#cedric001

[domericstone]

The vibrant sounds of the tourney filled the air as Lord Domeric Stone turned his attention to King Cedric Tyrell, the clash of lances and the roar of the crowd providing an intense backdrop to their conversation. The Westerlands’ sun cast a brilliant light over the field, but Domeric’s thoughts were as calculating as ever.

“Your Majesty,” Domeric began, his voice smooth and unwavering. “The Vale’s neutrality is our strength, a steadfast anchor in the turbulent seas of Westeros.”

A joust in the distance ended with a splintering crash, but Domeric’s gaze remained fixed on Cedric. “The establishment of an Iron Bank branch in Gulltown is intended solely for the enhancement of trade and our economic prosperity. I assure you, Your Majesty, that our agreement will be constructed with impenetrable safeguards against any external influence.”

With a subtle, knowing smile, Domeric leaned in. “The Iron bank thrives off not involving itself in the issues of the houses involved with their bank. It could send people back to the Lysene Bank should one believe the Iron Bank allows personal trifles to harm everyone's bottom line, coin.”

He let the weight of his words settle. “The Vale is a fortress of security, and I, as its Hand, am dedicated to protecting your investments with the same ferocity as the Eyrie’s walls.”

Domeric concluded with a respectful nod. “Rest assured, your grace, our agreement will remain pure and untarnished, a testament to our mutual respect and understanding.”

The distant roar of the crowd provided a fitting crescendo to his promise.

♠

king cedric tyrell stood at the edge of the jousting field, the sun casting a golden hue over the vibrant banners fluttering in the breeze. the crowd's cheers and the clashing of lances echoed through the open air, but his attention was firmly on lord domeric stone. amidst the excitement of the tournament, their conversation carried a weight that far surpassed the day's sport.

"the vale’s committed stance to neutrality is a commendable position, lord domeric," cedric began, his voice steady and measured despite the din around them. "and your reputation for maintaining such a stance only heightens the appeal of your proposal." he allowed the moment to linger, letting the implications of his words sink in.

cedric's gaze drifted momentarily to the jousting knights, their shields emblazoned with sigils that told tales of loyalty and conflict. "the reach is in a delicate situation with house antaryon and our tensions with braavos. any investment we make must be safeguarded against those who might seek to exploit our vulnerabilities." his eyes locked onto domeric's, intensity in his gaze.

"i am prepared to invest our emergency funds into your bank, but i need absolute assurance that neither the iron bank nor house antaryon will ever gain access to these resources."

he remained in place, his tone firm and clear despite the surrounding clamor. he could not read lord domeric stone. "the vale may seek the iron bank’s presence in gulltown, but our agreement must remain untainted by their influence. if you can guarantee this, then we'll have a deal." as the next pair of knights thundered down the list, cedric leaned back, waiting for domeric’s response, the flicker of anticipation in his calculating eyes.

[omerflorent]

| @visxionaries | | flashback week | | setting: around the red keep |

Omer walked through the apartments of the Reach, made his way out to the training pitch, crossed the grounds and then made his way where he'd last heard someone saying they'd seen his cousin.

They were strained when reuniting, distant in events where Florent and his cousins travelled in packs, Cedric not among them. Eventually, as always, they found themselves together, in the same space.

"Tyrell."

Omer called out to his cousin, rolling his eyes as he watched him chatting with some painter, no doubt talking about her stroke.

"Get over here, my lord." He smiled, "Come on, i'm hungry."

[ofrivera]

@cedricxmcntgomery​

“ Cedric ! ” Adrian called out as he approached. “ Man, tell me there’s a Halloween party this weekend. This town is so dry I’d settle for costumed Bingo Night at a retirement home. ”

[ofpanacea]

☔️- our muses get caught in some spring showers // juliette & cedric

“ this can’t be happening, ” juliette muttered, her hair soaked from the sudden downpour of rain she’d been unprepared for. there had been no precipitation in the forecast, which meant she hadn’t unpacked her umbrella either since returning to grove harbour. as if the day could get any worse, she managed to nearly walk into cedric montgomery while searching her bag. “ what are you doing here ? the last time i checked, you weren’t on any roster of heroes. ”

@cedricxmcntgomery​

[baashirdayne]

On the contrary. Baashir thought him an idiot. Something he despised about children that were old enough to speak is they often spoke without much of a need to speak and he would have found distracting. He listened to the King of the Reach, brow furrowed as he listened and agreed with much of what he had to say. It was a great fault of Mors Martell to cut ties with the Reach over the Riverlands. They should have been working with the Riverlands and the market he heard so much about. The Reach could feed them, give them grain. There was never going to be enough of their efforts to feed to them all. At least not for them to see the benefits of it for their people. Their smallfolk mattered. And while it could sound threatening, the matter was clear.

Without ships they had no place in these discussions of sea battles. Their loss would be trade and the King made it clear they would reap the benefits. He needed it in writing. They needed something to present to the council and then he would return and work with him on ensuring they were on the same page. And it would be a feeling he was far more secure openly discussing if Dante Uller wasn't to goddamn eager to appeal to the King of the Reach.

"Let me say that we are glad to know that your markets are revived post Dance. From what I understand it was hard on most of Westeros and even the Reach suffered in some places." Baashir was careful as he spoke, having spent years perfecting his speech so it didn't sound as halting as it did in his youth. "And it's clear you wish to present us with fair terms."

"We are not who makes this final decision. I will take the time to explain this to you." And once more, the Sword of the morning was careful, he was a warm man nor was he trying to be aggressive, he believed a flat, monotonous disposition allowed people to know he was considering their offers while also letting them know he had room to consider options. "We like to discuss such grand decisions within our council chambers, as I'm sure you do in the Reach though I hate to assume these things. And once we finish I return to you with our response. Of course, there's one small request, we must have this offer in writing."

Words were wind.

♠

so this was the first and second minister of dorne; the sword of the morning, a title that was to be earned rather than inherited. he had been forced to listen to omer florent speak on the sword of the morning multiple times over the years, and for some uncanny reason, cedric could entirely see why omer held a fascination with the man. he was as much of a cunt as omer was at the age of eighteen, having recently come of age. and the other, an uller; all had heard of the ullers of hellholt. the way they apparently killed one another to secure their position as ruling lord, as though being a kinslayer was not the worst thing a human could be according to the beloved gods of humans.

it was said clearly, in scripture; and yet, the ullers had somehow acquired a new amount of power. suspicious, to cedric; the last time he had been involved in dorne, the ullers were not present at court. and now, they held two positions of power. cedric looked upon the first minister, who seemed to serve as the hand of the princess; probably in more ways than one, considering cedric was wholly aware of a certain incident hat had taken place within the bathhouse. still, his face gave no sign of his thoughts; it were obvious both men were incredibly proud. and his words, would be met with insult: regardless of how he phrased it.

there was much bad blood between their realms, both ancient and new. still, he remained silent as the first minister turned to the second, and told him there was no need for him to be present - only to add that this was an opportunity for him to learn. he would have laughed, if he had not spent years in such situations. there was nothing in his face, only mirth in his orbs as he looked at the situation unfold. "we have a conflict of interest that could result in further animosity, and not just merely the borders." his words were obvious, pointed; some would argue he should not have sat with the dornishmen alone. that there should have been another present from his court, as witness. there would be no need for such a thing.

"the summer isles have found themselves in an unfortunate position, in which there shall be consequences ordered by my very own hand." the last thing cedric needed to do was mention mathis rowan; that would be enough to stifle an irritation within the first minister. "considering military action by land makes no sense, the intention is to target them at sea. target their vessels, and their coffers." he paused, simply looking between the men. "i understand that much of their vessels are head toward your incomplete ports, and are full with trade you paid for."

there was an unfortunate pragmatic bluntness to cedric. not in the way that appeared within the other men, but in the way a snake wrapped up his words in lace. it was still poison nonetheless. "that trade will end up within arbor or blackbar vessels, and their ships at the bottom of the summer sea with our chosen approach." he spoke of bloodshed and violence as though it were an equation. a marriage choice. "the reach is more bountiful than the summer isles; it is advantageous for you to pull back your trade considering the time is drawing nearer."

there was a pause as he looked upon the men. if they did not agree, he would order reach ships into dornish waters to sink the summer islander vessels anyway. there was nothing they could do on a grander scale. they need not dock anywhere. that was suggested enough implicitly, in the pause and in the voice. "multiple trade hubs are open to replace any of your losses, and not only match it, but double it. oldtown, the arbor, the market towns of ashford and tumbleton which thrive again following the dance."

[domericstone]

"The Vale believes our best place is where it has always been. On the mountain." It was a noncommittal answer that he thought conveyed enough to provide some sort of comfort in the King's question. Did he think the Vale would get involved in their conflicts? No. He didn't think that would be the case. Would they provide shelter to a Braavosi who might find themselves in need? Perhaps. Such was the nature of neutrality. None could be surprised at the outcome of choices by those uninvolved.

Domeric liked the think they were not easily influenced or moved by any. He spent this visit studying some books borrowed from the library of the library of their host. The actions of Dorne in the Stepstones, the actions of the Tyrells when the Gardeners chose the wrong side. This King didn't seem the sort to pick the wrong side. This king seemed the sort to know the only side worth picking was your own.

There was one truth, the value of allies from your own lands was invaluable. Westerosi were Westerosi all the same and the Reach had a coin easily accessible through trade and mutual agreement. Still, how often did people lie down with rose and wake up bleed from their thorns?

"There have been many conflicts, far as the the eye can see since the Dance ended. And the Vale has remained clean of other people's messes." A bit more direct. Were it wholly true? One could not say. Neutrality took on a different look everyday.

♠

if there was one thing he understood and noticed through the actions of the oldest lord of the hightower, it was the importance in being strategic regarding coin; those early days of youth where cedric was naught but a second, golden son basked in rays of falsehood. of deceptive chivalry, a silver tongue which meant nothing in the truest essence: and yet, looking into the features of the man that stood opposite him, cedric found himself attempting to judge the likelihood of something.

"and does the vale of arryn's neutrality apply to conflict across the narrow sea?" cedric asked; even if it were a personal issue with house antaryon, he was not underestimating the ability of it to spread.

it was important money was placed somewhere safe beyond the borders of one's own realm; and that somewhere had been the iron bank, and yet with the sea lord's association with the scorned, spurned former lady hightower, that was no longer the case. and yet, all across the continent had heard of the revelation that was domeric's birth and his lineage, heard whispers of his unbecoming nature due to his childhood with the boltons of the dreadfort.

this would only work if the queen and her court avoided influence from house antaryon; at least, in regard to any tensions with the kingdom of thorns and roses.

cedric found himself making a silent, swift judgement; not on the morals of the man that stood before him, but rather on the likelihood of such a move coming back to bite. in the end, snakes had a way of rearing their heads when one least expected it. they were geographically close to the free city of braavos themselves: would it take much sway and influence for his funds to somehow return across the narrow sea?

the answer would give the judgement.

[domericstone]

"One of the four, perhaps the four that easier to forge relationships with." Domeric formed his relationships directly through the bank. When he was a Bolton he used the honor of the North and the preexisting relationship established by the Old Wolf. After he came to the Vale he used the connections long established by his mothers house and his Queens house. It was a good deal. They would get two daughter in their lands. And he would take a daughter for his future son. Along with those marriages they received a stake in the Bank of Gulltown and accounts with names on them. The Iron Bank had it's due and across those four families House Grafton would seed further connections. And it saved the realm from making mistakes similar to the Riverlands. Marrying daughter off to the Lysene and now dealing with fires.

Domeric listened. Agreeing silently as the man spoke to him. Of course it was wise to have a bank in Gulltown. The Graftons, after stomping of their troublesome branches and relatives, found themselves wisely positioned and ruled my a Lord dumb as a shit house rat and twice as loyal. Loyalty paid off in great ways. To have the trust of those who ruled you opened many doors.

And there it was. The vision of the Queen wishing to see the realm continue strong on it's stance of not taking part. Even the Dornish involved themselves in the triarchy. And now he would have to say there was a net benefit to taking a step back. With the previous king dead. And the brother ruled as lacking in his male abilities the Queen could establish herself as a beacon of neutrality.

"It would prove useful, yes. Why there could even be favorable terms for a Westeros King." Perhaps a better one for the first King but he would save that in his pocket if he needed it.

♠

the importance of the five major families of braavos was a reoccurring topic of conversation that seemed to come up regardless of who it was he spoke to; thousands of key-holders in total, but the reality of it was there were five that held the majority of such unfathomable amounts of power. "one of the four." came cedric's response, his tone remaining casual in it's very tone, and yet there was a double meaning to the words. there would be no way he would be able to forge a valuable connection with house antaryon, unless he did something he simply did not wish to do.

essos was not a place of monarchy, or of kingship, and whilst cedric was personally fascinated in the different philosophy across the narrow sea, his mind need focus on the matter of economics. of banking. "there is no better place to establish a bank than gulltown, considering your geographical advantage." apart from the ports and the harbour; attacking from the east, rather than the suicide mission that would be attacking from the west.

the concrete was never as much of a strength or an interest of his as much as concepts surrounding the abstract, and yet, he had once heard from a maester that arithmetic in itself was a practice that was wholly both in it's very core. youthful arrogance pertained to the next hours debate; how could it be empirical and abstract?

a task but not one of difficulty; cedric himself knew he needed to begin the process of pulling out his realm's funds in the iron bank - yet he could not risk causing further inflation by simply reintegrating it suddenly.

he did not wish to put it in his coffers, though. he had grown accustomed to knowing it were an emergency fund off the shores of westereos that could be pulled out whenever it were needed. there were not many instances where cedric tyrell disliked change - but this may have been it.

a bank in oldtown held many strengths; and yet, it would also only further increase the amount of power held by house hightower - was that another jewel he was willing to hand over to them? the other option would be to ensure the bank was owned by the royal family in itself, and yet that posed another risk: should their ever be some succession crisis in the generations to come, or another war, the economy of the realm would surely tumble - fall, and keep falling. "to me, your neutrality makes gulltown's bank an asset." he spoke, the web weaving together in his mind.

he would put the money into the bank of gulltown. the long term plan, considering the vale was a realm of neutrality, and remained in close proximity to braavos. "your first major investment being from my coffers would prove useful to the vale of arryn too."

[domericstone]

Domeric Stone could not recognized the face of the man that attacked his brother. The pitch was swarmed so suddenly by Valemen that Domeric didn't have to end this conversation and rise. Not that he could. He was Master of Coin and his expertise would not be needed in this matter. The sound of his cousin rising to his feet with swears on his tongue and surely drunk as a fabled Baratheon Lord. They were discussing banking. The Reach were preparing the get into their own banking within Oldtown where he believed he was once informed the mint was located. He attempted conversation once before when he was a Northman and it wasn't the king who sat before. The crippled Hightower who proved to know very little about banking about more about bragging and in that the Lord lost interest. Things were obviously different here. His mind cycled through the Reach king's words before he was certain he had them all in mind.

"There is much advantage to be gained in debts close to home. Banners can also be easily swayed, offer them some position, some place and they will sign many contracts forgiving such things. And should they owe you, well, you've many option to recover the debt." The man was not from the Vale nor was of the North. Domeric believed all the Ironborn dead. Westermen were elegant, even when coated in blood. The Stormborn were too brash and Reachmen too clever.

"It has been task but not one of difficulty." His face never gave away the avenue his mind ran down as he split his focus between the field and the king next him. "Our small detour with the Sisters is a fruitful effort. Within Gulltown we've begun our dabbling in banking. Working closely with members of the Iron Bank who were kind enough to share a modicum of what they know of banking."

Usury was a fruitful business. There was always someone knight or lord who was wronged and needed coin, some proud fool who would borrow against good sense to retake their claim only to be put down by the very bank who funded their nonsense. And the Vale could offer men the same, would offer men the same. Domeric had a goal for the Vale and it was for the Vale to become the source of Northern efforts of growth. He'd seen their papers, knew their coffers and he knew the Vale could only stand to benefit if they could make it happen.

"You need a family. One of the five."

who: @domericstone when and where: the tourney celebrating the coronation of king jaehaerys targaryen, moments before the king graham royce of the vale is unseated by a mystery knight. in some moments, it will be clear there was foul play and intention at hand here. the men are getting onto their horses and readying their equipment. what: at this moment in time, cedric tyrell found himself in discussion with lord domeric stone - of the vale. or the north. both men remain unaware of what was about to happen.

the tiltyard was a different sort of game, and one that cedric tyrell was not the most talented at: whilst all men in the reach were trained in the arts of chivalry that made up the essentials of knighthood, there were only a number that truly meant it. it was something he often heard the high commander ranting over, the nature of those who earned their knighthood instead of those who had simply been purchased - it mattered little to cedric. in fact, it did not matter at all; there was little difference between how notions of romanticised knighthood impacted both men and women alike.

the crowds were vast, the seating high, though cedric found himself amongst the sides of the track, one of the many men who cheered on lord florent. the annoyance at his face continued to amuse him to no end as he patted the man's mare.

and in some spaces beside them were the vale faction, a matter that was a bigger deal to the knights of the reach rather than the king himself: all knew of the rivalry that came between the two regions when it came to the matter of chivalry and knighthood, the history and the essence behind it. time passed, and as men continued to speak, cedric tyrell found himself within the group wishing luck to the king consort of the vale - including the likes of the master of coin. a man whose name will go down in legends equated to a name uttered to scare children into scrambling into their beds.

"truthfully, we are still in the process of banking internally. we have investments within the iron bank that remain; though house hightower has established a bank of it's own. it is a slow process of transference - move too quickly, and the whole thing will come falling down." cedric tyrell believed himself more than able to read facial expressions, to grasp a good judgement of people and yet this one - there was an exception here. and it quietly bothered him, regardless of the conversation that passed between them.

"there comes advantage in owing debts to banners, rather than a power across the sea. i suspect matters would be dealt with far quicker." the iron bank were known to not enjoy waiting. they too, did not appreciate debts not being paid. there was one thing he could grasp about the master of coin, and that was the fact he detested meaningless discussion. meanwhile to cedric, no conversation was truly meaningless; there was always something to gage from a situation, or an individual. especially from one as shifty as domeric, whom had seemingly had many names, many positions, and many reputations.

the discussions continued as the jousts continued, pausing to view the tilts and the clashes each time they roared through the air. "how have you found aiding the north in their repayment of the iron bank?" cedric asked, his question pointed - considering all had heard of the way in which the three sisters had involved themselves by looting a manderly vessel. then there was an ominous silence from the sisters, according to the reports of his mistress of whispers. and he listened as domeric began to respond, his arms crossed against the blue of his tunic as he leaned against a wooden stand; when he heard it. the clash, and the gasp.

glancing to the direction of the shock, he realised what was happening. the king consort of the vale had rolled away from the incoming stampede of hoofs, and then suddenly the image was blurred by the dust that was kicked up by the horses. what he saw, was a large group of nobles stand; knights of the vale pretty much lept over their stands, rushing like the sea onto the track. cedric remained silent, clearly watching the scene unfold.

[baashirdayne]

The vulture that sat before them wasn't to be trusted. It was Mors Martell who ended the alliance like a fool. And now they were here with this king of roses who insulted him by having Dante Uller there. Dante Uller was his deputy. Little more than a page or steward and this king called on him to join them? No. It would not do and as the man next to him spoke he turned his head and watched him for a moment then looked back at the King and nodded his head briefly as if to ask him to wait a moment before he looked toward the King of the Reach once more. This boy beside him acted like a child as he smiled for no reason at all. Did he think the king of Reach would take his cock out for him to suck? Was the man a sword swallower? Perhaps. He carried himself like one. He looked like one. And he would pull the man into a meeting and teel him to carry himself like a lord who sits upon council and keep his queer smiles to himself.

"Yes." Baashir Dayne was not impressed with royals from other regions. He trusted none of them and trusted this one even less than the others. This one had a reputation for being a snake, a king of thorns and thorns pricked the fingers of many. There was two insults in this room and the biggest insult was named Dante Uller. The Uller who did not kill his way to head of house but served as his uncles lapdog. A family of pathetic kin slayers that would spend their next lives crawling on their bellies and drying up in the Dornish sun. If the Gods were gracious enough to grant a house like the Ullers with rebirth in Dorne. The lot of them were rotten.

"Before we begin, your grace, I wish to provide you with some clarity on our future meetings. As First Minister, my position is akin to what you all call the Hand. If we need someone to take notes I will bring my page or a steward. The second minister has no need here. But, we've all sat down and it's a good chance," and he turned to Dante when he said this, "for you to learn."

Then he turned his attention back to the King. He would see where his feelings about the other insult would land as the conversation continued. "Let us being, your grace. I am curious as to what brings us together this day." And perhaps it was a chance at returning to form with a trade system fucked up by Mors Martell. There was one thing he could say for Dante, so far, he was not Mors Martell a man who spent his days wearing khol and drawing water gardens. Fucking septas and letting vultures raid their lands.

Mors was no more. And the vultures would starve should they seek to feast on Dorne. Including that one.

who: @baashirdayne / @dante-uller when and where: before the venture to kings landing, some of the reach faction travelled to dorne. what: cedric speaks with the first and second minister of dorne, regarding a conflict of interest. the summer isles risks a regional conflict.

the summer air within dorne was heated, hazy; such was the aftermath of the death of the prince of house martell, the man who he had disagreed with a multitude of times. the man whose sister had once remained perfectly atop of him; such was the haze that was the intricate history between the reach and dorne. enemies, and yet it had been the reach who had first formally allied with dorne when they had opened themselves up upon the world stage; and that had all but dissolved, when cedric decided that he would need riverland troops to fight on his side of the uprooting of the roses.

the rhoynish would not perish for any andal. still, in the years that had passed since the breaking down of their initial alliance, it came to his attention that dorne had allied itself closer to the summer isles and the lyseni. the former were more his concern than the latter: and the beginnings stages of their plan had begun with the privateering that had been commissioned. altan ryams had made it his mission to cause distant rumours of the reach's prowess at sea to reach docks, their aggressive nature; a contrast to their apparent chivalrous nature. and now, cedric tyrell intended to damage their pockets closer to home: for there remained arbor ships closer to starfall and dornish waters.

the trade of the summer isles would not reach dornish shores, if he had his way; when he had his way. meaning dorne would be unable to send their trade to the summer isles, nor would the summer isles receive payment from dorne for their usual trade. for it would be at the bottom of the summer sea, or upon the decks of redwyne vessels. they would add the blackbars to the number should they need to. "my lords, thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

first minister, second minister. the system was foolish and unclear to the eyes of cedric tyrell, but it were not like he asked. he did not need the clarification, and so he looked between both the dornish lords. he could not pick up on if there were any tension between the two.

"may the gods establish a strength within your princess, and may her reign be prosperous." a three year old. the vultures would circle. cedric was one of them. it was the day following the arrival of highgarden's faction to dorne, and he noted the way in which the unpopular lady of oldtown had seemingly found herself easily in the presence of the princess regent. and then he stopped talking, considering he was not one to load discussion or information upon the others.

this was their land. and whilst he would do what he planned either way, he intended on at least attempting to get dorne to pull back from summer islander trade.

lest the reach enter dornish waters unauthorised, and sink trade. it would kickstart a greater region conflict, but when was there not? his gaze looked for the wyl and the yronwood, known for their aggressive stance on the march borders. the dornish had wiped out half of the peakes for cedric, before he could even get to them.

[omerflorent]

visxionaries​:

♠

“not laid my eyes upon the carons, so i’ll be taking your word on it.” he spoke, exhaling lightly at the prospect of conversing with stormlanders. he knew little of them, nor did he entirely expect to. the pair walking briskly through the bustling halls of kings landing. they crossed large amounts of space rapidly, no doubt due to the length of their legs.

cedric looked sideways over at his cousin at the word, almost as though he wondered why they found themselves in this place time and time again, only for nothing to ever change. not truly. they realised they were more alike than they thought they were when they were together, knew to talk more…and then they did not. because that was simply how things were.

“you won’t believe me, but i was genuinely impressed by the textures of her brush work.” cedric spoke, and yet despite the fact he were telling the truth, there always was a look in his eye that made him appear suspicious. he almost laughed, even though he were telling the truth. “we’ve all come here to do what we’re meant to, yeah? put on the armour, aim to knock people off their horse. don’t give me that look.”

for he knew omer would be looking at him, before he even confirmed it. “yes, knighthood is important for the reach. chivalry. consider my service as trying to work out what tensions are stirring. that’s why i’m here.”

.

"Yes, I plan on unseating Caron and several others while I'm here before I inevitably come up against that fucking Prince Daemon, the father not the son. If the father is still interested in his glory hounding." Omer spoke casually with his cousin, distance closing between them. They two sides of the same coin. The little brother he'd always wanted but never saw.

"Of course. Textures and brushes and tits." Omer looked at him and then laughed, chuckling while dragging his fingers over his dark hair then smoothing it down on the sides.  "I like art, as you know. I enjoy landscapes and trees, animals. I've never held much interest in clouds."

Omer nodded his head, agreeing with him. They were there to show the realm that the Reach created knighthood and chivalry. Even if it technically was an Andal tradition from the Vale.

"Of course it is." He raised a brow. "You know not why we're here? I could tell you, cousin, but I wish to watch you figure it out and I get you 100 gold dragons you cannot." Omer would probably lose the bet, it was a good thing the knight didn't gamble often for he often lost his shirt to Cedric.

[omerflorent]

visxionaries​:

♠

“You’re always hungry. Go see a Maester for that.” Cedric spoke, wordlessly turning back to the painter and passing her over the brushes, bowing his head slightly in a way of thanks before turning on his heel, walking alongside the heir of Brightwater Keep. He could smell the food, the smell of roasting meats that would be laid out in the Great Hall for feasting. 

It was enough to make his own belly rumble. And it did. Loudly. “Luckily, I’m famished. Real work that was.”

“The Dornishman?” Cedric asked, when he referred to Criston Cole. Many heard of the fierce fighting skills of the esteemed knight, who had become a member of the Kingsguard. “How’d exactly he get here anyway?”

The two men had begun to make their way down sweeping flights of stairs, both choosing to leap down onto the stone of the Red Keep as they neared the bottom rather than continuing to walk. It were wordless, but done in complete unison. "Thought the Dornish hate the Targaryens.“

.

"He's not dornish. He's from the marches they all look like him or the Carons." Omer shurgged a shoulder, "looks dornish." He'd heard the other knights talking about it and he'd made conversation with Pearse Caron while sparing, he could have also easily been Dornish. In fairness, Omer didn't think he'd ever seen a Dornish person and only knew them to be varying shades of brown.

He only knew of one Dornish house, the Daynes and they were apart from all houses in truth. Mythical swords and falling stars creating an island or islet or whatever it was. He didn’t know but he hoped to see it one day. 

"They do. I heard they do. Perhaps he's an Andal washed Dornish. I've heard of them. Or was it the other way around." He looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders, stifling a laugh. He didn't care.

"Meeting the painters of the realm, cousin? I hear there will be singers, mummers, and those little men who tumble across the ground. I like those little folk."

[omerflorent]

visxionaries​:

♠

He had been on his way to the training grounds, his shadow passing by the figure of a woman working on the large stretch of tapestries when he slowed his pace; not because of the curve of her body, but rather because of the type of dyes she seemed to be using. And so that’s where Cedric Tyrell had been for some amount of time, bright blue eyes fixated on the intricacies of how textured something as simple as a cloud looked - all due to certain techniques of a brush.

“Show me.” He spoke, indicating for the woman to continue painting. Perhaps she was pretty. Perhaps he found her creation more fascinating.

It were not as though he were unsocial; if anything, Cedric Tyrell found inherent discomfort at the prospect of being alone. The talking drowned at the sound of the other talking, the sound of his father’s words in his ear, the strained voice of his mother. His brother’s voice becoming more and more monotone.

“Florent.”

He knew who was addressing him before he turned around, for there was the hint of an accent that never showed in his mother’s voice, despite them sharing blood. The second son of Highgarden turned to look upon the heir of Brightwater Keep, who was his cousin. They always grew into the distance when they were no longer in one another’s company.

“Gabrielle here was showing me how she manages to achieve such texture in the clouds. You see it?” He asked, indicating towards it. He passed the brush silently back into the hands of the woman, looking at Omer. “You’re done training already?”

.

"Yes. Very nice clouds, madam."

Omer barely spared the woman or her painting a glance as he focused his attention on his younger cousin. The man experienced more freedoms than Omer and as much as he admired it he also found it quite ... well he was jealous. If he didn't think his father would ruin the house, he would wish for another place.

"I am done. It's getting crowded out there and that Aemond Targaryen is in there with his crowds and Criston Cole."

The lord stopped short of calling the Prince and Lord Commander cunts for he didn't need words to reach them.

"Come on, I'm hungry, I'm sure this lovely painter will be here when we finish. Right, lass? You'll be right here or close." He looked at Cedric. "I'm hungry."