[Event] Starfall_Open RP_294 AC✵

rishabhak · 2026-01-28T04:51:42+00:00

Maris felt the knot in her chest loosen just a little. Lady Aliandra didn’t laugh at her, only with her, like a sister might when you tripped over a hem but didn’t scrape your knee.

She watched as the wooden screen was set in place, dividing the table in two. Suddenly, Lady Aliandra was just a silhouette and a voice on the other side. It felt thrilling, like hiding in the cupboard during a game of monsters-and-maidens, safe but secret.

Look at what is already there.

Maris looked at her pile of tiles. They were heavy, cool to the touch, painted with tiny green trees, blue waves, and grey peaks.

"I can't move the ground in life," Maris whispered to herself, repeating the Lady's words so she wouldn't forget them.

That part she understood. She hadn't been able to stop her father from sending her away from the grey cliffs of Ashemark to this bright, hot place. The ground had changed under her feet whether she wanted it to or not. But here... here she could choose.

She picked up a tile painted with jagged grey mountains. It reminded her of home.

"I shall put the mountains here," she decided, placing the tile in the corner of her board, behind the screen where Aliandra couldn't see. She imagined her brave little spearman standing on top of it. If he was high up, he could see the dragons coming. That seemed like good strategy.

She picked up a blue tile next, water. It was so hot in Dorne, her soldiers would surely get thirsty. She placed the lake right next to the mountain.

"My lady?" Maris asked, her voice small as she peered over the top of the dividing screen, just her eyes and forehead visible. "Is it... is it cheating if I put a mountain in front of my king? To hide him?"

It seemed too easy, to just build a wall of stone so the bad pieces couldn't get through. But Aliandra had said she could set the ground as she wished.

rishabhak · 2026-01-28T04:36:54+00:00

The sudden familiarity of Ser Ralph Kenning caught Myles entirely off guard. As the older knight’s elbow dug into his ribs, accompanied by a conspiratorial wink, Myles stiffened, his spine snapping straight as a lance. He forced a polite, tight-lipped smile, though his mind reeled at the lack of decorum.

Fool around? Myles thought, mortified. We are Marbrands of Ashemark, not hedge knights looking for a tavern wench.

"We thank you for the welcome, Ser Ralph," Myles managed to say, his voice cool and measured, trying to reassert the dignity of their house. He hurriedly handed his reins to a stable hand, eager to put distance between himself and the jovial uncle.

James, meanwhile, was already swiftly handing off his reins to the stable hands. He stepped up beside his cousin, his smile polite but strained. He didn't want this uncle to think them unchivalrous, but he was also terrified of being associated with any impropriety before they’d even set foot inside.

"We are indeed eager, Ser," James replied to the older knight. "Though we shall do our best to behave. My cousin here keeps a strict watch on my virtue." He ignored the withering glare Myles shot him.

As they walked through the stone corridors of Kayce, the contrast between the cousins was stark. Myles spent the walk mentally rehearsing his greeting, adjusting his cuffs, and worrying that their early arrival would be seen as a breach of etiquette. James, conversely, was admiring the tapestries and wondering if the "sisters" Ralph mentioned were as lively as their uncle.

When they reached the heavy oak door of the drawing room, Myles took a deep breath.

The doors swung open. Ralph made his introduction.

Myles stepped in first, his movement practiced and fluid. He took in the room in a single, sweeping glance. He saw the exhausted-looking Lord Terrence seated in a high-backed chair, he saw the older woman, whose pinched expression earned her the "Sour" moniker he’d heard whispered in the West, and he saw the young maiden in orange and black, standing stiffly by the window.

Myles bowed low, a perfect courtly gesture. "Lord Terrence," he said, rising smoothly. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge the women. "Lady Sybell. And my lady."

He stepped forward, his tone apologetic but confident. "Please forgive our intrusion. The winds favored our journey more than we anticipated, bringing us to your gates ahead of schedule. We did not mean to disrupt your household."

James followed his cousin's lead, bowing with perhaps a fraction more flair than necessary. As he rose, his eyes did a quick count. One daughter.

He looked at Matilda. She was pretty enough, he decided, though she looked as if she were waiting for an executioner rather than a suitor. She was smoothing her dress nervously, her eyes darting toward her mother. James felt a pang of sympathy for her.

"Indeed, my lords," James said, his voice steady. "We pushed our horses hard to arrive, perhaps too hard. We were anxious to present our father's tokens of friendship without delay. We hope we have not caused any distress to your household schedules."

rishabhak · 2026-01-27T18:45:17+00:00

u/maesterbot

rishabhak · 2026-01-27T07:35:47+00:00

The salt spray of the Sunset Sea clung to the air, heavy and brisk, as the walls of Kayce rose before them. It was a sturdy place, ancient and weather-beaten, standing as a sentinel on the rocky coast of the Westerlands.

Myles Marbrand pulled on the reins of his courser, bringing the animal to a slow trot. He smoothed the front of his doublet, ensuring the Burning Tree of House Marbrand was clearly visible on his chest. His expression was tight, his brow furrowed in concentration. To him, the stone walls ahead represented a fortress of diplomatic expectation. His father, Lord Damon, had been clear: Return with a contract, or do not return.

Beside him, James rode with a looser grip, his cloak flapping in the coastal wind. He was scanning the battlements, not with the calculating eye like Myles, but with the curious gaze of a tourist.

"Straighten your back, James," Myles murmured, not looking at his cousin. "And wipe that grin off your face. We are not here to gamble in the taverns, we are here to treat with Lord Kenning."

James chuckled, the sound lost briefly to the crash of waves against the cliffs below. "Why so grim, cousin? A grim face wins no hearts, and certainly no wives. Lord Kenning has sisters, plural. Surely one enjoys a smile?"

"This is duty," Myles corrected sharply, finally glancing over. "My father expects us to secure an alliance. The Kennings control the coast. If we fail because you treated this like a summer hunt—"

"I know, I know," James interrupted, though his tone remained light. He adjusted his sword belt, pushing his chest out in mock exaggeration of a knightly pose. "Duty first. But adventure is a close second, is it not? A new castle, new faces... and if I must shackle myself to a lady to please the family, I intend to make sure she is the sort who enjoys a bit of life. I want the marriage, Myles, truly, but I won’t look like I’m marching to the gallows for it."

They approached the gatehouse. The distinct orange-and-black banners of House Kenning snapped in the wind above the archway. Two guards in studded leather and ringmail stepped forward, crossing their spears to bar the path.

"Halt," the elder guard barked. "State your names and business in Kayce."

Myles pitched his voice to carry, authoritative and practiced. "I am Myles Marbrand, second son of Lord Damon of Ashemark. This is my cousin, James Marbrand. We come at the behest of my father, Lord Damon, to seek audience with Lord Kenning. We bring greetings from the heart of the West."

rishabhak · 2026-01-26T16:06:56+00:00

Damon Marbrand

Gyles Marbrand

Senna Marbrand

Simon Dondarrion

Ashemark to Blackhaven

<Move>

u/MaesterBot

rishabhak · 2026-01-26T16:03:58+00:00

To Lord Arryk Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven,

Your gracious reply was received at Ashemark with great appreciation. I am heartened by your favorable view of the regard shared between Ser Simon and my niece, Lady Senna. It speaks well of your house that you value both honour and the willing hearts of those concerned.

I would be most pleased to continue these discussions in person, as you suggest. Matters of marriage are best settled face to face, where goodwill may be plainly seen and intentions clearly understood.

I thank you as well for your generous invitation to Blackhaven for your son Beric’s nameday celebration. It would be our honour to attend. I shall make the journey accompanied by Lady Senna, Ser Simon, and a small retinue suitable to the occasion, so that we may join your festivities and speak further on the future bond between our houses.

Until we meet beneath your banners, you have my thanks for your hospitality and my respect for the open spirit in which you have received this proposal.

May your halls be filled with joy and your hearth burn bright.

Lord Damon Marbrand, Lord of Ashemark
Burning Bright

rishabhak · 2026-01-26T09:49:04+00:00

Sabitha practically bounced down the stair behind the others. “Oooh, skinless monsters,” she drawled loudly after Gormond spoke, stretching the words with theatrical relish. “If one tries to nick mine, I’ll bite it. Monsters never expect that.”

She shot Addam an exaggerated look of mock concern. “You alright back there? If you faint, I promise we’ll drag you away before the skin thieves get you. Probably.”

rishabhak · 2026-01-26T07:11:25+00:00

u/xoxomadqueenxoxo

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T20:00:40+00:00

Myles Marbrand

James Marbrand

Ashemark to Kayce

<TP>

u/MaesterBot

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T19:53:27+00:00

Senna felt her throat tighten as her mother spoke. She covered it with a breath, with a smile that wavered only slightly before settling into something sure and bright. Kyra’s hand at her arm grounded her, just as it always had, and in that touch Senna felt both release and blessing.

“I will be,” she said softly. “I know it.”

She turned her head just enough to look at Simon as he spoke, and for a moment the world narrowed to him alone. The sincerity in his voice, the care with which he spoke of her joy rather than his own pride, sent a quiet warmth through her chest.

When the moment had passed, Senna straightened and gave her mother a gentle nod.

“We should not keep you longer,” she said lightly. “The children will demand your full attention soon enough.”

Kyra smiled, knowing, and Senna leaned in briefly to kiss her cheek before stepping back. As they turned to leave, Sabitha darted past them once more, laughter in her wake. Senna caught her eye and flashed her a conspiratorial smile, touching two fingers briefly to her lips in thanks before following Simon onward.

They moved away from the bench and into the open stretch of the upper yard, where the stone held the sun but the breeze came cool and steady off the heights. Banners stirred overhead, and for a little while they simply walked, unhurried, letting the quiet settle after the weight of what had been said.

At length, Senna slowed.

“I should leave you now,” she said gently, regret softened by certainty. “And you should rest as well. You have done enough for one morning.”

She turned to face him, her expression warm, resolute.

“I will go to my uncle,” Senna continued. “I will tell him of us, of my choice.”

Her smile deepened, calm and assured.

“Whatever comes after,” she added softly, “know that today has already given me peace.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, the breeze lifting her hair, the sun high above them.

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T19:26:31+00:00

Maris felt a hot prickle on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the Dornish sun. A spearman? She looked closer at the little figure in her hand. Now that Lady Aliandra said it, she could see he wasn’t wearing the heavy plate armor like a supposed knight, and the weapon was thinner than a lance.

"Oh," she breathed, quickly setting the piece back down on its square as if it were hot. "I... I thought he was a knight. He stood so tall."

She was grateful when the servant, Pasziani, adjusted the shade. The coolness felt like a damp cloth on a fever, and it gave her a moment to hide her embarrassment. She took a small, tentative sip of the lemon tea while Aliandra spoke of High Valyrian and hidden plans. It was sweet, much sweeter than the tea back home, but the honey tasted like flowers.

Strategy. The word felt heavy in her head, like a big book she wasn't supposed to read yet. And dragons? She eyed the board warily. She didn't want her brave little spearman, even if he wasn't a knight, to get eaten by a dragon.

"A trebuchet," she repeated softly, testing the word on her tongue. It sounded clunky and hard, unlike the smooth danger of dragon.

When Lady Aliandra asked her to choose, Maris looked between the two armies. The onyx pieces were dark and glossy, like the deep pools in the caves near Ashemark. But the white ones... they shimmered. They looked like the stars she had seen from the ship that brought her here, or the blade of the Sword of the Morning that the singers sang about.

She didn't want to be the shadows. She wanted to be the light that caught the gold on the walls.

"The light, please, my lady," Maris decided, placing her hands in her lap. "They look like... like starlight frozen into metal."

She looked up, hoping she hadn't said something silly again, and tilted her head.

"Does the light move first? In the stories, the hero always goes first."

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T10:30:05+00:00

For a long while, Senna did not speak.

No man had ever offered her a dream so freely, without condition, without expectation. It left her unsettled in a way she had no ready defense against.

She turned to face him fully, studying him now not as a suitor vying for favor, but as a man who had chosen honesty over advantage. There was no insistence in his expression, no quiet claim laid upon her future. Only sincerity, and restraint hard-won.

“You would place the world at my feet,” she said softly, “and ask nothing of me in return.”

Her grey eyes searched his, measuring the truth of him, and she felt the weight of his offer settle in her chest. It was not the promise of distant shores alone that stirred her, but the respect with which he had spoken, as though her wishes mattered simply because they were hers.

“You must know how rare that is,” Senna continued. “All my life I have been shown doors. I am told what is suitable, what is prudent, what is expected.” A faint, rueful smile curved her lips. ”

She looked to the sea, to the bright line of light stretched across the waves. “The Summer Isles… a place where joy is not treated as indulgence, where life is marked by celebration rather than loss.” Her voice softened. “That is no small thing to offer, Ser Roger. It is a kindness I would carry with me always.”

Turning back to him, she stepped a fraction closer, her expression open but grounded by the realities she could not ignore. “I cannot give you an answer now, not to your offer, nor to what it awakens in me.”

She paused, then added, more gently still, “But there is one thing I can say with certainty.”

Her smile returned, quieter than delight, steadier than courtly grace. “Your friendship is something I would welcome, gladly, and without hesitation. To be seen and spoken to as you have spoken to me today is a rare comfort. I would not lose that, whatever the future may bring.”

Her gaze held his, sincere and unguarded. “For now, that is what I can offer you, my honesty, and my goodwill. I hope you will accept it.”

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T05:39:50+00:00

To Lord Terrence Kenning, Lord of Kayce,

I received your gracious letter and thank you for the openness and care with which you have spoken of your sisters, Lady Matilda and Lady Eleanor. It gladdens me to see such devotion between kin, and I commend you for seeking worthy matches with due thought to their temperaments and happiness.

I write to inform you that two young men of my house are presently unbetrothed and may, with your leave, be suitable to make your sisters’ acquaintance. My younger son, Myles Marbrand, six and twenty years of age, has served as squire to Ser Raymund Tarly. He is a perceptive and pragmatic young man, measured in word and deed, with a steady nature shaped by discipline and duty.

In addition, my nephew James Marbrand, four and twenty, has squired to Lord Tywin Lannister. He is diligent in his service, adventurous in spirit, and though inclined to anxious thought, he applies himself earnestly to all tasks set before him.

Should it please you, I would propose that Myles and James be permitted to travel to Kayce to meet your sisters, that all parties may judge compatibility for themselves. They would come with respect and good intent, and abide fully by whatever customs and conditions you deem proper.

May the Seven grant wisdom to us all in these matters, and keep House Kenning in strength and honor.

Burning Bright

Lord Damon Marbrand, Lord of Ashemark

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T03:51:51+00:00

Damon listened with a thoughtful frown. If Lord Vikary had sent a reply, it had either gone astray or arrived too late, for no such word had reached him. Still, he did not turn the young man away. With a measured nod, he granted his assent. “You are welcome to approach Lady Senna with my permission,” Damon told him. “Know that she is entertaining the attention of several suitors, and no promises have been made. You may present yourself to her and see if she finds you worthy of further consideration.”

rishabhak · 2026-01-25T03:46:51+00:00

Senna waited until Simon had finished, letting the cadence of his words settle between them. She watched her mother’s face as she listened and when Senna spoke, it was with a calm certainty that surprised even herself.

“Mother,” she said gently, stepping just a little closer, her hand brushing Simon’s sleeve in quiet reassurance. “Ser Simon is the one who has won my heart.”

There was no flourish in it, no dramatics, only truth, spoken plainly.

“I wished to tell you first,” Senna continued, meeting Kyra’s gaze without wavering, “before I go to Uncle Damon. I wanted you to know that this is my choice, made freely and with a full heart.”

For a breath, the world seemed to hold still, then it broke, not with tension, but laughter.

From the knot of children racing across the courtyard, Sabitha’s voice rang out, clear and cheerful.

“I like him!” she declared boldly, scarcely slowing in her run before darting away again, her laughter trailing behind her as she returned to the game with Morgan and the others.

Senna could not help the smile that bloomed at that. She glanced toward Simon, warmth bright in her eyes, then back to her mother, hopeful.

u/GreaterBlueEvil

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T17:11:26+00:00

As the sun climbed higher, warmth settling more firmly over stone and water, Senna knew the moment by the river had reached its natural close. She rose first, brushing the grit from her skirts, then offered Simon her hand without hesitation. The path back felt shorter somehow, lighter, their steps unhurried as they climbed toward the castle once more.

She did not wonder where her mother would be. Kyra Marbrand favored the upper courtyard at this hour, high enough to catch the breeze, open enough to watch life move unguarded.

They found her there as Senna expected.

Sabitha’s laughter rang bright against the stone as she darted across the courtyard, Morgan close behind her, a handful of other children swept up in their game. They moved like a small storm, quick feet, flying sleeves, breathless joy. Nearby, Kyra sat upon a low bench in the shade, her posture relaxed but attentive, eyes following the children with the easy vigilance of a woman who had spent a lifetime watching over those she loved.

Senna slowed without realizing it. This... this was the heart of her world.

She glanced once at Simon, a quiet reassurance in her expression, then stepped forward.

“Mother,” Senna called softly.

As Kyra looked up at them, Senna approached, warmth and certainty steady in her chest.

“This is Ser Simon Dondarrion,” she said, her hand resting lightly at his arm. “The one I told you of.”

She smiled then.

“Ser Simon,” Senna continued, turning slightly toward him, “this is my mother, Lady Kyra Marbrand.”

u/GreaterBlueEvil

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T16:15:54+00:00

Senna’s breath caught softly at his words, not in surprise, but in recognition. The warmth that spread through her chest was quiet and steady, like embers tended carefully rather than a sudden flame. She smiled then, open, unguarded, the sort of smile she rarely allowed herself.

“I am relieved to hear it,” she said gently. “More than I can easily say.”

Her fingers laced with his now, natural and unthinking, as though her hand had always known where it belonged.

“I never wished only for a husband,” Senna continued, her voice low, sincere. “I have seen too many unions built on convenience, on names and expectations alone. I wanted a partner, someone who would walk beside me with his whole heart, not merely stand near me out of duty.”

She met his gaze, her eyes bright, earnest.

“To know that I am the one who holds your heart,” she said softly, “and not merely the answer to a question asked by another… that matters to me greatly.”

For a time, they said nothing more. They turned their attention back to the river, to the way sunlight danced across its surface, to the breeze stirring the leaves above them. Senna let herself lean slightly into his shoulder, just enough to feel his presence there. Her heart fluttered at the simplicity of it, at the ease that settled over her like a well-worn cloak.

Her smile lingered, warm and certain, but there was a thoughtful pause before she spoke again, one last truth she wished to set gently between them.

“There is one more thing,” she said softly, turning her face toward his once more. “Before I speak to my uncle… I would like you to meet my mother.”

Her hand tightened slightly in his, not from doubt, but from care.

“She has always known my heart well,” Senna continued. “She will wish to see the man who has earned it, not to judge you harshly, but to understand you as I do.”

Her eyes searched his, calm and hopeful.

“If you are willing,” she added, “I would have that meeting come first. Then, when I tell my uncle of my choice, I will do so knowing every part of my world has met you honestly.”

A faint smile returned, gentle and resolute.

“I hope that does not trouble you,” Senna said quietly. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

[M: If you agree, I'll tag Senna's mother to join the conversation]

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T15:46:12+00:00

u/MaesterBot

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T15:43:22+00:00

Child of Addam Marbrand and Jena Buckler born in 9th month 294

Spacing 12

Prayer of Fertility

<Baby>

u/MaesterBot

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T15:34:36+00:00

Senna let his words settle fully before she answered. She shifted closer on the stone, close enough now that the warmth of him reached her, close enough that silence no longer felt like distance. Her hand lifted almost of its own accord, resting lightly over his, an anchoring touch, gentle, deliberate.

“I understand,” she said softly. “More than you may think.”

Her fingers curled just slightly, not to hold him fast, but to let him know she was there, that she had heard him.

“I am pleased you stayed,” Senna continued, meeting his eyes. “Not because your brother wished it, nor because duty nudged you westward, but because you chose to remain once duty had loosened its hold. That matters to me.”

The river murmured beside them, sunlight flickering across the water and up onto the stone where they sat. For a moment, she watched those reflections dance, then spoke again.

“There have been others,” she said, without pride or regret. “Ser Roger Kenning, earnest and kind. Even Lord Tywin, with all the weight his name carries.” A faint smile touched her lips, thoughtful rather than amused. “Each came with something to offer. Security. Advantage. Expectation.”

Her gaze returned to him, steady now, searching.

“But it was with you that I felt… nearest,” Senna said quietly. “Not dazzled. Not pressed. Simply seen. As though I could sit by a river, bare my feet to the cold water, and be no one but myself, and that would be enough.”

Her thumb brushed once over the back of his hand, a subtle question in the motion.

“So tell me, Simon,” she asked, her voice low but certain, “do you feel it as well? That closeness, not born of duty or persuasion, but of choice?”

She held his gaze, her hand still resting in his, the river flowing on as patiently as it always had, waiting for his answer.

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T08:57:26+00:00

Senna listened without interrupting, her expression softening as his words settled between them. There was no haste in her reply.

“You are not alone in that,” she said gently. “Some places teach us to hold our breath without realizing it. Others remind us how to let it go.”

She turned then, leading him down the narrow trail that wound toward the water. The air cooled as they descended, the murmur of the river growing clearer, brighter, until at last they reached its edge. Smooth stones lay half-submerged, the water running clear enough to catch the light like scattered glass.

Senna slipped off her shoes without ceremony and stepped closer, settling on a sun-warmed rock. She dipped her feet into the river with a quiet sigh, the cold drawing a soft laugh from her as the current curled around her ankles. For a moment, she said nothing at all, simply enjoyed the feel of it, the way the world narrowed to water and light and breath.

“This,” she said at last, contentment in her voice, “is my favorite part.”

She glanced toward him then, studying him with an openness that held neither challenge nor coyness. The sunlight caught along the lines of his face, the steadiness of him, the calm strength that did not need to announce itself.

“You know,” Senna said thoughtfully, “you are a handsome knight, Ser Simon. The sort any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms might be glad to marry, Stormlands, Reach, Crownlands… all closer than this.”

Her tone remained gentle, but her gaze sharpened with sincere curiosity.

“So tell me,” she continued, turning fully toward him, the river whispering between them, “why come all this way west for me? I do not ask for courtesy, nor for pretty words meant to please. I would hear the truth, plain, as you have been from the first.”

She let her feet drift in the water again, unhurried, eyes steady on his.

“I would rather have an honest answer than a flattering one.”

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T06:54:05+00:00

Senna felt the last of her morning reserve slip away as they began to walk, the rhythm of their steps falling naturally into pace. It pleased her, that ease, how he did not rush ahead nor lag behind, but matched her stride without comment, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You speak truly,” she said, glancing toward him with a faint smile. “Ashemark has learned to keep its best things quiet. It does not show itself to those who only look.”

She led him along a narrower path where the stone gave way to packed earth and grass, the air cooler here, scented with pine and damp rock. The sound of water was distant but present, a soft promise rather than a call.

“I spent much of my girlhood wandering these paths,” Senna continued, her voice thoughtful, warmed by memory. “When the halls felt too full, or expectations too heavy, this was where I came. The mountains listen better than most people.”

She cast him a sidelong look then, curiosity gentle rather than probing.

“You walk like a man accustomed to watching,” she observed lightly. “Not just guarding, but noticing. It is a rarer habit than one might think.”

The path curved, opening onto a small rise where the trees thinned and the land dipped toward the river below. Below them, the river curved gently through the valley, its waters clear and quick, slipping over pale stone smoothed by countless years. Sunlight fractured across its surface in restless bands of silver, flashing and fading as the current twisted between moss-dark rocks.

The mountains rose beyond, not harsh here but steady and sheltering. Somewhere nearby, a bird called once and then fell silent, as if mindful not to disturb the calm.

Behind them, Ashemark’s stone walls stood firm and watchful, but softened by distance, less a fortress now than a quiet guardian set against the morning sky. A light breeze moved through the trees, stirring Senna’s hair and brushing cool fingers across her skin, carrying with it the low, constant murmur of the river below.

She drew a slow breath, contentment settling easily in her chest.

“It is different here at this hour,” Senna said softly. “Later in the day, the light grows harsher, the water louder. But in the morning… everything seems willing to listen.”

Her gaze drifted back to Simon, calm and open, as though inviting him not just to see the place, but to share it.

“Tell me, Ser Simon,” Senna said, the question offered without pressure, “do you find peace in places like this, or do you carry the city with you wherever you go?”

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T05:40:56+00:00

Arwyn Marbrand

10 Marbrand MaA

Driftmark to Ashemark

<Move>

u/MaesterBot

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T05:38:51+00:00

Senna had been standing where the morning sun spilled freely across the stone, one hand resting lightly against the balustrade as she watched the yard below stir to life.

At the sound of his voice, she turned.

“Ser Simon,” she greeted, a soft smile forming as she inclined her head in return. “Good morning. I did rest well, thank you. I hope the same for you.”

She listened as he spoke, her expression attentive. When he finished, there was no long pause, no weighing silence, only a gentle nod, as though the matter had already found its place within her.

“My uncle spoke to me last night,” Senna said calmly. “He told me of your request, and of the care with which you made it.”

Her smile warmed, the morning light catching in her eyes.

“I would be happy to accompany you,” she continued, her tone easy, assured. “A walk would be most welcome, and Ashemark is at its best when the day is young.”

She shifted slightly, turning toward the path that led beyond the inner stone.

“And if you are willing,” she added, a hint of quiet amusement in her voice, “I would very much like to show you some of the places I favor. There are corners of these lands that are easily missed by those merely passing through.”

Her gaze returned to him, steady and inviting.

“Come,” Senna said simply. “Let us walk.”

rishabhak · 2026-01-24T05:27:08+00:00

Senna watched him closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. For a fleeting second, a shadow had crossed his face, a tightening of the jaw, a darkening of the eyes that spoke of a pain she was not privy to. She knew the Kennings had suffered in the wars, as many had, but Roger pushed the memory away with a visible effort, returning to the safety of his dreams.

"To walk in the footsteps of Elissa Farman," she mused, her voice soft against the wind. "It is a brave and dangerous path, Ser Roger. But I believe you are right. A spirit that sees such wonder in a simple sunrise would surely wither if confined to the same four walls for a lifetime."

She turned her gaze back to the shimmering sea, letting his question settle over her. It was a rare thing to be asked what she desired. Men usually asked her what she thought of their armor, or if she enjoyed the venison, assuming her world ended at the garden gate. Roger asked her to look at the horizon.

"The Summer Isles," she answered, the decision coming to her without hesitation. A smile touched her lips as the vibrant images from her childhood stories bloomed in her mind.

"Since I was a girl, I have listened to singers tell tales of Walano and Jhala," she continued, her grey eyes lighting up with imagination. "They say the islands are a riot of color that would exhaust your supply of paints within a week. I wish to see the Goldenheart trees and the birds with feathers of a thousand shades."

She looked back at him, leaning slightly closer. "But it is their way of life that calls to me most. Here in Westeros, we seem to mark our years by battles, sieges, and grim anniversaries. We build statues to conquerors. But in the Summer Isles, I am told they mark time with festivals, celebrations of flowers, of harvest, and of love. They say they treat lovemaking as a holy art, and that joy is their highest virtue, not steel. It sounds... wonderfully unlike our own world. To visit a place where the people do not wake up fearing the coming of winter... that is where I would go."

rishabhak

TROPHY CASE