a sudden desire

she hadn't been game enough to visit the swann quarters in search of her, instead turning to guards and the smallfolk who worked in the palace for any sighs of the lady. it took only a coin pressed into a palm to get the information that she needed. she finds the target of her searching mere moments later, catelyn lurking by the corner of the wall and peeking beyond it to ensure she did not interrupt. gasp leaves her mouth at the prick, brows furrowing in concern before casslena's voice reaches her ears and she steps out from beside the wall. " it's just me. i fear i've never been particularly good at lurking. " she leads with as she makes her way over to her, taking a seat just opposite the woman. " are you alright, cass ? it was only a prick, wasn't it? "

“I could hear you coming from across the garden, you ought to quieten your steps” Though there was a clear hint of amusement beneath her solemn tone. As she finally looked up to see Catelyn. There was a small smile on her face, though much of it remained hidden behind the sheer black veil draped over her face. Then at the reminder of the prick in her finger, she glanced down. Blood had welled upon the tip of her finger, swelling before spilling in a thin scarlet line down her skin. The blood stained the pale thread and soaked into the delicate flowers she had spent the better part of the afternoon stitching.

 “Oh.” A quiet tsk escaped her. Setting the hoop aside, she pressed her thumb against the wound and watched with mild annoyance as another drop of blood bloomed. The embroidery was ruined now. Hours of patient work, wasted for the sake of a moment's distraction. Not that it was going her way.

“I barely felt it, to be perfectly honest,” she said with a faint sigh. “I suppose I am more concerned for my embroidery than my finger.”She turned the hoop over in her hands, inspecting the damage as though some miracle might undo it. “What a waste of time.”

“Though perhaps it serves me right for paying more attention to your footsteps than my needle.”

the first thing wylla noticed about emmon blackwood was that he looked as though he was preparing himself for a second wave of battle, steeled for whatever new horrors were about to be thrown his way.

the second was that, for all the ceremony that had preceded his arrival, he now stood in the quiet of new castle with the same careful stillness she so often found in herself, as though he had stepped into a room full of things unsaid and was weighing each one before daring to touch it. the thought was oddly reassuring. wylla lingered in the doorway a moment longer, gloved fingers resting lightly against the carved frame, before she entered the chamber proper and let the door fall almost shut behind her.

she'd claimed illness upon his initial arrival to her home and it hadn't entirely been a lie. to be swarmed by her family and some of his before she could watch, take notes, felt like too much at the time. but such meetings could only be avoided for so long and in a matter of time her mother had found her and ushered her towards the main library when things had settled.

mind your manners, she'd said before disappearing down the hall.

the room smelled faintly of salt, old paper, and the peat fire burning low in the hearth. outside the window, the harbor lay grey beneath a sheet of unnatural winter light despite it being the dead of summer. wylla crossed to the table where a few books had been left open and, after a pause just long enough to feel deliberate, set one hand atop the nearest volume as though to steady herself.

"my lord," she said at last, her voice quiet but even. "i hope my family has not already frightened you off. they tend to speak as though they mean to conquer all of westeros by sheer volume of words spoken in a period of time."

there was a faint ghost of amusement at the corner of her mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. she glanced toward him then, assessing, curious, and just a little guarded. she'd gathered as much information as she could about him in what little time she'd had to prepare: formerly a maester in training and a healer, reclusive, a rather macabre reputation. strange.

"you have come a long way to find us," she said. "i thought it only fair to see whether the journey was worth the trouble."

her gaze flicked briefly to the window and then back to his face.

"will you sit with me a while?" she asked, softer now, hoping he wouldn't sense how tense she felt. "or would you rather be shown the harbor first?"

“Yes, I have seen that. Your family has been most…..engaging.” he gritted his teeth, that would not be his first choice of words. As though it were an accusation rather than a compliment. Engaging was a kinder word than most men would have chosen. Since his arrival, her family had descended upon him. Questions, observations, invitations, old stories told twice over. It was enough to test the patience of a normally very patient man.

He presumed Wylla must be the same and the thought immediately made him weary. Already, he was thinking how he could slip from this betrothal. Even if it would be a political nightmare for both houses. At least, nightmares you could wake from. Marriage was another matter.

He faintly raised an eyebrow at her. “The journey was troublesome so I do hope, at the very least, you find something to be gained from this."

Silence. The awkward silence of two strangers who had been informed they might spend the remainder of their lives together.

“I suppose I would rather sit.” He relented, the words emerged with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man accepting his sentence. He sat down next to her with a considerable amount of distance between them, his back taut. He glanced out the window and for a moment he could almost imagine himself back in Blackwood Vale. Not the sea, certainly. The Blackwoods possessed little of that. Yet the haze reminded him of crisp mornings along the riverbank. A welcome thought.

 “I have little interest in your harbour.” The admission escaped him before courtesy could intervene. His eyes remained fixed upon distant ships. “From my perspective, it appears to be a poorer Oldtown." Objectively speaking, it was not even an insult. Oldtown possessed a greater port, greater markets, greater learning, greater everything. Comparing another harbour unfavourably to Oldtown was much the same as observing that a village sept was smaller than the Royal sept.

“They told me you were ill,” he finally said. It had been the only thing that piqued his interest during his conversation with her family. His eyes found hers and lingered there, sharp and searching. The old habits of the Citadel died hard. Though he had left his chain unfinished, there remained the acolyte still. A mind trained to notice, to seek causes hidden beneath symptoms.

“You do not look ill," he observed, bluntly. "At least, not in any way I was led to expect."

“What exactly was the nature of this illness?” His tone was calm but curious, the voice of a student rather than a suitor.

“  are  you  certain  that  is  the  move  you  wish  to  make  ?  ”  bags  had  been  placed  in  the  rooms  and  pure  curiosity  to  see  who  would  be  the  next  to  pass  by  kept  kella  in  the  keep  rather  than  out  in  the  markets.  a  simple  game  of  cyvasse  and  idle  conversation  (  she  thought  )  kept  her  occupied  for  a  good  portion  of  the  afternoon,  the  start  of  the  sun's  rays lowering  and  casting  shadows  against  the  board.  posed  question  had  been  one  of  warning,  yet  she  supposed  they'd  taken  it  as  a  challenge  —  taking  the  move  with  more  force  than  necessary.  “  okay,  ”  she  drawls  lightly,  flicking  their  king  down  onto  the  board  with  one  of  her  catapults.  “  i  win.  would  you  like  to  …  ”  begins,  pausing  as  they  abruptly  push  back  from  the  table  to  march  away  quickly,  looking  akin  to  something  like  a  lame  goose.  “  well ....  i  suppose  that  means  there  will  not  be  another  round,  "  she  speaks  in  amused  greeting  to  the  next  pair  of  eyes  that  meet  hers.    

“ I cannot tell if you are a competent player or if your opponent was truly that bad.” he mused. If it was supposed to be a joke, he forgot to put the humour in his tone.

Without waiting for invitation, he lowered himself into the chair opposite her. His attention returned to the board, studying its ruin. For a moment he said nothing. One finger tapped lightly against his arm as he considered the field. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. A quiet breath escaped through his nose, not quite a sigh.

“The fool across from you appears to have sacrificed half their strength for no gain at all. Yet you seem to have gone to considerable effort to make a mess of your own position in the process.” His hazel eyes drifted toward her once more, cool and appraising.

“A rare sort of battle, that. One where both commanders deserve to lose.” For the first time, the faintest hint of amusement flickered across his face. “Though I suppose someone had to win in the end.”

Oh... he mad mad.

The Leopard/ Il gattopardo (Italy, 2025), EP3

Deva Cassel as Angelica Sedara

White Harbor

The Leopard (Il gattopardo), Italy, 2025 Season One, Episode Five

Deva Cassel as Angelica Sedara