#the look of love the rush of blood / fiadh vance

[ronanbrackens]

who: @fiadhvance when and where: both the brackens and the vances attend a grand tournament at riverrun to celebrate the official end of the lyseni conflict. ronan participates in the joust as expected — and to try and impress fiadh.

the feast hall of riverrun was alive with light and sound, the banners of the great houses fluttering in the glow of torches, their sigils painted in rich colours with tints of silver, bronze and gold. ronan bracken moved among the crowd with a knight’s poise, but his heart was hammering louder than the drums echoing in the vaulted chamber. in his ear he could still hear the roaring sound of the crowd, the rush of his beating heart as the sound of his steed's horse thundered beneath him.

sweat lingered beneath his outer gambeson, though it had nothing to do with the day’s joust. no, this was a different battle entirely.

he’d spotted her near the dais, clad in a gown the color of lillypads and clouds, her sunkissed hair catching the firelight. lady fiadh vance, stood like a figure plucked straight from one of her beloved tales, as though she’d wandered into the hall from some enchanted glade. the way she smiled, soft and unguarded, made him feel as though he might crumble entirely - as it always had been able to do, since he were naught but a green boy of summer.

his boots carried him forward before he could second-guess himself, cutting through the chatter and clamor. when he reached her, she turned, her gaze lifting to meet his. for a moment, he could swear the world narrowed to just the two of them; it were hardly unseemly or unfamiliar to see the two speaking to one another, considering their shared communal links and the families histories which seemed to run closely to one another.

“lady fiadh,” he said, his voice as steady as he could manage, the corners of his mouth unable to stop themselves from turning upward. there were others that were dotted around her, and in all his focus, ronan had not even noticed his own sister stood nearby.

“i’ve come to return yer favor.” he held it out to her—a simple ribbon, pale blue, that had been tied to his arm during the joust. it was wrinkled and slightly smudged from the clash, but he offered it like it were the rarest of treasures; only that which he had asked for before the entirety of the realm. “it served me well out there,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips and the embers of fires danced in warm, dark eyes. “reckon it helped me keep my seat, even when omer was determined to knock me off it.” and he had, eventually. he was not going to think about that; ronan bracken had always been a sore loser.

his voice lowered slightly, a strand of dark hair landing over his dark gaze as he looked upon her, the way it always did when it had grown out to this stage. "or should i be thankin' you for givin' it to me?"

[ronanbrackens]

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ronan bracken stood rooted to the spot, watching as fiadh’s fingers brushed the ribbon he had returned. her touch, brief and innocent, sent a shiver down his spine, one he prayed she wouldn’t notice. saints preserve him, how could a mere ribbon—wrinkled and battered as it was—feel like such a lifeline in her hands? he rubbed the back of his neck, the confidence he carried during the joust replaced by a clumsy uncertainty that threatened to drown him.

“ah, well,” he began, his voice warm but uneven, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out. “ye flatter me far more than i deserve, my lady. truth be told, omer might’ve had me beat the moment he lowered his lance, but…” he let out a low chuckle, trying to mask the way his nerves clawed at him. “i reckon the ribbon worked some magic of its own, kept me upright a moment longer than i had any right to be. so aye, thank ye for it.” his warm dark eyes flickered to hers, the firelight making her hair glow like the sun had touched it.

she looked so at ease, smiling at him in that unguarded way she had, and it made his heart ache in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. he’d faced knights in the lists, foes on the battlefield, but nothing felt as daunting as the way fiadh vance looked at him now.

“though, uh,” he fumbled, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table nearby as he shifted his weight, “ye might be givin’ me too much credit for how i rode today. omer wasn’t holdin’ back, that’s for sure. and aye, i hit the ground hard enough to feel it in my bones, but…” he glanced away, running a hand through his dark hair, disheveled from the day’s events. “it weren’t the worst fall i’ve had. besides, i couldn’t let go of yer ribbon, could i? wouldn’t have been right.” he realized he was rambling—him, of all people, tongue-tied like a green lad. he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “but it’s kind of ye to say i rode well,” he added, his voice softer now, as if they were sharing a secret. “means more than i can tell ye, hearin’ that from ye.”

his gaze lowered to her hands, still toying with the ribbon, her movements delicate and deliberate. it struck him how she’d tucked it away, creases and all, as if it meant as much to her as it did to him. a strange, foolish hope stirred in his chest at the thought.

“ye know,” he said, his voice dropping further, “i’ve worn favors before, but none have meant so much as this one did. maybe it’s daft to admit, but… i didn’t just wear it for luck.” he hesitated, his hand brushing the edge of his belt before he let it fall. “i wore it because it came from ye, fiadh. and that—well, that’s somethin’ i’ll carry long after the jousts are over.” he found himself realising he had no doubt talked for too long, and his last comment would no doubt leave some questions; and so he cleared his throat. ronan bracken scratched the back of his neck, his dark eyes flickering briefly away from fiadh before settling back on her, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

“and y’know,” he began, voice soft and tinged with a hint of self-deprecating humor, “not every favor i’ve worn’s brought me such luck. truth be told, the last time i accepted one… well, it weren’t exactly a shining moment for me.”

ronan bracken chuckled softly, scratching his neck. “ye know, last time i wore a favor, it were minty estermont’s—my bri's minty, yeah? she tied it to me arm without askin’. bright green and gold, reeked somethin’ awful. i rode worse than i ever have—knocked meself clean off me horse, covered in mud. minty clapped like i’d won, the clown.” he shook his head, meeting fiadh’s gaze. “but yer favor, fiadh… it’s different. it weren’t for show or a laugh. it meant somethin’. ye meant somethin’. if it were yer favor, i’d wear it proud, no matter who asked.” his voice softened.

there was a jovial feeling in the air at riverrun, the excitement of the day's events not having lost their lustre. even now the tournament was at its end, it was still a topic of conversation, the events of the day examined by those who had observed it over and over in their discussions. fiadh, too, had watched the jousts, had clapped and shouted for every knight, but there was one for whom she cheered a little louder than all the rest.

and when ronan bracken approached her now, she made no attempt to hide the broad smile that crossed her face. he looked every inch the storybook knight - undoubtedly handsome, hair falling into his face so perfectly, and the entire room seemed to grow a little softer, the lights a little brighter, when her gaze met his. he'd always been able to do that - his mere presence enough to alter the very landscape they found themself in, or at least, fiadh's perception of it.

she reached out to take the ribbon, fingers brushing briefly against his as she retrieved it from his grasp. "thank you," her voice was soft, but interlaced with an unmistakable affection, one that came to her so naturally. "i shouldn't be surprised to see it in one piece - only, it looked like you hit the ground quite hard." a beat, and then she was backtracking. "not that it was your fault. omer looked like he was on a mission to send you flying, so if you had lost it, that would have been fine. but you kept hold of it anyway."

she'd read books and ballads where, when faced with the object of their affection, the heroine would find herself lost for words, and in that moment, she wished she was one of them. but when ronan was near, she found herself talking, and talking, and talking, and wishing she had the grace to stop with every sentence uttered.

"you rode well," she offered, unable to stop herself, yet again, from rambling on. in her hands, she was running the ribbon through her own fingers. "everyone is saying so. i think you'd have done just as well without it, but it's nice to think i played some small part in it." she held the ribbon up once more, almost to highlight her role in it all, before finally tucking it away, into a fold in the sleeves of her gown. the marks would come out, the creases pressed until it was good as new, but fiadh was a sentimental creature. she would keep it exactly as he had handed it back to her.

"oh, no, you don't need to thank me," her head shook. as his voice lowered, her followed suit, as though they were sharing with one another a secret just for them. "if anything, i should be thanking you. for wearing it. it means a lot that you did."