#|| threads -- lysano 01 ||

[casimirtully]

setting: the bank of the tumblestone river, the riverlands. during the bonfires of lithia, the annual summer solstice celebration as the evening event begins. the prince of the riverlands seeks out his brother in arms, the lord commander of the riverlands' queensguard and leader of the second sons, in regards to his sister the queen’s safety.  @riverscommand

𓆟

“Lord Commander,” He greeted with a wide grin, reaching out to grip the other man’s arm. What they'd done since their time together in Essos. Since that first time they’d spilled blood together — so long ago, now, that Casimir could scarcely remember if it had belonged to a Dothraki screamer or Volantense mercenary. Held the other man’s right arm, so that when they held the grip, the shared tattoo on the inside of their forearms touched. A broken sword — The Second Sons. A force he had asked to help him protect his crown, only to arrive with it upon his sister’s brow. 

He was glad they’d kept their oaths, and now served her. 

Though Casimir himself lead a legion of the Second Sons at Riverrun, Lysano Roote was the true force behind them. It was why he’d sought out his battle-blooded brother — one man of several he was honored to call so. As The Trident had many branches, so did Casimir Tully have many friends — each having a small drop of his river-steady loyalty. 

As he released his grip on Lysano’s arm, he took his place at the Lord Commander’s side. Firelight bathed the moss-covered banks. Lit as the sun set, the fires reflected on Tumblestone’s surface, the silver bowls and plates laden with food at the feasting tables. 

Dancing, drinking, and the type of music Casimir Tully did enjoy dancing to — the sort that made him wish he could bring out his lute and join the musicians on their temporary stage. But he was restless. Not restless enough to dip into the aged whiskey that went to his head far faster than he’d ever admit to, but… 

Restless enough that he was conscious of the roll of paper that was tucked into the folds of his red and navy feileadh mòr, the fine kilt of Tully colors he saved for formal appearances. He’d forgone it at The Queen’s Ball, but now that the bonfires burned… perhaps he’d find himself in one of the haunts of his troublesome youth. 

Let the restlessness curl away with the smoke.

“It’s good to see you without the armor.” The Mud Prince had been surprised to find that he missed the so-called rag-tag leather they’d used in Essos. Luted off of the enemies they slew, mis-matched — but light, and easier to move in. Westerosi gear now sometimes seemed  impractical since they’d spent so much time beneath the Essosi sun. Casimir had returned to it, his fish-scaled armor, in the years since he’d been home again. But there had seemed to be an air of invulnerability, the two of them in dead man’s leathers. 

Yet it wasn’t that he was glad that Lysano was out of his Queensguard armor because of his eastern nostalgia — but rather to see Lysano able to enjoy a moment of the Lithia celebrations. “Though, I still think it could be a wee bit shiner.” Casimir held up his fingers in a pinching motion as he spoke, riverish eyes alight with humor. 

The humor flickered, though, as he dragged his gaze back to the roar of the bonfires. “I’ve got a request.” Lifting his hand, rubbing at the copper hair that curled at the nape of his neck. With his other, he gestured to a gathering group of Second Sons across the bank. “You’re all meant to be enjoying yourselves — but I wanted to ask if you’d allow me a few more men. Here, at Riverrun.” 

“We can only hope nothing comes of it, but with King Tyland’s opinions on Iona’s ascension… and even if she finds it unnecessary… I’d rather be prepared. If you can spare them.” So soon after they’d already been rooting out the Lyseni — so soon after calm had settled back. "I have no doubt in the Queensguards’ abilities, but to have a few more men in the halls, covering blindspots… I’ll make sure they’re well compensated for the abrupt move. Volunteers. After they’ve gotten to enjoy everything.” 

He looked over at him again. “You can blame it on me, if she’s against it. Call me paranoid.”