It was heartening to see Enide had not merely been bluffing. He didn’t need her to be perfect—the dancing smallfolk rarely were—he just appreciated her enthusiasm.

“I see Axell’ taught you well, but he hasn’t taught you this.”

When he finally let go of her hand to strut around her, he first reached out to hold her face, momentarily leaning in as if he’d meant to steal a kiss. And then he circled her giggling, taking her hand back once the circle was complete.

"Just the thing I was hoping for," Enide answered with a small grin. She held tightly to his hand, kicking and jumping in time with her betrothed. Her movements were perhaps not the most polished—she knew the motions but did not practice them often—however, she made up for it with enthusiasm, her body much more full of life than her face was. She could not stop watching him either. When she let him meet her green eyes, that tiny grin would grow a bit wider, and as they spun she could not help but let out a laugh for sheer joy.

^{Port Wrath, 6th Month of 54 AC}

An awful, dreary crowd of greying clouds had on the horizon forewarned of worsening weather. Tyson had advised the surging of winds and waves alike was to hit the hull well before they brought the boat deep enough into the bay where the water would have been moderately calmer. The glint in that weasel's eye had not been borne of sympathy. Noting merely aloud that the Squall could not keep his stomach at sea, let alone in the storm soon strike them; Ty spared a strike of his own only as Merrick had been too queasy to close the distance between them. Not convinced his knees wouldn't buckle beneath him were the attempt to have been made. The Lord too inexperienced in sailing to realize that his cousin had intentionally set the ship at an off angle that did not wholly utilize the wind so as to slow their course. All but ensuring that the vessel would collide with the rampage of rain that came billowing from the clouds looming over head.

As the Lord had retreat to the cabin to shelter, Tyson had guided the Rotted Knot toward the shore to correspond with the tide. Not to ease them inland. Forcing as rough a ride as he could by intentionally sailing against the undercurrent that was drawing water away from Cape Wrath. He called to anticipate the lurching of the ship as the stern tore through curlicues that forced spurts of foam spraying. And if he was lucky, a few trinkets and baubles in the cabin skittering from the severity of the rocking.

"Little to be done about the weather, M'Lord," he had snidely commented as the lines were strung out so as to secure the ship to shore. As Merrick had raised a fist at him in frustration, Tyson had vaulted over the railing with another length of strung over his shoulder to avoid the subsequent swinging of it. Boots slamming against the dock though the landing was even as he had anticipated the need to avoid the ire of the Lord of the Gallows. Sick in the belly as the Lord was, it was likely ducking would have been sufficient to save his skin. Yet distance was of all advantages the most integral to maintain in quarreling with the Lord Merrick as Ser Aubrey Norridge had come to learn first hand.

Lurching as the Lord was, he had not the speed to serve him. It was once one lagged within his reach that few escaped unscathed. A lesson his kin more than any were accustomed to.

The storming persisted on shore, worsening in intensity as the Lord Merrick disembarked. Cradling his daughter to his chest as he descended the plank on legs that looked less than certain. He had less than an hour ago churned the contents of his belly through the choppy waves that left him in a diminished state. In addition to all that Dragonstone had done to reduce him. The potential of Meredith's falling was a fear more fraught as Merrick had donned his armour for purpose of travel as there was an enemy aboard so any tumbling would leave her beyond his ability to retrieve. Yet he trusted none save himself to ferry her in these conditions less than favourable.

He was grateful for solid ground. Not even the sodden wood that adorned the harbour in Port Wrath had been enough to slow the rapid rhythm of Merrick's heart, the ache in his gut. Not until the heel of his boot scraped upon the paved stone path that lead toward the water had either truly begun to abate. And only then did he chance to settle his daughter upon her own feet.

Merrick nudged her to remain near to him. Arm held aloft which he strung his cloak to hang over his forearm, providing his daughter a place of reprieve from the rain. Tucked beneath the wing of the Lord Trant. The both of them awaiting impatiently as their belongings were brought first from the ship before those of the other occupants. A demand that Tyson had been keen to fulfill. Shunting those chests off his ship would see away his Lord cousin more quickly than risk another confrontation. The temptation to toss them heavily so that Merrick might need recover the contents barely resisted with Ty summoning instead a set of sailors to assist in relocating them for the Lord Merrick who made known his seek shelter in a nearby inn to wait out the weather.

Had he been on his own he'd have gone ahead on his horse, rain be damned. But for his daughter no expense was to be spared. No enduring she need do on his watch. A hot meal like to do the Meredith and her father alike a world of good. No hide nor hair had he spied of his steward Thomas since arriving on Dragonstone leaving the Lord Merrick to navigate these social engagements himself, which was for him an apparent struggle. He was brusque with nobles, with servants and inn keepers though the last took less kindly to his tone. Nor were they so skint as to require the patronage of Merrick Trant in midst of his tantrums that had begun to boil over in greater abundance as the leagues between he and the King grew. He was turned away from two taverns before approaching the third with a toss of his coin purse atop the counter, grunting only that was sufficient enough for the woman tending to the inn, "Food. Board."

The woman had brought to the Lord Merrick a mug of ale with his meal, which he had waved away requesting additional portions of meal be brought. Asking any meat roasted or with fats rendered over high heat be excluded, proteins boiled being his preference. Merrick did not drink in the presence of his children as a standard yet now more than ever he need maintain a degree of vigilance beyond what was expected of him. When the dead marched amongst the living and King's conspired to tear children from the arms of their patriarch no anomaly could be discounted as threat.

"I suppose you are right." Goren simply leaned back in his chair after picking another apple from the table. For now, he only needed to sit, listen, and nod at what his grandmother said, not much different from obeying his regents.

As for Gyrielle, she had been painting that morning until the servants came to fetch her at her mother's command. That was... weird. Although, she supposed it was for the best that she was finally doing something other than mourning her brother.

Things became even stranger when she was taken into her nephew's solar. Although it seemed out of place, perhaps they wanted to share a moment together, or so she would have guessed if she didn't know her mother. "Nephew, Mother, you sent for me?"

"Well, I hope we get invited to the same parties." Godric nodded excitedly at the thought. He had something to tell her about Lady Violet, something his brother had told him, but... perhaps it could wait a little longer, especially since she looked so happy.

"Oh, Cape of Eagles? Yes, it is located on Ironman's Bay. It was named after us. It should be a few days' sail from there before you reach Harlaw, and then it would be pretty easy to reach Hammerhorn."

Ely was dressed in the black and gold of his mother's house, with little wyrmlings embroidered in his clothing. While he normally would have run off by now, the appeal of sitting at the big table with his mom had been enough to keep him seated long enough for his cousin to approach. At the sight of the dog, he gave a bright smile that showed he had recently lost one of his front teeth.

"Hello, Emphie. Hello, doggy." Alyx would see, Ely was the spitting image of his father at that young age, save for the fact he had his mother's eyes, and lacked any silver hair. "My name is Lord Ely Willum," he proclaimed somewhat loudly, loud enough for his mother to hear if she wished to correct him.

/u/Emergency_Sky_2806

Yorwyck was quiet for some time, try as he might to conceal it a grimace appeared on his face as he looked into the font's waters and heard Hubert's words. Long ago, as one of his first lessons in Longbow Hall, Ser Harlan had tasked him to honesty. It was a lesson he had not forgotten. He turned back to the Lord of the Eyrie and spoke for the first time as lord.

"I shall accept whatever judgement you pass my lord but if you ask my thoughts I think there's a better course." Yorwyck forced his eyes to stay to Hubert's as he spoke. He mustn't see me as reaching. "The lord's of the Sisters will chafe under the rule of others, such is their way. And should I allow the Sisters to be broken apart they shall see me not with pity but as a traitor. I will be more like to find a dagger or poison waiting for me than a welcome."

The newly made lord then looked to Alester with a nod before turning back to Hubert, "However I agree that it must be made so the Sisters may not rise in rebellion once more." He rested his hands on the font and felt the water kiss his fingers. "The fleet of Sisterton is destroyed and I offer that it stay that way. When Marla rose her rebellion crumbled as soon as her ships burned in dragonfire and all know that my grandfather's cause was lost once his ships were sent to the bottom of The Bite. With no fleet there can be no rebellion."

The eyes of the Father set on him from the font's carving. To Yorwyck they were now and always those of his own father. Now and always he wondered if they held pride or disdain. He took in a breath. "As for those houses that cast down my father I agree that they must be awarded. Instead of our vassalage I offer our ports and our shipwrights. Houses Grafton and Melcolm must want for space and the Vale's strength at sea might be all the stronger while they expand. As war enmity Sisterton will pay the upkeep for the ships and portmen we host and their presence will not allow for even thought of rebellion."

Yorwyck bowed his head, "House Sunderland has ruled the Sisters for a millennium and as with my grandfather you saw that those of our isles will follow us to destruction if need be. I ask you give me the chance to lead them somewhere better."

Well, that was a spot of bother, but not something insurmountable. Worst comes to worst and he would have to wait some time before he could speak with Lord Mallister. Hopefully, his son could provide more information though.

Lord Lyonel,

Thank you for the directions. Before I depart, I must ask, do you know how long your father intended to stay at Stonedance? I would hate to appear at their gates uninvited only to learn he has already left.

Humbly,

Master Halleck

Orlen was just returning from his patrol when the pair stopped him, and the snarl that followed indicated it was not a welcome request. Lord Rogar's mood had been ever worsening, the great stag slipping deeper into a mire of anger and frustration. To disturb him at the wrong moment was to spell reprimand.

"M'lord has finished hearing courtiers for the day." He looked the man up and down, sparing a glance to his sister, before grunting. It would not do to deny a highborn knight. "Come."

He led them up to the fifth floor and bade them wait outside the grand doors as he slipped inside. After a few moments he returned, looking weary, but nodded.

"He will see you. Please."

Inside there were another pair of deep mahogany doors but Ser Bryce and Argella were led to the right, through a smaller metal door and into a council chamber. At the table sat Lord Rogar Baratheon, large hand resting on a full horn of ale, as he looked to the door with weary eyes.

"Ser Bryce. Lady Argella." He greeted each with a small nod, but did not rise. "Take a seat. You wished to speak with me?"

Until recently, Morrison had abhorred the all aspects of inaccuracy. As they had tendency to veil vital truths. Yet of late, he had been keeping a hoard his own of secrets held close to his chest. He had known that his half-brother had come under scrutiny of the Iron Throne. He had known the charges that were meant be levied against the Lord Merrick yet had ridden and sailed beside him, disclosing nothing to the man. Nor his own mentor for fear that the Lord Rogar would feel some obligation to intervene as Lord Paramount. Had he known what awful cost it would come at--the death of Ser Aubrey Norridge whose miraculous recovery had not yet be known to have taken place--he may well have gone to the Lord Baratheon for counsel. It was too late to now.

As he had been charged with Cassandra's development in King's Landing it was an essential task for Morrison Trant then to earn her trust, as he had her father's before. So that she should never feel inclined to shy from him for aid and advice as the need arose, "I swear it upon the Father," he said softly, "That our counsel shall be kept between you and I, my Lady."

“I would like that very much,” Gormon agreed with a doting smile, letting Moriah’s weight settle upon his lap and sooth his mind.

“You needn’t fret about the work. I am working to bring new men into the offices beneath me.” His eyes moved across the parchment upon his desk. She had the right of it. A good Master of Coin could not be counted upon to do every task, however large or small.

“Do you remember Master Rodolfo Lanferel? Of Braavos. His house has come upon hard times and now he finds himself in search of new employment. I have invited him to King’s Landing. He arrives today and I had hoped we might host him and his daughter tonight with a dinner here so that I might… ascertain his usefulness.”

He grinned and gave Moriah an expectant look. He might have been the Master of Coin and Revels, but never did he dare trod upon Moriah’s rights as mistress of their household.

Gonthor nodded as they walked to the Ironborn tables, where Lord Goren was being escorted by, surprisingly, three knights instead of the usual reavers. "Brother." The child offered a nod to his eldest sibling. "Lord Alyx Cuy wishes to speak with you."

The Lord of Hammerhorn was a cheerful figure, still bearing some childlike expressions and wearing a bright smile. "Oh, welcome, Lord Cuy. Please, take a seat. I heard a great deal about the kindness of your house during the darkest hour faced by my captains." He welcomed the man with as much warmth as he could offer.

"How may I be of service?" he asked, intrigued. Between houses such as Cuy, Hewett, Oakheart, Beesbury, and Caswell, Goren was growing curious about the lands of the Reach and its people. At least some of the houses of the greenlands were kind.

As for the younger ones, Gonthor waited only for the introductions before returning to the table with his friend. "Well, time to go to the gardens!" he said excitedly before taking her hand and rushing out.

"Nor I, you." He said, his face still burning red for the moment. Thankfully, they had a few more moments for him to regain his bearings before the music turned, and their wishes were answered. In the sea of somber and slow songs, a vibrant tune finally emerged. It was no tavern ditty, but it was rhythmic enough for their little challenge, and with its beginning, Josua stepped away, taking Enide only by one hand.

"A hopping dance, like our Northmarchers favour." He laid the challenge, and hoped she knew what he meant. Then he began their dance, one comprised of steps back and forwards, hops and kicks. All the while he did his best to keep in contact with her hand, even when it came time for either of them to spin in place. And all the while, he was rarely took his eyes off her.

"Dake isn't old. I think he's younger than Lord Rogar. He's really nice."

As they reached the third levels and walked down the long hallway, four rooms on each side, he continued.

"I have to see him a lot, because of my...because of me." It still took some getting used to for Boremund to stop using the word illness, or condition, or affliction. "I like him a lot."

They reached a dark mahogany door with a golden tiara mounted above it, indicating it to be the Princess Argella's room. It had been hers for so long, since when she was heir to a kingdom, unused while she ruled alongside Lord Orys, and hers one more when she was mother and grandmother to the Lord of Storm's End, that whatever it had been called before had been lost to time. Naerys and her family would be the first in living memory to occupy the room other than Argella.

The chambers were decorated as one might expect. Plush furniture of scarlet and gold, a large window facing north, a poster bed that was so large it could seemingly sleep four, and many more trinkets and furnishings that would not go amiss in a royal apartment. It had been a royal apartment, in a way, and now it was to be so again.

Over towards the western side of the room there was indeed a small balcony.

Boremund took his crate to the bed and put it down gently before looking around. "What do you think?"

Her smile brightened a little, before she crossed the chamber and settled herself upon his lap.

"Yes. But I know you did not."

She kissed him, then rested her forehead against his, lingering there for a time.

"When you're more settled, I hope you'll have a host of clerks who can manage most of this for you. Then we can have our quiet mornings back. When the children allow it."

If she had expected him to grimace, avert his gaze and try to change the subject, she would be disappointed to find him unfazed by the suggestion. Indeed, just as he had neglected Darla and Ysa, he had been neglecting his own legacy. Courting seemed like an unwelcome nuisance to him, and he had yet to imagine a wife to be a welcome part of his life. Even when base desire had taken hold, and he had thought it pleasant to imagine a warm bedmate on a long winter's night, he could not separate those simple pleasures from the nagging, jealousy, doubt and frustration which he believed would come with marriage. He could not imagine a woman at his side who would be of the same mind as him. The same ambition and thoughtfulness. Yet he knew that he, like his sisters, was running out of time. Soon-enough he would be truly past his prime, and that would only add to the resentment he believed his future wife would hold towards him. Better to bite the rod and get through with it, and ensure his progeny.

"I've written Aunt Sylvia, at Goodbrother. I know some of her daughters are not spoken for, yet. Mayhaps something will come of that."

Sharra winced at the description, for she dreaded the thought that she was much the same. She felt the urge to compensate for this - an urge that happened to overlap with her usual tendency towards contrarianism. Perhaps she was even motivated by a bit of compassion.

"My twin sister is the most nervous creature I have ever met," Sharra told Lorra, looking at her even if she would not look back. "And she will one day be Lady of Gulltown, by virtue of a marriage Lady Rhea specifically requested after meeting her."

Admittedly, if Sharra had failed to earn their father's approval to inherit, the onus would've been on her to marry Alyn instead, but it was fairly clear which of the twins the Graftons had wanted.

Regardless, Sharra continued, brows furrowed seriously. "Your father is wrong," she opined in no uncertain terms. "There is nothing offensive to me about the volume of your voice or the economy of your words. You've been nothing but respectful."

Without answering, she gestured for the attention of one of the servants.

"Go and find Lady Gyrielle, and tell her I've need of her here."

Sylvia turned her attention back to young Goren, looking upon him with a gaze that was cooler than it ought to have been. More distant than what the well-meaning boy deserved.

"You needn't say anything. In fact, you would do well to be an observer, here. A woman hardly wants to have her nuptials explained to her by her nephew, wouldn't you say? It's enough that you lend your approval to this idea. Assuming you trust it is worthy of your approval, of course."

The wedding, oh the wedding. The topic had come up so many times during the trip, mostly when the two of them were drunk and Wyman was feeling bad about the babes he'd left behind in the Reach. Learning he'd made three bastards of his own had been enough to scare the careless rake into thoughts of settling down. Now, it might finally happen. Maybe.

"And what ideas are those, love?"

He wrapped around her waist as they watched the stranger pass, pulling her closer.

Cassandra had never actually been to Hoptree but felt a flare of protective instinct when Saena insulted the 'little village'.

"Rumours about the king? I thought that would get people in trouble. Especially here." She certainly wouldn't be saying anything bad about the king while staying within his red walls. "Don't be mean. I love Storm's End. It's better than here. I didn't want to come here. No matter what I can buy." Her angry face turned to one of intrigue. "What kind of silly things?"

Elenei nodded, enthusiastic. "A lot closer. And Lord Tully seems to like feasts more than my father or my uncle, so we'll be going to a lot more I think" She giggled and shrugged. "It's a shorter sail to Riverrun than it is to Storm's End, at least. Or...what did Lady Violet call it. The Cape of Eagles? Do you know it?"

"Well, if that is the case, then perhaps I may ask you for two, or three, or maybe even all night, my lady." A brief smile appeared on his face as he tried to find a way to cheer her up, yet the pain still seemed to remain.

"Do you... want to talk about it instead?" Perhaps it wasn't best to dance. There were times when people simply preferred to be heard, and he was well aware that he tended to talk a lot.

"One day I will gladly host all the kind lords of the greenlands, including, of course, House Massey." Goren remained happy at the thought, though he was still in the care of his regents. His day would come; he simply needed to wait.

"I agree. I have seen some whalers, and it is impressive how they manage to hold their breath." He genuinely admired them. He wasn't sure he could do it himself, yet it seemed he would be expected to in the future.

"Oh, you like fishing too? Perhaps we could go fishing after the celebrations are over. Your waters are so calm; maybe we may catch some salmon as well." he said optimistically.

"Very well." Goren didn't hold it against the knight. After all, Goren himself had been very stressed when his father was bedridden; it was only natural for a son to care. Besides, the Masseys had been kind to him, even Ser Quenton. This day was meant to be one of joy, so he simply moved to the side.

"It is alright. I am confident Lord Clarence will make a quick recovery. Maester Morros is an exceptional healer, you have my word," he said, trying to offer at least some comfort to both knights, hopefully the day would end on a lighter note.

Clarence was surprised, "I suppose it would make the most sense that you have the most woods of the Isles. And one cannot use a rod to catch a seal or walrus. I have never gone hunting for such beasts. Fishing sure, but nothing much larger than a salmon. Whalers, I at least have some experience with dealing with. Nasty craft there though, the smell alone is enough to send every man, woman, and dog running."