she honestly liked to think herself a reasonable woman - as reasonable as any woman with half the confidence of a mediocre man far below her station and twice the bitterness of a first son displaced. barbara had never been her father’s daughter: she was the eldest girl of too many girls, a legacy no honourable lord had the backbone to leave behind, and an heir of circumstance alone. so it was no surprise to anyone that she had never been one to mince words or overcompensate; if anything, she undercompensated just to keep anyone else from feeling too at ease in her presence. she was a bracken deserving of the name - coarse and persistent and unwilling to ever give way. 

smiling a tightlipped smile in lieu of honeyed excuses, the riverlander escaped into the empty halls of the red keep before her tongue caught up with the rest of her mood. an unfinished bejewelled goblet of arbor wine grasped in one hand, she was resplendent in her house colours - hues of gold trimmed with red and brown - because she didn’t mind playing the part of the perfect lady: it wasn’t her armour nor was it out of comfort. instead, it was habit. barbara just didn’t care for obstacles. she could be the polished noblewoman if she wished, and she could be the practised strategist when the time came. none of it defined her, and none of it stopped her. 

abandoning her drink on a parapet for the servants to find - or the crows, whoever got there first - she turned a sharp corner, unsurprised to see the person she was met with. after all, didn’t he turn up absolutely everywhere she was? much like an eighth hell, created by the gods for her and her alone. when hendry had died, the male bracken line had died right with him on the battle ground. and when hendry had died, barbara had become the next legitimate bracken - the true heir to stone hedge. somehow, she had naively thought her father might let her claim the title for herself. 

“ of course, it’s you, ” she began, her expression curiously impassive but her blue eyes even bluer with disdain. in one way, she had known the man almost as long as she had known her youngest sisters; in another, she had been given enough time to despise the son jonos bracken had scrounged up from somewhere. “ i’m surprised you’re not in there right now. ” barbara smiled at her half-brother, something sharp at the edges and not inviting in the least, gaze flickering back to where the festivities were taking place. there was a dull ache making its way across her forehead - a pain she had nurse since they minute she had met harry.  “ if you’re going to play at being a lord, you might want to at least try being be a little more convincing. ”