⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⤿ 𝐼 spend my days 𝐭͟𝐡͟𝐢͟𝐧͟𝐤͟𝐢͟𝐧͟𝐠 of https://t.co/c7FGwl1rJj. ⠀ ⠀

can be seen sitting in the meadow.

ᅠ ⠀ 𓂃⠀⠀the⠀⠀ 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍⠀⠀ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄⠀⠀ will ⠀⠀𝘨𝘰⠀⠀ 𝘵𝘰⠀⠀ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 ⠀⠀𝘮𝘢𝘯⠀⠀ who⠀⠀ has⠀⠀ the⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐓ᵣₑₙGₜ𝐇 ⠀⠀to⠀⠀ seize ⠀⠀it⠀⠀⋆ᅠ ⠀

https://t.co/uYDCzKK0RN

https://t.co/075OJkEryU valarr comforting kiera after yet another still-birth. please & thank you.

— closer, binding the celebration together by sheer force of spirit. she could not quite name what she felt—only that her gaze lingered too long, that her breath caught without reason.

— refused to let go. there was something ensnaring about him, something intoxicating in the way he carried himself amid the revelry, as though joy were not merely present but 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 to him. his laughter rang out, rich and unguarded, and it seemed to draw the room —

— living so near one another could be shaped into creatures so vastly different. how borders could carve souls as sharply as blades. and then there was 𝒽𝒾𝓂. lord lyonel baratheon—the host of it all. the laughing storm. her eyes found him without conscious thought and —

— laughed with their whole chests, danced as though the ground itself had asked them to, lived as though tomorrow were a rumor rather than a certainty. to witness such freedom—such unabashed expression—was startling. fascinating. how curious it was, she thought, that people —

— uncommon in the free cities—far from it. there was music, and color, and laughter enough to fill the streets. but this… this was different. here, joy did not merely exist; it 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐝. it moved through bodies and voices alike, unrestrained and unapologetic. people —

the young tyroshi girl watched in silent awe, her gaze unwavering, as though whatever magic unfolded before her might vanish the moment she looked away. she did not so much 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 the spectacle as surrender to it, senses caught and held fast. celebrations were not —

— only then did she look up, eyes sharp and unyielding, her composure immaculate.

— but as an observation—precise, surgical. “ and yet you are no drunk. ” at last, she turned a page she had no intention of reading. “ I wonder, ” she continued softly, still refusing him the satisfaction of her gaze, “ what prevents you from giving this family an heir? ” —

— his flaws, possessed gentleness and kindness in equal measure. of aerion, neither could be said. she did not lift her eyes when she spoke. “ I do not see your wife carrying a child, ” the brunette replied calmly, her tone cool, deliberate. the words landed not as an insult, —

— set. muscles along her neck and shoulders drew taut. she loathed it when her husband was attacked—𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 when the barbs came from his own blood. there was something uniquely cruel about a brother’s contempt, sharpened by familiarity. at least daeron, for all —

kiera’s gaze remained fixed upon the manuscript in her hand, eyes skimming the lines of ink with practiced ease, though not a single word truly registered. the page might as well have been blank. her attention lay elsewhere—coiled tight beneath her ribs, simmering. her jaw —

— agreeable. ”

— frowned upon here, ” she continued, casting a brief glance around the tent, as if measuring the unspoken judgments lingering in the air. “ but the dye will wash out soon enough. ” her gaze returned to her companion, gentle and composed. “ and then I shall look more… —

— she murmured, the words soft but sincere. her fingers brushed lightly at the edge of her sleeve, where bright hues caught the candlelight. “ in my city, it is customary to be… colorful. ” there was a faint, almost apologetic curve to her smile. “ I fear it is rather —

— was respect, an unspoken acknowledgment that their words held weight. she had learned, in her time among the seven kingdoms, that this courtesy was not always returned, particularly not within the orbit of her husband’s family. still, old habits endured. “ oh, thank you, ” —

the young woman smiled at the compliment, warmth blooming easily across her features as she turned fully toward the other, offering her the full breadth of kiera’s attention. in the free cities, such things mattered. to face someone when they spoke was not merely politeness—it —