giving my inner child a cigarette

keira stood near the edge of the small crowd, hands clasped neatly before her, watching as the alchemist held up a delicate glass vial shimmering with pale blue liquid. “clarity of mind,” he called it, with far too much confidence for something still fogging faintly at the edges. she raised a brow, but said nothing.

the demonstration had drawn quite a few onlookers, nobles, scholars, curious children on tiptoe, and she was content to linger quietly, half-listening as the man rambled on about balance, focus, and the gentle unlocking of mental doors. whatever that meant.

her gaze drifted from the bubbling flask to the space beyond the tent, where light spilled out into the gardens. and there she managed to spot younes. his frame familiar even at a distance, half-shadowed by the ivy-draped archway. there was a strange pang in her stomach at the sight of him. she hardly spoke to the lord ever since she left the vale, but he was always kind to her, and she appreciated that. when she thought he may have looked her way, she managed a small smile, and it was enough to compel her to say hello.

he had left runestone before keira florent had, and under much less contentious circumstances. despite the fact they had shared kin in omer, their paths had not crossed since. if younes was honest, he had barely thought about her in the intervening years, save for with a pang of sympathy on the rare occasion her name came up in conversation. he knew from omer that she lived in the riverlands now, a part of the frey household, and he found that odd. younes wouldn't let his female relatives live under the roof of random men they weren't married to.

"lady florent," he stepped forward, inclining his head in a casual sort of greeting, just polite enough to be appropriate. the laugh that came from him was genuine, and he nodded his head. "i didn't think it was so obvious, but yeah. i'm told there is free food somewhere around here, though i haven't found it." he looked away from hr to glance around the room, as though the buffet table would appear from thin air.

she leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap with quiet composure, her gaze drifting briefly over the courtyard, noting the way the shadows from the trellises stretched in neat patterns across the flagstones, an order she always found comforting. “i am not only passing through,” she admitted, her voice calm, though careful. “i visited the vale, briefly, afterwards the king’s birthday took me north, then i traveled down through the crossing and the riverlands before coming here. it felt wise to linger in the reach a while longer. it has its own kind of abundance.” her dark eyes returned to him.

“whether i remain depends on what is asked of me, and where i am needed most,” she added gently, not unkind, but firm enough to show she carried her own direction, even if others thought otherwise. “but for now, you are indeed stuck with me.” her smile came softer this time, just enough to ease the tension she sensed in him, though she did not press at the reason for it. if he wanted to speak of burdens or responsibility, he would, and she would listen, she had always been good at that. she knew he was not ruling lord, but second sons carried their own weight, and it was usually thankless work.

"yes, yes, it's all very interesting," he said, in a tone that indicated he was very much uninterested in ideas or swords or whatever else it was that she was trying to converse with him about. if she was there, younes was certain his mother would scold him for being rude, but his patience for small talk was growing thinner, and her explanation of where she had been and what she had been doing had provided him with more questions than answers. "but where are you staying, sabiha?"

he did not know what he wanted her answer to be. it would be best for him if she was not staying with the corbrays. there was too much to hide, and he was almost certain she would find heart's home to be lacking. to younes, it was his home, but they had long since sold everything that was not nailed down and absolutely necessary to survival. he was sure it would be a far cry from what she was used to in braavos. on the other hand, was he expected to take her under his protection, watch over her as he would his sisters? if he was, that would be harder to do if she wasn't under the same roof.

the words of a second son seemed to haunt him more than any other as he trailed slightly behind him, the cruel wind of the vale's altitude seeming to cause neither of them to even react despite it being utterly bone chilling - and it were entirely due to the air of sickening nostalgia that surrounded them. for a man that had all but accepted many moons ago he would never be one to embrace the very point of being human, he was also a man who was wholly stuck in a past that no longer existed; past versions of himself, and the people and the world around him.

a war within his own mind silently seemed to tear at it, wondering which step he took somewhere along the mountain that was his life that had caused him to fall from the edge and continue to descend into such an abyss. in the tracks of his own mind, he did not notice the slight changes of expression on the features of younes corbray - the royce would have noted his internal disillusionment was being met directly with what was opposite him. in the grand scheme of things, he was just another man - and he no longer had the capacity to care for a once squire when it felt as though all the positions he played on the board were being scattered.

"i never thought to try make you feel better for losing, corbray. we always said you feel better by getting up and winning the next time." he uttered, his voice as familiar and comforting as the sound of boulders tumbling upon you, or the feeling of cave walls closing in. he had not noticed once that younes corbray had not had a squire; and when he said it, it only made sense. squires were another mouth to feed, another responsibility in a house that was heaving through corrupted lungs and old seams that were close to ripping. there were many instances where younes corbray had lost tourney after tourney; it silently perplexed him, considering he had seen the man's talent first hand.

how was it they had everything as boys, and nothing as men?

for a moment he thought himself a heartless fool to reference such a thing as the corbray's financial situation, and there was a time where graham royce's morality would have perhaps taken the moment to offer some sort other reassurance and pride to his fellow peer. but that time had come and gone, died under the weight of a new reign that he too spun the puppets of. the threads wound around his hands as much as it wound around the necks and actions of others; but the quiet window, the quiet insignificant reference to younes corbray not having what other men in the vale would so casually and normally have was something he could not simply ignore.

the misfortune of others could easily end up being to the benefit of him, and his own - and was that not the true responsibility of being a man? to protect one's own; as much as they sung praises and songs of brotherhood, each of those knights had their own they needed to go home to. to protect, and to a realisation graham royce had felt many times before, he knew he would still do the very same thing. there was a deal he could make here - a deal that would infuriate domeric, but a deal he would do nonetheless. he would take the hit, he would take the icing out and the numbness.

he said nothing as he pulled his horse to a halt, dismounting slightly awkwardly so as not to misjudge where his feet would hit the ground and find only air under his boots. once he was standing, he gathered his horses reigns, and pressed forward on foot. "you'd be doing me a favour if you got down off that horse," he pointed out, drily. "i don't fancy trying to defend myself if your horse takes a tumble."

there was no insult intended by the words. younes might have been adept at weaving sly digs in with his words, but at least this time, that had not been his intent. he had spoken quicker than he had thought about it, realisation not dawning until after the words were already out that perhaps alluding to even the accusation of kingslaying might land a little heavier with this particular audience.

they were men of the vale, as accustomed to mountains as men of the reach were to rolling hills, or stormlanders to the feeling of rain on their skin, but there was something about the air from heights such as this that no man could ever truly be accustomed to, as though you could gasp in lungfuls of the stuff and still feel short of breath. perhaps it was the vale itself that did it, the strange rot they all pretended did not exist constricting against them. it was why when younes huffed a laugh at graham's next words, the sound was oddly laboured, reverberating around them before dying on the winds.

"yeah, well, i was green then," he pointed out. "i didn't know any better." at face value, it might have seemed like he was speaking of graham's habits, of not knowing him enough to recognise the intent behind his words. it was the intent behind his own that younes kept concealed now - he had not known better, because that was a time where he looked for the best in graham, and now he no longer did.

he could not recall the moment he had stopped hanging on graham's words, looking between the lines for the things he did not say to glean what he wanted. it had been a slow descent, gradual enough that he had not noticed, and could not recall the final time it had occurred. it felt odd, then, that younes would return to it so sharply when graham so casually brought up the duel between templeton and stone. his head turned a little too quickly, eyes settling on graham in a hawk-like stare. it had been the topic of much conversation amongst the knights of the vale, but younes did not think that graham mentioned it to share gossip. that left the question at the forefront of younes' mind: why had graham brought it up? what was it that he was getting at?

"templeton and the hand, yeah?" younes' brow furrowed. "something about templeton's pride taking a beating, i think. hit by an ambush he blames stone for." he thought, for a moment, about feigning ignorance. it was a tactic that had served him well when he went in search of gossip. when he pretended to know little, people often rushed to share their thoughts on any given matter, ensuring he left a conversation with more information than he had entered it with. somehow, he didn't think that strategy would be particularly effective here.

she turned quickly.

for a brief second she simply stared, blue eyes wide with surprise as lord younes lay sprawled in the grass where he had fallen. the moment hung there, suspended between shock and something dangerously close to laughter. she pressed her lips together quickly, fighting the smile that threatened to escape. how strangely freeing it felt to have. a rare moment though at someone elses expense. luckily she had learned from a young age how to hide anything that might read on her face.

instead she stepped toward him, gathering the skirts of her dress slightly so they would not brush the damp ground.

“my lord,” she said, a note of concern in her voice, worried for a moment that he might have actually hurt himself. she lowered herself just enough to offer him her hand. “are you hurt?”

her fingers hovered patiently in the space between them, waiting for him to take it. not sure if that was good for her to do or not. it seemed worse or more rude to simply stand by and watch. 

“the gardens can be treacherous after dusk” she added gently, glancing down at the patch of grass he had fallen into before looking back to him again. “i fear they do not show the same courtesy you spoke of inside.” she said. her voice quiet

this time the small smile did slip free, soft and fleeting, though she tried her best to hide it behind composure. she did not want to make him feel any worse then he probably did in that moment. she could hear the slight snickering of ladies and other men who happened to witness the fall. no doubt he would as well.

on this occasion, though, younes didn't immediately leap up for another charge. instead, he remained in the grass, the slight damp of the earth soaking through his trousers, and his confidence deflating rapidly. the laughter from inside was faint from out here, but it still rang loudly in his ears, and it was then that he felt the sting of wounded pride. they'd all seen it, and now they were laughing at his expense, and that was something he could not bear.

"fuck." the word burst from him, loud and angry, all pretence at propriety utterly dropped. his skin had flushed an ugly red, and he did not look at cerissa lefford, nor reach for her outstretched hand. the only thing worse than going arse over tit in front of an assembly of westerlanders was letting one of their women help him up, and so when he eventually rose, he did so himself, brushing grass and mud from the front of his doublet.

"what?" it took a moment for her words to register, and when they did, it was with the realisation that though she spoke with concern, there was no mistaking the way the corners of her mouth lifted upwards when he finally turned to look at her. she was a hair's breadth from laughing, too, and that only served to aggrieve him further.

"not hurt," he confirmed. "sorry to disappoint." the last comment was an unnecessary moment of meanness, as was the way his eyes rolled when he spoke it. "seems you're running short on courtesy yourself tonight, lady lefford."

family was something that, over the years, she had come to grow a strong latch to: what little family she once had had all been extended forms in some way or another, or girls that became women alongside her that were essentially her sisters in all but blood. there had been currents of loss and despair within the rivers that made up those who had come into her life, moments of grief that felt so earth shattering it were almost as though the long night felt to have descended within her mind.

but the sun always rose, and no matter how many times it happened, the sun also rose upon her; and so she had long since understood that time would always move on, even if she was not ready for it to do so. her method of coping, became to show appreciation and spend time with those that were part of her family. her extended family, and those she wished to see as her family. "of course, you take your time. she'd have our heads if we drew up the plan without her looking at the numbers first. when you are ready, you always know where to find me."

she would not pretend as though younes was someone she spoke with frequently when she was younger, for mere geographic stretch rather than any sort of personal reason, but there was a solid link now - she would do whatever she could to help him, knowing that it would help forge the branches of their family tree together. and considering omer's recent turn, she would like to know more members of his family that she could call upon should he become...out of hand, again. it would be different to last time, she was sure of it; because she focused on watering the tree now, rather than merely letting branches rot and drop as a result of disagreements and tensions within family members.

and thus, when younes offered her a sincere thank you, she said nothing more in response, only offering him a warm comforting smile and closing the chapter there. he would need to do what he needed to do in talking logistics with yousra, who was indeed the more skilled with numbers of the two, but she would await for them to reach out again to finally confirm the logistical aspect of it. she quietly noted the slight sounds of tension when they spoke of tion peake briefly, and lucrezia did not know whether the men had previously had some sort of altercation, or whether it was something deeper but she knew it not her place to probe, or to ask. but she knew she would at least try to make younes feel better about it, even if it were just in jest. when he spoke of ayca, she pulled a slightly confused expression. she had always thought they got along. "well, you two confuse me. for a while i thought you'd wed. i said it, i'm sorry." she said, as though she were admitting defeat.

"some farmers bordering starpike whisper of magic within his lands, you know." she commented, almost playfully over her glass cup of mint tea, adding an extra slice of lemon to it as she watched it soak briefly. she spoke as though she were giving credience to some conspiracy theory purposefully, her voice hushing as though they were speaking of something topic secret. "some ancient practices from those regions, different to ours and the rest of the mainland. some whisper he made a deal for the gold. obviously, we know why they claim that." she almost laughed again, because whilst she fully believed in such practices and knew that there were those who dabbled in such practices and made such deals, she did not suspect tion peake to be the sort.

they would understand why there were rumours of him using such things, rather than merely believing his sheer, raw talent. the other, was always seen as something whose success needed explaining. some greater motive. just as many whispered that the old way shifted to try and take over the reach, the same was said of the peakes. as much as she did not know the man, and as much as she struggled and still did struggle to see him sat in the chair that was once garland's, she knew he worked. he worked - hard.

"i mean, location and geography helped...he struck lucky with the reach. money is in the soil, and trade is what we do second. quite literally, just that." the south is always where the money was; and in cities, though not always. as he jested about the wine being bad, a slight look crossed her features as she shrugged, one of brief and sudden mischief. "you know, i really think most don't even know good wine from bad wine, to be honest, no matter what they tell themselves. that's really stuck up of me, i know. but it'll sell." she pulled an apologetic look as she couldn't help but laugh, shrugging as if to defend herself and her point. "you just make sure your men don't drink too much of it." the last she wanted to do was come home to hearing of some scandals down in the village, and having to listen to the complaints of some angry babas about the mountain boys making their daughters swoon.

she briefly leaned forwards to open the window that was just behind him in order to let in some of the reach breeze, even on this warmer than usual day; there was a slight humidity in the air, and she could feel her hair would soon appear a nest - the kardoune was no match for humidity in this region of the kingdom. "what else has been happening on your end of the realm? how exactly are you surviving the vale court without being called upon by her?" she did not need to specify who; they had all heard the rumours.

it had long been said, through several generations of impoverished fortunes, that the corbrays were poor in coin, but rich in pride. in his youth, younes had believed that. their existence was meagre compared to those of his peers, but his father had taught him to always hold his head high, to ensure that he was clean and well-kept, and that when people looked upon him, they thought of his skill with a blade rather than the weight of his empty coin purse. in recent years, pride had been in short supply, but now, there was an opportunity to replenish both coffers and dignity.

his teacup had been raised to his lips when lucrezia spoke again, and he was surprised enough at her words that the liquid went entirely down the wrong hole, leaving him choking and spluttering to clear his throat. he rubbed at his chest with one hand, only fixing her a look with a reddened face once he had settled. "wed?" he shook his head emphatically. "come off it. she'd be miserable as lady corbray." even if issues of dowry were not at the forefront of his mind, younes thought he'd be just as miserable with her. there was friendship there, and sometimes desire, but nothing more. he would not condemn her to that sort of life, nor any girl who came from the families of the old way.

but he needed to marry. that was a truth that could not be denied, as it was a truth that he could do a lot worse than ayca mallister. it was true that she was prickly, and that was one of the kinder words for it. but it was not as though younes was much easier to deal with, as though he himself could not be more than prickly when that which he was sensitive about was pressed upon, quick-tempered with a mouth that all too often ran away from him.

"truly?" his head inclined towards lucrezia, his interest glimmering in his eyes. whatever rumours swirled about tion peake, ones of ancient practices that may have steered his fortunes for the better had not reached his ears. it probably meant that there was so little truth to them that nobody else had seen fit to repeat it to him, but that would not stop him repeating it to others in the future. when had he ever let the truth get in the way of a good story? "well, obviously," he said with a snort. "it'll be the scent of summer on him." tion peake, as far as he knew, sought to make himself a reachman in name and dress and manner, as though it was not plain what set him apart.

"still," he leaned back in his seat, mischief curling a smile around his mouth. "i think i'd like to believe it." because it soothed his ego to think that there was something underhanded in how the peakes had reversed their fortunes, rather than it being a case of the gods favouring them, while scorning younes' own name.

"yeah," as much as it made sense, younes had not before considered that it were easier for the houses of the reach, where the ground was fertile and not inhospitable rock, to climb out of impoverishment. "can't grow grapes on a mountainside." and that was perhaps why he was certain his men would be among those who could not differentiate the good wine from the bad. a hoarse laugh escaped him, followed by a shake of his head. "don't fret. they'll behave themselves if they don't want to get sent home again." and he had faith that his men would not want that, and the prospect of filling their pockets with coin for a change was as much of a lure as it would be for younes.

his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, and he made a face that made it plain what he wanted to say without the need for words: how do you think? there was a darkness at the heart of the vale court, a reason that when he was at heart's home, younes could often be found walking the perimeter of corbray lands to ensure that the wards invoking the protection of the seven, placed there generations ago, still held firm. "it isn't so much being called on that i fear," he rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "it might surprise you to hear that i know how to handle myself in her presence. but perhaps a day will come when she calls upon my brother, and then..." he did not finish the sentence. imran's struggles were not something that was known to many, and he did not know how much omer or yousra had told lucrezia. he let the silence linger, tapping his finger against the side of his teacup. "and then, we will worry about it when we need to worry about it."

he shifted slightly, stretching out his legs, then tapped his ribs with two fingers when younes mentioned the hit. “bash? oh, that?” walys waved it off with practiced confidence. “just the big one trying to hug me farewell. didn’t take. i’ve had worse from a fall off a fence and a woman who meant it.” his mouth twitched, betraying the lie just enough, though not enough for him to admit the truth of it. “if i ran to the maesters every time i took a knock, they’d start charging me rent and asking after me family.”

at the reminder of his shouted curse, walys barked a laugh and leaned in, conspiratorial. “if that’s what i’m remembered for, i’ll die a legend.” he straightened, suddenly earnest in the most misplaced way. “i can rhyme it, though. listen..‘oh fuck, you dirty bastard,’ struck down fast and fell much faster…d…” he broke off with a scowl and a flick of his hand. “no, no, that’s shite. tripped over the rhyme same as me feet.” he tried once more, squinting toward the field like inspiration might still be lying in the grass. “‘oh fuck, you dirty… lout? clout? arse?’ gods, none of those sing.” with a laugh, he surrendered, settling back. “ahh let the bards suffer for it. embellishment is more fashionable anyway.”

"not like i had a choice. it was hop or eat dirt," he pointed out, though his head had cocked to the side, surveying walys' movements as though he was trying to catch the lie in his words. for a moment, younes looked as though he might argue the point, but then thought better of it. "fair enough," he conceded, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "just don't say i didn't show concern if it's bruised later, yeah?"

his eyes rolled at walys' poor attempts at poetry, and in doing so, caught sight of several birds taking flight from the tree above them. "you know it's bad when even the pigeons can't stand it," he smirked, pointing to their silhouettes against the setting sun. "you've got many talents, bramble, but i don't think poetry is one of them. if you ever decide to take up terrorising the local wildlife full time, though, you're golden."

lucrezia lifted the small clay pot between her palms, its base still warm from the brazier. the steam curled upward, fogging briefly against the loose strands of hair that had slipped from her updo, and she poured herself another delicate glass of tea, the amber liquid catching the candlelight. she did not pause before tipping in two spoonfuls of sweetener, stirring lightly, the clink of the spoon a soft punctuation in the space between them. as though it were second nature, she filled a cup for younes as well after she saw the empty glass he fiddled with in his own hands, sliding it across the low table between them in case he should wish for it.

“if you want?” she said simply, her tone easy, almost casual, though her eyes flickered briefly to his, quietly noting the tiredness in them.

she blew gently over the rim of her glass, her lips parting slightly as if coaxing the heat away, and when he spoke—firm, certain—about her hosting a gathering, she found herself faltering. a tiny twist in her expression betrayed her: the upward pull of her brows, the faint downturn of her lips, the way her fingers drummed lightly on the cup as though stalling for time. she gave the smallest wave of her hand, half-panicked, half-playful, as though to say perhaps she would do it if only she had the nerve. but inwardly, she cringed at the idea. she could not remember when it had happened, when she had lost the ease she once felt in calling others together. the thought of standing there, issuing invitations with confidence, made her chest tighten.

she swallowed against it, tucking the feeling deep, not daring to confess aloud that she no longer trusted herself in such a role. instead she forced a smile, raising her tea and sipping lightly. "oh?" she asked as younes spoke of the lord of starpike; she did not know him well, not the slightest. only that he appeared to have popped up suddenly one day, the most fitting candidate to take the role of master of coin. she had never even had a conversation with him, she realised quietly; in those early days too blinded by her own grief for garland, and now she just...hadn't. she found herself wondering why, reflecting upon her own choices - her brows furrowed.

her gaze lingered on younes then, catching the flicker of bitterness in his voice when he spoke of tion peake. she recognised it instantly—jealousy dressed up in jest, the sting of a man who worked himself to bone and sinew without seeing fortune bloom around him. she wanted to reach across the table, to smooth the sharpness from his tone, but she did nothing of the kind. "what do you mean he knew what it was to work hard? you mean in the sense of budgeting?" instead she sipped her tea, considering, thinking of how unfair the world’s map could be: how some lands, like the arbor, overflowed with opportunity, while others—like the vale—seemed to ration it cruelly. luck and location, nothing more. she pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to say it aloud, not wishing to salt his wound further.

“ayca is the very same though, you know,” she said quietly, her voice low but assured, as though it were a simple truth. “that is why you get along so well.” she left it there, not pressing further, unwilling to give away more than she intended. her tone carried no implication, only a kind of innocent certainty that her words were all she meant, nothing more and nothing less. when his playful sarcasm curled around her offer, she tilted her head, her voice gentle but protesting, as if to try and defend her stance and perhaps assure him more. “it does matter, younes,” she countered, her tone almost naïve in its insistence. “if the grapes are not picked at the right time, it ruins the wine. then all the merchants know, and it is sold for less. it makes a difference.” there was a warmth in her words, softening her point, but she meant it with all sincerity.

her hand moved absently to her hair, tucking back the stubborn curls that always escaped in the heat, her cheeks slightly flushed from the humid air. she tried to appear unbothered as he looked at her, her expression carefully casual, as though the suggestion she had laid before him were no more than idle talk. inside, though, her heart beat quicker. she prayed he would take it, that he would see it for what it was—a lifeline for him, yes, but for her too. she needed this as much as he did, especially if she was going to try and settle this once and for all. she leaned a little closer, her hazel eyes intent, her voice softening.

“and besides, the elderly men and the women—they will remain. they know the ways of the fields, of the vines. they can guide the others, show them what to do. your men will not be alone in it.” she said it with quiet assurance, countering his hesitation, her tone calm but edged with an undercurrent of hope. she lifted her tea again, sipping slowly, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue as she looked at him over the rim of her glass. she tried not to appear too pressing, too insistent; she knew well the pride that their men carried, pride like armour they had been raised to wear from boyhood. her own mind briefly trailed to the words her mother would use when doting on adnan, when he were mere weeks in his cradle; calling him the future man of the house. he never became that, but he had heard the title whispered to him before he could ever understand it.

that sense of pride was as much their predator as much as it allowed them to look upon their prey, she had realised quietly some years ago - and with this deal, she tread carefully to ensure she did not wound.

instead, she matched his uncertainty with her own measured restraint, leaving silences for him to fill, never pushing too far. when she did speak again, her words carried a kind of quiet warmth, steady and unhurried. “i wouldn’t ask if i did not believe it could work. i wouldn’t ask if i thought it would shame you.” she set her cup down, her fingers brushing over the rim idly. “you’ve men, i’ve fields that need tending when mine are on the seas. the gods did not give us a season of grapes only to see it lost. it is simple.” she gave a small, crooked smile then, tilting her head, her eyes soft with both playfulness and something more earnest beneath. “besides, i could not bear to drink poor wine. and neither could you, it would be akin to a catastrophe.”

but he was not one for sentiment, even with warmth in his chest that was nothing to do with the heat. he placed his empty cup to one side in favour of the new, holding it in his hands for a moment as the heat seeped through the china. "thank you," he nodded, his sole acknowledgement before taking a sip.

"mmm," he held up a finger of his free hand, indicating her to wait a moment. she had enquired about tion peake right as he took a mouthful of tea, and he had more to say on the matter of tion peake to allow the moment to slip by. "no, no, it's not budgeting," his cup was returned to the table, and his head cocked to the side. he wondered at how it was that lucrezia did not know of the turn around in fortunes that house peake had experienced, both being from houses of the reach, but then, he supposed, he might simply have more of a penchant for gossip.

"i mean that he used to be dirt poor himself. the peakes have been broke for years." he suddenly found himself very interested in the pattern of the table cloth, because examining it was easier than meeting her eyes. he rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, a low laugh escaping him. "bit like us, i suppose." it was not a secret that the corbrays possessed little in the way of wealth, with only their name marking them as noble. lucrezia knew, and he knew that she knew, but it stung him to admit it all the same. "except along came tion peake. managed to get some good trade going starpike way, and made enough of a fortune that he forgot he was ever a pauper." his envy was palpable, eating at him more than he wanted it to, because he knew it was not sheer luck that filled peake coffers. younes had a relentless sort of persistence about him, a scrappiness that carried him even when his body was crying out for him to rest and be still, but never a mind for business. whatever had granted tion peake the business acumen to actually make a difference for his house had simply not been a gift the gods saw fit to grant to younes.

"manderlys can probably tell you more about it," he did his best to sound as though the whole thing was boring to him. "they've been close for years. "

the laugh that escaped him when she compared him to ayca was, in contrast to the one he had let out when speaking of lord peake, both rougher at the edges, but far more real. "gods, don't say that. i'll start taking offence if you compare me to ayca any more," it was not particularly good-natured, but neither was it genuine malice directed at ayca mallister, but the kind of teasing born from knowing the woman well, even if she was not there in the flesh to witness or protest it. "i wouldn't even say we get on, you know. it's more like... i get on her nerves, she loses her temper with me, and then i laugh in her face."

he was more serious as they discussed the arbor, thoughtful and quiet as she explained her logic, grapes and merchants and timing an the importance of the wine and the harvest. younes had never been the idiot that it was easy to present himself as. even a single season of work in the arbor's vineyards would ease some of his burdens for long enough that he might finally get ahead of his house's finances, for the first time in as long as he could remember. even without a mind for numbers, it was plain enough to see, and no matter how much it stung his ego, he needed no more convincing than that. it would not be the first time he needed to swallow his pride and do what must be done, and this would be a far more tolerable option than much of what he had done in the past.

it was something honest, he thought, with a tangible benefit at the end for the both of them. it might even be something he would be proud of, come the autumn when all was said and done. and that she had come to him, perhaps even come to him before any of the countless other options she undoubtedly had open to her - surely that could be a point of pride in itself.

"that would be helpful," he admitted. that she already had a solution to the biggest hurdle he could think of left little other protests on his tongue. and yet, it still felt like a favour, as though doing this would leave him in her debt in a way he did not know how to pay back. it was a lifeline disguised as practicality, and whilst it might not have cost lucrezia much to offer it to him, to the corbrays it could be everything. how did someone begin to settle that debt? he couldn't even thank her, because thanks alone felt too small.

"no, no. i don't feel shamed." the shame was that such measures were needed in the first place, that in all his years there had been no permanent solution to the lack of money that had plagued his house. it was a failure none in his bloodline had managed to solve, no matter if they possessed younes' grit or his sister's brilliance. "i'll just need to talk to yousra, first," the look he gave her was near apologetic, and then, to make it plain that it was not because he doubted her, he offered her further explanation. "just because she's better with numbers than me. i'll get you the men you need, but the numbers..." he raised a hand in a dismissive gesture, "best left to someone who can actually make heads or tails of it."

he leaned back, elbow resting on his knee, eyes scanning the mess of straw and broken targets. “that move with the big one,” walys said, eyebrows arching in mock awe, “i’ll be swearin’ on the maiden’s bosom i didn’t think ye’d pull it off. i had me doubts, but then, look at us, like we planned it all along, clever and lucky enough to make a bard write a ballad about it. though between you and me, i’d rather he wrote it with exaggeration. makes us sound grander than we look, eh?” he tapped the hilt of his own blade lightly, a smirk still perched there.

"always a challenge for you, that," he mocked, eyes flicking down to walys' boots before back up to his face. "don't be looking down on my fancy footwork. would have tripped over you myself without it when you went low." it was naught but a well-timed jump that had kept him standing then, but what mattered was that it had worked.

he shifted his weight, swinging one leg over the log so his feet were planted on either side of it and he could face walys where he sat. "well that's nice," his tone was driping in sarcasm as he took the wineskin back, holding it in one hand rather than immediately raise it to his lips. "glad to know you have so much faith in me. warms the heart, truly."

the wine was working its way through his system, leaving him more mellow than normal. he could feel the dull ache of blooming bruises, but that was a worry for later, when he stripped off his clothes to settle into a warm bath that would soothe his aching muscles. "did i see it wrong, or did you take a bash to the ribs at the end there?" he asked, leaning an elbow on his thigh to prop himself up. "well, if you did, you're still up and walking. can't be that bad or you'd be in with the maesters right about now."

lucrezia redwyne, seated cross-legged on the low cushioned divan of her apartments, gave a slightly crooked smile instead, one that didn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes. she glanced down at the hem of her kaftan, twisting a loose thread between her fingers. “hadi ya… come on,” she said softly, embarrassed now, though she tried to veil it with humour. “you say that like i haven’t caused a full three disputes in the last council meeting alone. you should’ve seen lord peake's face when i asked about the arbor militia. i think he might have aged five years on the spot, thinking we are mad.” she tried to laugh, but it came out small.

the truth was, she wasn’t used to being liked for being herself—not the version of herself that was sharp at the edges, that asked hard questions and refused to wait for permission. and to hear it so openly made her feel strangely foolish for the warmth that came over her at the words - why was she concerned with being liked, as though she were not a woman grown? who knew, and yet there was no denying the sense of shyness that came over her that she scoffed off.

it was easier, perhaps, when she was just a girl who danced and smiled and said very little. but that girl had no wine to oversee, no harvests to safeguard, no fleet to answer to. but her voice lacked its usual sharpness, no sting in it. the moment was too warm, too softened. she watched him glance toward the stage again where the last group of dancers were bowing to polite applause. the flutes trilled still, the air full of sandalwood and cardamom and something faintly citrus from the wines being passed around in cut crystal goblets.

her eyes found his again, more gently now. “you’re right, though. we’re not our parents. maybe that’s a blessing. maybe we get to build something new, something that’s ours. and it’s allowed to be messy.” she softened further, a quiet warmth rising to her voice. “you said you’ll try. that’s all i needed to hear. plus, i need a party. it's been too long, i just want to get dressed up.”

she tilted her head slightly, resting her cheek on her knuckles, watching younes with a narrowed, thoughtful gaze. his protest about villainy made her lips quirk. “you do, though,” she murmured, not unkindly as she blew over the top of her tea. “you make it so easy for people to misunderstand you, you and ayca alike appear some dark duo in the corners of rooms, like a gossipy pair of kittens." she would be lying if she did not admit to at times quite enjoying the gossip herself, though far less obviously about it. still, they knew by the look that crossed her face; as though she were telling them off but also living for it all at once.

"i don’t know if that’s self-preservation or habit, but either way, i see it for what it is. and i think others do too. at least… the ones who bother to look. are the manderly lords not your keepers?” she teased slightly, reaching forward to indicate for a window to be opened. the tea had long gone cold, forgotten beside the small dish of candied rose petals she hadn’t touched. outside, the summer air still pressed close, a sluggish heat that clung to the stone walls and softened her curls into a frizz she had long since stopped fighting. she sat up straighter then, suddenly more purposeful.

“i wanted to ask you something,” she said, the shift in tone unmistakable. “something boring and strategic, i know, but you’re here, and you’ll tell me the truth even if you find the whole subject exhausting.”

and, he could help. but she would need to tread that subject carefully; younes corbray was a prideful man, as were most men - and yet, she also knew briefly enough that they needed help. the corbrays always needed help. her hands folded in her lap. she looked up at him, not expectant, just earnest. “i’m planning to conscript every able-bodied man on the arbor into service—i don’t want to do it in pieces, in drips, but decisively, all at once. the thing is, we still need to keep the wine flowing, the grain harvested, the ports running. the women are already doing so much, especially in ryamsport—repairs, navy support, all of it. but the wineries need labour. the vineyards, too. we can’t lose a season. if the grapes go bad…” she trailed off, exhaling a breath. “well. it doesn’t matter. it cannot happen.”

she tucked a leg beneath herself, leaning toward him now as if trying to draw him closer with sheer will. and now she would ask as though she did have a plan the entire time - she would ask the corbrays to help her. “i don’t suppose you’ve heard of anyone—mercenaries, labourers, anyone willing to move? me and omer's men are spread, and then with the isles too...i need bodies. or even if you’ve heard complaints. i need to know the mood, younes. not the official line, not the pleasantries. i need to know what the smallfolk are saying to one another when no lords are around because gods know i cannot afford a riot.”

"sounds like you're doing them a favour, if you ask me. keeping them on their toes." he was teasing her, but not about the flush of humility she had just shown, something gentler than that. he couldn't put his finger on why it bothered him to see her shrink back, only that it did. "especially with lord peake. man used to know what it was to work hard. heard he's getting soft down there in starpike, surrounded by all his luxuries." he tried to keep the joke going, but bitterness clouded his tone now, because younes worked hard, too, and yet had never managed anything beyond a bit of breathing space for a few moons. because he had neither business acumen nor great intellect and nothing to sell but his strength and skill with a blade, something that was in short supply in no realm, and did not fetch a high enough price for the exhaustion that set into his bones day after day.

messiness, though, he could do. if nothing else, he possessed a rare ability to fan the flames of chaos. he grinned at the thought. "you're a bad influence on me, lucrezia redwyne," he gave a mock-tut, then held his hands up, as though surrendering. "but you're right. what worked for our parents clearly isn't right for us. if it is to continue, it need to be something that fits." he was playing with the cup in his hands, now empty, idlly, mostly for something to do with his fingers. "you'll throw a party," he spoke firmly. "and everyone will come. and we'll all talk about how wonderful it is to see one another and how we musn't let it be so long next time, and i'll busy myself making sure everyone holds true to their word." it was about all he could do, though he was still unsure how many of the others would listen to him.

he tried to school his expression into indifference, though in reality, it was likely not too different to what she had displayed herself only moments ago, self-conscious and embarrassed. it was exactly as she said it was, because it was easier to be misunderstood than it was to disappoint, though he would not admit that aloud to any save perhaps yousra, and only because she knew him too well to lie to. "maybe you're the one who misunderstands me," he said, his voice quieter than he intended it to be, taken aback by the joint relief and terror at being seen. "ayca definitely doesn't. she knows i'm rotten to the core. that's why she likes having me around. makes her feel better about herself."

he turned his face towards the window, willing the breeze to drift through and cool him, but none came. it was only the heat, heavy and humid. he dropped the teacup, hooking fingers under his collar to pull it from his neck, as though that might cool him down, and barked a laugh. "my keepers? no. i'm the persistent pain in their arse they've never quite managed to shake off."

his gaze turned to her expectantly when she mentioned having another thing to asking him, expecting it to be something more about the people of the old way, or perhaps something to do with his cousin. he and omer had not seen each other lately, but had grown close during her husband's time in the vale. what he did not expect was her to talk about agriculture in the arbor. his expression remained politely blank, with just a tinge of suspicion creeping in the more she spoke. by the time she finished, with an offer of work that would almost sound casual if he didn't know better, he had fully caught on to what she had done.

it was not just strategy for the arbor's sake, but for his, too, or at least, for his house, twisted neatly to make it sound as though he was the one doing her a favour, not the other way around. for a long moment, he remained silent. he'd always been sensitive about their financial position, and there was a thread of pride that curled in his chest now. but it was far outweighed by the gratitude he felt in that moment, enough that he had to fight the urge to kneel at her feet in thanks.

"hmm," he said, tone thoughtful. "yeah, i could see how that would be a problem. proper farmer shortage you've got in the reach, everyone says so," the look he gave her was pointed, but there was a slight smile on his lips. he was being sarcastic, knowing well there were plenty of houses, closer to her, with more experienced agricultural hands, who she could summon for help.

and if it had come from anybody else, perhaps he would have took it as an attempt to humiliate, but he could not believe that of lucrezia. for a moment, he sat back to think, hand running over the rough stubble on his jaw. he was doing mental calculations in his head, and in the end, he realised it was doable. they had enough men in heart's home in need of steady work, and sending them to the arbor would guarantee food in their bellies and a little more for their families. he nodded his head, but when he looked at her, it was not with the expression of a man ready to talk business, but one that was humble, if not a little uncertain.

“well, you did not do business with me, so i am only taking your word for it,” she pointed out, but she did not press further, now. “this way,” she said quietly, stepping lightly into the stream of foot traffic, weaving through dockworkers and foreign traders with an ease that came from years of observation. she did not glance back to see if he followed.

there was a part of her that still hesitated, not out of doubt in her ability, but from that quiet, ever-present worry that speaking her mother’s tongue aloud might feel too much like exposure. even here, so far from shenlong, something about it made her chest tighten. she craved it, yes, but it frightened her too. freedom had always carried the shape of her mother’s homeland, and that shape was not always soft.

when she spotted the merchant, settled on a crate near the edge of the harbor, robes loose and sleeves rolled in the heat, she paused just long enough to draw breath. then she stepped forward, her voice warm and fluid as she addressed him in yitish, careful, respectful, and clear. she asked after the shipment as though she had every right to ask. and in that moment, maybe she did.

it was all a little too convenient that she just happened to know a yitish trader, he thought, listening to the two of them converse in words he could not understand. was she truly interceding on his behalf, or were they trading secrets, mocking him, thinking about how further to empty his pockets?

the latter. the moment malee spoke of coin, his demeanour shifted, the gleam in his eye that sparked might have been confused for playfulness had there not been more than a tinge of mania to it. he would not be cheated twice - even if he was inclined to be gullible. he had no more coin to spare.

"my worst has never killed you," she said mildly, though the faint crook of her mouth could almost be called a smile. "not yet, at least." her tone was dry as bone, but unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world for suffering and slow poison. she clicked her tongue softly when he mentioned the last batch. “then it worked. just not how i’d hoped.” her gaze flicked to him briefly, unreadable. she did not elaborate. she was only grateful he was willing to endure this for a bit of coin, and it wasn't some poor little rabbit.

"oh, that's really reassuring," he rolled his eyes. "not yet," a huff as he repeated the words, his humour, the act of this being some long-suffering chore was simple concealment for one fact alone. this, all of this, frightened him a little bit, though younes would never admit that out loud. he didn't ask what she meant by stating that it worked, albeit not as she planned. he wasn't sure he wanted to.

he took the glass from her and raised it to eye level, examining it with suspicious. "looks like swamp water," he grumbled. "actual swamp water." he sniffed it. it didn't smell like swamp water, the aroma of mint the first thing he noticed, but that didn't make him any less anxious. as ever, she gave him no indication as to what to expect. he had asked once, and she had told him it might affect the results of the process, and so younes had stopped asking.

sometimes he complained a bit before drinking, but he didn't today. he steeled himself, raised the vial to his lips, and poured it back in one go, because dragging out made it worse. then, he coughed. he could taste the mint and feverleaf, though they didn't hide the bitter tang, just sat awkwardly alongside the flavour of something he couldn't name. "goes down smooth as gravel," he choked, slamming the empty vial on the nearest table, already bracing himself for his body to betray him with nausea or cold sweats.

“oh, i do hope you become philosophical,” she said softly, stepping forward at last, the fabric of her gown whispering against stone. “i imagine it would suit you. you’ve always worn masks so well—i admit, i’m curious to see the face beneath.”

she took his arm then, light and deliberate. the melodies found their ways back into her mind, lutes and low strings, too lovely for the nonsense most of the guests would do with it. mariela didn’t glance back toward the banquet hall just yet. her gaze remained on him.

“i’m not asking you to be a decorative object,” she said after a moment, tone smooth as silk pulled taut. “though, perhaps you’ll finally understand what it is to be a woman at half the functions you so enjoy flitting through.” her eyes flicked over his features, amused. “and to endure a room full of dull people without making yourself the most interesting, if not foolish, thing in it. just for one night.”

the lady of moonhill could practically feel his reluctance in the steps they took. “if it helps,” she added, voice low, “i will be just as joyless. just as restrained. you will not be alone in your suffering.” though truthfully mariela would be quite content with not having to make nice for the rest of the evening.

she guided them toward the hall, her pace unhurried, savoring the cool air before the heat of candlelight would gather them back in its hold. “besides, flowers wilt,” she said lightly. “poems, i already have shelves of.” a glance sideways, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her mouth. “kisses behind curtains… that’s another game entirely. not one that partake in."

he made a show of dragging his feet as they walked, almost theatrically slow, with all the enthusiasm of a man going to the gallows. "there's no mask," his dark eyes flicked to her, for a second, bewildered. there was plenty that younes corbray would not say in public, and the fact that there was more going on behind the scenes was one of them. he wasn't even sure he knew where the real him lay, these days. somewhere in between all of the rest of it, he supposed.

he cleared his throat, pushing the thought away. "besides," he began. "i know you won't be suffering. you like watching me squirm too much. it's perverse, the pleasure you get from making me dance to your merry tunes." there was no mistaking the fact her was teasing now. despite his promise to be on his best behaviour, his smirk grew.

she was saved from further complaint on that matter by the loud rumbling of his stomach, though this only gave him something new to complain about. "and i bet the roast is cold by now," he sighed. "what a waste tonight is turning out to be."

for a breath, she said nothing. just watched him, studied him, as one might a storm rolling in over still water. there was pride in his anger, yes, but he almost seemed betrayed, as if she had carefully laid out some plan to trap him.

“if i had wanted the flowers, lord corbray,” she said softly, “i would have purchased them myself. not stolen them from you like some... thief skulking about the docks.” her words weren’t sharp, not quite, but they were cool, tempered like a blade folded a thousand times. “i didn’t set a trap, but you should think more carefully before giving weight to passing words.”

her eyes flicked down to the planks between them, then back up to meet his, calm and dark. “i mentioned them in passing. a single mention. i did not beg you to go chasing after them across oceans.” her chin lifted slightly, proud but not cruel. “that you did, that you invested so deeply in the idea, says more about you than it does about me.”

and yet, she didn’t step away. despite the jabbing of his finger, the mockery in his tone, malee couldn't help, but pity him, there was almost desperation to his demeanor. she wondered how much this would cost him, how much he needed it.

the lady turned slightly, the fine silk of her sleeves catching the light as she lifted her gaze toward the rows of ships anchored in the harbor. sails bearing markings from across the world, banners faded from salt and sun. too many places. too many hands.

“if it truly was meant for you,” she went on, still not quite looking at him, “then it’s likely still here. waiting. lost beneath someone else’s name, or misspoken in translation.” then she glanced at him, just briefly, cool and even.

“there’s a yitish trader i recognize from my brother’s routes. he’s on the manifest for today’s docks, third vessel down.” a pause, then the faintest arch of a brow. “i can speak with him. it may be faster than relying on...however you've managed to effectively communicate thus far.”

it wasn't even really about the flowers anymore, though it was a severe annoyance. his pride was dented more than he cared to admit, the dawning horror of wasted money scratching at him. and she had the gall to stand there, looking at him like he'd just grown an extra head, after planting the seed at watching him chase it halfway across the world.

"let it say what it says about me. i care not." he'd done enough humiliating things in the name of money, and it had left him with relatively thick skin when it came to what was said what he was not present. "you know what happened to them. and i know you know. whatever this performance you're putting on, you've chosen the wrong man." it was an insult to his intelligence to pretend otherwise. "if it was truly meant for me? i paid for it. of course it was meant for me." at this point, he had no point what she was on about, until her next words fell from her lips.