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[visxionaries]

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

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

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

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

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

the answer would give the judgement.

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

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

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

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

#c: domeric #domeric 001

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"you're spoiling the horse." perhaps there was something inherently cruel and selfish in knowing exactly what it was he was doing in this moment: there would never be a reality in which the two of them could ever be in one another's spaces as just that. space. no, there would always be something more: something unsaid, something simmering and drowning beneath the weight of the choices only she felt a sickening sense of guilt for - and perhaps he cared enough for her to not want her to feel such a level of guilt.

"gods, don't tell me you're still talking to animals?" cedric asked, his question only half genuine; one only needed to look at the golden grin that crossed his features to know that there was something in this for him. gods only knew what, but he also knew that referring to such warm moments of humour would be enough to rope her in; how she had always valued the simplest of things life had to offer.

"where's that perfect leg of lamb of yours?" referring to her little goat; no doubt somewhere making noises at the wool merchants who wondered why he was not in their wagon. a little goat with a little vest of his own, tailored by his owner; the sight of it made him laugh once, and he knew it would now. as though the two of them could laugh about such stupidity, with the head of the bastard of the hightower decapitated, the crown on another's head, and the chapter firmly closed.

he did not want her to feel as though the fate of her closest friend was sealed as a result of her choices, but rather a plan whose seeds had been planted long before cedric tyrell ever noted a simple seamstress. that, was a way in. she had allowed him to open the window, she had remained beside him with her soft laugh filling the air around them; it was always his casualness that entranced her. to see snippets of the true essence of him like reflections of light rather than simply seeing a king was what always seemed to reel her in. feeling special.

and in this very moment, cedric tyrell found himself making a selfish decision. she had walked from his life once, and he was accepting to let it go: it would not happen a second time around. because she was special; he did not know why, or even how; only knew that this would not have happened again if it were not meant to. by chances of probability, rather than chances of whatever imaginary figures humans had made as a source of comfort.

and when he reached down to offer her his hand, he was all too aware of how this image could be likened to the stuff of paintings, of ballads, and of songs. gold reaching for silver; emerald reaching for amethyst. "come on then lae, i've got you." he muttered, his tone remaining as casual as ever: and yet, such words were ample opportunity to cause the heart to increase. and perhaps it had reason to do so.

and he knew how this seemingly innocent encounter would end. before the breathless kisses started beneath an oak tree and the signing of their names to the cycle starting again, a part of him knew. and regardless of that fact, cedric tyrell still rode the horse through the iron gates of the first of highgarden's three walls, with servants whispering of a sole woman with silver hair winding her arms around him from behind.

end of thread.

a light breeze blew wisps of silver-blonde strands before her face, hand moving to brush them out of her way, somewhat thankful for the moment of distraction, for her thoughts could easily spiral if she did not quickly pull herself from them. laena had always had much time to think, to ponder upon things that may or may not have anything to do with her or her life, and yet still she enjoyed moments of wondering, of calculating the possibilities. though there were also times, such as now, where she liked to think the circumstances did not offer many choices, it were easier, which in itself, was foolish. she knew, and she wished to think it, anyways.

there were no response from her at his words, only acceptance that he was, in fact, correct. regardless of the true situation that was referenced by what he spoke, there were many decisions and situations that had come undone lately that could fit. it were easily one of the topics they could delve into, speak for hours about, just as they had once upon a time, until the last embers within the hearth died down and the soft glow of the morning sun illuminated the window of the rooms they had found themselves within. and yet, laena felt the weight of guilt again, the way it knotted in the pit of her stomach, at the thought of truly understanding what had been occurring all these months, not just within these lands, but within the mind of the man before her.

and just as laena chose to let the thought pass, to watch it drift off with the very breeze that had cause tresses to sway gently in the cool air, another choice was offered. a choice that had many possibilities, but in truth, two simple ones.

there was a clear shift in her demeanor as his words, head tilting just slightly, poise was relaxed, but somewhat stiff, as if every part of her began to still, bracing for what he were about to say to her. eyes shifted downward, breaking his gaze, a gaze that she found herself desiring to hold onto forever, if it were hers entirely. and yet, the opportunity became clear that, even in part, it would be hers again.

laena were not a possessive woman, one that shouted her desires from balconies to all who would hear and know it, no. she were entirely silent regarding her desires, her feelings, but she knew very much suddenly what she, too, wanted. despite the understanding it were perhaps, selfish, possibly doomed, the thread had not come unraveled as she imagined, but suddenly felt as if the bond had grown stronger.

it were a heavy choice, not in love, or lust, or guilt, or shame, perhaps in some indescribable feeling that encompassed all of those things. and yet, she knew what choice she wanted to make, regardless of such a feeling. hand found itself upon the mare, almost steadying herself by finding comfort in the soft furs of the animal before her, but comfort found her moreso in the grin he offered her.

lilac hues twinkled with amusement, suddenly, like a mirror a playful smile danced upon her lips. though there was still an awareness of what was occurring around them. "either way." she answered, and it were clear her demeanor were suddenly relaxed. "though i think this beauty and i have made fast friends." she added in jest, a hand moving to pet the mare's snout, causing the animal to emit a soft whinny, almost as if to agree with laena's sentiment, and earning a gentle laugh from the seamstress.

#c: laena #laena 005 #look at this godforsaken mess that you made me; and that's the thing about illicit affairs (cedric&laena) #back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known ; it was rare i was there i remember it all too well (ced&lae)

[visxionaries]

who: @fromspringandfire when and where: semi-flashback thread, following the reach court's arrival back to the reach where they immediately venture to oldtown. simonetta and garland hightower's funerals are due to happen in the morning, though the entirety of the court seemed to remain awake early hours into the night. what: cedric tells laena who is behind the attacks on two members of house hightower.

whilst she rarely spoke on matters regarding her lineage, the king of thorns and roses was wholly aware there was more than targaryen blood coursing through the veins of the woman he had chosen to keep as his companion and violate his marriage vows to be with. that amethyst eyes were only an indicator of what other blood ran through her, that which included that of the hightower; a flowers, was what she would be called here. a dragonseed, there; so many names for the same ultimate name at the end of the day.

it were no celebration they were partaking in within the hightower's great hall; dressed in black velvet, somber faces, faces of shock and of grief. because there had been a mighty secret kept beneath their very noses - or above it.

there was a reason he had chosen for her to remain beside him that night; along the same table as the other noble courtiers of the reach court, and he ignored the sight that momentarily crossed his queen's features upon seeing a set of silver hair sat in the row. never would she speak openly on it, not in this moment; though he knew it would be mentioned somewhere along the line. perhaps because he did not wish for the news to reach her by voice of any other but his own; whether this was her first time in oldtown he could not remember, and whilst she did not know of the woman in question, she was her blood.

she shared blood with an apparent madwoman who feared the colour green, who shook with fury at the tarnish she believed her grandson had brought to their house as though it had not been her and her generation first. and when the king rose toward the end of the night, once the formalities were finished and the goodnights were uttered, he stopped behind the chair of his mistress, placing a casual hand on her shoulder. she knew it would be him without him needing to say anything.

but he said something anyway, for this was not him wishing her goodnight here. he lowered his voice just enough for her to hear. "come, i'd rather you not stay here alone and listen to this false grief." he uttered. not yet; he was not blind and it were noted that laena had not yet established herself at court. perhaps she never truly would in the eyes of the others who looked upon her, as though sin were printed upon her forehead.

they left the room, knowing there would be eyes upon them; a pair of important dark eyes in particular, who remained sat upon the high dias of the table, surrounded by her closest allies and courtiers. how startling it was that he felt no guilt to picture her face as he left with another woman at his side, and when the door closed behind them, an ocean gaze glanced over in her direction - noting the way in which a small breath seemed to come from her inner chest.

"how long were you wanting to leave for? you seemed finished with it all by the time the veal came out." a slightly amused smile crossed his features as he looked at her, as though it were the first time she could breathe all night.

he walked her to her own chambers, in a wing some corridors from his own; there were tyrell guards on either side of her door that nodded in his direction as he passed through, and the doors closed behind them. he kicked his boots off from his feet, though kept his doublet on as walked over to the window, briefly looking down at the courtyard, watching the starry sept in the far distance of the city. it felt like they were atop the world. "is it strange for you to be here?"

#c: laena #laena 007 #it's worth the risk of burning to have a second chance ; and you know damn well for you i'd ruin myself (the king and the mistress) #look at this godforsaken mess that you made me; and that's the thing about illicit affairs (cedric&laena)

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gael hightower truly stood as the last of something mighty; a lineage that was reputed in both sainthood and sin, but incompetence was something that none should ever be able to call the line of the hightower; and yet the events that had unfolded was solid proof that constant piles of work did not mean anything in the very end.

"then i take your word on this matter, lord hightower." cedric responded, his tone less harsh now; a moment of breath being held, cedric was not known for having a flying temper, though he was known to be willing to resort to the distasteful. the rumours, the thorns.

or, he could simply uproot it all from their hands; consider this a final straw and extended tyrell lands by making oldtown another extension of highgarden's influence. the option was truly tempting, a large part of his mind knowing it would make the most sense as well as serve as a visible consequence. "you'll go ahead of the court, who will follow you the morning after next." because gael had two funerals to organise, and a search party to overlook. cedric himself would need to write to multiple rulers in the realm and inform them of a missing criminal of the reach. the last thing they needed was her slipping into the lands of the dragon king.

the hightowers had grown increasingly unpopular at court and among the smallfolk, and in such circumstances, people demanded to see visible consequences. not conversations had in hallways, or warnings, but actual consequences. cedric tyrell did not need to listen to the words of people to navigate his policy in the way he went about such important matters of state; gael was not his brother. gael would need to wipe clear the actions of his brother.

"you could have a claim to oldtown." cedric spoke, his tone quiet enough to ensure none overheard the discussion between the two of them in this hallway. truthfully, he may have preferred to hear that gael did intend to try and push forward his claim: instead, they would need to deal with establishing a regency of an infant all without the involvement of the mother, and her powerful family.

"an invalid marriage would yield any fruit from it as illegitimate." all whispered of her being a fire worshipper. cedric himself did not care then, nor did he now; but he would use it to his advantage. he would rather deal with gael as lord rather than the girl, and if the girl was made lady of the hightower, she would be marrying one of his future sons to secure her place and her allegiance. he had one, and if he were thinking optimistically, he would have more. "it is for you to think of. but think on it."

he watched as the man's expression changed and hardened, became more serious; a look that was unusual upon the third son of the hightower. "if zialla wishes for her child to be with her, then that is all the baby will be. a child, with no claim to anything." he spoke of the woman, all had heard of the mighty animosity that festered between her and multiple members of her new married family. "i can assure you, any regent of the girl must be of our own. it makes the most sense for it to be you, with lucrezia and omer raising her until she can be in her own household." ten, would be fine.

"any regency would start now, though she will not even be in oldtown until she has seen ten years. it is bustling with trade for a port city, and should the sealord side with his niece, she cannot be accessed."

It was a ridiculous question with an even more ridiculous answer. “I did not know. I swear, your grace,” he replied, no sarcasm or irony at all in his voice despite the absolute madness it was that Garland had hidden something like that from everyone. The implications of being in the dark about his brother's dealings and schemes were astounding, and Gael inevitably wondered what else had the eldest son of House Hightower kept hidden. Or worst of all, when would all that muck begin to float to the surface?

Garland had kept his surviving daughter away from the girl's mother as the Antaryon lady crawled back to wherever she was from once the late ruling lord was done with her. It was his way, after all, to discard everyone who no longer served him. The girl would be in good hands under the care of Lucrezia and Omer, and so the Master of the Arts found himself nodding absentmindedly. He didn't even stop to wonder how his cousin might feel housing and caring for the child of someone who had offended her so the last time their paths crossed. Garland's sins were not Rosaria's, however, and perhaps none understood that more than Lu.

His mind was racing, and his aimless motions reflected that inner agitation. He was growing anxious about the flood that was surely to come, about every distasteful thing Garland kept that was his to uncover now. His to fix. The question Cedric posed next nearly froze him, however. He stood still, hand still trembling subtly. There was no hesitation in his response when he uttered a firm “No”.

Gael Hightower was the third son. Not once in his life had he coveted what Garland inherited. Not once did he dream or wish to claim a position of power or leadership within his family. He became a poet, he became a soldier, and he was damn good at both. “I never had a claim to Oldtown, and I do not have it now,” he added, for he would not seek to create one.

“Rosaria is Garland's heir. Oldtown is her birthright and she should rule when she's old enough to do so,” the lord replied, a serious expression across his features. There was a boyish nature to Gael's face despite his maturity, but at present not only did he not look young, but he nearly appeared to have aged, worn down by the weight of the news he received. “I trust no one more than Omer and Lucrezia to be her guardians and give her the education she will need to be a ruling lady one day,” he added. His cousin had been a ruling lady in her own right for years, Gael saw no one as a better example for the child.

Then, his expression hardened somewhat before he went on. “If I can ask one thing, your grace— if I can be steadfast about one thing: the girl's mother shall not claim her. Not now and not in the future. Garland's choices have done enough damage as it is. I will not have Oldtown ruled by a Braavosi R'hllorist through her infant daughter”.

Despite this fall of Oldtown and the faults of its leading figure, Gael knew without doubt that Cedric still saw the value of the city. It was a crucial hub in his realm. The lord trusted his king would never surrender it to a foreign figure if the Antaryon lady ever attempted to push some claim, some ownership, because of her daughter.

#c: gael #gael 002 #oooo drama #whew

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#c: domeric #domeric 001

[visxionaries]

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simply by the answer, or lack of a verbal answer, that was issued from the eldest lord of house rowan, cedric tyrell there would no way to try and mediate the matter. it came with a personal loss to his own interests, considering house rowan was one of the few houses of the reach still willing to engage with the high septon on behalf of the king - and whilst cedric could decree it, he understood all too well the backlash would not be worth bringing such unease to the council chamber.

they would need to find another willing to act as the branch between the glass crown, and the actual crown. the one that could shatter, and the solid.

"then you must do as you will, my lord." cedric responded, a brief thought flickering over his mind: it became apparent that tirius had stated house rowan would not be associating with the high septon any further. he briefly wondered whether that would also equate to his younger brother, who had made it clear as much as he wished to be involved in where he could help, there were also lines he would not cross. cedric would say nothing on the matter, but ask mathis at a later time whether he sought to follow in his brother's footsteps. "i ask you only consider a replacement."

he noted tirius did not confirm what it was he was seeking out from the high septon, and it intrigued him; usually the man was frank about matters, and yet, his privacy only indicated that there was some storm swirling. "i can send forward an envoy regarding your son." cedric spoke, his words casual; there was so much pride that hung over tirius rowan, more than other men he had come across in his life.

the last thing he needed was his hand thinking he were trying to involve himself in fixing his household. a child had run away from his father; where in westeros, the father had all legal rights over the child. "the ambassador will make it clear should lys wish to maintain neutral ties with the reach, the child need return." that could put tarik in danger, too.

Tirius did not change expression because he stood before the king. It took every once of control over his face to prevent his brow from furrowing in confusion and irritation. This was the place of the King. He needed to make sure all bases were covered. And Tirius never made an issue of anything he could handle himself. It was his way. And his king, a man he watched grow from mischievous boy to cunning king. knew that as well as he knew all bases had been covered before this conversation. That was a reminder for himself.

The Hand nodded, they were on the same page. This was more than the pride of Hosue Rowan and the safety of the Old Way. This, this was the part where position took over belief. What sort of High Septon when out of his way to do these things? Involve himself in these matters. Why push it so far and lose such support? Support that even his devoted mother questioned before the guilt silenced her. Tirius felt no such guilt. All he did, all he had, it was all provided by the Gods. As was the vengeance, the wrath that came from a man who wore the support of the Gods proudly. The Gods who guided his hands when he avenged his fallen brother.

Or were they mocking him? Testing him? Did he fail the test of the Gods because of the ego of men? Surely the Gods would not expect more from them, another test, another fucking journey. Tirius Rowan felt himself angry at the Gods and at the Septs that propped up those who were unworthy. The Most Devout were useless pawns of the Hightower and with no guidance they allowed some street urchin to rise above his place. And it wouldn't be so bad if they didn't all prove to be the same once they became someone.

Every nobody rose with a chip on their shoulder and much like Criston Cole the chip would always be knocked off and an arrow would rip through their throats.

#c: tirius

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and then came the thought to cedric tyrell, the thought which would have him wonder what it was exactly that was so detrimental the hand of the king needed to speak witn the high septon so urgently. there was little tirius rowan went to get permission for, years of ruling goldengrove causing him to experience responsibility at far earlier an age than cedric himself. but with responsibility came a choice of freedom he had fought for, in who he would claim was to be his future lady wife.

"and is there no way this matter could have been a misinterpretation of some sort, my lord?" cedric asked, knowing the answer to the question before he even asked it. for even if it was some misunderstanding, tirius rowan would not seek out any confirmation of it being so, or discuss it.

all in the reach and even beyond it knew of the shockwaves that spread across the feasting halls of old way communities to hear the future ruling lord of goldengrove had brought home a lyseni woman as his bride - not wife to be, but his bride. cedric himself remembered being a younger boy, sat at the table with mathis in goldengrove, noting the tension that was so clear in the air. at mention of the late lord hightower, cedric nodded slightly, a slight hint of amusement within ocean hues.

"then know we are on the same page. i have not taken my eyes from that goal." cedric reassured, in reminding of what it was they sought to work toward. to celebrate. he had always thought himself good at multitasking, until he needed to handle his passions with his reality. "and is this amicable resolution not one that can be aided through my hand?"

"Yes, it is quite a shame that things have dissolved so much. One hoped that the foolishness of the late Lord Hightower wouldn't extend through his city, alas, it has." It has infected every part of the port city of Oldtown. He wouldn't be surprised to learn the man over the Citadel was equally a fool who wished to overstate his importance. Tirius hated when people over started their importance.

"The matter, one that I often to handle well. Matters that I often wish to reach an amicable resolution on are of the utmost importance to me. For I share my King's desire to see a renaissance of the arts and a peace time that continues to flourish for years to come even as we work to strengthen our hold on the seas."

Tirius knew there were more important matters but this struck him. Were they being singled out like the people of the North? Would they have people show up to their door and demand blood? He did not know but what he did know was that he would not wait to see what would happen. It was important to confront things head on. And when it came time for him to meet with the leaders of his community he would have to let them know.

"You know what they did to Manal Manderly, if not I will tell you that they hanged her from a rope everyday, shaved her head, and she died due to their treatment. House Rowan will not stand in the way of any efforts made to correct course."

#c: tirius #tirius 003

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it had taken a matter of hours for the cursed name to be brought up to cedric tyrell's attention once again; truthfully there was not a day which passed in which the king of thorns and roses was not informed about some other movement that had taken place within the starry. it had begun to feel as though the king and his men had established a constant set of eyes upon the man and his followers, and this in itself was enough to cause cedric tyrell to become irritable.

"we've returned from such a day, lord rowan. you take up no time." cedric responded, his leather glove remaining on his steed for a moment before one of the stable boys reached forward to escort the king's horse away and into a place of warmth.

the last thing he wished to get himself wrapped up in was further conflict between the conduction of state affairs, and the faith; they had been separate, they would continue to be separate. he found himself bracing for whatever it was he was soon to hear, though if it were urgent, he was sure he would have been called into a sudden meeting. the religious talk was something he found he needed to pay extra attention to in order to gage and understand; but he knew there were septons of the old way, adhering to the practices of the community. those who prayed five times a day, and fasted during this time of year.

"and was it the fact he sent you a different septon that was the issue?" cedric asked. was it that big of a deal? as tirius went on, cedric stilled. because in those words, it had been made clear the insult had gone too far to be reworked. "so much for you are all one in the eyes of the seven." cedric uttered, his tone almost dry as he stood beside the hand of the king.

that did not take away from his understanding that the current high septon would need to be removed from his position in some way or another. it could not be down to poison, or murder; for whilst he angered the nobles with his inference, the smallfolk had grown to love his personable nature. a facade, no doubt; but of all the realms in the continent, the smallfolk of the reach were too bountiful to push away. following the war, cedric needed to make slow, tactical decisions - rather than behave rashly.

"a shame, considering you were able to speak to him of the crown's guidance. more of his pillars fall by the day."

One would never question whether or not Tirius Rowan was a man of pride. Perhaps his greatest sin was the pride he bore. And it took a lot for a man like Tirius to approach another for permission to do what needed to be done. And it was his Septon, the man who had been involved in his schooling and the schooling of his children, who said it was the only way. And then, then, it was the High Septon. The Most High of their faith on their realm decided that he would reject the letter.

His reasoning was enough to make Tirius want to mount his horse, ride into the Starry Sept with his men and then slap the High Septon in his face. But, he did not. He remained calm. He sat within his solar and he looked tot he Gods for their guidance, was this a punishment for his recent failures? Was he damned? Was his family damned?

And then. Fucking then, Tahir came to him and gave him a letter. Tarik left in the night like a thief to join his mother for his "true" birth right. And that proved to be too much for the hand of the King. Lesser men warred with the Gods and lost.

"Your Grace, I apologize for coming to interrupt your day of leisure, I will not take up too much of your time." He started with the same respect he always had, though it was in his the way his shoulders squared stiffly that there was an issue.

"House Rowan will no longer support the High Septon. The High Septon," And he would not start with his announcements of the man spitting in his face and on his honor, "has stated that our Septon is not good enough I must speak to one of his. I am man of the Old Way and he sent me a Septon not of the Old Way. As a matter of fact, your grace, he sent a man who said my accent was unintelligible and who thought it wise to tell me why it was silly to follow these Old Way practices."

#c: tirius #tirius 003

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who: @tiriusrowan when and where; highgarden, shortly following the return of the reach court from a hunting trip, the hand of the king hears news that only reflects the gloomy weather. me: i miss tirius being hella out of pocket so here we go

there was a light, healthy drizzle of rain that opened up from the skies above the fertile fields of the reach: any sound of it drowned out by the sounds of hooves making impact with wet puddles, the chorus of the reach's court trailing through the grand white gates of highgarden's outer wall. men and women alike of noble classes found themselves upon their steeds, having only recently returned from a hunting progression that had taken the majority of the day.

the sky began to be tainted hues of orange and pink as cedric tyrell slipped from his horse, boots landing upon the cobbles beneath him. and behind him, the sun too began to sink from it's place in the world.

a leather glove remained on the mane of the dark chestnut horse he rode, having only recently found himself enjoying the sport that was hunting. as though it took the thrill of the chase from something else, and allowed his mind some sense of clarity. there was no overcomplicating matters of nature - there was the hunted, and the hunters. he called to the brothers of house rowan, briefly hearing mathis yelling something to him, half chuckling.

he noted a servant approaching the hand of the king, the eldest of the rowans of goldengrove; and it was nothing he looked at.

until he felt the atmosphere slowly shift, and drain from around him; cedric tyrell had always remained an inherently observant individual, understanding of emotions whilst not taking them into any serious account. still, a striking ocean gaze flickered over to the man he had chosen as hand in times of hardship, and kept in times of relative peace. there was something akin to a storm across his face, and cedric found himself inwardly betting on what was the news.

had one of the rowan children fled to essos in pursuit of their mother?

cedric said nothing as the man spoke to his servant in the tongue of the old way, simply waiting for the man to steady himself enough to approach him, and address the matter. their gaze locked.

#c: tirius #tirius 003

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there was beats of silence, met only by the crackling of the hearth as the serving attendants brought forward fresh meats for the fox that seemed to curl at his feet, he reached his hand downward whilst remaining sat upright on his chair, bringing his hand to run comfortingly down the fur of his faithful companion; only because cedric knew better than to speak directly and openly before servants. how easy it was to forget they were living, breathing people in a world such as their own; people with their own agenda, and their own temptations, that could be swayed by coin.

"as there should be…but this one, dare i say it, is smarter than lord hightower himself." the door closed behind them, and the man met the gaze of his closest friend once again; always offering words of calm reason, and words of balance. "outdoing him at his own game, that being causing public scandal to get the people talking."

it was a mistake to believe mathis rowan was a pacifist, a man who believed that all peace could be achieved through word and quill alone; but balance was the key. "a part of me suspects the real problem is that the glass crown has fallen upon a head who is not willing to turn a blind eye to the corruption the hightowers have always allowed." corruption cedric too, would turn a blind eye to; the man was not the keeper of holy men, for he did not believe any man should live their life following holy scripture that had been written for some other purpose thousands of years ago. "and that is as much of a pain for me as it is for the hightowers."

"none of it is necessary. not once did i direct any within the reach to look for a braavosi alliance through marriage. now it is on him, and gael, to clean up whatever is left of the choice." cedric meant that entirely; he did not need to speak in threats, or appearing menacing or angry for his word to be believed. the hightowers were treading a dangerous path, and cedric was beginning to contemplate on whether they needed a major demotion. mighty houses became landed knights.

"surely the people had heard rumours of such things, and they knew the street of whores existed for years."

there was more pressing things to focus on, that did not include whose mother a septon was putting himself into; there was only so much cedric would enforce his authority on, because once he did, it needed to be followed. to do otherwise will end up being undermined either way, and the consequence of following up on that was not worth it; not an inch. "a part of me thinks there would be less backlash should he not bother with the false pretence and just admit she remains of her own faith. it is better than having to constantly dismantle argument after argument." he rested his free hand upon his jaw as he thought, looking over at mathis; chuckling slightly at the man's comment.

he would go wherever he was needed, always the balanced answer; and yet, cedric knew the man had limits. he had his morals, and the lines he would not want to cross. "we'll work it out. i'll consider matters, though you let me know should anything come across you first." he offered, not wanting to put emphasis on the idea of mathis returning to serving instantly. that was not the reason cedric was happy to sit opposite the man once again - in fact, it was the last reason altogether. "how are you finding everything else?" cedric asked, his leg resting comfortably upon the foot stool, leaving the glass of wine to the side. he had no urge to indulge in it. "there are some major changes, and some that remain the same." he commented, and the nonchalant tone made it clear what he was referring to.

"how did you leave it?" he asked.

mathis sat in his chair, a small grin forming on his lips as he watched the king himself order the finest meats for a fox. it were possibly odd to some, peculiar even, but it were a side to cedric that mathis thought to be most true to the character of the man. he were caring, giving, loyal, even for things that may be strange to care so much about. he watched as the little fox sat by the feet of the king, awaiting what he clearly knew was to come.

fingers lightly tapped the oak table as he listened to cedric speak of the high septon. he wondered if tirius would listen to such a conversation, what his brother himself thought of the high septon. would he listen to the king’s words on the matter? silently receive such utterances before taking his leave? or did he believe there was an issue in this matter as well? mathis made a mental note to see what tirius might discuss of it. to commit a great cleansing such as what cedric described seemed perhaps it could be deemed honorable of the holy, but to create such a show of it? though he did not care for the act in itself, it was that where he found himself to be more pressed about the circumstances.

the second son of goldengrove nodded, a hand moving to scratch at his beard, as he thought of his words carefully. “if they committed these acts, no doubt they will move again if they feel so compelled to.” mathis mused, “certainly garland could have his justice, his retribution, but there will be another after this man.”

he did not necessarily want to compare men of the faith to a snake, where one head could be cut off and another easily take it’s place, but it were clear that this were the example that came to mind of this situation. he wondered if oldtown was just the beginning of all of this, too, though he did not voice that thought.

“no doubt the people would come around to believe it were for his wife. i do not buy she is a changed woman, and neither would anyone else if he were to not show mercy, compassion.” he gave a shake of his head, taking another sip of the bittersweet whisky within his goblet.

the sound of the goblet’s weight hitting the table was louder than expected at the news of a reformation in the west, and mathis wondered how his sister would navigate such a thing. it were something she would manage, of course, but it were again, something he wondered what his brother’s thoughts were. “well, the lion king would surely be the one to do it.” he stated, a sense of humor in his voice at the thought. it were almost laughable to mathis, as there were clear reason for church and state to be separated. the will of the gods would always become the will of the king, should he speak for them.

and yet, here corruption lie right here in the very reach, where a man of the faith took matters into their own hands, their own will. would their gods truly command such a slaughter?

the dark hues of mathis rowan seemed somewhat surprised, though his friend were teasing, he could sense the truth in his words, and whilst the lord of goldengrove was getting back upon his own two feet, steadying them in the land of roses once again, he gave a nod in response. “i will be involved in wherever you believe i am needed.” he answered, and while mathis did not want to dabble in matters of questionable moral, there was almost a sense of, one with somewhat of a moral compass needed to be the guide of what was an act beyond reproach.

or perhaps he would find himself hosting tours of the gardens, instead.

#c: mathis #mathis 006 #let us die young or let us live forever ; a taste of power and never say never (cedric&mathis) #and what left is golden within second sons: if not for the rose and the groves (cedric&mathis)

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the informal greeting would have helped to relieve the growing sense of pressure and stress, should it be felt upon his shoulders at this very moment of time: the reality was, there was no sense of growing pressure or urgency upon the shoulders of the king of thorns and roses. it was the plainest example that his life had become what it was they focused on now, this ever-changing chess board. where cedric tyrell found himself feeling restless, and feeling stressed, came in regard to matters of his personal life: of relationships, of loyalties and sentiments and trying to settle into something of a routine.

"yeah, yeah." he responded, the nickname being one of warmth: the young king, he referred to him as. no doubt because there was always some sliver of the golden boy that festered within him - it was falsehood at it's finest, for it no longer existed. a facade, he used and brought out when it was most needed. "the young king is wondering how is it he's surrounded by fools." cedric responded, looking at the smoke inhaling from the man - cedric had once been a recreational smoker, mostly earlier in his youth.

interestingly, it was a habit he had not taken into manhood: mostly because he suspected it caused great harm to the body. he remembered witnessing a maester dissecting the body of a smoker, standing within the crowds and the stalls of enthusiastic learners; he remembered seeing the sight of the blackened lungs in the hands of the maester. when the lord of brightwater keep casually dropped garland hightower, before continuing, there was a weary, half amused smile that crossed his features; there was no inch of him that felt any sense of guilt for making some light out of the situation.

and that would have worried him once; but those who knew cedric well would notice that garland hightower had never been a true friend of his. he was an associate, a hightower he maintained in close proximity, because he was expected to. and then because it made sense to. "entirely serious." he responded, and there was a cold grin that spread across his golden features: one that was filled with mirth, at omer's reaction. seeing the realisation, the amusement, and the dawning of what it was he would need to deal with.

"apparently, she was within the upper apartments of the hightower. the attic, even."

the very idea of alicent hightower being within such a place was foolish; no doubt his mistress would be shocked to hear of her own blood still being alive, kept locked up like some bird who had lost her ability to fly. or perhaps she never could fly to begin with. there was a time cedric thought she was the most beautiful woman in the realm, and now, she was being hunted by guards of the house her family set the realm ablaze for. "you'll want to know the lady simonetta was murdered too. throat slashed." his next words were somewhat shorter, because he knew what it meant. he knew what omer would be thinking of.

if the gods were real, they had questions to answer. how was it the good always seemed to suffer? how was it others died for another's test?

"you've got the heir of the hightower." he repeated, hearing distantly of the great conflict that happened between the two houses. he had kept a close eye on it, for gods knew, two powerful members of a fractured family was a story they had just survived from. they did not need it another time. "and once the queen births another son, he'll marry her. the hightowers will not have the opportunity to continue being a thorn in my side."

"The young king." Omer jested as he greeted the other, watching him, he blew smoke out of his nose and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know, Garland Hightower. Perhaps he's kept an auntie or two locked away. Oh, or was it one of these many Valyrian but not Targaryen pale, purple eyed folk?" Omer thought either could be possible if he pulled the joke away. Though, he didn't know of any surviving Hightower aunts but the Hightower family was large. If one branch died there was always a cousin branch. Not as large as the Martells, if you asked the Maesters, but they were neck and neck.

"Would you believe I've had my fill of murders?" Omer flicked away what was left of the smoke as he walked toward his king, fingers moving over raven hair and away from his forehead. But, the longer he looked at Cedric, the easier it was becoming to tell that this was not a joke. That his kingly cousin was serious. That someone had indeed been murdered by a mad woman.

Omer prided himself on being able to figure things out. He liked working out riddles, finding the hidden answers, catching the obvious clues in the places you weren't supposed to look because it was always the place you didn't want to look. "You're fuckin' serious aren't you?"

"By the seven above you're serious." He shook his head and chuckled to himself a bit. "It was fucking Garland wasn't it? That Alicent Hightower. I heard, me pa even heard, that realm's delight what's her face put a bounty on her head after they Otto Hightower or cut his head off or whatever she did." Omer didn't fully know how each member of the old council died, he only knew Ser Criston Cole murdered Lord Beesbury.

Omer would have to tell his wife and she would be beside herself in her grief, he knew that to be true. Or would she? Yes. Regardless of their last fight she would feel a pain in her heart. "Fuck. Aye, we got his little baby. He gave her to Lucrezia after his wife fucked off back to Braavos."

#c: omer #omer 008 #he's from the brightest of waters and from time to time people remember tis in my eyes too (omer&ced)

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"i have." cedric tyrell had not noticed the increasing stress, or fixation, that had come over his cousin. it was natural for the high commander to find himself engrossed in matters that were far more akin to his abilities, rather than bound to serve through the wielding of a sword as a constant presence, a constant shield. such breadth allowed for him to experiment with matters which he found intense personal interest - matters which cedric, found no interest in.

"there is much of it that remains still in need of resettling." cedric spoke, his hands resting on either of his sides as they walked through the path of these gardens. "the farmland specifically around tumbleton." it was another place cedric sought to seek reform in: the agricultural sector. he had once reminded a fool their gold grew in the ground.

but the innovative side of it? the drawing board? it was not hardly to see glimmers of the golden son of highgarden in such moments: not by his own hand, but rather in the way he established a strong pattern of patronage. gold must be used for betterment on all fronts. a standing army would make their society one rooted in military action; provide a certain label for them. and truthfully, cedric found himself wondering whether that was the image that fit the reach.

he understood regardless of what policies and laws they passed, there was only so much they could do to make the pieces fall together in place. "140 acres in return for mandatory conscription."

military logistics were hardly the enjoyment of the man, and yet, they were a priority of it: considering the reach had made their stance toward the summer isles inherently known, cedric understood that in his forwardness, he had sown seeds of tension and anger between his realm and dorne. even more so than before. this was the time they would need to increase their military strategy, for reachmen were not skilled in matters of gureilla warfare as were the dornish, the valemen, or the crannogmen of the swamp.

who: @visxionaries summary: high commander omer florent takes a walk with king cedric tyrell to show him something he's been working on in his free time along with telling him some plans he's been coming up with to increase the presence of the reach's security and military.

"I've been working. Focusing. Improving. We will have a cut of the new uniforms soon, it would separate our knights from all others. And there has been a new initiatives started that will take place over time. We are planning taking in men to be conscripted as soldiers. The North have a standing army and I believe the Vale has one as well or it's only rumor. Alas, we want our name in these rumors. Our population grew during the dance, influx of folk who came in to hide form the fighting. Brightwater took in many. I've sent men out to take those numbers."

Omer was stressed. The pain in his arm came and went, his avoidance of milk of the poppy and whisky left him in a strange place. He smoked his hand rolls, some times he went to join Tirius when smoking his hookah. But most days, while he and his wife were working separately he focused in, zeroed in and as a result he came of with many things. So, while he walked with the King along a private path he shared much with him. He would show him the main point of this walk soon.

"If we conscript them we can start putting men on small parcels of land to farm and take care of as part of their service. Men are more willing to fight when they have something to fight for and we've so much land. That and the taxes would be … a windfall. I don't know much about coin but I've started this in Brightwater and perhaps you've taken note of the increased payments coming from my lands. It's not much yet but it's only going to grow."

#c: omer #omer 009 #ok but we need to continue the other thread too bc omer guessing/hoping garland was dead gets me

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»  — HEADCANON POST; amateur areas of interest.

he does some very light sketching that is not excessively impressive and very amateur compared to others in westeros, such as the paintings of his own sister, but it is a hobby he picked up in his own time as a means to destress. these sketches are in a leather bound, small journal he tends to keep in the third drawer at his allocated desk in his chambers.

he has limited knowledge of the artistic element of sword-smithery during his three months as an apprentice in lannisport after leaving highgarden following the death of his parents. he is in no way able to do such things himself and ended up being far more interested in the sketching, moulding and decorating of the blade than the choice of materials or actual forging.

has a limited knowledge of different artistic techniques, developed during his time as  an apprentice to a run down, eccentric artist in kings landing for three months. this was following his time in lannisport, choosing to venture to kings landing over returning to the reach. he is not necessarily good at painting himself, but rather interested in where painters gain inspiration for their works and the different artistic styles used for each impression. the main types of work he is most familiar with would be the varying types of frescoes, oil paintings, watercolours and egg tempera.

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»  — HEADCANON POST; developed knowledge.

philosophy. canon doesn’t actually have much in terms of philosophy sadly as humanism wasn’t really a thing and most doctrines were that of religion. however cedric has spent much time studying philosophy and various ideologies that have played a part in the history of westeros. think the likes of a westerosi machiavelli, shown very much in the choices of tywin lannister vs daenerys targaryen and her similar beliefs to rousseau in her whole ‘breaker of chains’ period. (ooc: game of thrones and philosophy: logic cuts deeper than swords by jacoby and irwin is a v interesting read; i’ve got it for free on audible!) his favourites would be the classic problem of evil, as well as aspects for and against the existence of the gods in more smaller, private settings. the likes of the the teleological argument, the aesthetic argument, the ontological argument.

a broad, general knowledge of the history of westeros and essos, but  a more developed knowledge about the history and mythology of the reach. some questions and mysteries he reads around include the likes of: was garth greenhand really the first man in westeros, among the giants and children of the forest? or was he the high king that led the first men across the arm of dorne? was lann the clever truly a grandchild of king garth, or simply deceived the ancient king for inheritance? was brandon of the bloody blade the ancestor or even father of bran the builder? from where did the origins of oldtown stem and why were the facts lost to time and mystery?

finally architecture! cedric is very interested in the topic and would like to someday commission a building, something of an architectural anomaly never seen before, that could be of use for the rest of history. he studies a lot about different architectural wonders throughout westeros and essos. (ooc: here is an interesting video about the wonders of westeros and essos!)

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who: @northernglorie when and where: the path directly before the open doors leading into the grand feasting hall; lord omer florent had just departed from his king's side, having received some news that would not bother him as much as it would upset his wife. cedric remained, if only to take a moment of respite - gods knew he felt as though his head were spinning.

the smell of the smoke within the air that had been smoked just moments prior by the high commander of the reach continued to fill the air around him, despite the fact cedric tyrell remained against the same set of winding stairs leading back up to the main entrance into the feasting hall alone - omer florent had begun to make his way back into the crowds, no doubt seeking out his wife to be the barer of bad news. he would have accompanied the man back into the hall at least, though the conversation which was hinted with a sense of disbelief had now return that familiar feeling of anger deep within him.

and cedric tyrell did not appreciate feeling anger, whether it was the light sort that remained on the tongue, or the ancient reawakening of some feeling of resentment that remained deep within his gut.

because once he walked back into the grand feasting hall, he would once again need to continue with the mask he had worn since t he moment he had heard the news; the mask that had only slipped in his tense conversation with lord gael hightower, where he had asked the young lord openly whether he intended to push forward his own claim to oldtown. when he was scanning for an understanding of whether gael hightower was telling the truth; and he could only truly confirm this was not some larger scheme when he noted the way in which the man's hands shook in shock and numbness. numbness that would transfer to pain, considering a mother too had found her end of days arriving far sooner than any could have expected.

he would need to maintain that composure, as the other reach councillors were informed one by one; and truly, cedric felt a sense of responsibility weighing on his shoulders. should he have been more present in the goings on of the hightower?

should he have somehow found a way to know? how could he have, unless he had some reason to enforce tyrell guards searching the hightower - and there had been no reason. and still, one of his council members who had risked and done so much would once again feel a sweeping loss. it were like standing in that council chamber again as tirius rowan announced the news. a sense of dread flowered in the pit of his stomach, knowing it were just recently mathis rowan had returned to court - how he would find it just the same. how he would find it ever worse. the man rested against the garden stairwell, made of white stone for a moment; a hand running over his dark curls as it always did when he was feeling stressed.

and then his back straightened, and his senses focused on the sounds of the fountains and the sound of approaching footsteps. when his ocean hues looked upward, he found himself looking upon a member of winter itself; he knew prominent members of other courts, and it was the princess glorie, the lady of the dreadfort that had come across him this moment. he exhaled slightly, knowing the last thing they needed were some rumours to begin to spread from this chance meeting.

"your highness." cedric greeted, bowing his head as his tone displayed the epitome of southern civility - a contrast to the atmosphere coming from the woman of the north. as far as he knew and understood, she was a woman wrapped up in duties of her own: including securing a payment that was lost to the iron bank at the hands of valemen. "i do not intend to remain from the festivities for much longer." she would have seen omer walking by her - and he wondered if she had heard anything. no. cedric had spoken quietly for a reason.

but princess glorie was concerned with a debt that was to repaid, for the sake of dealing with the manderlys as well as paying back the iron bank for their loans. another realm, that could find themselves in contentious waters with the iron bank - for the north too, had a debt to repay. a debt cedric would not mind aiding in should the situation come to the lowest of points, in exchange for lesser interest and a longer repayment plan - that was only if the vale was not able to cough up the money sooner. or, the reach could provide the gold to pay the tides over. and then he stepped up the steps, making it clear he was not to stay; but passing closer by her regardless.

if it were possible the sea lord would find issue with cedric's stance regarding the infant heir to oldtown, he knew what he would need to do to maintain an advantage on this side of the narrow sea. cedric had no master of coin - he, in this moment, was his master of coin. for his master of coin was dead, bottled by his mad aunt; the blood of his mother on his hands. "though, i admit to having intention to speak with you - whether it is done now, or on the morning, is your choice. sooner would work better than later, considering travel plans have shifted."

#c: glorie #glorie 001 #idk why this is so long truly #apologies do not worry about matching

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#c: domeric #domeric 001 #poker face domeric poker face

[visxionaries]

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"ensure it is known we leave as soon as we break fast in the morning." they would not leave at dawn, though there were some riders that went ahead; gael hightower specifically. cedric spoke to one of his stewards that accompanied him, unclasping his cloak from around his shoulders as they walked the dimly lit halls of the keep. "lord gael hightower has gone ahead of us." for he intended to get to oldtown at breakneck speed, considering time was slipping through his own fingers. the reach was a large place, meaning that regardless of how far she had gotten, it would not be long before she was brought back to oldtown. what would her penalty be? lord blackbar oversaw the implementation of the law; did context matter in this regard? should context matter?

the silhouette of the thorn king remained sat comfortably upon one of the steps within the sept, their journey still a number of days; it was a stop for no more than a single night whilst they replenished their supplies, fed the horses and maintained a night of sleep before they continued in what was the final push before they reached their own lands. technically they remained within the lands of the crownlands, soon crossing over briefly into lands that swore allegiance to the tully king; the sept within the noble's keep was a smaller one, one he would have walked directly by if the door were not open. his gaze flickered toward the sight of harlon within it, which in itself was enough to cause cedric's feet to slow - he remained a shadow in the hall for a moment, before deciding to make his way into the quiet place.

and then he sat, his arms resting comfortably upon his own legs as he looked toward harlon; the two were a close pair, garland often encouraging harlon's artistic endeavours despite the fact he were considered illegitimate in the eyes of the realm. most continued to consider him illegitimate in the eyes of the realm, and whilst cedric had begun to detach himself from the connection he had with the ruling lord some months earlier, harlon was another matter. he remained quiet for a moment, knowing that harlon would have heard someone else approach him within the sept: and yet cedric did not approach him.

he remained sat, looking upon his kneeling figure as it rose to his full height. cedric only offered him a slight smile, not mocking or taunting, but almost as though he himself did not have words for the matter. "little use in asking questions for those who wouldn't reply, even when they were alive." cedric responded; the words almost sounded amused. he did not know how to feel in the moment, though he knew he was not mournful. he was not even as angry as he had been in that moment, reading the news and his eyes meeting with gael hightower's instantly.

"finding her has to be our priority; the last thing we need is her getting into the hands of someone like the high septon. even if he remains in kings landing, his people remain in the starry. they'd need to offer her sanctuary, should she ask for it." how ridiculous religion was; would they need to find themselves coming to blows with the starry sept for the sake of getting alicent hightower? where else could she go? sneak onto some ship? gods no, considering sailors were known to be rough and uncouth. boats were no place for women, especially queens - grandmothers of kings. "it would be of great benefit should tarly men move into oldtown. there is no judging the hightower guards would not feel some pity for her."

location: a sept, on the journey back to the reach after the death of garland hightower open starter

harlon found himself entangled once again, near the everpresent dance with death. a partner that seemed to draw closer with each passing day. at times he wondered if he had grown numb to the the ceaseless presence of it looming around them all. he thought maybe with the war ending there would be no need to be on edge for the news of a friends death. of waiting each day to see which one of them didnt make it. the war was done they were supposed to be living in a time of peace. yet, here he was, standing beside the coffin that cradled the remains of his friend.

the journey back to the reach had been much like a funeral procession. it took time before they reached oldtown and all along harlon wondered if any of this was real. or maybe another trick by a man who apparently kept secrets even from his family. garland's casket was given sanctuary in the sept, sheltered for the night. harlon, seated in the hallowed silence of the sept, had lost track of time as his gaze remained fixed on the casket.

questions, bitter and unanswerable, echoed in his mind. why would he do this? why? it was stupid. it was fucking stupid keeping her locked away like that. as if she was not an explosion waiting to happen. and to keep it a secret?

grief and anger swirled within him, a tumultuous storm raging in his heart. over the preceding months, his resentment toward his friend had festered — the mistreatment of his brothers, the callous treatment of lucrezia, the inertia in critical moments. now, this clandestine decision had become the tipping point.

"why were you so fucking stupid?" the words slipped from his lips, unaware of someone else who had joined him

#c: harlon #harlon 007