.”

she stopped just short of him, standing close enough that he would have to tilt his head to meet her eyes. but she didn’t let him; instead, she leaned in slightly, her hands clasped delicately in front of her, her lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile. “axell,” she said, her tone quiet but piercing. the choice of using his name; no doubt he had thought about her saying his name, in more ways than one. “does your loyalty ever tire? does it ever bend under the weight of what i ask of you?” she tilted her head, studying him as one might study a trapped animal.

there was no softness in her gaze, only the cold calculation of someone who enjoyed twisting the knife just enough to keep things interesting. “especially now...your wife,” she continued, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. “what a curious little mystery her absence is. i hear whispers, of course. people are so fond of them, aren’t they? whispers that blame the winds, the mountains, the forest… or perhaps, something—or someone—much closer to home.” ravella’s fingers traced the edge of the desk beside him, her nails clicking softly against the wood.

she straightened, and her smile disappeared, leaving behind an expression so void of emotion it felt like staring into an abyss. she let the silence stretch between them, taut and heavy, before speaking again. “the truth.” the words hung in the air, stark and simple, yet charged with an unspoken weight that only she could summon. she moved closer still, her dress brushing his knees, her perfume—a dark, heady scent—wrapping around him like a noose. she did not even expand on it.

axell smirked, a sharp, humorless twist of his lips as his gaze flicked to her. “didn’t think you were the kind of woman who needed flowery words or knightly nonsense,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “i’m afraid i’d be terrible at that, anyway. most of those men are all talk and no action.” he didn’t need to elaborate on his willingness to act. she had seen it herself, time and again. wars, battles, mountain men—axell royce never hesitated. never faltered.

“you’ve never asked me to do something i wouldn’t have done on my own,” he continued, his tone quieter but no less intense. “and my loyalty doesn’t waver. not for you.”

the ghost of runestone was a man who enjoyed the indulgences of life. some typical some not so typical. he never found himself reaching for the bottle like so many other soldiers did to try to block out the memories of war. try to pretend like they didnt exsist. to quiet the beast inside of them that thirsted for battle once more or those that were to scared to face it again. that was not axell royce.where others sought peace, he sought destruction. no he indulged in the battles. in the violence. in the chaos. he liked it. he always had.

his other indulgence was pleasure.

pleasure in many forms. the pleasure in defeating a foe in battle. of driving his sword through them, cutting off any future they might have dreamed for themselves. but also pleasure in people. women, men. he didnt care. he never had. he could go just about anywhere and find it. someone selling themselves for a few coins. or a naive barmaid somewhere. a noblewomen who was bored in her marriage. they were easy. but ravella arryn was harder. much harder.

since he was a boy he had watched her, observed her. wished and wanted. they grew older and it seemed like she was destined for her brother. time and time again. they would pull apart and fate would dangle the possibility of her once again in front of him only for it to be taken away. she was married now. it should mean she was forever just a fleeting wish.

so then why did she lean to him? why wear the dresses she did? why brush her hair back from her chest? why brush against his leg? why smile? why do any of this? he could see the moment of hesitation on her face. the thought that crossed her face. he was happy to make the decision for the both of them

like a viper axell reached out for her. the small control he thought he could maintain was one. it reached around her wrist, pulling her down into his lap. he could no longer handle the teasing. his grip was tight around her, not to harm but to convey the depth of his feeling, his obsession. his voice was low, rumbling like distant thunder as he spoke. “the truth? you want it?” he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “fine. but there’s no going back once you have it.” his eyes searched her for what she wanted. what she really wanted from him. or was it to continue to tease him like this. he had said he was a man of action. if he had to prove that again then fine he would.

the rain came down in sheets, a cold curtain that blurred the edges of the world. graham tightened his grip on his sword, his knuckles pale beneath the soaked leather of his gloves. each strike, each parry, felt heavier than it should, not because of the weight of the blade, but because of the weight of the thoughts clawing at him. axell’s face, his smirk, his calm—it was unbearable. infuriating. because somewhere within the features of his younger brother, there was a reflection. as though staring into a devoid, soulless pit of the blackest waters.

"why is it," graham asked flatly, his voice cutting through the rain like a blade. he struck with measured force, his movements sharp and deliberate, though only to find his brother was able to leap from the blow of the sword. "you have dragged our name into suspicion and whispers. again." there came the resounding blow of steel upon steel at his final word, a word which was stressed with emphasis and anger; and despite the clang of steel and the appearance of two knights of the vale seemingly ready to decapitate one another, they walked that thin line perfectly.

for this was how those of runestone had been raised, when they had issue with one another. pick up one's blade, and settle it in the courtyard.

the clash of steel rang out, and graham held the lock of their blades longer than necessary, studying his brother’s face. axell’s calm demeanor was unreadable as always, but to graham, it only confirmed what he’d already begun to suspect. "your wife," graham said, the words heavy with quiet disdain. "gone. vanished without a trace. and yet, you stand here, unaffected. no grief. no urgency. not even the pretense of concern. with that smug look on your damned face." he stepped back, raising his sword into a defensive stance. his gaze didn’t waver, fixed on axell with a cold, judging intensity.

the rain hammered down on the courtyard, turning stone to slick shadow and pooling in shallow rivulets at their feet. axell moved like a predator, his strikes powerful and deliberate, forcing graham to counter with a precision honed over years. graham's skill with the blade was undeniable and so was axell. the sharp clang of steel against steel echoed through the storm, the sound cutting through the sheets of water as if it were a language only they understood. despite the ferocity of their blows, neither pushed too far. they knew each other’s movements too well, a dance rehearsed since childhood—but this time, the stakes felt heavier, like a storm brewing beneath the surface of their sparring.

“dragging our name into whispers?” axell laughed. “it has never left the whispers. it’s always there” axell rolled his eyes. he raised his sword pointing it towards him. “you’re just lucky people tend to focus on what i do rather than what you do. you should be thanking me for taking the heat off of you” he smirked, perhaps just wanting to get a rise out of him.

the ghost of runestone rolled his shoulders as the rain streamed down his face, slicking his hair to his scalp. the sting of graham’s blade against his own vibrated up his arm, but it didn’t bother him. it never had. he smirked, just as his brother had accused, even as his muscles tensed beneath the force of the locked blades.

“and my wife?” he snorted. “let’s not pretend she was anything other than what she was. a convenience. a match made on parchment, i married here because you and ravella wanted me to. said she would be a good match yet she spoke to lords from other kingdoms as if she wasn’t wearing our name. if she ran, good riddance. if she was taken, then let someone else grieve her.” he sneered as he broke the lock between them.

axell lunged, steel crashing against graham’s sword in a calculated strike that forced their blades to lock once again. this time, he leaned in, close enough for his words to only be heard by him. “you think i’m unaffected?” his voice dropped, laced with venom. “maybe because i learned something long before you did. grief is a weakness, graham. and i can’t afford to be weak. would you like me to weep for her like a baby? to fling myself out the fucking moon door?” he laughed. “i am dealing with this my way. if she is out there my men will find her.”

he shoved hard, breaking the lock and stepping back, pointing his blade at graham’s chest. “so ask yourself, brother. what’s really bothering you? is it her disappearance—or….what? you think i did it. say it. come on i know you fucking want to. you think i killed her.”

she studied him carefully. axell royce was a man of contradictions—proud yet dismissive, powerful yet elusive. his presence was intimidating, his broad shoulders and hardened face betraying little of the turmoil that churned inside him. but she could sense it, the simmering rage that seemed to pulse just beneath the surface of his words. he was a dark horse, unpredictable, and mariela knew she would need to tread carefully.

leaning back in her chair, she folded her hands in her lap, her gaze never leaving him. “you speak of her disappearance as if it were an inconvenience,” she said, her voice calm but edged with curiosity. “yet, surely, the fate of your wife must be more than a passing thought. you claim not to have spent much time together, but there are whispers, lord royce. whispers that perhaps the end of your marriage was… less than peaceful.”

she let the words hang in the air, allowing him the space to react. she wasn’t sure if he would rise to the bait, but she was certain that, like all men of his caliber, he would reveal something if only she pushed the right way. "and the lords she spoke to…" mariela's eyes narrowed slightly. "what business did they have with her? was it merely idle conversation, or were there matters of more consequence at hand?"

axell royce’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as mariela spoke. whispers. he despised that word, and he despised it even more coming from her. the mistress of whispers. the title itself grated on him now, though he would never show it. instead, he leaned back in his chair, exuding the calm of a predator lying in wait, though his massive frame dwarfed the delicate furnishings, making his every movement feel deliberate, calculated.

“she was always a bit of trouble. maybe an inconvenience. i didn’t exactly pick her for my wife.” he said bluntly, voice low and gravelly like distant thunder. “you call it a marriage—i call it a contract. and contracts are only worth something if both parties honor them.” his lips twitched in what might have been a smirk, though it lacked any warmth. “if there are whispers, mariela, then i suggest you listen closer. you might hear the truth between the lies. we were not in love but i honored my side of the contract with her. including the parts of keeping her safe, taking her into my family.”

he shifted forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs as he fixed her with a cold, steady stare. “lords always talk. you know this better than anyone. if they spoke to her, i’d wager it wasn’t about anything of consequence. she had no power. no alliances worth noting. just empty charm and a penchant for making herself the center of attention.”

his tone turned darker, the faintest growl slipping through. “if she’s disappeared, then let it be so. i’ve no interest in chasing a ghost. perhaps she ran. perhaps someone took her. does it matter? she’s gone, and the vale has more pressing concerns than the whims of one insignificant woman.” he let out a sigh, the darkness leaving his face as he relaxed back into the chair. "i saw her speaking to many northern lords. i heard talks she was speaking with the manderly lord. the important one."

When she had gotten word of her cousin's arrival in the Eyrie, it had taken little thought to abandon her task at hand and set out to find Axell Royce. Ginny breezed down the halls, the courtyard a clear destination. Her excitement was overpowering to a point where she passed by nobles and servants alike without acknowledging them with so much as a smile.

She was out of breath by the time she sped down the steps to the courtyard, immediately zeroing in on the bustle around some horses. And then, the familiar, tall figure of Axell. "Cousin," she called out, trying to catch her breath. "I was unaware you were arriving today."

axell royce strode through the courtyard, relishing a rare free day from his duties as lord commander. though not fully armored, he still towered over most who passed him, knights included. his presence alone commanded attention, but he gave none in return, barely sparing a glance at the pages and servants bustling to carry his belongings to his chambers.

he had just lit a roll, bringing it lazily to his lips, when his cousin hurried into the courtyard. he stopped walking and he glanced at her, exhaling a plume of smoke. “i wasn’t aware i needed to keep my baby cousin informed of my every move,” he said, his tone cool and flat. to most, his words might have seemed cutting, but the faint twitch of his mouth betrayed the tease beneath them that only few including ginny would recongize.

unbothered by her presence, he took another drag before casually holding the roll out to her, a silent offer and promise of discretion. the gesture was improper, of course—smoking in front of a lady was hardly befitting of a lord—but axell rarely cared for propriety.