#feveredblurs

during the princesses’ stay, princess merianne had seemed like a lovely enough choice in the beginning. she had plenty of ideas of how to keep the gentry happy with tourneys and festivals ( one of alys’s least favorite parts of being a monarch ). yet soon alys discovered that was where the princess’s care began and ended, with her treatment of her maids an education in where her priorities truly lied. 

and then there were two. after much deliberation, it was decided that before the next harvest festival, queen alys would wed princess natalie, or lady talia. many of alys’s councilmen strongly advised her against the latter, believing the marriage would dishonor the vow the greystarks took to rid the vale of the velaryon’s tyranny. inviting talia and her family to live at the capital would be like welcoming a scorpion to bed, and the council was adamant that the queen would be stung. 

yet after meeting talia in the grove and laughing over cats and dragons, alys couldn’t imagine the velaryon heir ever being so duplicitous. she had refreshing air about her, as if someone had gathered the grasslands of the reach itself into one person so bright and sincere. 

unfortunately, there wasn’t much opportunity to form a greater opinion of lady talia throughout the rest of ceremonies. although alys attempted to speak with her a few times, talia would give a quiet answer -- nothing like her smiles and quips from the grove. then a princess would cut in and the conversation would be truly lost, and alys was left wondering if something had happened . . . or if she had displeased talia in some way. 

this did nothing to help alys’s considerations for her bride. she liked both talia and natalie well enough, the pair of them sweet and seemingly curious about drualt and beryl. but with the council continuing to demand action be taken to quell the velaryons’ supposed revolt, alys couldn’t help but think of the bloodshed she wanted desperately to avoid. she insists on meeting with talia and natalie one last time in their homelands, hoping these additional days would also grant her the hours needed to form a proper plan. 

the riverlands are as charming as the legends claimed, opulent in culture with its kingdom of merchants. alys and her retinue had never experienced such rich art and cuisine before, the feast alone putting king aleksander’s pageantry to shame. a new carriage had to be added to their cavalcade as a result, the wagon stuffed with souvenirs purchased by the queen and her maids and stewards. after a brief sojourn home where alys gifted riverlands spices to the cooks and seeds to the groundskeepers as they requested, they finally traveled on to the reach. 

a stretch of wild land far different from the cities of the riverlands, the reach reminds alys of her bygone days of childhood, how she used to seek out such slivers of freedom in the countryside. the moment she steps out of the carriage with her servants, the bracing winds greet them, one of the maids crying out as her veil nearly flutters off her head. though alys misses her dragons dearly -- kept home in respect to the velaryons -- she can feel the sun of her face plenty strong still, no need to take to the skies. 

it seems she had grossly overestimated how long it would take to journey to the reach without drualt and beryl, however, the only velaryon to greet them being talia’s younger sister osha. she graciously directs alys to where she could find talia, reassuring the puzzled queen that she’d help her maids settle in while she and talia could speak at leisure. although slightly dazed by the reception, alys thanks osha and heads out to the grazing fields. 

admittedly, she had been looking forward to seeing some of the animals of the reach. traveling by carriage, she had been unfortunately unable to spy any of the sheep before. but as alys wanders further and further from the velaryons’ estate, she can see a whole flock of them, spread out amongst the grass like little clouds sent to kiss the earth. 

from the distance, she had almost failed to notice talia, her white hair blending in with the small sheep family. but as alys approaches, the land evens out, the velaryon heir standing far apart from the herd. surprisingly ( or perhaps unsurprisingly ) she’s much more informally dressed than how alys had first seen her in the capital, here garbed appropriately for herding. she’s no less beautiful, however, the pastoral only seeming to compliment her further as the sun cast her free hair in white flames.

yet his act of heart and courage wasn’t an easy one. yerin soon discovered a baby was a great change for him to take on in his life, and she decided to quietly lend a hand, or wing. this began at first with her attempting to alleviate some of his household tasks -- cleaning, laundry . . . help with his inventions -- only for yerin to be caught redhanded when tony grew suspicious. although contact with humans was strongly frowned upon ( or forbidden ), yerin couldn’t help but be relieved when she could finally speak to him face-to-face. she was glad to tell him how much she admired his devotion, and -- it made it much easier for her to help, when she didn’t have to rely on guessing.

after weeks have flown by now, seeing tony and the baby has become yerin’s new favorite part of visiting the mainland. she’s cheery as she flies to the familiar dwelling, spying the telltale smoke from their chimney; there always seems to be something under way in the stark household. but as a tinker fairy, yerin could understand the love of being busy. 

she finds the duo in the workshop of the home, the two seemingly more relaxed than last week. as time ticks on, yerin does feel that tony’s starting to ease more into fatherhood -- although it certainly can’t be easy with the little one coming into his life so unexpectedly. regardless, the baby’s already immensely attached to him; even now with a bunch of pretty toys in her crib, she looks only at tony, cooing and gurgling as she kicks her legs. yerin’s greetings are full of laughs afterwards as she gives a tiny peck on the cheek to both friends, always delighted to be in such a cozy space. 

me: *plans to do stuff on here, but keeps getting distracted or tired*

also me: *spends several hours on the phone with Sofia instead*

surely it must be a tale of romance.

for the following days, alys was subjected to her ladies’ constant fantasizing about the king and his bride, imagining some fairytale of choosing love over duty. though it was a constant theme in their novels passed around at tea, it was rare for the ladies to experience a living and breathing example; alys could not fault them for their excitement. she did have to disappoint them in failing to attend the wedding, however. with issues in the north over pests attacking the crops and villages going hungry, alys could not push her work aside to celebrate aleksander and naya’s union -- no matter how idyllic the story. 

the outcry in the palace was immeasurable after, maids and noblewomen equally disheartened that alys would not visit drachma and inform them all about the king and his blushing bride. her head maids were particularly disappointed to miss out on the opportunity of travel, wanting to explore the exalted drachma. after provisions from the stormlands had been secured to aid the north, alys finally agreed to attend naya’s coronation ( mostly to quell the complaints ). her retinue set forth early to arrive in drachma on time, with alys delaying her departure as she continued to arrange assistance for the north. thankfully, she and beryl could take flight the morning of the reception without any concerns of arriving late.

the feast before the princess’s coronation was a lavish one with intricately carved fruits and boar’s head and cockentrice. though the king’s sister was regrettably absent due to a light fever, aleksander’s mood was nonetheless merry, toasting his bride and amazing the nobles as he carefully cut into a pie that let loose live doves in honor of their matrimony. alys presented the king and princess with a gift in the classic greystark tradition: a golden dragon egg. this one had been specially commissioned for a tale of such romance, the egg smothered in red enamel roses studded across a gold trellis covered in emerald vines. a tug on the lid would open it like a music box, revealing two intertwined pearl roses inside with the king and future queen’s initials. 

king aleksander thanked alys generously, bestowing compliment upon compliment and occasionally speaking over his young wife. though alys smiled in return, she couldn’t help but notice princess naya appeared much less starry-eyed and exuberant as the rumors would portray her. she was beautiful to be sure -- enough to balk a poet should he attempt to describe even the gentle dusk of her eyes. yet she did not look like some heroine of fantasy on the cusp of every dream coming true; if alys peered closer, she looked like juliet awakening alone in the tomb. 

such matters were not alys’s business, however. she left the king and princess to welcome the others, enduring the rest of the night in patience, only wishing to return home. after the feast, aleksander invited everyone to the vast terrace outside, and to alys’s horror, there was a fanfare of fireworks. a century before alys was born, explosives had been the mode of combat used against the greystarks ( even when they were protecting the velaryons ). though ordinary explosives could do little against a dragon, the army of the eyrie had concocted some purple poison that could melt even dragon flesh. while beryl had survived the war of the era, her brother had not.

as the other guests ooh and awe, alys excuses herself to find her dragon, fearing her reaction to seeing colors of fire rain from the sky. she’s relieved to discover beryl’s still in the courtyard and that she hadn’t flown off, yet -- she’s completely distressed, pacing and giving raspy yowls. upon seeing alys calm and unharmed, however, beryl lets out a smoky sigh, and the queen’s quick to tend to her with a soothing touch. she realizes in beryl’s desolation she had somehow injured herself, a gash at her back leg. alys couldn’t discern what could have caused it; had she flown away and come back . . . .? thankfully it isn’t deep, but she still sends for a maid to bring her medical supplies, alys rolling up her sleeves in the meanwhile. 

she had just sat down to begin cleaning the wound when beryl gives a little rumble, indicating a stranger. alys looks up to find princess naya herself in the courtyard, seemingly perturbed. hopefully alys had not offended the soon-queen with her early departure from the party. 

❝ princess naya, ❞ alys greets with a mere nod; no matter if she’s in another kingdom, she’s still queen. ❝ i apologize for stepping away from the celebration so early, ❞ she begins, rising from the stool the maid had brought her to address the princess properly. ❝ i’m afraid we aren’t accustomed to fireworks in the capital, ❞ alys gives a small, apologetic smile. instead the greystarks had their own tradition of floating lanterns, the paper made to look like dragons and the torches lit by drualt and beryl themselves. 

unfortunately, being the daughter of wyatt higgins, willa can’t easily purchase something so scandalous. sometimes she feels like all eyes are on her whenever she’s out and about in town -- though perhaps it can only be expected, with the herald often detailing so much about everyone else. while she knows she could count on jamie or mia to help her purchase the book in secret . . .  she’d never want to implicate her cousins, either. 

it’s only today when sweet old agnes is at the register that willa is confident she can acquire the book without much trouble. agnes never takes much note of anything besides her grandchildren and her cats ( both very well-fed ). but when willa finally arrives at the shop with her purse at the ready . . . bolte and key is nowhere to be found. she searches the shelves endlessly, seeking that leather maroon cover . . . yet it’s to no avail. it’s gone. someone else must have purchased it earlier ( she couldn’t risk asking agnes about it ). willa ends up buying a lone notebook for lexi instead, but it feels much less exciting than a tale of a cursed echo stuck in a well. her walk home is much less spirited, willa returning solemnly to the parlor to sort her father’s mail. 

it’s a surprise when the bell rings twenty minutes later, the higgins having expected no visitors today. willa wonders if mia baked something new to share -- that thought alone soothing some of her earlier disappointment. yet the idea doesn’t comfort her as much as the face that actually greets her when she opens the door.

yet after eons of creation, she feels her own inspiration finally beginning to run dry.

within her realm, only jessamy and gideon have heard nari’s worries, words often disguised as cheeky complaints rather than the actual unease she feels. yet even then the queen of the dreaming keeps her fears close to the vest, not wanting her friends to know too much. after all, her slipping failures aren’t the responsibility of her raven or her librarian to bear. it’s better to brood alone in the quiet.

as she weaves new dreams on the shore now, nari reaches inside herself and attempts to spark her creativity, desperate for any whisper of a flame. what if this period of stagnation never ends? those who come to the dreaming deserve better. her people deserve better. 

a large stone begins to decay before her, crumbling into a winged creature scarcely different from a dream nari had made decades ago. but even if she feels lost, she has to keep going. it’s then that nari suddenly hears someone shift behind her, the footsteps sounding nothing like gideon’s assured stride before coming to inform her of something important. she turns, only to find one of the muses of all people -- diana, muse of poetry. though she knows well enough about the muses from the years ( and her pedantic librarian ), she had only ever crossed paths with erin, the muse of history.

but he’s busy. he’s poring over a dozen plans that are each only half-finished -- scrambling to come up with the next best move to ransom the prince and restore their kingdom’s wealth. because his sister had just proved her worth and right to the throne, he must prove his, too. so instead of thanking nari for her blood and sweat, namjin dismissively sends her to go weave baskets with the women. 

having suffered enough slights for the day, nari ignores her brother’s bidding and heads for the captive’s tent. no one has been looking after the prince since their arrival in the village hours ago, and he’ll be no use to them if he’s dead. she grabs a leather flask of water and a bowl of rice on the way, distantly wondering if he’d rather throw them in her face when she delivers it. she wouldn’t blame him; this is just war. but try as she may to dismiss her actions as merely the repercussions of it, the guilt pervades.

this isn’t the life she would have picked for herself, but it’s all she has. 

standing at the mouth of the tent before the guards, nari takes a second to steel herself, fully expecting to be greeted by a bout of hate and vitriol -- if the prince has the energy for it. ( she won’t think of him by name, or she’ll feel worse. ) she enters after with an iron composure, but the sight of the interior only presses further at her conscience. save for a few paper lanterns, there’s little else -- not even a straw mat for him to lie on. someone had left him a ewer of water too, but with his hands bound behind his back, there would be no way for him to drink it. lips pinch together as nari hides her clenched teeth, kneeling in front of him. 

❝ . . . don’t try anything, ❞ she warns first, but her voice isn’t as stern as it is tired. in some ways she still can’t believe this is what it’s come to, that this is the sum of their desperation. ❝ there’s guards stationed in every direction outside. ❞ with that said, nari reaches forwards to remove the gag from his mouth, wary of any sudden movements as she picks up the flask after. 

❝ are you injured anywhere? ❞ she had instructed the men to be careful when seizing the prince, but she feels like their gauge for delicacy is a bit skewed. nari looks the prince over, but it’s difficult to spot a wound with the dim lights and the dust of forced travel still on him. yet even then, she can tell that he’s surprisingly . . . pretty.