Every Kösem Sultan Outfit: 85/∞

what: open starter (1/4) when and where: on the steps of the great sept of lannisport, set after lucrezia redwyne attended mass alongside the princess consort of the westerlands, princess meredyth. truthfully, she also wanted to take the opportunity to see what different practices of prayer tyland lannister's reformation had put upon the faith in the westerlands. lil storylines to help with any starter ideas: the aftermath of the murder of her hightower cousin and her aunt whilst people still don't know by who, lu's increasing aggression at sea, especially in the seas of dorne in pursuit of summer islanders, and feeling increasingly out of place within the clover community.

motherhood felt as though she were constantly in states of guilt, and then relief; moments of respite in being alone and without the presence of her two infant children, and then worrying and wondering of their wellbeing when she were not directly in the room with them. her body, most notably, her breasts continued to ache considering she could not empty them of milk whenever needed; and even if the infants slept in their nursery, she still found herself increasingly without sleep.

her thoughts continued to plague her as she looked upon the canopy, unable to remove the picture of lord garland hightower and lady simonetta redwyne's faces from her mind the final time she had ever seen them. wrapped in shrouds, though there was a startling difference between the two; whilst her aunt appeared to almost be glowing, the smell of musk upon her, her cousin.

her cousin's face appeared hollow, and appeared darkened and sunken; and whilst she tried to tell herself it was not a sign, she knew deep within her gut that it was a sign.

it was what she thought of as she listened to the sounds of the westerland mass, in a language she did not understand; and no doubt disassociated as she remained beside the princess consort, the distant look on her features easily being mistaken for lack of approval, or discomfort. the bells were now chiming, and there was a large procession leaving the magnificent sept; lucrezia herself lifted emerald green skirts to ensure she did not trip as she made her way down the steps.

"marwan, please prepare the carriage to return to the rock." lucrezia spoke to her page, in the old tongue; what she spoke in public in this place, out of safety. wanting to wrap herself in it, for each time she looked upon a westerman, she thought only of the hunger in their eyes upon the isles. they reminded her of what she wished she could forget; she could still hear the sounds of arron lannister caving a man's head in with his own hands.

when she looked up, she found someone meeting eye contact with her, and the mask slipped back upon her features. the epitome of mature, feminine grace; her hazel orbs even softening, as to not seem confrontational. it were the only way a woman was taken seriously in this world; firm enough to stand according to their mind, all whilst maintaining her femininity. it could be a thin line. "is there anything i can assist you with?"

∞

"what am i thinking?" lucrezia repeated, her tone of voice incredulous: she felt as though she was the only one that thought, the only one that constantly thought on things at the back of her mind and repeated them time and time again. that she thought about what she said before she said anything to the point she would rather just say nothing at all some times.

"i am thinking. omer. that's the point!" she exclaimed, snapping whilst still sitting down, her hands began to move in the way they always did when she was worked up and emotional. "people think, before they open their mouths and say things! and i tell you now, the idea of braavos possibly posing some security threat over an infant is not enough to say what you said."

"it is not for you to decide what happens, and where she goes." she protested, a pillow remaining on the stomach that soon would curve with swelling. it had barely been three months since arlo had been born, and again, she had found herself with child - though no doubt she could take some responsibility for such a thing.

and that would have been fine, yet she now found herself wrapped up emotionally in a child who was the last piece of her family. she would ignore the mother's blood, happily. if she were being honest, being so entirely wrapped up in rosaria had meant lucrezia was not even thinking about her own second child which was growing within her. the stress had impacted her eating, leaving meals unfinished if she did sit to eat them. she had no cravings.

"she is not your own...she is of mine, and mine alone." there was a stubbornness in her words that was not usual; there were only some topics which lucrezia redwyne remained in tunnel vision about. "you can be wrong, but it doesn't change the fact she does not belong here. you will have your word when it comes to me, and me alone...but she is not yours."

a beat. "an apology...? why can you not just apologise without all of this?"

"Gael? I love Gael but he has no place raising a child. Let alone a young girl. What are you thinking?" And then she said the rest of her statement and his brow furrowed. His jaw was set and upset. A Hightower did not belong in Brightwater Keep but this was not a Hightower. This was a baby. A babe without parents and the guilt weighed even heavier on him. Was it too late to take back what he said? To take back the thing that made her eyes change as she looked at him now. The shame he felt was as strong as the shame he once felt when whisky were his only friend.

"I"m not sighing." Omer didn't know how to explain it, he felt that if he told her he was trying to make sure he was calm and listening that she would get angry with him and start going on about how can he stand there and have anything to be angry about when she knew that this angered him. Dancing around and not saying things, making final decisions in anger. It was upsetting.

And he looked down at her question, that old feeling of shaming settling within his chest. Her voice cracking. And he didn't know how to explain it to make it better but he couldn't make it better could he?

"I wasn't trying to be cruel. I wasn't thinking, Lucrezia. It was selfish to say that." And cruel to say it before her. "The idea of another war, we have a child. Another on the way…" And he cut knots instead of untying them. But people were not knots. As he looked at her, the pain was so clear he wish to go over and take her in his arms but would she even want him near her?

"I was wrong, alright? She stays here and so do you. You can be angry and we can talk until morning if we must but as your husband, I forbid it." Omer didn't use those words, there was no need but he knew when upset, she would do as she pleased and in that, he knew she would do as he bid. It was the place of a husband and wife.

@omerflorent

Soft™.

yall mind if i preemptively grieve what i still have yet to lose

A JOINT ANNOUNCEMENT FROM HOUSES FLORENT AND REDWYNE: / @omerflorent

the lord and lady of brightwater keep and the arbor have been blessed with a healthy son after a lengthy but uncomplicated labour. both mother and son, named, lord callum kazem florent, are in good spirit and health. it has been confirmed by lord omer that the lady and the babe will be come to the west balcony following the morning prayer.

from the desk of cousin declan to his wife: the babe took many hours to enter this earthly realm and leave his mother. when he was finally visible, it was noted his hands were together in tight fists before his nose, as though he were readying to box. he cried loudly, though stopped when being fed by the lady - he is a long child, and no doubt will be tall. the maids have rushed to knit him attire that will cover all of him.

a particular moment came in the meeting of the two sons of lord florent: where the infant began to scream before he had even been placed in the older's arms. i do pray this is not some omen.

∞

whilst the tragedy that was the end of the turbulent relationship between garland hightower and lucrezia redwyne haunted her mind, the ending of a false marriage only reinstated her trust in the deliverance of the gods. how she had wondered how it was she would need to deal with zialla as a distant good sister for the remainder of her days, how she had wondered how their children would ever be associated with such enmity between them; and now, the slate was wiped clean.

"she is." lucrezia responded, making no effort to hide the distaste within her orbs: and yet, she still cared for her public reputation and knew she could not resort to the same levels of anger she had in that dinner room what felt like an eternity ago. she prided herself on being a warm woman; on showing love, care and a sense of communal spirit to those who had always been a key pillar in her life.

but to outsiders? to those who were different? they experienced something different from the lady of the arbor. distance, suspicion, xenophobia. her daughter was the heir of oldtown, the lady rosaria hightower; and was under the legal custody of her aunt, a redwyne. it was the responsibility of the redwynes to protect the hightowers, was it not? it was. "and remains under my care."

how she wished she could have thoroughly believed that the heathen of braavos was long since forgotten in the back of her mind, another ghost in those she had come across once in life and then never needed to do so again - and perhaps she would have been able to be, if there was not another matter pressing her mind. the lady of the arbor remembered a conversation she had with her father and his second captain on the docks of ryamsport regarding braavosi power at sea. "we are due to leave for to the reach by the end of the week." she had a conversation to have, with a certain king. a matter she was riding all of her bets on.

"where she will be placed in a household upon the arbor." not oldtown, not yet; with the upheaval, and the clash of the high septon.

people would look at her and think of her mother. people would look at her and think of her father. what was worse?

never once had she taken the time to learn of the political methods of braavos, but she knew of their vessels and manpower. it was her duty to know of it, and it had started in curiosity as a young girl to transform into necessity - and yet, somehow she still remembered the sound of the wooden plank creaking beneath her shoe, and the sounds of voices which never rose to outright shouting talking tensely about what their daughter's place was to be.

the fact that zialla had to actively go look for lucrezia redwyne-florent seemed like an insult in itself. the very idea that her child had been given to a woman who hated her filled her with a lot of dread. the last time she had seen lucrezia then it was clear that she was angry with garland for revealing her private business. she had to believe lucrezia was not a woman to transfer feelings towards the parents of a child to the child itself. when zia finally spotted her outside the great sept, all the worst memories of her time in the reach came flooding back. she had heard of the service for those who had fallen in alayim. it was a matter she believed the people of westeros should stay out of. those who had fallen had died meaningless deaths. as the two women stared at each other with equal amounts of disgust and hatred, she decided to finally break the silence.

"i will not waste your time with pleasantries you know i do not truly mean. i am, however, sorry for your loss. that i do mean."

garland and her former good mother's deaths were not a loss to her anymore. she felt little more than apathy and a hint of sadness when she learned of simonetta's death. she felt mostly sad for her child losing a grandparent. in regards to garland's death she had also felt nothing at first, but now she felt a small sense of satisfaction and justice. he had been a man who truly lived and died by his own sword. he had not cared about the destruction he left in his wake, the casual cruelty he submitted others to. it had taken time for her to see it but he had never been a worthy ruler of the hightower. rosaria was the only good thing garland gave to the world. the only gift that stopped zia from wishing that she had never met him.

despite her own feelings, she knew the deaths would be a tragedy to lucrezia. at least the loss of her aunt would be. and despite how she felt about the woman, she could feel some sympathy towards that. but that was all. zialla still recalled how the lady in front of her had behaved only days after the death of dante. she recalled every moment she had been forced to sit at a dinner and listen to insults while she was grieving the loss of a child, while having to come to terms with the darkness her husband had banished the innocent babe's soul to. she would never forgive her nor the other living hightower son for their behaviour on that day. she had nothing to say to lucrezia beyond the topic that brought her here. in fact, she would have been happy to never see her judgmental face again. but it could not be avoided, not when rosie had been placed in her care. "where is my daughter? is she here?" zia wanted to remain cold and unfeeling but her eyes betrayed the hope she felt at the mere thought of her child being close by.

who: @illyaoakheart when and where: the starry sept

the great bells of oldtown's starry sept had continued to ring throughout the majority of the morning, though the lady of the arbor had drifted and danced along the lines of a restless sleep; paired with the discomfort of an ache in her lower back and the heat which rose in her suddenly beneath the sheets, she found herself silently staring into the darkness of the canopy above her - praying the day would not come.

alas day waited for none, and when it came, the streaks of pink and purple in the sky was no comfort; there was no easing of the constant flow of tears which seemed to pour from hazel orbs, a waterfall of everything and nothing all at once. she knew little of how to put into words the increasing despair she felt in picturing the final moments time and time again, and the words that had been exchanged between the beacon of the hightower and the sails of the arbor that fateful day.

the regret, was dizzying; hollowing, and emptying. as though it carved and scooped the very essence of her from within her soul, and scattered it for the world to see time and time again: and then came the talk. the constant talk about the actions of the man whilst he lived, some in rooms where she was, and some in rooms where she was not; the worst were those who made no mention of his essence at all.

the bells rung again as she remained seated upon a fountain outside of the starry sept, her breathing slow, steady. and with the final ring of those bells, she was aware that it was finished.

a pregnant woman was barred from the funeral services, barred from the preparation of the body of her beloved aunt; there were many across westeros who frowned at the closeness of such a thing, and yet, it had helped lucrezia to prepare her mother for the test that was to come. she despaired in knowing she could not do the same for the last living link she had with her father; the last able to recall memories of his youth, of who he was other than a father. than a lord.

there came a sudden flurry of black skirts and a burgundy cloak hurrying up the steps of the starry, as fast as lucrezia redwyne always climbed; with enough time to quietly enter from the doors and see two shrouds being carried into another room. then came the faces, the expressions of remorse, and of complexity. all knew of what happened between them. her presence gravitated toward the queen, her queen; her illya, whilst desperately trying to maintain herself.

and she did. a small curtsy was what she dipped into, before raising back to her full height. "your majesty is gracious, and the most deserving of my gratitude." for stepping in for lucrezia, and seeing it done. lucrezia did not need to speak to illya in such a way, but she would; because illya was her queen. it was known who the lady of the arbor and brightwater keep held great favour and loyalty for. "thank you, illy." she added quietly, stepping forward.

how many questions she had. questions she could not ask. but there was something she wished to speak to her of.

∞

what use was patience when it came only after she found herself in such a state? there was a lump growing in the back of her throat, one which she gulped back down as she continued to hear him speaking to her - and yet, she found she was increasingly fixating on the crackling of the hearth. she did not want to completely zone him out, and yet, she did not want to hear him either.

"rosie is my responsibility as her aunt by blood. she will be raised in a household upon the arbor, until gael is ready to accept wardship of her." her words alluded to something else. once alicent was found. she threw aside the pillow she kept over her stomach, still not entirely showing. "a hightower has no place in brightwater keep." she remarked, knowing it was something she had heard before. not only by him, but by his cousins too. all knew of the ancient feud between them.

she only thought of the momentary silence that filled the council chamber when all realised she had walked in at the wrong time. or the right time, depending on what perspective she would look at all of this with. it seemed as though she was now looking at this with fifty different angles, coming up with different conclusions.

it was not that he was even trying to hide it from her, either. if he was frustrated and wound up enough, he would have said it, even with her sat to the left of him. she continued to keep her chin in the palm of her hand, remaining laying on her side upon the velvet recliner; and it was when she heard him inhale and exhale, did her hazel orbs flicker back over to him. "why are you sighing?" she asked, her voice typical to how it was when she was irritated.

"how could you say such a thing?" she asked. one may have expected her voice to crack. but instead she was angry. "how could something so cruel come from you, omer? about my own blood?" she asked again. he would not have an answer. things were said. perhaps something about garland. she would scream if that were the case.

This annoyed him. It was frustrating to listen to her say hardly anything and pretend as if she were fine while making it clear she wasn't fine. She was angry and Omer was trying to not get angry because she was angry. They talked about this. It was important to hear her out and understand but how could he do that when she wasn't speaking to him?

"Lulu, my love, please speak to me. At least allow me to feel the full weight of your wrath instead of you just sitting there." With her chin in her hand as if they were sitting around the breakfast table of the Arbor and she was angry with him for some comment when they were out together.

It was a cruel turn of phrase and he knew that now, he understand that fully and he wished he hadn't said it. It was such a callous statement, it was such a thoughtless one, even if it made the most sense it would mean nothing to her. And perhaps, perhaps it made no sense at all.

But, they needed to talk about it and he needed to stay calm for that to happen. So he inhaled and slowly exhaled, they would be able to have this conversation.

∞

to note the way in which her head rested upon the palm of her hand, her arm against the rest of the velvet recliner she was upon with the blanket pulled over her, it could be suggested that lucrezia redwyne was not even listening to the words coming from her husband. there was a distant, stressed expression that had settled upon her features: and there was only one indication that she had heard his words, all too clearly. his blunt, frank, words. the way her finger rested over the top of her lips, remaining looking anywhere but him. forward would do it.

"not with good winds." her standoffish nature was something that would no doubt only irritate him more, her tone almost matter of fact.

she waited for him to say something. she had been waiting for him to say something about what it was he had said, with all manner of confidence within the council chamber, no doubt considering the long term risks, considering what could come to the realm, if anything. what else was there to ever think about?

his question caused her to just turn her head in the canndlelight in his direction, watching as he dragged his hands through his dark, raven hair - the florent sigil on his ring reflecting in the candlelight. it was her turn to say nothing now to his question, only looked upon him, before turning back to looking into the crackling flames of the hearth. she tried to tune out the sound of his words, tried to ignore the heat that was travelling up her neck. why did pregnancy make feel so hot, all of the time? why did it feel as though she was always sweating?

"how could i be angry?" she asked. no doubt he would be angered with what he would call theatrics. what he would call melodrama. a bad stage performance. she had heard it all before. she would hear it again. "am i not used to hearing you just speak, omer?" she asked, her tone strained in trying to remain untested. and yet, when she uttered the word speak, it was clearly angry.

she knew how he could speak. not think.

Things were tough, they would remain difficult for them, it would remain challenging. And while he discussed something with his cousin he worried his wife, his mind wandering all over the place. And once it was finally over he was there wit her and wanting to speak. Wanting to have a conversation but there was something unsaid between them. And as he prepared to open his mouth and say something, she said something for herself. And her words were as surprising, as they were unsurprising.

"No you're not. We may control the seas but it's better for you both to stay here. You're with child. You know you are. The travels are long."

And he paused for a moment. It was the words he said so casually, so coldly and he didn't know how to explain them. It was the nature of it all. A mess for them to clean up from her dear cousin and child she was growing ever attached to and with that child could come more war. Dangers for their own child. And Omer loved their own child far more, and he knew she agreed.

"Are you angry with me?" No, that was s stupid question but he didn't try to rephrase or ask in another way. Instead, he shook his head, his fingers dragging over his head. "You're angry with me. But that's no reason for all this."

who: @omerflorent when and where: the florent apartments within highgarden, following a council meeting which lucrezia had entered late. the meeting was discussing the risk of braavos claiming rosaria hightower, and pushing for her mother to be made regent of oldtown. she overhears something she wished she had not.

the room was not stifling hot, the crackling hearth only it's usual level, and yet there came a sense of heat that was stifling as the lady of the arbor remained sat upon the velvet recliner, listening distantly to the sounds of her husband's conversation with his cousin, all whilst she only pictured her own lifeless upon a slab. there was no denying the red puffiness within orbs of hazel, or the way in which her prayer mat had never been folded since they had arrived back home, or the pain in her knees for how long spent knelt in submission.

lucrezia redwyne did not want to look at her husband.

lucrezia prayed not for answers from the gods, but for comfort and strength; it was not on the gods to answer for the ability of human free will, after all. she prayed for answers from humans whose blood ran warm, and whose minds were fixed on one task. locating the former queen of the entire realm, the woman her family had walked through the seven layers of hell for; only in the end, to end up on the end of her blade. there had always been a small whisper in her mind that told her how the hightowers used the sails of the redwynes, and there had always been the other that protested they were kin.

lucrezia redwyne did not want to speak to her husband.

family honour, and respect, was paramount; even in times of conflict. there was a part of her that felt ashamed for forgetting such standards, considering garland had been murdered without the pair ever having the chance to make amends. her aunt, the last piece of her father, murdered for being a redwyne - it had not been simonetta who had flew the white flag, and conceded from the greens. it had been lucrezia's first act as ruling lady, the day tirius rowan brought her father's body home. what hurt her so, was the silence that came when she entered a room; a swift change in conversation. no doubt speaking of how stupid he had been, and how she wished to snap at them to continue.

"i'm moving rosie to the arbor."

who: @lightxshadow when and where: kings landing, following the announcement of the death of lord garland hightower and lady simonetta redwyne. lucrezia finds herself within the dragon's city uncharacteristically alone, desperate to speak to the high septon and jaehaerys targaryen in person. there is also another reason why she finds herself outside of the reach. context: following the divorce between garland and zialla, garland gave lucrezia their infant daughter whilst he took time to sort legal matters whilst zialla returned to braavos. lucrezia still has rosaria hightower, the heir of oldtown, in her care and under her charge. double context: zialla and lucrezia hate one another.

the distant sounds of ringing bells at the harbour filled the skies above kings landing, a city she had not been expecting to be within so soon after her departure; but the sight of two cold as stone bodies upon the alter of the great sept of oldtown once again was enough to cause her to wish to remove herself from the rolling hills of the reach. even the sails of the arbor did not feel as though it would provide her with what she needed, even the clasp she held onto her prayer beads or the way her knees remained bruised with how much she remained upon her prayer mat.

none of it seemed to quench the whispers that started in her stomach, the pangs of anger; pangs she had not even felt at the death of her own father at the hands of tirius rowan.

the audience with the high septon within the blessed sept of kings landing provided her little to no comfort, neither did discussions with jaehaerys about his grandmother, and what it was she would be pushing for. how much did her voice have a sway in the grand schemes of kings? was there something else that could be brokered over the breath alicent hightower continued to breathe? her laced black veil remained over the darkness of her curls, a cloak of wine coloured maroon remaining wrapped around her body, disguising the smallest of bumps beneath her dress.

how unusual it was for her to be here without her husband, or without her son - and yet, she had her distant niece with her.

there was a reason she needed to bring rosie with her. the blinding sun seemed to go directly into her gaze as the mass for the souls of those lost in alayim, and the collection of donations, came to a close. her jewelled hand came over her eyes, shielding her gaze from the sun, as she looked toward the great steps of the sept. she lifted the bottom of her skirts, and began to make her way down the steps. that was, until she noted a figure stood directly before her. she looked up, and felt her expression change.

to one of disgust.

@omerflorent

Tommy x Grace + neck kisses

(requested by @tommyxgrace-always)

∞

the slight smirk that crossed over the features of the youngest son of house hightower was enough to cause her to raise her brows slightly, clearly seeing the small side to gael that always seemed to slip out in moments such as this one: when conflict and tensions increased and became more of a headache to him, one found him resorting to snark and sarcasm as he appeared utterly dismissive. "you realise he is the impressionable one, yes? until he suddenly is not, and then does the most dramatic action a man can take in the situation. the man was doting on calla lefford merely weeks after he met her, and when i told him to slow it down, he looked at me as though i had grown another head." her hand reached forward to playfully smack him directly in the middle of his stomach, close to her considering they were sat side by side, her knee against his own.

"this was back in the north, when news of omer reached." the fleet was sent north for further reinforcement and to aid in their allies, lucrezia was not meant to get on too; still, she found herself on the deck and did not get off.

"look at you, already grinning." she half lectured, the other half of her trying not to laugh at the memory of the eventful conversation; how tiresome some people could be, how self-important and simply boring. she found her eyes pointy, as well as her chin; her eyes narrowed in ways that made it obvious she were displeased with something. "i have vexed the lady of oldtown, gael. this is no laughing matter." it were only her closest who saw this slightly goofy side to lucrezia come out, putting a pillow upon her own stomach as though she needed a shield: she would not. lucrezia redwyne was incredibly expressive with her hands when she spoke, a trait she had picked up from her mother; and when she was irritated, her hands only moved more.

"first of all," lucrezia begun, in a tone that indicated this conversation were opening a hole they would keep digging themselves in. she should not backbite; this was not backbiting - this was merely informing. "she took weeks to make it a point to try and meet me. and then she tells me she was busy meeting everyone." her expression was incredulous. "who else is family? do you have other cousins i know not of? awful priorities, clearly." she continued, her tone clearly sarcastic. "then she goes on to tell me, very objectively, that the hightowers are very fond of me." she paused slightly, watching gael's face change. "i know it sounds like nothing, but it is strange. it appeared as though she was observing everything unfolding. telling me so casually my own family are fond of me..." her orbs rolled slightly, reaching forward to take a bite of baklava. her sweet tooth peaked when she was irritated.

"anyway, i tell her she need not ask for forgiveness or say sorry - and i tell her, quote, it is good to see her myself rather than hear people's understandable reaction to news of their betrothal." she rested her hand upon recliner, leaning back slightly, wondering what time omer would be home. what should she ask to be cooked today? was he eating out? he better not be. "and when i asked her if she was insulted, considering she was being very stiff following that, she said she did feel slighted. which, right...that's fine. but then. but then."

she leans forward now, almost feeling irritation seeping through her again. "she goes on to tell me how she has spent years being tutored in my way, my language; obviously she meant yours. but it was painstakingly obvious she has no clue what she was talking about, despite how much she drowned in books. goes on to speak of our faith, using it as though it is a tool to debate with. she goes on to state she wishes the women would be more understanding, and then says a more civilised society would judge her on who she is, and anything other than that is narrow minded, prejudiced and traits of a primitive mind. primitive. i wanted to tell her the only primitive thing between us was her mouth, considering it was opening far too much."

lucrezia almost scoffed, merely remembering the altercation. "the person whose family is chosen to be in power, speaks to me of civilised societies and primitive minds. me. truthfully, i felt as though she was calling me and my way primitive. and i decided i would watch her become some social outcast, like her husband. now, i probably was already defensive from the moment she told me my own cousins liked me, but gods. i do not want anything to do with her."

Sometimes the only comfort one needed was a hand to hold, a pair of eyes looking at him to let him know he was heard, seen, understood. Words failed sometimes, that much the Master of Arts knew all too well. Words were his craft, his very tools of creation, and for that he knew there was too much in this world that they could fail to capture. Lucrezia’s warm gaze and reassuring hand in his was everything. That was the very reason he’d asked to go to the Arbor to her and Omer. They saw him as he wished to be seen. As he hoped he could be seen.

It was no easy matter, though. As Lucrezia brought up the Vineas and the Ryams lord he nodded, aware that his Hightower blood would be a conflicting matter around those men. “Of course,” the young lord agreed, his tone shifting to one of prudence. “I offer my aid in the matter, Lu, but I understand my interfering before you speak to them might be detrimental”. He wished to be helpful, not a nuisance or an obstacle for the Mistress of Ships in her, that much was clear in the way he spoke and his demeanor as they breached the topic.

It was expected that the men of the Vineas would see him as an extension of Garland in their midst. Simply stating that his presence in the Arbor had nothing to do with his house, that he would be there as his own man, wasn’t enough. Gael would have to prove himself. Show, not tell, that he wasn’t there as an emissary of his oldest brother or agent to enact the will of the ruling lord of House Hightower. “Do let them know my intentions aren’t aligned with my brother’s affairs, and that I intend to let my actions show that,” he added after a moment.

At least you know that is on him, his cousin said and those words gave Gael pause. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who felt slighted in some way by his brother’s actions and the ways in which he’d pushed his family away, intentionally or accidentally. “Well, we know Calla Lefford’s ways and temperament wasn’t molded by Garland while they were married,” he mused, his words not a praise nor a denunciation, but a mere fact he’d observed while the Lefford lady lived within Oldtown. “Perhaps his new bride will be clever enough to let herself be reshaped to meet my brother’s expectations of what a Lady of Oldtown ought to be. Starting by renouncing her faith for acceptance”. Though frankly, Gael found himself beyond caring what his brother chose to or not do in regard to marriage and the future of their house. His neglect had made it abundantly clear that the future of House Hightower had little space for him and for Leyton, it was only the ruling lord and his lady who were of importance in that scheme of things, others bound by blood had been set aside and disrespected. That was the very reason he found himself here before Lucrezia.

Gael’s eyebrows arched at his cousin’s next words. Knowing Lucrezia and her usual demeanor, he found it quite surprising that she might have offended anyone. She was the most level-headed and proper of them all. “Do tell,” he said with a hint of a smirk crossing his lips. “I will not laugh, I promise,” the young lord added, “Well, I promise to try not to”.

∞

as much as lucrezia appreciated the importance of a good corset, in the aftermath of hearty stews and fresh bread, it felt more like a curse than something that would help keep her figure in the shape she wished for it to be; and thus, she leaned backwards in the seat at their grand dining table, her hand resting upon her stomach almost playfully.

despite the differences and tensions that came between the two women in regards to their histories, there was kinship that was between them now: their lives were forever entangled, and lucrezia had been raised to be mindful of her husband's future family; ensuring that any qualm or issue she had was handled with utmost care.

that was never going to be an issue, considering she was close with the rowans - the thought made her laugh now, as well as inwardly cringe at how oversimplified her young gaze had made everything, all whilst continuing to feel the weight of a duty she had grown so heavily into. her hand rested upon her mouth slightly at rhea's words, explaining what the new lady of brightwater keep had truly said in front of a warm, chatty dinner: there was a light noise that came from her too.

"...what?" suddenly she remembered the look of amusement within the orbs of all the clover folk, the way omer was obviously trying not to laugh whilst quickly diverting the topic of the conversation. still, a typical mischievous look crossed his face as he looked upon her: she let her hand move from over her mouth. the servants looked at her as though she were mad.

"that is why you were all so amused, isn't it?" she asked, the trepidation obvious in her voice. she was supposed to be the perfect daughter in law. a seamless transition, only, she had decided to marry according to another way - candle ceremony secretly done and all. she felt that same weight settling upon her shoulders, only this time it was not about her duty to the arbor.

"i know...but yule is approaching; the invite from the brackens came, which in itself is odd. they never do invites to their own, he told me - apparently brianna wanted to ensure i knew i was invited too. and so it appears, that i unfortunately do not have the time." she spoke. she knew what would she would need to hear once she returned to their bedchambers. she decided she would stay here as long as she could, hoping he would fall asleep. "and what happens when arlo and the rest start speaking it amongst themselves? how will i keep an eye on them?"

lucrezia redwyne was not laughing. she was looking forward to having a moment alone with the only women she felt comfortable enough to who understood the ways of the clover. "i know our ways are different. i am trying to keep up with it all, but some things shock me. i will not have a blackbar or a bracken pull me for a dance, please let that be known." she insisted, the idea of a man putting hands upon her shocking.

Sea salt coursed her veins, and for that Rhea had been ostracized within the court of the Reach for many years. But the brightest of waters also ran through her, and perhaps it was the boldness and cleverness of those of Florent blood that drove her to be what she was now, to earn her place next to her cousin, to be able to stand proudly in the company of people like her brother and her sister-in-law. There would always exist tensions within the court of thorns and roses, though, as was evident at present with the cascade of events and resulting effect from her conversation with Tirius. Rhea could live with it, though. She could be called wretched and pirate whore by the Lord of Goldengrove if it meant she did her job to the king, and for the stability of the realm.

Her husband's company soothed her and steadied her, and in the last year or so she'd found a similarly grounding, reassuring effect when spending time with her brother and the Mistress of Ships. Her sister, now. Lucrezia was everything Rhea wasn't, after all, an opposite mirror of wisdom, of grace, of kindness. How the Redwyne lady did not hate or reject everything Rhea had been, what she still was, she didn't know. Gods knew she embodied so much to make herself hated. Rhea was grateful the other woman could sit at the table with her in friendship; share a meal, chat, smile.

“It's not an easy language, words are never pronounced as one might think they would. You'll get the hang of it, Lucrezia, give it time,” the Mistress of Whispers offered with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She'd had a most wonderful meal and felt so pleasantly sated by it. The lady leaned back more comfortably against her chair and grinned, recalling the small incident with amusement. “It was nothing,” she waved a hand, “You just wished upon Omer to get red diarrhoea”.

∞

the conversation steering towards the nature of the oldest lord of the hightower was enough to cause her facial expression to become sullen, appearing momentarily more like the girl upon the arbor for all of those years rather than the lady of the arbor itself: she shifted in her seat, almost as though she wished to distract herself from feeling overwhelmed by her own thoughts. how much did memories burn, especially when it came to the matter of family?

lucrezia redwyne was not accustomed to the bitterness that could grow between the vines of a family; it were the reason she had urged gael to attempt to bridge the communication between himself and his brother, for the conflict and infighting between family was something she could not find herself fully understanding.

the result of being the only child for so many years, until that too changed only to be taken away again; her hand trailed towards a trail of her thick dark tresses, twirling it absentmindedly. "you need not ask for forgiveness." it were a quiet admission, considering she knew that somewhere along the way, garland had made an obvious misstep. there came importance in kindness, and making the woman feel as though she had a voice when it came to matters of their household: but the fiery orbs of zialla antaryon made one thing obvious - thirst.

she was thirsty for power, some form of ambition; a voice that exceeded beyond their household, and in his rushed attempt to patch up the mess that was the downfall of his first marriage, he had seemingly promised the world to this woman who was a stranger. they did not know one another, regardless of how many times they shared a bed, or the troubles they went through in the form of their son dying.

"if he is not to blame for the size of her ego, he is to blame for not trying to teach her there are lines she should not cross if she wishes to be in good graces with her husband." there was a sense of bitterness within lucrezia's words as she remembered the way he sat there and allowed his wife to look at her in such a way; she stood by what she said. the world did not revolve around her, and people were allowed to feel as though this union was not a good idea without being painted as inhumane.

"i know not whether anything was said after the fact, but at that point it was too late. he had already inflicted his nonsense."

she thought back on their first meeting; even that was utterly cursed. "honestly, the moment i told her i understood where people's concerns were stemmed from, all seemed to tumble. there was no stopping it." she spoke, feeling herself growing increasingly hot; she remembered her anger in reaction to such an outburst. the audacity, from someone who clearly thought herself sophisticated and saavy. able to play the game. she played herself right off the board. "talking about how her father had done more to stop pentoshi extremists more than any other in westeros, as though our knights are not there. naturally, the heathens should try to stop their own." she scoffed, her hand waving as she clung onto the goblet.

"her father, she states - with that pointed chin of hers out. as though that is some threat. what is he? what is the sealord of braavos? chosen to be in power. chosen by his people. there is nothing special about any of them. their blood means nothing, and their power is temporary." the bitterness was obvious; as obvious as night and day. "everything changed because of her. she is one of those women, who find her position threatened to know her husband has family he can depend on. she wants the world to spin around her.

"bitch."

the image of ayca mallister was visibly more relaxed in this setting, from the familiarity of the music, colorful attire worn, and the very reason they were gathered this afternoon. it was polite for nobles invited from other kingdoms to attend and pay their respects, but ayca could not help the sense of protectiveness she felt over the occasion, especially given it was for the child of one of her dearest friends. she did not like king’s landing, and probably would’ve stayed behind given the option, but she knew it was best she be in attendance, and make nice.

sat beside the mistress of ships, adorned in an olive green caftan with similarly colored embroidery amongst it, amber eyes observed the crowd along with her friend, landing upon little arlo himself. a faint smile came over her lips at the sight of the babe, all too aware of how dear this moment must be for lucrezia. she wondered if the motherly instinct that seemed to come over the other so naturally was something that was granted to all mothers, but she never quite brought herself to dabble in such a topic.

tucking strands of chestnut curls behind her ear, tugging them from dangling golden emerald jewels, she looked upon the other in disbelief as she had described the recent events with her hightower kin. eyebrows rose in shock at the audacity of the braavosi woman. eventually a grin perked up on her lips, and she let out a snort and shake of her head. “who does she think she is? truly?” she questioned, placing her hands in her lap, fingers instinctively fidgeting with her bracelet before gesturing in frustration. “i am happy you did not tell me this sooner, i do not believe if she did arrive she would’ve made it past me waiting at the entrance.” she stated, tone in half-jest as she scrunched her nose.

“ya rab, she did not! to believe one learns the faith in, what? a matter of months? and she is expert enough to try to weaponize it against you.” she shook her head, place another piece of cheese between her lips, chewing it as if it might be the very thing to quell the fiery nature of the eldest lady of house mallister. “either she came here with a giant head, or, forgive me, garland made it as big as his.”

form leaned slightly forward to lucrezia, curiosity piqued. “only the beginning?” she asked, unsure of how much more the lord and lady of oldtown could’ve done to evoke the ire of lucrezia redwyne. “oh? is he hiding in shame? taking the time to teach his lady proper manners?”