#i. trystane allyrion — arc ii ; a new valyrian empire.

[crvwnfought]

with  wyllas  caron    /    @flvvrpetals​ where:   the library at staerdale.

       the  library  had  seen  more  of  the allyrion lord than any other room in staerdale, including his own chambers. it was here and here alone that he could seize even a momentary escape from the rest of his life. he’d been a fool to think matters would be more quiet in new valyria as long as he avoided one person, a task he’d already failed at, but now rumors filled the halls, stalking him wherever he went, and trystane wished he could disappear once and for all. the quiet corner of the library, entirely out of sight, was the best - his only safe haven. he didn’t even look up at the sound of footsteps; many had walked past over the days, but he’d chosen this spot for how hidden it was. only this time the person didn’t walk past. the chair opposite of him was pulled out. trystane looked up from his book and froze. get up. get up now and go. but wyllas caron’s gaze held him in place.

[crvwnfought]

starter    /    trystane allyrion. where:   staerdale library. who:   @caelestiaes , @russaldondarrion , @prodiiteur , @scndrenched​

        hidden  behind  the  shelves  and  stacks  of books, the allyrion felt like he could breath, something he desperately needed given recent events. however, unlike normally he found that he couldn’t immerse himself in the book before him, mind drifting to a certain someone against his wishes, and thus, he remained aware of his surroundings. it was why he noticed the person lingering in front of one of the shelves for a particularly long time.        ❝  are you looking for a particular book or simply an interesting one?  ❞         either way, he might be of some help after spending hours in the library.

[crvwnfought]

@flvvrpetals​​

laying on trystane's bed, carefully placed on the bed by a servant at a lord's request, is a a bundle of beautiful black, streaked with grey ( reminiscent of the beard of lord caron ) fur. it is gently rolled and tied with string, note attached to it. 

to my heart, 

i know that the cold air is not a friend of yours, i purchased this from an old friend up north for you. i hope it will keep you warm while my arms cannot. i find that recalling summers under the dorne sun with you, warm me adequately. and if you do not read this, i hope you will at least wear the fur. 

may the gods gift me another breath so that i may use it to remind you of my love. 

yours, 

wyllas.

        the  sight  of  the  gift  made  him choke on the heart that had lodged itself in his throat. his lungs screamed for air, but he couldn’t move let along command his brain to function. there was no need to look at the note to know who it was from for he’d not said a word to anyone recently about how the winds in the vale were far too cold and cutting for him, far too used to the desert’s heat. people could assume, but only someone who knew him would know for certain. and there was only one person who knew that would go to the trouble. something squeezed his heart. wyllas. why . . . he knew now that the letters had all been burned. did he find joy in torturing him?

        a poor servant chose that time to enter the room, and before he could even say an apology for interrupting the allyrion lord, trystane snapped,        ❝  who put this here?  ❞        his emotions, desperate for an escape, rushed forth in a fury, making his tone harsher than he’d intended. the nervous response came, “i don’t know, my lord. forgive me. some other servant brought it.” someone assigned to the carons, he almost corrected because he knew, he knew. he’d opened the door a crack, and now wyllas was trying to squeeze through again. stupid man. he shouldn’t have done that. he should’ve have kept it shut like he’d swore himself he would. he shouldn’t have . . .  “do you want me to take it away?” how quickly his mind ceased all thoughts. over a simple question with what should be a simple answer. yes, his mind screamed, but it had not won the war, and his heart screamed the opposite just as loudly. a stalemate.        ❝  i’m sorry for snapping at you. it’s fine. you can go,  ❞        he said instead to the servant. 

        it was only when the door closed that trystane stepped forward, feeling like his feet were stepping across quicksand, or mayhap he was already being dragged under. his lungs felt heavy. his heart even worse. it was the agony, however, that had resurfaced in his soul ever since his eyes had found wyllas’s once again, though even in godsgrace it’d quietly lurked, that reminded him he was alive; death would feel kinder. sitting down on the bed, he reached out and touched the fur. it was soft. it couldn’t have been easy for wyllas to get this. the effort and thought alone should make his heart warm more than any fire could; the small gifts he’d given him during their time in dorne  ( be it flowers, small trinkets, warm words, or merely reaching out to hold his hand )  had always made trystane feel blessed to be loved by one as magnificent as wyllas caron. and yet . . .

        i don’t want this, he realized, and the knife twisted as painful clarity washed over him. his heart wanted wyllas. he . . . he wanted wyllas. he wanted to run to the other, casting aside all chains that held him back. he wanted it to be wyllas’s arms that kept him warm against the cold winds. his fingers inched toward the letter         but there was no relief. his hand curled into a fist. for he could want, so strongly that he almost found the courage to act, but then his wounds ached, and he remembered. he wouldn’t survive another wound like the previous one. so he rose to his feet, picked up the fur and the unopened letter, and forced himself to lock both away in the bottom of one of his trunks. hopefully, his heart would remain in there too. it was better off this way.