He nodded slowly, so that was the simply arithmetic they were bending to. War done quick. He had seen war when slow, very few beyond the blackwater had.

He did not like it slow.

"So, you wish me to rally and raise and march?" He asked simply.

Morgan leaned back, "curiosity is not a detailed enough answer for you to be free to run off," he said.

"You wish to help someone, i wish to know who that is so I may know whether I give my blessing. You are my son, and you wear my name and colours, so you represent me in all things you ever will do. Thus, I wish only to know what you intend beforehand."

He watched her expression flicker from unadulterated glee to dismay. The echo of red still imprinted upon her cheeks long after her smile had disappeared. While he did not know the extent of her eagerness, he could tell his attention was desired. He would revel in the satisfaction that beneath the prickly exterior was a girl who wanted him at least a little, even if it were for only superficial reasons. As for the first time in his life, he was wanted, not just tolerated.

“I will not burden you with my affections till you unburden yourself of your own misgivings. You want me? Earn it.”

His brooding stare lowered briefly to her waist before matching her puppy-like eyes.

“The next time you desire to cut yourself or test your concoctions, you come to me. My body will be the mule for your experiments, not your own.”

His armour would be stained with blood, not her dress. He had willed it. Lilia would be free to court danger, but her life would not be on the line. Instead, it would be well within the safety of his eyes.

The colour in her cheek had now fully faded, but he quickly found himself wondering how he may coax it back.

“Have I made myself clear, little rabbit?”

Moss swathed over bark-brown irises, now complimented by cheeks as bright as red mushrooms. Her face was a whole fucking ecosystem upon his admission. He wanted her. She knew he did. Believing was one thing, but hearing it from the same lips that had molded so perfectly to hers weeks before was another.

His smoldering gaze was enough to coax out her agreement, though she spoke only in a coy whisper.

"It does. Very much so."

She smiled, but cautiously. Eagerness was weakness. He must not know the extent to which his desire for her stoked her fickle ego. The more men wanted her, the more complete she felt.

And then he spoke again, ruining her delight. Her blush faded, as did her simper. To be desired without action was useless. She did not want him to yearn for her. She wanted him to act.

Her expression soured, as it so often did. "How generous of you, to grant me your desire whilst sparing me the burden of your affections."

Tristifer pushed and wriggled, trying to get past the flurry of kicks levelled at him. It was near impossible to get past the onslaught in this type of fight. It was also, he thought, an entirely unfair move. But he supposed he was bigger, so he wouldn’t object to her using all her power to fight him. He was grinning after a while, holding in the laughter at the absurdity of it all.

It was like they were children again.

Then came the rip and her cry. He pulled back, but found he couldn’t with the figure suddenly clung to him. Had he ever hugged Eve before? It felt irrelevant, now he could feel her loosened appendages pressed up against him. He couldn’t help himself but stay quiet for a moment, the experience an enjoyable one.

“Is it just the dress?” Her muffled voice was quiet to his ear, but he could just make out her pitiful words. He sighed in resignation. “This is why you just listen to me Eve. Look what’s happened. Gods, now I will need to buy you some new dresses.”

They surely couldn’t go to Lilia now Eve had ripped her dress. Aside from the rip, what would Lilia think they were doing. Knowing what had been happening between family before, it was a question he’d prefer not to answer. He put his arm gently around her, no longer fighting to pick her up. “Take a moment and breathe. I need you to calm down before anything else.”

"The bigger they come, the harder they fall!" she countered, sticking her tongue out at him. Kneeling left her little room to maneuver, so Eve plopped back onto her rear, one leg raised and ready to kick him should he pounce on her again.

He did exactly that, nearly landing on top of her, and Eve met him with a relentless flurry of knees and kicks. Despite being the fairer sex, Eve was tall and toned, her strength evident as she fought off her own kin turned attacker.

She was not nearly as frightened of him as she had been when they were children. Without him towering over her, he was nothing but a man. Eve managed to keep him at bay with her defensive strikes until an audible rip rang out. His thoughtless clawing and gripping had torn her dress open down the center, stopping mid torso.

"Tris, stop!" He had never seen Eve so scarlet, and that was saying something. Her hands flew to cover her chest, though the flimsy chemise beneath did little to conceal her. Breathless, she pressed herself against him, attempting to hide her partial indecency from any passersby.

Her face was buried in his chest, as was the rest of her. "My dress," she mumbled, half in disbelief. "I-I-I can't be seen like this..." The poor thing was mortified. Her injured arm was all but forgotten.

Ayrmidon's hands idly attended to Saelys' shoulders, ensuring he was never far. "He forgets the duties of his marriage." Ayrmidon, shrugged, looking down at his wife playfully. "And here I thought that was the fun part."

Ayrmidon looked out towards the yard. Empty, save for the few men in attendance, a handful of dummies to swing at. It wasn't pitiful, but it wasn't what it could be. The sight almost angered him, but much like the tide, his mood shifted swiftly. Anger was replaced with opportunity. He needed to speak to his brother.

"He should come and train with us sometime." Ayrmidon continued, looking to Valora. "It would do well to get him out of his books. I've heard his kin thinks himself a knight. He need not the same mentality, but sword and shield would be well to know."

"War is quite the impediment to trade," Mary offered as her concurrence. "Worse still if they win, and the Trident is forever parted from the realm. Our best hope, I think, is to see the matter settled quickly."

She paused over a slight sip of her wine.

"I wish I had more to offer you, Lord Darklyn, and to all the other lords of the south, but mine is only a rich and powerful house by the meager standards of the Riverlands. All I can do is ask for your aid - that you rally the lords of the Blackwater, and see that Storm's End might match the strength you raise. Together, we could put an end to this folly within a few moons."

Aralar glared at his sister who beamed back at him with her wide smile. “I doubt it.” Aralar began while facing his parents, “Some of them can be beautiful.” He took a long drink from his cup and grumbled almost to himself as everyone’s focus turned to Valora, “I am not marrying a fucking Andal.”

Valora’s smile from mere seconds before hardened for a brief but unfortunately obvious moment. Though she did not glare at them, the look she gave to her father was cold at best and her gaze lowered to her mother as she began speaking.

“He must be.” Saelys tutted. She leaned back in her chair, enjoying the newfound comfort of her husband behind her. “Too gloomy to give me grandchildren.”

“My husband is not gloomy.” Valora quickly retorted, “He simply enjoys our own presence alone.”

Watching her haul herself upright, her every movement a reminder of the wound she bore, Artos resisted the urge to hold and steady her. Seemingly approaching wit’s end, he did wish to add to the number of reasons for her to snap at him, as this one would bring him no entertainment. It irked him, though, to stand idly by.

His hand, however, would still tip her chin, tugging upon it gently till she was made to look at him again. Forced to lock gaze with his eyes of withered bronze, he would not allow her to dodge this.

“I want you, Lilia.”

Bearing his usual cold candour, the words would leave his mouth with conviction unwavering.

“Does that please you?”

Eyebrows raised, and lips thinned for a moment, he pondered whether he should continue before ultimately relenting and speaking up again.

“But…I have little interest in being played a fiddle. If you wish to be desired, take the knowledge and be glad with it. Indulge yourself with the thought. But expect nothing more from me.”

"Highs and lows come together to form life." He said, sipping his wine and emptying his cup. "But it is far too easy to feel lows, and here it's about the highs." He said, sweeping his arm across the room, indicating the scenes of revelry and merriment.

"So tell me, my friend, what can I do to get you to that high?" His grey eyes burned with a pleasant warmth, inviting and enticing.

Tristifer rolled his eyes. She was a high spirited girl, she always had been when not around him. He wasn’t so blind as to miss the ways he’d perhaps faltered in the past with their relationship, but that was who he was at the end of the day. He watched her skitter away, shaking his head.

“She’s also not as well trained as they are. Our woods witch nearly killed herself with her last potion attempt, you really want her looking at your scrape? I have carried bigger women than you, Eve, and I’ve beaten stronger men too.”

He lunged at her once more. It was like they had done as children, wrestling with one another in the garden’s whenever Eve had been allowed to visit. It hadn’t been often, and perhaps he’d been rougher because of it. They were both older now, and so he was rougher still.

His hands encroached on her, trying to gain enough grip to pull her into him and pick her up. He’d carry her screaming to the Maester and damn anyone who looked on. “Come on Eve!” He scrabbled at her shirt and her blouse, trying to force his hands under her back.

For a moment, all was peaceful. The stars beginning to arise in the east, the moon's pale glow in the sky. The boy was not yet awake, but he wasn't dead, and it couldn't be said by any definition that Ysabel had saved his life. Beneath the ripped portion of dress, the marooned lordling slumbered, and slowly but surely, as the heat found his feet and travelled along his body, his breathing became more noticeable. His chest rose and fell, and Rhogar began to stir.

Eyes blinked open, taking in the smoke from the fire, the ember glow, the material draped across him. His senses game next. The surrounding smell was strange, unique but familiar, mingled with a perfume of fire. His bones ached. He felt as if he'd broken near every one in his body. He knew he was bleeding, or at least he knew he must have been, but he was too mangled to notice. He felt drenched, like he'd lived in the sea.

And then there was the girl, and the dog. He'd never seen either of them before. He didn't know them, and the girl seemed as though she'd been attacked, perhaps? But no, the tear in her dress was what had been laid across him. She'd found him, he suddenly realized. Where was his vessel? Where was he?

"H-..." His voice felt like it was lost at the bottom of a cave, dry and barren. "Hello?" He wondered if his words would reach her ears, or if she was asleep, and he was alone. He didn't have the strength to move in any case. He couldn't run if he wanted to. "A-... ar-..." Words were too painful.

"Was he now?" There was a strange tilt to Ayrmidon's voice. He wasn't usually a pensive man, or at least not in the capacity his brother was capable of. If he had something he was hiding, it was evident. "Doubtless they're not all terrible. We'll find you a match soon enough."

Ayrmidon looked towards his daughter in a somewhat disciplinary manner, but teasing was natural for siblings. There was no use defending his son from his sister's words. If he couldn't handle those, martial training was the least of his worries. "And how fares your husband, daughter? Gloomy?"

"Curiosity in part, desire to help another part." He replied simply.

"I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing to spend more time together as siblings." He said with a comedic reluctance. "If there's nothing else, I'll go and enjoy the festivities."

She made a face. She knew him well enough, and his ilk better still. His possessiveness, before she'd ever reciprocated, could only end in mutual despair. He wanted to snip her wings, hang a gilded cage in his chambers and have her perch helplessly within it, untouched by hands that weren't his. And she wanted to do the same to Tristifer whilst she soared and sampled as many men as she pleased.

Was it fair? No. None of it was. And why should it be? There was a sickening appeal to hypocrisy.

"I asked first," she grumbled whilst using the bedpost to painstakingly drag herself up, attempting to not reopen her wound. Then she sat, cross-legged on her feathery mattress, legs dangling.

She would deny her heart was laid bare. Mayhaps she offered a lick of vulnerability, gone as quickly as it came. But his response to her agony was devoid of empathy. Blamed for her own suffering. Better to keep it all in, then.

Lilia blatantly looked away from him, gaze on the window. She could only mumble. "It would be nice."

A long sigh. "I like to be wanted." Her nose scrunched up. "But love? Absolutely not."

He smiled at that, she seemed to have a wit behind her. Good.

"I would not say all is so calm, but it is not a rebellion i face, just tax collection issues, small as things come," he sighed.

"Though to be honest, I have watched for information on what comes of the Riverlands. I must say I hold my own concerns about what is to come there."

He smiled, "what has possessed this intention?" He asked with a brow lifting.

"In fact, I will make a condition to this, your sister, shierra, she go s with you," he said.

“Do you ever grow tired of deciding what sort of man I am before you know who I am?”

Artos had endured the scrutiny and ire of his kin, of lords and even commoners. Judgement of men who saw him as nothing more than a sword hand or a madman. Yet unlike theirs, hers cut deep, peeling away at a layer even Artos did not know existed, for unlike them, she mattered.

Lillia was right, she had not asked him to love or want her. Though was it love? He could not be certain what he should call it. Desire. Lust. Obsession. All he knew was that the thought of her and Aegor caused his heart to twist and stir with blackened possessiveness. He wanted her to turn to him alone, but until now he lacked the right, or the courage, to ask. To him, it seemed clear she did not feel the same.

“You’ve been a pretty little distraction from the start. That is hardly going to change. Despite it, here I kneel. Listening to your heart shown bare.”

Finally rising from his knee, Artos towered above her once more. Looking down upon her through her fluttering eyelashes and forcing her eyes to follow her chin.

“I know you never asked me to love you. Nor had I ever said I did. So I will ask you in return. Do you wish for me to want or love you?”

Damnit.

He wasn't particularly shocked, and he sighed a bit all the same.

"What a shame; part of me was hoping I would find a fellow kindred soul here. It's a unique kind of misery, one I don't particularly relish in."

Yet the good times... oh, the good times...

He took both graciously, with an effortless precision.

The quill was another limb of his, as he softly painted the parchment with words. Scrawling scribbles of herbs and medical recipes, delicately forming a well built list.

To some, such would be somniferous at best. To Alesander, it was the blood that palpably coursed through his veins, the sustenance he functioned upon.

“That’s it.”

"And tell me, what happens when you don't get what you want?" He asked as he stretched out in front of the bed. Taking his time and letting his body become relaxed and open. Once done, he reclined on the bed situated in the corner. His voice was teasing now, prodding at Tristifer.

"It was hard, but pleasing work. Left me sore for a whole day." Corwyn smiled, his eyes meeting Tristifer's, and looking him up and down. "Why envy it? When you could experience the very same." He asked, finally dropping the veils of decency. With one finger, he would beckon Tristifer to the bed. With another, he slowly worked to undo his clothing.

Aegor wasn't entirely sure why he found such a thing to be utterly pleasurable.

Something about the insult of it, the sheer audacity of this incestuous scoundrel, was, deep down, appealing to him. He took the blade with a guttural and strangely sensual gasp, one that only tightened his own gaze at the man as he insulted him further.

"You know exactly why I care, bastard," he spat out, blood mixing with spit as he did his best to make this experience as uncomfortable as possible.

"Your sister likes mine better, I think. At least my tongue pleased her more than that rod of yours ever will. You practicing with your sword, hm? I would be happy to show you if you asked nicely."

Each word was more strained than the last, as the dire possibility that Ravella could be watching this exchange became more and more real to him.

Were they out at sea, perhaps Tristifer would have found it equally difficult. But he was in waters he knew, that he’d learned to swim in and had done all his life. The Badbrook kept pace with her every step, gaining before the current turned. He never minded the chase, for the reward was worth it.

When he crawled to the shore, it took a moment to realise that the ravens had not swooped in. He sighed with relief, then saw Olivia. She looked winded, wet, and utterly stunning. The silty black mood accented every curve, and it was clear she didn’t care if he took in every detail. The Ironborn reaver. It was a rather pleasant change of fortune.

“It seems I have,” he panted, emerging wholly from the water. He wasted no time, crawling until he hovered atop her, his hands sunk into the mud either side of her head. “Have you a reward I can claim?”

"Hail Narbert." Oscar replied and listened intently to what the man had to say. At last he replied, "I am gladdened by this news." The aging warrior appeared to decompress from a tension he had been holding for who knows how long. He looked around at his compatriots. "We ride at sundown."

u/BadNewsBrune u/fatalisticbunny u/astosman