Fuzzybootz
Simple Unicycle
Sep
Half Pint
Heat
Nightwing95
Izurich
kittyluna45
Fetzen
BloodroseCollab with @Vanq
Art by Byzwa Dher
It had been a long journey to Summerhall. Shiera had been at odds with Brynden - yet another proposal, another denial, another bout of sulking flashed with jealousy. She stoked the jealousy and had sought comfort in the arms of a pretty bard with soft brown eyes and silky bronze hair. For days he sang to her sweetly of her beauty and inspiration. And then he left; she was alone again. Brynden had welcomed her back, he always welcomed her back.
His love could be suffocating at times, even if she considered letting it consume her. Perhaps then she would know peace. She could marry him, bear his children, perhaps they would flee to Lys and start anew. Yet every time she considered it, something stopped her. There had to be more. There had to be. She could not be his everything for surely he was not hers.
He welcomed her back but not unconditionally. Shiera could not stomach it so soon and she lashed out. Perhaps it is Aegor I should have gone to. Finding comfort in the arms of another man wounded Brynden, but invoking his half-brother’s name would incite a flaming jealousy. This time, it seemed it had been too much even for her sweet Bloodraven. He turned her away. She was not welcome in his bed, nor his home. That had not happened before, and Shiera had no plans on where to actually go.
So she made good on her threat and traveled to Stone Hedge. As the Seven - or the old gods - seemed fit to punish her, Aegor had taken leave to travel to the Vale. Yet Barba Bracken had welcomed her regardless. The two women spent some weeks in confidence. Aegor’s mother was sure of his return and of his intention to travel to the Summerhall Tourney. Barba had encouraged Shiera to stay as long as she wanted - to stay until her son returned. Perhaps, though Aegor held not the ephemeral beauty as Bloodraven, perhaps Shiera could see his strengths at last.
Broken and rudderless, Shiera waited.
Aegor had little love for Stone Hedge, even if he had spent more of his life there than any other seat in the Seven Kingdoms. His childhood in the Riverlands had been next to exile, and the place itself was a reminder of that failure. A failure he had known all his life, yet made before he was even aware of his own name. Still, on this occasion, there was a certain elation to the homecoming. It was not the untamed land of the craggy rocks he had spent the previous moon within and the men, a score fewer than had set out, returned with purpose. Autumn was well and truly set in, the dreams of Summer long behind, and so the Crown wished to bring the realm together before Winter would make such things a scarcity. It was a perfect opportunity.
“The men will need a day or two to prepare, before we ride so quickly.” Raylon spoke as they rode abreast, the pair at the front of the small procession returning home to the lands of House Bracken. Both men had seen a great deal of fighting in their short stay in the Vale, and the ravages of travel left them in a somewhat worn state. They, along with the men, had paused to wash as best they could in one of the many fords of the Trident before the homestretch, but it was nothing that would quite scrub away until they were home.
“We can give them a week.” Aegor spoke in response, his eyes on the terrain rather than his uncle. He had always been watchful, but the Vale had him especially ready to read danger behind every rock and tree, even if he gave off no sense of unease. Bittersteel was the hunter, his enemies were simply unaware. “Let them value their success before we march them down to the Reach.” There was no warmth to the offer of kindness he gave, but simply an understanding, a martial brotherhood that Aegor managed well, for all his lack of care for the more fickle bonds of court.
“Can ‘we’ now? There I was, thinking these were my lands.” Raylon spoke in their usual sardonic jest, but the words came with a pat of Aegor’s shoulder, quickly withdrawn, but still a sign of familiarity Aegor did not share with many often closer in blood than his uncle. “But I agree, a week, then we ride, and see what the future has promised us.”
“Nothing is promised, it is what we take.” Any furtherance of the conversation was interrupted by the blast of horn which signaled them drawing closer to the Keep, louder than even a hunting horn, from one of the men further down the small train of mounted men-at-arms and their baggage carts. With a sense of sudden impatience, Aegor stirred his steed into a faster pace, drawing him ever closer to the walls of Stone Hedge, towering above its moat formed from the flowing water of the Red Fork. It was hardly a surge forwards, but it meant the Royal Bastard arrived several minutes before the remainder of the party, the great bridge of the gatehouse slamming down before him, to permit entry over and into the castle. As was proper, a gathering of servants awaited him already, a paige to accept his horse as he swung down from the saddle, a maid with a cup of wine which was claimed immediately and drunk, and a messenger.
“Your mother offers her wishes that the journey was not too trying, My Lord, and requests you meet her in the Solar when you are able.” The young man spoke even as Aegon handed the empty cup back to the maid wordlessly, his dark purple eyes studying the man with his usual intensity. He had a deal of height over the youth, which no doubt added to the scale of the man’s intimidation.
“I have just arrived from a month fighting in the Vale and half that again in the saddle, what is so pressing she calls me so quickly?” There was no outright venom to Aegor’s words, but nor was there any warmth. Every word was a test, an evaluation of the man with the grim promise of what could befall those who did not meet Bittersteel’s standards. It was a wonder the servant only had to pause once to gulp.
“I uh…My Lord, she was quite insistent that it was a matter of importance.”
With an impatient grunt, Aegor began removing the straps of his plated gauntlets even as the servant was speaking, thrusting the empty armour upon the man as soon as he had finished. “See that it is tended to.” Aegor simply strode passed the servants, awaiting the others of the party now arriving over the drawbridge. He continued to shrug off his armour as he moved, simply allowing the plain steel to fall to the ground, confident it would be reclaimed by someone with more time than him in short order.
The solar of Stone Hedge lacked much of the grandeur of several he had seen, notable those at court, but it was still a pleasant space for a house of good standing, situated close to both the kitchens and the library, yet allowing a private space for House Bracken and any guests they deemed to invite away from any feasting in the hall. Furnishings in the style of the Riverlands, interposed by spatterings of local tended plants, and lit well, as suited the name. Bittersteel strode in with enough prompt force that it scrambled several servants, moving out of the way of the swinging doorways, before they attempted to recover to announce him, dismissed already by a wave from the man. His first words were not for them, however. Aegor stood in the light cloth of his riding undershirt, the padded material clinging to his muscular but lean frame, the grit of the road intermingled with the cloth.
“What need is there for my attention to be demanded so soon after -” His words cut off, however, as his eyes settled on the woman in the room, not the one he was expecting, and one that he had not seen at Stone Hedge since their first meeting, when they were both children of an indolent king. “Shierra.” The name was practically a breath, the half-whisper at odds with his defiant nature, but it slipped from him all the same.
What a devious woman the Lady Bracken was. She had called Shiera to the solar over an hour ago and had not seen fit to join her. Still, the room held a small, yet interesting, collection of books. The Seastar had contented herself with browsing them haphazardly. Lost in thought over a passage, the voice startled her. Yet she knew it instantly. The rough rumble, she could see what he looked like before she even turned around, delicate hands softly replacing her book on the desk.
Two eyes, one sparkling green and one deep blue, took in his form. He had truly not been expecting her - sweaty and caked in dirt from the road. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips, blissful innocence across her face when she exclaimed, “Aegor!” She was dressed in her standard fare, a dress simple in cut but of exquisite fabric and white as a summer cloud. Paying no heed to that, she glided across the floor to him, arms outstretched to embrace. “I have not seen you in too long - off hunting mountain bandits I hear?” Her voice was a purr, soft and enticing without effort. “Have you missed me?”
It was a foolish question to an answer she knew. The superstition around Aegor was that the man had never smiled. He could be courteous when he wished to be, but never gave off any warmth. The rumors weren't true, but the exceptions were rare, and the truest smile he had ever given was a fleeting one returned to a young girl as she waved in greeting from the Royal carriage arriving into Stone Hedge. But even that had come to be tainted by the hateful taste of failure.
He stepped forwards as if to meet her embrace, but his arms never moved and when his head descended as if to kiss her cheek in familiar greeting, he stopped short, his lips close to her ear as he spoke in clipped tones to her. "Why are you here?" He'd allowed the weakness of his feeling for her to break through upon seeing her, the light dancing through her hair and the smile across the lips he had longed to claim, but in the next moment he saw her for the threat she was. Matters with Daemon were so close to fruition, had Bryden heard a little whisper from one of his birds and sent his honey pot rushing to confirm such fears? Or did they both simply wish to harm him in what way they could? All concerns, but far more powerful than those fears, was the sting of the last time they had been alone together, when she had made herself another prize he could not claim. For all that though, for all his tension and venom, still his heart thunder at her proximity, and he could not bring himself to pull away.
“Ah.” She sighed in acknowledgement, his possessive nature was different. How she had forgotten that his way was to be distantly icy against Brynden’s suffocating heat. Shiera took one step back, her face cocked as she mused on her response. Tears threatened to well up in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away; they would not help her with this one. “I have missed you.” Her fingers wound through a tendril of her hair, silver-gold swirling through her hand; a nervous habit. “But also…I was cruel to you.” She leaned her weight to one leg, the silk and lace of her skirts were fluid at her slightest movement, swirling before they rested again against the line from her hip to the floor. “I had to see you, I could not let us stay parted on such terms. I am sorry for what happened - for what I did.”
Her eyes sparked with a genuine earnestness, her forehead creased. She had wrapped her arms around her during her apology, natural acts, but also ones to accentuate the things that men - that Aegor - would appreciate or want to hear. Aegor had never been her choice, and yet, he had always been there. When separated, as they often were, he lingered like a dream that would not dissipate in the light of day. Perhaps, she had never truly given him a chance. Barba’s courser advice echoed still as well. His mother had not been wrong, but Shiera’s desires were not so base as a kept life. Did she not already have that? “This tourney - in Summerhall with our princely nephew,” her words were ever so slightly a bite at the mention of Makear, “we could travel together.” Left unsaid, but perhaps clear in her tone, was a plea to not turn her out.
Aegor was not so green that he did not know of the games she played, despite the true emotion that seemed to flow from her. Knowledge did not make him immune, however, the cold violet of his own eyes tracing the fluidity of her movement, the shine of her hair and the softness of her form that called to him. He did not settle into simply gazing upon her though, his hands connecting behind his back as he took steady steps, circling her almost, not allowing his or her position to stagnate. If she controlled all the angles, she might as well control him.
“Am I to be watched? To be shepherded around our cousins’ realm for fear of me? Does Maekar fear that I might get lost on the way? Does Bloodraven wish to keep his crow’s eyes on me? Are you my gilded cage, Seastar?” His voice remained a low whisper, but there was a more calculated menace to it, a return to his usual confidence now that her presence wasn’t so surprising. She still disarmed him, not that anyone who did not know him could tell, not that the smell of her didn’t make his blood rush, or the sight brought back memories of precious moments where the bitterness had faded. For all her stunning beauty, that was what she was to him. An escape from the mundanity of the reality he inhabited. “They should fear not, I know these lands better than they, I ride them while they play in court, I do not require a guide.”
Shiera’s face crinkled in annoyance, she had sparked something but not what she had intended. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. She had too easily forgotten the way that Aegor clung to slights. “He wouldn’t.” She quietly mustered in defense before realizing the error that was. She believed it - Brynden would surely never use her in that way, not without her agreement. But defending Bryden, instinctually, was not wise. Her eyes squeezed shut though she could imagine him seething around her. “And I am not here to spy nor cage you. I am also not here to beg, sweet Aegor.”
How they both managed to infuriate her so, yet leave her paralayzed at the thought of never seeing them again, was a constant source of anguish. She had spent weeks considering her course of action upon his return. Had considered leaving before he returned, but Barba had convinced her otherwise. “If this is how I am to be treated, I will take my leave.” Shiera made an attempt at returning the coldness in his tone, but it was not in her nature. She was hurt and it seeped into her voice. She made for the door, undecided on whether it was to seek the screaming silence of her chambers or to the uncertain refuge with Barba.
She had been right that tears alone would not move him, he had never found the sorrow of others to bring about anything but ambivalence. It was a weakness, and he despised it even in those scant few he cared for. It was instead how she tried to hid it, to mirror the steel of him that weakened his resolve. Perhaps a part of him still believed she was acting, but in truth, he simply wanted that to not be so. Then she turned from him, and his hand moved before he could even realise.
The coarse hold of his hand pulled around her wrist, calluses from three decades of swordplay and almost as many of campaigning met the pristine and unblemished texture of her, tightly enough that even without pulling she was dragged some of the way back to him. It was the first time they had touched since the sting of her refusal had lanced him. For a long moment he hadn’t words to say, he hadn’t intended to halt her. Let her run off, as she no doubt would in the end anyway.
“You’re the only one who would ever say that.” It was hardly poetry which finally slipped from his lips, an expression that was almost, but not quite, the ghost of a smile. Anyone else and he’d presumed it was said mockingly, but that had always been part of her magnetism to him. She saw some capacity for warmth the rest of the world was blind to. “I remember, when you first came here, you wouldn’t stop talking about the stories you’d read of Stone Hedge.” She’d been a child, and he almost a man grown by that point, but they’d been expected to spend some time together, no doubt while the whole procession pretended Aegon hadn’t used the suggestion of a visit to one of his sons to enjoy one of his previous conquests again. “You made it somewhere I wasn’t ashamed of, for once. But then you left, and it was all so grey again.” His words trailed off as his eyes held her’s again. “Perhaps I would like to see more of the world as you do.” He spoke, finally regaining a little more volume, in reference to her suggestion they travel together.
His strength had stopped her midstep, relief and fear flooded her in response. She turned as she was pulled off balance, to face him again. She waited, eyes darting along his face as if she could divine his mood before he could speak. Shiera remembered that year, the year her father had insisted she travel with them. She remembered begging not to go, she had wanted to be left alone to bother the maesters with her endless questions. Yet, her mood had shifted the closer they drew to the Bracken’s hold. She would see a place whose stories she had only read about it in books. It had been awakening in many ways. Aegor, her elder half-brother not yet a man and already he had seen so much of the world that she had been kept caged from.
“Seeing you like this now, I am reminded of that boy. The one who tolerated me endlessly.” Her lips lifted in a small, knowing smile. “The one who told me wild stories of adventure.” She had not resisted or pulled back against the hold he had on her, it would have been pointless, and the warmth of his hand on her had become comforting. With her free hand she again reached out to him, prepared for him to flinch, but brushed her fingers ever so lightly against his face. “The world is grey, my winged steed.” How often had Shiera been left despondent by everything around her? “I see it no differently except perhaps to hope for color. But it does not need to be lonely.”
“I’m sure there were one or two questions I could have done without.” The noise which escaped Aegor’s lips was perilously close to a laugh. Even then, she had been a delightful trial, but where others had encountered a girl who simply wouldn’t stop talking, Aegor had found someone who would speak to him about something other than the failed expectations of his youth. It was an easy trade. “Maybe so, Shiera, I agree now and the pain eases, but then the time comes at you return from where you’ve came and I stand in solitude once more.” It was the part of her statement he could answer, but not that he wished. In that moment he came so very close to uttering that he would remake their grey world, in the ways of their lineage, in Fire and Blood. But while he could trust her now, he could not trust her forever. He could bare his soul to her, but not his ambitions.
All the while, his fingers continued to ring her wrist, more gently brushing over her skin even as she stroked his face. There was an urge to not resist, to plunge into their shared intimacy, but they had done that before, and the spark had burned for all of a few moments before reality had thrust back upon their minds. He would prefer a slower dalliance in the realm of fantasy this time, even if it meant having to resist her. “We won’t ride for a week, perhaps you’ll have time to come up with a tale of this place I haven’t yet heard.”
Art by Byzwa Dher
Broken Dreams and Silent Screams
On the Road to Summerhall - Shiera Seastar & Bittersteel
It had been a long journey to Summerhall. Shiera had been at odds with Brynden - yet another proposal, another denial, another bout of sulking flashed with jealousy. She stoked the jealousy and had sought comfort in the arms of a pretty bard with soft brown eyes and silky bronze hair. For days he sang to her sweetly of her beauty and inspiration. And then he left; she was alone again. Brynden had welcomed her back, he always welcomed her back.
His love could be suffocating at times, even if she considered letting it consume her. Perhaps then she would know peace. She could marry him, bear his children, perhaps they would flee to Lys and start anew. Yet every time she considered it, something stopped her. There had to be more. There had to be. She could not be his everything for surely he was not hers.
He welcomed her back but not unconditionally. Shiera could not stomach it so soon and she lashed out. Perhaps it is Aegor I should have gone to. Finding comfort in the arms of another man wounded Brynden, but invoking his half-brother’s name would incite a flaming jealousy. This time, it seemed it had been too much even for her sweet Bloodraven. He turned her away. She was not welcome in his bed, nor his home. That had not happened before, and Shiera had no plans on where to actually go.
So she made good on her threat and traveled to Stone Hedge. As the Seven - or the old gods - seemed fit to punish her, Aegor had taken leave to travel to the Vale. Yet Barba Bracken had welcomed her regardless. The two women spent some weeks in confidence. Aegor’s mother was sure of his return and of his intention to travel to the Summerhall Tourney. Barba had encouraged Shiera to stay as long as she wanted - to stay until her son returned. Perhaps, though Aegor held not the ephemeral beauty as Bloodraven, perhaps Shiera could see his strengths at last.
Broken and rudderless, Shiera waited.
Aegor had little love for Stone Hedge, even if he had spent more of his life there than any other seat in the Seven Kingdoms. His childhood in the Riverlands had been next to exile, and the place itself was a reminder of that failure. A failure he had known all his life, yet made before he was even aware of his own name. Still, on this occasion, there was a certain elation to the homecoming. It was not the untamed land of the craggy rocks he had spent the previous moon within and the men, a score fewer than had set out, returned with purpose. Autumn was well and truly set in, the dreams of Summer long behind, and so the Crown wished to bring the realm together before Winter would make such things a scarcity. It was a perfect opportunity.
“The men will need a day or two to prepare, before we ride so quickly.” Raylon spoke as they rode abreast, the pair at the front of the small procession returning home to the lands of House Bracken. Both men had seen a great deal of fighting in their short stay in the Vale, and the ravages of travel left them in a somewhat worn state. They, along with the men, had paused to wash as best they could in one of the many fords of the Trident before the homestretch, but it was nothing that would quite scrub away until they were home.
“We can give them a week.” Aegor spoke in response, his eyes on the terrain rather than his uncle. He had always been watchful, but the Vale had him especially ready to read danger behind every rock and tree, even if he gave off no sense of unease. Bittersteel was the hunter, his enemies were simply unaware. “Let them value their success before we march them down to the Reach.” There was no warmth to the offer of kindness he gave, but simply an understanding, a martial brotherhood that Aegor managed well, for all his lack of care for the more fickle bonds of court.
“Can ‘we’ now? There I was, thinking these were my lands.” Raylon spoke in their usual sardonic jest, but the words came with a pat of Aegor’s shoulder, quickly withdrawn, but still a sign of familiarity Aegor did not share with many often closer in blood than his uncle. “But I agree, a week, then we ride, and see what the future has promised us.”
“Nothing is promised, it is what we take.” Any furtherance of the conversation was interrupted by the blast of horn which signaled them drawing closer to the Keep, louder than even a hunting horn, from one of the men further down the small train of mounted men-at-arms and their baggage carts. With a sense of sudden impatience, Aegor stirred his steed into a faster pace, drawing him ever closer to the walls of Stone Hedge, towering above its moat formed from the flowing water of the Red Fork. It was hardly a surge forwards, but it meant the Royal Bastard arrived several minutes before the remainder of the party, the great bridge of the gatehouse slamming down before him, to permit entry over and into the castle. As was proper, a gathering of servants awaited him already, a paige to accept his horse as he swung down from the saddle, a maid with a cup of wine which was claimed immediately and drunk, and a messenger.
“Your mother offers her wishes that the journey was not too trying, My Lord, and requests you meet her in the Solar when you are able.” The young man spoke even as Aegon handed the empty cup back to the maid wordlessly, his dark purple eyes studying the man with his usual intensity. He had a deal of height over the youth, which no doubt added to the scale of the man’s intimidation.
“I have just arrived from a month fighting in the Vale and half that again in the saddle, what is so pressing she calls me so quickly?” There was no outright venom to Aegor’s words, but nor was there any warmth. Every word was a test, an evaluation of the man with the grim promise of what could befall those who did not meet Bittersteel’s standards. It was a wonder the servant only had to pause once to gulp.
“I uh…My Lord, she was quite insistent that it was a matter of importance.”
With an impatient grunt, Aegor began removing the straps of his plated gauntlets even as the servant was speaking, thrusting the empty armour upon the man as soon as he had finished. “See that it is tended to.” Aegor simply strode passed the servants, awaiting the others of the party now arriving over the drawbridge. He continued to shrug off his armour as he moved, simply allowing the plain steel to fall to the ground, confident it would be reclaimed by someone with more time than him in short order.
The solar of Stone Hedge lacked much of the grandeur of several he had seen, notable those at court, but it was still a pleasant space for a house of good standing, situated close to both the kitchens and the library, yet allowing a private space for House Bracken and any guests they deemed to invite away from any feasting in the hall. Furnishings in the style of the Riverlands, interposed by spatterings of local tended plants, and lit well, as suited the name. Bittersteel strode in with enough prompt force that it scrambled several servants, moving out of the way of the swinging doorways, before they attempted to recover to announce him, dismissed already by a wave from the man. His first words were not for them, however. Aegor stood in the light cloth of his riding undershirt, the padded material clinging to his muscular but lean frame, the grit of the road intermingled with the cloth.
“What need is there for my attention to be demanded so soon after -” His words cut off, however, as his eyes settled on the woman in the room, not the one he was expecting, and one that he had not seen at Stone Hedge since their first meeting, when they were both children of an indolent king. “Shierra.” The name was practically a breath, the half-whisper at odds with his defiant nature, but it slipped from him all the same.
What a devious woman the Lady Bracken was. She had called Shiera to the solar over an hour ago and had not seen fit to join her. Still, the room held a small, yet interesting, collection of books. The Seastar had contented herself with browsing them haphazardly. Lost in thought over a passage, the voice startled her. Yet she knew it instantly. The rough rumble, she could see what he looked like before she even turned around, delicate hands softly replacing her book on the desk.
Two eyes, one sparkling green and one deep blue, took in his form. He had truly not been expecting her - sweaty and caked in dirt from the road. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips, blissful innocence across her face when she exclaimed, “Aegor!” She was dressed in her standard fare, a dress simple in cut but of exquisite fabric and white as a summer cloud. Paying no heed to that, she glided across the floor to him, arms outstretched to embrace. “I have not seen you in too long - off hunting mountain bandits I hear?” Her voice was a purr, soft and enticing without effort. “Have you missed me?”
It was a foolish question to an answer she knew. The superstition around Aegor was that the man had never smiled. He could be courteous when he wished to be, but never gave off any warmth. The rumors weren't true, but the exceptions were rare, and the truest smile he had ever given was a fleeting one returned to a young girl as she waved in greeting from the Royal carriage arriving into Stone Hedge. But even that had come to be tainted by the hateful taste of failure.
He stepped forwards as if to meet her embrace, but his arms never moved and when his head descended as if to kiss her cheek in familiar greeting, he stopped short, his lips close to her ear as he spoke in clipped tones to her. "Why are you here?" He'd allowed the weakness of his feeling for her to break through upon seeing her, the light dancing through her hair and the smile across the lips he had longed to claim, but in the next moment he saw her for the threat she was. Matters with Daemon were so close to fruition, had Bryden heard a little whisper from one of his birds and sent his honey pot rushing to confirm such fears? Or did they both simply wish to harm him in what way they could? All concerns, but far more powerful than those fears, was the sting of the last time they had been alone together, when she had made herself another prize he could not claim. For all that though, for all his tension and venom, still his heart thunder at her proximity, and he could not bring himself to pull away.
“Ah.” She sighed in acknowledgement, his possessive nature was different. How she had forgotten that his way was to be distantly icy against Brynden’s suffocating heat. Shiera took one step back, her face cocked as she mused on her response. Tears threatened to well up in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away; they would not help her with this one. “I have missed you.” Her fingers wound through a tendril of her hair, silver-gold swirling through her hand; a nervous habit. “But also…I was cruel to you.” She leaned her weight to one leg, the silk and lace of her skirts were fluid at her slightest movement, swirling before they rested again against the line from her hip to the floor. “I had to see you, I could not let us stay parted on such terms. I am sorry for what happened - for what I did.”
Her eyes sparked with a genuine earnestness, her forehead creased. She had wrapped her arms around her during her apology, natural acts, but also ones to accentuate the things that men - that Aegor - would appreciate or want to hear. Aegor had never been her choice, and yet, he had always been there. When separated, as they often were, he lingered like a dream that would not dissipate in the light of day. Perhaps, she had never truly given him a chance. Barba’s courser advice echoed still as well. His mother had not been wrong, but Shiera’s desires were not so base as a kept life. Did she not already have that? “This tourney - in Summerhall with our princely nephew,” her words were ever so slightly a bite at the mention of Makear, “we could travel together.” Left unsaid, but perhaps clear in her tone, was a plea to not turn her out.
Aegor was not so green that he did not know of the games she played, despite the true emotion that seemed to flow from her. Knowledge did not make him immune, however, the cold violet of his own eyes tracing the fluidity of her movement, the shine of her hair and the softness of her form that called to him. He did not settle into simply gazing upon her though, his hands connecting behind his back as he took steady steps, circling her almost, not allowing his or her position to stagnate. If she controlled all the angles, she might as well control him.
“Am I to be watched? To be shepherded around our cousins’ realm for fear of me? Does Maekar fear that I might get lost on the way? Does Bloodraven wish to keep his crow’s eyes on me? Are you my gilded cage, Seastar?” His voice remained a low whisper, but there was a more calculated menace to it, a return to his usual confidence now that her presence wasn’t so surprising. She still disarmed him, not that anyone who did not know him could tell, not that the smell of her didn’t make his blood rush, or the sight brought back memories of precious moments where the bitterness had faded. For all her stunning beauty, that was what she was to him. An escape from the mundanity of the reality he inhabited. “They should fear not, I know these lands better than they, I ride them while they play in court, I do not require a guide.”
Shiera’s face crinkled in annoyance, she had sparked something but not what she had intended. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. She had too easily forgotten the way that Aegor clung to slights. “He wouldn’t.” She quietly mustered in defense before realizing the error that was. She believed it - Brynden would surely never use her in that way, not without her agreement. But defending Bryden, instinctually, was not wise. Her eyes squeezed shut though she could imagine him seething around her. “And I am not here to spy nor cage you. I am also not here to beg, sweet Aegor.”
How they both managed to infuriate her so, yet leave her paralayzed at the thought of never seeing them again, was a constant source of anguish. She had spent weeks considering her course of action upon his return. Had considered leaving before he returned, but Barba had convinced her otherwise. “If this is how I am to be treated, I will take my leave.” Shiera made an attempt at returning the coldness in his tone, but it was not in her nature. She was hurt and it seeped into her voice. She made for the door, undecided on whether it was to seek the screaming silence of her chambers or to the uncertain refuge with Barba.
She had been right that tears alone would not move him, he had never found the sorrow of others to bring about anything but ambivalence. It was a weakness, and he despised it even in those scant few he cared for. It was instead how she tried to hid it, to mirror the steel of him that weakened his resolve. Perhaps a part of him still believed she was acting, but in truth, he simply wanted that to not be so. Then she turned from him, and his hand moved before he could even realise.
The coarse hold of his hand pulled around her wrist, calluses from three decades of swordplay and almost as many of campaigning met the pristine and unblemished texture of her, tightly enough that even without pulling she was dragged some of the way back to him. It was the first time they had touched since the sting of her refusal had lanced him. For a long moment he hadn’t words to say, he hadn’t intended to halt her. Let her run off, as she no doubt would in the end anyway.
“You’re the only one who would ever say that.” It was hardly poetry which finally slipped from his lips, an expression that was almost, but not quite, the ghost of a smile. Anyone else and he’d presumed it was said mockingly, but that had always been part of her magnetism to him. She saw some capacity for warmth the rest of the world was blind to. “I remember, when you first came here, you wouldn’t stop talking about the stories you’d read of Stone Hedge.” She’d been a child, and he almost a man grown by that point, but they’d been expected to spend some time together, no doubt while the whole procession pretended Aegon hadn’t used the suggestion of a visit to one of his sons to enjoy one of his previous conquests again. “You made it somewhere I wasn’t ashamed of, for once. But then you left, and it was all so grey again.” His words trailed off as his eyes held her’s again. “Perhaps I would like to see more of the world as you do.” He spoke, finally regaining a little more volume, in reference to her suggestion they travel together.
His strength had stopped her midstep, relief and fear flooded her in response. She turned as she was pulled off balance, to face him again. She waited, eyes darting along his face as if she could divine his mood before he could speak. Shiera remembered that year, the year her father had insisted she travel with them. She remembered begging not to go, she had wanted to be left alone to bother the maesters with her endless questions. Yet, her mood had shifted the closer they drew to the Bracken’s hold. She would see a place whose stories she had only read about it in books. It had been awakening in many ways. Aegor, her elder half-brother not yet a man and already he had seen so much of the world that she had been kept caged from.
“Seeing you like this now, I am reminded of that boy. The one who tolerated me endlessly.” Her lips lifted in a small, knowing smile. “The one who told me wild stories of adventure.” She had not resisted or pulled back against the hold he had on her, it would have been pointless, and the warmth of his hand on her had become comforting. With her free hand she again reached out to him, prepared for him to flinch, but brushed her fingers ever so lightly against his face. “The world is grey, my winged steed.” How often had Shiera been left despondent by everything around her? “I see it no differently except perhaps to hope for color. But it does not need to be lonely.”
“I’m sure there were one or two questions I could have done without.” The noise which escaped Aegor’s lips was perilously close to a laugh. Even then, she had been a delightful trial, but where others had encountered a girl who simply wouldn’t stop talking, Aegor had found someone who would speak to him about something other than the failed expectations of his youth. It was an easy trade. “Maybe so, Shiera, I agree now and the pain eases, but then the time comes at you return from where you’ve came and I stand in solitude once more.” It was the part of her statement he could answer, but not that he wished. In that moment he came so very close to uttering that he would remake their grey world, in the ways of their lineage, in Fire and Blood. But while he could trust her now, he could not trust her forever. He could bare his soul to her, but not his ambitions.
All the while, his fingers continued to ring her wrist, more gently brushing over her skin even as she stroked his face. There was an urge to not resist, to plunge into their shared intimacy, but they had done that before, and the spark had burned for all of a few moments before reality had thrust back upon their minds. He would prefer a slower dalliance in the realm of fantasy this time, even if it meant having to resist her. “We won’t ride for a week, perhaps you’ll have time to come up with a tale of this place I haven’t yet heard.”
