⟪ As so often, she does not look far past the edge of her own table – when she thinks of her twin eating, she thinks of breaking her fast with him and the children in her solar, a family moment, to be shared with the man whom they think to be their uncle. She thinks of lavish suppers, feasts that seek to outdo previous ones in their splendour. Just the same, she thinks of wenches serving him in some forsaken tavern, for surely this is how the knights tend to dine, even if his tales are hungrier and filled with less choice meals. No, her own imaginings are jealousy-fuelled, in which women lean to seduce him over a tasteful arrangement of meat and freshly baked bread. Of course, he is steadfast, he would never stray from his blood – that does not keep her from the red rage that has been growing in her ever since she first had to hear Melara Hetherspoon consider herself a worthy wife for her brother.
She laughs, though, at his jest – her brother might be willing to sacrifice much, but his manhood is not usually part of the list. ⟫
I should have Varys know you long to replace him as Master of Whispers.
⟪ Master of War, that is a title more suitable for her leonine brother, but the master of war cannot be a knight of the kingsguard, and the master of war would be heir to Casterly Rock once more. He would need to wed and sire children, he would be bound to another, and she would not stand for it. She would not bear it.
Instead of dwelling on what must never be, she touches her free hand to his arm, as if they were walking in the palace gardens, and as if she is in the habit of touching him so openly and for all to see. She prefers for her hands to linger half-hidden, or to brush close by him when she merely passes where he stands guard. Better, to lean in for the sort of whisper any lady might trade with her twin, only to linger a moment longer, just to see his eyes darken. The Red Keep has more hidden corners than most will ever know – when it becomes too much to be so physically separated, there are options.
Not here, though. Here, they trade darkened corners for a walk in blight sunlight, with his eyes no less hungry than she knows them. ⟫
None I would think it wise to count on. ⟪ But she is casually optimistic, which is highly unusual. Most all of them down here will want the same thing, so alliances are inevitable. In time, she will know who has the greatest potential – ⟫ There seems to be no one who hails from our own world, as of yet.
no subject
She laughs, though, at his jest – her brother might be willing to sacrifice much, but his manhood is not usually part of the list. ⟫
I should have Varys know you long to replace him as Master of Whispers.
⟪ Master of War, that is a title more suitable for her leonine brother, but the master of war cannot be a knight of the kingsguard, and the master of war would be heir to Casterly Rock once more. He would need to wed and sire children, he would be bound to another, and she would not stand for it. She would not bear it.
Instead of dwelling on what must never be, she touches her free hand to his arm, as if they were walking in the palace gardens, and as if she is in the habit of touching him so openly and for all to see. She prefers for her hands to linger half-hidden, or to brush close by him when she merely passes where he stands guard. Better, to lean in for the sort of whisper any lady might trade with her twin, only to linger a moment longer, just to see his eyes darken. The Red Keep has more hidden corners than most will ever know – when it becomes too much to be so physically separated, there are options.
Not here, though. Here, they trade darkened corners for a walk in blight sunlight, with his eyes no less hungry than she knows them. ⟫
None I would think it wise to count on. ⟪ But she is casually optimistic, which is highly unusual. Most all of them down here will want the same thing, so alliances are inevitable. In time, she will know who has the greatest potential – ⟫ There seems to be no one who hails from our own world, as of yet.
⟪ Of course, she is blatantly wrong about that. ⟫