Tibera

"Oh, yes. She's always had quite a love for it. Don't know where she gets it from, of course. I've never been good with the bow."

Alistair chuckled as he drained the last of his cups contents, a single smooth gulp.

"I've never had a hand for the craft either. Not a talent for a proper swordsman I'd wager. Fiddling with those tiny arrow shafts and fitting them on that damned string..."

Alistair paused, shaking his head as if in dismissal of the entire art of bowmanship as a passing servant arrived with fresh drinks. Once his cup was once again filled with wine he continued.

"Its too much. Give me a good, clean death any day. A longsword cuts through bone nicely. Or lance through the heart. Be over before you know it."

He said snapping his fingers as if to empathize his point. There was something about the older man that Alistair liked. Quiet and brooding sure but he had a soldiers quality to him. Not one of those preening peacocks from court or the flowery knights bogged down in vows they didn't even uphold. No, Ulfric was a soldier, a warrior. Even his lack of interest in the games endeared the man to Alistair who cared little for watching men fail at something he excelled at.

"I'm surprised to see you here rather than out on the field. Has the crown mellowed you?"

At that Jaimie chuckled sardonically. How the crown has changed him. Mellow may not have been the word Alistair had used but Ulfric was right enough except it wasn't the crown that changed him.

"Ah... If only it was. No Ulfric, it wasn't the crown that mellowed me... It was marriage."

He said with a knowing smile as he leaned on the arm rest of his chair so he may speak with Ulfric more candidly.

"The vows they make you take. I feel like I was being knighted all over again. See you and yours from Ostwall have the right of it. No need of hollow vows and promises of honor you're not going to keep some gods you don't even believe in for a swordsman to kill a man. No, we were trained to do a job and we just do it. Damn the rest. The politicians bicker and squabble and you and I will just keep on killing and eventually, they'll give us a crown."

Alistair offered the king of Ostwall his cup in toast to their united distaste of the hypocrisy of the players of this game of thrones.

"To our crowns, may their weight bend our necks. After all... It's only for life."




"Because I know you."

He replied matter of factly. Her beauty riled him up to a point where he was willing to risk getting caught. At times he didn't even care. If someone saw them he'd kill them. He'd kill a prying bread merchant, a courtier, The Hound, The damned King himself. She was his Queen and he wanted her.

"I know your right pinky always sticks up when you're drinking something. I know you're adorably ticklish, especially when I kiss your neck. I know you have a captivating habit of biting your lower lip, a habit I think I'm beginning to pick up myself."

He said, silent promises hanging heavy in his words.

"Tonight, while your husband drinks I would visit you and...

"Is that the fabled Knight of Flowers?"



Loras paused, nearly growling in frustration as the voice reached his ears. He took a slow, steadying breath and turned around to face, well look down upon The Imp Tyrion Lannister, brother of the king. The dwarf was always smarter than Loras was comfortable with. Not the sword wielding fool Alistair was. No, Tyrion was cunning therefore Tyrion was dangerous. He seemed to see everything and know things he shouldn't, having him here was troublesome to say the least. Loras had already devised several ways to ensure the imp has an accident before he had arrived in the city with his father.

"Lord Tyrion, it's an honor."

Tyrion cocked his head curiously as he looked up at Loras with a mischievous smile.

"Lord? Has my father died and no one told me?"

Ser Loras smirked at the Tyrion's sharpness. The term was meant as a slight disguised as a compliment. Everyone knew Tyrion would never inherit Casterly Rock since his father hated him so.

"A harmless courtesy merely out of respect, my lord."

"The respect is do to you good Ser, unseating the Prince of Ostwall with such ease. At least Prince Ronan fared better than that second fellow. The Mountain ran his lance through the boys neck, bloody business. One must be careful during exciting times like these. Never know when the next lance will come, eh?"

Loras listened to the dwarfs words and realized his hatred for Tyrion may very well rival the hatred he had for his brother. Loras clenched his jaw and allowed a mock smile to touch his lips as he nodded in agreement.

"Quite."

Tyrion smiled innocently walking around Loras to greet the queen with arms wide open to embrace her lovingly. Due to his small stature it looked as though she was hugging a small, gangley child.

"Darling step sister! You are as radiant as ever. The gods themselves are no doubt jealous of your beauty."

Stepping back to take in his step sister Tyrion looked up at her happily. It had always bother Loras how close Rosalie had been with him. They were good friends and Tyrion accepted her into the family instantly. He would certainly be an obstacle to overcome in the coming days.

"How I've missed you Rosie. You've spoiled me for the violin by the way, have I told you? The finest musicians in Casterly Rock are children with sticks in comparison to your skill. You must play for me while I'm here, I beg of you...

Tyrion pasued and turned around as if quite befuddled. He looked up at Loras looking rather surprised to see him.

"Are you still here? Oh, apologies. You can go."

Tyrion said casually. Loras wanted to take his head then and there. With a mock bow Loras took his leave fantasying about all the ways he could kill the little imp.

---

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Lucas never wanted to watch the tournament from the side, but he knew if he didn't and competed, well... Nicholas was likely to be a larger target. At least up in the box for nobility, by his friend's throne, he could watch his friend with little to no fear someone would hurt him without going through Lucas first. He stood on the king's right side, between him and the count Edwards.

Lucas had been to focused on searching the best ways to kill a fifteen year old king when he heard the conversation finally. "I pity the man who must face that mountain of a man, and I pity that horse that must sit beneath him." The advisor right next to him seemed to be as he always was, bringing others down when he can without seeming to.

Another man by the Seabel king spoke up, "Pity is good my dear lord but think of the possibilities such a contest can have. Should this boy, under matched as he is, win against The Mountain That Rides his tale would be sung from Ostwall to Falor and back. He'd have a literal banquet of women lining up for a taste of the cock of he slew The Mountain, a course in each village and dessert to boot."

It took great power not to roll Lucas's eyes. The fool hadn't been ready for such a competition. Lucas would have to compete next year. He couldn't have done jousting or the swordplay without fear of something happening, and he was perhaps the worst archer in the land even though he trained all year. Then the king of Seabel himself spoke up, "He is going to die today."

Lucas refrained from shaking his head. As true as it seemed, he hoped it wouldn't happen. Just as the thought went through his head, the boy went down and it was obvious should he not yet be dead, he would be momentarily. Lucas took a deep breath, the sight of blood making his stomach twist. Lucas' hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stood there, growing more and more less concerned.

His eyes moved throughout the tournament, finding some surprising things without really finding interest in them. He didn't want to say anything, but he certainly didn't want to stay entirely silent. It was obvious this tournament should have a competition to enter so young boys such as this weren't killed. Sure there were the rare occasions, but that didn't mean it was still okay. Lucas would have leaned back in his saddle, or pushed the lance away with his own when his life was at risk, for it was nothing but a tournament.

As the archers came out, he wasn't surprised to see a female among the men. As his gaze drifted away, it caught on girl reading. She was near the princess of Ostwall and he looked away quickly. He could not get distracted, yet there she was drawing his attention away again. He found himself leaning forward between the seats to look until he caught himself. What was he doing? He was old enough not to get distracted by someone, especially a girl. He also knew he didn't want the heartbreak again. Perhaps he could talk with... No. He would not. If he did, he'd be doomed to thinking of her all the time. And yet...

He hoped nobody had noticed him leaning forward though he was nearly positive it would not go unnoticed. He just hoped the count didn't see it. The prince would just tease him, but the count... That might be bad...

Lucas hadn't talked much through the tournament, but that was because he hadn't been talked to. He also kind of didn't want to, unless it was to that girl... Lucas took a deep breath and shook his head. He wondered if the nobility around knew him or of him, possibly since he was younger than Loras who was the captain of the guards for Seabel...

Nicholas sat, utterly bored out of his mind watching the tournament. Christoph sat to his right, Priscilla on his left and Lucas stood behind himself and Christoph. His interest in the jousting tournament was casual to say the least. Had Nicholas had his own way, he would not be wasting his time watching, but this was one of those occasions where he was required to act a certain way. The Lannisters might be the hosts, but the tradition had always lain with Falor and he was not about to let that be forgotten by being absent. His attention wandered, along with his gaze, through the crowds watching the jousting, through the nobility, the peasantry, down to the squires. He gave a half-smile, thinking that he surely had more in common with those squire boys than he did with the kings he sat among.

"I pity the man who must face that mountain of a man," he heard Christoph say, bringing his attention back to the jousting, "And I pity that horse that must sit beneath him."

Nicholas looked up to see the man known as The Mountain mount his horse. The poor boy facing him didn't stand a chance. This was one of the times that Nicholas was glad he was exempt from competing. As a king he wasn't allowed to compete. He couldn't help but agree with his brother-in-law. "He is going to die today."

Nicholas took a sip from his goblet and shifted in his seat, moving away from Priscilla and more towards Lucas, his attention on the jousting as morbid curiosity made him watch the unequal match. He stiffened slightly as a collective gasp echoed around the arena. The Mountain's lance slid up and under the young knight's armour, piercing his throat. Nicholas stared at the bloody scene, somehow unable to draw his eyes away. He looked to Christoph for some sign that this was quite a normal affair, turning to Lucas would have been to obvious an indication of his discomfort.

The tournament continued and before long the wooden divider was being torn up. The archers came out. He was surprised to see a woman among the competitors. She must be Princess Celia Ulfricdottir. He had heard talk of her, but this was his first opportunity to see her. From all accounts, she was intelligent and kind; a good woman who would make a good queen. His eyes drifted to Priscilla. True, she was pretty enough, but there was little more than air between her ears in his experience. Not for the first time, Nicholas found himself wishing Christoph had another daughter he could marry, one that knew her own mind, or was actually in possession of one. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucas shift slightly. Nicholas looked up, and saw Lucas's attention was not on the archery tournament, but elsewhere in the crowd. He followed Lucas's line of sight to a girl sat reading. He suppressed a mischievous smile and sat back in his seat, waiting patiently for the archery to begin.

After Anna had finished helping Celia getting ready and she was going out to do the archery competition she was told to hold her book. Annabelle was alright with that considering she'd likely just read it while she was waiting for Celia to be done outshining the guys in the competition. Anna was almost always around when Celia practiced and she knew just how much she had worked for this and knew how good Celia's shot was.

Annabelle went and took her seat in the front row, so she'd be easily at access for Celia if she needed something and she was close by. Anna knew there was likely nothing to worry about, so she started to open the book and began to read it. Although having read it when she was much younger it was still a rather good read for her. She heard the competition go on for a few moments, as she'd turn the page.

Soon she looked up as the competition was coming to an end, she wanted to see the victory, of Celia's, although as they were adjusting the amount of yards, she was scanning the crowds a bit, and that was when she saw, a male looking at her. How long had he been watching her? She was a little curious per say, and soon enough she looked to lock eyes with his, and she was looking back. He had to be of some form of nobility, not royalty it'd seem, but he sat close enough to be of some form of rank. Her blue eyes just stayed locked on his eyes.

"500 Yards!" someone called out and that broke her looking over at the guy staring at her, and she looked over to Celia, who began to make her shot. It just barely missed the bullseye and it was right on the line and soon, the official cleared that it counted and the whole crowds even Anna stood up and began to clap, some others cheered but to keep her lady-like mannerisms she refrained from it.

---

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---

---

"Because I know you." he said. Rosalie looked up from the rose that settled between them, the only thing that indicated that there was just enough space between them, and met his eyes. They were even softer than before and so full of promises. Unlike Alistair's eyes, Loras' eyes really looked at her. They watched her in a way that noted that she had his attention as if they told Rosalie that they were there that they were ready to comfort her. And that's exactly what they were doing at the moment, and Rosalie dared not look away. She allowed her own eyes to pour out whatever feelings they hid, knowing that his eyes will comfort her. Rosalie hadn't looked away to see if anyone was looking at them so close together. She was too lost in Loras' emerald eyes to even care.

She looked into one of his eyes to the next, "Prove it." she heard herself whisper.

She watched as Loras swallowed. The way his jaw tightened hesitantly made Rosalie want to press her lips onto his. But she didn't. She couldn't. She loved Alistair, though she knew she felt a sudden tightness in her chest whenever Loras was around. "I know your right pinky always sticks up when you're drinking something. I know you're adorably ticklish, especially when I kiss your neck. I know you have a captivating habit of biting your lower lip, a habit I think I'm beginning to pick up myself."

Rosalie didn't resond. She didn't have to because she knew he was right. She felt the need to drink with her pinky held upright, "It is ladylike to do so," her mother would often recite on the days they had tea together. Rosalie seemed to always giggle when Loras planted soft kisses on her neck, and she even bit her lip whenever she was lost in her thoughts.

Loras knew even the littlest of things she did which told her that he had been watching her. She wondered if Alistair knew just as much as he did.

The two let silence greet them as their thoughts roamed free. Finally, he spoke, "Tonight, while your husband drinks I would visit you and...

"Is that the fabled Knight of Flowers?" Rosalie jumped at a voice coming from behind Loras. When he turned to face the introder, it was known other than Tyrion Lannister himself.

"Lord Tyrion, it's an honor." As the two exchanged words, Rosalie couldn't help herself praying that the two wouldn't start a fit. She knew just how much they hated each other, and it made her sad considering she cared for them both equally. It was until Tyrion suddenly made his way over in front of Rosalie,"Darling step sister! You are as radiant as ever. The gods themselves are no doubt jealous of your beauty," He surprised her by wrapping his arms around her as she did the same, slightly kneeling as she did so, "how I've missed you Rosie. You've spoiled me for the violin by the way, have I told you? The finest musicians in Casterly Rock are children with sticks in comparison to your skill. You must play for me while I'm here, I beg of you..."

Rosalie laughed and kissed at Tyrion's cheek, a friendly gesture. "That'll do my dear Tyrion."

He whirled around to look at Loras who stood before them awkwardly. "Are you still here? Oh, apologies. You can go."Tyrion told him. Rosalie watched as Loras turned on one heel and walked away without another word.

She bit her lip. "Mind staying here to watch Cassie? This wouldn't take long."She said to Tyrion before She lifted up the hem of her gown and treaded alongside Loras. I haven't had the chance to thank you for your company."

The Imp, the damnable dwarf of Lannister. Why did it have to be him? One Lannister son was bad enough but two? Well one and a half to be true but all the same. The way the little bastard looked at him, with casual calm like he knew every little thing about him, like every secret Loras had was laid out to bear to the little freak as one would open a book. It infuriated him, most of all because of what this would mean for Rosalie and him. He'd have to be more careful, at least while the imp was around. Loras walked with purpose, each stride clearly ringing off the cobblestone, he was careful not to allow his fists to clench even though the reflex wanted otherwise. The tension in his was palpable until he heard her voice.

He turned as she ran up to his side and smiled at him tenderly. She thanked him for his company and Loras had a mind to wrap his hands around her hips and bring her to his lips. Yet no sooner had he looked at her had he caught the sight of that damned imp, watching him from the distance. Tyrion hadn't moved. He remained on the path just where the queen had left him, his clever gaze watching them both with interest. Loras wanted to carve those bloody eyes out of the imps misshapen head. Clenching his jaw he returned his gaze to the beautiful queen standing beside him. He had to remain measured and professional so as not to give any clue to his true intentions.

"Of course, Your Grace. As the senior member of your Queensguard I am ever at your disposal."

He bowed respectfully but couldn't help allowing his eyes to rise and touch here, a promising glint in the look.

"Should you need anything."

He said rising with a telling nod. Loras turned and left, leaving Rosalie in the garden with her daughter and the freak that was her brother in law. Loras considered the best way to kill him as he made his way back to his tourney tent to change out of his armor.




"Of course, of course."

Tyrion replied amiably before Rosalie rushed off to bid farewell to her Queensguard. Tyrion shot a glance at his niece who was happily playing in the roses. With her occupied Tyrion turned back to his sister in law and the knight of flowers. He watched as she approached him, she watched Loras's demeanor, and he watched the look Loras shot him when he caught him watching. A pit began to form in Tyrion's stomach that soon began to ache. Tyrion knew a little of the marital issues going on between his brother and sister in law. People talk and when people talk he hears things. The king and queen were at odds in best of times, barely speaking at worst. What he didn't know was why, or how bad it had gotten, or what brought this all on.

At their wedding Tyrion had never seen two people happier or more in love. The ceremony was splendid and extravagant but for all they cared Alistair and Rosalie could have been married as paupers. They barely noticed the fortune Tyrions father had spent on the affair. No, they only had eyes for each other. Their fingers seems constantly entangled with the one another. Their eyes always playing that dance of flirtation and promise. Their lips meeting more times than Tyrion could count. While Tyrion toasted, or his father, or their sister, or the royal family they spoke softly to one another and giggled at secret jests. It had warmed Tyrions heart but what he was seeing now chilled him like the winds of winter.

He assumed his brother was cheating on her. Alistair was smart but didn't always think. He didn't know with how many women or if it was just one mistress but it was one of the things he had intended to set right upon his visit here. Yet this, he prayed he was just being paranoid as he watched the two speak. Loras was careful and kept his distance, speaking professionally and maintaining a respectful posture. That was until the bow and the look he shot her. No sooner had Loras's eyes rose to meet hers did Tyrions heart sink.

"No Rosie... please no..."

He whispered to himself. Loras walked off, leaving Rosalie alone. Tyrion took a steadying breath, taking solace in the fact that despite his fears he still knew nothing for certain. He needed proof, and proof he would get in time, to one end or the other. He walked the few steps to his sister in law's side and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Edwards, The Counts son right? He seems nice."

Tyrion said casually, looking up at Rosalie. He loved his sister in law and he loved his brother. There was still a mystery to unravel here in the Western Palace and it's conclusion could mean the destruction or affirmation of Rosalie and Alistairs love. He vowed to ensure it was the latter.

"Would you sit with me? An Imps legs are not as strong as a Queens I fear. I could use the rest."

Tyrion asked, ushering a direction along the path toward a stone bench looking out at the field of flowers Cassie was playing in.

---

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Lucas had not even seen the princess shooting as his eyes had gone back to the girl. She as looking at him. She had interacted with the princes of Ostwall. Was she the lady in waiting or a noble friend? Either way it was likely to complicate anything they might want to have between each other. Why was he thinking of that already?

Lucas heard an announcement and looked down to see that the princes had jut received a perfect score. He didn't want to get in a shoot out with her now did he? Lucas smiled slightly. Wasn't the tournament over now? Tonight, he'd be stretched so thin, he'd want to just lock Nicholas away. How was he going to watch his ward when there was to be at least a hundred people in one place with all their faces covered? To be honest, the worst thing was that Lucas would be trying to protect the prince in a foreign country. He had never been out of the country and though it was nice, it was also one of the most terrifying thing in the world.

He noticed Nicholas's discomfort and knew it as over the prince. The prince was not one for death. Lucas wasn't surprised. He'd probably rather be in the Seabel castle's library. To be honest, at this point, Lucas would be there too if it wasn't for this tournament. He had hoped to sneak out to town and try to get some paints just for fun. Seabel had beautiful paint for their work. Very few people knew he liked painting.

Lucas watched the scene again and hated that he kept wanting to look over at the girl again. Maybe he'd see her at the masquerade ball tonight. He hoped he did anyway. What was he thinking? Shaking his head slightly, he took a deep breath as he shifted. He was so uncomfortable in his hot suit and really wanted to just go change into a shirt and slacks, but he knew he couldn't unless he was in his own room and he wouldn't have that for hours. Wonderful.

---

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---

Rosalie knew that Tyrion was watching her, watching them with those hawk-like eyes of his. She felt him scrutinizing at them as if one false move would soon give them away. Loras must've noticed as well because when he turned around his eyes were instead lingering behind her at him. She watched as his expression turned dark; jaw tightened and eyes filled with rage. She had to resist letting her fingers entwine with his, nonetheless he too remained under control as he stood in the appropriate position for a Guard before his Queen. "Of course, Your Grace. As the senior member of your Queensguard I am ever at your disposal." he said, bowing.

Rosalie couldn't help, but give him a half-smile when his eyes suddenly gazed up at her. There, hidden within them,was a glint full of affection and honesty., that same glint that brought a flush to her cheeks. "Should you need anything." And at that, her smile faded as she watched as he gave her a courteous nod before turning on one heel, and walking down the path back towards the joust. She stood there until he vanished aroud the corner, not wanting to take her eyes away from his absent presence nce.

A minute passed. Two. Suddenly there was someone who had cleared their throat, bringing Rosalie back to reality as they did so. She turned to find that Tyrion was at her side now. He seemed lost in his own thoughts as he stared after the path that Loras left moments ago. "Edwards, The Counts son right? He seems nice." he told her as he met her eyes.

Rosalie seemed to contemplate at her brother-in-law's words, not wanting to say anything that might give her away. She nodded respectfully, "Captain Loras is a very respectable man. He is Seabel's most honorable Guardsman."

She watched as he pursued his lip, but said nothing as he studied her. After a second passed, he finally spoke,"Would you sit with me? An Imps legs are not as strong as a Queens I fear. I could use the rest." And at that, Rosalie allowed him to guide her back towards the Western Palace Gardens, and to Cassie. She watched as her daughter rummaged through the flower beds and admired her for being like herself when she was a kid; always curious and full of energy. Just then, her daughter's slate-green eyes met with Rosalie's and she smiled, the crinkle by her eyes appearing. Rosalie returned the smile, and urged her to sit beside her on the bench. As Rosalie suspected, she skipped over with a bundle of flowers. She gave Rosalie the flowers, and Rosalie returned her with a peck on the tip of her nose before seperating Loras' rose with her daughter's white daises, and finally turned her attention acroos towards Tyrion, "So, my dear brother-in-law. What brings you here. Cassie and I were just about to get pops, then return home to get ready for the ball."

"You wound me, dearest sister in law. Must I need a reason to visit my beloved family?"

Tyrion asked with mock offense and a playful smile as he wrapped his arm around the shoulders of his niece and gave her a warm hug. He chuckled before looking into the face of the little girl who looked so different from the child he'd last seen.

"My how you've grown Cassie, you'll be taller than me in no time though admittedly it wouldn't be that much of an accomplishment given my vertical deficiency."

He joked before sitting back with a sigh as he rubbed his sore legs. He had only been half lying about needing the rest as his stunted legs did ache something fierce after the long journey from Casterly Rock. His eyes slowly rose to his sister in law whose face was a perfect mask of innocence. How he wished it was not a mask at all but Tyrion had learned a long time ago everyone had masks, fitting they would be having a masquerade ball tonight. Yet there was still a lingering fear and a doubt in his mind. That look Loras gave her, the urgency she felt at bidding him farewell once he left. While it was no bad thing to be kind and courteous to those who are sworn to protect you something about the long goodbye trouble Tyrion greatly.

Looking back at his niece he smiled softly and leaned in as if to tell her a secret.

"Have I ever told you about the day your parents were married?"

Cassandra seemed to perk up excitedly at the mention of her parents wedding, the sweet girl always loved her uncles tales especially ones about love and happiness. She had such a gentle heart yet at the mention of her wedding day he could feel Rosalie's eyes on him.

"It was in Casterly Rock, and all the lords and ladies, knights and heroes of the realm were in attendance. It was a grand affair Cassie, if you could've seen it but alas you were not yet born, but a dream of two loving future parents. Extravagant, was used to describe it I think, but then what good is the word extravagant if not to describe a wedding? My father, your grandfather paid for the entire affair. There were lions carved of solid gold, rare birds imported from all over to lend their songs to the occasion, and banners of crimson and gold. And the food, oh the food! There was lamprey pie and honey cakes, duck sausage and candied almonds, every kind of custard imaginable, venison, hare stew, pigeon pie and lemon cakes and more than my memory can give justice too, I'm afraid. Then there were juggles, and singers, a fire eater from Pentos, silk dancers from Volantis and there was even a dancing bear!"

He said emphasizing the dancing bear, knowing how his niece would love that part. Yet as he continued his eyes slowly began to drift from his niece to his sister in law, his eyes looking into hers keenly.

"Yet for all the wealth and beauty none of it compared to the love of your parents. Your mother and father loved each other so very much and on that day they out shined the sun. Rarely did their hands separate, their fingers seemed permanently entangled. Constantly they whispered to each other sweetly, telling private jokes only they knew the punch lines to. Truth be told even when the toasts were made I doubt they ever heard them for they only had eyes and ears for each other."

Tyrion put his hands softly on his nieces shoulders and ushered her to turn and look at her mother.

"You learn well from your mother now, darling niece. When you grow up and find a love of your own you settle for nothing but the true love your mother has found in your father. A love that is strong, passionate and resilient. A love that burns brightly and even during the coldest winters, when the night seems to last for generations one need only stoke that flame to feel its warmth once again."

Tyrion let his words linger for both his niece and sister in law to hear, all the while his intelligent gaze locked on Rosalie. After a moment he sighed and slid off the bench to hop down to the floor.

"Ah, but alas. I fear I've taken up far too much of both of your time and you lovely ladies have a ball to prepare for. I bid you both farewell, and I shall see you tonight."

Tyrion kissed the hands of both Cassandra and Rosalie before turning to leave, pausing when he'd only taken a step or so away.

"Oh and Cassie, before you go to the ball, come to my room. I have a gift for you."

With that Tyrion left his niece and his sister in law in the garden, hope hung heavy in his heart that she'd heard his words and that he was wrong to fear in the first place.




A cheer went up in the crowd as Ulfric's daughter hit the bullseye at five hundred yards, an admirable feet and not one Alistair could remember ever being accomplished before. He clapped along side her father who beamed with pride. Once the applause had subsided Alistair turned to Ulfric who seemed to somber somewhat, looking into his goblet and the wine red as blood.

"These lords around us, they do not understand what war is, what it does to a man. It is as if we are different animals entirely, and I often feel that ours is the dying species, Alistair."

Alistair couldn't help but allow a half chuckle to escape his lips. It was almost tragic how right Ulfric was. Kings ruled at the edge of a sword, and when swords mattered it was soldiers who were called upon yet to the nobles and bickering lords, soldiers were oafish brutes with clubs. Ironic that it was soldiers that ended up earning the glory the song writes love to doddle about. Alistair looked at Ulfric with renewed appreciation and respect for the man who he was quickly garnering a great liking for.

"Well said."

With the archery competition coming to a close the days festivities were over, making way for the nights entertainment and the masquerade ball. Alistair dreaded the damned ball, he was never one for fancy parties and would rather prefer drinking with a few close friends rather than a entire hall full of people he didn't even like. As the benches began to clear Alistair and Ulfric rose and Alistair shook the king of Ostwall's hand one last time before departing.

"Ulfric, you and your family will be my guests at my table tonight. Perhaps with you to swap war stories with I wont want to pitch myself off one of the towers by the end of the night. Don't leave me alone with these people, eh?"

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Annabelle had been helping Celia get ready for a duration of the night, but at one point she was allowed to go off and get ready herself. Anna couldn't wear anything too elegant as that was more so reserved for royals. Anna had got her favourite purple dress she saved more so for special events such as things like this. She kept her hair down and found a simple mask and she slipped on some of her shoes. Anna knew she wouldn't fit in with the royals but she never really wanted to in the first place.

For awhile she had been rushing around to help out multiple different people and she had been waiting for the evening to start. She had been thinking about whether that one guy was going to be there, she could still imagine what his eyes looked like, and so she'd just need to be on the look out for those same pair of eyes. it was her goal to find him and at least get his name by the end of the night, if he was there. She was mostly just curious as to why he was staring at her in the first place.

Upon everyone making their entrance and such forth, the first dance had started, and she managed to find someone to dance with, which had been a stable hand boy. Annabelle made light conversation with him, talking about horses, and books in general, which none he seemed to think about too fondly. It disappointed her a bit but she wouldn't let it show. After the first dance, she was wandering around looking for someone she knew. One thing for sure was she knew what Celia was wearing and could likely point her out rather easily.

After looking for a bit, she spotted Celia, and she began to walk over there. Eventually she reached Celia's side and she smiled. "There you are, miss, I hope I haven't worried you too much with my absence." Anna said formally in case of anyone around heard, she was fairly close with Celia although in public cases she liked to make sure she was presentable.

(OOC: Will post for Elanor later on I need to sleep now.)

"Ah, thank you and no, I have not but I will speak with Pricilla soon. I have missed my sister, and you father. Things at court here are so...different than how it was in Falor. So much excitement."

He paused turning to look his father in the eye, a knowing smile on his face devious as the devil himself.

"So many opportunities."

Loras Edwards was so much his fathers son. He was handsome, intelligent, and wickedly cunning. Loras had not told anyone about his plans, not even his father for he could not risk a letter falling into the wrong hands. Yet with his father here now, Loras truly felt unbeatable. He could already think circles around that fool King Alistair and even with that troublesome imp sniffing about what was there to fear when his count father here to help him. Loras could finally have everything he'd ever wanted, it was in his grasp he needed only reach out and take it. As for those thinking to stand in his way, the Edwards family united would strangle any opposition like growing vines up an old, gnarled tree.

Loras flicked a gaze at the crowd dancing and drinking and enjoying the ball. Confident no one was watching he turned to leave and nodded for his father to follow.

"Might we walk a moment, father? I could use your help with something."




"I hate these fucking parties."

Sandor's voice was as rough as mountain rock. Alistair chuckled at his fearsome kingsguard as he entered the hall, late as he'd intended. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to get all dressed up and put this damnable golden lion mask on. His father had brought it all the way from Casterly Rock, freshly forged from some of the finest goldsmiths in Lannis Port. He felt like a damned fool but as was the way so often these days, it was expected of him.

"You hate everything."

Brienne replied as she walked on the other side of the king, her armor was polished brilliantly which was is such stark contrast to the thick, ugly, black steel plate The Hound wore. It was odd to look upon Sandor Clegane, with that ferocious looking hound helm he wore it almost looked like he was here for the party if it wasn't for the massive great sword affixed to his back. Alistair was about to shoot his favorite surly guardsmen a quick remark when he caught the sight of something that stopped him cold.

Golden hair cascading down her back in unbound tresses. Her body, draped in the finest fabrics making her appear to float on the dance floor. Such grace she possessed Alistair struggled to fathom a human being with such effortless elegance. The mask she wore made him smile for he remembered giving it to her during their first year of marriage. His wife stirred his blood yet shame touched his heart and made him shiver. A saddened hope for what once was, he could not look away and instead just stood there in awe of her beauty and poise. Gods, he missed her. He missed what they had. It was if he had been living in a dream, and woke up to find his real life was closer to a nightmare. He hated it, and the life he had now and all he wanted was to fall asleep, and dream again.

"Wait here."

Alistair said suddenly, his voice hard with determination as he strode away from his guards towards the dance floor. Rosalie was kindly dancing with an old lord whose name Alistair didn't know. The kind old man seemed overjoyed the queen would be generous enough to grant him a dance. As the couple spun Rosalie twirled effortlessly and collided right into the chest of the man she'd sworn her heart to under sacred vow. Alistair caught her as if he'd done it a hundred times, one hand around her waist and the other finding her hand as if they were made to fit together.

Their eyes met, behind masks but it didn't matter. They knew each other, they would always know each other. Even in the coldest winters their fires would call to each other.

"You look beautiful tonight."

There was a hesitation between husband and wife, holding each other on the dance floor. Surprise mixed with joy, fear and apprehension. Alistair could feel the butterflies in his stomach as if he were little more than a green boy nervous around girls, ironic the woman making him feel this way was his own wife.

Nicholas adjusted his mask, grateful for the thin veil of anonymity it granted him. When it came to balls, Nicholas was willing to endure them. In most case he actually ended up having fun, in spite of what most people expected. Although he would probably have more fun if he wasn't engaged. He had already danced with Priscilla that evening. She wasn't by any means a terrible dancer, far from it, and she followed his lead well, it was just that there were far more interesting people for him to be spending his time with than his future wife. Lucas seemed determined to be his constant shadow at the ball, despite Nicholas's protests that he would be fine for one evening. It appeared that Lucas disagreed with him, as he often did when it came to personal security.

"You are allowed to have fun at these things you know," he said to Lucas, "Consider it a night off, you've earned it. Besides," Nicholas grinned impishly, " How are you to find the girl you were admiring earlier if all you do is act as my living shadow?" Nicholas looked around the ballroom, moving further into the crowd when he spied Christoph talking to his son. Where was Priscilla? He couldn't see her anywhere.

Nicholas looked up, slightly surprised when someone bumped into him, "I must implore for your forgiveness," the girl curtsied. When she straightened up, Nicholas vaguely recognised her as Celia. The girl Lucas had been admiring earlier, he assumed she was Celia's lady-in-waiting, was not far behind. "There you are, miss, I hope I haven't worried you too much with my absence," she said quietly.

Nicholas gathered his composure, "No, not at all. There is no need to implore me for anything, no harm was done and no offence was caused," Lucas was still acting as his shadow. Nicholas turned to Lucas, looking at him pointedly, "If you'll excuse me, m'ladies." He took his leave of the group before Lucas could protest, blending into the masked crowd so Lucas couldn't follow. Nicholas took a goblet from a passing servant, sipping from it as he observed the crowd. He spied his sister among the dancers with her husband. Rekindling their relationship as brother and sister was seeming ever more unlikely. It had never been a wonderful relationship, but following her marriage into the Lannister family, things had become decidedly sour. His eyes scanned the ballroom again, searching for Christoph and Priscilla. That was his original intention, instead his eyes fell on a boy whom he hadn't seen before. Nicholas might have known him, but with his face half covered it was difficult to tell. Although that meant that the boy wouldn't know who Nicholas was either. And in that single thought Nicholas knew why he liked masquerades. People did not treat him any differently because he was a king. In this place, he was just like everybody else.

The crackling of the heartfire filled the room with the soft sound of a fires whisper and a soothing orange glow. The room was empty, and black where the fire light didn't touch. A well furnished bed chamber, complete with lion banners hanging from the walls. Lannisters were never known to skimp on cost there fore everything from the finely carved ornate bed posts to the masterfully crafted wardrobe and the wonderfully polished mirror were all made of the finest quality and no doubt each cost fortunes in their own right. Closer toward the large fire place was a small desk atop it was strewn papers, scrolls and books. One book in particular was open and it's reader sat in deep concentration as his eyes soaked up the words on the page.

Tyrion Lannister had been in his room the past few hours. He had been putting his mind to the mystery he'd swore himself he'd solve. He'd written so many letters to every spy and informant in his employ that his hand had cramped. Setting the quill and ink down he'd switched to books to help him research every house in Seabel and all of it's members. He liked to know who he was dealing with in great detail when he dealt with them. Family trees were often handy little devices for discerning secrets if one knew where to look. Yet even this grew so tedious that before long his eyes grew heavy and he thought he'd fall asleep at the desk, so he switched to more enjoyable reading instead of the research work of every lord, minor lord, knight, squire and all of their wives.

Histories and Lore of the Known Kingdoms written by Grand Maester Chavalthan. Currently he was reading about the far away nation of cold and snow called The North. A kingdom so large it could fit Ostwall, Seabel and Falor inside it, not that any of the three truly cared. Cold and damp, that was how most saw The North. A land of wilderness and wolves, a land where the populace was spread so thin in the massive expanse of a country one could ride for weeks and not see a living soul. As of yet The North was not a member of the nations alliance that Ostwall, Seabel and Falor were a part of. Not that the allied nations hadn't tried in the past to bring The North into the fold. Emissaries had gone up there, marching through that land where it snowed in the summers and winters were so long you wouldn't see the sun for days. They'd met with the King of The North and they'd returned empty handed. The Northmen valued their independence, a common saying among Northmen was "Our way is the old way". From their gods to the way they lived their lives, the hardy and resilient Northerners were not easily moved from things they have done for centuries. The more Tyrion read the more he'd decided he would visit there someday.

The door opened to his room and in walked his niece with the biggest smile Tyrion had ever seen. He was powerless not to let her excitement infect him as a smile grew on his face in return. Cassandra was all dressed up for the masquerade ball, wearing a pale lavender gown with cream ruffles to accent it. Tyrion hopped off the chair, quite accustomed to the little jump he needed to get down from a chair that was quite average size for average sized people. He made the short walk to stand in front of his niece who was nearly the same size as he was and gave her a warm smile.

"I'm here! Just like you asked!"

"Yes you are and you look..."

Tyrion paused threw himself into a dramatic bow.

"My lady, you are truly a vision in that gown."

He looked up with a playful wink before embracing his niece with a chuckle. Taking a step back he waved for her to follow him as he led her to the seat he'd been in.

"Come on Cas, sit. Right here. I have something very special for you."

He said casually patting the seat. As Cassie took her seat Tyrion went off to grab her surprise. Imported all the way from the very country he'd just been reading about Tyrion went around the other side of his bed were a large basket was sitting and in it was a mass of soft blankets that radiated warmth. Tyrion carefully picked up the basket and brought it over to set it down in front of his niece. She nearly leapt out of the seat and tore at the blankets but a calming hand from her uncle stilled her for the moment.

"Woah, woah, easy now. Before you open it you must listen me."

Tyrion took one of her hands and held it in his as he looked his niece in the eye with a mild amount of sternness.

"You're getting older, which means more responsibility. I wouldn't have given this to you a year ago or if I thought you weren't ready but, you are a proper lady now and I think you can handle it. Now, this is not a toy or something you can get bored with and ignore, it will need your constant care, attention and supervision."

Smiling he reached down into the mass of blankets and withdrew a squirming bundle of fur and whimpers. The little pup had been sound asleep but as soon as Tyrion set it down on the floor it yawned and let loose the tiniest howl in protest of being woken up.



His niece looked ready to burst from excitement which warmed Tyrions heart immensely.

"This is no mere kennel hound. This is a dire wolf, all the way from The North. They are the companions of kings where they come from. They are incredibly intelligent and build strong bonds with the people who raise them. This little lady will grow twice the size of a normal wolf when full grown. She'll be a lot of work but I believe you'll prove equal to the task."

---

---

Lucas smiles slightly as he trails behind Nicholas. "I'm allowed to have fun, but you know as well as I do that I am horrible at socializing," Lucas says next to his friend. He really did enjoy parties except for how he had to be so uptight, he just didn't like being in an area he didn't really know. His mask wasn't uncomfortable. He liked it really, it gave him a sense of security, even if it would do nothing should a fight come. When Nicholas mentioned the girl, Lucas felt like a blow had hit him. His friend had noticed. "Your highness..." Lucas groaned slightly, "Let's keep this to ourselves..."

When someone bumped into Nicholas, Lucas saw who it was and wasn't concerned. It was princess Celia, not someone to be fearful of killing Nicholas, at least, yet anyway. When he heard another voice however, one that belonged to another girl, Lucas looked up and froze. It was the girl from the tournament, and she was there. Lucas didn't hear what was said and hardly heard Nicholas. When Nicholas disappeared into the crowd, Lucas nearly called after him before realizing it probably wouldn't be appropriate. Turning back to the ladies, he gives a smile that shows he isn't entirely easygoing. Lucas would kill the young king once he met back up with him later.

"Ah, hello," He says somewhat nervous. He could handle being around Celia, it was this other girl. Her mask didn't hide her features and he was glad. Her hair was down and her dress a beautiful purple. He wore what a lord probably would have worn though he was no such thing. He stood for a few moments, staring yet again before realizing it. He figured the girl was Celia's lady-in-waiting since she seemed to be a shadow as well. He wondered if he could steal a dance...

It would make Nicholas, and himself, rather happily. So why not? Because if someone recognized him that might be bad, but he was wearing a mask and figured it wouldn't hurt too much. Right? "Ah, I'm sorry for my staring. Um... Care to dance?" He asks, wanting to ease a bit of the awkwardness his staring had caused. He really did get tongue tied around girls didn't he? He was supposed to be arrogant. Not shy. "Hello to you too lady Celia," Lucas adds, far more smoothly, as an afterthought.

Lucas offers his hand to the girl with the beautiful dress and hair as he finally regains his composure, thankful he wasn't still a mess, or worse, a puddle on the floor from the melting he thought he must be doing. What if she said yes? What if she said no? He wasn't sure which would be better, just that he wanted an answer so he could stop agonizing over these seconds that stretch into years. He could dance, fairly well. He had picked it up over the years and though he was graceful, he could get very bored with slow music if his partner wasn't particularly, well, this exact girl in front of him and since he'd never danced with her before, well, he always got bored.

"Pardon my asking, but I didn't catch your name," He whispers softly, now closer to her than he thought possible. He wouldn't share his unless she asked which he really kind of hoped she wouldn't.

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"Love is essential, but
gregariousness is optional."
― Susan Cain

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The air was alive with chatter and laughter, and casual conversations and introductions were forgotten on the spot between enthusiastic maidens who never really knew each other's names. Laughter was easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups changed more swiftly, swelled with new arrivals, dissolving and forming in the same breath. The fruits they nibbled on were so ripe they exploded in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, most had never tasted such sweetness. Tables lining the stone walls were laden down, practically bursting with food and summerwines so expensive and so good that one could get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone was fat and drunk and rich, well everyone that was someone. People that lived worlds apart from Renly Arryn.

A nobody like Ren had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes, and he didn't miss a beat now. His King was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Renly had seldom seen before. Ulfirc said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Perhaps balls, galas, and masquerades were not enjoyable affairs to him; they certainly weren't for Renly. Ren hovered around the desert table awkwardly now, a wine goblet in hand, trying his best to look occupied, swaying in time to the music. He wasn't sure why he bothered, it wasn't as if anyone was going to approach him...unless they mistook him for someone important. With that thought, he lowered his mask, which was plain and black--lacking any ornament, so everyone could ascertain for themselves, that there were other people more worth their time. Not that he was antisocial...he was just not in his element, more rather ill at ease among swirls and eddies of people he didn't know.

The royals in attendance were great disappointments to him. The castle servants back in Ostwall spoke of this group often: the peerless nobility, the fiercest warriors of the realm, giants among princes. Ren saw only fat men, red-faced under their beards, sweating through their silks. They waltzed like they were half in their cups; old men pushing young girls backward in eternal graceless circles; holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and keeping in the corners. Their partners weren't much better. The women had their hair so tightly pinned, and dresses so far cinched, that he wondered at how they could move at all, let alone dance. He didn't find it attractive, but judging by the hungry look on the gentlemen's faces, everyone else must have.

Renly chuckled openly as one couple just barely avoided collision with another, drunken apologies murmured as they spun away to a less cluttered part of the dance floor. In truth, He had two left feet, so he couldn't judge. Ren had never been a dancer, his limbs were too long and spindly and tripped him up at every available opportunity.