[sub][right]Collab with [@Danvers][/right][/sub]

[center][img]https://img.wattpad.com/5f05235df478b4c2b723ba6fa1712c26003d9a6a/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f7253764451474c5a395056446f673d3d2d3538313039353235372e313533326463353632383232393566313838323737353039383638312e676966[/img]

[b]Loreon Lannister | | Nyla Martell[/b][/center]
[hr]

Having unburdened himself from the last of his armor plate, standing it on the armor rack in his tent, Loreon rolled his shoulders. There were few sensations better than when finally removing armor after a long ride. Now he wore only a simple black gambeson, with well-fitted trousers and leather boots of a similar black. He had always felt it was his colour, despite the Lannister red and gold. Indeed, the only thing he wore of colour was the crimson belt around his waist, with the buckle in the unique form of a golden lion’s head - and, of course, his blade which hung, sheathed at his hip. The gilded hilt contrasted against the black - just how he liked it. Vanity? Perhaps.

Turning to leave his tent of crimson fabric, he was yet to encounter any of his family, despite arriving at the tents of House Lannister. He had left his hedge knight companions behind, for they had insisted their first stop be the famed Redwyne pavilion, determined to put every wine and spirit and to the test. He would join them, soon enough. But not before he’d met with his family. As fate would have it, he was intercepted the moment he stepped foot out of his tent.

“Brother!”, a loud voice called over. It was the heir to the Rock, and his elder brother, Lyman Lannister. If one was to ask any for their image of a Lannister - it was likely an image of Lyman that came to mind. Golden, fair and wavy hair that fell down his face. Eyes of perfect green, and a beard grown evenly and well-groomed - something Loreon had never been able to achieve. Lyman was, as always, at the head of a large group. He was charismatic, popular. A natural leader, they said. None could truly blame Loreon if he felt jealousy - but, he never had. In truth, he was glad to be free from the prison of Casterly Rock. Beaming a wide, genuine smile, he called back. “Ly!”

The two brothers embraced when the distance between them was closed, the group accompanying Lyman offering a variety of idle greetings with feigned eagerness. Loreon was unknown to the Westerlands and, usually, disliked by the few who did.

“Hells, Loreon. How long’s it been? Two winters, almost three? Too long, brother.”, Lyman clasped his hands firmly on Loreon’s shoulders. “Let me get a look at you.”, and a grin then curled on his lips. “No great scars from your many combats?”

“They’ve tried.”

Lyman laughed at that, lifting his hands from Loreon, and the pair spoke for a short while longer, swapping stories and congratulations for various feats, ‘til Lyman decided to make his leave. His smile faded, and voice lowered. 

“Much has changed since I saw you last. Father has- ”, he paused to consider his words. “He’ll tell you himself at supper, this eve. His tent.”

And with that Lyman left, as he always did - even when they were small children. Their father had been successful in drilling a sense of duty into one of his sons, at least. Loreon made for the tent of his father, only to be turned away by the guards at post. Business inside, they said. He insisted he was not to be disturbed by any. What could possibly be more important than meeting with his own son? Loreon did not care to press the matter. Instead, he began to make for the Redwyne Pavilion, and his friends already there. If nothing else, he would enjoy a drink. 

Weaving through the ongoing chaos of carts and busywork, the morning sun began to fall to midday, and suddenly he caught sight of a familiar form. Could it be? Was it? He focused his attention, pushing through moving crowds to catch a better glimpse. It was.

“Princess..?”, he raised his voice soonafter to call above the noise of a crowd, “... princess!”

At his words, a young girl abruptly stopped in her tracks, forcing several stewards and servants to veer out of her path, a flash of colours and movement parting around her. Oblivious to the chaos she was causing, the princess turned, beginning to deftly slip through the crowd as she searched for the voice that had called out to her. Her dress of light blush silk had once been heavy with layers, fit for sitting and gossiping loquaciously but not for any sort of easy movement. Nyla had quickly seen to this error however and now the garment effortlessly flowed with her every step. 

The throng of people was dense here and Nyla nearly crashed into Loreon as she finally spotted the recognisable shock of blonde hair, her limbs too caught up in the thrill of the moment. The face of the young martell lit up at the familiar sight before her, a hand resting against his chest, having been the only obstacle preventing her from toppling the pair of them onto the dirt path. "Ser Loreon!" She smiled as she lifted her hand away, no hint of unease in her standing, the words both fond and teasing as they slipped from her lips. "What luck you are here! I was just wishing for some excitement. Perhaps the seven listened to my plea, or perhaps you have just missed me terribly?" 

Walking around him like a small pup unable to contain its excitement, Nyla only stopped when a passing merchant grunted irately at her, his cart tilting precariously under the weight of several bushels of ripe cherry red apples and sweet pears. Though she lived at court and was in many ways linked to the royalty themselves, many did not know of her and often presumed she was from a lowly house. But Nyla enjoyed this thoroughly. There could be nothing more fun after all than being mistaken for something one was not.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she looked up at him, chewing gently at the soft skin of her lower lip, a behaviour that many servants had tried & failed to drill out of her. It [i]was[/i] terribly uncouth afterall. "Are you here to partake in the tourney?" 

The corners of his lips curled upwards into a grin, meeting her eyes with his own and following her gaze as she circled him. Finally planting her feet in one spot after almost toppling an overburdened cart, the grin on his lips grew wider. “I am.” His tone low and playful, he took a small step toward her. “I’m here to compete… in the joust, and the melee...” He continued to slowly close the gap between them as he spoke, till there was but a perilously thin wall of air between them. Leaning forward and to her side, his words became little more than a whisper to her ear. “… and, perhaps, to see you.”

He pulled back suddenly, the distance between them again respectable. The pair had always had a teasing relationship, but that had been brave even for Loreon. If there was any self-doubt, it didn’t show. “It’s good to see you again, Princess.” His words had become more formal, but in a way the two could recognise as teasing. They had always enjoyed the spectacle of keeping up appearances. “Pray tell you’ve been keeping out of trouble?”

His arms fell from his chest, one hand idly resting on the hilt of his blade while the other rested at his waist, inviting her to walk alongside. “… and speaking of trouble, I did hear the Redwynes have built quite the pavillion. I thought we might pay a visit.”

Nyla had to fight against the blush that dared to flare upon her cheeks as he closed the gap between them. She may enjoy to tease and taunt but in reality the girl was thoroughly inexperienced, particularly for one of House Martell. It bore from over a decade living at Kings Landing, where appearances [i]had[/i] to be kept up, despite her attempts otherwise. Loreon had always been a refreshing change against the bore that was daily court.

"Well perhaps I will also be kind enough to give you my favour." Nyla grinned, matching his stride, her eyes twinkling mischievously at the mention of trouble. The pair walked precariously close, occasionally bumping gently against one another. She nodded eagerly when he mentioned the tent. 

"Oh yes please! I tried to go there earlier but they told me a lady should not sit alone with so many men. How ridiculous!" She raised her hands in exasperation as she spoke, "I personally think I could drink at least half of them under the table." 

An amused huff escaped him as she mentioned her favour. “I’m not above buying your favour with wine, Nyla.” The young pair continued to meander their way to the pavilion, but neither seemed in a rush. He couldn’t resist stealing more than one glance to her as they walked, and occasionally they caught their eyes together.

He scoffed at the suggestion she could drink [i]half[/i] of them under the table. “Please, if I know you, you can drink far more than half under the table, and that includes me.” They’d once spent part of an evening away from the prying eyes of servants and maids, drinking whatever vintage they could find. At least, Loreon was told they had done this. He had no memory of it, such was Nyla’s ability to both outpace and outdrink him. 

“Besides, you won’t be sitting alone, now. You’ll have me.” This only doubled their chance of falling into trouble. “… but tell me, how is the capital? Is court as exciting as it’s always been?”, he looked to her more obviously now, the grin tugging at his lips. “The suitors must be lining up.”

Nylas face fell at his mention of suitors. "I do not wish to marry some man who cares not about me." She frowned, brushing a piece of stray hair from her face as they neared the pavillion. "It does not seem like a good life..." As much as she grew tired of Kings Landing, she knew her days would be much more tedious if she had to live with some boring old lord. And she could not help feeling perturbed by the ease with which Loreon asked her of such things. He clearly must not see her as anything but an acquaintance, someone fun to drink with but little else.

"But anyway, we should not dwell on such miserable thoughts!" Nyla shook her head decidedly as she grabbed ahold of his forearm, pulling him along to join the rabble of people entering the pavilion. "I think we should get our first drink! I do so wish to see you slumbering under a table...it is not often that one gets to witness a sleeping lion afterall." She teased, her expression lighting up with excitement as they neared the feasting tent. "And I can tell you all the secrets from court."

His lips pursed into a sympathetic smile as she spoke, listening quietly. The fall in her expression was obvious, though in truth, Loreon shared her outlook. Marriage had always seemed a prison to him, rarely made for love. It was no accident that he was still unwed. Still, as it always did with Nyla, she soon perked up to lead him through the entryway of the pavilion. “Oh, you have secrets to spill? Then you’re right, we must find our first drink.”, the grin returned to his lips. “…and, much as I’m sure you could quickly have me sleeping under the table, let’s not drink too fast.” Loreon leaned closer again to whisper, “I don’t want to miss your company for a moment.” With that, the pair found their way to the nearest counter pouring wine. His friends could wait.

[hider=TL;DR]Loreon meets with his elder brother Lyman, and something strange is afoot. He decides to join his friends at the Redwyne pavilion, but finds Nyla Martell on his way. Their chemistry is palpable, and they decide to visit the pavilion together. Having arrived, they now find a drink and table.[/hider]