conallblackbar

[conallblackbar]

his eyes were still on the stars as she spoke about grief, but that did not mean conall was not listening - he was, the brief downward tug of the corner of his mouth giving away the fact he had heard what she was saying, and that it resonated with him. for him, it was something that he always carried, but not in his pocket, like a little trinket he took with him for luck, but a burden, shackles around his ankles that forced him to put all of his might into every step he took. something he was burdened with, but had to live with anyway, had to carry, because there was nowhere to set it down, straining his muscles every time he moved. "you get used to the weight of it," he said, eventually. "but even when you've done that, it makes you tired."

the thing was, though, it was not just grief that conall carried, but guilt, too. he was not just mourning, but punishing himself every day for the sins he had committed, and even those he had not. it was a lie to say that time fixed things, not when people still looked at you and saw a man who could be blamed. "for me," he cleared his throat a little. "best thing i can compare it to is a bone that you broke and never set right afterwards. it healed, sort of, but not quite right. still sticks out at an odd angle, makes you limp, and gives you issues on colder days, you know?" he didn't look at her, partially because he wasn't sure his analogy had made sense at all, and partially out of shame.

but in the stillness of the night, it was easier to let the shame pass quickly. perhaps she was right - that sometimes, the stars in the sky were all you needed to make you feel more human.

"your ma sounds like a kind soul," he said. the sort who wanted the world to make sense for the people around them, even when very little of it fell into the realm of rhyme or reason. there was comfort in that kind of belief. he glanced up again at the constellation, and for the first time, he wondered if it really was a sign from the gods. did they wish him peace? conall didn't know.

"ah, no. maybe? i don't know." he wasn't sure how to respond to her question, because conall was not the sort of man who looked to ascribe meaning to things. he had his beliefs, but rarely did he seek understanding for that he could not. "maybe i'm just not thinking about such things enough?" he offered, a compromise to affirm whatever it was she might believe without outright lying to her. "don't often find myself thinking about what things mean, or if it's a sign from the gods. most of the time i'm just thinking about whether the water's calm enough to sail on or if the dogs have been fed."

once he accepted, keira led the way, slow and unhurried, her boots leaving soft impressions in the frost-laced grass. the wind had calmed to a gentle whisper, brushing against her cloak, and above them the stars blinked clear and cold. she didn’t speak at first, letting the silence settle between them, not heavy, not awkward, just there, like breath or memory.

“you know,” she said after a time, eyes fixed ahead, “i used to think grief would go away. that it’d shrink down into something small enough to carry in a pocket. something you could forget about for a while.” her hands rubbed at her arms, more for something to do than for warmth. “but it doesn’t. it stays. quieter, maybe, but never gone.”

she glanced sideways, not expecting anything from him, just offering a truth of her own. she didn’t want to drag out his pain, only let him know that she understood it, in her own way.

“some nights,” she said softly, after a long stretch of just wind and breath, “you don’t need much more than this.” her hand gestured lightly, toward the stars, the cold, the space between the hall and the dark trees beyond. “just to be outside of it all for a bit. feels easier to breathe. i'm sure you have a much better view on the open ocean, though."

as they walked, the glow of the hall faded behind them, the music becoming no more than a dull thrum. in its place: the sound of grass underfoot, the occasional snap of a twig, the steady rhythm of two people walking in quiet company.

she tilted her chin up toward the sky, the stars catching in her lashes. “you were right,” she said, nodding toward the constellation he’d pointed out earlier. “maiden’s veil. my ma used to say that if you could find it without looking too hard, the gods were giving you a sign. peace, or protection. something like that.” she gave a soft, dry laugh. “she always wanted there to be a reason behind things.”

after a beat, she glanced at him again. “do you see it that way too, sometimes?” she asked, not with expectation, just curiosity. “that the world might still hold a bit of meaning, even if we don’t always understand it?”

[conallblackbar]

he could not help but glance at her as she knelt to pray, though he could not hear her words. the customs of her community were not familiar to him, though he supposed, the sentiment was the same anywhere. when things looked desperate, you prayed to your gods, and if you had enough faith, they'd listen. he could not recall having this much faith in anything, though, and perhaps that was why he had never sought nor found comfort in the gods. still ; there was something about watching lucrezia that gave him pause, a sort of peace in her prayer he could not put his finger on.

the sting of salt-water in his eyes grounded him back in the moment, as the ship gave a loud groan of protest. she was fighting him, the howl of the wind and the relentless slap of the waves trying to force her one way, whilst he fought to keep her straight and steady. and then there was lucrezia, rising to her feet again to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, giving commands he would not contradict, both because he was well aware that they were the right ones to give, and because on this ship, her ship, she was the captain.

a roll of thunder drowned out the sounds of the hull being pushed to its limit, followed seconds later by a flash of lightening that briefly blinded him. when he regained his vision, he noticed how much his eyes hurt. they were streaming, not from the rain, and he was certain if any looked closer, they would notice they were bloodshot.

he glanced at her for only a second, for that was all the time he could afford taking his gaze away from the horizon for. still, he needed to look at her so that she knew when he spoke of the song, still echoing over the sound of the storm, she knew he was telling the truth, even as the sound of it made his spine tighten and the skin at the back of his neck prick like it had been stuck with pins. "i have." the answer came unburdened with embellishment. it was a simple truth that he offered her. "only when i am alone. best not to pay it any mind."

perhaps he did have faith in something, but not in the seven nor the spiritual. no, his beliefs came from a sailor's superstition, and the things he had seen on the water that he could not explain. the storm they were battling stirred up little fear in him, but what rode beneath it was another story. "have you?" he asked her, and he wasn't sure what answer would provide more comfort - that she had, or that she had not. either way, he needed to know if the sea called to her in the same way it did him, if it sang her its songs of loss and memory that all the tales said to pretend you did not hear.

the crew rushed to carry out lucrezia's orders, and conall was no exception, adjusting his grip on the wheel so he could hold her that bit steadier, so that when the current tried to turn them eastward, her could keep the ship on course. "double the knots," he added, with a jut of his chin that indicated he was talking about the foresail, too. "if the lashings hold, we can ride her out easy." perhaps easy was too optimistic of a word. they could ride it out if the foresail held, but nothing about this would be simple, and they both knew it. he angled the prow just shy of the wind's teeth, for it would make it easier to turn into it's swell if things went south. there was no controlling the storm, no matter how hard they tried, but they could outwit it.

it was then he noticed his hands trembling slightly on the wheel. he knew it was not from the cold, but something that seeped even deeper into his bones, something to do with the way his hair was standing on end and that strange, eerie feeling that came over him with the melody of the song. still, he brushed it off with a low chuckle. "i think you were right," he said. "about me freezing first." he knew that it was not so, that he had practically been made for cold days and colder nights at sea, but it was better than admitting the truth that he was unsettled.

the ship was still making sounds he wished she wouldn't, but less frequent than before, and quieter. with the rocks behind them, the storm still raged, but she was finding her rhythm upon the waves again. he chanced loosening his grip on the wheel, and when she did not immediately veer off course, he let out a sigh of relief. "i think we have passed the worst of it," he spoke tentatively, for a reprieve could all to swiftly become their demise if they relaxed for a moment. "or else we've sailed straight into the eye of the storm." he glanced to the east, looking for the first grey hints of dawn, where it might break if they remained above water to see it.

∞

she had never seen him look like this before. not in any tavern in where he might’ve lifted a brow in amusement, not in the shadow of the arbor’s cliffs when they’d once met at a port by sheer accident in their days of youth, nor even in the briefing chambers before they’d left—when he’d sat stiff and tight-jawed, as though every question was a trap and every answer might damn him. no, this was different. lord conall blackbar looked as though he had been born in this moment. with the wheel gripped between his hands, the mast behind him thrumming like a plucked string, and the rain cascading down his dark hair in rivulets.

he looked more himself than she had ever seen him be. he was certain in the uncertainty, and it struck her with such force she felt for a moment like she might fall - for it were in the gasps of wind, the sounds of the churning waves and the cracks of lightening that souls were truly realised.

when he wordlessly drew his cloak from his own shoulders and set it round hers, she did not refuse him. she simply stared, blinking away the rain, suddenly aware of the weight of wet cloth against her skin, how cold her fingertips had become, how the wind had burrowed into her joints and made a home of her bones. it was a kindness she had not thought to ask for, and it landed with the heavy softness of something sacred. “thank you,” she murmured, almost inaudibly, the words lost to the wind and swallowed by the storm. but perhaps he heard it anyway. together, they worked in silence for some time. “you’ll freeze faster than i will,” she muttered, ignoring the chattering of her teeth and the way her fingers had become numb. the momentary warmth shocked her—it was the first time she’d felt the shape of her own body since the deck swallowed her in cold. she shivered despite herself and tightened the wool around her.

she called over a boy—nimble and barely more than fifteen, but quick with the ropes—and sent him to inspect the sails for tears or snapped rigging. “see to the foremast. if anything’s given way, shout down at once,” she ordered, not unkindly, but with a certain grade of firmness that made her sound so much older than her years. this was not the weather where she would be able to climb to the top to fix the mast, no; the weather was rough, and so they would need someone stronger and more burly to do so. the lad vanished like smoke into the darkness of the night, against the torches which she had lit - protected only by lanterns. lucrezia remained by conall’s side, her shoulder just brushing his as she leaned against the railing, watching the sea boil around them in the pitch black. she didn’t wait for a nod. already her eyes were scanning the sails, the lines, the shadows moving across the deck. her voice rose as a crewmate passed, sending him to further aid the other boy who had scrambled up the decks. “check the foresail again! and the lines on the mainmast—frayed, cut it and tie anew. i won’t have us shredded by rigging.”

there was nothing they could see, but glimpses in a flash of electric blue, or white. otherwise, there was nothing. none ever understood her when she tried to explain how strange it was for one's eyes to adjust to complete darkness; but here, she understood they were entirely at the mercy of the elements. and there was something so utterly peaceful about realising how inconsequential they were in the grand matter of things; lords, titles, wards - enemies, even friends; it meant nothing to the forces of the gods and their will. she walked to the wheel, moving her legs apart as she slid naturally into the position, feeling the creaking and heavy weight beneath her as she churned agains the waves. did not struggle against the current, but let it guide, allowing for a healthy resistance as she watched the lookout, and then looked back at conall. “grip tightening,” she reported, voice sharp and sure against the howl of the storm, more to herself than to conall but still, it were natural to report every movement to the other. “she’ll swing east any moment now—the current’s shifting under us.”

and then it came.

the sound slipped into the world like silk, a lilting, distant harmony that neither wind nor rain could mask. she saw it before he spoke of it—saw the way his eyes drifted, just once, to the starboard side, where the waters churned unnaturally and the light of the lanterns shimmered with strange refraction. the men who stood nearest to the edge had frozen, one of them with rope still coiled around his forearm, mouth agape. not fear, not awe. something colder. she did not say a word. not at first. she did not look out to it, nor let her expression shift in the slightest. she simply breathed. she had always known they shared the sea. it was not theirs, not truly.

the depths held things that lived in the liminal—the in-between. there were nights in her childhood, back when she lay with her mother’s beads pressed between her fingers, that she had heard the creak of voices through the shutters of the waves. they were not meant for her. they had never been. so she knelt, her soaked skirts bunching beneath her as she laid one hand—palm down—against the wet deck. the grain of the wood, slick and warm beneath her skin, greeted her like an old friend. her lips parted, and she spoke in low tones that carried no sound beyond the immediate wind, but bore the weight of power. her hand, steady now, pressed flat against the soaked wood of the deck. the ship shuddered with the sea’s wrath, but her voice was level, calm, carried low beneath the rage of wind and wave. she recited what she knew, each syllable a ward, not a weapon.

“there is no deity except him, the ever-living, the sustainer of all existence. to him belongs whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth. who is it that can intercede with him except by his permission? he knows what is before them and what will be after them, his throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and he is the most high, the most great.” the wind howled on, the rain cracked against their bodies like stones, but within her heart a circle had been drawn. she made no attempt to chase the song away. she knew better than that. it would pass when it lost interest. they would live so long as they did not feed it.

she rose, her hand slipping once more to the cloak around her shoulders as if to pull at it closer to her. the ship still pitched and groaned, but it had not veered. conall remained still at the helm. she watched him for a moment longer, then finally spoke, her voice low enough that it might be mistaken for a stray gust of sea-spray if not for its clarity. "do you hear them often, conall?" she asked. "when you’re out here alone—do they come calling then, too?" she could still hear it in the distance, and yet, it were as though it were as normal as the sounds of the wind now. the state of liminality will soon pass, and with that, would come daybreak. a glorious sunrise.

[conallblackbar]

[conallblackbar]

closed starter for @gael-hightower setting: in the aftermath of talia hightower, conall offers his support to gael.

dusk had begun to settle over the hightower's quarters, casting shadows around the room conall sat in with gael. without a word, he rose from the table, bare, save for two cups and a full bottle, and busied himself with the act of lighting candles to stave off the darkness with the golden glow of the flame. beyond the windows, the lush expanse of the reach, a vibrant green bisected by the blue of the mander, unfolded, one of the many magnificent views highgarden offered. if he stopped to listen, he would hear the distant sounds of the versant concord carried on summer's breeze. it felt a million miles away from the two of them, sitting silently in this quiet room.

conall would be lying if he said this did not stir up a strange sort of emotion in him. he could easily recall when it was him in gael's shoes, him that people looked at with pity or accusation, though it did not seem as though gael had the misfortune of the latter. he and abigail may not have been a love story for the ages, but that did not mean he was not marked by what had happened to her, that guilt did not linger still. he could not save her, nor talia, nor did he think he could really help gael, but conall remembered, and he understood in a way that perhaps no other could.

the candles lit, he returned to his seat, uncorking the bottle on the table and pouring the amber liquid into the cups. considering he had been in gael's shoes himself, you'd think he'd be better at this, at knowing what to say that might offer a sense of comfort, if not total peace. but he was present, and surely that meant something?

"i don't know what to say, mate," he spoke tentatively. "maybe there's nothing to be said. i don't know. i just... remember what it felt like, you know?" and he remembered how gael had stayed steadfast when others had turned their backs on him. he could not, would not, forget that.

conall cleared his throat, raising his cup to his lips and taking a deep gulp of the drink inside it. "say the word if you want me gone," he offered, one brow raising as he returned the cup to the table and looked at gael. "if you need to be on your own for a bit. otherwise i'll be here for a while. as long as you need me."

[conallblackbar]

silence settled as ronan busied himself with his potatoes, conall follow suite and taking a few for his own plate. he was still bristling at talk of ross, his breathing a little heavier as the bitterness and resentment he always felt when his brother was mentioned lingering - at least, until he thought of the sea again, and visibly relaxed into his seat. he cut one of the potatoes in half, examining the contrast between the crisp outer skin and the inside, before popping one half in his mouth. it was hot, his expression reflecting the fact it was burning his tongue before he spoke again.

"it's not as quiet as you'd think," he responded. "you'll hear the slap of the waves on the sides of the ship no matter where you go. eventually, your heartbeat starts to fall in time with it." he wouldn't say his thoughts grew louder on the deck of a ship, but they definitely changed, and there were nights when he found himself on watch for the night where they turned far more pensive. "yours probably would," he responded, with a half-smile. "but you've always been more of a thinker than i am." it had always been so - omer and ronan were clever, and conall was content to follow in their wisdom. "mine just feel a bit clearer. when there's nothing but blue in every direction, it feels like clarity to me." it was the one place where he didn't feel chased by ghosts, when he was far out enough that he could pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

a beat passed, and his expression shifted to something sheepish. "i wish i could stay out there longer half the time. when it's time to turn around and come home again. sometimes i just want to keep going. past the isles, or essos, or anywhere the maps go. just to see." but there was always something calling him back to shore.

there were no words to explain the changes to the air, how you could sense a storm coming from days out, how each slight shift of the breeze was felt in a way it wasn't on land without the distractions of everything else. "nothing i say could do it justice. you'd have to see it for yourself. and i'd take you, if you meant it." it was not an empty promise. ronan had never seen the man conall was at see, the sober, serious side of him reserved for the water, and yet, he still trusted conall to be the sailor to take him out and return him home safely. privately, conall thought he might like ronan out there with him too. "be funny if nothing else, seeing you slip over a wet deck with a belly full of ale."

"a maester?" he might have chuckled, if not for the fact he could see it in his mind's eye - ronan, in robes of ash-grey, heavy chain weighted around his neck. it was a life that might have suited him, even if the selfish part of conall was glad that it could never come to pass. "yeah, i get it. at least, i think i do. i dunno. think i've always liked not having to ask questions more than having answers, you know?" it was one of the ways they were different. "reckon you'd be good at it, though. you'd be running the place within a month."

you know how it goes, ronan said, and whilst conall did know on paper, he didn't really. ronan might have been an only son, but conall was a second one, someone who was never meant to matter. it had given him the freedom to take to the seas when it suited him, to make his mistakes, because it hadn't mattered, until it suddenly did. "yeah," he nodded. "suppose so. bit different for me, though. i just woke up with a keep and a title and i'm still wondering how the fuck it happened." he sighed, cutting up another potato and putting it in his mouth. "don't get me wrong, i like the shields. just don't feel like mine still."

and then he was laughing, and shaking his head at the idea of it. "you're right. a stag do on a ship sounds mad. you're asking for someone to go overboard," he pointed out, bluntly. "it'd be good though, i reckon. different to the pub, at least."

ᕯ

ronan’s face twitched the moment conall's tone shifted—sharp, swift, like steel drawn too fast. he pulled the sort of slight face that only those who knew him well could catch, a faint narrowing of the eyes, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so subtly. he didn’t say anything, but the message was clear enough: that defensive so soon? over ross? bloody hell. seemed the blackbar brothers were dead set on drinking themselves into an early grave of spite, and ronan wasn’t fool enough to try play peacemaker. it wasn’t his fight, nor his place, and conall knew that. still, there was a weight to it. a kind of sorrow he felt but wouldn’t voice, not tonight. brotherhood mattered. but so did knowing when to keep one’s gob shut.

he reached forward and began scooping roast potatoes onto his plate as the serving girl passed, the steam rising warm against his face. he slathered them in thick, melting butter and cracked sea salt over the lot, his mouth already watering. at least some things in this world are simple, he thought, popping one into his mouth and chewing with the kind of thoughtful slowness that suggested he was paying attention to more than just his meal. he listened as conall shifted the talk towards the sea. ronan gave a low hum of interest, resting his elbows on the edge of the table, one hand absently rotating his cup.

“i’ll say this much,” he murmured, licking salt from his fingers, “i’ve never understood the call to the sea. not properly. not like you do. me, i was born for the land. rivers, hills, proper stone and soil. the sort of wild that gets under your fingernails, aye?” his eyes glazed over a little as he thought about home.

“the brackens aren’t sea folk, you know that. never have been. we’re trees and earth and bog. we’re horses and blades and muddy fields that don’t let you go easy. but—” he paused, as though surprised by his own willingness to admit it, then shrugged, “i’d not mind trying it. just once. a voyage. something mad. take me out past the isles, past anything i’ve known. only with you though. you’re the only sailor i trust not to get us dashed on the rocks with your head up your arse.” for he knew connie was a serious sailor; for all the booze and liquor in the world never made it to his lips when he were at the mast.

he smirked, tapping the edge of his plate with a fork, then looked across at his friend, more serious now. “truth be told, if life’d turned out different, i might’ve been a maester. citadel and all that. always had a thirst for knowing. maps, old books, accounts of long-dead voyages. i could lose hours in that sort of thing. i like knowing why things are the way they are. why the sea churns like it does, why one coast thrives and another starves.” he lifted his goblet again, took a measured sip. “but i was the only son. you know how it goes. duty and all that. akin to being fucked up the arse.”

his fingers drummed softly on the wood. “tell me about your voyages, then. the real ones, not just the bloody logistics. what’s it like when you’re far enough out you can’t see land? does the air taste different? do your thoughts go quiet?” he sounded genuinely curious, the way he always did when he encountered something unfamiliar but worthy. this was the reason the man had a very pronounced, specific interest; ancient laws from across all the realms, surveying the similarities and differences. what changed, what continuity remained; even in the most subtle of ways. only a few knew of his specific interest, as most would look upon the man and assume he would not know such things - that he were not academic.

“i think i’d like that kind of silence, if i’m honest. something about being that far removed—it’s not fear i’d feel. not even awe. just... peace, maybe. and if it’s not peaceful, then at least it’s honest.” he leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out and gesturing for another helping of the potatoes. “i know it’s mad, but if i ever get married, i want the stag on a boat. not one of them luxury ones with the silk sheets and gold knobs, no. proper boat. salty deck, sea air, maybe a storm to spice things up. figure if the wedding don’t happen, i’ll have had the better part of it anyway.”

[conallblackbar]

closed starter for @ofgoldengrove setting: conall and mathis catch up at the verdant concord

the beer tent was full to bursting at this time of day, welcoming an influx of new arrivals who had come to seek refuge from the harsher heat of the afternoon sun. it was fortunate that conall and mathis had been there for a while, occupying a table close enough to the open side of the tent that the heat of the extra bodies did not stifle them. the chatter grew louder, punctuated with the occasional burst of laughter, and the smell of oils and perfumes grew stronger, but for now, the two of them were all right where they were.

despite mathis' absence until recent weeks, it felt like very little time had passed between them, their conversations taking on no hint of awkwardness. perhaps it was because conall was used to long periods of time without seeing others. it was part and parcel of being a sailor. the months at see often made it so relationships would need to be paused in the meantime. he was more relaxed than he had been in a while, a product of the beer they had already drank, his smile coming to his face a little easier.

"no, no, mate," he shook his head in response to the question mathis had just asked. "it's just no outsiders on the shields. you should be fine. ask the king if it bothers you, though." the shield islands, like the arbor, had been closed to those not born of the reach throughout the events of the concord, but that did not apply to mathis. "you're still a reachman, aren't you? it'll be fine." he stretched back in his chair, cup still in hand, though half-empty.

"truth be told, though, if you're looking for a rundown on what's been going on since you've been away, i don't think i'm the man for the job." he chuckled. "keep to myself most of the time, when i'm not on a boat or the isles or the riverlands. and the lords," he jerked his head towards a nearby group of lordlings, from the vale by the look of them. "just seem to be getting younger and younger. or maybe i'm getting older. either way, i'll bet that lot were still hanging off their wetnurse last summer."

it was then that a woman breezed into the tent, her attire designed to draw the eyes - cut low at the front, cinched at the waist, the kind of gown he'd be embarrassed if it was his sister wearing it, but given that he bore no relation to the lady, he could not help but let his eyes catch and linger against his better judgement. it was a long few seconds before he managed to tear them away again, a flush creeping up his neck as he took a drink.

he looked up again, and caught mathis looking at him, clearly having noticed conall's lapse. "don't start," he laughed again, shaking his head. "i'm far too old and tired to be looking in that direction." but clearly, he'd looked. it was not the norm for him. he could barely remember the last time he had looked at a woman like that, even with drink in his system. certainly not since his wife had drawn her last breath. he refilled the both of their cups, more for something to do to ground himself.

[conallblackbar]

PAUL MESCAL | All of Us Strangers Gold Derby interview (November 27, 2023)

[conallblackbar]

it was a relief to conall that ronan didn't want to push further on the matter of tyrells and tullys tonight. the conversation would need come before he returned to the reach, but it need not be now. though he were not a man of the riverlands, there was a part of him that felt as though coming here was something akin to a homecoming. it was here, after all, he had found himself after the fracturing of house blackbar.

he didn't respond to ronan right away, taking another swig of his drink with a look on his face that bore nothing in it but guilt, plain to see. he'd said worse things about abigail himself, but always when she had been alive. he'd often said them to ronan, even, bitter and slurred, because ronan had been there to see the whole thing unspool. he knew about the fights, both publicly and behind closed doors, was the first conall had told when he suspected her adultery and when he had committed it himself. he knew about it all, because he was one of the few people conall had never hidden it from. but abigail was no longer here to defend herself, and that made the whole discussion sit uncomfortably.

he wanted to say she hadn't always been like that, that the start had been good, but even that felt like a lie. abigail had always been a double edged sword, someone he had felt he had to walk on eggshells around. the real difference was, at the start he'd been happy to tread lightly. he couldn't pinpoint when that had worn off.

"well, whatever she was and however she got that way, her sister wants to see me held to rights for it." he shrugged, as though it was nothing, but it wasn't. not to conall. "spoke to her a bit in the westerlands. she made it plain she wants to see me face punishment for how it all went down." he didn't elaborate on it, though there was more he could have said. ronan did not need to know willow wylde wished to see conall dead.

the sombre tone of the conversation was dismissed with the sound of ronan's belch, and conall physically flinched as the stench of it hit him full in the face. he grimaced, wafting a hand in front of his nose to try and disperse it. "fucking stinks," he turned his head, leaning back to put distance between them. "like something crawled into your gut and died there."

there was more going unsaid than simply the matter of the riverlands crown, with the vances at the centre of it. conall didn't press on it, did not even know how to. perhaps he would have, if this conversation had been taking place on the deck of one of his ships with the stars hanging in the sky above them, or if they had not already agreed that certain topics were off the table tonight. however, he found himself unable to fully brush past it, either. it was hugo vance where his thoughts lingered, and the way the two of them had once been thick as thieves until they were suddenly not. though conall didn't speak, he looked at ronan for a long moment, blue eyes clearer than they had any right to be given the amount they were putting away between them.

then he smiled, in a gentle, tentative sort of way, and nodded his head. "yeah, i'm sure you will, mate." as though there was nothing else to it. maybe there wasn't, a simple parting of men who had been boys together, but found themselves outgrowing each other as they aged. such things happened, though rarely when both parties called themselves clover.

if there was one argument that did not need explaining, it was conall's with his brother. since their father had died, they had not managed to stand under the same roof without coming to blows, the rage ross provoked in conall utterly unique, something none other was able to recreate. "i don't know anything about how he's doing, to be honest with you." he did not intend for the sharpness in his voice to be there, the defensiveness that always reared his head when ross was the topic of conversation, but it was there regardless. "as fat and miserable as ever, i suppose. caitie is good, though. was out to see me in the shields before i came here."

he ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble that lingered there scraping under his palm. "the shield isles are beautiful. wind's cleaner there or something, and its nice being surrounded by the sea." since he was a boy, conall had loved the ocean, something that hadn't changed even as the rest of his world had. "feels like i should be there more than i am, though, but there's just always something pulling me away. you know how it is." he was new to being a ruling lord, still not having struck the balance that those who were born for that seemed to manage. it didn't help, he supposed, that the shields didn't feel like a home to him. he had his keep on oakenshield, starting to bear the tell-tale signs that conall blackbar lived there, but often, it felt like a lonely place, with none but he and those who worked there to fill it. it still felt like something he was borrowing from someone else, that he'd give it back sooner or later. not home, just where he'd ended up, though he did not know if there was a home out there for him anymore. "i'll be back on the seas sooner rather than later. once i've tied up the loose ends here. think i'm overdue a long voyage."

ᕯ

ronan watched conall pour with the sort of idle half-smile that said he’d noticed, but didn’t mind. of course he didn’t. he’d spent enough nights with the man drinking till the world tipped sideways not to know his habits by heart. the sight was familiar, grounding even. better that than the sour twist of memory that was trying to worm its way into his thoughts.

“aye,” he muttered after a beat, dragging a thumb around the rim of his own cup, “we said we’d leave it, and i meant it. the whole throne business—i can’t force your hand. wouldn’t try. you’ll do what you think’s best for the reach, and that’s fair enough my boy.” he paused, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the pressure that’d always clung to talks of succession. “just trust the pieces’ll land where they’re meant to. or not. fuck it, maybe the gods are bored and want to watch us scrap for it like dogs.”

he took another swig, the warmth of the whiskey doing little to chase off the sudden chill and ire that came from mention of the blackwoods, spoken or not. he tilted his head slightly, as if bracing himself - the ancient hate between their two houses had become an innate part of their very being. the very mention of them was enough to put a sudden gloom over ronan's features, something that was quite chilling and uncomfortable to witness; as though one saw an animal begin to tense and ready for attack.

“well if you won't say it, i'll be damned if i don't. if she hates you for how she was before the end, then she’d need to hate her too for her remarkable ability to make a misery of tings." stupid wench. ronan had never been fond of the women, even before the nature of their marriage suddenly began to collapse in on itself - he always believed her to be too self inserting, and particularly remembers one birthday celebration of his that went incredibly out of hand. he opened his mouth to say something in response to marriage talks, and instead let out a beer tasting burp.

a wellknown characteristic of ronan bracken was his ability to burp the alphabet when drunk, and he found himself letting out a sigh, for he did not want to get to doing that today. no, not when he had a busy day tomorrow which included an early morning; and yet, the talk of marriage of his own raised his brows over the top of his goblet. he didn’t answer the question that followed. not with words, at least.

"ah, mate." it was all he said, and he left it there - as though his affections for fiadh vance were the biggest mystery of all history. he merely slapped his hand down on the table, and left it at that.

ronan just gave a small nod, avoiding his gaze and reaching for the bottle to pour himself another, his hand steady even if his chest felt tight. he said nothing of fiadh, though the thought had been there—bubbling just under the surface. it always was lately. instead, he muttered, “we keep going at this rate, i’ll be off my tits by sundown,” and gave a half-hearted grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“nah, don’t worry about hugo,” he added a beat later, flicking his hand in the air dismissively, wondering whether he had appeared emotionally involved in the topic. he did not wish to seem that way, and yet, it were not the hardest of situations to work out; everyone knew ronan and hughie were the closest of friends at one point, and suddenly it were as though they were nothing more than associates. less. “i’ll speak to him when i catch him.” he wouldn’t. not now. not while things stood as they were. but it was easier to say than admit the knot that always formed in his gut at the thought of it.

he leaned back, shifting the conversation like tossing a cloak over something best left unseen. “how’s big blackbar doin aye? still holed up in that keep of his? and caitria, bet she's lovin' the fact she's at court now. show off.” he asked, voice warming just a little, for even the oldest blackbar brother had a spot in ronan's affections for his pure ability to be an utter prick. it was never not funny to ronan. though he knew the two brothers did not speak to one another and had a massive fallout at their mother's funeral, he thought connie would've at least heard something.

“and the shield isles—how’re you finding it, havin' a place of yer own? can’t imagine you’ve much time to enjoy the sea breeze with all the shite you’ve got on your plate, but still - when you planning on doing another journey on the seas? you probably be countin' down the days ain't you?"

[conallblackbar]

PAUL MESCAL The 'Gladiator II' Cast on Working with Ridley Scott and Breaking Down the Fight Scenes | Fandango

[conallblackbar]

he turned his head to face her fully, his grin already tugging wider across his face. there was a lightness to him, even bordering on mischievousness. that was the thing, he supposed, about secrets like this.

"is that what it looked like?" he asked, one hand bracing against the warm wood of the wall, the other coming to settle in the curve of her waist as she drew a little closer to him. "wallowing in self pity? not very attractive, is it, matilda?" his head dipped down, the chuckle that escaped them warm against her skin as his lips brushed over the spot between her neck and her shoulder, where her skin was soft and if he lingered long enough, he could feel her pulse quicken.

moments like this hadn't been easy to come by. not in his home, not in his marriage. was it any wonder, then, that he grabbed his chance with both hands when matilda had walked into his life? he was only doing what any other man would.

he didn't ask what had kept her, because in the end, it didn't matter. she was here now, bringing with her the promise of something they both needed. it was enough for him to tuck away whatever was going on with him and abigail for a while, as though his wife never existed, though the indent of the wedding band he had removed was still evident on his finger. it was a line he would not cross - he would not fuck another woman with his wedding ring on.

his lips lingered on her neck for only a second longer, before he lifted his head to look at her, the blue of his eyes brighter in the light and dancing with mischief. "no, you're not a groveller. think i've heard you beg once or twice, though." he didn't elaborate further, leaving the words there for her to refute or concede to.

"i suppose i'll settle for whatever you're offering. as long as it involves staying here for a bit longer."

the light from the window spilled lazily across the floor, casting a golden glow over the quiet space. outside, the clang of steel and distant shouts from the training yard drifted in through the cracked window, a sharp contrast to the stillness inside. the air smelled of sun-warmed wood and the faint trace of whatever conall had been drinking.

matilda shut the door behind her with a soft click, letting her weight rest against it for just a moment. she glanced at conall with a knowing little smile, eyes bright with something close to amusement.

“oh, come now, did you really think i’d leave you here to wallow in your own self-pity?” she teased, stepping further into the room. “i’d never be so cruel.”

her gaze flicked toward the window, taking in the familiar figures moving about below. the yard was alive with motion, with duty. it made her glad, just a little, that she was up here instead.

“besides,” she added with a shrug, “looks to me like i made it just in time.”

she let that linger as she reached for the cup he had set aside, lifting it to her lips for a small sip before pulling a slight face. whatever he’d been drinking, she wasn’t impressed. still, she set it back down with a tap of her fingers, as if it had been hers all along.

“now,” she continued, crossing her arms in mock deliberation as she approached him, “how exactly do you expect me to make it up to you? because i must warn you, i’m not particularly good at groveling.” her tone was light, playful, her smile teasing but warm.

[conallblackbar]

there was a brief moment where conall could not meet keira's eyes, instead glancing down at his own hands. it wasn't that her words sat heavily on him, but they did have an effect of some kind that he could not quite put his finger on - the odd comfort that he was not the only one who felt out of sorts, the hollow tug of memory and the gnawing feeling that had never been far from reach since abigail had died. it didn't fix anything, it didn't make anything better or worse. it just was, but perhaps tonight the acknowledgement of that was what he needed.

"yeah," his thumb idly traced a scar at the base of his palm. "that's just it. you sit there thinking that if things had gone just a little bit different, things would be better. but..." he trailed off, giving a noncommittal shrug. this, he thought, was likely the difference between himself and keira florent. where she could count her blessings that her hardships had led her where she was today, conall didn't like himself enough for that. there was a moment where he nearly said that to her, nearly told her that he didn't recognise the man who looked back at him in the looking glass sometimes, but he held it back, a sense of shame creeping up his spine.

he finally looked up then, breathing out in a way that caused his breath to be visible in the chill. the silences that seemed to seep into the cracks of their conversations weren't uncomfortable, but he found himself wanting to fill them anyway, as though he shouldn't let it linger for too long.

his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not a grimace either, when her laughter met the night air. she spoke of sweetness, and he was nodding, but more often than not, for him, it was found in the bottom of the bottle, and what kind of sweetness was that? his eyes followed hers back to the hall, where the rest of their kin remained, unbothered by the thoughts that had led the two of them to seek solace in the night. "i pray they never have to," he spoke quietly. "i wouldn't wish understanding it on anyway." because understanding meant knowing, and he would spare the lot of them that.

he finally let out a quiet laugh of his own, her teasing bringing a glint of humour back into his eyes. "if you've got something to smoke and a pack of matches hidden somewhere on you, you're a better person than me for not lighting up immediately. i've been puffing like a chimney all night." it was obvious, from a glance at the ground to see the butts littered at his feet that conall had been out here for a while.

keira mentioned the stars, and he could not help but glance upwards. he was a sailor by nature, the stars more useful for navigating than because they were pretty, and when he looked at them, he could not help but let those habits creep in. he raised a hand and pointed. "the maiden's veil, you don't see that one often at sea." he mused, finger tracing the constellation in the sky. "when that one comes into view, i know we're not too far from home." he let his hand drop to his side. "yeah. a walk sounds nice."

keira offered a sympathetic smile, her breath mingling with the cold air. "aye, yule does have that way about it," she agreed softly. "it's like the warmth inside only makes the chill outside bite harder." she glanced toward the hall, where laughter and music filtered through the heavy doors.

"it's a cruel trick our minds play, isn't it?" she murmured, her breath visible in the cold air. "to dangle the 'what ifs' before us, especially during times meant for joy." she paused, her fingers tracing the edge of her cloak. "i often find myself wandering down those paths, imagining different endings. but then, i wonder, would i be the person i am now without those losses?"

of course, their circumstances were different, she knew. the things that swirled in their minds that could possibly have been certainly were not the same, but as a result of these endings, it seemed that somehow they found themselves in the same, strange place, anyways. keira's arms crossed over her bodice, hugging herself for a bit of warmth against the chill, quickly brushing away stray red wisps that fluttered in front of her eyes.

at his comment, she couldn't help the air of laughter that escaped her. "but who among us can claim to be that 'better' person all the time? we do our best with the hands we're dealt, finding sweetness where we can." she exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly as if she deflated as she turned to gaze at the partygoers. "they all mean well, but they don't really understand, do they?" she mused, turning back to conall, her face quickly recovering into its usual, more gentle demeanor.

"as much as i try to keep the gloom at bay, i reckon i'd be lighting up a smoke myself if i had one." she offered him a teasing smile, her eyes reflecting a shared understanding. "i was only teasing about that, by the way. if it helps you, light up another." keira offered a smile, though she then wondered if he had given up his last just a moment ago.

her florent blue hues wandered upwards towards the stars, and for a brief moment, a pang of sadness hit her, one of the what if moments that she had just mentioned. the stars above runestone were just as beautiful. she swallowed, taking a step outwards towards the grass, a crisp crunching sound emitting from her boots, before she turned around to other. "or if you need something else to do, we could take a little walk. the stars are pretty tonight. probably be better for yer lungs, too." she added with a small grin.

[conallblackbar]

PAUL MESCAL Hot Ones

[conallblackbar]

he'd finished his cup, and conall thought little of moving to reach for the rest of the bottle and top himself up. it was a gesture that he was far too comfortable with - both due to the familiarity of sharing a drink with ronan bracken, and the fact it was now force of habit. "simpler times," he echoed, though the words resonated more than ronan may have intended them to. there was little nostalgia in ronan's tone, but conall's own was tinged with a sort of sentimentality, for unlike ronan, he did look back on the time before with a sort of longing. he missed when things had been easier, problems that had seemed monumental then paling in comparison to now.

it was even harder not to be wistful when they were talking about times of joy, one that still brought a laugh out in ronan, but conall could not help but grin at ronan's wheezy chuckles. "remember? i'll never forget it. i swear i was still half-cut in the sept, amount we put away the night before. spent the whole time swaying at the altar." he shook his head, managing a look of mock-indignance. "'s'no wonder i was confused, is it? i had one of you shouting shit poetry in my left ear, and someone else telling me to compliment he tits in my right." conall's own contribution had been to compare marriage to a shipwreck. perhaps wisely, that line had swiftly been removed, but with the benefit of hindsight, it seemed almost like a premonition of what was to come.

he clicked his tongue, setting his cup down to rest on the table. "should have just let me make a cock of myself," he mused. "could have saved me a bit of trouble, hey?"

it was not often that conall spoke of the matter of his marriage with any sort of levity, but he did now. it was not often that conall spoke of any matter relating to abigail at all, but that was what the drink was for. tonight, it didn't feel like a crushing weight around his neck, something that had made an irrevocable mark on him. not with ronan, who had never once given any indication that he believed anything other than conall's innocence. there was self-deprecation in his words, certainly, but that was simply conall's way. tonight wasn't about regrets, or ruminating after what had long been lost, even if the nostalgia of it had wrapped around his heart.

until they spoke of willow. there was a wound that would never heal, a woman with which, for conall, there would never be any peace. if conall's stay in the riverlands was to be an extended one, she could present a problem. it was something he had considered, just how much of a thorn in his side she was likely to be, but despite the untruths she so often spoke of in relation to his guilt, he could not find it in him to blame her for speaking them. perhaps that was the worst part of it - that he understood why she felt the way she did, why she said the things she said. if it was his sister, he could not say that he would think any differently.

"she's got reason to hate me, though," he pointed out. it would have been easy to sit there and call her mad, especially to ronan, knowing how deep his hatred of all things relating to house blackwood ran, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to do so. "i can't blame her for it. just have to put up with it, i suppose." his words were matter-of-fact, with little sense of martyrdom behind them. conall endured willow's venom, simply because he deserved to endure it. it was the very least he had earned. willow would never forgive him, and he would never ask her to. he could, to some extent, try and ignore the whispers of strangers, but willow had every right to look at him and see nothing but the worst. he did not kill abigail, but they both knew it was his fault she was dead.

a mere nod of his head indicated his agreement with ronan's words. conall was done speaking of politics for the night. instead, he let a smirk cross his face, a slight shake of his head. "you just want someone to blame if they turn out shit," he pointed out. "i won't be having you point the finger at me if your wife isn't impressed with you, ronan bracken." he had already proven, through his own experiences, that he was not up to the task. "nah. you'll find me in the front row, waiting to see if you make as much of a pig's ear of it as i did." his grin was broad as he reclined in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle before him.

"'course, you'll need a bride before you start fussing over your vows. unless there's something you ain't telling me." it did not take a genius to work out where ronan's affections lay, just a pair of eyes and enough sense in one's head to connect the dots. and yet, little had ever come from it. perhaps things had changed whilst he had been away, conall reasoned. "does the poor woman know what she's letting herself in for, hitching herself to you?" it was a lighthearted sort of teasing, but there was something in the way ronan's smirk slipped, just slightly, before he caught himself. had conall been looking anywhere but directly at his face, or if he had been but a few sips drunker, he might have missed it, but he didn't. it was enough to have him looking a little closer, for something other than old jokes and half-remembered poetry.

and there is was. hugo vance. the mention of him was casual enough, and it stemming from talk of wedding vows was enough to confirm that no, things had not changed at all. he knew enough to know the very basics of it, that once, ronan and hugo had been friendly, until suddenly they weren't. war did that, he supposed, made enemies of even the closest of allies. years had passed, but whatever went wrong with them had stayed wrong. it was just one of those things, and yet, their estrangement was enough to have conall looking at hugo sideways whenever their paths crossed. it was not that he had ever seen any indication that hugo vance was anything but the decent sort - save for the severance of his relationship with ronan, and the fact conall trusted ronan's judgement far more than his own, and trusted that the reason behind the distance was a sound one.

"why? want me to put in a good word for you?" he was being facetious, picking his cup from the table and taking another long sip. deliberately casual, matching ronan's own tone of voice, even as something pricked at the back of conall's mind. "reckon i'll catch him when i get the chance," he finally answered. "bound to stumble across him eventually, ain't i?" he might have let it go. another time, another place, another conversation, and he might have, but perhaps the drink had loosened his tongue more than it ought to be, so instead, his head tilted. "something i should know?"

ᕯ

ronan leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out beneath the table with the easy familiarity of a man who did not need to think twice about his company. the candlelight cast flickering shadows across the room, catching against the deep grain of the wood and the half-drunk cups between them. it had been years since they had last sat like this—just the two of them, without politics wedged between them like an uninvited guest. he let out a slow breath, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. it wasn’t that he didn’t feel the weight of it, of everything that had brought conall here, but fuck, if he let himself get dragged down in it now, they’d be at each other’s throats before the night was through.

he wasn’t interested in that. not tonight.

instead, he let his mind wander to simpler times, to a night long past but not forgotten. his grin came slow but certain, the memory of it enough to peel away the stiffness of responsibility that had settled into his bones. and when the sound finally came after listening, it was that of his typical bark of laughter - almost wheezy and deep, a hand resting upon his knee as he sat up suddenly. "aye, i almost forgot about that," he said, shaking his head. "do you remember the state of us before your wedding?" the words came out rough with laughter before he even finished them, and he tipped his cup towards the other man, an unspoken toast to the sheer stupidity of their younger selves.

"thought we were poets, the lot of us, huddled together with our cups and our quills, convinced we were writing something that’d go down in history. and the worst part is, you believed it." he barked out a laugh, sharp and unrestrained.

"i had to bite my fucking tongue in the sept. nearly lost it when you stumbled over that first line—we all knew it was coming, spent the whole morning laying bets on whether you'd get through it without making a cock of yourself." he tilted his head back, exhaling through his nose. "and omer—fuck, i'm sure he still remembers. swears up and down you went pale as the fucking marble." he smirked. "probably was, if i had to guess. wouldn’t have blamed you, mind. half the room looked ready to drop dead from boredom, and the other half was just there to see if you’d actually go through with it." his laughter faded, but the warmth of it still lingered in his chest. he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before letting it drop against the table with a dull thud.

"simpler times, aye?" he mused, though there was no real wistfulness to it—just the plain truth. not easier, not softer, just simpler. before the weight of banners and thrones and whispered accusations had settled between them.

his gaze flicked over conall then, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away. he would not speak on it—not the rumours, not the whispers that clung to conall like a shadow he could never quite shake. there was nothing to be gained from dredging up the past, not when the dead were already buried and the living still had to walk forward. instead, he reached for his cup again, rolling it between his palms. "run into her, what can she do? fuck her and fuck them too, blackwood cunts." he said, the words coming slow, yet casual - a true glimpse into the extent of enmity that had swirled between their houses from what felt like the beginning of time. children or not, they were blackwoods; blackwood men, and if he could, he would run his blade through them.

"the mad cow. though surely she’s mellowed some—or at least, she’s too busy chasing after her children now to stir up as much shit as she used to back in the day." his mouth twitched, but there was no real humour in it. a pause. ronan shifted, adjusting his seat as if to shake off the weight of the conversation before it could settle too deep.

he had never been one for speaking on ghosts—not when there was still so much left for the living to carry. he wasn’t going to start now. he let out a laugh, shaking his head. "truth be told con, i’d rather drink to old times than sit here jawing about politics all night. i’m sure you’ve already had your fill of that shite." he tipped his cup in conall’s direction, an unspoken invitation to leave it at that. "besides, i reckon i’ve put more effort into this conversation than i will my own wedding vows." a smirk, a knowing look. "though, if you’re lucky, maybe i’ll let you help me write them. could be you’ll finally redeem yourself after that first mess."

it were known ronan bracken was no poet; if anything, his attempted poetry which he had intended to try and send to a not so mystery woman many a year ago had been under scrutiny many times at the gambling table. sometimes, he could still hear omer's thick brightwater accent speaking it loudly from the very bottom of his chest. a slight laugh slipped from his mouth as he again took another sip of his whiskey, though there was a minor slip on his expression as his next words came to mind - and they slipped, before he could fully think about what it was he was going to say. conall being in such close proximity means he would surely realise, sooner rather than later, that things were far stranger between the brackens and the vances than he could ever have truly assumed from across rolling reach hills.

"when are you planning on seeing hugo, aye?" never hughie; never hugie, always hugo for what felt like forever. "you'll need to catch him, man ventures around quite a bit."

[conallblackbar]

Paul Mescal on Capital - Chow Chow Puppies

[conallblackbar]

conall did not bother testing the gate for himself after witnessing brianna's struggle to open it. instead, he followed suit, using his hands to lift himself up and swing a leg over and near instantly feeling the coldness of the damp wood as it pressed against his sodden trousers. "might be valyrian," he didn't know. "never thought about it before." and he still wasn't now, instead more preoccupied with climbing down on to the other side of the fence as quickly as he could. "they're good at making up fancy words for things, ain't they?

there was a heavy thud as he landed on the other side of the fence, and he sank a few inches into the mud - his was a build made for strength, not grace. he had already moved a few steps before looking back, and found that for the first time, she was not following, instead remaining perched upon the gate with her hand outstretched, catching the rain in her palm. he made no move to hurry her along, instead retracing her footsteps back to the fence and leaning against it, chin upturned to watch her above him.

she looked at ease like this, though admittedly bedraggled, with hair plastered to her head and raindrops running in rivulets from her face, all the while with that glint in her eye that came from laughter. it was a moment he wished to remember, a moment that felt like things were as they always had been, and always would be, rather than the feeling that time had marched on without him, taking brianna with it. it was not nostalgia that tugged at him now, but something else entirely, far more gentle but just as fond.

"lucky thing i ain't a riverlander then, ain't it?" conall huffed a laugh, though he was not sure it was such a lucky thing. more increasingly these days, he felt out of place in the reach without the comforts of bandallon to turn to. he was not sure he felt quite at home here either, but at least here, there was a sense of being settled that did not exist elsewhere. still, he glanced up at her again, and he smiled. "suits you, though. the rain, the mud. all of it."

he held out a hand to help her over the fence, but in the end, she did not need it, dropping down into the grass by herself, and he retracted it to slip back into his pocket. his smile turned into something that was not born of amusement, but because he was genuinely touched by her words, as though the idea that she had enjoyed their trip as much as he did had only just occurred to him. "it's not been a bad way to spend an afternoon, has it?" and though it felt like his very bones had been soaked through, as though it would take a week solid for his boots not to feel damp upon his feet, conall meant it.

a frown crossed his brow as he considered what she was saying, though it was no small feat to decipher what she was talking about when she spoke of thinking, but not thinking, remembering, but not. in the end, he thought it sounded similar to what he felt when he brought a bottle to his lips. easier to do that than stop and take stock of all the rest. "is that how it works?" he mused. "looking back to avoid thinking too much about it? i thought the past was where all the overthinking came from."

conall's expression remained neutral as she spoke, and once the story was complete, he snorted a laugh. "there's only one brianna bracken," he pointed out, pushing back his sleeves a little - he was beginning to notice the discomfort of the dampness of his coat. it was weird, and there was no denying it, just as there was no denying that conall found far less humour in the story than brianna evidently did, though he was not entirely certain why. it was not outrage that emira mallister would try and pass herself as bri. that, at least, he could admit was funny, but rather the feeling he had stumbled across something that was not his to touch nor jest with - a private joke that belonged only to brianna and garrick cargyll. it were as though he was standing on some invisible threshold.

"it would be funny," he admitted. "but... better not, eh?" it was a gentle refusal, but a refusal all the same. "don't want to be going and pissing off the mallisters my first crack at the job," he pointed out. maybe it would be funny, or maybe it would be a case of inserting himself where he did not belong. "besides, between you and garrick cargyll, you can make her squirm well enough without my help." it was as much of an explanation as he was willing to give.

♣️

it was not long before they reached an old wooden gate, slick with rain and stubborn in its hinges and tinted green with the moss that had begun to grow over it. brianna tested it with a push, but it didn’t budge; she tested it again with slightly more strength, and yet still it did not budge, and so she let out a slight huff - it had been open on their way down. instead of bothering with it any further, she hitched herself up onto the damp wood, swinging one leg over and settling herself down on the top with a comfortable ease. she stayed there a while, hands smoothing the fabric of her tartan scarf as she pushed her damp dark tresses out of her wide doe-eyed gaze, blinking through the raindrops that clung to her lashes.

"nostalgia." she repeated after him, both of her hands on the damp wood that would no doubt soon rot with the ages. "sounds valyrian, that does. fancy. nostalgia."

her feet were beginning to ache from the endless walk through the moors and the weight of waterlogged boots, and she found she quite liked the vantage point up here, so she made no move to shift as she watched him begin to navigate his legs over the fence, trying not to grin too wide as she tried not to laugh. "aye connie blackbar, what do you mean by worse?" she scoffed theatrically, glancing down at conall with amusement, one hand stretched out to catch the rainfall. "this is what it’s meant to be, this is the riverlands. we don’t get to pick and choose only the sunshine and the fairies, con. the rain, the mud, the wind in yer face—it’s all part of it. you’ve got to love it all, otherwise, you don’t really love it at all, do you?" she gave a little huff, flicking her fingers to send droplets scattering. "and besides, who’s ever gotten sick from a little rain? walk it off and it'll be fine."

her attention flitted back to him, catching that brief flash of something in his expression—panic, anxiety, some momentary slip of thought he hadn’t meant to show. "and, being honest, i've had a grand time, getting muddy with you." she only realised why when she replayed her own words in her mind, recognising too late that it had almost sounded like she was going to tell him off. instead of calling attention to it, she let it pass, fiddling idly with the ribbon tied around her neck. "but it’s alright, y’know," she said, voice light but warm. "not thinking. or thinking, but thinking about somethin' other than your own life. i think about the past to avoid overthinking, but not my past. or i think about whose being annoying these days.better to focus on not tripping over yer own feet or falling overboard, eh? don’t want to be lost to the seas, do you?" she leaned forward, still settled comfortably on the wooden gate and gave his arm an affectionate pat before swinging her other leg over and finally dropping down onto the softer, grassy side of the field.

she cast another glance at conall, the rain still coming down in steady sheets around them. "anyway, we can come back here properly once you’ve finished all yer talking for the reach," she said, stretching her arms above her head before tucking her hands back into her pockets. "not too much talking about nostalgia, mind. don’t want you getting lost in all that, either." she purposefully put on a more formal voice when repeating the word he had confirmed for her, a finger tapping the top of her head playfully as though to indicate her outrageous intelligence.

she walked beside him again as they made their way past a few scattered sheep, their wool damp and thick from the rain. as she adjusted her scarf around her shoulders, she glanced sidelong at conall, grin curling slow at the edges. "so i don't know the lass, yeah? annoying, but she's pretty, i'll give her that. very pretty. she'll flirt with a horse if it neighed at her enough." her voice was laced with dry amusement, her boots squelching lightly with each step. "she got herself caught watching some people—gods know what she was at—an’ instead of just holding her hands up to it, she went and pretended to be me. to garrick cargyll, no less." she snorted, shaking her head.

"and the best part? he went along with it, let her think she had him fooled, ‘cause i’ve known him since the war. he knew the whole time, obviously." she was able to talk about such things casually now, as opposed to the time in her life where she found herself blooming under a certain lord's attention - that had all come and gone with the years and the seasons. "he's helped me out in a bit of a weird situation, so the timing was just perfect."

her laughter was almost singsong like and more to herself than anything, but there was something thoughtful in the way she held the story in her mouth, rolling it over like a stone between her teeth. "i’m waitin’ for the right moment to pull her leg over it. garrick's agreed to play along, let it drag a bit, let her squirm a little. she’s not my friend, so i don’t know why she’s usin’ my name to act a fool. she trying to tarnish it?" her tone was teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it, an undercurrent of something she hadn’t quite figured out yet. "when you see her, do you think you could greet her as brianna bracken too? cmon con, it'd be funny and you know it."

[conallblackbar]

there was a chill that had nothing to do with the rain lashing at his skin, a vague sense of something he had no name for lingering in the quiet spaces between when conall spoke and when brianna did. the closest thing he cold equate it to was entering a room and knowing that those within it had ceased speaking about you only seconds before, that strange sort of vague unease. but it were a silly thought - there was none here but brianna and the sound of the falls.

brianna's voice broke through his thoughts, and he gave her a nod. this was supposed to be a simple walk, a way to shrug off some of their burdens for a few hours, but there was a heaviness he could not explain, his chest tight and shoulders beginning to ache with tension. perhaps it was simply his sodden clothes dragging him down, he thought. she let out a laugh that did not reach her eyes, and conall smiled, too. he did not wish her to see that something was tugging at him, particularly when he would not be able to voice it if she asked, but there was something in the way her voice faltered that had him wondering if she felt it, too.

it was confirmed in her words, the mention of the silent brooding they had fallen into. at that, conall laughed, and despite it all, it was genuine. "aye, something warm and something strong, i reckon." she was probably right. it was just the rain, casting a moody shadow that had stamped itself on to them, making it seem as though something was wrong when little was. the haze was enough to blur the edges of what was real around them, making the moors feel like a mythical place of song rather than something tangible. it almost made it seem as though brianna was in sharp focus, the only thing here that were truly tangible.

and you -

the smile slid from conall's face as he looked at her, eyes snapping to hers with a sharpness born of panic. her words were simple, but it was enough to stir a sense of dread in him, a fear born from the worry that she would say he had in fact changed. it was not that conall didn't know it. he was not the man he was, the happier, more carefree version of himself from years gone by. he saw it in the way ronan and omer spoke to him, in the look in caitria's eyes when he rose too late for breakfast with a pounding headache and bloodshot eyes, but something about brianna, with whom he always felt most himself, seeing it too had his pulse quickening. don't say it, he willed her, silently. don't tell me what i already know.

he cast his gaze downwards, bracing himself for the confirmation that she no longer looked at him and saw conall, but instead the ghosts that shrouded him. the worst part was, he could not deny it himself. there were no words he could offer her that he had not changed that would not be a lie, and he would not lie to her. but she didn't say it, that thing she could not bear to hear, and in the silence that stretched, he dared to peek at her again. what he saw in her expression was not pity, nor disappointment, nor the frustration that had become familiar in his own reflection in the looking glass, but something else entirely.

well, so are you con.

conall let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding in, the wind carrying it away from him. the relief was immediate, though he should have expected it. if there was any who could look upon him, and see him, as she always had, not a man shaped by grief and rumour, it was brianna. there was nothing he could say in return to it. how could he explain that he didn't feel the same anymore, after all that had happened to him? but then, maybe that simply didn't matter to her. he hoped it didn't matter to her.

"you're right," he finally found his voice, though it was rough, as though he were speaking through a hoarse throat first thing in the morning. "same silly old sod as i always was, ain't i?"

somehow he had ended up walking ahead of her, but found himself unable to keep from glancing back, so much so that he was striding forward at an odd angle, almost sideways against the path. "probably because the weather's always shite, and everyone else has the good sense to stay indoors rather than walking out in it," he suggested, though it did not seem to be the case. she was speaking of the past, giving words to what he was feeling, the weight of what had come before that only seemed to grow heavier as he walked. she said the word nostalgia as though it was a curse, and perhaps it was, the strange sort of melancholy that came from reflecting on even the happiest of memories, and in that moment, con could almost hear the echo of laughter from years ago, see the impressions of footprints in the mud from decades ago. he was not the only one of them who had been marked by hardship - brianna had, too, at far too young an age, and he could understand how it would make those happy memories all the more bittersweet.

"yeah. nostalgia." he confirmed, with a slight nod of his head. "creeps up on you from time to time. even feel it out on the sea sometimes, even when there's fuck all about to get me to thinking." it was an attempt to reassure her that this was normal, a natural feeling that had nothing to do with the falls nor his company. it was simply what it was to be human, to look at the past and feel that sort of longing.

"we'll come back," he said, and he knew then that it was a promise ; conall would not return to the reach without doing this again, without looking upon the falls with brianna by his side. "rain or not, we'll come back. can't be worse than this, can it?" he turned his face upwards towards the sky, rain drumming down directly on to his face, as though he was looking for a break in the clouds in that very moment, and then shook his head like one of his dogs shaking water from their coats. "not too much food, mind. it'll be a right pain carrying it all the way up." he stood still until she caught up with him, and nudged her with his shoulder. the thought of returning here was a balm, soothing the raw edges of whatever had caught hold of him. "something to look forward to, isn't it?" he said, and he wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself.

the path was becoming less treacherous now, mud beginning to give way to stone beneath their feet as they trudged back towards civilisation. it was more like than not that they would pass others on the walk back to stone hedge, and that was the moment when the world would cease to belong to just the two of them. it was fitting, then, that it was the moment where talk would turn to other riverlanders, emira mallister chief among them. "go on, then," he looked to her expectantly, a grin already unfolding on his lips. "i could do with a good laugh. what did she do?"

♣️

for the periods of time where the only noise was that of the hammering of the rain or the rush of the falls, the sound of her boots squeaking against wet mud and the slippery nature of the rocks acted almost as some strange interjection for brianna's thoughts; the quiet comedic relief seemingly ensuring she did not get too caught up in the soft melancholy that felt almost contagious within this small corner of the world. there were multiple times where even where the quiet did overtake them, and large doe orbs peered back at conall blackbar from behind her shoulder each time her boot squeaked against the rock, unable to stop a slight laugh slipping from her lips as the cold rush of wind and rain caused her cheeks to become increasingly red.

whilst she knew something seemed to be playing at his mind, she understood why - all too well. "aye, well," she started, picking her way carefully across the damp stones, boots slipping slightly before she steadied herself. "we are here again, aren't we?" she mused, glancing back at him over her shoulder. brianna let out a breath, a short huff of laughter that barely left her throat, more exhale than anything else. she hadn't expected him to say that, but maybe she should have. conall always had a way of pulling something real out of her, even when she wasn't looking for it.

"ah, fuck, i dunno. maybe it's just been too long since we were last here. makes the mind play tricks, don’t it?" she tried for levity, but it came out thinner than she meant it to. "or maybe you just need a cup of somethin' warm. reckon that'll fix whatever it is we're silently broodin’ over." but even as she said it, she knew a drink wouldn't fix it. whatever it was. whatever had settled into his chest and his bones, whatever had made him quiet as the falls roared around them.

it was not hard to imagine or recall it; youthful laughter and mindlessly chattering away on yuletide mornings, wrapped in furs and woolen scarves - not just the two of them, but all of their people and their closest; a brisk morning walk before returning to break their fast in the morning, attend the sept and finally go on to open their presents. there had been marriages then, yet those marriages had been made in the forges of love or affection; no widows, no grief, no rumours or accusations of murder. how much had his life changed since they were last back here? how much had hers remained the very same? one seemingly blurred with how much had changed, and the other forever frozen in time.

"and it feels the same to me," she continued, though she wasn't entirely sure that was true. she stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets, fingers brushing over the last lingering warmth where his had been only moments before. "maybe that's the problem, aye? me still bein’ here, same as i was. and you—" she cut herself off, squinting slightly against the drizzle as she glanced at him; droplets of rain against her eyelashes, and suddenly she realised perhaps she should say the rest. still, she had already come out with half of it. maybe he would expect her to say he was not. "well, so are you con."

because, as a person, he was the same to her. all that had changed were situations, and habits - and habits did not make people, did they?

who was in front and who was behind seemed to blend as they walked - his footprints stretched ahead of her, deep in the mud, and she found herself stepping into them one by one. his boots were larger, the impressions wider, and her own steps barely filled them. it was a silly thing to notice, but she noticed it all the same. she had always followed conall in some way or another—through reckless dares when they were young, through fields they weren't supposed to be in, through the kinds of talks only best friends could have. and now, through the old paths of their youth, though they were no longer quite the same.

she let the silence stretch for a moment longer before she nudged his shoulder, not hard enough to knock him off balance, just enough to remind him she was there. "i don't know why i never came back here for so long though. got no real excuse." perhaps she did - perhaps it felt like some sort of ancient sacrilege to come back here alone. "but i don't know, i think...even whilst we've been chatting, it's makin' me remember things. half good, half bad." she had half a mind to joke about ghosts and curses again, but something about the weight in his eyes stopped her. "probably just part of it though. what's the word, it's a fancy one...nostalgia?" the wind cut sharp as they moved further from the falls, the roar of water fading into something gentler, the hush of the gorge giving way to open land.

"can we should try come back before you return to the reach?" she indicated toward the rain, putting both of her hands out dramatically, almost as though she were playfully putting on a show. "perhaps it won't be pissing it down, and i'll bring us food."

the path ahead stretched towards the farmers' fields, the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke curling in the air. she could hear the distant bleat of sheep somewhere beyond the trees, a sound so familiar it might as well have been stitched into her bones. she swallowed, boots squelching as they left the last of the rocks behind.

she let the silence take hold for a moment, then sighed, rolling her shoulders as if shaking something off. "c’mon, then," she muttered, falling into step beside him again. "if i’m gonna lecture you about the riverlanders at court, we best get back before night falls. and don’t you dare let me catch you likin’ emira mallister, con. i mean it." her nose wrinkled slightly, feeling a sense of possessiveness over the idea of him liking someone else or spending time with someone else in the riverlands. anyone but emira mallister, with how insufferable she was. the corners of her mouth twitched, the ghost of a cheeky smile, but she didn't look at him. didn't want to see if he was smiling too, or if that look was still in his eyes. some things, maybe, were better left unspoken.

"you actually wanna know what she done?" she asked, laughter already slipping from her as she emerged onto the flat mud path, turning back to watch conall pull up beside her. "you'll laugh. actually fuckin' weird that one."

[conallblackbar]

something curled in the depths of conall's chest. he could tell there was a deliberate softening, as though conall could not stomach truth without caveat or clarifications. it was an odd mix, both gratitude, that ronan would seek to assuage him, and regret that it was needed at all, as though he was too fragile a man to speak to plainly, though it had always been ronan's way to do so.

and it was an odd thing - there was usually very few circumstances where conall's interests and ronan's did not align. the brackens were close as kin, if not closer in some ways, for when the doors of bandallon had been barred to him, it was the brackens who opened theirs. and yet, here he was, left to grapple with the fact that his very presence here was a slight, and that all he could do was not make it harder than it needed to be. on his lap, conall's hands balled into light fists. ronan was no fool, did not expect conall to single-handedly stitch together relations between reach and rivers, but they both knew conall had never been good at this. he knew winds and tides, not words and politics.

but he was the one here, and that would have to be enough.

and it did not mean nothing that ronan trusted him enough to strip back the layers and say what it was that was on his mind. he nodded slowly, blue eyes shaded by the furrow of his brow, and nodded his head. "well, i know that," he retorted, managing a joke as he leaned back in his chair. "day you stop telling me what's what is the day they lower me into my grave, i reckon." he grinned then, but it faded fast. "just one of them, isn't it? ain't the kind of thing that can be half done." he rubbed a hand over his face, letting his thoughts collect again.

but having ronan's trust meant something. all who knew conall knew that he sought approval in those around him, and the closer someone was to him, the more he needed it. he would think little of putting his own life in ronan's hands, and so it should not have been a surprise to know that of all the men of the reach, it would be conall that ronan chose for this, and yet it was. he was not a man easily given to pride, but he could feel it curling at the edges. he would not consider himself a man worth choosing, not after everything, but perhaps there was something in it after all if ronan did.

he nodded again, eager to seize upon the change of topic. "d'you remember my wedding vows?" he wasn't sure where this urge to reminisce came from. conall did not usually talk of his marriage with any sort of levity, but it was there now, the beginnings of a laugh bubbling in his chest. "got to the night before and we realised i had no idea what i was going to say. had us all scrambling at a stupid time of night to get something down. thought it was a masterpiece too, until we woke up the next day." it had been the ramblings of men too drunk to come up with anything proper. "believe me, mate, this is way easier than any wedding vow, and you've got a better way with words than i ever did."

he did not need to be told that ronan would most likely be found at riverrun, and brianna in stone hedge, for it was hardly an unusual circumstance. no comment passed conall's lips on the fact ronan felt the need to tell him what he already knew. "i'll be making time to go see her while i'm here." this was something ronan would likely have already known, now. conall had never allowed a trip to the riverlands to pass without spending at least an afternoon in the company of brianna bracken. "don't think she'd forgive me if i didn't." the words were spoken fondly - he was looking forward to seeing her as much as he had been to seeing ronan.

willow wylde was not conall's favourite topic of conversation. even before abigail had died, she had not liked him. that had only been amplified in the years since. the most vicious of rumours against conall's name, the very worst of what was whispered about him, he was certain originated from her. his leg began to bounce when ronan brought her up, a restless energy he couldn't contain. "two." he cleared his throat before offering clarification. "she has two. they must be nearly men grown, now." he had met the blackwood boys when he had been married to abigail - by his reckoning, they should be too old to be living under their mother's thumb. "always a fun reunion, that one." a weary sort of resignation crossed over his face, because despite it all, he couldn't blame her. "our paths will probably cross eventually. i'm just not looking forward to it."

but where willow's name did not stir a sense of agitation in him, the mention of his brother did. the change was instant in conall - the way his brows furrowed and jaw clenched, and he sank lower in his chair. in that moment, he looked very much unlike himself. the family ties between the brothers blackbar was brittle as sun-bleached bones. "don't care," he said. "can't be arsed with ross and his shit. don't matter to me if he knows or not."

ᕯ

there was always a slight shadow that crossed the features of conall blackbar in moments such as this; where there was an apparent crossroads and conversations were laced with a string of tension, it was a look that made ronan's own chest tighten and feel as though he were pulling at strings that had wrapped themselves around his heart - truthfully, for all the ways that ronan bracken could find himself getting worked up, he had not the heart to talk harshly to those he cared about, especially when he was no longer frustrated to begin with.

tough love could do a world of wonders, and yet, ronan had found a time in his life where he was desperate for patience and understanding. it came naturally to those he considered his own blood. ronan leaned back in his chair again, running a hand over his jaw before letting it drop heavily to the table. "look mate," he said, his voice quieter now, more level. "i know what it might seem like, me goin’ off like that. but don’t think for a second i mean to put you in some sort of place, like i’m expectin’ you to shoulder all this weight just ‘cause it’s me sat across from you." he huffed, shaking his head again.

"i speak plain ‘cause it’s how i’ve always spoken. i say what’s in my chest, what i know to be true. but that’s not me tryin’ to make your lot any harder."

it was rare he found himself thinking of such moments: where ronan bracken had signed away what felt like his dignity and his soul for the sake of securing his family, his house, wealth, and himself - and those he had stabbed in the back on the way. he thought it some joke from the gods that his own sister was too afraid of the fireplace to poke the flames herself in a simple hearth, considering the flames he had brought down upon house vance. a traitor, was what he was: and in the end, he had managed to scrape back what was left of the trust.

his gaze flicked to the fire, watching the flames curl and snap, before he turned back to conall. "truth is, i wouldn’t have anyone else be in this position, con. not a one. if it had to be someone, i’d have chosen you myself." the words sat heavy, but they were steady, certain. "whatever else, at least i know you’ll be fair about it. least i know you’ll take a man at his word, that you’ll listen." he let out a breath, leaning forward slightly. "so don’t sit there thinking i’d have you anywhere else, aye? not when i trust you to be the one handlin’ this mess." he had begged for understanding and patience during the lowest part of his life, and it taught him a mighty lesson of watching his tongue and being mindful of his tone with his own. there was none other in the world like them, none who would feel like home.

he let that linger between them, making sure conall knew he meant it. then, after a moment, he let the tension roll from his shoulders, tipping his cup in the other man’s direction before taking another drink. "besides," he added, some of the usual dry humour creeping back into his tone, "i reckon i’ve done enough talkin’ politics for one night. might be i’ve put more effort into this conversation than i probably will my own wedding vows, you lucky bastard." he set his cup down with a soft thud, rubbing at his jaw again as he shifted the subject easily, naturally, as if to make sure conall knew they’d spoken on all that needed to be said.

"i’ll be in riverrun mostly, if you need to find me," he said, voice lighter now, "but you don’t need to ask if i’ll be back at stone hedge. my bri'll there looking after mamai, so you’ll have a welcome there. she’s a better host than i ever was, poor girl." he smiled slightly, shaking his head slightly. a part of him felt guilt and pit, the vision of a fourteen, fifteen year old brianna hosting and needing to direct where the soldiers need to stay to be fed at stone hedge. his throat cleared as he leaned back in his seat, a hand resting upon the slight stubble that was beginning to grow on his jaw - he detested it, and would be removing it come morning. everyone knew ronan bracken appeared a hermit with a beard.

"you've already thought about all this, but you'll bump into abigal's sister, yeah? the mad cow." he cleared his throat, knowing he hardly needed to remind conall of such a fact - he'd at least thought of it himself multiple times. but ronan bracken still remembered the sight of her crumpled body at the bottom of a set of stairs. "she's usually in raventree though, lookin' over however many children she has...one, i reckon." he yawned slightly, a hand going over his mouth. "does yer brother know yer here? cait definitely does."