briannabrackens

[briannabrackens]

♣️

somehow, despite the mud and filth that stained the bottoms of her skirts beneath the cloak around her shoulders and would stain her incoming nights too, brianna bracken was quietly stunned and numb to find she were in good spirits, all things considered. her hair was mussed, her gown had seen finer days, and she was walking the corridors of the red keep with a single shoe in hand like some half-mad court jester whilst her other foot felt the bottom of the cold stone floor beneath her. but she had garrick cargyll at her side, and somehow, his company could easily soften the edges of a long, long night, it was him.

she prayed the warmth she felt in the pits of her stomach did not spread to a rose tint upon her cheeks, even in the flickering darkness of the red keep's hallways.

“if the name cargyll be controversial, so be any other noble name...” she went on, knowing all too well what he was speaking about. the cargylls had picked their sides, and if that made them divisive, then so was every other noble family in the realm - the targaryens most of all. “you’re alright, yeah. i reckon that’s why jaehaerys picked you. not just for the oath and all, but because you’re new blood. the world’s changed. after the war, it had to. it couldn’t be the same old names swingin’ swords and sittin’ thrones. needed someone who actually knows what it is to bleed for it, aye?” she patted his arm again, the gesture bordering on fond, though her tone bled into a soft mocking as she spoke, almost falsely fawning over the man. “besides, you look far better in white than most old men would.”

she didn’t expect her heel to give out. not now, not here, not while she was mid-thought and mid-sentence, in the middle of praising his career no less. the sound was a sharp crack, clean and cruel. she lurched, her hand flailing out to catch the wall, but she didn’t make it. instead, she collided into garrick, her hands catching his shoulders as his arm wrapped firmly around her waist to steady her. it was instinct, all of it—the stumble, the grab, the flush of warmth that spread from her chest up into her face as she realised just how close he was. his breath brushed her cheek, his arm solid at her back. her hands lingered longer than they should have, palms pressing against the fabric of his tunic, and now here she was, still holding one shoe as her foot walked bare up spiral staircases.

her question regarding nightsong remained on her mind, and his answer momentarily made her go quiet; she had heard so many different things, rumours the stormlanders had lost it, that new valyria intended to get it back. his answer was a shake of the head, what she interpreted as plain and blunt—i don’t know. she watched the movement, watched how easily it dismissed the thought, and something twisted in her stomach. not anger. not quite. just something small and raw, like a gate she hadn’t realised she’d been leaning on had been firmly locked with the heaviest of irons. and suddenly, for no real reason at all, brianna bracken felt...small. as though she had been caught in doing something; a creeping sense of defensiveness began to shift over her.

as though the dornish were not known to be vipers, scorpions in their own lands. even if i had-, and then the shaking of his head; something about it made her feel as though she were some fool, and in truth, quite rejected of any feelings of concern. she stared at him for a moment as he continued talking, a dry laughing escaping about the situation, and despite the way his eyes lit up she found herself feeling more and more defensive. embarrassed. it made her curt, and shut down.

her brows drew together as she let out a breath that sounded more amused than it was, a half scoff in essence as she looked at him - and then looked away, knowing he heard her swift change in demeanor. “oh, right, yes. my mistake. shouldn’t be askin’ about you possibly marchin’ off to the dornish border. that’s clearly beyond my grasp or limits, to hope you manage to survive. far too sensitive, incase i decide to go report back to riverrun - as though you lot losing nightsong is some secret. best stick to light topics like—i don’t know—the weather.” the sarcasm was dry, and maybe just sharp enough to cut. she turned slightly, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders, suddenly keen to be away from his closeness as she moved from his arm being loosely around her waist.

if there was to be a line drawn, she would stick to it.

“i can find my own chambers from here,” she said lightly, lifting her chin and fixing her expression into something of mixed gratitude for all he had done until shaking his head at her, and annoyance. “cheers for the escort, high commander. always the gentleman. now if you'd excuse me, i’ll try not to lose the other heel on my way in.” her voice was warm, still - but still utterly sarcastic. but that warmth had shifted, grown distant—like heat from a dying fire rather than the flame that had burned so freely a moment before. her pride was fickle, and to her, it had been wounded enough.

“Not use your mind?” Garrick repeated with a scoff, shooting her an incredulous look as they rounded the next corner. “Gods, you could at least be less blatant when you lie to my face,” the knight added in a teasing way, glancing sideways to catch her eye. “You’re always using your mind. Or at least saying whatever’s on it”. There was no mockery in his tone, if anything, Garrick sounded almost fond of that trait of hers. “But fine. Have your reprieve for now. You may ask what you want from me when your head’s clearer”. It had been quite a night for her, after all, even if he didn't know half of it. “You know where to find me”. The High Commander of the Kingsguard would be easy to find near the king's side during the remainder of the events, and patrolling the Red Keep at night to keep the dragon king's guests safe.

As the pair walked, Garrick cast quick glances around the halls, expertly guiding their path in a way that avoided crossing paths with others. He moved with ease, for he recalled where the rest of the men were stationed and the areas they patrolled. He did not say a thing about the way he was weaving their way toward her chambers, but it surely became apparent to Brianna that he was avoiding unwanted eyes. He'd rather not have anyone spot her out and about at this hour with a half-torn dress, and wearing Garrick's cloak.

The Cargyll lord managed to brush aside the mention of his brothers, and he simply touched her hand as they walked. It was a subtle gesture, almost casual, as if he simply signaled he had her covered and was guarding her to safety after her unsafe occurrence from earlier. But that simple touch also meant that there was no fault in having spoken about Erryk and Arryk. He let it pass, aided by her presence in making the unbearable more bearable.

“The court is safe,” he said after a moment, confirming what she had asked. “At least, as safe as any of us will fight to make it. King Jaehaerys' coronation demands it”. His friend, his brother, had finally claimed what was rightfully his. With all their shared history, it was Garrick's duty and life-guiding mission that nothing threatened what Jae had bled and burned to accomplish. The Cargyll lord glanced toward Bri again, his mouth curving into a smirk, “We've tripled the guard, combed through the Red Keep, cleared the tunnels. Everything’s under control”. A pause. “Until a certain reckless Bracken gets into unexpected trouble at night”. He teased, but he also knew there was so much more than what she'd shared. His hand was still atop hers, and his thumb brushed against her skin in subtle reassurance after whatever it was she'd gone through. “You’ve got the timing of a rogue, Bri,” he said with a light scoff, attempting to keep things light.

Her question about his title softened his expression somewhat, draining some of the teasing air he'd had with her just a moment ago. “It’s the greatest honor of my life,” he said plainly, as though that was all that needed to be said. But there was more, of course. “His grace didn’t have to name me High Commander. He could’ve picked someone else. Someone older and more experienced. Someone from a greater house, a house less… divisive”. He didn’t elaborate on what that meant. She knew. “But it’s a way to keep my oath to his father. To keep the oath I swore to Jae as well. All my life he's given me something I can hold to, and I'm grateful for that”. He glanced at her, one brow raised, wondering if she was truly curious about the day-to-day duties he had. “I do deal with some maps and ledgers. I attend meetings and sit at the small council. I go through training drills with the men, and prepare green lords who can barely lift their own bloody swords,” he said, mentioning some of the tasks that occupied his days. ���I'm sure you find it all incredibly riveting”.

Then the Bracken lady mentioned Nightsong. The name gave him pause. He'd not expected her to ask about such a thing. His jaw tensed somewhat, and no words came at first. There was a fine line of conversing with one of his dearest friends, and remaining aware that she was of another realm. “I don’t know”. He said it plainly, though. “It’s not something I've spoken with the king. And even if I had—” Garrick simply shook his head, for he wouldn't be at liberty to speak about it. Not here, not with her.

Garrick had clocked the faint clack that accompanied Brianna's steps throughout their walk, but he'd not expected the heel of her shoe to fully snap as it did. When the cracking sound came, the lady lost her footing for a moment, and he caught her on instinct. The hand that had rested lightly on her own turned firm, moving to steady her with a strength born more from reflex than chivalry. He also abandoned the hilt of his sword, his arm wrapping around her back to keep her in place. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice a bit lower. Brianna righted herself, and Garrick's blue eyes flickered to the broken shoe as she examined it. A soft, dry laugh escaped him. “Well, at least it waited until we were near”. The knight tilted his head toward the chambers, only a few steps ahead now. Riverlanders were hosted in this wing of the keep. His arm was still wrapped around her, the pair standing closer than they usually did. For a moment, his eyes held on her, a softer gaze from the knight. He offered, softly, “Come on. Let’s get you safely to your chambers before you break your other one. Enough has happened tonight”.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna bracken had never quite mastered the art of walking gracefully in silence—her heels clicked too sharply, her breathing was never quite steady as she from time to time let out low sighs, and her thoughts, gods help her, always roared too loud in her head. "oh, i don't know." she seemed to complain, half missing the genuineness laced in his tone as he continued to taunt her; he made her think so much. too much.

"let a girl not have to use her mind from time to time, will you?" the corridors of the red keep felt too long tonight, the shadows too attentive, and though her hand sat curled comfortably around garrick’s arm, her heart was a kicked-up beehive, consistently buzzing. the sound of her shoes against the stone hallway played as some drum for the flashes which ran through her mind.

he was speaking again. his voice, ever unhurried, grounded, as though he had nothing to worry about ever. she clung to its rhythm, tried to match her breathing to its rise and fall, like waves lapping the hull of a boat. a safe, sensible boat. she glanced up at him sidelong, lashes low. “mm,” she hummed vaguely, hoping it was the right sound for whatever he’d just said. perhaps she should not have brought up his brothers; too much of a line crossed, too personal - or perhaps there was a sense of guilt in reminding garrick that he were the only one left in the whole world of his kin.

what a terrible thing that was, akin to some ancient kindred curse - she only patted his arm slightly, offering comfort for a topic that was never spoken on, only implied. "monotonous - how fancy of you. at least that means the court is safe, aye? boring means safe. less of a headache." that was, unless it came out what had transpired this night. then he would have a murder investigation on his hands. as they turned the corner near the bracken chambers—still three halls from it, where she heard her heel gave an unmistakable crack. she gave him a sideways glance, doing her best to keep the tone light, to pin her mind to his voice rather than her own spinning thoughts.

“what's it like now? bein’ high commander of this whole mess?” her thick, dark brows drew together slightly, her lips twitching in a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “do you spend all your days starin’ at maps and talkin’ in circles with knights twice your age?” the only other high commander she knew was omer, who was far more serious than garrick - until a few whiskeys had been down him.

then, quieter, as her mind thought of flames in her own house and the trembling of the walls as a beast made it's landing - the most unnatural and hated of beasts. “do you think you’ll eventually have to take back nightsong for king jaehaerys?” the question slipped out without quite meaning to, softer than the rest, almost like she was talking to herself at first. but then she looked at him properly, her voice low, curious, something more serious hiding underneath the jesting. “i heard whispers the stormlanders lost it. or gave it up. and if that’s true, then…” she trailed off, watching him, trying to read something in his face that might tell her if she was right to ask. she never spoke or thought much of her mother's baratheon lineage; but she thought the stormlanders were warriors. immovable forces.

it wasn’t a dainty snap either, but the unmistakable crunch of fine cobbler’s work giving up the ghost against red keep stone. she pitched forward half a step, catching herself gracelessly on garrick’s arm with a sharp breath through her nose. “shit—” she hissed following a small yapping noise of shock, her voice low and tight, the word escaping before she could tidy it up into anything more lady-like. she stumbled back into place, though she didn’t dare look at him straightaway, busy glancing down at the ruined shoe like it had personally betrayed her.

“well, there goes that,” she muttered to him, lifting the foot slightly and wobbling as she tried to judge whether she could hobble the rest of the way in lopsided dignity. in the end, she bent forward to swipe it from her foot and hold it in her spare hand. “of course it would be tonight,” she added in a tone pitched somewhere between bitter amusement and flat horror, shaking her head as if the gods might hear and show a shred of mercy. they wouldn’t, obviously. not tonight. not after the way the evening had turned; she decided to merely continue walking with one shoe off and one on.

Garrick’s smirk deepened when Brianna asked what she could ask for. When the Bracken lady was around, that particular, easy mood settled over him like a warm cloak against the cold stone air of the Red Keep. “Whatever you wish to ask, give it good thought, Bri,” he said, his voice edged with humor and something more genuine laced beneath it. “I'm in a generous mood now, but I can't swear that'll last. Best not waste it”. His hand pressed a little firmer where it rested atop hers, a wordless admission. He owed her more than he could ever say aloud. Debt, loyalty, and something altogether softer were deeply rooted between them, though he would not voice it in these halls. Not yet.

When she admitted she'd never asked about those feverish, bloodied days at Stone Hedge, Garrick chuckled under his breath. “There is not much to ask, I reckon,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “You were there. You saw all of it”. Her teasing remark drew the ghost of a smile from him as she mentioned Arryk. The name was spoken so naturally, a name he still heard from time to time, and each time it gutted him all the same. Garrick glanced at her again, wearing the same half-smirk, but it did not fully reach his eyes. It happened sometimes —his mind flashing briefly to the bloodied bodies of Arryk and Erryk, shockingly pale... two halves of the same soul mortally wounded by each other's swords.

He had to reel himself back, focus on the memory Brianna was talking about. “The milk of the poppy muddled my mind,” he said, managing to make himself chuckle at that shared story. “You can't truly fault me for the confusion, or for my insistence,” the Commander added, a gleam returning to his eye, grounding himself as he walked by her side down the corridor.

Her chatter about the maids revived some of his usual sharp-edged charm, as if she naturally knew what he needed to hear to return from darker memories. Garrick let out a short laugh, though it was still subtly delayed, as if he had to drag it from himself. The knight shook his head, indicating he did not think he was at fault for those women's reactions. “What? Do not give me that look. I did not try to appear a knight of legend or songs, I was just there trying to survive,” he added, knowing that playing the part would truly return him to his good spirits. Faking it until it felt real. “I can't help it if a maid or two swoon over me,” he added, because, of course, he never denied he enjoyed that sort of attention.

Garrick's lips curved into a subtle smirk, glancing down at her hand where it tapped his. His eyes caught hers briefly, catching that spark of mischief she never quite managed to smother —a small failure on her part he found himself grateful for. “Well, I didn’t end up in Flea Bottom tonight, so it's certainly going better than your shit night,” he replied, his voice laced with mild teasing. “It's been rather dull, truth be told. The usual tasks. Standing guard, escorting some of his grace's guests,” the Commander stated plainly, with no effort to dress it up. There was no flourish that could make it sound better than it was. “If anything, your damn antics turned my night a little less monotonous”.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna leaned in dramatically the moment his voice dipped, a crooked grin on her face as she lifted her hand behind her ear like some wrinkled old crone desperate to catch the last words of the town crier. her other hand gripped her goblet loosely, sloshing some of the sour drink dangerously near the edge, but she didn’t care. not now. not when lord jalabhar mooton—aye, that jalabhar—was speaking so fast he slurred like a tavern bard three ales past sense. she liked him better like this, she decided. loose at the seams, grinning, sharp, and dangerous in the way all clever men were when they stopped pretending to be anything else.

“gods, slow down, ye drunken bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her nose wrinkling as she laughed. “speak like yer tryin’ not to wake yer granny.”

his pronunciation of her name, stretched and deliberate like a ribbon being pulled taut, made her scoff. “it’s bree-ANN-uh, ye southern ponce, not bree-uh-nuh. i'll tell you somethin', if i repeatedly mispronounced yer name i'd be shamed and called a true norther." there was lively, cheeky laughter slipping from her as she spoke, almost as though she knew it was not really the same, but she would tease him regardless. she didn’t bother to correct him gently—when did she ever do anything gently?—but her tone was all mischief, no malice. he was having fun, and so was she. and gods, wasn’t that rare?

the festival clattered on around them, laughter rising in waves and cups clinking like a hundred little hammers in the night, but brianna hardly heard it now. she was watching him instead, truly watching—the way his fingers tapped against the cup, how he glanced too quickly at the dornishman, how the flickers in his expression came and went like candleflame in a draught. he’d tried to look relaxed but it was clear to her, through drink and darkness and distance, that he was listening to everything. it thrilled her. it was like sitting across from a cat that had decided to play with its meal before the bite.

“illusion, is it?” she echoed, rolling the word on her tongue like a bit of boiled sweet. “aye, that makes sense. no one looks twice at a man half drunk with a grin on his face. they see yer cup, not yer eyes.” her voice dropped an octave then, as if echoing the way he’d leaned in earlier. “but i see yer eyes, mooton. ye listen harder when ye look like ye’re not listenin’ at all. and that’s why i like ye. only a nosy man lot like you could be a-” and she cut herself off before she continued, bringing her goblet to her lips, already stained with rum. "you know what."

she took a swig from her cup and grimaced at the taste, smacking her lips like a stablehand’s wife. “and i am watchin’. ye think i don’t know when people play games?" she put her goblet down with a less than graceful clunk and leaned backward slightly, almost trying to mimic the face he pulls when he was surveying the crowds. in reality, he had no face; she only put on this sultry expression as if she were squinting. she looked upon the features of her friends in the distance within the crowds, and made it appear as though she had a genius moment. "those two? close friends. have been for years. who woulda known." she tapped her temple with her finger, as if to call herself brainy. observant. spy worthy.

"i wanna see you do it. go on, let's see if yer all chat."

A faint smirk began tugging at his lips as Brianna’s words tumbled over each other like a stream rushing over stones. His fingers curled loosely around his cup, the liquid within swirling lazily as though it were wholly indifferent to the chaos in her tone. She was all fire and ferocity, her words cutting and playful in equal measure, and Ja took a long, deliberate sip before finally replying.

“Bri-uh-nuh,” he repeated, savoring each syllable with that lilting Summer patois of his, deliberately dragging out the vowels just to see her reaction. His dark eyes flicked to hers, glimmering with quiet amusement. “I said it like that because it tastes nice on the tongue. Like a good rum, which—” he held up his cup as if to toast her, “—this isn’t. Wine, my dear, Dornish and sharp. Not quite the trouble you’re imagining.” He straightened slightly, his gaze slipping to the Dornishman across the room for a heartbeat before returning to her, unhurried. “But aye, trouble’s what I’m here for, eh? A peaceful drink is just the illusion that lets a man work.”

His smirk deepened as she prattled on about the witch in the gardens, her dramatics almost making him forget the weight of the conversation. Almost. “You’ve got a talent, Brianna, for makin’ sense and nonsense all at once,” he teased, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Aye, the woman’s sloppy, but sometimes it’s better to let them think they’re unseen. People show more of their hand when they believe no one’s watching—or when the eyes on them are too obvious.” He nodded toward her drink. “Your daft cow doesn’t know she’s playin’ at a bigger game. As for Ben Blackwood, well…” Ja’s shrug was almost imperceptible. “The boy’s cleverer than most reckon. He’ll figure it out, one way or another. Or he won't and we will fix it for him. We being the council, not your lot.”

At her demand for inclusion, Jalabhar’s grin turned wolfish. “You want in? Then keep drinkin’—not the cup, but the room. Watch, listen. That’s how you get what you want. And as for our queen, well…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “She rewards those who bring her more than noise, Bri-uh-nuh. So, show me what you’ve got.”

[briannabrackens]

DAISY EDGAR-JONES The Chicken Interview

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna stood still, her arms tucked tightly round herself, though not from the cold. jalabhar’s words settled in the air between them like snow that didn’t melt. she hated this part—when people said things that meant more than the words alone, when their voices went quiet and honest and it wasn’t just jest or shouting. she never knew what to do with honesty unless it came with a drink or a bruise. and here he was, looking at her in that maddeningly calm way of his, saying things she’d never thought she’d hear from a man like him. not to her.

"i’ve an eye for seein’ things," he’d said. and hadn’t he, when it mattered most?

her heart beat too loud in her ears from a strange feeling of nerves that settled in the bottom of her stomach. a strange nervousness which made her shift, moving her weight from one foot to the other, her boot scuffing slightly against the stone floor. “well,” she began, then stopped. gods, why was it so bloody hard? just say thank you. just say you kept me safe, and i remember it. and i care. instead, she cleared her throat and looked at his hands, not his face. “funny, i always thought i were good at hidin’. spent most o’ my life practisin’, in one way or another.” she rubbed at the side of her neck where her ribbon choker sat snug against her throat, dark black velvet catching faint candlelight. “but i suppose ye saw right through it, didn’t ye?” was this the closest she could come to it? did he know what she was truly speaking of?

and what a year it had been for them all. for him - to celebrate amidst grief and the aftermath of death mus have felt so utterly wrong, and though she would never say it so openly, she would not speak on it. it were only natural the man would want to go home. and yet, so did celebrating in the knowledge of grief lingering in the doorway. outside the gates, merely waiting to change the brackens forever.

deep in her gut, something undeniable and ancient, she knew this would be the last yule as the three of them.

“i suppose so,” she said at last, stepping back slightly but not yet turning. "there is much good." her smile bloomed then, honest and warm, curling at the corners of her lips; she found herself wondering whether it were time to walk away. this was a lengthy farewell, though she always struggled to realise when it was time to really walk away. “mayhaps i’ll see ye sooner than later, then." the teasing softened something in her, made it easier to move. but still, she lingered—just a moment longer than needed, eyes on him as though trying to learn his face by heart. then, with a final nod, she turned, her fingers trailing once more along the stone as she walked away.

“take care o’ yourself, ja mooton. and merry yule to you.” the words hung in the air behind her like the warmth of a fire just left. she didn’t look back. she didn’t have to.

Jalabhar stood in silence, the weight of Brianna’s words hanging in the air. His gaze never strayed from the snow outside, his thoughts distant, clouded by the weight of the past year. He had lived through so much, but it was the quiet moments, the brief flashes of humanity amidst the chaos, that lingered. Brianna’s soft words brought him back to that night—Stone Hedge, the bloodwyrm’s roar, the chaos.

She was right, of course. He had seen things that night, things he would never forget. The way she had hidden herself, the desperate survival instincts she’d masked behind a facade of indifference. How Daemon Targaryen’s shadow had loomed over them all, and yet, in the end, he had done nothing. He had kept her safe. A strange, inexplicable act of mercy.

Jalabhar's fingers drummed lightly on the cold stone as he let the silence stretch. The snow continued to fall, but it was the memory of that night that clung to him, as much as the cold. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before, the weight of something unspoken in his tone.

“I’ve an eye for seeing things,” he murmured, his gaze shifting briefly to Brianna. “People. The way they move, the way they hide.” He paused, as if weighing his next words. "People who wish to remain unseen." And he would help her time and again, he often thought why he sought to keep her safe perhaps it was seeing another young face in the turmoil.

He turned then, looking at her directly, his dark eyes serious. “Thank you. I suppose some good has come out of this year.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not all is lost, then. Even in these quiet moments, there's something to be found.” The words were simple, but they carried a weight, a truth. Jalabhar had never expected anything in return for what he'd done, but the realization settled within him, as it had before. Sometimes, friendship was the only thing worth holding onto.

“Take care, Brianna,” he added, his voice warm again, almost like the flicker of a dying flame. “And I’ll see ye in the new year. Maybe before.”

[briannabrackens]

who: @ofsacredseas when and where: on the journey to the verdant concord, brianna pulls up to the mallister tent to try and find emira. context: brianna is emira mallister hunting and finds ayca instead. identity theft is a real thing y'all hufghufd

brianna’s boots crunched quietly against the soft earth as she made her way through the thick, dew-soaked grass. the early morning air was crisp and carried with it the earthy scent of the woods on the way to the verdant concord. she had heard whispers that emira mallister had gone hunting that morning, and though she had no particular interest in the woman, she certainly had a great deal to say about the little stunt emira had pulled.

a slow grin spread across brianna’s face as she thought about the mess emira had made of things, using brianna’s name like it was some sort of amusement. pretending to be her, as though anyone could pass for brianna bracken.

it was laughable - let alone that girl. brianna hadn’t let it slide, not for a second, and now the time had come for a bit of fun. she’d come up with the perfect plan. nothing too cruel—she wasn’t one for that—but something to remind emira just how silly she’d been. her eyes darted around as she approached the tent, her heart racing with the excitement of the prank to come. slipping through the entrance, brianna found herself inside the mallister tent.

the large, ornate space was quiet, its cool shadows offering the perfect place to hide. she took a quick glance around and noticed a few of emira’s belongings scattered about. perfect. it was as though the universe had placed everything she needed right in front of her - surely emira's seal would be somewhere on her desk. and this awfully naughty doodle addressed to ben blackwood, penned by all of the lassies, would look beautiful with emira's official stamp upon it. a little promise for the soon to be groom, which was safely tucked in her bossom. a little note saying: us soon. can't wait, big benny. and yet, she heard someone walk in after her: and when she whipped around, she saw it was not emira.

but ayca instead.

and suddenly, she found herself realising she needed to not make it appear as though she were not attempting to find anything. only emira herself, in her tent; it seemed natural enough. “gods, you are not emira.” brianna said, her voice still thick with annoyance in the thickness of the stone hedge accent, her striking dark brows furrowing - not at ayca directly, but at the lot of them at this point. "good morning to you, hope yer enjoyin' the journey. breakfast was good this mornin, weren't it?" obviously she was not emira, this was the other mallister sister. would she be able to do anything? probably not. but a messenger...a messenger could be just as good.

“but since you’re here, answer a question for me, will ya? does that sister of yours normally just pick random people and pretend to be them, all while making herself look stupid in the process? or is this some special skill she’s decided to showcase, just for me?”

there was a pause, and brianna's arms folded over her torso. a part of her deep pride seemed ignited here, at the notion of someone defaming her name as though she had not worked tirelessly to ensure her family did not need to worry about her. that she did not shame her poor mamai, even if she never were able to truly understand such a thing. and here was an idiot, doing what brianna would consider defamation. "i'll have hughie vance fine her next time, or i'll send her into the mud and it'll take more than just you to get me off her. either works."

[briannabrackens]

who: @ofwrittenwhispers when and where: the verdant concord, the first time brianna is able to see fiona since her return from braavos considering she was unable to make the grafton ball in fiona's honour.

brianna bracken stood at the entrance to the highgarden ballroom, her gaze sweeping over the sea of finely dressed lords and ladies swirling around the grand hall. the music floated through the air, a soft waltz that seemed too elegant for her tastes. her eyes fell to a woman across the room, standing near a cluster of people, her golden hair catching the light just so. brianna’s heart lurched painfully in her chest. she hadn’t seen fiona grafton in what felt like an eternity, not since the news had come that fiona was leaving for braavos.

she had never imagined fiona would just disappear without so much as a word, without so much as a glance back.

the sudden departure had confused her, unsettled her, left her feeling like a fool. why had she gone? why had no one told her? the amount of times people had asked her what had happened with fiona, and she was unable to answer - what sort of fool did she appear as?

she had heard the rumours, of course. everyone had. fiona grafton’s grand return to gulltown, the ball of all balls, the one everyone seemed to talk about for days after. all of brianna’s other friends had attended, their names slipping casually from the lips of gossiping lords and ladies, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. but there she was, stuck at stone hedge, playing the dutiful daughter, while ronan had his hands full at riverrun, as always. and so, brianna had missed it. bloody typical - everyone else got to waltz around in fancy gowns, sip wine, and gossip, and there she was...

stuck holding down the fort at stone hedge like a servant.

there, standing near the edge of the ballroom, was fiona grafton. brianna froze, her breath catching in her throat. the sight of her brought a rush of emotions she wasn’t quite ready to face. fiona was just as radiant as ever—seemingly smaller than usual, with the same dark, glossy hair that cascaded in waves down her back. the gown she wore shimmered like starlight, making her seem almost ethereal. she looked every bit the noblewoman, the one who had been gone so long, the one whose marriage had been the subject of far too many rumours. she wanted to boot her up the arse.

and then, as if a switch had been flicked, brianna’s instincts kicked in. she took a deep breath, put on her best exaggerated smile, and sauntered toward her. "well, well, well," brianna said, her voice light but laced with sarcasm. "do i know you?" she cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in mock confusion. "you look familiar, but... no, i’m certain we’ve never met." she resisted the urge to laugh - just slightly. it had taken much effort, but she had managed to hold onto it. "well then, girl - when you see fiona grafton, let her know she's landed herself right in it with her favourite bracken." she purposefully put on the voice fiona puts on when she was ordering her servants around, ensuring her lilt changed to that of the vale whilst acting seemingly bratty.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna exhaled deeply, her breath a soft murmur against the warmth of the blanket wrapped tightly around her, as though it might shield her from everything that pressed on her chest. she looked at minthara, her lips curling faintly as minty’s words hit her ears. brianna paused for a moment, glancing at minty with a soft frown. "why were ye upset in the westerlands, huh?" she asked, her voice gentler now, though still laced with curiosity. "something got under yer skin, didn’t it?" brianna’s eyes softened, a flicker of concern passing through her. still, she knew if someone had started on her best friend, she'd batter them.

the familiar irritation that would’ve followed the mention of fiona being a "bitch" was immediately dulled by a sharp, unexpected laugh. "no! she just...vanished!" brianna couldn’t help it — the way minty had said it, so casually, as though she were talking about something mundane, it struck her as entirely ridiculous, and she burst out, her laughter rising like an unexpected storm.

"ah, gods, minty!" she gasped between fits of laughter, clutching the blanket around herself more tightly. "you— ye’re right, though, she’s always been a bloody wretch! but how ye said it, like it’s the most casual thing in the world!" brianna’s laughter died down slowly, leaving a faint but lingering smile on her lips, though her eyes were still heavy with the weight of the world. "oh, aye, that’s it, she’s a proper bitch, our fi. leavin’ without a word. thinks she’s too good for us now, does she?” she looked down, running her thumb along the edges of the fabric. her words were soft, but the slight hurt behind them was undeniable. “if she’d wanted to be gone, she should’ve told us. i'd never understand why she wanted to swan around them braavosi lot, but, no, just vanished like a bloody ghost.”

brianna sighed, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of her own thoughts. she wanted to bring her mind back to something lighter, something that would ease the ache in her chest, but it didn’t seem possible. not now. it was about time someone asked her about her and ginny, considering they were once so close - and it were obvious they were anything but now. "nah, no row." she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them, her voice quieter now, more contemplative. as though she couldn't quite understand or believe it. "it’s just... surface level now. feels like there’s nothing left to talk about. nothing real, at least."

she let the words hang in the air between them for a long moment, her fingers absently tugging at the loose thread on the blanket. brianna’s heart twisted a little as she thought about the change in ginevra. it wasn’t just the ambition, though that was certainly part of it. no, it was something deeper — something that felt like a barrier had formed between them. "aye, well," brianna muttered, shifting again and pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as though it could protect her from her thoughts, "sometimes i think maybe we never meshed at all, me an' her. i mean... we did but now i don't know. but i don’t think i ever really understood her. maybe we just wanted different things, even when i thought we were the same. it’s like... she’s become someone else, but i don’t see her enough to even know if i’m wrong about that," she added, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"maybe i’m just seeing things that aren’t really there."

brianna’s words hung in the air between them, heavy and thick, and she didn’t expect any answers. not really. but she needed to say them — needed to let someone else hear it, even if that someone didn’t have the words to make it better. she reached up, brushing a tear that had escaped unnoticed from the corner of her eye, a fleeting moment of vulnerability she couldn't hide. she had never once voiced what she was about to say. "i can’t help but wonder, though..." she began, her voice quieter now, a touch distant. "if it’s all me. if i’m just... stuck, while she’s moving forward. everyone is."

brianna sank deeper into the chair, her eyelids heavy, the weight of her thoughts pulling her closer to sleep. the flickering firelight cast a soft glow over the room, and the soft hum of the evening settled around her, lulling her into a drowsy haze. her mind, still tangled in a web of frustration and confusion, began to drift. she almost didn���t notice the subtle rustling outside her window, a faint crack of twigs breaking the silence. it wasn’t until the sound grew louder, sharp and sudden, that her eyes snapped open. for a moment, she stared blankly at the stone wall across the room, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. then, as if the sound had flicked a switch in her mind, her thoughts cleared.

“oh, for the love of gods, i’ve been meaning to feed the bloody deer,” she muttered to herself, pushing herself upright with a surge of energy, her eyes squinting through the darkness to try and find her boots. “come on, we need to go down to the kitchens. those poor things will be hungry if i leave them any longer, lazy lot they are. and johnny'll come knockin with his baby antlers, he's gotten far more bold since he won his first scrap.”

minty laughed quietly, her breath stirring against brianna's hair. "if i'm getting a feast in my honour, i best be choosing the menu myself. none of that watery stew you're so fond of in the riverlands. i'll be having proper food, and the folk of stone hedge better bring me something good to drink with all their offerings." she nudged brianna lightly, but her grin was soft at the edges, because she could hear it plainly - the way the fire in brianna's voice was doused, the way her heart was not in it. the arms minty had wrapped around her tightened slightly, offering little more than something to hold on to.

"i'd look good in a crown," she pointed out. "not sure i'm used to being called an angel, though. minty the menace is far more usual. suppose i can't have both, can i? you'll have to pick for me." she didn't press on the joke to much. how could she, when brianna sighed like that, as though she was trying to exhale something she desperately wanted to get out, but couldn't.

and yet, despite it all, minty blinked in disbelief. "marry him?" she echoed, unable to keep the scoff from her tone. "i'd sooner marry clover. at least he don't talk back." in another time, she might have laughed at the suggestion until her sides were sore, but in that moment, she saw what it was brianna was thinking of. it was a wish for something stable that minty could offer, should stone hedge become a permanent home, something lasting in a world where everything else was impossible to hold on to. minty couldn't give her that, not really. all she could offer was warm blankets, warmer hugs, and to be what she had always been - someone who stayed. "the pair of you would be sick of the sight of me within a few weeks, anyway. can't get rid of me as it is, no marriage vows required."

her throat tightened, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. she had always been sentimental, the type to celebrate with her friends and to weep with them. she did not let them slip, though. not now. "yeah," she said, though it wasn't funny at all, it was simply the only response minty had to give. she felt almost guilty to be the one that was recognised, for she had done nothing to deserve it. it should have been bri, and it was cruel that it wasn't. she understood why that would burn, even if she didn't know what to say to take away the sting of it.

she let bri snuggle in close in silence. minty wasn't usually the type to let the quiet linger, but it felt needed now, as though she needed to give brianna the space to sift through her own thoughts even as they sat huddled so closely together. "i'd tell you if you were being a cow," she pointed out. "you're not. it's just... hurting, yeah? the kind of hurt that can't be healed." and that was the worst of all. it would be easier if brianna's mother was dead, a thought that was both cruel and true all at once. at least if she was dead, bri could grieve for her fully, would not be stuck in this in-between of having to watch her mother deteriorate before her eyes. she could not say that out loud, though. she would not.

she should be doing more, have words of wisdom to offer that could make it all better, but minty didn't know what the answer was. instead, she seized upon the change of subject, tucking her feet more comfortable between her own body on the chair. "because fiona is a bitch," she said, idly, though there was no venom in it. "leaving like that without telling us. actually, did she tell you? i'll be proper mad if she did. nobody told me."

that was the matter settled, but ginny was a different beast all together. minty's fingers continued their soothing strokes through brianna's hair, stilling for just a moment as she considered what she was saying. "i suppose i have," she admitted. "i mean, there's still bits of the old ginny there. i was proper upset in the westerlands, and she listened and was nice about it, but still. sometimes when we talk i wonder if i'm still enough for her, or if she's looking for a better sort of friend."

there had been a change in ginny, that much was true, but she wasn't entirely sure that it was as pronounced as brianna was making it. she shrugged her shoulders, stifling a yawn. "thought you two had a row about something, you know." she said, in a tone casual enough that it seemed that she was satisfied with the answer brianna had given. "the way you talk about her now is like she's someone else entirely. suppose i expected there to be a bit more to it than that."

[briannabrackens]

ADELAIDE KANE photographed by Luc Coiffait (2016)

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna huffed softly through her nose, something of a laugh in the exhale, though her lips didn’t quite lift; of course he would be able to make her laugh to herself in such a scenario with his easy smirks. she glanced sideways at him, eyes tracing the line of his jaw like it might reveal some secret truth she’d missed in all the years they’d known each other. she half snorted, scrunching up her nose at his comment. "well what could i ask you for if you're offering then?" her skirts swept against the stone as she lifted them delicately with one hand to keep pace, the other burrowed in his elbow seamlessly.

her eyes lifted and widened slightly as he spoke on something they had not ever discussed before. his true inner thoughts in that period of time where he truly danced on the line between life and death with that same smirk on his face. "you know, now i think about it, i don't think i've ever asked you about that before?" still, as he began to speak on it she gave him a comical yet reassuring pat upon the hand he had placed atop of hers, resting within the crook of his elbow.

“no, i weren’t lettin’ you die on my watch. like i had any say in it at all. i didn’t fancy the idea of havin’ to tell ser arryk he was one brother down when he came to get you." it were interestingly how natural she spoke of what had come and what had been lost in the war: even the mention of his own sibling, who too had served alongside ronan and came to stone hedge to check on the wellbeing of his brother once finding himself in the riverlands. "i mostly remember just talkin' to try keep you awake when it was bad. but gods, you'd talk some proper shit sometimes. one time you told me to shut the donkey by the window up at night, and i was insisting there was no donkey. we argued over an imaginary donkey, like three solid times." stress, sleep deprivation - it had played a role. "and it ended up being the deer."

she continued to let him guide her, a sideways glance tossed his way, though her fingers curled a little tighter around the fabric of her skirts each time she heard footsteps behind her. "and besides, the maids at stone hedge would’ve flayed me alive if you’d gone and perished...consider brianna boltonfied. they were right fond of you, y’know — used to flutter about like hens when you so much as said ‘mornin.’ one o’ them near fainted when she saw you shirtless. proper pathetic, really.” she shot him a knowing look as a genuine laugh finally slipped from her lips.

"oh, 'course your eyes light up at that! standard cargyll."

the sound of her laughter momentarily bounced off some quiet corridor of the red keep, and she immediately silenced herself, looking at him and wondering if she had been too loud in some quarter she should not have been so loud in. “aye, well, what a time that was.” she said eventually, her voice low and not nearly as sharp as it usually was, no doubt to the fact she had been running on pure adrenaline up until this point - and now, she felt herself finally being able to give in to the quiet exhaustion. her teasing was unable to be backed up by her voice, and so it were present only in vivd orbs that glinted with mischief - she made it sound as though they had attended the wildest of parties. "you, bleeding and charming the maids and lookin’ like a knight out of some foolish maiden’s dream.”

her - the foolish maiden.

“so, enough of all that.” she said after a beat, voice breaking through the quiet with a touch of mischief curling at the edge of it, tapping his hand again. “how’s your night been, then? any better than mine? bar's pretty high."

Garrick watched her for a moment longer, his blue eyes searching her face for any trace of deception. He did not quite believe the explanation she'd given. In the end, he let out a quiet breath and just let it be because he that look she had so well. Brianna Bracken was an immovable force when she chose to be. If she was determined to keep her reasons to herself, no force in Westeros would pry them from her. The Commander did not like it, but he chose not to press further for now. It was a battle he would lose, after all, so instead, he embraced the trust that had long been forged between them. So, instead, he embraced the trust that had long been forged between them, giving a knowing shake of his head as a slow smirk replaced his suspicion

“Oh, we are nowhere near even,” he admitted with a quiet scoff. His line of thinking wasn't heading towards where she might have thought, however. “There was a time when I thought I’d surely die at Stone Hedge,” he added, revealing where his mind was at. “You know, I remember waking up in a haze from time to time, barely stringing together any thoughts, but feeling that I wouldn’t last the night. And then I’d hear your voice. I’d see you with the maester, telling me to drink, to breathe, to keep on. Somehow, I’d last another day,” the knight managed a soft smile that gradually shifted into an easy smirk. “You were damn stubborn about not wanting a corpse on that bed. You always did have a talent for being impossible to ignore, I suppose”. It was not often he admitted such things aloud, and yet he did so with an air of playfulness to avoid sinking into sentimentality. But the truth remained that there were only two people in the world to whom he owed so much. Jaehaerys and Brianna.

The weight of the moment lingered between them before he chose to cast it aside with a grin. Brianna named her price for the dance lessons and he chuckled subtly. “Silver, then. A fair price. I’d have thought you’d be more imaginative in what you'd want in return, though”. Garrick offered his arm to her then. “It's this way,” he said with a tilt of her head, indicating the right direction to the guest quarters for the Rivelanders. The Cargyll lord walked with steady, deliberate steps, a man clearly well-acquainted with the inner intricacies of the Red Keep, with its many stairs and hallways.

He still did not know what had truly transpired tonight, and yet he offered silent reassurance as his hand settled atop hers where it rested in the crook of his arm, fingers curling lightly around hers. Garrick did not say anything, but an unspoken truth was clear. Wherever she walked, when she allowed it, Garrick would make sure she did not walk alone.

[briannabrackens]

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him turn away, the stiff lines of his back more punishing than any words could be. she knew that stance—knew it from when they were children, when he’d stood like that after da’s rages, when the only way ronan could keep the world from caving in was to turn his face from it. but this time, it was her fault, her secret that was about to twist that rigidity into something irreversible. she pressed her palms hard against her knees, grounding herself, and began to speak, voice low and shaky. she needed to grow up, didn't she? this is what grown ups did; they admitted their mistakes.

"look, it’s not about some lad, alright? if that’s where your mind’s goin’, just stop already!" her voice raised in what sounded like petulent irritation and anger, and yet it felt as though her pride had been jabbed at with a hot iron poker. "i’m not about to lift out my skirts and pop out yer niece or nephew, and i’m not runnin’ off with no sellsword, i promise ye that, so don’t go gettin’ your smallclothes in a twist." her words came quick, sharper than she meant, but she needed to say that first—needed him to know this wasn’t some reckless love affair or foolishness with her heart. she would never do such a thing, not her; she had been raised better than to allow her parents and her kin to ever worry about such a thing. but somewhere, a small voice whispered to her that this was different. deeper. darker.

it would have been easier to admit she were with child then to admit she had done something a blackwood knew about. she swallowed again, the memory suddenly thick in her mouth, like the taste of copper and rot.

“it was a few months ago, in king’s landin’ during one of the balls. it were late. willow blackwood had gone out without tellin’ no one, and i—i don’t even know what drew me out there wit this dornish lady, but when we found her there was already so much chaos, you know? dark corner of the garden, some drunken bastard was all over her, hands where they shouldn’t be, barkin’ nonsense, smellin’ like ale and piss. i didn’t think, i just ran at him, tried to pull him off her, shout for help—but it all went to shit. he swung at multiple of us, and at her, i don’t even know. there was a struggle, and then someone—i don’t know who exactly, ronan—someone hit him from behind.” she quietly rested her hands on the nape of her neck, almost watching the quiet realisation sweep over his body as he remained facing the wall.

"i ain't ever seen somethin' like that, seen men behave that way. he was really hurtin' her, and i just...even if it was her, i couldn't just watch it." her hands trembled now. she wrapped her arms tight around herself, curling inward as if to keep the memory contained. “he fell onto the floor and he didn’t get back up. not even groanin’. just… dead. like that. and i wanted to go for help, swear it on the mother’s name, i did. i said i were gonna call you, said my brother's hand and he'll know what to do, but they told me not to 'cause it'll make the issue bigger. we were all tryin' not to yell, and we were all so panicked. i was terrified they’d think i did it, or she did, or we both did. we were in the targaryen’s bloody city, ronan. if the wrong person found out, it would’ve been a whole thing; it looked like some ambush. yeah he attacked one woman, but who the fuck would believe he attacked six? i started thinkin, gods, i stepped out with a dornish woman...when have i ever spoken to a dornish woman? that'd look suspicious, and-" her voice grew dry, her throat horse, and she momentarily coughed into the back of her sleeve.

"i already knew you were tryin’ to smooth things with jaehaerys 'cause of what i said last time when i called him queer, and i didn’t want to add more to your plate.”

her voice cracked at that, the guilt pressing harder against her ribs. “so i helped. i helped move him. we dragged his body onto a cart and down to the sewers, near the back where it stinks the worst. the idea was—i dunno, maybe the rats’d take him, or the water. i didn’t look back. i couldn’t. but now there’s talk. word’s going round that a peake lord’s missin’. and i know it’s him, ronan. i know it.” brianna’s shoulders sank as the weight of it finally broke over her like a wave. she dared a glance at him, though his back was still to her. she hated herself for what she was about to say next.

“on the way back, i ran into garrick. he saw me in the hallway and basically asked what the fuck i was doin’ out so late, not literally but basically that, anyway i panicked. said i’d gone galavanting wit the dornish woman and we got robbed. i tried to suggest we should cover it up and say i was wit him and well, he agreed—he don’t know what happened, but he’s suspicious. didn't believe a word out me mouth, kept givin' me that look. then i went to fiona’s rooms, told her the same story, didn't drop garrick's name but it’d match anyway. and i thought maybe, just maybe, that’d be the end of it."

her lips trembled, but she forced the words out. “only… i lost my necklace, ronan. the big one. the one with the B. it’s gone. it were round my neck when it all happened, i know that. and it weren’t there when i got back. and people saw me wearin’ it earlier that night. they’ll know. if they find it with the body, they’ll know it was me. nobody else lost anything, just me." the room was silent but for the crackle of the fire, and brianna suddenly felt like a child again, like the first time she’d broken a vase and tried to hide it behind the curtain, only this was no vase. this was murder. this was politics. this was blackmail, waiting to be shaped. it was in that moment brianna realised she was not as mature, or as sophisticated as she thought herself to be; for the panic seemed to edge into her, like the walls closing in, and suddenly she felt her voice crack and her bottom lip begin to wobble.

she did not know when she started to cry. all she knew was that she was angry for herself for crying; no matter how much her sleeve rubbed at her cheeks trying to mop them all up, they kept coming as she continued to talk, hiccuping.

“and willow knows, ronan. she knows everythin’. she said she wouldn’t say naught, and she looked just as shaken as me, but she’s a blackwood. i helped her, i did, but we’re still brackens to her. and if ever there came a day they needed somethin’ to bring you down, well… what better way than sayin’ you protected your murderin’ sister and let a peake rot in a sewer? the queen's gonna want an alliance wit the reach, right? how we gonna get that if this comes out?” her voice softened then, almost a whisper. “i didn’t mean for it to go this far. i thought i was helpin’. i didn’t think—i just… i didn’t want you to lose all of it, ronan. not for me.” she took in a shaking breath and closed her eyes. “so what do i do? do i stay at home? can you get into trouble for this, even if it was me?”

ᕯ

brianna’s mouth twitched, and ronan braced himself, because whatever it was, he already knew he wasn’t going to like it. the gods were not that kind this night, and something about the expression on her face made him feel as though this was going to be judgement day for the brackens. for there was fear, but there was also a sense of guilt within her orbs as she looked at him - his mind worked a million moments in a blur, wondering whether she had gone too far in some matter. he clenched his jaw, forced himself to breathe, to school his face into something that wasn’t completely giving him away or made him seem to anger.

but the damage was done—his sister had seen the flicker of shock, of something dangerously close to panic, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

his face stiffened instantly. not a flinch, not a grimace—just a cold, subtle shift, a drawing in. he didn’t look away, but something in his gaze hardened, set like stone. "yeah, i know," he said, and his voice was quieter now, not softer but restrained, controlled. because what was there to say? she was dying in pieces, slipping further away each time he saw her, and he couldn’t stop it. "i'll send us more maesters, yeah? get in touch with ones in other courts. somebody will know what to do." he didn’t know how to grieve for someone who was still alive, and he sure he couldn’t afford to break down now—not with bri standing in front of him, not when he knew, with absolute certainty, that if he did, she’d shatter right along with him. ronan forced himself to exhale, forced himself to move, to stand, to put space between them. he turned, hands braced against the wooden table, his fingers pressing into the grain.

"you know i can’t come home after yuletide," he said finally, each word clipped, deliberate. "not while we’re trying to hold the riverlands together, not while the foreign courts are watchin’ our every move, waiting for any sign that iona’s got her lords breathin’ down her neck." he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "it’s different now, bri. i’m not just some lord sittin’ on the council—i can’t just fuck off home for weeks at a time. i stay here, or i risk them thinkin’ the realm’s coming apart at the seams and someone else tries to shuffle the cards. absence creates opportunity, and i ain't having it." he turned back to her then, and the firelight caught the tension in his shoulders, the deep lines at his brow. she wasn’t going to like it—fuck, he didn’t like it—but there wasn’t another option.

still, the expression on her face was always enough to make him feel like the worst man in all the realms and all the worlds. "look, i'll come home after yeah? and you can stay with me at home, or if you want you can go and visit some of your friends like minty on green isle, have some space away from it. i'll watch her until you're back."

he were half listening as he pushed up the sleeves of his nightshirt, ivory against his skin as he heard the sound of the crackling hearth - and he found himself stunned into silence at the sound of a name. ronan blinked, stunned into silence, and then his whole body went rigid, eyes snapping to hers with the kind of sharp, immediate intensity that made it clear she’d just caused his world to flip upside down in what he assumed was completely private. "what?" his voice came out rough, his throat suddenly dry. he sat up straighter, shaking his head like he hadn’t heard her properly. "you—what? what about her?"" he said, automatic, a brother’s instinctual defence. it wasn’t cruel, but it was sharp with embarrassment, with the immediate need to shut this down before she said anything else. "shut up."

ronan exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his jaw as he leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees at her final words. it was the way they had always been; she gave him somewhat of a heads up, an indication that something in what she was about to say was going to be anything but music to his ears, and he needed to pull it from her like a rope. "i need you to just spit it out, bri," he said, voice flat, laced with the kind of exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too many thoughts he didn’t have the luxury of entertaining. "you don’t come knockin’ at my door this late unless it’s somethin’ that’s gonna make my night worse."

but then he caught the way her face shifted, something in her expression that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. it was guilt. he knew it well enough to recognise it instantly. irritation spiked, tangled with concern, with something that felt uncomfortably close to dread. what was it a woman could have to say in front of her brother, with such guilt in his face? "the way you're speaking is beginning to get me wound up," he started, blunt, his tone sharp enough to cut. "tell me you haven’t—" he exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. "you know if you’ve gone and gotten too comfortable with someone, you’d have to marry, right?" the words came out harder than he meant them to, but the thought alone was enough to set his nerves on edge.

brianna, his brianna, wouldn’t do that. she wasn’t reckless, not like that.

but her face. fuck. ronan braced himself, his jaw tightening. "bri," he said again, slower now, rougher. "what did you do?"

[briannabrackens]

♣️

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."

[briannabrackens]

The Buccaneers  — 1.01 x 1.08

[briannabrackens]

♣️

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."

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?"

[briannabrackens]

ADELAIDE KANE as MARY STUART ↴ No Exit ( 1.18 )

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna hesitated, gripping the edges of her nightgown like a child caught out of bed as she all but forced her way through the darkened corridors of the bracken apartments, looking back over her shoulder multiple times as she felt like she was being watched. the stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she barely felt it. she had told herself she wouldn’t come, that she could bury it, smother it beneath laughter and stubbornness the way she had done with every other terrible thing.

but the dornish woman's voice had clung to her thoughts like brambles, tangling deeper every time she tried to shake it away. you’ll not keep this down forever, she had said, all knowing-like. and, seven help her, she was right.

it was her return to the court of riverrun which made her realise just how much this could be used against her brother - if the blackwoods ever needed a final hand, all they need do is somehow relieve willow of her involvement but ensure brianna remained in the spotlight. it was not something she could simply hide in her room from; she saw it, remembered it, each time she passed by her brother in public - or each time a courtier acknowledged her, when they would not have done so before. she had realised this was far more than she ever could have expected, or intended.

she stepped inside, letting the door creak shut behind her, the firelight catching in the copper strands of her hair. she could feel ronan’s eyes on her, sharp and searching, and for once, she couldn’t meet them. instead, she let her gaze drift—over the rumpled bedsheets, the discarded boots, the letter still clutched in his hand. she knew what it was. ma’s mind was going, slipping like sand through their fingers. it should have been the worst thing weighing on her chest, the heaviest grief. but it wasn’t. "what? i didn't know if you were asleep or not, i'm not just gonna walk in. besides, it's not like you'll have fifi up in 'ere or anything." she muttered, her tone already defensive - her throat felt tight as she exhaled, slow and shaky. “yeah, i couldn’t sleep.” the words felt feeble the moment they left her lips. ronan would see through it in an instant. she swallowed, trying again.

“it’s just—everythin’s gettin’ worse, isn’t it? with ma. with all of it.” her voice wavered, and she hated the sound of it. she had never been good at talking like this. too much honesty, too much room for cracks to show. she finally forced herself to look at him. "i know we said i'd go home after yule, but...i really do think you should try come." the shadows carved his face into something older, something wearier, and for the first time in years, she saw her big brother not as the unshakable lord of stone hedge but as the boy who used to tug her braids and chase her through the halls, who used to sneak them out to fish by the river when their father wasn’t looking. something in her stomach twisted.

"you may need to, after this."

and she was distracting herself. distracting him. willow blackwood knew what she had done - as she knew what willow blackwood had done. only, brianna was the one who had lost her necklace that night. there was evidence.

she wanted to tell him. wanted to spill it out right there, let the words tumble free and be done with it. but the weight of it clung to her tongue, thick and choking. instead, she sank down onto the edge of the bed beside him, fingers curling tight in the fabric of her nightgown. “ronan,” she said quietly, barely more than a breath. “if i tell ye somethin’—somethin’ bad, real bad—do ye swear not to hate me?” he would be vexed with her, she already knew it - she could sense it, the way her stupidity and panic would be anything thing to send him completely over the edge when he was already dealing with much. and she'd easily take that, but his disdain? he already barely came home. "'cause i've fucked it. bad."

who: @briannabrackens when and where: semi-flashback to riverrun, in the days running up the yuletide balls getting into the full swing of it, ronan is getting ready for bed when his sister randomly decides to visit him. context: ronan finds out about the murder of the peake.

ronan bracken sat on the edge of his bed, boots half-untied, the heavy fabric of his tunic creased from the day’s wear. the stone walls of his quarters caught the flicker of the hearth, throwing long shadows that crawled up to the timbered beams above. he rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there, his mind far from the warmth of the room. the maester’s letter still sat open on the table, its edges curled slightly from where his damp fingers had gripped it too tight - as he read aspects of her condition getting worse. he didn’t need the bloody maester to tell him that. he could read it between every carefully penned word.

memory’s fraying. longer gaps now. refuses to eat some days. he exhaled sharply through his nose, a bitter sound, and let his head hang for a moment. she wouldn’t want this, he thought, before quickly shoving the guilt aside. there wasn’t time to dwell. there never bloody was. his mind slipped, as it often did, to the other thoughts swirlig in his mind. to conall. their talk still lingered like smoke in his thoughts—thick and hard to shake. there was a strange comfort in having conall back, even if he came draped in ambassador’s colours now. but still, the sting of cedric tyrell’s probing stuck with him. who was he to question the riverlands?

ronan clenched his jaw. the whole conversation gnawed at him, not due to any actions or words taken by conall but rather the whole situation. it resulted in the lines between duty and friendship blurring in ways that left a bad taste in his mouth, and he knew he would need to actively work to ensure lines did not cross.

he thought about the way in which he had been so certain there was nothing wrong in encouraging omer to have a drink in the moment, the familiar burning taste down their throats causing much laughter, and yet as night came there was a strange feeling of guilt and panic about it which had begun to settle itself firmly upon his shoulders. had he made a mistake? ronan exhaled hard through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, when a sudden knock at the door pulled him from the spiralling thoughts. he frowned, glancing at the dark window—it’s late for visitors. “aye?” his voice cut through the quiet, rough with the weight of the night.

the door creaked open, slow and deliberate. he didn’t need to see her face to know—it was brianna. no one else stomped about the halls at this hour like they owned the place. “bri?” he sat up straighter, squinting at her in the low firelight. “it’s gone midnight woman, what’re ye doin’ here standin' by my doorway like that? seven hells.” there was a beat of silence, her figure still half-shadowed by the doorframe. ronan felt that old flicker of unease. late-night visits weren’t her usual way—not unless something was wrong.

his voice dropped, the edge of worry creeping in. “did somethin’ happen?”