Elayne sighed and slumped against the wall of what could not quite be called a castle. It wasn't grand enough, but it was far better than the ruins of Harrenhal. Jeyne had been delivered back to her studies, the Lord Lucas pacified with such though he raged at the scene when the guard had reported it. Slim fingers danced over the fabric of her gown. The neckline was a bit low, as she lacked the bosom of Alys, the skirt a bit higher from their difference in height. It was acceptable enough for a lady-in-waiting, the cast off of a mistress for a favored servant to explain the fine fabric. As it was, the other servants, even here, did not accept her and the nobles, once they knew who she was, dismissed her.
Harroway's ghost, a servant, a bastard. Lord Lucas had dismissed her after a stinging lecture that had scorched her ears. He had struck Jeyne, finding her in lads clothing too much especially when she had risked her purity among the lowborn. Animals, with only baser instincts as he would say it and had. The Lord of Harroway would not raise his hand to her however, she bruised too easily and was too fair. Plus it could be misconstrued as an insult to the Valyrian blood, that he would never do.
And so she wandered. Her feet treading into the various halls and gardens. Absently admiring a wall hanging or flower. Her fingers twisting with the lack of anything to do. Her mending was in the rooms she shared with her sisters, neither of which would take kindly to seeing her at the minute. Her books as well, and she did not think to dare the libraries here. So she finally found a quiet spot in the small gardens that pleased some ladies; it was a rather pathetic thing compared to the ones in Harrenhal that Catelyn kept tended. The small bit of joy the woman had torn from grey and melted stone. Sitting on a bench she leaned against the old tree that had been spared in the building, sheltered by hedges. Her eyes closing as she basked in the sun's warmth. At least it was quiet with the sea breeze, a lovely day and it would have been perfect if it had been just a tad warmer!
The day had started so pleasantly. The Flame of Lys more than met her reputation, and she had been more than worth the coin. His pocket was noticeably lighter, but nothing that couldn’t be resolved with a few wisely placed bets or brawls. Yet the sighting of a dragon had been enough to stir him to action other than trying to find his way beneath the Lyseni’s skirts. If Maegor had returned to Westeros, Ser Osric was certain he needed to be there to represent the Vale in greeting their Prince.
Alas, by the time had dressed and stumbled from the Sheath and Dagger into the light of day, there was only confusion around what had occurred or who had been there. The crowd of smallfolk seemed more concerned about some dispute in the street than anything else. His companions, those who had joined him at the brothel the night before, had long since cleared out as well. With annoyance, too much annoyance to return and see how much coin it would take to convince the Flame to enrapture him again, he made his way back towards the Red Keep and his lodgings there.
The knight’s mood had turned sour on his journey back. While the Red Keep, or formerly the Aegonfort, was nearly complete, much had been built up even in the past year he had taken up residence. His mind was elsewhere and he had taken a few wrong turns before realizing it. “Maiden fuck me sens-” He muttered to himself as he paused and leaned against a stone wall. He had been here before he was certain, was it the Rosby girl who had dragged him here for privacy? Or the pretty little serving girl who he’d let entertain him for a week? One of them, he was certain, had found themselves pressed against these walls. But he knew where he was, with some degree of certainty, and so he set off again, heading for what he thought would be a garden that he’d pass through to noble’s housing.
Osric turned a corner and smiled, he had been right. At least his penchant for remembering trysts proved to be multipurpose. It wasn’t abnormal for the gardens to be in use, but he was stopped suddenly short at the form he spied ahead of him. A slight, pretty thing, with silver hair, the Arryn knight pressed his lips in thought. Princess Rhaena had left some time ago. King Aenys and his family had been on Dragonstone, unless…Unless perhaps Princess Melyssanthi had returned alone? Or perhaps she was one of the Velaryon cousins. It was intriguing regardless and he found his mood shift back, just a little.
As he drew closer, he planted a confident smile across his face. He was handsome, refined in a roguishly handsome way. Or so women had told him. He kept his blonde hair cropped close, a beard neatly trimmed and almost golden in the sun. At this distance now he was even less certain of who the girl before him was, but she was still a very pleasing sight, if a bit sad.
“A lady as beautiful as you, how could you be here all by yourself? Ser Osric Arryn, at your service.” He spoke loudly, too loudly, and offered an exaggerated bow in her direction. His brother - half-brother - had always hated how he seemed to say their family name as a boast. Even before Maegor had elevated them to lords of the Eyrie. But it had always been so very effective at getting Osric whatever it was he desired.
There was a voice interrupting on Elayne's private thought that was nearing a doze. Green-blue eyes opened to an incredibly handsome man, a fighter by the look of him, bowing to her. Her gaze dropped as she stood, mourning the loss of the quiet she enjoyed. Dipping a curtsy to the Ser Arryn, a relation to the Lord of the Vale doubtless, the woman raised her hand to flick the tumble of silvery hair from her shoulder.
"You flatter me, Ser, but I am no lady of renown. Merely a handmaiden of the House of Harroway." It would be best to say such right off, lest he thought her to be lying as to her position. He was a loud man, boisterous. Watching him through the veil of her lashes, she folded her hands demurely. If he was merely passing by and mistook her, perhaps she could maintain the peaceful moment as of yet. "Is there aught I could aid you with?" Her voice was politely interested, even if her wish was to see him on his way.
His eyes eagerly took in her form as she bent in a curtsy. Her eyes were wrong to make her Valyrian, but she was entirely enchanting regardless. Particularly in the way the neckline fell away from her. She was a sweet one then, he read her instantly. A handmaiden she said, but something did not sit entirely right about it. House Harroway, that was a house he knew enough of to know there were too many to keep straight. Osric knew of Lord Lucas at least, though he was certain to have never crossed paths with the man. “Your sweet voice is all the aid I need, I think. I was on my way back to my rooms, but now I fear I’ll lose myself in the beauty of your eyes and never find my way back.” A sweet maiden could not be pushed too quickly, he approached her as delicately as he knew how. She was not the Flame of Lys, but she was at least a very pleasing distraction.
"You honor me with your words. If you were to tell me where the Arryns are housed, perhaps I could be of assistance. I have wandered these halls for some time." Considering she was often banished from Lucas's or Hanna's sight for some perceived slight. Perhaps if she guided this man back, he would then let her be to her own pleasure again. Yet his words made her cheeks turn a slight pink, such words were rarely spoken in a flattering tone. Damon always was scornful when he appraised her. "A Knight so handsome and skilled with words, I can hardly pay back the compliment without offering my small service in directing you on your way." Or she could leave. Perhaps that was the better option.
That was easier than I expected. It nearly took the fun out of the game, but she seemed so earnest in her offer, Osric stopped himself from overthinking it. “My lady is far too kind. My men and I were put in what I’m told has become known as ‘Lordling Row’.” His grin flickered, it was a long stretch of rooms with men much like himself. Second and third sons from respectable houses. Lord Hubert had yet to visit and would surely have found the atmosphere not to his tastes. “I’m certain it’s not far, but your kindness in this is not something I will forget.” He waited for her to guide him away so that he could get a better look of her from behind, certain it would not disappoint.
Elayne had been passing Ser Osric and paused in the entry way they now both occupied. She knew where the Lordling Row was and that her sister, and by extension her, had been forbidden to go there. "I see…" She turned her form meek as she twisted her finger into a strand of the silvery hair, tugging at it absently in thought. "I shall give you directions, it would be most improper if I were to be seen there." She sighed, almost disappointed she could not waste some time helping this Arryn knight. It would have filled the absent hours of the day. To the man it might seem a sigh of forlorn longing as her eyes looked distinctly sad. "I do apologize for the inconvenience."
A soft hmmph, he stopped it from being a grunt of annoyance, passed his lips. How innocent, for her concern at propriety. It did little to dissuade him, and more to encourage him. She just needed convincing that the risk was worth the reward. “I assure you, sweet Lady…” Osric paused for longer than needed. “You’ve not told me your name.” He let his smile diminish, crestfallen at the realization. But, for the first time, he drew closer to her, placed himself close enough that if he wanted to, he could barely extend his arm to grasp the hand that played with her hair. The knight’s arm flinched, as if he intended the gesture but thought better of it and dropped his arm back to his side.
Her eyes widened at her rudeness for not giving her name. "Elayne. Elayne Rivers." She whispered, hating that she was placing herself as the scorned bastard rather than a simple servant. Her finger was still twisting and twinning in that strand as her pale skin turned slightly more crimson. Dipping a very small curtsy. "My apologies, I should have said."
The name stirred nothing other than small joy in the minor victory. The smile returned but so too did a hunger in his eyes. He reached out this time, and took the hand that was tangled in her silvery tresses. “Elayne. No need to apologize. Nor to appear so demure.” He pressed and prodded at her walls to see if they crumbled in the slightest to his advances.
She blinked, startled as the man took his hand. Not be demure? No need to apologize? "But-" She hesitated, then gave the man a small smile. "You are kind, Ser Osric, to a humble woman like myself." She left her hand in his. There was no reason to protest, but she would if he continued holding it! Or Elayne hoped she would have enough of a nerve to do so.
She demurred still, but did not flinch or push him away and so Osric took it as acceptance, even eagerness. “I am not kind, just not blind, Elayne. We will leave your reputation intact, I promise.” He kept one hand holding hers but brought the other to the small of her waist and pulled her towards him. “Lead me to where my rooms are, and let us share a bottle of Arbor Gold when we arrive.”
Elayne blinked, startled as a hand wrapped about her waist. An uninvited hand that did feel quite good. But… She stiffened and blushed a deep crimson. "I- I do not think- Arbor Gold is a bit rich for a handmaiden!" She protested, feeling her form pressed up against this man, her hands pressed against his chest. "It would potentially lead to a lie to your words and my honor not in tactics, Ser." Did he- Was he suggesting to bed her?!
The sound came to the small garden as a surprise; it was guttural, yet strained at a higher pitch than any such sound should rightfully be. Its volume could have reached well into any nook, alcove, or corner of stone. Like a flame sparked in pitch, the sound blazed through walls and shattered narrow focuses.
Both the woman and the man in the garden stopped cold, and darted their eyes in the direction from which the sound emanated. Vaera Balaerys just happened to be leaned against the far garden wall, opposite the one nearest the man and woman, her arms crossed over her chest and lilac eyes burning a hole through the scene the two of them were making. She knew better than to believe it was pure chance; something inside of her was felt through her, and Saeryx reacted, calling out to her.
She had come back to the unfinished Keep to send a message. When the Maester protested, she dismissed him, knowing damned well that a raven could reach one of the Free Cities just as easily as it could the Citadel. Knowing that the Maesters of Oldtown had their footholds on Essos, even if they were temporary ones, meant for study. They had been very insistent, and she believed them. But did she believe no message could reach the shores of Essos from this city? She did not. Send the message, have the messenger get it to Volantis. She promised to owe the damnable chained man a favor. When he brought up asking her about Sothoryos, she only sighed, and nodded. Fair enough, but another day.
It was on her way she just happened to catch sight of the girl from before. And, this time, it wasn’t with one of her entitled half-siblings, but being approached by an actual little lordling of Westeros. So she stopped, still head to toe in black leather and shining mail, weapons, and all, to watch the scene unfold. Surely any woman would recognize the stress of the moment.
Not that she let on for a second, even as the two noticed her, her lips breaking in a playful little smile, “Oh, don’t mind me. Elayne and I were just talking about Valyrian blood earlier. Nice to see my words falling so close to the breast.”
Breast, she said, instead of heart.
For her part, Elayne looked horrified at the other woman. Now fully pushing to try and slip away from the presumptuous knight. That sound had caused her body to stiffen in terror, more than the concern she was already facing. "No, I- You are both mistaken. Ser, Your Highness. Nothing like that-!" She was saying words was she not? Yet it felt like nothing was making sense, and worse, why did know knights one and all have to be large men?!
He had assurances at the tip of his tongue for the woman he pulled against him. Honeyed promises of both joy and discretion that awaited her. Yet he was stopped short, quickly driven to annoyance for the interruption. The knight’s annoyance faded when he took in the sight of who was to blame. He dropped his hands from Elayne and put two steps between them quickly. Osric made a proper bow in the interloper’s direction. Silver haired woman in black armor, he didn’t know who she was exactly, but few would be so bold as to walk the Red Keep like that and not be of dragonblood. And somehow Elayne and this woman knew each other? The Arryn knight was dumbstruck, an usual event for the confident man. “Your highness.” He spoke at last, having found his tongue.
Vaera Balaerys smiled sweetly. “Do you like dragons, my Lord?”
Osric blinked, momentary confusion cast across his face. “Of course I do, your highness.” Still, she was so casual, so bold, so flippant, he found her rather appealing. And that was always his undoing. The confusion remained but the smirk returned. “Majestic creatures, and their riders put the rest of Westeros to shame in both power and beauty…your highness.” He bent his neck to her, a recognition of how very precise he was being in that assessment.
Elayne had felt shame at what had gone on and been assumed. Now there was snapping anger as she looked on at Osric. How dare he have been so presumptive of her! An honest attempt to give him aid and he thought to take more than she had offered! Damon would have sold her to the Lyseni if she had gone through with it. "They are majestic, Ser. Though only the bravest and those of good sense have the ability to dare attempt such a challenge." She snipped, her voice polite but cold, as she edged around the garden towards Vaera. Not wanting to leave even the sword-toting woman alone with this man.
For all the talk and bluster of the man, it was the girl Vaera found herself staring at strangely. The girl seemed to be creeping closer to her.
…what the fuck are you doing?...Vaera understood it. Truly, she did. She wasn’t the tallest, most physically imposing woman in any land. She was tall, but she was more quick, lithe, understanding in full every weapon she touched and the leverage and angles to be as lethal as possible. A dragon and Valyrian steel were also two very effective equalizers.
And, yet…what the fuck was she doing? She had fought dark men wielding weapons she had never seen before, just out of the bush of Sothoryos. She had fought off ambushes in the Bone Mountains, days from Kayakayanaya. And this girl thought…that she would protect her, Vaera Balaerys?
So Vaera just…stared at the girl. Flat, confused. “You do know if I’m killed, my dragon will likely frenzy and burn everything in sight, make a nest of the rubble and bones and ash, then do it all again and again until its grief is sated by vengeance? Do you really think they want to kill me? We’re not Targaryens. Our dragons aren’t Targaryen dragons. They don’t even…”
Eventually, Vaera just shook her head, said, under her breath, “fuck it,” and returned her attention to the Lord. “Would you like a ride on my dragon, Lord? I feel my time in King’s Mudpit is at an end.”
His arms involuntarily flexed, was this woman serious? If she was not a Targaryen, then there was only one other family he knew who still tamed dragons; he felt rather emboldened by the knowledge. “My apologies for not seeing it sooner - you must be of House Balaerys.” Osric gave a smug smile. Free Cities nobility, as it was, though he thought little of rulers of cities when his family held a kingdom. What a match that would be. Nevermind whatever warnings she had given, “I would be honored to ride with you.” Pleasant words, but tainted by the way he said it, as if the riding
with her was an afterthought.
Elayne did not like this man. Not in the slightest. Her eyes were worried as she glanced towards the noblewoman. Even with a sword and a dragon… Well this man was going to attempt what few dared. Perhaps he would be devoured by his hubris. A wicked thought but Elayne knew his type. The same type that would see her with a bastard in her belly and her skirts about her head.
She found it a desperate sense of entitlement. He was so sure what he saw and what he felt was the result of a trap of the life he was born into. Certain he’d be fulfilled, just looking at her, at the prospect of the dragon and destiny. So certain in the tale told to him by his birth of nobility, the capacity of self-delusion encouraged by that entitlement, walking around like it was some kind of fucking virtue.
Pawing Elayne. Drooling at her. Deep inside, the Valyrian blooded Balaerys began to boil. He was a fool. If she gutted him here and now he’d die on the ground, and in his eyes? Would be the certainty that he was someone, that his life mattered, that this was all for him. All his love and his hate and his want and all his dreams and all his ignorance…she had seen the finale of so many countless lives, and each of them certain there was purpose and meaning robbed of them by death.
Then after the fear came and went, dead or alive, staring at their eyes she would always see it…the release of that fear, the comfort of realization that life was little more than a dream of being a person. That it was so easy to just let go.
Instead, her blade stayed sheathed, and the man before her stayed consumed in his own futility of self. So Vaera Balaerys just smiled, and motioned for him to follow, “Good. Let’s go.”
It wasn’t far to reach Saeryx. A courtyard, a long corridor, a few turns to smaller corridors, than the main entrance of the Red Keep and all their bloody stairs. Everything was new, everything smelled new; mortar and paint seemed to fill every breath not filled with the salt in the air from the Narrow Sea and Blackwater Bay just beyond.
Saeryx waited, ready. The blues and purple hues of the dragon seemed to ripple together when it moved at all in the light of the sun above, an iridescence to its wings and large eyes of a molten gold freshly kissed by the furnace flame. The only sudden move it made was a jerk of its head as it regarded the man that accompanied Vaera. It made nearly no noise but for a quick snort, it’s shoulder lowering to allow Vaera the easiest path to the saddle of chain and leather.
Vaera helped the man up. She’d forgotten his name, or perhaps, actively forced herself not to remember it. It wouldn’t matter, either in the short or long run. He was uncertain, he prattled on about dragons, about Valyrians. As much as he talked about others, including the Prince that had irritated her so much just by being, all of it really seemed to be about him. His insecurities. His obsessions.
She smiled and asked him if he was set, before the dragon seemed to just read her mind, and off about it they went. Not that he could see it, but her face remained detached, unmoved, as they went. It wasn’t until they made a quick circle of Aegon’s hill and swept in a low, low flight towards the mud gate that she leaned back, over her shoulder, to shout words to him just so he would hear her over the rushing air.
“You really shouldn’t try to act so entitled. You terrified that poor girl in the courtyard. You looked at me like a prize to be won.”
Then it was, as Saeryx came gliding down near enough the top of the city walls to spook men manning the gate towers, heading for the river, that she twisted her body and took a hard hold of his clothing about the collar. “DO BETTER ONCE HUMBLED.” Her eyes alive with a lilac colored fire, as she did…something with her other hand, that was wrapped in the chain of the ‘saddle’, and Saeryx took a sudden, dramatic, change of direction straight up.
She both let go, and shoved, and given the steepness of their ascent…she just smiled as she watched him float away, trying to desperately cling to anything, and finding nothing but air. It made her happy enough that she even waved a farewell to the man.
The hunting party had been riding out for some time, returning in the buoyed mood of a successful excursion. It had been an affair of several days, a boar hunt, something to get the lively nobles of the Targaryen court excited for a little more danger than tracking fowl or hind. In the end they’d still claimed three deer and the prize they had set out for, a breeding pair of wild boar that had been ravaging some of the outer farmsteads. The small folk had been happy to be rid of them, and they’d make for a fine feast.
Roelle Baratheon didn’t think much of that, beyond perhaps a few trace thoughts of some fine boar sausages, instead she grinned from ear to ear as she raced at the head of the gaggle of nobility. The long tresses of her coal black hair whirling around her as she spurred her steed, a chestnut mare of lively temperament, into an ever faster run across the beaten path. While a boar hunt was achieved through spear, that had been left to the men, and so she was still garbed in the simple, but elegant, white of her archery attire, bow and quiver attached to the side of her saddle. Admitedly her eyes weren’t on the sky, not until the sudden rush of oncoming air from the fast pace of her steed altered slightly.
Was that screaming?Roelle pulled back on the reigns of her steed just in time before the flying form of a man struck the water of the river infront of her, her horse neighing frantically first at the sudden impact then at the sight of dragon from above, swooping away. At least that explained the falling man.
Quickly Roelle cast her eyes to where the man had impacted, there was still a frantic amount of thrashing, but whether that was from the impact or a sign of life might have been unclear. She was still possibly a minute ahead of the rest of the hunters, and didn’t have a huge amount of time to act. A girl who had grown up in Shipbreaker Bay knew how to deal with the current of a river, but she had found that not many others at court did. Quickly, she extracted herself from the saddle, hopping down to the ground, pausing only for a moment to kick her shoes away, she then took a running start and dived forwards, bridging her hands together into a forward throwing dive that cleared her well over the shallows and into the deeper water the unfortunate temporarily-flying man had plummeted.
Roelle was a powerful swimmer, combined with her tall build, meant that once she had powered forwards and took a hold of the man, she actually had something of a hope of getting him to shore. It wasn’t as simple as trying to pull him back, that would be impossible, instead she waited, keeping them both floating, until the current of the river brought them alongside the next bend, then lunged for the shore.
She let out a cry of exertion which almost drowned her simply from opening her mouth, but with a force which made her shoulder feel like it was about to explode, she dragged herself and the man out, onto the brief rocky outcrop, then collapsing back onto the grass.
Panting, only then did she mumble the words, “Stupid day to wear white.”
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