winter , wild .

orwen reed ,  grand maester of the iron islands.   introduction,  interactions, +

          kyra returns her attention partially to her embroidery, beginning to pick apart her uneven stitches with a careful, practiced surety, gaze flickering back and forth from the cloth to lady lale and the infant aslan. wide eyes go even wider at the lady’s explanation, and she has to be careful not to let her surprise show too clearly, lest it be taken for disapproval. “ really ? that’s remarkable. ” remarkably foolish, she thinks to herself, unable to imagine devoting the entirety of her life to a creature so unrewarding as a newborn infant. perhaps just a failure of imagination. or empathy, more likely  ─  her septa had always said it was something she lacked. “ i am sure the little lord is grateful for it, even if he cannot yet say so, ” she says, looking dotingly upon the boy the way she’d learned to do. “ and your husband approves ? ” she asks, still as though she can hardly believe it.

          “ i know, ” he says, quiet and calm. trying to be a lighthouse as she weathers her storm. they don’t need to say her name to feel her presence like a pall  ─  the ghost of saga greyjoy haunts their conversation, as he suspects it will for some time. “ they’re  ─.. well, gwyn’s fine. valter’s had worse, he’ll recover. ” physically, at least. how he’s taking saga’s death is another matter entirely, one orwen won’t speculate on. “ delena is doing better. ” that’s the most hope he can offer, hesitation betraying his fear: a wound is simple, poison much more complicated. realizing he’s not being quite as reassuring as he could be, he adds, “ she’s awake, eating and talking. those are all good signs. ”

          “ ah, why would you not ? ” he parries back. though he doesn’t really expect any other response from her  ─  although a harlaw in name, anicia was brought up with the same northern sensibilities as orwen. he’d never seen her display the sort of casual mockery he’d become so used to from other iron islanders, though that may be more a credit to her character than her upbringing per se. “ it was a great display of hubris on my part, and probably well worth a laugh. ” he’s mostly joking, in the self-deprecating way he’s become accustomed to, wearing his shortcomings like armor  ─  yet he still waves away the hand she offers, holding on to some faint pride. “ the gods look down on us all, my lady. but i have never seen them smite a person for laughing  ─  or any other offense, for that matter  ─  so i think you’re safe. ”

          as chaos reigns, she doesn’t really expect to be noticed, certainly not addressed. everyone is scrambling to see their loved ones safe, and she knows she has none here. but lord clegane catches her distant gaze, and by his question, must have spotted some displeasure in her look. “ oh, no, certainly not, ” kyra quickly answers, rather unconvincingly  ─  once secure in a carriage, she’d spent most of the attack trying to get a better view of the fight, blood and all. “ though i understand some men find a fight invigorating  ─  so long as they survive, of course. only .. well, i question the prudence of appearing quite so pleased, when your queen may well be at death’s door. ”

          “ cleo, my lady, ”  kyra greets, though in truth the lannister bastard is no real lady  ─  but she offers the title like a gift, a meaningless little trinket she suspects cleo will like. perhaps a token of apology too, for not seeking her out sooner. “ are you alright ? you weren’t hurt, were you ? ” in truth, she hadn’t even considered the possibility, much too concerned with the queen’s health to worry about anyone else’s. “ can you believe it ? of course i know the roads can be dangerous, but i never thought bandits would be stupid enough to attack everyone all at once. what could they have possibly hoped for, against the strength of four kingdoms ? ”

          “ you only say that because you haven’t seen it yet, i’m certain. it’s the most beautiful place in westeros. if you’re not at the very least delighted, let them raze the whole thing to the ground and build something new and better, if it please you. ” and she’s only half joking  ─  the whole point of beauty is to please, and if it doesn’t, then what is it worth ? if she registers the lady forrester’s obvious discomfort, it is only vaguely, in the way one might notice but not fully see a cupbearer or stableboy going about their work. “ oh, me ? gods no, not unless you count being quite proficient at drinking it. do you know much about ironwood ? ” kyra parries back, lighthearted and playful and perhaps the slightest bit mocking. 

          book tucked under his arm, trying to ignore the faint headache building behind his eyes, orwen sets out in search of something to break his fast before they must mount up and ride off once more. he doesn’t get far, though, before a faintly familiar voice calls for him. and there’s zehra hornwood, waving him down, her youngest in tow  ─  what was the boy’s name, again ? kevan ? karlon ?  ─  and orwen’s already caught her eye, can’t pretend to not have heard and scuttle off in search of food.  “ lady hornwood, ” he greets with a deferent nod, pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose. “ it’s good to see you too, i hope you’re well. ” though by the sight of it, she is not  ─  her son seems decidedly unhappy, face flushed and scrunched up in displeasure, and orwen knows well enough how distressing that should be to a doting mother. “ of course, as many minutes as you require. ” breakfast is already beginning to feel like a distant dream. “ what might i help you with ? ”

          he’s hardly slept, feels like he’s been running through one never-ending nightmare of a day, barely noticing anything that isn’t wounded and bleeding, or poisoned and festering. yet he notices zara, hears the strain in her voice, and decides that delena will forgive him if he’s just a little late. “ zara, ” he says, quiet and cautious as he follows, kneeling beside her despite the difficulty, unsure what else to say. “ what is it ? ” .. stupid question, he’s pretty sure he knows what it is. what he means to say is what can i do ? but unless he learns to bring back the dead, he knows the answer is nothing. 

          “ oh, i know  ─  gods forbid we take even more breaks, we won’t reach highgarden before winter ! but i just can’t stand feeling so useless, i thought i might do something worthwhile .. ” she sighs dejectedly, though her annoyance has much more to do with boredom than any innate industriousness. kyra laughs at lady lannister’s suggestion, putting on a wistful smile, as if the proposed prospect was one she genuinely yearned for. it’s a familiar enough part to play  ─  she spends an inordinate amount of time with ladies and their children, has learned how to dote like the best of them. “ oh, i do hope i will, one day. but somehow i don’t think that will happen before we reach highgarden. ” then, turning curious, “ are you really so busy, my lady ? i always thought wet nurses and septas would do much of the real work. ”

           his maester’s chain, heavy round his neck, rattles ever so slightly with each step of his horse. of course, orwen could ride in a carriage  ─  might be more comfortable if he did  ─  but apparently he’s not fully divested of his desire to retain a bit of dignity, and chooses to ride. the scenery, while beautiful, offers at the moment no features of particular interest, and orwen finds himself falling slowly into bored, uncharitable reflections. “ last time i saw highgarden, i was just a boy. thought it was the grandest place i’d ever set eyes on. ” probably still was, though his memories of oldtown now compete. “ do you visit often, ser braxton ? if i may ask. i understand you serve the crown in king’s landing .. do you find they’re very different ? ”

          orwen’s long since given up on seeming graceful, or even reasonably respectable. but remaining upright, that still seems like a reasonably achievable goal  ─  or it would be, if the ground hadn’t been trampled to a soft mud by countless feet and hooves and carriage wheels. if he’d been paying more attention instead of feeling half-asleep. if his bad leg  ─  the left one, the one that’s fake below the knee  ─  hadn’t been aching something fierce. it just takes one wrong step to send him stumbling, catching himself at the last minute on a nearby carriage. at least no one’s around to see his embarrassment, he thinks, looking around .. except, there they are. orwen clears his throat and steadies himself. “ i’d be terribly grateful if you’d do me the honor of pretending you didn’t see that, ” he says, embarrassed but also trying for a self-deprecating amusement at his misfortune. “ or even if you just held off on laughing ‘til i’m out of earshot, really. ”

          that doesn’t look right. kyra frowns, turns the little piece of embroidery clockwise, frowns again, and turns it back. shifts, so that the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun don’t fall on her needlework, then sighs. “ does this look absolutely horrible to you ? ” she asks, offering her work for inspection. “ be honest, don’t spare my feelings, i should start over, shouldn’t i ? it’s just that damned carriage, rattles like the bones of dead ! if we could sit still for any longer than it takes to eat and sleep it might not have turned out so poorly. ” 

          “ how are you holding up ? ” kyra asks, seated at yet another midday rest stop, hoping to drum up something like civilized conversation. the travel was dragging on and on  ─ felt like forever, yet they’d not even made it past cider hall  ─  and she suspects most everyone is worse for wear. at least, she is. “ i, for one, am exhausted. i’ve made the trip before, of course, but somehow in my memory it’s always shorter, and much more pleasant. won’t you just be thrilled when we reach highgarden ? ”