[b]Lord Robert Arryn[/b] [i](written by Sini)[/i]/[b]Lady Celena Lannister[/b] [i](written by Ruby)[/i]
[b]Gulltown after the Trial by Combat[/b]
[i]Over a month ago[/i]

He would live, or so the Grafton’s Maester claimed. Should gangrene set in, Robert would make sure to leave explicit instructions tending to the Maester’s demise. The wound was washed with boiled wine, rinsed with vinegar and dressed accordingly. His shoulder felt swollen, but the blade had not bitten into any bones that would hamper healing. Under Robert’s gaze – who had firmly refused the offered Milk of the Poppy – the Maester’s hands almost trembled. [i]Almost[/i].
 
A missive had reached the Lord of the Vale, secretly arriving by one of his own agents. A back-channel supposedly only known to Robert and those he trusted. Not that he – once the letter was unsealed and deciphered – was surprised who had managed to identify one of the veiled threads with which he kept an ear to the ground. His personal contacts had grown into his network of intelligence, nothing comparable to anything the masters of intrigue boasted of (or well, [i]not[/i] boasted of) but sufficient for his means and designs.
 
The woman, for as he read the delicate handwriting he became certain, could be counted among said spymasters. She belonged to a breed of men and women that traded secrets in the dark, cultivated favours and handled knives at night. There was no shame in his Pentoshi spy’s discovery at the hands of the paradoxically famed woman. He would not have to be admonished, not eliminated. His cover remained intact, and he was more a merchant if anything else. Besides, there was work for the Pentoshi agent to be done.
 
And so, bandaged, his arm constricted and wrapped against his chest, Lord Robert Arryn descended from the Grafton Keep hooded, cloaked in black, towards the bustling harbour town below. Three men accompanied him, knowing how much his… visitor appreciated privacy. He hoped she would understand him not coming all on his own. He also hoped she would see his hearing of her request and indeed meeting her at the waterfront as the gesture of good faith that it was.
 
Robert wondered if she considered him to be a friend, then dismissed the thought. She was what she was and had perhaps foresworn friends altogether – matter what history lay between them. His mind wandered – blessedly clear though, the meeting part of why he had refused the Milk of the Poppy – to moments shared in the past, hushed words, whispers and sad promises made. Vanity and hubris of youth, thinking he could handle the world and her.
 
His Arryn guards kept pace, swords and knives at their sides. It was clear from how they walked that they were armed and trained in their use. Gulltown had an underground society, people would mistake them for criminals, cutthroats or smugglers making their way to some dark transaction. Robert himself only had a small knife, wounded as he was fighting would be out of the question. He would have to trust in his men, which he did. Not that he despaired, this was no trap.
 
The street was lined with timber shacks and teetering hovels, a seedy part of town, the [i]Cock and Bulls[/i] tavern their destination. One of the Arryn men went first, cleared a path to the room on the first floor. They were ordered to stay outside, one of them covering the stairs the other two flanking the door to the designated room.
 
Climbing the stairs he had had to suppress wincing, his ribcage groaning under the strain. Ser Gerold Egen had battered his chest thoroughly, and breathing came difficult. Once on the first floor, he needed a moment to steady himself and catch his breath. He was tired from walking here.
 
Robert knocked with his free hand, thrice, then pushed open the rickety door. It was heavier than he expected. Inside, he saw a large window with open shutters through which moonlight shone, the bay beyond. A figure stood between him and said window. He knew that was because she wanted that way out, likely had two alternative routes or strategies to quickly make an exit.
 
Looking at her, Robert’s throat went dry before he remembered he was Lord of the Vale now. He had to keep that in mind, act in the interest of his position and people. Even in the pale light there was no mistaking the golden hue of the woman’s hair, the smouldering green of her eyes.
 
He did not know whether he hated, or loved that woman.
 
Tackling the memories, he discovered he was grinning. “How long have you been here, Celena?” At the very least one had to admire her skills. Robert came clean right off the bat. “There’s three men outside the door, no one else. We both know how much you value discretion.” He had taken them as protection against Gulltown’s denizens now with his temporary indisposition, not her. She was smart enough to figure that out.

"Last I recall, you valued my discrection, too."

The words were smiled at Lord Arryn, instead of smirked, as they likely should have been. Her body moved across the room instantly, passing Robert, and pushing the door to an immediate and secure close. As for the note of men, Celena ignored it--at best she would be out and gone before any of them could move an inch if it came to it. At worst, she'd be in a cell.

That was best and worst case for him, for Lord Arryn, not her. Celena Lannister was long past any best case scenarios. When she turned from the door to peer upon him, her smile returned to her ruby lips. 

"Lord Robert."

Where did she start? It was hard for Celena to decide; to warn him? No. He wouldn't take such a strange warning well, and she wasn't in the business of warning people about the coming storm to Westeros. At least, not yet. He may have been a man she cared for, long ago and far away, but she had deeper committments now.

Quickly, after studying him, her smile melted into a tiny frown. "Gerold Egen?" Of course she knew. "Sit on the bed." She was prepared for him to argue; somehow, he did not. He made small steps to the bed, turned his body, and sat his ass upon the mattress. "Not as bad as the first time we met?"

She gave him a pirate's grin, but it passed as quicky as a smile became a frown, concern on her face as her body hovered over his. Inspecting for long moments, until she was upright, hands on her hips in the scarlet satin gown that was conservatively cut to keep her bust in check. "Maester did good work. You didn't threaten him, did you?"

She stared at him for a few beats of her heart, before simply dismissing the notion and moving on--her normal tact of conversation with him. Of course he threatened the Maester. She knew it plainly as she stood before him now, looking as at ease and comfortable as ever, as any true dancer would be. Green eyes flashing amusement, but allowing precious else to be read.

"Speaking of Maesters--they say Spring has arrived. Just in time for one King to die and another to to be crowned. Warm as it is--"and warm it was, even in the Vale, "I still wonder if it's a bit convenient, don't you?"

She may have said it like a village peasant remarking on the weather, with a tone a touch too casual, but Robert knew her better. At least, part of her hoped he knew her better. A woman asking questions she already knew the answers to. But, she thought, should she ask questions she had no answers to....Lord Robert would know too much, too soon.

And right now she was still hoping on the best outcome for him. Even for his Vale. It was pretty, afterall. 

After a quick trip to the bottle of her favorite golden vintage from a small island in the Jade Sea, she returned with two glasses, extending one of them to him. "Drink. This one bottle is worth half the wine in your cellars, so drink like you're thirsty."

For exaggeration, her index finger tipped the bottom of his glass just-barely-upward, only enough to cover his lower lip, not spill. A tease completed with a smile she never actually allowed as she moved one of the chairs away from the table in the center of the room to face the bed, and him. 

Even the act of sitting in a chair like a proper Westerosi lady looked overly easy to Celena; back stiff, knees together, one hand in her lap, the other busying itself with the glass--a glass she immediately drank from, as not to give him any wrong ideas.

He could be paranoid, she knew. 

"So. Shall I be seeing you in King's Landing for Daeron's coronation? Exciting, isn't it? A new dragon King, without dragons."

Robert's mouth was tugged into a wry grin. "Of course I did. Maesters need the proper encouragement, and seeing as they're all cowards threats do the trick." He knew it wasn't true, but this witty quipping was part of the game between them. She was close enough for him to notice the subtle perfume she wore, the perfume he remembered from Braavos. Looking at Celena he could not help but think her attire was remarkably chaste for her tastes. Was he disappointed? A stranger and a lover both, he had to come to terms with her being just somebody he used to know. But still, despite his better judgement and knowledge about the workings of the world, the doubt was there.

He shrugged his shoulder, winced at the pain in his left one. Had to keep his mind on sparing it exercise for now. Her suggestion sounded aloof, but it was far from it - hinting at regicide. He engaged the question. As ever, the death of a monarch could be explained as beneficial for several individuals or factions. Thus more than one suspect came to mind. Convenient truly was the word, eliciting another sardonic smile from the new Lord Arryn.

Repressing a sigh, Robert watched her go about the room, no movement wasted. Everything composed and measured with the skilful grace of an acrobat. He had been privy to said flexibility and elegance once, no longer. Like the exclusive wine, his mood was heavy-headed. Not wont to drink, Celena's presence still acted as a sort of balm making it acceptable. "An ironic present, but one I can manage to appreciate," he murmured, still able to concede the wine was indeed excellent. It was an... allowance for himself. Robert had to steel his will not to be entranced by the heady cocktail of wine, privacy and woman.

"Lord Grafton has been so kind as to provide an escort to the [i]Brine Falcon[/i], a fifty-oar vessel of my local kinsman. So yes, I will be present at this [i]convenient[/i] coronation." Yes, he had noted her allusion. "As to how exciting it is... I had enough excitement for now." He had come close to dying earlier that day. Thinking about the elevation of a boy-king could be postponed for now. "I wager you will be in the capital as well, though I have no idea in what capacity." She was a chameleon after all. "Can I... be of assistance somehow, or is this a visit to an old friend?"

[i]A bad moon is on the horizon, Rob. Be careful. Be very, very, careful. Call your banners and play defense.[/i]

In her mind, she heard herself say it, and say it instantly. And mean it. But aloud, nothing was ever spoken, the words stayed on her tongue. Instead, she forced herself into another smile. False and pretty, like nearly every noble woman in Lannisport. It was a skill Celena had in abundance, from her earliest days as the only child of the Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock. 

"Just wanted to know if you were going," the lie came easier than it ever should have, like silk through her fingers. There was no catching herself, no stopping. Not this far down into the darkness. "I'll see you there."

A quick stand, and a single step forward, and her warm lips kissed the pale Vale Lord's forehead. A few steps later and she was walking out the door; if it was all the same to Robert, she figured she'd save the window for another time. 

Only once did she ever look back, and that was just outside the door--to yell back into the room.

"Don't worry, I'll find you."