the vaulted hall of highgarden felt cooler than usual, its air heavy with the murmur of nobles deep in conversation. laena sat poised near the edge of the room, her hands resting on her lap. the sounds of court life swirled around her—the clink of goblets, the low hum of gossip—but her attention was caught by the sharp cadence of a voice just within earshot.

lord tion peake stood by one of the towering stone columns, his expression hard-set as he addressed a fellow noble. laena didn’t mean to listen, not at first, but the tension in his tone made her pause. words like granaries and sabotage drifted toward her, weaving a troubling picture in her mind. she didn’t catch everything, but she didn’t need to. the frustration in the lord’s voice and the faint resignation in his companion’s responses told her enough.

her fingers tightened subtly on the silk of her gown. discontent among the smallfolk was not a rare occurrence, but the mention of destruction and the implied strain on resources stirred unease in her chest. she’d seen what unchecked unrest could lead to in the aftermath of the war. it started small, almost imperceptible—a torch to a granary here, a missing shipment there—and grew into something harder to contain.

lilac gaze drifted to the lord of starpike as his conversation ended and his companion departed. he lingered by the column, shoulders taut, his eyes distant. for a moment, she hesitated, unsure if her involvement would be welcomed. but she knew better than to let doubt hold her back. laena smoothed her gown, rising gracefully to her feet, and approached with a quiet determination.

there was the announcement of nasir's arrival to the quarters of the tion peake; something that was not entirely unheard of; especially when the kingdoms finally reunited as one for some reason or another, it was not peculiar or rare to see the men of two mighty ancient lines coming together. there was a reason their fathers had introduced them to one another at a young age, as much as they saw differences in the other they also saw similarities - similarities that made them in one another's orbit.

there was greatness that had always been destined for them, a greatness that had come with hard work and patience - their reality was also being better than half of their contemporaries, and having to work twice as hard.

an evident example had been the way in which tion peake had all but single handedly sorted the finances of several generations of house peake; reaching his hand into complexity and working until he could resurface with a sense of stability. and yet, it were garland hightower who had first been granted the appointment as master of coin for the treasury of the kingdom of thorns and roses - all for the name of hightower, and the city's walls which would provide a good location for a bank that could have been built regardless of who held the position.

his ever present serious nature seemed to cease in the presence of the man who was a brother to him; he pulled him into their usual embrace, looking upon the new master of coin for the reach - something he knew tion had wanted for some time. nasir did not wish to add further clouds to the man's head by mentioning garland's death, no; this was the correct decision. it was about time. "i hear a new title has been added to your name, yeah?" nasir asked, a hand remaining on the man's shoulder as they pulled from the warm embrace. "it's your time, brother. show 'em that greatness."

and nasir pulled away when a figure of a younger boy crossed over the room, seemingly directed by another member of staff to leave from his stationary post. the man's dark orbs followed the boy's moving figure, feeling a slow thud deep within his chest as he looked upon the retreating figure, and the door closing behind him. the two men of manderly and peake were alone now. it was then nasir let out a slow exhale, his hand coming to rest upon his nose the way it always did when he was refocusing himself. it was strange, to see him grow. he never understood it; because he couldn't.

"how is zakariya?" is what nasir manderly asked.

armaan yronwood stood on the rise overlooking the camp, his silhouette sharp against the hazy morning sun. the marches stretched out before him, a patchwork of rolling hills and scattered woodland, deceptively peaceful under the thin mist that lingered after dawn. the faint scent of charred wood still clung to the air, though the fires had long since died. beneath his outward calm, armaan allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. the granary’s destruction had served its purpose of causing stress, though he took care not to let that satisfaction show.

he turned at the sound of hooves crunching over dry earth, his dark eyes narrowing as lord tion peake approached. tion’s retinue was small, their banners subdued—a practical choice, given the tension in the region. tion himself dismounted with a sharp efficiency, his expression as severe as the situation demanded. armaan waited for tion to draw closer before stepping forward, offering a carefully measured nod of greeting. “lord tion,” he said, his voice smooth and low, carrying just enough warmth to feign sincerity.

“you honour us with your presence. i trust the journey here wasn’t too long - you reachmen hardly like being in discomfort.” armaan gestured towards a shaded pavilion where a simple table had been set with wine and fruit; and yet, his movement was dismissive, carefree. a brazen attitude, one there was no doubt tion peake would be able to pick up and detect. “sit, stand...whatever. we have much to discuss.” as tion settled into the offered seat, armaan took his place opposite, his movements deliberate, measured. he poured wine into two cups, the ruby liquid catching the light like blood against the dull silver of the goblets. the air between them was taut, as though the land itself held its breath.

“the recent events are most troubling,” armaan began, his voice calm but weighted. “the burning of your granary—it’s a tragedy that strikes at the heart of both your people and your lands. such acts sow chaos, disrupt the lives of the innocent, and breed resentment where there should be trust.” he paused, letting the words settle, studying tion’s face for any flicker of reaction. the reachman’s expression remained guarded, though his eyes betrayed the storm brewing beneath. armaan leaned back slightly, his fingers drumming softly against the arm of his chair.

the sun cast shifting shadows across his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the faint scar that traced the curve of his cheekbone.

"the smallfolk of nightsong were apparently ready to help." armaan’s gaze was unflinching as it met tion’s. his words were measured, carefully chosen, each one placed like a stone in the foundation of the narrative he was constructing. “the marches are a tinderbox, lord peake. the fires of conflict burn easily here, and it is up to us—leaders, not warriors—to ensure they do not consume all we have built.” his words, these false fabrications of diplomacy...it were not true. none of it, were true.

walys leaned back in his chair, the flickering firelight dancing across the dark stone walls of starpike’s quiet hall. the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and damp earth, but it didn’t bother him. he was at ease here, with tion, of all people, one of the few he could truly share a drink and a laugh with without any airs or pretense.

taking a long gulp from his tankard, he let the warmth settle in his chest before setting it back down on the table with a soft thud. "ye know, i was startin’ to think i'd never see ye rise up out of the muck. ye’ve always had the heart of a lion, tion, but it wasn’t always clear if it’d be enough," walys said with a smirk, his voice low and comfortable. "guess ye proved everyone wrong, eh?"

he ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table. "not that i'm complainin', mind ye. it's a bloody sight to see ye here. i mean, we both know we weren't born with silver spoons in our mouths. took a lot more than a bit o' luck to get to where we are now."

walys chuckled and took another drink, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "tell me, friend," he said, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity, "now that ye’ve made yer mark, what’s next for ye? there’s no rush, mate, but i’m wonderin’ if ye’ve got somethin' up yer sleeve. somethin’ that’ll surprise even yer old mate walys, maybe."

the audience chamber of highgarden was a tapestry of sunlight and shadow, the late afternoon glow filtering through intricate stained-glass windows. the air was perfumed with the faint trace of roses, as it always was here, though cedric found it cloying today. his fingers tapped idly against the arm of his chair, carved from dark oak and adorned with the sigil of house tyrell. tion peake stood before him, his posture precise, his features composed in that meticulous way of his, as though nothing could disturb the calm surface of the man.

cedric studied him for a moment, leaning slightly forward, the weight of his crown pressing heavier than usual. this was the first time they were speaking beyond the realm of coin and ledgers, and cedric found himself searching for something beneath the exterior—anything that would betray a deeper thread of emotion or opinion. he found himself needing to know the sort of people he surrounded himself with, and as of now, all he had found on tion peake was his skilled ability to drag the coffers of his house from the mud.

“lord peake,” he began, his tone measured, though curiosity simmered beneath the surface. “you’ve been in the marches for weeks now, overseeing your lands and, from what i understand, putting out literal fires.” he gestured faintly, his hand tracing the air as though to dismiss the flippancy of the remark. “tell me what you found.” he had heard reports of a meeting from the dornish side, though cedric had not yet heard who exactly had decided to meet with tion peake regarding the actions on the marches: dorne was somewhat of a tense object as of this moment, as was new valyria, as was the westerlands.

the sun hung low over highgarden, casting a golden glow across the sprawling grounds, where courtiers milled about, gossiping behind veils and ornate fanwork. the scent of roses lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the beauty and the fragility of this place. myriam walked at a measured pace beside lord tion peake, her dark brown velvet lehenga flowing softly with each step, the fabric a contrast to the vibrancy of the garden. her hair, dark and unadorned, brushed against her shoulders, swaying gently in the breeze.

they had been speaking for some time, their footsteps soft against the stone of the courtyard, voices blending with the rustling leaves and distant chatter. the situation was delicate, and myriam knew it well. some time ago, the news of the torching of tion’s granaries had spread quickly, the flames of destruction now carried on every whispered breath. and the unsettling quiet that followed it in the marches spoke of unrest, of something bubbling beneath the surface.

so this was the peake that baashir knew. or had known. she herself was not entirely sure as to what that situation was.

myriam knew well the weight of what had occurred, though it was still unclear who stood behind it — the shadows of suspicion clung to the event, and no one had yet named the cause. she could feel it in the air, a tension that was only growing. still, she knew she did not wish for the marcher lords of the reach to turn their suspicion towards dorne: though nightsong had been won, she was well aware of the fact that they would be fighting a war on two fronts if dorne were framed for such an action. "lord peake," she began, her voice casual, yet there was something deliberate in the way she spoke, as though she were carefully choosing her words. she seemed to momentarily walk around a pillar, holding it as she looked upon him.

"these rumours... about the unrest in the marches." her gaze briefly flickered toward him, but she did not meet his eyes fully. instead, she focused on a patch of roses nearby, watching as the petals caught the light. "between the reach and dorne." there was a hesitation in her tone, a subtle hint of concern, though her expression remained calm, unreadable. she had not come to offer solutions — no, not yet. but there was a quiet curiosity in her, the kind that always seemed to rise when she was faced with something unpredictable. and the trouble in the marches was most certainly that.

"i think you know it would not be in our interest to start issues with you. it's all too new." she uttered her words, and she looked upward as they spoke; she remained holding onto the pillar, flickering her kohl lined gaze over his for any indication of what it was he was truly thinking. "and honestly, i think it comes from another." she was telling the truth; and yet, she also understood that many believed them to be inherently deceitful and slippery. she would not allude to who she was talking about, yet her expression changed as she looked at him; no doubt she were talking about those purple eyed lizards. a slight smile crossed her features as he no doubt recognised it, and she dropped her hand from the pillar.