𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄

excuse to show their ward his own tent for the next five days — should he choose not to stay with them, words are pronounced sweetly enough to dissuade him from the thought — is ready on the tip of the tongue; proper distance ensured just long enough before solitude and the faint glow of candles welcome them into the greyjoy tent. delighted breath is exhaled, caught by his lips just as they met hers — even after so long (for it certainly had felt like forever, whenever she thought of them apart), she melts against him, dainty hands trailing his chest as if looking for damage imperceptible by glance, until her fingers find root in the curls of his nape. "my love, my heart, my sweet boy," each name is punctuated by a soft kiss, never lingering enough to get but a taste (there will be time for more of that, later); once more, a sigh of bliss escapes in between a giggle. "i am glad to know you have not forgotten all about me," a gentle jest, is all — by now, she is confident to know that an impossibility. "but we musn't linger. what if your father's delegation is to arrive and find us as thus?" grey eyes pull away from hazel ones to glance at the entrance of the tent, a thin eyebrow raising in question. "your cousin has arrived, but your father's ship may have been delayed for a few hours? the king has received a missive from the lord reaper, surely he means to convey his delay." for what else could victarion greyjoy say in a letter to the king? a dismissal of his presence entirely doesn't even cross lynara's mind.

sweet words accompany every kiss she steals ( what could be stolen when it is so freely given? ) and it causes his lips curve into a smile against her own. love has made the kraken grow soft and tender— but only for his she - wolf. fingers drifting down over her waist to keep his wife close, settling on her hips to give a little squeeze at her teasing. ❝ you are not easy to forget, love, ❞ a fact known well, actually. for there was a time when the ironborn was so certain that the feelings lynara stark stirred within him would not be reciprocated. something he need not have worried about in the end; although her lord father was unlikely to ever approve, hence the secrecy of it all. the mention of his own father does not entirely wipe the joy of seeing his wife from his gaze, but it does pull a sigh and somber his features slightly. ❝ if he was to arrive he would have with the rest of the ironborn, ❞ there was little desire to discuss the lord reaper, but she would be unlikely to let it go once she caught on to his foul mood surrounding the subject. ❝ he isn't coming. and i am sure all my father conveyed in his letter was an insult to the king. ❞

LEO SUTER as HARALD SIGURDSSON Vikings: Valhalla (2022-) 1.03 “The Marshes”

the roasted chestnut flies through the air and hazel eyes watch as it misses it's mark to land lamely beside him. his gaze falls back upon the lady of the rills with a look full of mock seriousness, ❝ has your aim always been this shit? ❞ hands held up as they approach to show they mean no harm with their teasing— least she try to chuck a whole handful of chestnuts at him . . . and miss again. the greyjoy's grin matches her own. as much as he will claim barbrey ryswell as an annoyance to anyone who would listen, there has always been an inkling that had circumstances been different the two of them may have very well been as thick as thieves. the words they share now were a testament to that. ❝ oh, i saw and imagine i shall get an earful soon because of it . . . but it was worth it. matthos already has it out for me because of my father; may as well give him an actual reason to detest me personally. and i got to put the pretty prince on his ass to top it off, ❞ arms cross over chest and he nods to the weighted coin purse, ❝ so, how much did you manage to win, hm? ❞

expression graves itself as his wife's voice rises, cutting through the attempted merriment like a whip, reminding him of the magnitude of the situation he so hard tried to forget about, else it would only worsen his day (week). still, royce does not dare to entirely give in to the nerves that unsteady vysena — he did not wish for this to become yet another one of their matches. so, instead of lashing out as he do wished to do, he reaches forward, seeking for her hand with a gentleness only reserved for her and the others he loved. "wife of mine, do you truly believe i am all done in proving myself in this life? i would have to be reborn for that to be the truth." he has never been a wordsmith, but he hopes that what he says can convey the truth. "any fortune earned in this life is on the hands of my king, vysena. i am to forever bear my father's shame — would be worse had matthos not seen some sort of value in me and taken away the bastardy from not only me, but renyse and rayssa. i have spent three years denying him any enjoyment he may have seeing me on the tiltyard; doing it again in such a public setting would do me no favors." he pauses, pressing his lips together, and giving her a gentle tug, hoping she may give in just this once. "would you understand it, please? i would not put myself in harm's way for no light reason. haven't i been good — tried to be good — for you and the children for as long as you have gifted me your affection, my love?"

a sigh escapes as he takes her hand in his own. the years have made him far more talented at curbing her anger; but the fire could not be entirely extinguished. not when a reminder of what drove her had left it's mark upon his face. ❝ if you want me to understand you then be sure to return the favor, dear husband, ❞ a freehand reaches up to cup his cheek, she'll soften just a tad. if it will make him listen. ❝ you have proven yourself to be far more than a name. and i know what the king has done for you and your sisters . . . but is that debt infinite? have you not already done so much for him and continue to do so as you are kept so far from nightsong? it not the king who has built a life with you— that is me. ❞ fingers delicately trace over that scar just under his eye, ❝ i do not wish to see you hurt like this again. we must already spend so much time part; i refuse to lose you in this life for the king's entertainment. is it so terrible to have a wife that loves you and wishes for you to grow old with her? ❞

❝ afraid not, my lady. i have contented myself to being an observer this time. my good sister and husband, however, will be taking part in an event or two, ❞ words offered conversationally. she had taken part in archery herself in the past; back when she was a lady of the hightower. but she cares not to join in now; leave it for those younger to enjoy and show off a bit. ❝ but your first time competing? that ought to be exciting; are you nervous at all? ❞

braxton is given over to his aunt with ease, allowing for his mother to freely throw her hands up in frustration. it was just like renyse too understand what her good sister needed at nay given moment— and now she needed the freedom to express the growing irritation within her. ❝ your brother is a fool! stubborn as an ox and for what? so, he can prove that he can keep up with some young knights? to entertain a king that will likely be too drunk to recall the day? ❞ a huff is promptly accompanied by the lady caron throwing herself upon the cushions that were to make up a living quarters in these tents. it isn't of the most ladylike fashion that she does it, but there is little to hide from the one who has helped her so much over these last few years. joy, sadness, anger— they would not be locked away from her good sister for the sake of appearances. ❝ i . . . we endure every decision he makes, do we not? are you not more upset by this one? after what happened last time? ❞

gaze follows the boy as he walks out — a feeble possible salvation to his father from his mother's temper rested on the shoulders of young bryce caron, but of course the boy would know better (maybe roy and vysena do not have spats in front of the children as they used to, but their offspring are more familiar with their mother and her strengths and flaws than most). still, the father tries to retain his cool; he had swore not to give in to whatever words, gentle or harsh, thrown his way and he must steady his resolve. "if i was insistent on seeing you last, wouldn't you like to be a little nicer to me?" he toys with fate; perhaps if he is to go out of this world today, it would be good to be by his wife's hand rather than a splint of wood in another wrong place (last time, it almost blinded him, lodged just away enough to leave scarring rather than permanent internal damage). roy represses a sigh. "he's old enough to be a page, may as well start with his father. you wouldn't care for the other options, would you? even if steffon would treat the boy well." the possibility of having bryce around the king, despite the patronage of matthos upon the boy's birth, was one forbidden by vysena — and acquitted, gladly this time, by royce.

❝ that is not the point of the matter and you know it, royce! ❞ voice raises; hackles up. she did not come here to discuss her son playing the page. the lady caron will not allow him to dance around the subject at hand, to sway her from the purpose here. he could have died the last time he was in the joust— it was a day she would not soon forget. and the memory rushed to the forefront of her mind the moment she was informed of her husband's intent to take part. ❝ why? why would you put us through this again? your sisters, me, your children? did you consider any of us when you put yourself forward? ❞ the words come in a rush as she steps closer, even when she wants to shove him away. clinging to anger fiercely, least she give too much into fear. ❝ what exactly do you hope to accomplish? you are commander of the city watch, lord of nightsong, and favored by the king— you have nothing to prove to anyone. so, why? ❞

the  smile  plastered  on  her  features  masked  the  utter  disdain  ysabela  had  for  her  companions  .  she  had  been  stuck  in  the  same  group  for  the  past  hour  or  so  that  she  could  no  longer  have  the  patience  to  stick  around  longer  .  her  cheeks  were  beginning  to  hurt  and  she  badly  needed  a  refill  of  her  drink  .  the  lady  of  gulltown  excused  herself  when  she  saw  vysena  close  by  ,  sighing  a  breath  of  relief  as  she  approached  .  "  you  came  just  in  time  ,  "  ysabela  mumbled  .  "  if  i  hear  another  person  complaining  about  the  mud  on  their  hems  ,  i  shooting  myself  in  the  foot  .  "

she would share the same breath of relief as the lady grafton. she had grown quite bored of keeping up appearances and feigning interest as lords droned on and on about the most menial of things— until her dark gaze landed upon an old friend. excuses were made and the post was abandoned to meet with ysabela. ❝ and if one more lord seeks to get into my good graces in attempt to get into that of my husband's, i will be joining you. him becoming commander of the city watch is one of the worst things that has ever happened to me, ❞ she offers in a huff, ❝ but never mind the fools we must put up with. tell me of you and how you have fared? it has been too long since we've last seen one another. ❞

❝ ringleader? ❞ while the statement is absolutely true, the greyjoy lacks any shame and pretends to be affronted by the words of the eldest of lord rickard's children, ❝ i am the one clearly under attack by a pack of wolves! ❞ the teasing comes as the wolves in question run about him, only stopping when the young kraken scoops one of them up to sling them over his shoulder. laughter fills the air as he approaches their lord father with the little starklings in tow. ❝ they went and found their uncle, didn't they? don't think that counts as disappearing— right, lads? ❞ he shoots a grin towards ned with that, setting the younger stark back on the ground to join his brother, ❝ they're in the home of your lady mother's family, brother. what trouble do you really think they can get up to here? ❞