#( flashback thread )

Lucius Rivers had donned a plain brown leather mask. No adornments at all. Nothing in his garb quite matched the splendor around him. He moved about the crowd with purpose. The game of unmasking and taking coin was rather simple, a sort of hunt. He picked a target, he moved with certainty, and collected. The Bastard of Raventree Hall had already claimed several masks and coin, all of it without much ceremony. Each encounter had been brief, certain, and as soon as he completed the task, he aimed for the next target.

He coursed through the river of people, searching. His steps slowed, nearly coming to a stop. The lady stood unmasked, laughing softly in the company of a lord who still concealed his identity. He did pay attention, and noticed the young man at her side didn't behave with the closeness or familiarity of a spouse, and neither did he regard her as someone who was attempting to court her tonight. Good. There was so much movement and sound around, some form of delightful chaos, and yet the lady without a mask stood there happily, and so at ease. She wasn't part of this hunt. In fact, she appeared unbothered and untouched by it. She seemed a little out of place, really. Not because she did not fit in, but because she stood out.

For a little while, he continued to walk slowly, without a clear direction. He looked around, fishing for something or someone else to call to him to continue the task. There was a sea of people still wearing masks around him, so many targets to choose from. His attention returned to the brunette lady in time to see her begin to part ways from her companion.

The Coiméide na masc had been quite an experience. It was fortuitous that Calla had been selected to don a mask and play a role, given her natural inclination toward boldness and lack of shame. Her Áine character had been far more theatrical than anything she usually did, and she had far too much fun leaning into her whimsical, capricious tendencies for the sake of the play. And of course, it was quite refreshing to see the other lords and ladies at her side also set aside any courtly rigidity and become someone during the performance.

As she walked off the stage and removed the Áine mask, with its perpetually dramatized features, the redheaded lady spotted the familiar face of Lady Bracken, who was clapping with unveiled merriment. Calla greeted her with a nod and a smile before returning the mask to the troupe of performers who arranged everything for the show. The Lefford lady had enjoyed the Riverlander's company when their paths had crossed in the past, and so she made her way towards her with two cups of wine she'd picked up from a passing servant. “Well, I can't recall the last time I had that much fun, Lady Bracken. I hope the performance was up to the standards of the Riverlands,” she said as she offered one of the drinks to Brianna. “Your people certainly know how to celebrate and have fun,” Calla added with a grin before taking a sip of her wine.

“My gods, you two are slow,” Sarra said with a playful groan as her brothers finally crossed the gates into the stables. The Karstark siblings had agreed the day prior to meet at daybreak so they could go for a hunt in the early morning. The lady had prepared her hunting gear, her crossbow, and even had her horse saddled and ready to go. “I ought to have left without you,” she teased Bran and Aleks, clicking her tongue as she shook her head in disapproval.

Some of Calla had been dreading returning to the Reach, even if she would never admit such a fear out loud. The lady felt such anxiety over attending such a grand, social event, aware that plenty of people would look down on her as nothing more than whore who once donned the title of Lady of Oldtown and was reduced to the walking embodiment of the shame that befell her house. The side of her that was impossibly proud, however, wished to march through the halls of the great castle of the Tyrells with her head held high, to appear untouched by the events of the last year, to walk with determination and poise and let them all know they didn't get to her. It was the lie she told herself to make it true in the end.

Nora and Ceri had remained by her side during most of the event, the unspoken solidarity between the Lefford sisters the greatest shield Calla could hope for. At some point in the night, however, requests to dance had been made, and the redheaded lady offered them reassuring smiles, encouraging her sisters to enjoy themselves.

The lady was left on her own. She didn't wish to be alone, lest she began to quietly feed her anxious thoughts and break the strong mirage she'd managed to maintain thus far. She spotted Aslan then, sitting alone, and so she went over to join him. Harrold Lefford had appreciated the Marbrand boys since Calla could remember, old friends to the family. Aslan had remained a closer presence in her life, especially once he began to court her dear friend, Rabia Payne, and later made her his lady wife. Another unfair play by the gods, who made a cruel habit of ripping away the very best of people from those who loved them most.

“Look at that charming smile,” Calla stated with playful sarcasm, as Aslan appeared more taciturn than she'd seen people look at funerals. “I'm glad to see someone else is enjoying this as much as I am,” she stated with a scoff, taking a seat next to the Marbrand lord. A little sigh left her lips and looked at Aslan. She didn't say it —she didn't need to. Calla simply needed someone she knew to be in her corner.

Rhea knocked on her friend's door and ended up walking inside before he even responded. “Ah, good. You have your clothes on,” the young lady teased. It was a bit of a gamble always, wasn't it? Whether someone would be in his chambers, or Cedric's, or Garland's. The young men of the Reach had a penchant for flowers of a certain kind —and deflowering them.

“What are you painting?” Rhea asked as she plopped down on the couch and grabbed a pillow, comfortably hugging it to her chest. She was a bit uneasy about a conversation she'd had with her mother earlier —albeit doing her best to hide how it got to her nerves—, and the Florent lady usually sought her friend or her cousins after such occurrences.

Golden Tooth was home, and as such no other place could ever compare to it in Calla Lefford’s eyes. Not even Casterly Rock or the Crag, places she visited often due to family ties or deep bonds of friendship were a close second; only Fair Isle did. There was a rare sort of beauty in travelling to an island, away from everything else, a small and unique space wrapped in ocean waves and sea salt breeze. Going for strolls on her own down the cracked rock to the sandy beach brought out a rare feeling in the young redheaded lady, a sort of inner wildness and unspoiled freedom her restless heart craved and could scarcely find at home.

Calla wore a pair of breeches and a simple blouse —gods be good so her mother wouldn’t see her returning to the castle later in the day in such an attire. A dress wasn’t fit for the steep walk down the beach, though, and she wasn’t to subject herself to an uncomfortable walk just for propriety’s sake. The lady hummed a tune as she walked and by the time sand replaced stone, she removed her boots and carried them in her hand by their laces instead. “Arron,” she said, the smile even present in her voice as she spotted the all too familiar figure of the Farman lord. They had quite the knack for finding each other, even without planning it. “Up for an excursion too, I see”.

location: book & pencil flashback to: fifteen years ago

It had been mentioned to her that she could employ someone doing community service for Zamok to help with the landscaping at the front of the store. Since it was still new and she had poured a lot of her money into the shop so she decided to take advantage of the extra help for a much smaller cost. That morning, she opened the store early and only a few hours later, she was met with a few men outside, unloading their tools to start work. Stepping outside, she spoke to the guard in charge and he gave her a brief run down of what would happen.

In the end, the guard wasn't very helpful about the work and he pointed her towards one of the prisoners with shaggy bleached hair instead. “Hello,” she greeted, smiling as they glanced up. “I'm Esme, I've been told I should talk to you about what's going to happen today.”

The moment she got off the ship, a group of guards in the service of the crown appeared with the warrant for her arrest. Treason and conspiracy. A similar warrant was issued for her mother, but Yara Farwynd wasn’t on the ship with her. Shackles were placed around her wrists and despite the lady’s protests, despite her pleading to speak to the king, to the prince or the princess, her requests were denied. “It’s the king who issued the warrant,” one of the guards hissed, looking at her like she was the worst of the world’s vermin. Alaric was her family... how could he throw such charges against her so easily? To appease the lion king, she thought bitterly. If there were such suspicions that someone from Alaric’s court partook in the plotting for the Sack of Lannisport, the King of Thorns could wipe his hands clean and appear just if he took action. And so he did. And so she was thrown in prison.

There were no visitors until the third day, and by that point, Rhea didn’t believe anyone would come to see her at all. Had her friends and family forsaken her so easily? Gods, did they believe the lies attached to her name? She was hungry, thirsty, and sleep-deprived; and when the wooden door creaked open, she didn’t expect to see a familiar face. But there they were, those familiar eyes looking at her. Or perhaps they only appeared so because she wished so desperately to hold on to a fine thread of hope that she wasn’t going to be left to rot here.