#zialla 001

[fromthcfires]

who: @lightxshadow where: rhaegar comes upon a familiar face in king's landing

Perhaps he ought to not have been surprised how far a hood and keeping one's head down got you in King's Landing. A Prince had once been slain in his chambers, and another had been taken from his father and dragon. The city had been taken by an army not too long ago as war had waged, and yet barely anyone spared Rhaegar any mind as he ducked into the shadows, dark hood obscuring the silver of his hair.

It was easy, pleasant even, as Rhaegar reacquainted himself with a city he'd once called his own. Easy, right up until he locked eyes with someone familiar. Rhaegar froze, body going rigid. Here, he was confronted with someone who knew more uncomfortable details about the life he had only just left behind. Someone he had never quite gotten along with. Wary, he contemplated whether running was still an option, to avoid whatever the Lady Antaryon might say or do if she recognized his face.

[falcxnprince]

setting: the eyrie, before the vale departs from the west, rhys encounters a woman he has only heard about, but has yet to interact with ; starter for @lightxshadow

except for the newly acquired gait, a result of his illness, rhys arryn was all but the same as he was before he departed from his ancestral home. at least, that is what he presented to the world. in reality, rhys was quite different. older, though maybe not wiser, as his same foolish pursuits and unfiltered banter managed to slip before he could halt them. yet, he acknowledged that he could, indeed, be foolish, which in itself was what he might consider to be some semblance of growth.

perhaps his close encounter with the stranger gave him perspective, something that he hadn’t quite had before in all his years. one might say the war would’ve given him that, but the war only gave him bitter memories that extended from his youth. and as such, his focus became his home, his family, what was left of it, now. though ravella had been the closest of his family he felt to, though now there was a tension that he understood, and found himself scrambling to undo as much as he could.

the gardens were not as lush as those in the reach, for example, but they were quaint enough that rhys took solace in them when he simply needed to think. it seemed this day there was another in his very position, and he spotted the infamous lady of house antaryon sat upon a stone bench in a more shaded areas. it made sense she found reprieve in the vale, a standfast ally, but he wondered much about the lady, if he were honest. he could not decipher her thoughts from her expression, but if he had to guess, he would think she were simply…sad.

hobbling over to the lady, there were little ability for rhys to be subtle about his presence nowadays. prior it was his personality that made himself known, but he knew now it were hard to miss a man who walked with assistance, no matter how steady he managed, at times. “do you prefer lady antaryon or lady hightower?” he asked, leaning along a large pillar some paces from the bench. there was little need for introductions, he believed. if she were here, she certainly knew he he was.

[rememberences]

who: @lightxshadow when and where: upon zialla's first venture through the bloody gate and into the seat of vale power, the king consort takes the time to speak to their guest at a ball held in her honour.

the eldest son of runestone had never been a politician; never been one for diplomacy, or the skill that was learning how to talk their way out of or into a situation. not because of a readiness in drawing his mighty blade and settling matters with a universal code, but rather the fact that he were not one for such things. their ancient customs, their very blood; it were as though neither him nor his brother were made for such actions.

and yet, he did not see such a discussion as a matter of diplomacy; but rather that of practicality. "it is not the same view as that beyond the windows of gullown, lady antaryon." he spoke, looking upon the way in which twilight hung over the skies and the stars came out to play. how close they were to it here. "only better." he could almost picture norbert grafton's gaze looking sideways at him, and it were enough to cause the flicker of a wyry smile to cause his lips to twitch upward.

house antaryon had been handed a rotten hand in their attempt of straying off their usual path, and the risk had ultimately not ended up paying off. once again, it were the traditional alliance between the vale of arryn and their oversea neighbours that proved fruitful; and it seemed as though at the end of the day, all one needed to do was incline to the heartfelt sentiments of a father who sought a place for his daughter.

he shook his head at the offer of wine, though extended his hand toward their guest; the epitome of chivalric grace, of pure knighthood. of permanently bloodstained hands, and the mirror of a back wound which he had inflicted upon another. his closest, once. what felt like many lifetimes ago.

"and how are you finding gulltown, lady antaryon?" he asked, looking upon the features of a woman who seemed to have such a legacy attached to her. he understood it, now more than ever; only he would never admit it. it were not his place to be relatable or approachable, his role was to support and to lead. "there is much potentional for it to be something more. now the vale of arryn has settled the issue of the clans, at least for the next few years, it will be a priority."

there was a permanent cloud of snow that settled atop the mountains of the moon, and it were not until he noticed the lady's dark orbs momentarily wondering back over did he realise she seemed transfixed by the beauty of what felt like being atop the world. it were the beating heart of all valemen, where all the roads led; their knighthood took place within hallowed halls of andal antiquity. it was only fitting the daughter of their greatest ally crossed back across the narrow sea saw such a place; it were mythical to those who laid eyes upon it for the first time.

[lucreziasredwyne]

who: @lightxshadow​ where: the hightower apartments within the castle of highgarden, a week after zialla joined the hightower entourage for the wedding of cedric tyrell and illya oakheart. this is the first official meeting between the two women.

the sound of footsteps echoed, her own and those ahead of her as she made her way through the hightower apartments into the intended reception room. the sounds of lady simonetta���s voice was a comforting one, speaking in the tongue that she spoke with lucrezia’s own father; there was a redwyne in the hightower, and when the beacon burned green, the fleet followed. perhaps blood needed to cement closeness between the two great houses; so close in proximity, and that blood that flowed between them perhaps ensured the two houses did not set their fields on fire. 

a new intended wife had been chosen for the lord of oldtown, from braavos; and if it were any other family perhaps it would not be as much of a question. 

but the hightowers were not any family, were they? defenders of the faith. they were resolute in faith, one foot in a sept, one foot in the rest of the world. or at least, that is how they needed to appear to the rest of the world. that is perhaps how the lady of the arbor viewed each of the sons of the hightower; through hues of rose and the blinding sun. braavos no doubt benefited greatly, and the economic privilege would help the reach overall. but at what cost? lucrezia believed it the duty of a woman to manage her household’s affairs; that too included the matter of religion, and the soul. if the lady of the house is not righteous, then nor will the rest of the house be. 

and he already struggles with his faith. struggles with concepts more abstract, struggles with the concept of forgiveness and mercy. as if those with ninety nine names would not be able to find it within themselves to forgive those who seek repentance. true, genuine repentance. it need not be dedicating oneself to the sept. just, genuine. and that could be easily fractured, should any influence burn the hightower’s green beacon out. this woman would wed into one of the most powerful families in all the continent. her heart needed to be pure. one had already seen the influence one individual could have on an entire family. 

“my lady.” 

and a small smile crossed her features as her hands remained clasped before her bodice, reaching forwards and planting kisses upon each of the cheeks. though it was not as warm as it could be, it was genuine. if this was to be garland’s wife, she was to greet her as she greeted those in their family. still, there was something that had settled in the air. she found the woman pretty, and of good stature; that was no slight in that regard. “it is good to finally meet you.” 

[myriamas]

who: @lightxshadow where: the red temple of sunspear, some days into lady zialla hightower's visit to dorne accompanied by the rest of the reach courtiers who ventured to dorne. myriam has been visiting various establishments within sunspear, first the great sept and now the red temple for their blessing for the princess leila. myriam invited zialla specifically.

there were a large amount of people accompanying the princess and the regent to the streets of sunspear's labyrinth city, courtiers of dorne and beyond alike; there was one location they specifically found themselves walking through. the crowds in the streets split at the sight of house martell's sigil on the flags, adorned with petals of marigold and the scent of saffron remained in the air. there was the sound of bells amidst the various pujas, ritual prayers, that were taking place along the side of the road in the presence of their new leader. how the crowds and the people would cheer each time her kohl lined orbs looked upon them, as though she were a goddess; perhaps she was, to them.

and myriam allyrion would easily work with the narrative that the mother herself lived within each and very woman, which made them all a goddess: the regal more than ever before. "it is one long paved path between the great sept and the red temple. from the west to the east of the city."

she did not think of herself in such a way, but her daughter? the blood of house martell ran through her - she was the daughter of prince mors of house martell. she was the sun of dorne. the procession found themselves at the steps of the red temple in dorne; walking from one side of the city where the great multicoloured sept to the grand red temple, the biggest in all of westeros on this side of the narrow sea. their faith was not the same faith as myriam herself, or even the young princess, but they were a faith she would be tasked with protecting and including for they were her own. for whilst there was braavosi and various other types of essosi within the red temple, there were also dornish who had converted to the red faith.

myriam slipped her shoes off as she entered the temple, immediately finding herself basking beneath the glow of the fire. the sound of chanting, and the warm welcome from the high priest who placed a ritualistic tikka on the foreheads of herself and her daughter both. there was a sense of peace in every religious establishment myriam allyrion found herself within, even the septs of the rest of westeros; even the heart trees of the north, despite the freezing cold. the grand ritual began, in which prince kian of house martell asked for the red temple to swear fealty to the new princess. she were in the arms of her uncle, and she stood to the side of the red temple with lady hightower.

it were obvious she missed it. she missed all of this. but myriam would not speak on what was not hers to address. "if this is not enough time, we can arrange to visit before you return." she spoke, her accent wrapping around the deep velvet of her tone. myriam's voice was like sandalwood, almost raspy - it were not light, or overly feminine. sensual in nature, to all but those who knew it simply was not. she raised her dupatta to cover her thick dark locks, which were tied up in a loose bun.

[visxionaries]

♠

cedric had no personal opinion of the marriage that the lord of oldtown had decided to make for himself; emphasis being on the sole fact that the match was done for the benefit of oldtown and through diplomacy with the hightowers, rather than extension with the tyrells and thus the realm as a whole. that in itself made a difference wholly clear in regards to cedric and the rest of his court; there was a level of detachment that had begun to occur between the king of the court of thorns and roses and the master of coin, the master of the burning beacon - and at it's root, was perceived incompetence.

"of course you know." cedric responded, a typical silver smile crossing over golden features; she would have been tutored in perfection, the same way his sister had been perfected for the lion king. and she had still been broken by the end of it. he did not have a personal opinion of the marriage, it never even crossed his mind to know she was of a different faith: but what did cross his mind, was the reaction of the smallfolk and the high septon so soon after the butchery that occurred within oldtown. he nodded at her words, and it appeared as though his focus was entirely on her - regardless of the others in the room.

there was much influence and importance in maintaining eye contact, and making those who seem voiceless have a voice. even in small matters, such as describing a land he had been to. she talked because this was their first interaction, their first interaction that truly mattered - and so, he allowed her to continue speaking. describing the sands, the waters, the difference. "there is a strong rhoynish presence within both realms, as you know, alongside andal in our own. their are differences within multiple cultures, and more often than not it results in tensions."

as much as braavosi trade was economically beneficial to the ports of oldtown, it were not as though oldtown was drowning and needed it - the decision to marry zialla antaryon was made in equal parts stubbornness, rather than need. "that is without taking the history into account." the need to prove a point, and that was what cedric tyrell found tiresome regarding the lord of oldtown - the constant need to prove a point, even in regards to points that did not need to proven. he jumped over the edge of cliffs, before blaming another for shoving him, despite teetering on the edge the entire time.

"dorne is far more diverse." his comment was almost a hook; he did not specify how; but he was referring to the presence of various different ethnic groups. various different cultural practices, and even different faiths. he remembered walking the winding baazars of sunspear, seeing septs and temples along the same stretch; and whilst there remained some differing opinions, it were nowhere near as juxtaposed as his own court.

"but it would be.dorne has developed a close association with the free cities, braavos included - do correct me if i am incorrect." and whilst he did not care for the wellbeing of the woman who addressed him with much grace and etiquette, he found himself looking sideways toward her husband as the woman spoke of dorne: there was never any knowing what it was the king was thinking. perhaps he appeared impressed by her knowledge, finding her worldly - and he did.

"the current entourage joining me is mostly dominated by men - but truthfully, i am in need of noble women. the new regent of dorne is a princess." gods knew he could not persuade lucrezia to join him, already stretched too thin between brightwater, the arbor, highgarden and the newly acquired islands. he could ask rhea to join him, but she was needed to remain in highgarden in order to continue working on their infamous slander of the faith and the high septon, as well as maintaining her network. "if you manage to detach yourself from garland's side, you would be welcome to be part of the journey, lady hightower."

zia could feel the emotion of the celebration, the unbridled happiness among the nobility of the reach due to the return of lord mathis rowan, as soon as they arrived. she found it difficult to know how to behave most appropriately. she felt slightly queasy due to her pregnancy but she also had to remind herself to smile and be pleasant. but being too happy would seem disingenuous as everyone knew that she did not know mathis rowan. she settled for something in the middle. she focused on the joy of those around her. she was happy that they were happy to see their old friend return. the celebration had, at least, given her a chance to leave oldtown for a bit. while she enjoyed her new home, she also enjoyed the chance to leave it from time to time. zialla kept to garland's side, their arms interlinked as they exchanged pleasantries with those attending. she followed her husband when he went to speak to the king. she still found the concept of kings to be strange. but she supposed a king was not that different from a sealord. other than the important distinction that cedric was born with a birthright as a tyrell, one he'd pass on to his own children. she knew they had all been united under the iron throne once, but some houses had carved out a throne for themselves to sit for centuries if the future should prove to be kind to them. she gave a quick curtsy when the king addressed her. "your grace." it was a small gesture but she was pleased cedric addressed her too. she knew that if she could somehow get his obvious approval, it would get her far in the search of the approval of others. zia knew that he had accepted the marriage between her and garland, but that was not the kind of approval that she was seeking.

she stood silent as garland discussed matters with his king. zia was vocal about her opinions on political matters when in their private chambers, but she did not intervene in public. she could not risk undermining her husband especially not in a room of nobles and royals who were already wary of her presence. however, she listened intently to the talks about dorne. her tutor had told her about dorne as she had taught her about every kingdom in westeros. however, she recalled that when her betrothal to garland was finalised, lord methyso was happy and more than satisfied, but he also said that he had hoped to secure a match with a dornishman. her tutor had mentioned that it might have been easier for her in dorne than in the reach. she had not understood then but she did now.

when her husband excused himself she stood to follow him, but then cedric unexpectedly spoke to her. while she had briefly met him during his wedding, it had been nothing more than a curtsy and a 'congratulations' before he had moved on. she immediately turned her full attention to him, her dark eyes meeting the blue of his. "of course, your grace. dorne is the southernmost kingdom of westeros and i hear it's quite different to the reach in almost every aspect despite the fact we share a border with them. it's supposedly very beautiful with its endless oceans of sand and its green water gardens." and she knew there were followers of r'hllor in dorne too. in truth, there were followers of the lord of light in most kingdoms and cities across the world, some merely hid more than others. surely, there were others like her who practised in secret. "while the occasion is tragic, and i do feel sorry for the princess who will grow up with such a heavy burden placed on her young shoulders, then i envy you the trip. i am yet to see the rest of the kingdoms." of course, the martell princess was far too young to actually rule, but her childhood was forever stained now by the crushing weight of responsibility.

even knowing all that, zialla would still like to go. while at first she thought it impossible to go without garland, she began justifying in her mind. it was not a long journey if she sailed from oldtown and she did not have to be gone too long. all these thoughts were proof that she was a restless creature. while she was grateful for the child growing in her belly, she could also not help but feel that she was treated as if she was frail and sick, not merely with child. despite the fussing of her husband's mother and the household staff in hightower, she had worked diligently on her charities. but they tied her to a desk or meetings in her chambers, and it never got her outside oldtown. she looked at her new king in anticipation, split between holding her tongue and casually mentioning that perhaps she could accompany him and his party if garland agreed to it. but it was too bold of a move for even zia.

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

there came no verbal reaction or response from lucrezia redwyne whilst the woman before her seemed to speak what had been building within her chest, building and building and seemingly aching; no attempt to interrupt, even when there came moments where it seemed as though zialla had finished expressing what it was she needed to express. her face remained utterly neutral, knowing all too well body language and facial expression could easily further inflame matters, even when the voice was not being used; and she did not seek to further inflame the situation. perhaps she already had, by extinguishing the flame that seemed to burn between them before the heat became scalding, ripping off the scab and simply bringing forth the matter.

her face remained still as she listened to all the woman had done in order to find herself in the position she was in today: the position she had ultimately been made to want, been made to prepare for. only, that neutral face changed as the woman went on to describe her opinion as fact; as though they were expected to be open minded towards her, otherwise they were primitive. her eyebrows raised at such a word, wondering just what it was the lady of braavos seemed to have studied about their way. their way, their way, she seemed to repeat. as though there was not more.

"it does sound as though you were expected to put in much effort to fulfil this role given to you by your father." lucrezia spoke, only when the woman was done. "and in return you have many expectations of people. people who do not know you."

it seemed as though for years, zialla antaryon's destiny had been nothing and nobody but garland hightower: and she found it so utterly strange that a father would raise his daughter with such fixation upon one singular individual. all those years of preparing, being the worthy student, only for garland to have gone and married lady calla lefford. whilst none knew zialla antaryon existed. how fortunate the antaryons must have been for the wind of luck to have blown their way, for garland being so utterly cruel enough to divorce the woman who had tarnished her own reputation by eloping with him. to cast her aside whilst she mourned for her murdered mother. what luck that swept in the direction across the narrow sea.

"but nobody owes you anything, lady antaryon. it is entitled for you to believe otherwise."

"you speak of your opinion as though it is fact. it is misleading." lucrezia spoke, almost as though she were confirming the choices of words that had been used by the lady. there was something deep within lucrezia that quietly gnawed away at her, perhaps all the years of garland expressing a certain skepticism. the laugh that would come each time he found her quietly reading her seven pointed star, urging her to do something else. she done other things. she just never forgot her true lords. and how done she was with others pretending as though sticking to the beliefs she had been raised with, the beliefs clearly written within scripture, meant she was somehow less civilised. that did not equate to discrimination, to being hurt, but lucrezia would not bend.

"the same scripture that calls for kindness, and speaks of the mercy of the gods, also speaks of those who are beyond the love of the gods. those who are heathen in faith, but also in heart. vain, would perhaps be better for you to hear. conceited. we will not disagree using scripture, my lady. it is unbecoming to talk of what you don't understand."

there was a beat. a pause. and then she said it. "i do believe people have the right to hold suspicion of you. people have the right to not wish to be entirely warm and embracing towards you. i think civilised people are entirely aware of what events are currently occurring both within this land, and across the narrow sea, where heathen rhollorists are laying siege to the holy land itself. where pilgrims have been slaughtered, like cattle. i think civilised people understand the world does not revolve around them, and would understand whispers and hesitance in the light of such events. it appears we are both primitive in mindset."

"is there anything else you wish to get off your chest?"

it would be wisest of zia to brush it off, apologise if she had given that impression and simply move on from this conversation without giving the lady of the arbor any weapon to potentially use against her in the future. the last thing she needed was to risk angering a hightower cousin. but she actually respected that lucrezia spoke outright. others had been perfectly kind to her face, but then she saw them whispering later, their judging eyes fixed upon her as they did. at least this woman had the nerve to speak plainly. whether on purpose or by coincidence, garland’s cousin had gifted her a chance to defend herself. perhaps lucrezia simply wished for a chance to list all the reasons why the reaction was perfectly understandable, but it was still an opportunity for zia to say what she wished to say. it was a sudden change in their dance of false kindness and stiff smiles, but she was nothing if not adaptable and she would follow suit. before zialla could stop herself, she replied just as truthfully while staring directly into a pair of hazel eyes. “i do feel somewhat slighted, yes.” and now that it had been said, she knew that she must continue. it could be a terrible idea to be so honest with lucrezia, but if she was ready to let the mask fall away, zia had no choice but to respect it and offer the same. sometimes the truth was more effective than comfortable lies.

while there was no denying that zialla did possess a temper and that lucrezia had caused it to flare slightly, it ironically simmered down as she started talking. “i am the daughter of an ambitious man who made a deal with another ambitious man for my hand in marriage. as most ladies i have had very little say in the matter of my betrothal.” in fact, she had once wished to wed another, but lord methyso had made it clear that she was meant for greater things. that she would be lady of a powerful house in westeros, have a keep of her own, and birth children that would one day rule their corner of the world. mero was a third son and could not provide that. she had accepted it and moved on. mero had thought she had let it go too easily, but the truth was that she did want the things her father wanted for her as well. a title and the power that came along with it. she wanted a secure and grand home meant for her children one day. she did not wish for them to grow up in the shadow of their family estate, knowing that it could never belong to them. “and while i am glad to marry ser garland as we are well suited for each other, i do find it hard to accept being judged for things i have never had any say in.” the problem the people of the reach had with her was that she was not born in their lands, that she did not practice their religion yet. she could have converted to the religion of the seven before leaving braavos, but she knew how that would have complicated matters for her father. it would have lost him support among the followers of r'hllor in braavos and they were the key to his power. “i have spent years with a tutor learning your language, reading your scriptures, understanding your customs, being taught about the kingdoms.” and it had taken a lot of time. it had not come naturally to her at first. it was time lost that she could have spent with family and friends that she knew she would be forced to leave behind when she left for her new life, but zia had made that sacrifice to give herself a better start in her new life. “i have not come here without making an effort.” she had come to master the common tongue through sheer will and stubbornness even if her braavosian accent was still very noticeable.

zialla spoke in a low but polite tone despite the words that seemed to roll off her tongue effortlessly. “it seems to me that some people are judging me for things outside my control, for things i can never change. i will convert and live by the guidance of the seven for the rest of my life, but i cannot change that i was born as a follower of r'hllor. i will spend the rest of my days in this kingdom, if the gods see it so, but i cannot change the fact that i am braavosian.” and she was proud of it despite leaving most of her old life behind when she stepped off the ship. zia could only imagine how people would have reacted if she had still dressed as a braavosian, if she had spoken the language of her home around them. she continued on, wanting to have said all she had to say, while also sending the ball back to lucrezia’s side of the court. “i am not surprised that men blame me for the decisions of other men, but i was expecting some understanding amongst the women here. perhaps that was foolish of me.” men were unaware of their privilege of having such a say over their own destinies. it was the same here as at home. but in braavos, she had always felt there was a hidden understanding among the ladies that they were all tied to the choices made for them, not by them. “i hope you do not misunderstand me, my lady. i am not asking to be free from judgement, but i am of the belief that civilised people would judge me based on who i am, not where i am from or the faith i was born into. everything else is quite narrow-minded and prejudiced, both traits of a more primitive mind. and traits your wise scriptures do not seem to deem good behaviour considering their view on the concepts of kindness and mercy.” she knew the lady of the arbor was a religious woman. zialla knew that this was truly akin to getting too close to the flames, hoping the fire would not suddenly roar up as it was fuelled by a log and burn you. she plastered on another fake smile in an effort to douse the fire. “and something i am sure you do not support, lady redwyne. perhaps i simply misunderstood you ― and if that’s the case then i pray for your forgiveness for my little rant.”

[fromthcfires]

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed at her demand, his expression darkening as if the weight of her audacity pressed against his already frayed patience. “You never were one to bargain with me,” he said, his voice low and edged like a drawn blade. “Be careful where you tread. You are playing a game you do not understand.”

He stepped closer, his imposing presence casting a long shadow over her. “I left Braavos, not my skill. If you think I am so easily cornered, you underestimate me.” His words were sharp, clipped, but there was a hint of something deeper in his tone - a warning, a thread of danger woven beneath his control.

Rhaegar’s lips curved into a cold semblance of a smile, though his eyes remained steely. “Very well,” he said, his voice dropping. “Name your price, my Lady, and pray it’s worth the risk of holding this over me. But remember, favors work both ways.”

zia was caught off guard for a moment as he approached her. it was obvious that he had not wanted to be recognised before he even said anything. “for who of us?” she asked with a slight huff. “do not get too bold. i can send word of this meeting to braavos immediately if need be, and you know who my father would contact.” whatever had brought him here, whatever reason he had for keeping his past quiet, she was sure he did not want to become the hunted instead of the hunter.

but she was building something new for herself. she did not need trouble with a faceless man. zia was about to promise that she'd keep quiet, but then she could almost hear her father's voice inside her head that she was wasting an opportunity. the valyrian could prove to be useful to her. there was information she sought, but it was troublesome to get it herself. she had no spies at her disposal. a faceless man owing her a favour could work. “if i am to keep your secret, i want something in return.”

[rememberences]

♟

do you believe your neutrality can withstand that? graham’s brow lifted slightly at her question, the frankness of it catching him off guard as his expression remained as blank as it usually did, one hand resting behind his back and his grey orbs merely fixed upn her. it wasn’t often someone spoke to him without the usual coating of formality or caution, especially not someone like lady zialla antaryon—a braavosi with all the careful elegance of the free cities behind her. yet here she was, speaking as though they had known one another for years, her tone direct and unflinching - he were not enough of a courtly man to find offense at her words, but he began to understand just how she may have found herself being bitten by the garden snakes within the countless mazes and walls of highgarden.

he let the silence stretch for a moment, his gaze sliding past her to the dark waters of gulltown’s harbour below. lights flickered along the docks, ships swaying gently in the night tide. there was a calmness to the scene, but beneath it, the currents ran deep—much like this conversation.

“the vale’s weathered its share of enemies, lady zialla, the most significant being those who were once our own.” he said finally, his voice measured but clear. he took the time to ensure his royce highland accent did not wrap too tightly around his voice, maintaining eye contact with multiple of his fellow knights of the vale in passing - time and time again, they offered one another the same nod. “dragons once soared above these mountains. rebels hammered against the bloody gate. and yet, the vale stood. it always does.” his tone wasn’t boastful—there was no need—but it carried a simple truth. “we don’t bend easy.” he glanced at her then, studying her expression. she was sharp—he’d gathered that much—and her question wasn’t without merit.

bringing the iron bank into gulltown’s affairs would shift the balance. it would draw eyes—some curious, some hostile. but alliances, true alliances, always did, as far as he understood. “you’re not wrong to ask,” he admitted, his thumb brushing thoughtfully against the hilt of his sword. “siding with braavos puts a mark on us, whether it’s plain to see or not. the lyseni will take it as a slight—they already have, if their attempt on my life says anything.” there was a flicker of dry humour in his voice, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes - a sense of dry smugness which rang true in many knights from this corner of the world. “and their friends won’t be far behind, if they were true to their word.” jaehaerys targaryen, was not. he was not a traditionalist when it came to alliances; he would not cause issues upon the continent of westeros which would disadvantage him further, not when he were dealing with the dornish borders.

he shifted his weight, the creak of leather from his doublet filling the pause. “but the vale isn't a land that lives in fear of new enemies. we choose them carefully, aye, but we don’t shy from them when the cause is worth it.” and that was it, ultimately, just like how strategic decisions needed to be worth it on the battlefield, as they did when making political dealings across the table. his gaze hardened slightly as he listened and considered her deeper purpose here. “i know you’re not in this for braavos alone. it’s your daughter, isn’t it? her birthright. oldtown.” he didn’t soften the words, but there was understanding there. the fight for family was something he knew well—too well. “that’s not the sort of thing a mother lets go of.” his own never would have done such a thing so casually either.

“still, it was how you said it—‘fight’—that caught me. so i’ll ask plain: how do you plan to fight for her? is it through coin? backroom dealings? or somethin’ bloodier?” his eyes narrowed, not in accusation but calculation. “and more to the point—whose fight is it? yours? or your father’s? the sea lord’s reach runs long, and his coin longer. is it his ships that’ll set sail for reach waters, or are you leadin’ this yourself?” he asked directly, and did not expect to hear the truthful answer; only, he wished for her to know there allies. she could trust him, for he were a man of his word; but they were not akin enough for his realm to entangle itself in something that was simply not worth it. he could see the lines of tension in her, subtle but there. it was a fair question, and one that mattered. “i’m traditional when it comes to alliances,” graham continued, his voice firmer now.

“if i give someone protection, it means somethin’. and if you’re here, under my roof, making moves that ripple through the realms, then i’m already involved—whether you dress it up pretty or not., lady antaryon.” he exhaled slowly, weighing the thought as he turned to look at her. there was no silver linings, he spoke to her as he would speak to one of his men when he asked him what move he would make next. “i need to know if a risk is worth the taking. if your presence here brings real benefit—if it secures trade, influence, stability—then i’ll weather the consequences.” his tone was clear, each word deliberate. “but if it’s hollow—if it’s all danger with no gain—then it’s not a weight i’ll ask my people to bear and i'll have you on the next ship home.”

zialla scoffed at the mention of lys. she would not be braavosi if she did not. “the lyseni are arrogant, and arrogance can only get you so far. a fast rise is a sure path to a great fall. whereas braavos and the iron bank were both build brick by brick to withstand challenges and endure with time, the lyseni bank will soon find themselves in trouble.” this was the belief of her father, at least, and she agreed with him that soon there would be some kind of reckoning.

she observed graham curiously as he answered her question. it was interesting he noted his limitations, and it was just as intriguing the way he presented himself as just a soldier, a knight, when that was no longer his title. his response seemed to be truthful enough, but it was clearly also a selling pitch, and she respected the ability to combine the two seamlessly. “a branch of the iron bank in your lands will make you plenty of enemies and friends, your grace, do you believe your neutrality can withstand that?” she thought it was a fair question. zia knew the lyseni would not be pleased, and she suspected their allies would not either.

graham did not have to specify what he meant about matters in other realms. “you are speaking of my trouble with the reach,” zia concluded as her expression darkened. it was no secret that her daughter was the reason she had returned to these shores. she wanted to be nearby, even if she could not see the child that she had been forced to abandon. “i doubt my house have any expectations of the vale in that regard. there are no invisible strings attached to your kind invite.” the words had double meaning. there was an understanding that gulltown would receive the favour of house antaryon, but there had been no promises made. she wanted the support of the vale against the reach, of course, but the agreement had not been made with that in mind, and she would not ask for it. in the end, whatever favour gulltown would receive from braavos would not be dictated by house antaryon. her family could influence some decisions, but not enough to ask a kingdom to turn against another. no one would be against a branch of the iron bank in westeros as another way to fight against the lyseni, it was merely a matter of interests aligning on where to put it. those were the decisions her uncle and father could sway in favour of gulltown to varying degrees. but zialla could not promise anything. these were matters far beyond her powers.

zia believed the king consort had been honest with her, and she wanted to offer him the same. “as you say yourself, then gulltown has enough positives to speak for itself, but i am sure it will get recommended by my house as a fine candidate for the new branch of the iron bank, even if you should take no stance on the matter of my daughter.” once again, she promised nothing. how far her family would go for gulltown and the vale was unknown to her.

she took a few steps closer to the window, the light of the moon lighting up her face. “with that said, i do have to warn you that i fully intend on seeing my daughter's claim as heir to oldtown through, and i will fight for her to be returned to me until she's older.” zialla thought it was best to show her hand fully. no hidden intentions, no schemes. she wanted to play it differently this time around. “i will not involve you in it, but i cannot promise others will not accuse you of being involved because you are hosting me, your grace.” she supposed that she should be nervous of being rejected, but truthfully, she had nothing left to lose. in her mind, she was preparing to enter a fight, and she wanted to make that clear to those who had taken her in. he had spoken about being a soldier. what else was there to fight for if not your child? she turned her gaze to him again, this time there was determination to be found in her eyes. “you have a daughter of your own, i hope you can understand why i do not plan on backing down.” it was a strange position to be in. zialla was there to seek a new start, but she could not wipe the slate clean as well, not while rosaria was kept from her.

[falcxnprince]

rhys’s lips curled into a genuine smile at zialla’s jest, a soft laugh escaping him. “ah, a harpist with no knack for needlework,” he mused, his voice warm. iI suppose that makes you all the more intriguing, lady antaryon. music over mending. who would dare argue with such priorities?”

he straightened slightly, leaning more heavily on his cane as the cool evening breeze brushed against them, carrying the scents of mountain pines and distant fires. “though I must warn you,” he continued, “if we’re to take up knitting, i’ll require a tutor. my talents lie more in unravelling plots than in creating anything tangible.”

his tone remained playful, but there was a glimmer of something deeper behind his sharp eyes—a recognition of the balancing act she described. “your father,” he began, tapping the pommel of his cane thoughtfully, “sounds like a man who learned to thrive in the spaces others overlooked. a third son who found power in the shadows. there’s wisdom in that, though i imagine it comes with its own price.” there was always a price.

his gaze turned outward, to the jagged peaks of the vale stretching endlessly beneath the moonlight. “it’s a delicate thing, isn’t it? to be important enough to matter, yet not so much that you threaten the ones above you. a game of precision.” he glanced back at her, his voice softer now. “it seems we both find ourselves caught in a similar dance, my lady—seeking a place that feels like home, while navigating the spaces between others’ expectations.”

he let the words settle, then shifted the mood with a smirk. “and as for that harp of yours,” he teased, “perhaps you might play something for us one evening. a melody to distract us from the weight of these mountains—or at the very least, from the fire and needles of our supposed knitting sessions.”

the falcon prince straightened, now, his gaze never leaving hers. “so, lady antaryon, will you be a passing breeze in these halls, or might we expect you to leave a more permanent mark here, in the vale?” he tilted his head, a teasing smile curling his lips. “or are you simply weighing your options?" he wondered if those across the narrow sea were truly weighing those for her, instead.

zialla did not reply to his comment about her loss, she only gave a short nod. she had gained a child and lost a child on the same day. then her marriage had crumbled, and she had been left without a home in westeros. it had forced her to abandon her daughter. then her former husband died, leaving their child in the care of the woman she despised most of all. and now she was here at the mercy of lord grafton's hospitality. what she had wanted most out of the marriage to garland had been stability, and yet her life had never been in such turmoil. loss did not seem enough to fully cover it.

she did her best not to wallow in front of the prince, and thankfully rhys managed to distract her. a weak smile graced her lips in response to his words. knitting was certainly an option. zia had never been in his position, but she had grown up as witness to someone who had. she had been raised in the shadows of the antaryon towers. while his tone was light and jesting, she suspected there was real frustration behind them. “you know my father is a third son.” well, she was not certain that he did. her other uncle's greatest attribute was his ability to be invisible yet somehow still powerful. “he used to struggle in the shadow of his brothers until he found a role for himself.” methyso antaryon would hate his daughter spilling his secrets. but zialla did not care much. they had not been on the best of terms when she revealed that she planned on returning to westeros. “he united the people of our faith in braavos and became an asset to the sealord, now he's a keyholder of the iron bank.” she purposefully did not mention his illegal activities, the blackmailing, the threats. “a role powerful enough that they cannot ignore him, all while not being a big enough threat to them.” she looked up at rhys and returned his knowing gaze. “but it's a hard balance act to master.” tip too much one way, and you would be too weak to matter, too much the other way, you'd be too strong and be seen as a threat.

she sighed as he spoke of change. not because she did not wish to hear of it, but because his words rang painfully true for her. “strange indeed.” zia had to come to terms with the fact that she was caught in limbo, that she had to secure her own future because her father had become disillusioned with westeros. all while her uncle had pounced on the opportunity to ally himself and braavos further with the vale, with her as the pawn. yet he had not managed to secure her a marriage. that duty had been left to her. “yes. lord grafton has agreed to host me until i can find a permanent home in westeros. i hope not to trouble him too long.” she wanted a new beginning, she was just unsure how to start anew.

“perhaps if we both get bored enough, we can sit by the fire and knit together.” while there was a heaviness in her heart, she still had some traces of her old humour left. she held out her hand and laughed softly. “although, truth be told, my hands have always been better at playing the harp than crafting. i cannot remember ever sewing without staining the fabric with blood.”

[fromthcfires]

His jaw tightened at the way she spoke of his cousin. Zialla did not know, evidently, and that was a good thing. Rhaegar should not allow himself to get riled up, even if Zialla had always been rather good at getting a rise out of him. They had never quite gotten along, the reason why lost to the time they had known one another.

He approached her, bridging the distance between them with quick strides. He needed to say this, but he only needed the Lady to hear him. These words were not meant for anyone close by but her. "I do not owe you an explanation for why I am here," he spoke, a hardness to his tone that betrayed his urgency. "And you will not tell anyone who you know I am. The consequences may be dire."

zia's dark eyes were glued to him, as if he had the ability to turn into a snake and disappear from sight in an instant.

“i had happily forgotten about your attitude.”

so he was not here to spy. she should have known. it would have been foolish to allow his target to spot his true face so easily. zialla wondered what had brought him to these shores. the faceless men were everywhere, but it seemed odd for him to be here without a face. but then she recalled the kingdom that had been established while she had been in oldtown.

she wanted a straight answer. she did not like the idea of him hovering around, not when she was trying to start anew. “are you here to join the court of new valyria? to do the bidding of their king?” she huffed at the mention of the name the lands now went under. “i've heard plenty about him. none of it good.” they said he was a madman. she knew he had hightower blood, but she only believed that added to the natural arrogance of the valyrians. perhaps the faceless man had heard word of a new valyria emerging in westeros and decided to join them.

[falcxnprince]

rhys leaned lightly on his cane as he regarded zialla, his sharp gaze lingering on her face. there was a quiet sorrow in her words, a bitterness about the name she no longer carried, and yet her voice was steady, despite the weight she bore. hcould sense the conflict in her, the heavy past she had been unable to leave behind. she may have left the Hightower name, but it seemed it had never truly left her.

“lady antaryon,” he repeated, as though testing the name on his tongue. he had heard whispers about her—a woman divorced, a woman marked by scandal, but the rumors only told half the story. in her eyes, he saw something more: strength tempered by regret, and something else, something like longing, though it wasn’t clear for what. when she spoke of her daughter, he could hear the rawness in her voice. "my daughter is the only true Lady Hightower now," she said, and Rhys couldn't help but feel a certain sympathy for her. "your loss, i imagine, has been a difficult one."

but then rhys couldn’t help but flash a wry smile as he took in zialla’s words. "the 'hightower' name," he mused, tapping his cane lightly against the stone. "a name that’s so heavy, i imagine it takes more than a mere divorce to shake it off. i wonder if I should start calling myself 'prince of the mountain' just to see if it sticks, even though I’ve given up the crown in favor of a much more prestigious title—pompous heir with no real responsibilities." he tilted his head, the sarcasm in his voice not quite masking the underlying warmth. "it certainly has a certain ring to it, don't you think? though, between you and me, i’m still not sure what to do with the whole ‘no real responsibility’ part. quite vexing, really. i might even have to take up knitting to keep myself occupied." rhys chuckled at his own words, giving her a knowing glance. "but all jest aside, zialla, you're right. the mountains may be beautiful, but they’re far less forgiving than they first appear."

he paused before continuing, the silence between them thickening. "it’s strange, isn’t it? to be away from a place you once thought you belonged, to return only to find it’s not quite as you remember," he said, more to himself than to her. he gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, acknowledging the change that both of them were struggling with.

the breeze tugged at his cloak, carrying with it the promise of change, and perhaps, for both of them, a chance at something different. "i suppose you intend to call the vale your home, for the foreseeable future?" after all, it was closer to her child than being across the sea.

returning to westeros had been an odd feeling. the first time she had sailed to its shores, she had been full of anticipation. she had been excited about the future. the only thing she had felt upon returning was a sense of dread, with the past weighing heavy on her heart. but her child was in westeros ― and so she needed to be too. it did not mean it was easy. she spent a lot of time thinking and contemplating her next move. she would need to marry. but she was a foreigner with a stained reputation, not even a widow but a divorced woman. no matter her relation to the current sealord or the considerable dowry she would come with, it limited the suitors. she had plenty of worries to sit and stew in.

she heard a sound that she had not heard since oldtown. the sound of a cane falling into step with a man. zialla's head immediately snapped in the direction of the sound. but it was not the ghost of garland, it was the prince who had made braavos his home for a while. she knew her father had spoken with the arryn several times, but she had never introduced herself formally to him. but she recognised the face.

she rose from the bench and greeted him with a small curtsy before sitting down again, leaving enough space on the bench for him to sit if he wished. "lady antaryon." zia had wanted the hightower name so badly once upon a time, but now she could not stand anyone referring to her as lady hightower. she had no claim to the name any more. despite garland's death, she could not quench the hatred in her heart. but no matter her own feelings, it was the name her daughter carried, the name that belonged to her. the daughter that was being kept from her. "my daughter is the only true lady hightower now, your highness." simonetta had perished too. while gael had married and his wife would be lady hightower for a while, the future of the house was rosaria.

a screech from a bird made her look up for a moment. it was a bird of prey of some kind. "your home is quite different from braavos." she only recognised the sound of seagulls, they had been a constant choir during her childhood in braavos. "the mountains are beautiful though," she was quick to add as she did not wish her words to sound like an insult.

[fromthcfires]

He could not help the way he rolled his eyes at her question, inner conflict soothing in an instant. Rhaegar supposed it was just like her, to assume his presence in King's Landing had anything at all to do with her. In truth, though, perhaps this was safer for her to assume than what his little personal mission truly was. "Yes," he dryly said. "You have uncovered it now, unfortunately. I shall report back to your father that you are much smarter than either of us and I will stop following you. Good? Good." He was desperate to get out of this precarious situation now. And desperation had never made him very rational. It was no wonder many people had spent years beating it out of him.

like most braavosi, she had a complicated relationship with valyrians. her people had not forgotten their history. it was why she remembered this specific faceless man, her father had often used when he needed business taken care of. it had been disconcerting to see a valyrian walk the halls of her home. they had a few tense conversations in the past, but it was none of those that went through her mind as her gaze fell upon him. he was staring right back at her. had her father or uncle sent him? was she being watched? she knew the faceless men had a particular skill of slipping away unnoticed, so she quickly approached him before he could.

“you.”

zia had no name to call him by. “why are you here?” she demanded to know. it would just be like methyso antaryon to send someone to spy on her, to tell him her every move in westeros. he had been against her return to westeros initially, but she had believed that she had convinced him that she needed to return as long as her daughter remained here. but she never knew with her father. he was unpredictable as the sea. “are you spying on me?”

[rememberences]

♟

"aye, the braavosi have vision. and the lyseni be blockin it." graham royce stood beside lady zialla antaryon, his tall frame still and stoic against the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the wide windows. his gaze flickered between the twinkling lights of gulltown below and the poised braavosi woman at his side. her words were measured, deliberate, but the weight of her inquiry was not lost on him. he crossed his arms loosely over his chest, the faint creak of leather from his doublet breaking the quiet for just a moment.

“what do i envision for gulltown?” he repeated, his highlander lilt rolling low like distant thunder. he let the question linger, drawing in a slow breath as if the answer might reveal itself in the view below. “i’ll tell ye plain, lady zialla: i’m no merchant, nor banker, nor lord with silver coin flowin’ through my veins. i’m a soldier, a knight—what i know best is steel, bronze, runes and the sweat it takes to hold a place like this. coin and commerce? that’s another battlefield entirely.”

his brow furrowed as he shifted his weight, the moonlight catching faint lines of weariness on his face. “but even a soldier can ken the worth of what’s bein’ built here. gulltown’s not a city for extravagance, nor do i want it to be. it doesn’t need marble towers or gilded streets to stand out. it needs roots—strong ones. a place where folk can trade honest, live well, and find somethin’ solid to hold onto. it’s not about rivalin’ king’s landing or oldtown. it’s about somethin’ that can endure. that’s how the vale stands, after all. solid as the mountains themselves.” he glanced at her, his eyes sharp but not unkind.

“now, i’m well aware that other lords and lands will claw to bring a branch of the iron bank to their doorstep. they’ll promise gold and glory, flatter with words sweeter than honey. but gulltown’s appeal lies in somethin’ simpler. it’s a port with honest purpose, a gateway to both the vale and the broader kingdoms. it doesn’t need to be the grandest or the richest - our beacon of neutrality means our ports won't be closin' due to wars, we'll only strike to defend ourselves. the coin will be stable flow; that's what sells it and make it suitable.”

graham’s hand moved absently to the hilt of his sword, a gesture as natural to him as breathing. “i’ll not lie to ye, lady zialla. i don’t ken half of what makes a place prosper in the eyes of coin-counters. but what i do ken is loyalty. gulltown has that in its people, in the men and women who’ve weathered storms and wars for their home. and i’d wager that’s worth more than any gilded promise. the graftons overcame their issue with a traitorous lord some years ago, and came out stronger. their people benefit from that.”

he let the silence settle, his gaze returning to the view outside. “so no, i don’t expect gulltown to outshine braavos or any other city. i don’t want it to. i want it to stand on its own - 'tis not to dabble in matters of other realms." his dark grey gaze looked at her there, as though he too were hoping she would be able to understand what it was he was partly alluding to.

arriving in westeros this time around was vastly different to her first welcome. despite still feeling apprehensive about being on westerosi soil, she put on her finest dress for the ball and tried her best not to be seen without a smile plastered to her face. she was genuinely grateful. it made her feel more comfortable to know that she was surrounded by people, who respected her and wanted her there. she thanked the servant pouring filling her empty goblet with more wine before answering his question. “lord grafton is a kind host, your grace, we are getting along quite well. i am grateful for your hospitality since arriving here.” they were stood by the windows, and she had to admit that the view was perhaps even better than those overlooking the sea.

zialla was mesmerised by the sight below her for a moment, as she spoke without much thought. “gulltown reminds me of home in many ways. the sounds and smell of the harbour, the screeches of the seagulls.” she wondered if even the seagulls dared to venture this high up. she finally tore her eyes away from the sight of the night sky outside, how the moon illuminated the mountains of the vale.

her dark gaze landed on the king consort. with her focus on the reach the first time around, she had neglected the alliance with the vale. but she would not make the same mistake again. none of the antaryons would. “i am sure the city will prosper with the right investments. lord grafton seems determined to improve it.” she knew that the vale wanted something in return for sheltering her. she had left a trail of scandal in her wake when she had quickly departed from oldtown. she had enemies in the reach, and she was sure the words spoken about her were far from kind. she was also divorced now. if only garland could have dropped dead a few moons before, so she could have been spared that particular stain on her reputation.

but the vale had been willing to take her in, and she knew they hoped their ties with braavos would be profitable. it was different to be around westerosi with the correct respect for her people, for her home. “that is how braavos was built, free people with an indomitable spirit and vision of a city to rival all others. each generation leaving a greater city behind.” zia had long dropped the idea that she needed to become one of them to fit in. she was braavosi, and she would never be made to feel ashamed of that again.

“what do you envision for gulltown, your grace?”

zia thought it was best to know what the valemen expected, what they would be given in return for their kindness. she knew there had been talks of a branch of the iron bank opening in westeros, but she did not know much more thna that. it would be easier for her to do her part if she understood what her hosts wanted.

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

"one day." there had clearly been a nerve struck within the sweeping comments of this conversation; no doubt a result of lucrezia's own inherent beliefs and reservations regarding such a match during such a time of political and social upheaval. there were financial assets to be had with such a profitable marriage, enough for the hightower beacon to continue burning green with green. for oldtown did not need money, it was far from a position where it needed money; their bounty was something great to behold, superfluous and glorification of what could be reflected in the other houses of the reach.

"you do no such thing." lucrezia commented, her voice remaining utterly civil in response to the attempted joke said by zialla. it was not genuinely a jest, and the eyes did just that. there was not a trace of her usual honey or milk within it, only distance - because when she looked at zialla, she originally thought of her as a wild card. a risk. nobody was worth further inflaming the social tensions across the realm and beyond it; nobody. only now, she looked at zialla and thought she were a problem. it was not zialla that disappointed lucrezia. it was garland.

"that is most reassuring to hear, is it not? i think we both can relate to the worries a young girl thinks about when thinking of her future husband and his family. no doubt a good mother can make or break the home of a new bride."

she remembered hearing of the quiet tensions that were between her own mother and grandmother, the lady aicha redwyne following maria's departure from red lake; it would always be there, even between women who were the same. was the focus not just know how to navigate it? she thought briefly on her thoughts regarding her own good sister, the lady rhea tarly; and from time to time, her time on the iron isles as the arbor bells rung. the raids had stopped, the bells would never ring again. "at least she can cross the straits whenever she wishes. no doubt she'll want to visit her gael. and garland free of her."

though at her mention of the public conversion, she wondered whether zialla realised the differences in the cultures of westeros? lucrezia made no response to the mention of the conversion occurring within the sept. as though it was never said at all: because to her, the show meant nothing. the smallfolk would love it, and that was all the hightowers needed at the end of the day.

her only question was why. what was the need? what had been the need to elope with calla lefford when they were betrothed? why orchestrate such moves and then pretend as though his decisions had been nothing but pragmatic when there comes the backlash? none in the reach were beholden to the free city of braavos, they did not need it as the other regions of westeros so desperately did to increase their revenue through commerce and trade. in her own mind, there was no reason to risk such unsettlement and upset spreading amongst the people of the realm.

as the the hightowers did not need to deal with ambitious men wishing to break from the faith and their influence, they now caused issues for themselves. actively.

from a place of stubbornness, as much as economic pragmatism. she was not blind to such a thing. once he put his mind to something, he would not back down and change his mind: especially upon hearing the gossip. no, he had far too much pride and ego for that. they all did. there was tension within this space, and it suffocated; they had both struck a nerve with the other. had she offended the lady in question by stating the reaction to their betrothal had been understandable? had she offended her by explaining of their family connection? perhaps there would have been a time where lucrezia would have danced around the topic.

she would not.

"forgive my forwardness my lady." lucrezia spoke, her arms resting across her swelling stomach as she uttered the next words. truthfully, she found challenging easier than direct confrontation. utilising a question to open a conversation. "it is best i ask you plainly if you feel slighted by me believing the reaction to your betrothal is nothing but understandable and reasonable?"

the future lady hightower had approached lucrezia with a genuine hope that the lady would approve of her. the reception of her had been mixed. a few welcomed her without hesitation, some seemed curious, most seemed apprehensive. she had hoped garland’s cousin would fall into one of the first two categories. truthfully, it is a relief to see you in person rather than continue to hear of the understandable response to your betrothal to the ruling lord of oldtown. after hearing those words, she felt her hopes being dashed. she could only interpret it to mean that the lady of the arbor shared the same scepticism and had engaged in such talk. and at worst, she took it to mean that lucrezia believed that she was deserving of the colder reception she had received. it provoked her, it fuelled the fire of anger in the pit of her stomach that she had dutifully been dousing for days. “well, i hope i did not disappoint.” she disguised the words as a joke, but there was nothing merry to be found in her eyes. when lucrezia explained the connection between herself and the hightowers, zia also felt that she was insulting her intelligence. of course she would know that by now. she had not arrived in oldtown without bothering to understand the family ties of the house she was marrying into.

zia noted the response to her comment about lady simonetta, the layers there was to it. she ignored the mention of garland’s first wife. lady calla lefford did not matter to her. the lady from the westerlands had not been suited for garland, but zialla believed with her whole soul that she was. she had been moulded into becoming what he needed, what he wanted, and she was ready to take on that role. even if she had to fight for acceptance from his peers. “i have no worries about lady simonetta allowing me to be the lady of oldtown in my own way ― nor can i imagine that i will ever have any complaints, she has been nothing but accommodating.” once she was wed to garland, there was nothing simonetta could do anyway. while she was close to garland, she had no control over his actions. more importantly, she also felt that the older lady had slowly come to accept her presence in their home. she saw garland’s mother as a boon, one she needed to win over, instead of a nuisance. she had much to learn and simonetta seemed willing to teach her some things. after all, even if the dowager lady believed that zialla was a terrible choice for a wife, which she might very well do, she still had to accept that the antaryon lady would soon be the lady of oldtown and hightower. the bond between zialla and garland had only deepened since her arrival. they had spent many hours playing chess, speaking of their future, talking about children. his intellect genuinely attracted her. and it seemed she had also successfully managed to enchant him. lady simonetta bore witness to this and it seemed garland’s mother had chosen to be pragmatic, to accept what was and do with it what she could. however, she did not pretend that simonetta was pleased about the situation, she simply seemed accepting. “lady simonetta and i get on well, we sometimes keep each other company while ser garland works. i simply meant that she had to get past the understandable response to our betrothal.” zia purposefully emphasised and repeated the word, the barest hint of annoyance detectable in her tone, but it was all masked behind a stiff smile. it was a speciality of ladies to have a seemingly kind conversation that was anything but.

while zialla had been brought up to respect all faiths, she disliked those who believed themselves better than those with other beliefs. and that was how she interpereted the disguised slight from lucrezia. she was proud of being a follower of r'hllor, of being raised with the teachings of the red god, and she did not appreciate some of the thinly veiled criticisms she had been forced to listen to since arriving. she wanted to ask why they were so against one of the only faiths that actually had proof of the power of their god. she had never heard of any of the seven gods performing actual miracles. none of their priests could look into the fire and see visions of the future. her tutor had told her that if the people who believed in the seven gods had witnessed such a thing, they’d simply believe it to be evil witchcraft. zia thought it convenient that they all fiercely believed in a religion so easily controlled, so easily manipulated by heads of faith to fit their agenda. an agenda that was very political from what she had heard. every person in the world could make up a story and preach it to the masses. it seemed a frail foundation for a religion. but zia would not be able to say any of that to garland’s cousin, or to anyone in this realm, so she simply kept a smile plastered on.

this conversation served as a reminder that the sooner she married garland, the better. “oh, i believe this will be the last journey we embark upon unmarried since we plan to wed soon after returning to oldtown… and i will officially convert in the sept before we marry, of course. we wish to properly celebrate both occasions with guests and loved ones present.” zia wished for people to witness her conversion. if she did not, they would all still whisper in the nooks about her being a follower of r'hllor. some likely would still doubt devotion to the seven gods, but they would have no evidence for it. “but thank you, i am sure we will be able to arrange something one day.” as of right now, the arbor could be the most beautiful place on earth and zia would stay clear of it. she already had to suffer judging gazes hidden behind smiles that never reached quite the eyes. zialla did not plan to go out of her way to spend more time in the company of such people.

[lucreziasredwyne]

∞

lucrezia knew all too well as to the reason why she could not bring herself to fully be warm and accepting toward the soon to be ruling lady of oldtown; and she would be, for once garland put his mind to something, there was no changing his mind. in her mind, it was equal parts him genuinely believing his outlook on a matter was the most valid and pragmatic, as well as not wanting to seem as though he were fickle and his word was easily broken - especially after everything. "you need not thank me nor apologise, lady antaryon." lucrezia spoke, her tone remaining formal and pleasant.

all it would take is one person who knew her well to understand this was not the usual tone of voice she took when speaking with individuals who would soon become family, or even individuals she had taken warmly to.

"truthfully, it is a relief to see you in person rather than continue to hear of the understandable response to your betrothal to the ruling lord of oldtown." she added, hazel hues flickered over the features of the lady that was to birth the future heirs to oldtown, who would work closely with whichever of her children would inherit the arbor. her eyes, vivid and dark, were intriguing; and could no doubt entrance a man. in the back of her mind, she remembered hurrying up to white harbour years ago at this point, warning garland from getting himself too wrapped up in his betrothed at the time, the lady of golden tooth. when he dived, he dived head first.

at her next words regarding the lady of the hightower, lucrezia's expression changed, even for a moment. there was clearly confusion apparent in her gaze, for her face was an open book: her soul itself was written upon her face. and perhaps it was momentary defensiveness regarding her aunt, the last string she had to the late majesty of arlo redwyne; simonetta. did she already believe her too involved in the home that was her own? "the hightowers are my kin; the lady simonetta is sister to my father, lord arlo redwyne." she spoke, as though this needed to be explained. no doubt they were all very fond of one another.

"there is nothing for her to grow accustomed to. my beloved aunt is no doubt very important in the lives of her sons, yet she has stood and allowed a lady of oldtown to thrive independently with a voice of her own. after all, this is not garland's first marriage and his previous wife did not complain of my aunt." she spoke, as though she were assuring the woman. in reality, she were making it clear that lucrezia would not hear of such things in the future.

at the prospect of a visit to the arbor, lucrezia knew it would not be a source of tension for the reasons one would assume. despite the tensions and conflict between her husband and her cousin, she knew omer would not rule out garland visiting his kin upon lands that he is related to my blood. no, the qualm with them visiting would not be about omer at all. it would be lucrezia's hesitation, her own and none others. "you would be more than welcome to cross the straits and stay should we find ourselves there. once matters of faith and marriage have been settled."

lucrezia did not believe conversion for the sake of marriage was legitimate. accepting the gods for the acceptance of a man was fickle, and not true. it were not a true shift of vision in the heart, and that - that was where it mattered most of all.

zialla was grateful that she had not caused offence, she knew that it was an easy trap to fall into. she better understood who to greet first in braavos, but then she had never needed to do the rounds like this as she had grown up among them. while zia had been well prepared for entering society in westeros, she found that she missed the ease of society in braavos. everyone knew of her there. and while that came with some downsides, it had also been nice to feel part of them. she was still the outsider here. “thank you for your understanding, my lady.” lady redwyne was quite pretty. she could spot some similarities to lady hightower. she wondered if one of the lords she had seen throughout the evening had been her husband.

she smiled and shook her head. “not at all, the hightowers have been nothing but kind and gracious.” and this was generally true. none of them had been unkind to her. she had spent the most time with garland whenever he was not busy with work. they took supervised walks and sometimes they would play chess. she genuinely enjoyed the time she spent with him. it had been a pleasant surprise to find out how well she liked her future husband. their conversations were stimulating and honest. but when it came to the rest of the hightower household, it was clear that her background as a foreigner with a different religion to them was not something that had been particularly desired. zialla was sure it would help when she began her lessons with gwayne. she believed there to be a fear present in the high tower that she would not convert, but she was more than happy to prove that she did plan on doing so… to their knowledge at least. “i believe lady hightower needed to get used to my presence, but i can hardly blame her, it is a big change for everyone.” she smiled fondly as she thought of her own mother. “i remember how it took my mother several days just to get used to new staff in the house. i cannot imagine how she will react when my little brother marries one day and she has to get used to another lady under the same roof.” while zia liked to present herself in a particular way, she also knew that it was important to share something of herself.

zia took a sip of the wine cup she was holding. “the hightowers seem very fond of you, my lady.” while a compliment then it was merely an observation. “i have heard the arbor is one of the prettiest places in the kingdom. i hope ser garland and i can visit one day after we have wed.” while a genuine hope as zia did hope to travel after they had time to enjoy wedded bliss in their home, then it was also a test. she had picked up on some tension surrounding lady redwyne, but none had explained the situation to her yet. maybe lucrezia would provide her with more of an explanation ― or perhaps she would simply brush it off and zia would respect that. she would find out at some point anyway if there was something to it.