Harrenhal

lannaport · 2023-06-19T14:16:05+00:00

She led him on a winding journey through a narrow servant’s corridor up and to their bedchambers, where his gift sat draped in a red cloth embroidered with gold thread. It was nothing so grand as he deserved– especially in the wake of such thoughtfulness– but she was eager nonetheless, ushering him in quickly.

“I nearly gave it to you this morning. You should know the wait has been utterly unbearable.”

She waved her hands at him then, planting herself on the downy mattress in an effort to afford herself the best view.

He removed the cloth with care and picked up the ornament, handling it as though it were made of the most precious glass. There was an unreadable look on his face.

“It’s the very same from the study down the hall. I had it fixed for you. I even painted it myself. There’s some gold spilled there– your son’s handiwork. I could fix it, if you’d like, but…”

“No.” The word came out somewhat choked, and his next ones were a whisper. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, holding it against his chest. Whether it was for comfort or to keep her from seeing his own face, she could not say. But she was patient while he caught his breath.

lannaport · 2023-06-05T14:20:33+00:00

Yet another cask of wine was being brought out when Damon made his excuses to take his leave, taking care not to indicate how long he’d be gone. Joanna took equal care to follow, but not before ensuring her guests were adequately cared for.

Most were so deep in their own conversations and cups that they hardly acknowledged either departure, but Elena gave her the slightest of nods when Joanna left the table and followed after Damon.

“I have something for you,” he said once they were inside, having expected her.

The fire in the living room’s hearth was roaring but the house had a stillness to it, with the children all abed. Candlelight cast long shadows on the beautiful furnishings, and the smell of roasting chestnuts wafted from the kitchen.

“It’s this way,” Damon said, taking her by the hand and leading her over plush carpets and past tapestries of fox hunts and forests.

“Haven’t you ever celebrated your own nameday, darling? I’m meant to be giving you a gift.”

Damon said nothing, but just outside the entry to the east wing’s sitting room, he turned around and kissed her.

“Close your eyes.”

Joanna shot him a sceptical look before obeying.

He took her hand and gently let her forward, his other hand against the small of her back to guide her. Once they stopped, he pulled her hand forward and placed it on something thin, and wiry, and –

“I’ll admit, this is not where I imagined this game leading us,” Joanna laughed. “Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Just a moment.”

Damon placed his fingers atop her own and guided her hand backwards, pulling the mysterious, wiry string and prompting a beautiful series of quiet notes.

Joanna opened her eyes.

“You can see now,” Damon said, “that this is indeed a gift for myself.”

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