ceryse  approached  the  church  ...  for  what  seemed  like  the  first  time  in  a  while.  she  had  knew  that  she  would  return  eventually  but  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time.  her  faith  had  only  faltered  once  before  this  and  that  was  when  they  lost  orland.  now,  ceryse  believed  that  perhaps  she  just  needed  that  time  away  to  refocus  it. she  noticed  a  familiar  face  outside  as  she  approached  the  building,  her  smile  brightened.  "leige  jocelyn."  she  said,  approaching  them. the  hightower  lowered  herself  to  a  slight  bow  before  she  approached  any  further.  "how  are  you  faring?"  she  asked  them.  "would  you..."  she  paused  for  a  moment.  "would  you  care  to  join  me  for  service?"  ceryse  asked  politely.  "i  think  there  will  be  a  small  crowd  this  morning  if  you  are  worried  about  the  amount  of  people."  she  explained. she  hoped  jocelyn  would  join  her,  the  thought  of  them  seeking  solace  and  aid  in  the  church  made  ceryse  quite  emotional.  the  church  was  many  things  to  a  lot  of  people  and  if  jocelyn  needed  something,  she  was  sure  the  church  and  the  gods  could  provide  it. "i  apologize  for  overstepping  but  ...  are  you  alright?"  she  asked  them  softly.

the old gods were not listening to them ─ or perhaps it was jocelyn that could not hear the words whispered on the leaves, carried by the wings of the birds that nested in the godswood. the red keep had no proper connection to the gods, that had been the excuse used but jocelyn could no longer pretend that it was enough to curb the loneliness that they felt whenever they looked upon their sisters. it was their own defect ─ what sister felt such jealousy unprovoked ? what monster felt, not only relief that they still drew breath but suspicion over the reasons why they had been found together in the first place ? envy that they remained unharmed, as though pain was something all three should share together ? ( they should. jocelyn would have burned for them. ) the great sept was awash with golden sunlight that reflected off the stained glass and they had to squint as they approached ─ from within, a soft choir of voices rose in prayer and jocelyn tried to be moved by the sound, but found nothing in their heart, only a soft voice approaching that gave them a moment's pause. ❝ ... lady ceryse. ❞ hightower. jocelyn could not find the strength to muster the same amount of disgust at the thought. ❝ i am unharmed. ❞ their tone implied that this was something that they ought to be grateful for but the way they tucked their bruised knuckles behind their skirts indicated that they had been anything but. ❝ ... i ... i don't know. um ... my father never really bothered with this ... ❞ a hand waved towards the sept. ❝ and my mother is from the north. so i don't ... i don't remember all the proper words. it has been a while. ❞

She had returned to the Keep and busied herself at once, rather than dwell upon such matters. Weeks of foul weather and tenuous peace would break at once with the tourney... and Helvis had always appreciated what such celebration could do for sentiment. She was instructing a servant to fetch silks in black and gold and prepare pennants, to be handed as favours or flung from banners alike, when Jocelyn found her. She smiled and took a grape from their palm. "I have broken fast, yes," she said, though she had regretted the same after the execution. She sighed, waving the serving girl away, instructions given. "It is a relief, to know the perpetrator of such a terrible act caught. I know she will face the Father's justice in the heavens." That offered better comfort than anything Alester Westerling could do. "I hope you have eaten as well. I did not see you earlier. The tourney promises to bring a busy day. I believe you intend to enter?"

anyone who has had the honor of being hosted by the stormlords was well aware that jocelyn could be very protective of what was on their plate ─ the way a wild animal could be, when confronted with an opponent seeking to steal their catch. it seemed only natural that they would react in such a manner as the youngest of three children with a household of servants ( and their children, too, constantly underfoot and grubby - handed ) and dogs beneath the tables. as a noble, jocelyn would never be left to go without anything, so most of their squabbling had been done out of a desire to be seen and heard ( even if sharp reprimands had made them cry, ever the sensitive child ). that they were sharing their humble catch signified an attempt at fostering a bond, one that, when it was reciprocated by accepting their offer, prompted a wide smile, a flash of teeth so white and so quick as they walked in - step with their stepmother. perhaps, in time, jocelyn might feel comfortable enough to slip their arm within the crook of the lady helvis' elbow as they wished but for the moment, they contented themselves with matching her step, slowing their stride in the process. ❝ ... if the father dispenses justice, then what does the smith do ? ❞ a branch away from the topic, their head turned to frown at their stepmother. why did the gods need specific honors ? could the gods not just do it all ? the seven seemed like weak gods. ❝ i slept in ... this is my breakfast. ❞ they held out the handful of grapes. ❝ i do not think i would have been able to keep my food down if i had eaten before ... killing a person is not the same as killing an animal. ❞ their brow furrowed ─ the lady helvis did not seem the type to enjoy such topics. ( shut up, jocelyn ! ) they shook their head, dispelling the thought. ❝ yes ! it is why i am here. i do not think i will be participating in the joust but my lady stepmother ... ❞ jocelyn made a grabbing motion with their hand. ❝ may i bear your favor ? i thought of asking syrenna or myrcella but ... they seem more likely to have noblemen vying for their attention. ❞ they blinked, glancing up at helvis. ❝ not that i do not believe you capable of turning heads and hearts ! which is why i am here. asking. now. ❞ ( the others gut them. )

the confidence that they had once believed to be acquired over time and with experience now seemed more like the flamboyant stride of a nobleman ─ the veil of anonymity had been pulled away from their eyes and annoyance colored their perception of him now. ( unfairly so, they could admit to that, but jocelyn was not one who held grudges for long, especially since they, too, had assumed a pretence upon first encounter. ) even more irritating was the wobble of their mouth as jocelyn tried and failed to withhold a growing smile, mouth pinched together until it resembled an expression of someone who had sucked on a particularly sharp dornish lemon. ❝ maybe because i thought you died, cocksucker. ❞ the dull ache of disappointment when he failed to show on their last agreed week, years prior, had almost been forgotten, so their indignation was more put upon than genuine. relief was a more compelling sentiment, though one would not be able to tell as much from the way their face contorted, disgusted at his words. ❝ ... should you be participating in the tournament at all ? clearly, someone has already bludgeoned you over the head if you're speaking such horse shit. ❞ an elbow reached out, purposefully aiming for his ribs, as though to punish him for stirring such memories. ❝ i'm glad you're not dead. if i hadn't said it before. ❞

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.

Then she had been told it was poison. Such a simple, base thing; not divine reproof at all, but a simple violation of the laws of hospitality, as mortal and violable as they came.

It did not change her dreams, nor the woolly confusion she woke with. She stared blankly at the ceiling for a long moment, hand landing on the head pressed to her side. She had not felt it moments ago, though she had been convinced she could see, hear, feel, just as she would as if awake. "Lynn... Alynne?" she asked blindly. When had her daughter had been sent for? How long had it been, that she had arrived? Had her condition deteriorated so?

Then her vision resolved, and her mind, with a few moments of wakefulness, clarified: it was Jocelyn who sat at her bedside, rising to offer water. "Jocelyn," she corrected, glancing over their own weary face, less rested than it ought to be. Had someone else fallen ill? Or had the Red Keep been stretched so thin, so as to place them at her bedside rather than a servant or nursemaid? They ought not to have been thus disturbed.

She cleared her throat.  "Water, yes, thank you," One hand went to the hollow, where sweat had pooled and left her skin scratchy. "Do I? I barely feel it. How much time has passed?" Her sleep had been shallow, restless; wakefulness did not come, but neither did the comfort of total unconsciousness. She could not say how long Jocelyn had been in the room, despite her sense, while asleep, that she felt each second's passage.

lynn. their brow furrowed at the familiarity of it and then cleared at the clarification, gaze dropping slightly. naturally, a mother sought out her own children during such times. ( had their mother searched for them in her last moments ? jocelyn could not say, having hidden themselves away from the stench of sickness and death. perhaps that was why they remained beside helvis now, seeking absolution for past neglect. ) ❝ yes, it is me. ❞ a poor substitute for alynne connington or even one of the other baratheon triplets, but present nonetheless, fingers lifting the cup of water to the lady helvis' mouth, careful not to spill or pour too much at a time. ❝ about a week since the festivities ... ❞ their brow furrowed. ❝ a day or two more, perhaps. time is strange here. ❞ they did not mean to say that, always careful not to speak too much for fear of revealing themselves to be odd ( odder ) to their stepmother. ❝ do you remember them administering the ... eh, cure ? ❞ was it a cure ? ❝ to you ? that was a day ago, i think. ❞ time was strange here, or perhaps it was the blend of incense and herbs meant to block the stench and the illness that muddled the head so. ❝ um. should ... i mean to say, no word was sent to your children. i don't think any of us wanted to be the bearer of ill news but ... i could get a letter to them in griffin's roost. ❞ since the worst seems to be over, though even jocelyn knew not to say that for fear of inviting misfortune.

there   was   once   a   time   when   they   were   marked   to   be   wed.   now,   looking   back,   steffon   could   not   believe   anybody   with   sane   mind   had   made   such   a   decision.   they   knew   that   their   little   escapade   had   done   the   two   of   them   a   world   of   good.   a   shattered   betrothal,   on   paper,   was   something   heinous,   but   those   which   such   understandings   did   not   know   jocelyn   and   steffon   like   each other   did.   from   the   rubble   of   an   abandoned   marriage   a   friendship   had   been   constructed   ;   it   was   why   his   mossy   eyes   illuminated   at   the   sound   of   her   crass   language   and   quick   tongue.   “my   lady   wife,”   before   it   would   have   been   paired   with   a   giggle,   but   the   young   arryn   found   it   difficult   to   feign   happiness.   qian   was   poisoned.   the   feast   had   descended   into   chaos.   all   they   had   wanted   since   the   beginning   was   to   leave,   and   now   it   seemed   impossible   to   stray   from   the   pale   red   prison. 

to be in possession of a broken betrothal was often a stain on the name of any individual seeking to advance themselves or their house through marriage but for jocelyn, who had first begun to notice the subtle withdrawal of names on their dance card when steffon was found to be alive and well after having fled the idea of marriage to them ( though they were certain that was not the only reason he had ran ), it was something of a boon. while it marked them as a problem, it also allowed them more freedom and a future where they may be able to remain in the stormlands, making a home in the hunting lodges of the rainwood. perhaps their renewed friendship was odd to some, but jocelyn only felt a measure of gratitude towards steffon, which in turn made them protective of him, even if words of consolation were hard to find. ❝ i have you to thank for that ... there is little need for decorum if there is no one to impress. ❞ and their sometimes abrasive temperament had been a point of bonding with their father, later on in life. ❝ my mo --- yes. the lady helvis. she will be well, she is strong. ❞ their brow furrowed. while they had sometimes thought of the lady as their mother in the privacy of their thoughts, it was still strange to hear her being referred to as such. ❝ i will pray that they both receive comfort for their pains. ❞ that seemed right to say, until they remembered that the arryns followed the seven ─ quite publicly, in fact, with their aunt being high septa. ❝ do you think we will be allowed to return soon ? they surely cannot mean to persist with the kingsmoot nonsense now. ❞

"This is no true godswood," commented Balon, laying his hand upon the grainy carven face peering at him from the oak.

It was true that the southron regions of Westeros were sadly lacking in weirwoods -- a last, defiant gift of the Andals -- but somehow the replacement struck him as more crude than the chopped-down stubs which littered other, older castles. The Targaryens were, in many respects, a baffling people to Balon, but no more so were their religious exploits. Oh, their conversion to the Faith of the Seven was not difficult to comprehend -- Maegor's reign had made the reasons for that decision plain enough -- but small moments defied obvious reasons. Choices such as this.

Dragons or no, that their fiery reign had been a relatively short one in the history of Westeros struck Balon as efficacious enough. They'd never been meant to be anything more than petty lords of Dragonstone. Even in Valyria, the maesters had it, they had been but one of the lesser Houses, made great only by the eradication of all other dragonlords. Yet, the condition of his own home of Harrenhal stood in molten testament that, however pitiful their might by comparison to others of their kind, the power of the dragon was still no small thing. It had brought nearly all of Westeros to its knees, one way or another. Yet, that choice was as baffling to Balon as the existence of this pathetic godswood. Common men, he was told, were not to know the mind of the dragon, but they were not dragons. They were men, women, people as common as all others.

No, it was no true godswood -- but, then, they were no true kings, no more than the House of Hoare they had immolated upon the pyre of Harrenhal. Would a true king be elected here, he wondered, or would the realm crack, splitting into its ancestral settlements? For himself, he hardly knew which outcome to prefer.

Eyes turning towards his companion, he smiled softly. "But perhaps you disagree? Can there be a godswood without a weirwood, or is it all a sham?"

they had come seeking guidance. the sept had offered little in the way of instruction or comfort ─ the incense had burned at their eyes and the quiet, droning chants of the septons were only made worst by the constant rush of feet as septas were called out of prayer to attend to the sick. jocelyn could not say why they had tried the sept. perhaps because it was the faith of their stepmother, who had accepted the peculiarities of her stepchildren with a stiff chin, or perhaps it was because they knew they would not find the old gods in the red keep's pitiful excuse for a godswood. the fragrant air ( their nose twitched, picking up lavender and not tree sap, frowning at the wrongness of it all ) stirred with life and for a moment, jocelyn paused. was it ... ? a voice broke their foolish hope ─ it was not the gods but a man. ❝ it is not. ❞ they came to stand before the carved oak, brow furrowing. a hand reached out, finger poking at the face etched into the wood. it felt wrong, not because there were no gods here but because something seemed to be watching, prickling at the back of their neck. jocelyn shook their head slightly, turning their attention to the other. ( odd. ) ❝ ... maybe. i ... i don't know about the gods. ❞ if they were real, they had spared no thought for jocelyn. ❝ but i do know that the weirwood trees in the rainwood grow larger than this. you can smell the sap, sweet and sticky, for miles and see the red bleed of it when you get closer. ❞