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[b][h3][center]Florian[/center][sub][right]King’s Landing, Tower of the Hand[/right][/sub][/h3][/b]
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[color=lightgray]A crimson red lit the rooftops and towers of King’s Landing, it’s warm glow gently filling the small and densely packed office that belonged to the Hand of the King, atop a tower of his own. The office itself perhaps better resembled the shop of a dealer in antiquities than that of a Hand, having gradually collected a variety of decorations and items from across Westeros that previous Hands neglected to bring home – if they ever made it back. Myrish rugs coloured the floor, wall-hangings from all corners of Westeros cluttered the otherwise cold walls, and the large gold-tinted window sat directly behind the Hand’s desk. Florian had never bothered to make his mark on the office, changing little in the years he had occupied the position. He had, however, sat predominantly a portrait of his family – his wife, sons and daughters – on a wall to the left of his desk. It was certainly one of the larger paintings on the walls, with no expense spared on the detail. His children sat on a bench, their arms warmly outstretched around one-anothers shoulders with beaming smiles and hearty laughter portrayed on their faces. Behind them stood Florian, a hand placed on the shoulder of his eldest son, and his other wrapped around his wife. It had been comissioned three months before he departed for the capital, and remains his most prized possession. Any who have visited the Hand will have undoubtedly been pointed to the portrait, being regaled with tales of each of his children. Of how little Aly and Ely teased one another, or of how Aliandra provoked the loudest scream Highgarden had ever heard when her mother discovered her laying across the floor covered in raspberry jam and mistook it for blood. Indeed, to the Lord of Highgarden, family is everything. Perhaps nothing exemplifies this more than the portrait that now sits in his office.

Florian pursed his lips into a sorrowful smile, turning his attention from the portrait to the letter in his hands as he sat at his desk, his back arched forwards. The King had written it to confirm good tidings from the trip to Braavos. It had arrived over two-weeks ago, and likely been written even before then. It meant the King should have made port at Eastwatch-by-Sea, yet nothing had been heard. It was only in the morning of this day that Florian started to have the worrying thoughts drip into his mind – the waters between Westeros and Essos were undoubtedly dangerous. His eyes scanned through the letter once again, darting from line to line for a few seconds more before he exhaled in a defeated huff. Just then, as his thoughts started to turn to concern for King Aerys once again, he was mercifully interrupted by a loud knock on the thick door to his office.

“Come.”, Florian answered loudly. The door creaked open, and a diminutive figure with courtly attire entered, carrying a pile of unopened letters in his hands. “Ah, Edward. What’ve you brought me?”.

Edward, one of the many servants to the Small Council, was a small and mousy figure – his voice equally hushed and rarely loud enough to hear clearly. Something in his past had made the man timid and introverted, though Florian had never discovered what, nor had he tried to pry. Florian had nontheless taken a liking to him when he first arrived in King’s Landing some three years ago. Edward might not prove a good conversation partner, but he was a good listener - and a hard worker. 

“..the list of Lord Coldwater’s expected requirements for the Watch, m’lord.. Lord Payne’s compiled expenses… the final list of entertainment… provisional lists for the jousts and melee’s… a letter from Highgarden, m’lord… a list of exp--” His words were slow and carefully chosen, evidently struggling to remember the great number of varying documents and letters he carried with him, all undoubtedly important for the planning of the upcoming wedding – but he was soon cut short and interrupted.

“Highgarden? Bring it here, put the rest there.” Florian interjected  quickly, his expression having visibly lightened and his tone quickened in excitement. Edward stepped forward, setting down all of the documents and parchments ontop of the pile Florian had earlier pointed to, bar one. He extended an arm, offering Florian the letter from Highgarden. Gold trim decorated the edges, and floral patterns adorned the green scroll – held together with a golden wax seal imprinted with a rose, the symbol of House Tyrell. Florian quickly broke it, his eyes scanning the contents within as he lifted a hand nonchalantly, gesturing for Edward to sit at the chair before his desk.

[color=aba000][i]‘Father,
I thought best to write you to let you know that we are now leaving Highgarden. No prize for guessing where we are headed. I say we – and ought to confirm that all of us (Ely, Andra, Elron, Mother and I) will be attending…[/i][/color] [/color]

[hr][b][h3][center]Alesander[/center][sub][right]Highgarden, the Reach[/right][/sub][/h3][/b]
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[color=lightgray][color=aba000][i]‘…and cannot wait to see you’[/i][/color]—“Ellie, stoppit’.”, Alesander said through a grin as he sat at one of the various dining tables in Highgarden, penning a letter to his father. She sat beside him, comfortably dressed in a loosely-fitting floral robe of green, gold and rose. Elinor loved nothing more than pestering her twin brother, and had been playfully setting her head on his shoulder – rather literally hanging on every word he wrote to their father.

The two sat alone in a grand dining hall, adorned with silver finery and warmed by candlelight – portraits of themselves, and their ancestors, lined the walls. “Tell him I say hello, already! ..and tell him about Elron, too!”, she demanded light-heartedly. Alesander continued writing, rolling his eyes in an equally playful manner.

[color=aba000][i]‘…wait to see you. Everyone wants to say hello, and send you our love. We’ll be able to do it in person soon. 

Elron had his first lesson in archery yesterday. He’s a natural! You would have been proud. I think he wants to impress you when we arrive, and he will. He’s a better shot than me already (but not than Ely, she wants me to say).

Myranda will be coming too. It is a shame you missed the wedding, but I won’t get on at you for that again. I am glad you will finally be able to meet her. She’s as excited to meet you as I’m sure you are of her.’
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Alesander sat upright, taking a moment’s break from writing the letter as he gave his attention to Elinor sat next to him. She sat forward with her arms folded on the table before her, and her head resting atop them, meeting his gaze with her own. “What else should I say? It’s been so long. I’ll just.. tell him we’re leaving tomorrow- oh, that reminds me, have had your things packed?” He cracked a grin, scooting closer toward her as she straightened her posture and lifted her head from the table, “Mother mentioned the other day that she’s having all your best brought. Said there’ll be men from all corners of Westeros looking to you.” He leaned forward as he spoke, his words gradually hushing to a whisper as his lips neared hers.

“Will they?”, Elinor whispered in response as their faces came within but a few milimetres of distance, intimately maintaining eye-contact, “I’m only looking at one.”[/color]