ofsacredseas

[ofsacredseas]

ayca watched the last petal flutter to the ground, lips pressing into a thin line. “don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered. she had no interest in discussing the matter of karstark any further, and if younes had even a shred of mercy in him, he’d let it die there. but he didn’t, of course. he never did. so she only sighed, tilting her head just enough to cast him a dry look. “if i wanted to make you jealous, you’d know.”

she flicked the empty stem at his chest before stepping past him, her hands tucking into the sleeves of her gown. “if you’re going to go on about karstark, i’d rather discuss something less irritating,” she said flatly, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edges.

the matter of qoherys and bracken was, at the very least, more entertaining.

“harrenhal,” she said suddenly, glancing sidelong at younes, a wry sort of amusement creeping into her voice. “if bracken really wants to ruin himself over some valyrian, we should just give him that gods-forsaken place as punishment.” she shook her head, the thought of it nearly making her grin. “saella qoherys, lady of that cursed heap of stone. it has a certain poetry to it.”

her expression sobered slightly as she continued. “but no, ronan bracken is not a fool. ambitious, maybe, but not stupid. he knows what he’d be inviting in.” she frowned, dark eyes scanning the roses that surrounded them. “maybe that’s the most unsettling part.”

ayca was quiet for a beat, before glancing back at younes, arching a brow. “or maybe you just enjoy prying into my affairs so much you’ve made me start speculating nonsense.”

she tapped a finger against her chin, tilting her head as if considering some great revelation. “though, if keeps are being handed out for reckless decisions,” she mused, turning to eye younes with a sly smirk, “perhaps you ought to make a go for the qoherys girl. i hear she’s fond of men who aren't afraid to overreach a little, and with your charm, you might even come away with something grander than just her favor.”

younes obeyed her command, no longer smirking at her. no- instead he was laughing in her face, brushing a petal from his chest as though it were the funniest thing he had seen all night. "you wound me, ayca," he said, with a click of his tongue, entirely unbothered as she flicked another petal his way. "do you really think i'd be so predictable? i just wanted to see if you would take it before i started properly irritating you." his grin widened, wolfishly, and he gestured to the flower, now looking forlorn in the absence of half its petals. "which, clearly, you have."

her attack continued, and he let her have her little victory, though his gaze flicked to her hands. she was too focused, too intent on the small act of plucking each petal, and did not want to meet his eyes. it was rattling her more than she cared to admit, his teasing about her dalliance with karstark.

"nothing worth repeating," his brow furrowed, feigning contemplation. "funny, that. usually, when something is insignificant, you don't feel the need to insist on it's insignificance quite so much." his grin turned sharper, and her made a show of dodging the next petal as though it were a grave attack. "but far be it for me to pry." a lie. younes loved to pry. he thrived upon prying.

still, he let her deflection slide, if only because she returned his attention to something interesting. "qoherys and bracken?" he laughed again. "it's an old game, isn't it? it's obvious why she'd want her foot in the door in the riverlands, for that big old castle. question is if he finds her pretty enough to let it happen." he looked to her expectantly then. as a riverlander, she would have more insight than he on the matter.

"what else have i heard?" he echoed, a beat of silence before his smile turned sly, and he waved a lazy hand. "why don't you ask karstark? since you're on such good terms now." his teasing was back in full force. he reached out, pulling the final petal from the flower, and letting it drift to the ground between them. "trying to make me jealous, ayca?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

[ofsacredseas]

ayca exhaled a short breath, somewhere between amusement and resignation, as she dipped her brush back into the paint. "i suppose i should have expected the flowers," she admitted, casting a brief glance around them. the gardens stretched endlessly, a cascade of color and fragrance, overwhelming in their perfection. "still, it feels excessive. even the rivers in my home know when to thin out and yield to the land."

her brush pressed against the canvas once more, sweeping a dark stroke across an unfinished bloom, muting its brightness. She had meant no insult to highgarden—lucrezia had been right to encourage her to travel here. but the sheer abundance of beauty made it feel almost performative, as though the land itself demanded admiration. it made her restless.

at seffora’s praise, ayca’s grip on her brush faltered for half a second before she steadied it. compliments were often as easy to deflect as critiques, but the sincerity in the merryweather lady’s voice made avoidance seem needlessly difficult. she turned slightly, studying seffora now, rather than the canvas. “thank you. i only know how to paint as i see things,” she said after a moment, voice quieter.

her gaze flickered toward seffora’s hands, it was a strange gift of hers, to be able to see ones hands and see the craft that they might master. “needlework requires patience. i imagine it has its own artistry.” her lips pressed together, thoughtful. “and i’m sure a melody, sung in private, carries more honesty than any performance meant for an audience."

she hesitated at the mention of lord tarly, not yet sure she was ready for another voice in her process. “maybe,” she allowed, noncommittal but not outright dismissive. “for now, i think i’ll just figure out how to paint something here without drowning in roses.”

ayca tilted her head slightly, studying seffora with renewed curiosity. there was a certain ease in the way she carried herself—polished, warm, and effortlessly composed. it was the kind of presence ayca had learned to recognize in those who moved comfortably within courtly circles, those who knew how to navigate conversation with grace rather than caution.

“you speak as though highgarden is familiar to you,” ayca noted, her brush idly tracing the edge of a petal she had yet to define. “are you a courtier here, then?”

Seffora's conversation with the Redwyne lady led her to wander about in the gardens, seriously considering what Lucrezia had suggested. The ruling Lady of Longtable paused at the edge of the garden path as her attention was summoned by the words of Ayca Mallister. A woman she did not know well, but a lady she knew of. The faintest trace of a smile curved her lips as she took a few steps closer. “Good day, Lady Mallister,” she greeted with a polite bow of her head. “I assure you, critique was the furthest thing from my mind,” the Merryweather lady said with a gentle tone, her voice warm and unintrusive.

“You find yourself in the Reach, my lady. Were you expecting no flowers?” Seffora asked with a soft chuckle. Roses were the iconography that the whole continent associated with this realm, after all. Blooming and growth were what most thought of when thinking about the land of the Tyrells. “I hope you do not find them bothersome, for you shall find as many blooms here as I were to find rivers if I visited your realm”.

Her gaze moved toward the canvas then, her blue eyes alight with genuine curiosity. Sometimes, she found, it was just as interesting to witness a creative process as it was to see the finished piece. She took notice of the bold and hesitant strokes across the canvas, and wondered if that spoke of a mind wrestling with something deeper than what Lady Mallister's poised surface might suggest.

“You paint beautifully, Lady Mallister,” she remarked, gesturing subtly toward the canvas. “Even unfinished, your strokes are bold and full of emotion. I envy such artistry in others. My creative endeavors rarely leave the boundaries of a needle and thread, or the occasional melody sung in private”. Her voice softened as she added, “Perhaps you should seek Lord Harlon Tarly during your stay. He is a grand painter, I'm certain he will have more insight than I have in the many ways Highgarden can be an artist’s dream”.

[ofsacredseas]

ayca sat with her back straight, shoulders tense, hands pressed lightly against her knees. her usual sharpness dulled, tempered by the weight in the room. she watched amir, the way grief hardened into fury behind his eyes, but she did not look long. it felt wrong somehow, to hold his gaze when her own thoughts were so scattered.

she had never cared much for faith beyond what was expected—prayers before meals, quiet offerings at dawn—but this was different. this was theirs. demir had been theirs.

her thumb brushed the fabric of her dress, finding a loose thread she hadn’t noticed before. she twirled it between her fingers as amir’s words settled over the room like stones.

when the silence stretched, she spoke, her voice low but steady. “the high septon will call this a tragedy. an end. the closing of a chapter.” her eyes flicked toward amir, then away. “but it’s not, is it? not for us.” her fingers tightened slightly. “what’s left for us, if our place in the faith is already buried alongside him?”

who: the old way when and where: set after the assassination and burial of septon demir, the lords and ladies of the old way gather in a room in highgarden. they have traveled for the funeral.

the scent of incense clung to amir’s clothes, thick and suffocating, masking the colder truth beneath—blood, earth, and death. his hands still bore the raw sting of labour, of washing septon demir’s broken body, of wrapping him in linen that could not hide the violence done to him. reverence had guided their hands, but it had not undone the horror. stepping into the starry sept, he felt the weight of expectation settle upon him. the women had remained behind, waiting in veiled silence, their grief heavy in the air. he did not speak at first.

he only walked, slow, deliberate, the echo of his boots swallowed by the vastness of the space. light filtered through stained glass, casting fractured gold across the altar where demir once stood. once preached. once defied. his voice, when it came, was quiet but unshaken. “it was not thieves.” he did not need to say more. they all knew. “we put a man in the ground today for speaking truth.” his fists curled, dirt still beneath his nails. his gaze swept over them, unwavering. “the high septon ordered this. whether he held the knife or not, it was him.”

[ofsacredseas]

ayca rolled her eyes as she took the primrose from his hand, twirling it between her fingers. “a peace offering already?” she mused, voice rich with amusement. “that’s unlike you. usually, you let me stew in my annoyance a little longer.”

she then plucked a petal from the primrose and flicked it at younes without missing a step. the breeze caught it, sending it fluttering before it landed uselessly against his shoulder. she clicked her tongue, unimpressed with the result, and plucked another, this time aiming for his face.

"pitiful, really," she echoed mockingly, watching as the petal drifted down to his chest. "you, not the flower. the flower is just collateral."

another petal. another flick. she did not look at him, but she knew his smirk had not faded. worse, she knew he could see the way her hand moved just a little too fast, the way she kept her focus too intently on the act of plucking, as if it were the most important thing in the world. anything to avoid holding his gaze for too long.

"and stop smirking," she muttered, another petal sailing toward him. "there's nothing to smirk about. karstark was—" she stopped, scowled, then flicked two petals at once in irritation. "—a moment. nothing worth repeating, and certainly nothing to be dragged through your insufferable amusement."

but the warmth on her face betrayed her, even in the moonlight, and she knew it. her fingers hesitated on the last petal before she let it go, sighing through her nose. "the matter with lady qoherys and lord bracken is what you should be entertaining yourself with. that, at least, has some use." she deflected.

"and then there’s lord blackbar," ayca laughed. "the poor lad. he’s managed to turn himself into a jest with one spilled goblet. i almost feel sorry for him—almost." she smirked, shaking her head. "but you, you see everything. so tell me—what do you make of all of it? what else have you heard?"

a chuckle, low and rich, escaped him when she glanced the wrong way, likely giving away his presence before she clapped eyes upon him. "made you look," he taunted, the glimmer of mischief in his eyes keen in the moonlight. there was a flicker of annoyance under ayca's smile, but it didn't bother younes in the slightest. he was far too used to getting on her nerves, and being forgiven before long, knowing she preferred his company to most others.

"oh, it doesn't fit at all," he said, dropping his voice until he sounded mock-conspiratorial, despite the fact they were alone in the garden. "maybe she's just after a go at harrenhal - used to be theirs, didn't it?" he knew the answer. there were few women in the continent that younes did not know the affairs of when it came to forgotten claims and dowries. "got to be better than mooching off your brother's wife. you'd think our dear hand would have better sense. but i suppose he wouldn't be the first man to fall for the charms of the dragonspawn, would he?" his smirk turned sly, gaze flitting to ayca's. "no offence to her. sure she's a delight and all that." his tone was dismissive, as though he very much doubted it.

she urged him to follow, and younes did, though she did not look back to check, knowing instinctively that he would not refuse her. he'd grown adept at spotting the fondness in between her polished exterior, even when her words did not make it so plain. "what can i say? i must have a trustworthy face," he snorted, falling into step beside her with ease. "and i might have heard a thing or two. what's it worth to you? i accept all forms of currency."

he paused for a second, waiting for her to make her offer, but younes corbray was never a man to resist the allure of gossip. it did not last long before he began his explanation of what he had observed tonight. "not much going on here tonight, actually. that ambassador the reach sent to you - blackbar, i think? - spilled almost his entire goblet of wine on his lap. tried to play it off, but everyone could see the big red stain on his crotch. that was pretty funny." he tapped his lips, as though he was pretending to think, but his eyes had narrowed on her.

"and then there's you, getting cosy with the big northman. karstark, was it?" there was a faux attempt at innocence in his voice, before he was laughing again, not alongside her, as a joke between the two, but at her. "odd choice there, ayca, but okay. we all have our indulgences."

despite the fact he was winding her up, he paused briefly as they passed a patch of primrose flowers, stopping to pluck a bloom, the petals softer yellow, with a buttery centre, and hand it to her, a pre-emptive peace offering for his teasing. "you're right. air's better out here. the view is much improved, too." he was flattering her now, though the playfulness had not gone from his eyes.

[ofsacredseas]

ayca let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders easing as lu’s words settled over her. no clock, no expectations. she had spent so long feeling like she was running out of time—like she had to be something, prove something, before it slipped through her fingers. but here, in the arbor, with the sea in the distance and the sun spilling golden across the gardens, it didn’t feel so urgent. she could breathe. she could be.

"i needed to hear that," she admitted, her voice quieter now, stripped of its usual sharpness. "in seagard, there’s always a sense of… urgency. the tide waits for no one, the ravens come with news before you’re ready to read it. but here?" she let her gaze drift to the fountain, watching the water trickle in its endless, unhurried cascade. "maybe i can take my time."

but then, lu's teasing brought her back, and ayca scoffed, shaking her head as she picked up a pomegranate seed and flicked it in lu’s direction—not to hit her, just in protest. "you think i would make a fool of myself again?" she huffed, though a wry smile tugged at her lips. "no, no. i learned my lesson after that northman."

she leaned back onto her hands, stretching her legs out, letting the sun warm her skin as she rolled her eyes at herself. "gods, i don’t know what came over me. it was nothing, truly, but i felt—flustered. like a girl in her first summer, not a woman who should know better." she gave a self-deprecating chuckle, shaking her head. "never again. i have turned a new leaf. no more foolishness, no more indulgences."

ayca picked up her goblet, lifting it slightly in the air. "to my art, to my peace, and to keeping my dignity intact," she declared, smirking as she nudged lu’s ankle with her foot. "and if you catch me slipping, you have my full permission to knock some sense into me."

ayca paused mid-toast, her goblet hovering near her lips as she glanced over at lu. her brow furrowed slightly, not out of frustration, but curiosity. "what about you, lulu?" she asked bluntly, but with a warmth in her tone that softened the question. "you've been so focused on me, on my nonsense. what about you?"

she leaned back against her own canopy, folding her free arm as if to keep herself grounded, though her gaze remained soft. there was a moment's hesitation before she spoke again, the vulnerability in her voice barely noticeable but still there. "we've both carried too much for too long. we should stop letting everything from the past weigh us down. so, what is it that you want, lu?"

∞

lucrezia redwyne watched ayca with a gentle, understanding gaze, her heart swelling with the kind of affection reserved for those rare, enduring friendships. the sun filtered through the lush canopy above, casting dappled shadows across their serene corner of the arbor. the fragrance of lavender and orange blossom, mingled with the faint tang of the sea, wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. it would and always would be home; regardless of how much she had found herself accepting and returning love elsewhere in the world, no place was akin to her island.

“of course, habibti,” lucrezia said softly, her voice a soothing balm against ayca’s uncertain musings. “you know there is no clock here, no expectations you need to meet. we are late to everything, are we not? there is only the rhythm of the sea and the sway of the vines. you are free to find yourself at your own pace.” lucrezia's own hand wafted through the air as she spoke, a slight smile crossing over her features as her golden bangles jingled in the humid air; almost mimicking the action of coming and going as one pleased. her eyes followed the same path as ayca’s, settling on the fountain’s endless cascade. “i understand the weight of it,” she continued, her voice steady but imbued with quiet empathy.

“it’s like carrying a piece of the past everywhere you go. but maybe, instead of trying to leave those pieces behind, we should learn to carry them more lightly. let them remind us of who we were and who we’ve yet to become.” lucrezia reached out, her hand resting lightly on ayca’s before she returned to the pomegranate she had begun to undo with her bare hands; using the method of tapping the seeds out into a bowl of water, rather than staining her hands red. “you’re not racing against time, ayca. the person you’re meant to be is already within you. it’s about peeling back the layers, finding joy in the simple moments, the quiet pleasures.”

she smiled as ayca mentioned her painting, the vulnerability in her voice both heartbreaking and hopeful. still, it was nice to see such vulnerability from her; for too long she had heard whispers of her friend often engaging in back and forths with some useless men who were far below her station. she needed to find something else to channel her focus into. “you’ve always had a gift, a way of seeing the world that others miss. your art is a reflection of that. it doesn’t matter if the brush feels different now—what matters is that you still hold it. that you still create.” her fingers gently traced the edge of her goblet, the clinking of her jewellery soft and rhythmic.

“and yes, i would and will help you,” she affirmed, her tone resolute. “gael hightower would be honoured to see your work, and the king himself would appreciate the beauty you bring into the world. you are more worthy than you believe.” a smile curved her lips as she met ayca’s gaze, her eyes shining with encouragement. “stay as long as you need,” she said, her voice light with warmth. “the arbor has a way of revealing muses when you least expect it. perhaps it’s in the whisper of the wind or the shimmer of the sea. you’ll find it." she then found herself wandering over to a canopy, slipping her feet from her shoes and laying upon it, looking over at her friend who was still just beside her.

"but no funny business with the king if you're staying with me, lady mallister." she pulled a slight face as she called over to her friend, dropping some pomegranate seeds into her mouth as she tilted her head back, dark chocolate curls beginning to become undone from the loose updo. "thank you very much." her fingers brushed over the cool ceramic of a dish, dipping into the fragrant oil before smoothing it over her arms with slow, deliberate movements. the olive oil’s subtle, earthy scent mixed with the floral air, grounding her in the present moment. “and sometimes, it’s the smallest acts of care—like this—that help us reconnect with ourselves,” she teased softly, her hands gliding over her skin with a practiced ease.

[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."