ofsacredseas

[ofsacredseas]

ayca had stepped outside to escape the stifling closeness of the feast, the laughter and music grating against the quiet she often craved. the weight of so many eyes, so many voices, pressing in around her felt like an unspoken demand she wasn’t willing to meet tonight. out here, under the cool embrace of the night sky, she could breathe without performing, without the endless pretense that came with gilded halls and polished smiles. the gardens offered a moment of solitude, a place where she could let the mask slip, even just for a little while.

the garden’s quiet, interrupted only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath her boots, had been a comfort—until younes’ sudden presence broke through. ayca startled slightly at his tap, her head turning sharply the wrong way before landing on his familiar grin. a faint smirk tugged at her lips, half-amused and half-annoyed.

the lady of seagard let out a soft, almost dismissive chuckle. "the qoherys girl and ronan bracken?" she shook her head, her tone light but laced with mild disapproval. "it doesn’t seem fitting, does it? a valyrian in the riverlands... it just doesn’t sit right. surely he wouldn't consider that, but i suppose that’s none of my business," she added with a shrug.

her gaze flickered toward him briefly, her fingers brushing a stray leaf off the path’s edge. “you’ve a talent for finding these stories. people trust you, or they’re too foolish to realize you’re gathering fodder.” the faintest of smiles ghosted her lips, though it was fleeting.

the garden’s silence wrapped around them, broken only by the crunch of their steps and the occasional distant chirp of a cricket. she paused near a bench overgrown with ivy, resting her fingertips lightly against the backrest. her gaze swept over the flowers, their delicate colors muted in the moonlight.

“it’s better out here,” she said at last, her voice quieter. “the air’s clean, and there’s room to think.” she glanced his way again, a hint of warmth in her otherwise neutral expression. “your company’s tolerable enough, i suppose.”

for a moment, she lingered there, debating something unsaid before turning away, fingers brushing the ivy as she stepped forward. “come along,” she said lightly, without looking back. “no point in standing still, surely you've heard more than that, tonight.”

closed starter for @ofsacredseas

the cool night's air washed over him the further younes walked from feast, leaving the noises of merriment behind him. the breeze was slight, but enough to ruffle the hair that hung loose over his forehead and for him to catch the scent of the garden's blooms clinging to it. he was far enough away from the doors that the laughter and music had faded to a soft hum, the sounds of the evening beginning to emerge, th sound of cricket's and an owls gentle hoot.

it was then that he spotted ayca, moonlight catching in the strands of her dark hair. he had no doubt that she had sloped off, just as he had, for a moment to herself, but it did not once cross his mind that his company would not be welcomed. he stepped lightly over the garden path until he was close enough to her, taking efforts to tread gently and make no noise as he approached, and as he found himself at her left shoulder, he reached around her to tap her on the right, so that she would look the wrong way.

he chuckled when she turned her gaze to him, holding his hands up as though to pre-emptively surrender. "was wondering where you got to," he spoke casually, and began to walk again, his pace slow and unhurried so that she could fall into step beside him. "you missed it. that saella qoherys - you know the one - sniffing around ronan bracken like a dog with a bone. probably angling for a proposal. heard the whole family are holed up in rosby with the brother's wife."

it was always the way when they were together, thriving on shared bits of gossip and judgement. his gaze turned upwards, lungs filling with crisp air. "but it's nice out here, too," he conceded. "quiet. but the company is preferable."

[ofsacredseas]

ayca listened to emira’s chatter with an amused arch of her brow, letting her sister’s playful critique of the lords wash over her like the murmur of the crowd behind them. the air was thick with the mingling scents of rosewater and spiced wine, and ayca’s earlier glow from dancing still clung to her skin, though the warmth had shifted into a guarded awareness. she adjusted the sheer scarf draped over her shoulders as though the motion could dispel the vulnerability creeping into her composure.

“you really are relentless,” ayca replied, her tone dry but affectionate, her lips curling into a faint smirk. she glanced toward the cluster of lords emira had described, her sharp eyes taking them in with a dismissive flick. “that tall one? you’re right—he looks like he’d faint if you so much as asked him for the time."

her teasing faded as emira turned the questions back on her. ayca hesitated, the brief silence filled by the distant hum of a lute and the rhythmic shuffle of dancers’ feet. she finally exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“worried about me?” ayca repeated, her voice laced with mock incredulity. “please. as if any lord could do more than bore me tonight. no interrogations necessary, emira, i’ve been... occupied.” her words trailed off.

when emira’s expectant gaze lingered, ayca shrugged lightly. “fine. if you must know, i did speak with someone,” she admitted, her tone light but clipped, as if the details didn’t matter. “a northman. the brooding, silent type. we exchanged a few words." she waved a hand dismissively, brushing the moment away. “nothing worth noting, truly. it was over before it began.”

arm adjusted as it was hooked onto her sisters. "then, i danced, i drank, i humored a few attempts at conversation, that's all.” her gaze darted to the floor for a heartbeat before she added, her voice tinged with dry humor. her eyes flickered toward the dance floor, where the music swelled and laughter echoed. “but you,” ayca said pointedly, shifting the conversation with practiced ease, “shouldn’t be standing here, lamenting the lack of effort from half-hearted lords. you deserve someone who can match your spirit.”

she gestured subtly toward a lively cluster of men further down the hall, their laughter loud and their movements animated. “there’s bound to be someone out there who knows how to properly sweep a lady off her feet. or at least someone who doesn’t smell like they’ve bathed in the wine barrels.”

.

emira rolled her eyes dramatically, though a grin tugged at her lips. “wedding bells? please, ayca, don’t get ahead of yourself. you know i’m much too busy with my music to settle down just yet,” she quipped, giving her sister a playful nudge as they stepped away from the crowd.

her gaze lingered on ayca’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, a rare sight that left emira momentarily disarmed. she was so used to her sister being poised, untouchable, the image of perfection. but tonight, ayca was different—unguarded, almost carefree—and emira couldn’t help but savor it. oh yes she could not wait to tell her all about this later. she was sure in the morning when ayca’s headache was at it’s peak she was going to love telling her all about this.

“oh, but i see what this is,” she said, her voice taking on a faux-serious tone as she looped her arm tighter through ayca’s. “you’re deflecting. you’ve had far too much fun tonight, and now you’re trying to put the spotlight on me. nice try, dear sister, but i’m not the one who’s been twirling around the dance floor like a maiden from a minstrel’s tale.”

emira leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, mirroring ayca’s earlier teasing. “but fine i suppose i can tell you.” she said easily caving in when getting to talk about herself. her eyes flickered over towards a group of lower lords who all seemed gathered together as they had no one to dance with yet. “the older of them asked me to dance though honestly he smells as if he got into the liqors cabinets early, he’s the one who tried to toast to me. the red headed of those would not staring at my chest even as he talked of his ships…..the taller one….is cute but painfully shy.” she sighed. “it’s too bad. i wouldnt mind a dance with him but every time i look at him he looks like he wants to run away” she laughed. “but no one whisking me off of my feet so no one for you to interrogate sadly? it’s like the men arent even trying!”

“come on what about you. spill what have you been up to all night. surely it hasnt been by yourself? any lord i should be worried about for you? or one i should get to dance with you since you are in the spirit?”

[ofsacredseas]

what a home for a cat!

[ofsacredseas]

ayca felt a sudden warmth flood her chest, a heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun hanging lazily above. she clenched her fingers against the stone balustrade she stood by, hoping her body language would convey defiance, but the pressure in her chest was growing, tightening. his voice was like a pull on her, tugging at her resolve in a way she hadn’t expected. she wasn’t nervous. no, she refused to be.

“you make nothing of the sort,” ayca retorted, though the sharpness in her voice didn’t fully mask the tremor in her hand. she shifted, trying to ease her discomfort by turning her attention to the space around them, but even the flowers seemed to mock her, vibrant and untouched by whatever was happening inside her.

garrick’s step toward her wasn’t just close—it was almost too close, and though she stood firm, her posture rigid, something inside her stirred. her breath quickened, and she barely caught the moment before her gaze flickered to his, unwilling to let him see the uncertainty she could not suppress.

he was too observant. too perceptive.

“you talk as though we’re not in a game,” she muttered, a hint of bitterness slipping through her voice as her eyes narrowed slightly, “but i’ve never been one to yield.” her smile was thin, a mask, but it did little to hide the confusion brewing within her.

she could feel her composure slipping, the edge of panic creeping up her spine. how had he managed to unsettle her so? her mouth suddenly dry, she took a sharp breath and lifted her chin, pulling herself together.

“i believe i’ve spent enough time in this conversation for today,” she said, forcing her voice back into control. “i hope you have a good afternoon, lord cargyll.” with that, she turned on her heel, walking briskly toward the garden’s edge, desperate to escape the weight of his presence before she revealed more than she was willing.

( end of thread. )

Garrick let out a quiet laugh, low and enticing, the kind that could slip under the skin and linger. He tilted his head, studying Ayca with the kind of focused interest that was both unsettling and magnetic. He had to admit there was a magnetism to the Lady of Seagard as well, whether she was aware of such power or not. “If I pull threads, as you put it, it is because I feel threads being pulled as well”. Such a thing was necessary for this sort of dance, after all. A push and pull.

He took another step closer, enough that the sunlight catching in his eyes softened the edge of his expression but not the intensity of his gaze. “Do I make you nervous, Lady Mallister?” he asked pointedly, glancing down at her hands. “You hold yourself as though unyielding, yet your fingers betray you. And you speak of yielding, yet you do not step away”. Or perhaps there were other ways to yield the lady had in mind.

The Cargyll lord had spoken about discovery a moment ago, and as he stood so closely with the Mallister lady, his mind still wondered what she might reveal and what she would not. There was a moment of silence between them, one that Garrick allowed to stretch, inevitably relishing the tension simmering between them. What did he hope to uncover? “You,” he said at last. He was intrigued enough to wish to look beneath the surface of Ayca Mallister's poise and tamed anger. And he considered then, that if she dared, he too might uncover more of himself to her through this dance.

[ofsacredseas]

Melisa Aslı Pamuk 250x400 avatars (65-73)

in Hayaller ve hayatlar, episode 7. Please like or reblog if you use. Thanks ♥

[ofsacredseas]

setting: highgarden, ayca takes lu’s suggestion to come here to work on her art ; starter for @seffora-merryweather

the gardens of highgarden were almost too beautiful, almost too perfect. their vibrancy seemed to mock the tangled emotions that simmered beneath ayca mallister’s carefully maintained composure. she had been here for days now, ostensibly to find inspiration for her paintings, though she doubted any amount of sunlight or roses could soothe the storm within her.

a canvas rested on an easel before her, its surface a mixture of hesitant strokes and bold swipes of color—half-finished, like a thought interrupted. ayca stood before it, brush poised in her hand, her expression as sharp and unyielding as the blade of a dagger.

she didn’t turn when she heard footsteps crunch softly along the gravel path behind her, though her grip on the brush tightened. “if you’re here to critique, you might as well save your breath,” she said curtly, her tone carrying the bite of someone who had grown too accustomed to unwanted opinions. “this one’s far from finished.”

her dark eyes flicked briefly over her shoulder, catching sight of a blonde haired woman she did not recognize, only assuming she was one of the many other artists who she had run into in the gardens, but the woman’s presence seemed entirely at odds with ayca’s mood, poised, warm, radiating a kind of light that ayca often found herself recoiling from. still, she didn’t send her away.

“i’m told highgarden is an artist’s dream,” the lady of seagard continued, her voice softer now, though still carrying the weight of her natural guardedness. “but all i see are flowers that don’t know when to stop blooming.” she glanced back at seffora fully this time, one brow arching slightly. “what about you, my lady? are you here to bask in the glory of endless roses, or do you have some other purpose in mind?”

the words were direct, but there was an undertone of curiosity there—faint, almost imperceptible. despite herself, ayca couldn’t deny that part of her wondered what the other woman would make of her unfinished work, her guarded words, and the barriers she wasn’t quite ready to lower.

[ofsacredseas]

‘Cause I don’t wanna feel like I felt last night I don’t wanna feel like I felt last night Be at peace with the things you can’t change (Last night) I’ll be naked when I leave and I was naked when I came, yeah Escapism - RAYE, 070 Shake *flashing tw*

[ofsacredseas]

ayca watched brandon carefully, her gaze sharp and unflinching as he spoke. the firelight played across her features, highlighting the faint curve of her lips—a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. his words carried weight, and she allowed them to settle, the moment stretching between them like the taut string of a bow.

when he finished, she let out a breath, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. then, without breaking his gaze, she reached for her whiskey, the glass cool against her fingers. she downed the remaining amber liquid in a single, smooth motion, the warmth spreading through her chest as she set the glass back on the table with a decisive clink.

“well,” she began, her tone light but laced with dry amusement, “if nothing else, you’ve spared me the trouble of finding out the hard way that you’re as stubborn as a mule.” she pushed her chair back and rose, smoothing the folds of her dress with an air of composed confidence. “for a man so determined not to play games, you’ve a remarkable talent for letting a woman down as gently as one drops a stone into a quiet pond. no splash, no mess, just a clean descent to the bottom.” she added with a wry humor.

her lips curved into a small, amused smile. “i’ll give you credit for that, my lord. it’s rare to be let down and still leave the table feeling like the world’s kindest man has just bid you farewell.” she adjusted her shawl, glancing over at him with a spark of something mischievous in her gaze. “but don’t worry, i won’t hold it against you. if every fire you stoke turned you to ash, you’d be a walking ruin by now. and i’d rather leave you whole.”

she stepped away from the table, her movements calm and deliberate. “i’ll leave you to your peace. i imagine it’s something you’ve worked hard to keep.” there was a genuine inflection and thoughtfulness to her words, and a glimmer of understanding in her amber gaze.

the lady of seagard turned to depart, but paused, glancing back over her shoulder. the hearth caught the faint curve of her smile, more subdued now, but no less genuine. “take care of yourself, lord brandon. and don’t let the weight of your honor crush you entirely.” she added with a wink.

and with that, she departed, her steps measured and steady, leaving the secluded corner of the room behind her, and disappearing into the crowd.

( end of thread. )

♞

brandon leaned back, his hand slipping from the arm of her chair as if he’d touched something he shouldn’t. and suddenly he saw it all unraveling before him; tangled with her in his chambers, the heights of passion that meant nothing, just an end goal. a fleeting ecstasy, and then what came afterward. he all but felt his own excitement ease, burn, die out. the fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth failing to thaw the cold knot tightening in his chest. ayca’s words lingered in the air, her teasing challenge like a siren’s song, but something inside him shifted. it wasn’t excitement anymore—it was guilt, creeping in like the shadow of a storm.

he exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. for so many years he had been determined in not drowning any of his stresses or sorrows in the company of women; knowing all too well from men on the battlefield of the hole it never filled.

“aye,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “ye’ve a way about ye, lady mallister. sharp as steel, and twice as deadly, i reckon. but not all fights need fightin’, aye? and not all games are worth the play.”

he glanced away, his gaze landing on the flickering firelight dancing across the stone walls. the whiskey in his veins dulled the edges of his grief, but it couldn’t erase it. no amount of drink or soft words ever could. and he knew, deep down, that what he was doing here—what he was almost doing—wasn’t the answer to the ache that sat heavy in his chest. “when things changed for me..” his voice caught, rough like gravel underfoot, and he paused, swallowing hard before continuing, “i told meself i’d not drown in it. not let it pull me under, aye? and i’ve kept to that, best i could. but this...” he gestured vaguely between them, the flicker of her smirk still pulling at the edges of his thoughts. it took every inch of self “this ain’t how i face what’s left of me life, lass.”

he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his broad shoulders bowing under the weight of his own words. “yer clever, m'lady. beautiful. too beautiful, maybe. ye’ve a spark that could set a man aflame if he’s not careful.” his lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “but a man burnin’ don’t leave much behind but ashes. and i’ve had me fill of ashes for this life, lass.” brandon straightened, his voice steadier now, more resolute. “ye’ll forgive me if i pull back, aye? this game—this chase—ain’t one for me." he pushed his chair back, the scrape of wood against stone cutting through the quiet tension that hung between them. his gaze softened, though his resolve did not waver.

“ye’ll find yer match, i’ve no doubt. but that man... he ain’t sittin’ here tonight.”

[ofsacredseas]

ayca stood still, her hands clasped as though to steady herself against the invisible current garrick’s presence always stirred. his proximity was deliberate, calculated, and it only fueled her wariness. she hated how aware she was of his movements, the subtle shift of his boots on the gravel, the faint creak of leather as he adjusted his stance. her fingers twitched against the folds of her gown, the only outward betrayal of the unease she refused to voice.

her eyes narrowed at his words, at the calm, self-assured smile that played across his face—an expression she had grown to despise for its infuriating ability to disarm her. Not conquer anything, indeed.

“you say you don’t seek to conquer,” she echoed, tilting her chin slightly in defiance, “but forgive me if I don’t quite believe that. a man who circles as you do, who weighs every word i speak like a commodity at market… such a man rarely moves without purpose.”

she held his gaze, refusing to flinch under the intensity of his stare. her own sharp eyes flickered, a mixture of disdain and something she couldn’t quite name. “perhaps the one leading this dance is the one who steps in closer uninvited, expecting the other to yield.”

her words hung in the air, a challenge veiled in civility. yet, as garrick stepped closer still, ayca did not retreat. her pride was a fortress she refused to abandon.

“beauty in not knowing?” she repeated, her voice quieter now, laced with skepticism. “i don’t see beauty in wandering without reason. i see foolishness. yet here we are.”

a pause. she studied him, her thoughts a whirlwind. “if it’s discovery you enjoy, my lord, then i wonder—what exactly do you hope to uncover?” her tone sharpened, but a glimmer of vulnerability flashed across her face, fleeting but there. "or do you simply enjoy pulling at threads to see what unravels?”

There was silence between them for a moment and Garrick quite enjoyed it. He only paid attention to her eyes, to his own heartbeat, and to the study of her breath to see if it had quickened in any way. There was a slow, self-assured smile appearing on his lips, the kind that the Mallister lady appeared to despise so, for she always had to quip back when he said something and smiled like that.

“I do not seek to conquer anything,” the knight replied, his voice calm, unbothered. He somehow had trailed this path without much thought or intention, merely letting himself be carried away by circumstances and by a sort of magnetism he'd not cared to name or understand. “You speak and I respond, that is all. You say we’re fools, dancing in circles. But tell me, Ayca Mallister, who has really been leading this dance?” he asked, momentarily raising his eyebrows pointedly. He did not break eye contact then, observing the woman intently.

That last step he took toward her did not make the Riverlander step back. The sunlight framed her in a way that made her appear almost regal, a real-life painting of a monarch or the rendition of a deity. She stood there, fixed in place with her pride and her defiance. Garrick stood close by, perhaps a little closer than what propriety demanded, and he wondered if those traits he'd already associated with the woman were about to crumble or be reinforced. Her gaze was sharp, threatening to bring ruin. The knight had not lied earlier, he did find her intriguing. He did find her fascinating for all that he thought he already understood about her and what he surely did not.

What response did he seek? “I don't know. There is beauty in the not knowing, wouldn't you agree?” Garrick was a man who often thought himself foolish, insufficient for just that —not knowing. There was beauty in not knowing, as he just said. Beauty and excitement in seeing everything unfold just as it was happening without a clear expectation. “Perhaps I merely enjoy discovering where these conversations take us next,” he added, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register. He'd implied earlier she was the one leading their dance, and he was curious to see how she would respond, what their immediate next step was bound to be.

[ofsacredseas]

Charlie’s Angels (2000) dir. McG

[ofsacredseas]

the festival lights cast a warm glow over the revelers, the hum of laughter and music drifting on the night air. ayca, her cheeks flushed both from exertion and the wine she’d indulged in throughout the evening, allowed herself to be guided by her younger sister with a bemused grin.

“oh, scandalizing others now, are we?” Ayca teased, her voice lilting with uncharacteristic playfulness. “i’ll need the full list later. it’s only fair.” she stumbled slightly as they neared the edge of the dance floor, laughing it off with a lightness that felt foreign, even to her. lithia had always been her favorite, but tonight, the usual constraints she placed on herself seemed softer, blurred by the festival’s warmth and the cups she hadn’t bothered to count.

“but now you’ve got me curious. you haven’t just been lurking and gossiping by the fountain all night, have you? or is it possible that some charming lord has finally caught your attention?”

her smile widened, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “tell me, is it that shy squire who was tripping over his words at dinner this evening? or maybe that young lord, with his endless talk of ships?” ayca leaned in slightly, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “no, wait—don’t tell me! i’ll guess. was it the one who spilled wine on himself after trying to toast you?”

she gave a mock gasp, placing a hand dramatically on her chest. “emira mallister, are we about to hear wedding bells? should i start planning the festivities?”

despite the teasing, there was a warmth to ayca’s words, her affection for her sister shining through the humor. her expression softened as she continued, her voice quieter but still playful. “whoever he is, i’ll need to vet him, of course. can’t have just anyone stealing you away.”

.

emira’s eyes widened in delighted surprise as ayca wrapped an arm around hers, her usually reserved sister practically glowing with warmth and energy and a certain buzz. oh, this is going to be good, she thought, already imagining the teasing she’d unleash on ayca come morning.

“oh, i’ve been busy, yes,” emira replied with a grin, looping her arm back through her sister’s. “you know me—charming some lords, scandalizing others. you, on the other hand…” she tilted her head, studying ayca’s unusually bright, flushed face. “you’ve been the one giving them something to talk about tonight, haven’t you?”

a playful sparkle lit up emira’s eyes as she steered ayca gently towards the edge of the crowded dance floor. she’d rarely seen her sister let loose like this, and the thrill of seeing ayca’s perfectly composed image cracked—if only slightly—was too rich to pass up.

“oh, it’s a shame i didn’t catch that dance!” emira continued, voice full of exaggerated regret. “you always look so serious; i didn’t realize you knew how to have fun.” her smirk softened into a genuine smile, though, as she took in ayca’s rare, carefree expression. part of her heart swelled with pride and love, that her sister was getting to just enjoy herself. while the other part—a sliver of jealousy—reminded her just how naturally ayca drew admiration, even when she was letting her guard down.“i’m almost afraid of the stories you’ll leave in your wake. tell me, how many hearts did you break on that dance floor tonight?” she gave ayca a small squeeze.

[ofsacredseas]

the lady of seagard shifted slightly on the stone bench, the cool surface grounding her even as lucrezia's words settled over her like a balm. the air was sweet with lavender and orange blossom, their fragrance mingling with the warmth of honey and the faint tang of the sea breeze. ayca turned her gaze back to the fountain, watching the water ripple and cascade as if it could offer answers she couldn’t articulate herself.

“inshallah,” she responded softly, her voice steady despite the vulnerable edge in her words. “it’s... hard, sometimes, to remember that i can be more than all the pieces people expect me to play. to just live, as you say.” she glanced at her friend, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “though i suspect it’s easier for you to say that than it is for me to believe it.”

she exhaled deeply, her fingers brushing the folds of her cloak. “it’s strange, isn’t it? how we’re supposed to just keep moving forward. to pretend the pieces of us that got left behind during the war don’t still weigh us down.” her hand moved absently to her goblet, but she didn’t drink, letting the action linger as if it could stall the emotions threatening to spill over.

when she mentioned tirius rowan, ayca let out a short laugh, her eyes brightening despite the heaviness in her chest. “oh, i remember that,” she said, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her expression. “he deserved it, though, didn’t he? thinking he could talk circles around us because he had a few years on us. i wasn’t going to let him get away with it.” she shook her head, the memory drawing her closer to the younger version of herself, the girl who hadn’t yet known what it meant to lose so much.

lu’s words about living lingered, stirring something restless in her chest. you don’t have to figure it all out right now, lu had said. maybe she was right, but ayca couldn’t help feeling like the clock was ticking—like she was racing to find herself before the person she’d become swallowed her whole.

her lips parted hesitantly, as if testing the waters. “painting,” she murmured, the word sounding fragile on her tongue. “i still paint. sometimes. just… quietly. i never thought it was something i could show anyone.” a faint smile curved her lips, self-conscious but wistful. “it’s different now. like the brush doesn’t feel the same in my hand.”

she glanced at her friend when she mentioned gael hightower and the king, her skepticism evident in the arch of her brow. “you’d really help me with that?” Her voice carried a trace of disbelief, not in lucrezia’s offer, but in the idea of her own worthiness. still, something warm stirred beneath her defenses, the unyielding support of her oldest friend cracking through the walls she’d built.

“maybe,” ayca said after a beat, her tone softer now. “maybe it’s time to try again.” hands folded in her lap as her chest rose a fell with a deep breath. "i know i could certainly come upon some muse here, in the arbor, if you'll have me long enough find it." she teased.

∞

lucrezia’s lips curved into a small, fond smile as she leaned forward, her hands resting delicately on her knees. the soft scent of lavender and orange blossom wafted from the gardens around them, mingling with the sweetness of honeyed baklava. the arbor’s sun-dappled courtyard shimmered with a golden warmth, yet her heart felt heavy for her friend.

“habibti,” she began, her voice soft but steady, her hand resting upon her heart as though she were speaking nothing but the whole truth under the subjection of an oath. an absentminded movement of genuine earnestness. "do not be excusing yourself for talking. you haven't a clue how much i have needed this!" she reached forward to rub her friend's forearm, a genuine sense of relief in her words. "you can come as many times as you need. truly. you are welcome here." she reassured, dropping her hand.

“you’ve always been more than the roles you’ve worn. more than the titles or the expectations. you were always the one who saw the world not as it was but as it should be. even now, i see that spark in you, even if you can’t.” back when orange sunsets and red squirrels were what made her the happiest; back when three months of a year were the highlight of it all, when she would live for the hope of it all.

"i remember hearing you argue with the boys like it was yesterday. do you not remember the day you told tirius rowan to stop talking over us?" she asked, a slight twinkle in her hazel hues; back when it were ayca who did most of the arguing for them both. she had appreciated it then, wished to be like her then. it was only in the years that passed did lucrezia redwyne take some solace and comfort in who she was as a person.

her gaze drifted to the fountain, its rhythmic cascade soothing yet melancholic, a mirror to the conversation between them. she moved to “you’re right, the war stole so much from us,” she admitted, her voice faltering for a moment. “it took our innocence, our delusions. it left us questioning who we are, years later. i’ve felt it too, more than i care to admit. i'll admit to you tenfold, if it tells you that you are not wrong for thinking such things." she uttered, slipping the sandals from her soles and dipping her feet into the fountain.

what comes next, ayca asked. there was a strand of lucrezia's curled hair as she let out a small sigh, almost a huff. as though she were trying to think of some sort of philosophical response; it did not take long before a smile stretched across her lips. "you know...i think we just live, ayca." she responded, her tone and her voice juxtaposing the somberness of the conversation."for those who aren't, and for the will of those we will never be able to understand until we ask them in the next life, inshallah." it was in small moments like this that such short answers alluded to the influence a partner had on her, the ability to just sometimes accept things were the way they were.

"you don’t have to figure it all out right now. maybe what comes next isn’t about finding some grand purpose but rediscovering the small pieces of yourself—the ones that make you laugh, the ones that make you feel alive.” she paused, the sounds of her gold jewelry against her wrist softly ringing out alongside the sounds of a fountain. "have you been doing your painting recently? why do you not try to see if your work can be spread, network with other artists. i have connections within the reach should you wish, gael hightower works extensively on it. even the king."

[ofsacredseas]

kinda want a relationship, kinda never wanna get close to another person again

[ofsacredseas]

ayca's lips curled into a smirk as she leaned back further in her chair, her eyes never leaving his as she studied the way he moved, the raw edge in his voice. the firelight cast shadows across his features, but it was the tension between them, palpable and thick, that seemed to make the room smaller. she let his words settle before responding, her voice still laced with challenge but a softer edge creeping into it.

"prey?" she echoed, her dark eyes narrowing, flicking briefly to where his hand grasped the arm of her chair, pulling her just a little closer. "perhaps it’s not so simple, my lord."

she took a slow sip from her goblet, letting the warmth of the whiskey settle in her chest as she tilted her head slightly. the pull in the air between them was undeniable, her lips softened at the edges, the challenge still present, but tinged with something else. a slow burn.

“you’re right, of course,” she continued, her voice low now, carrying a sharpness beneath it. “when you stop hunting, you’re left only with the waiting. but not all wolves are born to chase. some of us find the thrill in knowing when to let the chase come to us.” she leaned forward then, her eyes catching his in a moment of silent understanding, a quiet dare.

her hand slid across the arm of her chair, fingers brushing against his wrist before she pulled away, just enough to make him wonder. "but you, my lord, do seem to have a knack for bringing the chase to your feet." her tone held a playful lilt now, but there was something more in her gaze, something far less playful, and far more dangerous.

yet, he had said it so simply, so bluntly, that it almost disarmed her. the northern lord’s words echoed in her ears, each one sinking deeper into her mind, and despite the flicker of doubt that threatened to rise, something within her urged her to embrace the pull of the moment, and the deepening desire in the pit of her stomach.

with a small but telling smile, she finally spoke, her voice soft yet edged with a subtle challenge. “then tell me where to go, my lord,” she murmured, her words slow and deliberate. "following you is not part of the tale, but i'm rather good with direction, and discretion, as i imagine you are."

her gaze remained fixed on him, unflinching but with an undercurrent of something more. the room felt suddenly smaller, the space between them charged with anticipation, as if the next few moments would decide more than just the course of the evening.

♞

he watched her, the way she moved, the way her words twisted and curled like smoke around the room. ayca mallister was not just a woman; she was a game he wasn’t sure he had the strength to play tonight. but the whiskey had taken hold, loosening the edges of grief that clung to him like frost, and for once, he wasn’t thinking clearly. “the hunter?” he asked, his voice deep, rough like gravel underfoot. he let out a low laugh, the sound more bitter than amused, and leaned back in his chair. the firelight played across his face, softening the sharp planes of his grief-stricken face.

she was a flame, dangerous and inviting, and he couldn’t help but feel drawn to it, even as his mind screamed at him to stay distant.

he leaned forward again, elbows braced on his knees, the weight of his broad shoulders pressing down. “a wolf, aye?” his lips curled into something between a smile and a grimace. “i’m no hunter these days, lass. i’ve got no desire to chase shadows." his voice was rough, the words thick with a meaning deeper than the whiskey he'd swallowed. he took a long sip, the warmth of the drink sinking deep, doing nothing to dull the hunger in his chest. he set the goblet down harder than he intended, the sound cutting through the quiet.

"but maybe that's the problem, isn't it? when you stop hunting, you become... prey. just waitin. i never was good at waitin’." his tone deepened, the words hanging heavy between them. the flicker of a smile danced on her lips, something sly, teasing. and it made his chest tighten, his breath hitch. there was a fire in her, the same heat he felt coursing through his veins, but he couldn’t decide if he was the one to stoke it or if he was already burned.

he wasn’t thinking clearly, not for a moment. grief and desire had blurred into one tangled mess. but there was something about her, the way she looked at him, that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in too long. maybe it was foolish. maybe it was reckless. but tonight, brandon karstark wasn’t sure he cared. brandon's hand moved deliberately, grasping the edge of her chair with firm, yet not too forceful, pressure. he tugged her toward him with a gentle pull, bringing her closer, just enough to close the distance between them.

her chair scraped softly against the stone floor as she was drawn nearer, the movement almost as if the two of them were being pulled by some invisible thread, the tension thickening in the air. “so tell me, lady mallister,” he murmured, voice hoarse, “do you want to spin your tale with me? 'cause if so, yer'll be awaitin' me in me chambers. havin' you here ain't proper for no lady like you, as much as the image has its good points, aye?"

[ofsacredseas]

the gardens of casterly rock were alive with sunlight, yet the lady of seagard felt the weight of shadows between them. the soft trickle of the fountain seemed almost mocking, a reminder of serenity in a moment anything but serene. she stood firm, her hands clasped loosely before her, though the tilt of her chin betrayed her wariness.

“you intrigue me,” garrick had said, and the words lingered, tugging at her thoughts like threads of an unfinished tapestry. she studied him then, the way the sunlight played across his features, the confidence in his stance.

“i’ve often wondered, my lord, if you speak to provoke or to truly be understood,” she said at last, her voice smooth but edged with steel. “you watch me like i’m a puzzle to solve, a challenge to conquer. do you think I don’t see it? or perhaps you believe i enjoy the attention.”

her gaze flicked to the fountain briefly, as though searching its waters for clarity. “truthfully,” she continued, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone, “i’m not sure why I’ve allowed this… whatever this is… to persist. you needle, and i respond, and we go on like two fools dancing in circles.” of course, she had been the one to approach him this time, and if one were to argue it, she had started this little dance of their from the beginning.

he took another deliberate step closer, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path. the lady didn’t retreat, though her posture stiffened slightly, her gaze sharpening as if to meet his challenge head-on. “i wonder,” she continued, her voice low but clear, “what you hope to achieve with all this careful prodding. you call me stubborn, but you’re the one circling like a hawk, watching every word I say. tell me, my lord—what response do you seek now?” of course, her instinct at the moment was to prove him right and begin her curses of frustration, but instead, she would prod back.

“You do not quit easily either,” he murmured in response. The two of them had sparred with their words on that stormy evening, and they were sinking into similar territory today. For everything he said, she had a quick reply. For every argument she threw, he had a quip in return. The lady's next words were puzzling, however. “And do tell. You mean to imply these traits of mine will lead me to my ruin in your company, Lady Mallister?” the knight asked as he took another small step forward, moving both hands to rest behind him like a soldier at ease.

In a subtle manner, the Cargyll lord had begun encroaching on her space and he was curious to find if the Riverlands would only continue to step backward, if she'd stand her ground, or perhaps adopt any manner to make him step back. There was no malice in seeing what else he might draw out of the woman, really, only curiosity. Only a sort of pleasure in engaging in a witty argument. Only a sort of particular intrigue in provoking something and seeing what might be provoked in him.

So this encounter was a rare concession, as she put it herself. “I ought to be flattered, then,” he replied, paying special attention in studying her expression. Ayca Mallister appeared composed but he detected some fire behind her eyes. There was much more she wished she could say and kept contained inside her. He did wonder what that fire would be like, if untamed. “And to what do I owe your special attention, my lady?”. He asked. Another small step forward then.

Garrick's expression turned more measured then, not entirely serious yet not outwardly mischievous either. His smirk didn't reach his lips, it only stayed in his eyes as he looked at the Riverlander. “It does amuse me, yes,” he admitted, his tone, light, his eyes curious. “It intrigues me as well. You intrigue me,”. Whatever game he was playing at, whatever exploration was hooking his attention, Garrick Cargyll didn't entirely know himself. “You respond as if my every word offends you. And it is impressive how you hold yourself with patience and irritation in equal measure,” the knight began, “Frankly, I can't tell if you're bound to persist with gracious apologies or if you'll curse everything I am in your next breath, my lady”.

[ofsacredseas]

the lady of seagard turned her gaze from the fountain to lucrezia, her lips curving into a soft, almost hesitant smile. the weight of the question hung in the air between them, a gentle nudge that she couldn’t ignore. she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her hand instinctively brushing against the cool stone of the bench beside her, grounding herself.

“i’m not sure i know the answer myself,” she admitted, her voice carrying the quiet honesty she rarely allowed. “when I suggested coming back with you, i told myself it was to see you, the boys, to spend time in a place that’s always felt like a second home. and, of course, that’s true.” she paused, her fingers trailing the edge of the goblet she’d set aside. “but maybe… maybe it’s more than that.”

her eyes flickered back to the fountain, the water’s rhythm almost hypnotic. “the arbor has always been a sanctuary. a place where life felt simple, safe, even magical. perhaps i thought that coming here, i could feel some of that again. that i could… i don’t know, find a piece of myself I seem to have lost somewhere along the way.” her smile faltered slightly, her voice growing quieter. “the war took so much from us, lu. more than i think either of us realized at the time.”

her chestnut tresses framed her face as she turned toward her friend, her gaze steady but distant, as though looking at something only she could see. “i’ve been so many things, lu. a daughter, a wife, a lady of my house. and now… now i’m not sure what i am anymore.” her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cloak, a rare display of restlessness from someone usually so composed. “after the war, after losing him…” she swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat, but she pressed on. “i keep wondering who i’m supposed to be now. what comes next. and the truth is, i don’t know.”

she shook her head slightly, the movement dispelling some of the heaviness. “maybe that’s why i came back. to feel like myself again, even for just a little while. to be reminded of the parts of me that aren’t tied to loss or duty. the parts that laugh and tease and throw grapes at our friends.” she tilted her head, now studying the other's face with a small, mischievous smile creeping back onto her lips. “though, to be fair,” she began, her tone turning playful, “if i were going to dump my existential crisis on anyone, it would always be you."

ayca leaned back slightly, crossing her arms with a feigned air of seriousness. “but if i really wanted to make it up to you, maybe i should help out around here. what do you think—me, stomping grapes in the vineyards? or would you prefer i chase your boys around until they’ve exhausted their infinite energy? i’m not above bribing them with baklava to behave, you know. does little callum have teeth yet?"

her laugh bubbled up, warm and light, breaking the tension she’d inadvertently created. she reached for another piece of baklava, holding it up like a peace offering. “forgive me, lu. i promise I’ll balance all this brooding with enough antics to keep you entertained.”

∞

lucrezia redwyne watched as ayca reached for another piece of baklava, the subtle furrow of her brow betraying a heaviness beneath her words. the arbor seemed to soak in moments like these, the quiet between breaths, the weight of unspoken things. the fountain bubbled steadily, its rhythm a quiet reminder of time’s passing, the endless march that had brought them both to this courtyard and these bittersweet memories.

“a squirrel and a fox,” lucrezia repeated with a faint smile, her voice carrying a warmth tempered by the years. how was it that jokes and light heartedness seemed to remind her of the words they uttered to one another jokingly, even when he were not here? she almost opened her mouth to admit how much she had begun to miss her husband's presence, before she knew not to. there was no need to be that person, how irksome were they?

“it does sound like us. though i’d argue the fox showed a remarkable amount of restraint compared to that squirrel. do you remember me climbing that fig tree by the cliffs? i thought i'd never make it come down.” she had started crying at the top. the humor was light, but not forced. being with ayca had always made her feel this way, as though the weight of responsibilities—of the vineyard, the children, the endless news of war—could be set aside, if only for a little while.

still, lucrezia had grown too much to let the moment pass without noticing the sadness in her friend’s voice, or the way her laughter faltered like an uncertain step.

“the last summer before the war,” lucrezia echoed, her gaze slipping toward the fountain. “it felt endless then, didn’t it? as though we had all the time in the world. the sun, the sea… the way we didn’t yet understand how fragile it all was. i would be so dark by the time it was finished.” her voice softened, and she turned her attention back to ayca.

“but that was another life. maybe we can make it so for our children someday, inshallah. mine and yours, to spend time with one another before talks of alliances and trade. wealth. i so want them to know one another." she had gotten ahead of herself there, considering ayca still had no children; it was not that simple after all. "it will be that way, someday, you'll see." there was a pause, comfortable but pointed. lucrezia leaned forward slightly, her hand resting upon the hand of her friend. “tell me, my love.” she said gently, her tone not accusatory but sure.

“what brought you back to the arbor? i’m glad you’re here, more than i can say, but for some reason i sense there’s something you’re not saying. please correct me if i am wrong.”

[ofsacredseas]

ayca’s smirk deepened, the firelight dancing in her eyes as she met the lord of karhold's gaze, unflinching. she leaned back, letting the weight of his words settle between them, the crackle of the flames filling the silence. “deflecting, am i?” she asked, her tone light but threaded with challenge and hints of jest. “that’s an interesting observation coming from a man swirling his whiskey like it holds all the answers.” of course, she had done the very same this night - found herself at the bottom of a cup of whiskey to distract from feeling whatever it was she didn't want to.

“well, wolves are cunning, loyal to their pack, and dangerous when cornered. but tell me, my lord…” she tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes narrowing in a way that made it unclear whether she was teasing or testing him. "if I’m the wolf, what does that make you? the hunter? or perhaps another creature lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting for the right moment to step forward?”

the lady of seagard reclined in her chair, crossing her legs with an air of casual confidence. “as for the tale I’ll spin tonight…” she shrugged lightly, her expression all feigned innocence. “who’s to say? stories are like the wind, my lord—ever shifting, ever changing, depending on who’s listening. i could tell you a tale that keeps the fire burning long into the night, or one that fades with the dawn. the real question is…” she let her voice drop just enough to draw him in. “do you want to simply listen, or would you rather help me in spinning it?”

she raised her goblet, her smirk softening into something more inviting. “after all, tales don’t tell themselves, and wolves don’t chase shadows." the air between them seemed to thicken, charged with a quiet tension, as if every word she spoke was meant to draw him in just a little more, a silent invitation lingering in the spaces between their conversation.

♞

brandon karstark swirled the whiskey in his goblet, the firelight catching the amber liquid as it swayed. his head was heavy, the drink working its way through his body, loosening his tongue and numbing the sharp edges of grief and anger. he felt it—the pull of her presence, the way mallister’s voice wrapped around the room like silk. she was exotic, like something out of one of those southern songs the minstrels sang, and dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with swords or steel.

he shifted in his chair, his free hand brushing over the rough wood of the armrest, grounding himself. focus, brandon. don’t make a fool of yourself. but the whiskey blurred the lines of restraint, and her teasing smirk didn’t help matters.

“you’ve got a clever mouth lass,” he said, his words slurring just slightly, though his voice still held its low, gravelly weight. he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. “sharp enough to cut, i’ll give you that. makes me wonder, though—what are you hidin’ behind all that wit? seems to me you’re deflectin’ as much as you’re playin’.”

the faint blush on her cheeks, the way her dark eyes sparkled in the firelight—he noticed it all, and it stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long while. too long. his jaw tightened, and he knocked back the rest of the whiskey, letting it burn away the hesitation. he set the goblet down with a clatter, more forceful than he’d meant.

“you said people’ll make their tales, so let ‘em,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, rougher. he leaned down, closer to her, his breath warm with whiskey. and fever. “but what about you, m'lady? you gonna spin a tale of your own tonight? or just keep teasin’ and watchin’ me like some wolf cornered in the dark?” the words lingered, heavy with challenge and temptation, as he waited for her to answer.