#ravella001

[domericstone]

setting: after the sistermen attack. in highgarden, vale apartments  note: pregnant women can not travel, dom stays with the queen while the fighting men head back to the vale with graham.  | @ravellaarryns​ |

"It would appear the Sistermen have attacked Manderly ships meant to go to Braavos and make payment to the Iron Bank. Quite a large payment, golden wolves and other things from their mines."

He spoke to the queen without looking at her because looking at her was a distraction. They spoke little after the reveal of his identity as he expected. Ravella Arryn did not suffer bastards and Domeric Stone did not beg for the attentions of anyone. They spoke now, or he spoke, because of the issues at hand. Issues that would grow.

"There are several issues and questions here. Where did they get their information about the schedule and where did they get ships powerful enough to challenge  a Manderly ship. And what will they do with the payment for the Iron Bank?"

The Sistermen were sworn to the Vale though he heard they were distant and displeased with Ravella sitting upon the throne of the Eyrie. They considered her but a woman. She was far more than just another woman. She had the cunning and mind necessary to be a ruler, lacking the soft heart of most women. Made her powerful.

"The Wolf King will want to speak with you as well. I'd go, alas, my presence seems to ruffle their feathers."

[domericstone]

who: @ravellaarryns where: the fair (why: because the idea of these two around a fair is hilarious) notable deets: these two have had an on and off, toxic relationship that is far more dangerous for everyone else other than them. we're talking about years and years of a push and pull between two rather dangerous people.

"Who is that man you were speaking with?"

They weren't arguing, they didn't argue about things, they had discussions and some times those discussions were heated. Domeric Grafton, he kept his mother's name after she married the Bolton, didn't like when she didn't text him back. He dragged his fingers over his dark curls. "Do you want a bear?"

"I don't like how close he was standing to you." Domeric perfect the ability to look nonplussed when he was in fact feeling irritation. An irritation that he knew she would see just from looking at him because she knew him well. She knew him far too well. And some times, some times that shit bothered him.

"Or do you want a rabbit?"

[jalabharmooton]

Jalabhar turned his head and faced the woman, why was the queen of the Vale talking to him? And why was she talking to him about Jeyne Waynwood. Ja looked over at the lady and then back at the queen, popping another grape in his mouth as he listened to her. He would never marry a Valyrian, it was simply an insult to make the suggestion. He didn't expect her to know. Perhaps the suggestion came from Qoherys having one of the newly gifted houses. Harrenhal was cursed. Everyone knew it was cursed, everyone who lived there met a terrible end. He had enough of terrible ends for House Mooton.

And why did she care about the tax of Harrenhal? Did she wish to get some information from him? No. House Mooton was one of the wealthier houses of the Riverlands, hit hard by the attack from the Lysene but not hard enough to marry into a curse. He took a drink from his cup and bowed his head in her direction. "Your grace, it's an honor to have you join me. And even more of an honor to have my confusion addressed so thoroughly."

"There is always a fascination with Harrenhal. So many wish to visit, others have their own tales of hauntings and ghosts. I've only been once, myself. Large, great holdings as we all know." And he supposed it could tempt a man trying to secure his wealth. Establish holds. He wouldn't have to live there, no, but it only took one visit for a gargoyle to land on a man's head. "Have you been there before?"

♟

there were certain parts of day to day life that ravella of the eyrie had grown to stand, rather than fully and completely accept; noted in the way she had taken to view her responsibilities and her role as life, rather than her position. there was no difference between the two, not from the moment the sapphires of the falcon crown rested upon jet black curls, and not in the years that came far before it. there was no sense of pity, or reluctance from the aura of the woman; regality, civility and superiority seemed to sit comfortably upon shoulders that had seemingly be born with armour upon them. part of it was the responsibility that came in the knowledge of needing to be seen, and not necessarily heard; only when it truly mattered.

but being seen, in itself, was a momentous decision. and yet still, she remained sat upon one of the many tables, where people had come and gone throughout the night; there remained knights of the vale within the bustling halls, mere spaces from where she remained sat. and listened. her hand remained wrapped upon the goblet of wine that stained her lips with a hue of maroon, the bitter taste of dornish red had met her high standards upon first tasting it. orbs of ice looked towards the dornish faction, ever colourful, and ever loud even in a place that was not their own; unbecoming and undignified was how she found it.

and there was another on the table with a tainted bloodline, heritage stemming from across the summer sea: she had not spoken to him once, despite the fact he was sat some spaces away from her, directly before her. he listened. if only he could hear what continued to reign hollow within the chambers of her own mind-forged manacles, how that would no doubt have relished the spy. her gaze remained upon him, almost uncomfortably; there was not a bit of her that felt as though she should look away. this was the spy master of the river king; the one whose entire family had been turned into cinders for the sake of the half year queen abandoning the land of rivers.

she made no response to his comments, despite the fact she heard it; obviously he would not know nor understand matters of genetic superiority. for as much as ravella arryn had championed the breaking of the vale's support of the dragon king in what felt like a lifetime ago, she was able to recognise the strengths of the valyrian race. her goblet was placed down now, a hand resting upon the surface of the table. and when she spoke, her voice was it's usual deadpan, detached tone: in a way that was more than simply aloof. matched with the intensity of a gaze that looked upon him as though she knew him, it was unsettling. "that one is the lady jeyne of house waynwood." she did not use her hand, but her gaze instead; one of the many with blood ties to harrenhal. it were obvious what she spoke of.

harrenhal was too valuable to merely dismiss, able to produce a large number of tax, to simply be left to crumble in the way it had. the dragons imprint still remained all over it, and it seemed as though the river king hesitated to touch it, lest he scald his gills. "and those two, both ladies of house qoherys. ad yet, valyrian influence has done enough in the riverlands, we can safely say." house mooton was close to the borders of the crownlands, but it was also on the eastern shore of the riverlands; making it some days ride from the border with the land of the mountains of the moon. "for all the ambition the men of the riverlands seem to have, none have yet thought it wise to pair with at least of the claimants. and still, the tax it reaps remains crumbling." would lord mooton not wish to extend his influence by acquiring harrenhal under his coffers? did he not have a point to make, if the talk were true?

[domericstone]

Domeric was winning. He was irritating her and he was going to commit to the belief that they were not standing out at this fair. her in all black and him in his pressed trousers and the sweater he wore the black, collared shirt. "You should have asked." And at her question he almost smiled at her, and perhaps she caught the glint in his eyes.

"But of course, my dearest. We are at the fair. A true American experience for a proper date." And as he placed his hand on her back he moved her toward the booth. Then she asked the real question and he smiled, his lips moving close to her ear. "Perhaps I have a reason for being here. After you tell me where you were earlier."

And so it was the game they played. A dangerous game to be sure but a game none the less. The pieces were replaceable but the players were not. This time he smiled at her. "A painters van. Don't be so obvious. One you remove the spare you would be surprised at what can fit in one's trunk."

He paid the man and then picked up the baseballs, throwing them at the plates, rather bored but hitting them for he would rather eat dirt than feel the heat of failure in front of Ravella.

"Pick your bear, dearest." He threw the last baseball.

♟

how was it they had ended up in this fairground, was something else entirely: it were not like anywhere was suitable for her to be visiting, anywhere worthy of the standards. but this was a new low, even for him: she wore an all black suit to this foolish fairground, where the same music looped again and again and again. she wished to find whoever it was that was responsible for overseeing the music and force the volume to rise until it ruptured their eardrum.

she ignored his first question, stood silently simmering beside him as she looked over the scene before them. she had only ever attended one of these foolish fairs, and it had been for her sister rosalyn's birthday one year. his second question caused her only to crane her neck over to look at him, almost as though she were looking straight through him: had he gotten more stupid in the last six months? or was he trying to irritate her?

"i did not ask." her response was flat and dismissive, her arms folding over her chest.

"is this where you take me?" she asked, her tone almost scathing as her icy orbs looked him up and down, the hint of something flashing in her orbs. there was something else to this, surely. "or do you have another reason for being here?" crowds and crowds of people, all it took was one slip and someone had suddenly vanished. there was an interesting pattern across the world, a pattern he perhaps needed to fulfil.

"domeric takes america…you are only missing a pick up truck, or some run down white van."