iona-tully

[iona-tully]

It was the third day of the Verdant Concord, and the Queen of the Riverlands had already made note of a few ideas that she wished to begin implementing in her own realm. Hers was a realm of flowing waters, so it was no surprise she'd been drawn to different inventions that harnessed that elemental power. A small crowd of people gathered to inspect an imaginative contraption, and among them, she spotted him. A head of Valyrian silver and gold hair was a rare sight, and the Targaryen prince certainly stood out. He was also the only one who touched the piece being exhibited, and Iona witnessed the scene that unfolded with a subtle smile appearing on her lips.

“Perhaps there should be 'Do not touch' signs from now on, no?” the redhead remarked as Aegon turned, leaving behind the wobbly model of the invention. Her greeting carried no fanfare, just a polite tilt of her head. Once, they had been closer than they were now. Back when Daemon Targaryen sought support in the Riverlands, and his son was welcomed in Riverrun. Time and distance were carved following the Dance of Dragons, and yet, Aegon remained familiar in some way. “You may have just crushed that man's hope of finding a patron to support his work,” she added with a pointed look, glancing toward the dismayed inventor Aegon turned away from. One could only hope he could repair his piece and continue to properly display it for the remainder of the Verdant Concord.

“It's a pleasant surprise, finding you here,” Iona added with a light smile. He words weren’t sentimental, not quite, but there was a kind of warmth to them. “I did wonder who would come. I find that there’s a comfort in finding a familiar face. No need for introductions, or quite as much small talk”.

setting: the verdant concord, open starter (0/3)

the glass halls shimmered faintly, sunlight fractured into pale ribbons across polished stone and smooth steel. it was quiet here, not empty, but reverent, the kind of silence that settled between minds focused too sharply on progress to bother with pleasantries.

aegon stood before a curious device: a miniature siege mechanism crafted in the some sort of signature style of it's maker, all flowing lines and gilded gears, meant to harness the power of water through hidden wheels and narrow channels. it was clever. beautiful, even. but his eye did not linger on elegance. it searched for weight, torque, failure points.

his fingers brushed the gears, just enough pressure to feel the tension in the arm, the slight give in the crank. then, with a faint click and an unfortunate snap, one of the supports gave way.

the small waterwheel stuttered, tilted, and slumped like a man struck behind the knee. aegon stared at it for a moment, jaw still, before lifting it gently and setting it back into place with the delicacy of someone who didn’t often handle delicate things.

a nearby scholar gasped softly, stepping forward in concern. “is, are you impressed, my lord?”

aegon’s mouth twitched, not a smile, exactly, but something near the suggestion of one. “if it holds a gate, it matters,” he said, glancing down at the now-wobbly contraption. “if not…well, it’s art.” he stepped back, hands clasped behind him, as if he’d never touched it.

he gave the scholar a glance. “you may want sturdier models next season. or fewer soldiers with idle hands.” he gave the man a firm pat on the shoulder, turning and nearly stepping right into someone passing by the subtle scene that unfolded.

[iona-tully]

Iona did not directly answer Jalabhar’s comment, instead she simply allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. It was an acknowledgment, a subtle way to communicate that she agreed to some extent. The queen held a goblet in her hand and took a light sip of the Arbor wine before following Ja's line of sight, settling on the small group of Westerland envoys he mentioned. It did not surprise her much that her Master of Whispers was keeping a close eye on them with the recent disagreements between her realm and the West.

Iona trusted the lord's methods, even though she never fully saw the extent of Jalabhar's web of plans. She nodded lightly as he mentioned the blonde girl he could infiltrate. “Keep her close,” she said in a low tone, which was another way of asking he did not risk the young spy beyond what was necessary. “And keep me updated. I don't expect to meet with the prince of his brother anytime soon, but I want to know where we stand when it comes to them. If there's anything that might threaten our footing”.

The sweet summer blew around them, carrying with it the scent of grass and newly cut flowers. The air made the river pearls hanging from her headpiece dance, and Iona glanced around, turning her attention back to the true spirit of the gathering. “You know, I did spend my morning seeing the different artifacts and techniques for all sorts of things that are being presented,” she said, her tone casual but thoughtful. “There was a woman, dark-haired and with an accent I could not place. She demonstrated a method of farming upon floating plots, a way of coaxing life from water itself”. Iona could already envision it as something that could very well be adapted to the Riverlands. Snámhghort, she thought. Floating fields. “It could be adapted for our rivers, some of our marshy lands, and our coasts”. Maidenpool had lost much when the Riverlands burned at the hands of the Lyseni. She spoke of this new method to Jalabhar in particular because Iona wished to keep supporting the rebuilding of his lands, and its growth.

Ja didn't startle when the Queen joined him—he never did. He inclined his head, the gesture one of familiarity rather than deference, as though they'd done this countless times before. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, not warm but amused, the kind of expression that came from knowing something no one else did.

“People lie and posture every day, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice low, each word smooth as oiled cloth. “Just a matter of how obvious they are.”

The cadence of Jalabhar Mooton’s speech was particular—a rolling rhythm that bent at the vowels and clipped at the ends, like a drawl worn thin by coastal winds. There was music in it, unhurried yet deliberate, and when he spoke, it gave the impression of a man who’d spent as much time among smugglers and fishermen as he had lords and diplomats. It wasn’t the Riverlands drawl. It wasn’t the Summer Islands lilt. It was something else—fluid, dusky, and shaped by waters that didn’t care for crowns.

He sipped from his cup before continuing, his gaze drifting toward a marble column where a small group of Westerland envoys had gathered, laughing too loud for this kind of morning.

“I got an eye or four on the Prince des Lions,” he murmured, the words sliding out like a loose thread meant to be pulled. “Found a blond girl who can blend in with their people. Doesn’t speak much—makes her valuable. Folks don’t suspect the quiet ones. And I hear the lion has been more distracted by other blondes.”

“If he starts sniffin’ too close to our interests, we’ll know before he does.” He glanced sideways at the Queen, "might be a pot or two we can stir while we're all gathered here."

[iona-tully]

Iona gave a soft, somewhat tired smile at her sister’s words. The day had been draining, yet she remained grateful for the care she always found in Mellara. “I know what I accepted,” she said after a moment. The queen knew what she'd accepted and what she'd let go of. “When the Riverlords raised my name after Cian went missing, I understood my life would not be fully my own. I accepted that some of my choices would belong to the realm”. The truth was, it was a mindset Iona had adopted long before she became a queen. As a Tully princess and as an ambassador, a code of conduct had been instilled into her. She had never been just her own person. “I am at peace with it. I have been for many years,” she admitted easily, her tone calm. “My patience does get tested some days, though,” she added with a hollow chuckle.

Her sister had arranged for tea and some biscuits, and the queen finally reached out for the cup Mel had poured for her. The weight of the day still lingered on her shoulders, but Iona managed to begin relaxing more and more. It was nice having some time together, not as princess and queen, but just as sisters. She valued deeply that Mellara always told her what she saw and what she thought, not only what Iona might wish to hear. Without a formal seat the council, her little sister remained one of her closest confidantes and most trusted allies. “If you were in the council, what would you advise? Without thinking of me as your sister, as someone you'd wish to protect”. She was curious to learn what clear-eyed, pragmatic advice she could get from Mel. She trusted her sister's heart and mind, at the end of the day.

Iona smiled gently as her sister touched her hand, always offering support. It was relieving to hear her sister understood where she came from. She did want a consort at her side who loved the Riverlands as much as she did. The queen took a sip of her tea as her eyes landed on Mellara again, paying attention to both what was said and what was left unspoken. Of course, there was a weight placed on Mel too, one that was tied to the little boy she brought to the world. “How is Lucian? I haven't seen him in the past week or so”. She knew her nephew would begin his studies soon, getting the education a Tully should. “He's begun his lessons yet?”.

.

mel's lips curled into a warm smile as she returned the squeeze, her thumb brushing gently over iona's knuckles. she let her silence linger a moment longer, watching her sister closely—taking in the weariness in her shoulders, the weight in her eyes. iona bore the burden of a crown with such grace. a true queen.

“i’m sorry. i know you’re not some pawn, iona,” she said gently. “i just dont want anyone to think they can use you. i understand why these talks matter, why the right match could mean safety—for you, for all of us. i just… i hate that it has to fall on your shoulders. that after everything, you don’t even get the peace to choose for yourself without everyone else weighing in.”

“i trust most of your council. some of the outer members or those stuffy older lords trying to make their way in. i dont trust them” mel shifted slightly in her seat, angling herself toward her sister. “you’ve done so much already. you’ve held this realm together when it was ready to splinter. i know you will make the right choice. making sure the riverlands stays strong, then i trust you to make the right choice.”

there was a pause, her thumb brushing lightly against iona’s hand. “but i also hope… that you won’t settle. you deserve someone who understands the way you love this realm. someone who’ll stand beside you. i trust the riverlords to do that”

a small flicker of guilt crossed her face. both of her sisters were queens now. and she was…unwanted. an unsuited match to many in the realms. maybe it would be easier to become a septa but that would have been when she was still just a lady not a princess. now there was a weight over her as well. pressure to not screw up again when so many were expecting it. she wondered if iona or niamh might be expecting it. or if it was just her self doubt creeping in. “i have been looking around as well though i have been careful, i know people watch me like a hawk”

[iona-tully]

Closed starter for @ofsacredseas Setting: Riverrun, the Riverlands. Set before the departure to the Reach for the Verdant Concord.

The light through Riverrun’s arched windows was soft in the late afternoon, a golden light catching on the river’s slow ripple beyond. Queen Iona stood by the carved stone balustrade, her hands lightly clasped before her. She wore a gown of deep slate blue, modest in cut but threaded with elegant, subtle patterns. When Lady Ayca Mallister was shown in, Iona turned to greet her with a gentle smile. Not the practiced, diplomatic gesture of a monarch but something gentler, more personal.

“Lady Mallister,” she said, a light bow of her head accompanying her words. “Thank you for coming. I hope the journey from Seagard was not too tiresome”. She gestured toward a nearby table set near the hearth, where tea had already been poured, the air touched with the scent of clove and river mint. “I’ve asked for quiet today. No formality. for I only a wish to speak with you as one daughter of the Riverlands to another”. There was no sharpness to the words, no command cloaked in courtesy, only the calm steadiness of a woman reaching out, not downward.

As she took her seat, Iona studied Ayca not as a queen would assess a vassal, but as one eldest daughter regarding another. Iona herself had not been born the eldest, but Emilee's absence had made the title her inheritance nonetheless. “We both know what it means to carry a house's good name on our shoulders,” she said, her voice low, but clear. “And what it means to lose someone, and yet not be allowed to fall apart”. There was clear admiration and respect in Iona's voice, and her whole demeanor showed that she saw the women before her as someone deserving more regard than she was often given. “I’ve long admired the grace with which you’ve kept Seagard steady while your brother's duties take him from place to place”. A Master of Ship's duties brought him to Riverrun often, and many other times took him to other places too. “It is for that reason I wished to ask you something,” the queen added, offering a small, sincere smile. “Would you consider taking a place among my household as one of my ladies?”.

[iona-tully]

Iona did not approach with ceremony, she simply joined her Master of Whispers beneath the stone archway, her presence quiet but unmistakable. Her crown was absent, replaced by a traditional Riverlands headpiece with small pearls framing her face. Though her attire was simple by Reach standards, she moved with the composure of someone who was unmistakably regal. “You might try pretending to enjoy yourself more, my lord,” the queen mentioned as she studied the people around them as well. “I thought watching people lie and posture was your favorite pastime”. There was a hint of amusement in her voice, though her bearing remained composed.

The Verdant Concord was a sweeping event, a gathering of the greatest minds; scholarly, artistic, and beyond. She could still see courtiers tripping over their own manners, trying to outsmile or outsmart each other. It was the Reach's version of peace alright. Such curated civility could be somewhat unnerving, giving her the sense that something else lurked beneath that veneer.

“Have you seen anything that's caught your attention so far?” Iona asked. With so many devices presented, new methods for approaching tasks showcased, she was certain something might have piqued Jalabhar's interest. Or perhaps, with his keen spymaster eye, he'd noticed interactions she should be made aware of.

what: open starter where: the reach event

The scent of crushed mint and warm stone clung to the air in Highgarden’s upper court, where fountains whispered and butterflies floated lazily through shafts of morning light. There were no banners flaring, no horns blaring—just the hum of strategy disguised as civility, ideas wrapped in sweet wine and rose-scented diplomacy.

Jalabhar Mooton stood beneath the arch of a marble arbor, wine cup cradled loosely in one hand, his other resting lightly atop the pommel of his walking stick—not for need, but for style. He wore rich burgundy, white-gold thread curling like rivers across his chest and cuffs, dark silk trousers tucked into polished boots.

His eyes were moving constantly—watching, not just looking. He noted who entered the courtyard, who avoided whom, who drank too quickly, and who smiled too long. Beneath the surface of progress and peace, he could feel it—ambition with teeth. And he liked it. This was the battlefield he craved.

"Funny thing about peace," he murmured, more to the air than to anyone present. "Folk tend to forget it’s just another kind of game. Quieter, aye—but the stakes? Still sharp."

[iona-tully]

Iona accepted the cheese and offered her old friend a smile. A quiet indication that yes, she trusted her. In this small matter and in others, really, despite the shifting tides of their circumstances. The Queen of the Riverlands took a small bite and hummed softly in approval, appreciative of the sharp, tasty flavor. “It is good. Very good,” she said before setting the plate down, her gaze moving up to linger on Katherine.

The Tully queen detected warmth in Katherine's words as she'd spoken, warmth in her demeanor despite being as polished as was expected of a monarch of the West. But there was still that particular sincerity that had been key to their friendship, it still stretched beyond the layers of politics and responsibility draped over both their shoulders. “And how have you been after childbirth?” Iona asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly, her voice softer now. “It understand it can be quite draining, and very emotional, even”. There was no mention of duty or legacy, no talk of securing the line or fulfilling expectations— only an earnest question, from one woman to another. Iona had not known the feeling of holding her own child, but she understood the weight of change, how it could settle into the bones in ways one never expected. And gods knew if Katherine had had the space to speak about this in a more human way, not as queen or wife, or mother to a future king.

At the mention of the Riverlands and their enduring nature, Iona allowed a quiet smile. “If my people are strong, it is because they choose to be. I may guide them now, but I've not stood alone,” she admitted, her fingers reaching for her own teacup. If this was a toast of sorts, Iona inevitably raised her cup for Jalabhar and his house. For Ronan and his sister. For the Mallisters and the Blackwoods. For her Sentinel of the Riverlands. And for her sisters and their constant support, their wise advice. Then, she took a sip along with Katherine. “I have been fortunate to be surrounded by those I trust,” she added then. There was no illusion that her crown rested easily, nor did she pretend that she alone had shaped the Riverlands into what they now were.

At Katherine’s inquiry about the celebrations, Iona let out a soft chuckle. Some of the tension she'd felt previously eased away from her shoulders. “I did attend the celebrations for Lann’s Day,” she admitted. “The masks were a particular delight. It was so entertaining to see everyone have so much fun attempting to unmask others,” the queen added, having seen individuals who took the challenge very seriously. “We have our own festivities involving masks, and I've always found it quite interesting. The way people move about more freely when their identities are concealed”. It was a rare pleasure, after all, to just be another reveler among a sea of hundreds. “Your people know how to celebrate,” she added with a chuckle. It was a side of Western folk Iona did not see often.

katherine’s gaze drifted over the teacup in her hands, her fingers tracing the delicate porcelain as the weight of their current lives settled around her. so much had changed in their worlds, yet some things, like their bond, remained constant.

she turned her attention back to Iona, offering a small but warm smile. “it has been too long since we’ve had a quiet moment like this,” she said softly, her tone still measured, but touched with the familiar ease of old friendship. “i must admit, I’ve missed it, our talks, our laughter.”

she glanced at the platter iona had eyed and offered the cheese with a gentle motion. “the scent is strong, yes, but the taste... it’s an acquired one.” katherine’s lips curled upward, her voice light with the attempt at easing the tension between them. “i do hope you can trust me.”

a flicker of thought crossed the western queen's mind, but she kept her expression composed. It was not the time for deep reflections. their world, as much as their bond, had shifted—both queens aware of the delicate balance between them. katherine’s loyalty lay firmly with her husband and king, and with the west, but she found herself, just for this moment, slipping away from the responsibilities and constraints of court and savoring the familiarity of her old friend.

her smile softened, but she chose not to dwell on things unsaid. “the riverlands... timeless,” she mused, her voice still light, though the words carried more weight than she let on. “i admire that about you. the strength in that.” she raised her cup slightly, toasting the riverlands, to her friend, to the memories that lingered in the spaces between them.

she set her teacup down with a soft clink, her fingers lingering on the rim for a moment as she considered the question. “i do hope your visit to the west has been pleasant, iona,” she began, her tone gentle but curious. “have you had the chance to see the lion’s tor yet? or perhaps to partake in lann’s day celebrations?”

her eyes softened with genuine interest as she regarded her friend, knowing full well that a trip to the west was not simply a journey of distance, but one of political significance as well. still, she hoped Iona had found some enjoyment in the cultural customs, despite the tensions between their realms.

“you must tell me if the festivities lived up to their reputation,” katherine added, her voice warm with a trace of fondness for the traditions of her homeland.

[iona-tully]

“The Riverlands have long been a crossroads for conflict, it's true,” Iona admitted, her tone measured, “and we have persevered despite the wars and foreign invasion.” There was a brief pause as the queen met his eyes, “We both know my realm is much more than mud”. The king’s interest in her region was a dead giveaway that he did understand the strategic role the Riverlands played, just as the Blacks and Greens understood it during the Dance. The queen looked at him with a serene expression. She did not need to match the Lannister’s king imposing presence, nor did she wish to. Strength came in different forms, and she would wield hers as she saw fit. “I did not come to the West to let these talks slip into nothing. I remain open to discussion. So do not mistake your hesitations for mine. It is not I who stalls, nor I who refuses to move forward”. There was no accusation in her voice, only fact. It was Tyland who had left her waiting. It was he who had yet to acknowledge her title. She had extended her hand, and he had chosen not to take it.

Her gaze remained steady as she regarded him, catching the shift in his tone, what she interpreted as the well-practiced severity of his words. Tyland Lannister was a man used to bend and crush others under the weight of his commands. She knew he would never truly see her as an equal, and that did not concern her. Whatever personal grievances or ingrained beliefs kept him from doing so were his burden to bear, not hers. But in matters of politics it was not a choice, it was a necessity. He might refuse her title in private, but in the realm of rulers, she was a queen and that was a truth he could not ignore. “Let us speak, then,” Iona continued. “If you are so concerned with the future state of the Riverlands, of our borders, you have its queen before you to discuss those concerns”. Her brother wasn't a part of this conversation, nor were the future offspring they alluded to. Again, it was her with whom Tyland had to speak.

And then came his proposal. A Lannister husband. A match that would tie her to Tyland’s influence as surely as iron binds to chain. It was not an unexpected play, yet for all her preparation, she had not anticipated him to lay it before her so plainly. Iona did not let the flicker of surprise reach her expression. Instead, she was silent for a beat, allowing the weight of his suggestion to settle between them. “You would see me wed your brother”. The words were not a question, but an understanding of what he truly sought. Control. Dominion over the Riverlands through the veil of marriage. “It is a fitting match for your interests, no doubt,” she allowed, her voice neutral, unreadable. “And one I will consider as I would any proposal brought before me”. Not a rejection, nor an acceptance. Just enough to acknowledge it without surrendering an inch. She folded her hands before her, allowing herself the smallest of smiles, polite, distant.

♔

tyland lannister stood before queen iona tully, his presence suffocating the space between them, his cloak sweeping behind him like a river of gold, heavy with the weight of his crown and the years of power he carried. his eyes of striking emerald, cold and unblinking, lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, noting the composed appearance she wore. she barely appeared a queen: most women in the west seemed to dress better than her, there was nothing about her presence which commanded respect or authority.

"the riverlands are rich in resources, and they rest upon a border that holds great strategic value. it would be a mistake to let these talks fade away into nothingness. i would see this matter resolved, one way or another."

the silence in the room stretched taut, but it was tyland who broke it, his voice low, formal, a rumble of authority. "your words are bold, queen iona," he began, the low rasp of his voice filling the room like a distant thunder. his eyes narrowed, fixing her with an unyielding gaze. "still, they betray your lack of understanding of the nature of things. the matter of succession is my concern - the riverlands sit upon my borders, and all too often does the riverlands turn to festering mud for the sake of war. if it is not you and your brother now, it will be your offspring when you are both dead. you are not blind to the implications and my patience is not unlimited."

his expression did not change, but his tone quietened slightly, as if he were explaining a matter of state to a child who had missed his lessons. the same way he spoke to everyone in his life; regardless of who they were. "speak with your brother if you wish, but know this: i am not going anywhere. and the longer we delay, the more difficult it will become to find common ground. so let us speak, and find another way to move forward." he did not speak of them being equals still; yet knew he would try to push this conversation through - it was not meeting in the middle, but rather drawing another line entirely.

he stood there, watching her, silent but observant, as if weighing his words and her response on the scales of his considerations. it was clear that tyland did not think much of her, not really, but knew he had to respect the power she currently held, that power could be shifted and swayed, there was nothing money and time could not do. "you need to wed. the prince of fair isle is recently widowed. it is a fitting union to cement our realms."

[iona-tully]

END.

Iona listened closely, her gaze steady on Jalabhar as he spoke. She could only nod in agreement. He was a man of blunt truths and that was a quality she valued in him. She needed him to be that blade of harsh truth, not someone that would only offer comfort and thus weaken her. As much as she loved her brother, Aidan's choices cast a shadow in both absence and presence. The queen's expression remained serene, however. “You're right, of course,” she replied after a moment, her tone calm but firm. “His reputation, such as it is, can be managed. The truth is, as much as I dislike it, that Aidan's presence is both a liability and an opportunity”.

The Queen of Rivers knew her brother had no desire for the crown, no wish for the responsibilities it brought with it. “He cannot be seen as a contender. If we present him as what he is, a wayward prince who is content with his vices and is not only disinterested in ruling, but unfit for it, the threats will quiet down”.

Jalabhar's recounting of the Western prince’s words caused some irritation to simmer within her, but she was quick to mask it, to tame it. Western men could be cruder than many gave them credit for because of how pious they presented themselves to be. “Let the men of the West be so ready to speak with such arrogance,” she mentioned, resting her index to her temple, her thumb to her jaw, thinking for a moment. The lions were not their friends. Friends and allies stood on equal ground and Tyland Lannister wasn't one to seek equals. She would not make an enemy of the man, but she would not bow down when they spoke so lowly of the Riverlands, of the choices of the Riverlords, of her own place as ruler.

“My brother could benefit from marriage. We could all benefit from it,” she added with a slow nod. “Let us tread carefully. The wrong match might inspire rebellion rather than quelling it. This is a thread we must pull carefully, Jalabhar. Let me know what you hear in the realm, and where Aidan's presence might be most beneficial for us all”. The last thing Iona wanted was for her brother to feel like a leash was put around him. The right choice would not feel as such, the proper place and correct partner could feed the more positive traits her brother possessed.

Her eyes followed Jalabhar as he tucked the scroll away. “Very well,” she said in a softer tone of voice. “I trust your instincts, my lord. Bring me what you find, and we’ll decide which of these names might serve us best, or whether any might need to be removed”. A gentle nod followed, her appreciation for her Master of Whispers evident in the gesture.

[iona-tully]

Iona folded her hands neatly in front of her, watching Aidan with a calm expression as he moved through the room. Her brother had always carried a sort of restless energy, one that she sometimes envied but often worried about. It was inevitable, that their family dynamic had led the eldest Tully princess to worry about her siblings —to protect them, to care for them in a way their father did not.

“I had some suspicions that he would send you or Cian away,” she said with a sigh. She was aware of the need for their father's decision, but Iona silently hated to see her little brother go away. The princess did not share Aidan's reluctance toward their half-brother, something that was evident in her warm treatment toward the legitimized bastard their father loved so. “He is a Tully, Aidan,” she added in a gentler tone. “Father trusts his skills are of use here, and he trusts yours will serve us in the East. Be careful though, you will need more than your sword and a sharp tongue to navigate that new field”. In a different way, that new continent he was headed to was another part of the battlefield.

“But fret not, I will look after things here” As always. She was meant to stay in Riverrun, but after some conversations with their father, she had also suggested ways in which she might be of better use to their realm. “I convinced him to do so,” Iona began, a faint smile crossing her lips for a moment. “I am to be an ambassador, I will go to the West for a brief period of time. My time as a Westerling lady can be of use to keep diplomatic alliances”.

who: @iona-tully when: 5 years into the Dance where: Aidan Tully is meeting with his sister before departing to the East.

"Father is sending me to the East with some of my men. He sends me on the word of Queen Rhaenyra." The word was sent by way of the King Consorts men but none would report that Aidan Tully didn't support the black dragon as they all should but the war would set the realm right and House Tully would be remembered. Aidan would see to it. The young lord fought hard and fast, joining the fray with both feet and his sword fully drawn as he cut down his different enemies. And now his father called on him to restore honor to their house.

"I think he meant to send Cian instead of me. A bastard to represent our house." Aidan shook his head as he walked over the barrel of water and began to wash off his face. He'd come home straight from the fight and encounter combat on the road. "When I go, it leaves you to keep an one them. Especially Cian. He can't be trusted. I know everyone says I'm over reacting but I feel my concern to be true."

Fingers ran over his hair. He would be glad to soak in warm water if time permitted. He cracked his knuckles and walked over to the table in table placed under the window. Aidan picked up the cut of meat and took a bite, gravy running down his hand.

"And what of you, sister? Has father given you a task?"

[iona-tully]

Iona’s fingers were laced together as she waited for the Lion King in the audience chamber. It felt like a calculated offense in some way, to have her wait. It was something she'd expected, of course, to be reminded in every possible way, subtle or not, that Tyland Lannister did not consider her a rightful queen. And then the Lannister monarch entered at last, adorned with a cloak, golden thread in his clothes, the large crown on his head. He was as opposite a monarch as Iona was, whose garb was never ostentatious. Her status was indicated by her torc necklace, the ancient brooch that adorned her dress, and the pearls and beading that adorned the traditional carved circlet she wore as crown.

Her face remained composed, her chin held high, as the man spoke. She let the silence stretch between them for a moment, gathering her thoughts to avoid responding only viscerally. It wasn't her way, even when offended. Iona had prepared herself for the route she was sure this conversation would take. After all, Tyland Lannister was a vestige of the old world, of those who valued only gold, a strict religion, and a man's cock. “My womb is not your concern,” she said plainly. “Only the man I call husband is entitled to speak of it in any capacity. Now, Lord Westerling is no longer with us so I will do him the courtesy of not speaking about his inability to plant his seed”. And that was all Iona had to say on that particular matter.

“I do not speak of how you ought to conduct your realm. Let me mind my realm and my people,” the Queen of the Rivers said in a steady voice, her hands clasped in front of her as she spoke. She was not here to excuse herself, to offer apologies, or ask for permission to rule her lands when she had been legitimately chosen by those she respected the most in her realm. “There is no succession crisis, you only see it because you choose to. The Riverlands have an heir in my brother, and the heir will remain an heir until I have children of my own, or he succeeds in the only way an heir gains a throne: when a monarch dies”.

Her expression was a calm one, but the steel in her voice remained. “You may delay, you may deny, but my position as queen is not one you must acknowledge to make real. It simply is”. She let her words settle, the weight of them hanging in the air. “It is me you must speak to, not my brother. When you are ready to speak as equals, you will find me willing. Until then, we may remain as we are”.

who: @iona-tully when and where: the westerlands, following the blessing of prince arthur of house lannister. it has been some time since iona arrived to casterly rock, and tyland has yet to formally acknowledge her as queen. their hands have been meeting, but there has been little progress. and now, they finally meet.

the audience chamber of casterly rock was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. the stone walls loomed like the past itself, cold and unyielding, as tyland lannister strode toward the dais. his cloak trailed behind him, a river of gold and fur, the weight of his authority present in every step. his crown sat upon his brow, heavy and unspoken, a symbol of the supremacy he held over all in this room. queen iona of house tully was waiting.

they had asked him, time after time, why it was he did not agree. why he would not sign to an alliance, to terms of peace?

he had heard the tales, of course. the riverlands had placed her on the throne when they thought prince aidan tully had perished in the wars. a woman—chosen by men who had no better options at the time. and such options had now changed, considering the return of the legitimate male heir to the riverland throne. tyland could never respect such a decision. the thought of a woman ruling a realm, let alone one as vast and wild as the riverlands, was beyond his understanding. it would only be a matter of time before the lords revolted against her rule and her claim; whether she married one of their disliking, or picked one over the other.

he thought a woman ruling the riverlands would make the realm weaker. it were already fragile enough. and this would simply make it the fairground for the lions. "what holds me back, you ask me." he uttered, looking upon her.

she had once been married to lord westerling, and had lived in his court for a time. as a subject. tyland had seen her there, though he had never paid her much attention. a quiet, unobtrusive presence—like a faded tapestry in a hall full of noise. she had never produced children, and that, to him, was a mark of weakness. a barren womb spoke to a woman’s true worth, or lack thereof. as he looked across at her, he noticed her posture—composed, regal, as any queen might be. but to tyland, it was only the facade of strength. a distorted reflection.

"your womb is your greatest failure."

the words fell from his lips without hesitation. if she wanted to be a ruler, she would be spoken to as rulers spoke to one another. bluntly, with no silver linings. those were for their courtiers, for their pawns. "you provided lord westerling no heirs, and no legacy whilst a subject in my court. and what can a woman who cannot bear children truly offer a realm except from a succession crisis, whether it be in five years, or fifty?" the air between them seemed to grow heavier, but tyland did not flinch. he stood firm, unwavering, his gaze unbroken. "the legitimate heir to the throne is due to return. our talks will then resume. until then, we remain as we were. divided."

[iona-tully]

Iona couldn’t help but laugh a little. It was a tired laugh, her exhaustion of the day shining through. The Litha festival was to include a ball, of course, and it was already deemed 'The Queen's Ball', for many assumed that the Riverlands' monarch would seek to establish a union with one of her guests, a potential new king consort for the Land of Rivers. “It's not a scheme, though, Mel,” she said, trying to ease her sister's concerns. “We're in a complicated position. We've only just recovered from what the Lyseni did to us. The West refuses to acknowledge me as queen. The Reach is being tepid at best in their acknowledgment, holding their cards too close to the chest,” she mused, letting out a sigh. “I dislike having others validate what the Riverlords have proclaimed already, but we do not exist alone in this world”. The Riverlands needed allies, that was the truth.

The queen did not see herself as a pawn of her council, though she could understand why her sister might see it that way. “I trust my council, Mel,” she began. There were different levels of trust Iona granted to those who sat in the council chambers. Some she trusted without hesitation. Some, she granted a degree of confidence to maintain peace within her own realm. But generally speaking, Iona knew she could rely on those individuals to do their part. She had seen every piece work effectively already when the faced the Lyseni and took the battle to their shores. Iona trusted such cohesion, such collaboration could become the norm.

Turning back to Mellara, she held her sister's hand and squeezed it gently. Even if Mel didn't sit in the council, she was as much an advisor for Iona as those who officially held the title. The queen needed someone in her corner who cared for her beyond just the crown. “I will not marry Owen Stark,” she added with a sigh. As great a prospect the man could be, there were too many complications in such a match. One would not be a mere consort to the other, for both had crowns in their own right. “Circumstances are different now, but truthfully, after I returned from the West when Harold died, I always considered I would marry a Riverman if I were to marry again”. Marrying was a necessity now, not a mere option. “I wish to marry someone who understands these lands, who will care for this realm and its people the same way I do”.

There was another tender squeeze, and Iona smiled at her sister. If her intentions were to come true, Mel would not have to miss her in the future, for she would remain where she was. Where she belonged, in Riverrun. Marrying internally might not be the best in terms of alliances, but Iona's goal had always been to strengthen the realm from within.

.

mel let out a soft laugh, settling back into her chair, hands wrapping around the warmth of her teacup. "a northern queen?" she shook her head, an amused, if slightly disbelieving, smile playing on her lips. "they always have their plans, don't they? arrangements, schemes, alliances. as if you're some pawn to be placed where they deem most fitting. and here i thought the riverlands was quite enough to rule. but i suppose they won’t stop until they’ve tried to marry you off to every eligible monarch in westeros" her eyes sparkled with a playful glint, but there was a note of sympathy there, too, buried beneath her teasing.

she took a sip of her tea, her eyes not leaving her sister. "but you’re no pawn, iona. not for the north, the council, or any nobleman who fancies himself your equal. they may wish to bind you to some king, but i don’t see why you couldn’t have a partner who truly respects what you’re doing here." mel's voice softened as she looked out the window, admiring the view of the river below. "besides, the idea of you up there, ruling in cold stone halls… it doesn’t suit you."

with a knowing smile, she reached across to take iona's hand. "and i’d miss you terribly. what would riverrun be without its queen?" she paused, her gaze flickering with a rare vulnerability.

[iona-tully]

The expression from the Queen of Rivers remained soft but thoughtful as she listened to her old friend speak. Katherine was as poised as ever, and her words rang more deliberate than ever, as she navigated the tightrope of diplomacy. Iona smiled, silently missing the days when they could speak openly, with full sincerity. “Timeless is a good word for it,” she agreed, lifting her teacup for a small sip. “The Riverlands are old, many of our traditions are rooted in things far simpler than crowns or courts. A reminder of what came before. I imagine that is why we hold fast to them,” the queen mused. The people of the Riverlands had endured without being wealthy like the West, without having overflowing crops like the Reach, or myths of grandeur like the Crownlands. They had endured, and Iona would ensure they continued to do so.

The mention of the mines and the blessings of the gods made Iona glance up from her teacup, meeting Katherine's eyes again. “An heir for your realm and productive mines,” she began, “I am glad to know your blessings have been abundant, Katherine. You must be proud of what you’ve given the West”. Iona’s tone was gentle, affectionate even. Her friend was doing so well, and it filled her heart to see it.

When Katherine mentioned Riverrun and spoke about the bustling images of her memory, there was an inevitable sense of nostalgia in Iona's chest. Thinking about Katherine visiting in the future seemed less likely than either of them wanted it to be. Perhaps someday. It was the sort of phrase that lingered, a few words that rang heavy with things left unsaid. Unsaid but not unknown. “Perhaps someday,” Iona echoed, a subtle smile gracing her lips.

The Tully queen knew she could have an ally in Katherine in terms of the Western perception of Iona's rule. At the same time, she also saw it as a useless effort. Why ask of a friend what could not be achieved? Besides, Iona had already decided along with her closest advisors not to rely on the the Western realm for anything. Political neutrality and civil diplomatic words. That was all there was to exist between the West and the Riverlands. For now, she was fine with settling for what they had: cordiality wrapped in the warmth of old memories.

Her gaze went to the platter as Katherine extended it, and she gave a nod of thanks. “Cheese that smells horrid but tastes divine?” she asked with an easy frown, gaining a whiff of the pungent smell of it. “I shall have to trust you if you say it truly tastes so well,” she said with a soft chuckle. The light jest softened some of the edges of formality between the two, and Iona appreciated these moments of light-heartedness scattered in between the distance ruling had brought between them.

the light wind from the open window stirred the folds of katherine’s gown as she sat, poised but relaxed. she held her teacup delicately, her eyes following the faint tendrils of steam that rose and disappeared into the air. the thought of the riverlands stretched far beyond the horizon, unseen but ever-present. “it’s kind of you to extend the invitation,” katherine said finally, her tone even, her words measured. “litha has always sounded enchanting. rhe riverlands know how to celebrate life in a way that feels… timeless.”

she glanced briefly at iona, her expression calm, almost serene. “i imagine your people find great comfort in such traditions, especially now.” the weight of her own words settled briefly before she continued, her gaze shifting back to the cup in her hands. “there’s strength in holding onto what endures, even as the world around us changes.”

the murmur of the castle beyond the walls of her sitting room filled the silence for a moment. servants moved quietly through the halls, their presence a distant hum of life and duty. katherine’s fingers grazed the rim of her cup before she took a sip, the warmth grounding her.

“i’ve been occupied with the preparations here,” she added, her voice light, conversational. “it's been quite the time, these past few months.” a son. she had birthed a son for the kingdom, and while she was immensely proud, there was another level of pressure and anxiety that bore down upon her shoulders. "my brother says the mines have been fruitful. the gods have certainly blessed us."

she allowed a small smile, a practiced ease in her manner. “i’m sure you know the feeling. ruling is never idle work, especially when your people depend on you.” a soft chuckle escaped her, barely more than a breath. “it seems we’ve both learned that well enough.”

katherine set her cup down gently, the porcelain meeting stone with a quiet clink. “as for riverrun…” she said after a moment, her eyes lifting briefly to meet iona’s. “it’s been years since I last visited. I recall the river markets were always bustling, the air filled with the scent of spices and fresh bread. perhaps someday, when the path between our lands is less… complicated.”

her words trailed off, muffled by the crackling of the hearth nearby. there was no need to delve further into that, it was not the purpose of this visit. she reached for a small platter, lifting it just slightly in iona's direction. “would you care for some cheese?” she asked, her tone as smooth and practiced as ever, a queen speaking to an equal—cautious, but cordial. "i'm told it's some of the finest on the continent, which means it smells horrid, but tastes delicious." she jested.

[iona-tully]

Iona listened closely, her gaze steady on Jalabhar as he spoke. She could only nod in agreement. He was a man of blunt truths and that was a quality she valued in him. She needed him to be that blade of harsh truth, not someone that would only offer comfort and thus weaken her. As much as she loved her brother, Aidan's choices cast a shadow in both absence and presence. The queen's expression remained serene, however. “You're right, of course,” she replied after a moment, her tone calm but firm. “His reputation, such as it is, can be managed. The truth is, as much as I dislike it, that Aidan's presence is both a liability and an opportunity”.

The Queen of Rivers knew her brother had no desire for the crown, no wish for the responsibilities it brought with it. “He cannot be seen as a contender. If we present him as what he is, a wayward prince who is content with his vices and is not only disinterested in ruling, but unfit for it, the threats will quiet down”.

Jalabhar's recounting of the Western prince’s words caused some irritation to simmer within her, but she was quick to mask it, to tame it. Western men could be cruder than many gave them credit for because of how pious they presented themselves to be. “Let the men of the West be so ready to speak with such arrogance,” she mentioned, resting her index to her temple, her thumb to her jaw, thinking for a moment. The lions were not their friends. Friends and allies stood on equal ground and Tyland Lannister wasn't one to seek equals. She would not make an enemy of the man, but she would not bow down when they spoke so lowly of the Riverlands, of the choices of the Riverlords, of her own place as ruler.

“My brother could benefit from marriage. We could all benefit from it,” she added with a slow nod. “Let us tread carefully. The wrong match might inspire rebellion rather than quelling it. This is a thread we must pull carefully, Jalabhar. Let me know what you hear in the realm, and where Aidan's presence might be most beneficial for us all”. The last thing Iona wanted was for her brother to feel like a leash was put around him. The right choice would not feel as such, the proper place and correct partner could feed the more positive traits her brother possessed.

Her eyes followed Jalabhar as he tucked the scroll away. “Very well,” she said in a softer tone of voice. “I trust your instincts, my lord. Bring me what you find, and we’ll decide which of these names might serve us best, or whether any might need to be removed”. A gentle nod followed, her appreciation for her Master of Whispers evident in the gesture.

"We will have to lean into your brothers... reputation to make sure he is not seen as a threat. The Prince, may the Gods protect and guide him, is not know for his selfless nature or great choices." Prince Aidan Tully freed himself, took over a mance and whored and drank until the magisters coin was all but good and then returned to them, the same as when he left. And Jalabhar did not think many would support him but enough would on the simple basis of a male heir now existing.

"The Western prince is as crass as you can be. I believe his words were, do you enjoy kneeling beneath the breast of your sister. Something ridiculous but I'm sure it's a feeling that spreads.It's also one that can be contained. He can not marry outside the realm and if so it should be with your allies. And if he marries we must make sure that their house is not great in wealth or banners." And that was all on the very shaky idea the Prince would take the effort.

"Yes, Tyland Lannister is not a man we should make an enemy of or see as a friend. No friendships come from lions. A Lannister always pays their debts, they say. And that's all an alliance with them is, us in debt to them." They were an every growing realm, they had the luxury of rolling hills, rivers, and trade. They could be a power all their own.

Ja took the list of names, looking over, he committed it to memory and then tucked the scroll in his sleeve for later burning. "Of course, when I speak with the hand I'll make sure to get names from him as well, your grace. We are close enough to the Reach to get much better glances."

[iona-tully]

Ronan's word was one she valued and trusted deeply, and so when he gave it, the queen expected him to honor it. “I trust it will be so,” she replied and gave a subtle nod, one graceful motion, for the matter to be thus settled. No more back and forth. No more lists on her part, only a single list her Hand was to deliver before the month was over.

Queen and Hand flowed naturally with the planning and discussing of more than one matter at once —a promised list, a circle on the map, a conversation about thorns and roses. Lord Bracken understood her intent and she understood his in a way few others did, sometimes even without uttering words, their rhythm of the political dance well-suited for the match they made as monarch and trusted advisor.

Iona's finders were laced together, a moment of silence dawning as she considered the gamble of turning to Reach folk. “Let us begin with him, then. It is fortuitous the lord has made plans to meet with you at such a time,” she mused, reading in her Hand some certainty despite the gamble they spoke of. “Test the waters, my lord. Then let us reach out to the Merryweather lady and the Peake lord”. Hightower for last, she thought, leaving the most troublesome house as a last option.

As he spoke, the Queen of the Riverlands' gaze flickered back to the map, to the area she had just signaled. Saltpans. “Yes. But let us not dally, Ronan,” Iona offered a calm smile, her posture serene and confident. In truth, such confidence wasn't in herself alone, it was confidence in her advisor and friend. “Every realm around us moves, and they move fast. I will not have our home sink as everything else passes us by”.

The queen rose from her seat then and gave a respectful nod to her Lord Hand. The journey to the Westerlands awaited them, to the very den of lions that did not see her as the rightful ruler she was. The River lords crowned her and it was the River folk she served, not the men of the West. Not Tyland Lannister. “Let us prepare,” she said, meaning both their upcoming journey and every other piece that was to be set in motion.

ᕯ

And they were words he knew were nothing short than the entire and simple truth; he did need wed sooner rather than later, for even whilst Iona remained currently unwed, she had an heir at least. One that was reportedly on the way back to the realm, following spending some time on the continent; it were something that Ronan found himself thinking often about, whether there was any feeling of being spurned or one's pride insulted considering he were the sole male legitimate heir.

Something in the pit of his stomach made him think there would be something to deal with as a result of this; something that would eventually rear it's head.

"By the end of the month my Queen, you have my word." He uttered, his hand resting upon his chest as though he were making the most solemn of oaths: and he would coincidentally forget to bring it up, and so it would continue again and again. It irked him, his own quiet unrealistic view at what he wanted from a marriage; it were nothing he spoke of to anyone, only the fact he wished to make someone as happy as his father had made his mother.

He would not disrupt the balance of Stone Hedge for the sake of anyone; they needed to understand what responsibilities they would have, and what Ronan in return would bring for them. It was sensitive, after all - more than he ever spoke of. His hands crossed together after she tapped Saltpans, a quick circle as she continued to speak of the Kingdom of the Reach - a dangerous gamble indeed. "Exactly, and it only be for the sake of those that come to your mind do I even suggest the Reach. A gamble it is, but we have a shot. I say we take it. Lord Conall Blackbar plans to make his way to us, according to the correspondence I've received; for reasons more than to just see me.

"I say we focus on him during his visit. He be an honest man, and will rely his thoughts back to his King."

He copied her two taps upon Saltpans, a slight smile crossing over his face as he did so - whilst he had left the choice open to her, he had hoped she would focus on the area to the East. And there was much to gain from doing so; especially considering who had recently named himself Conqueror of all new Valyria. "Let me get back to you on this one?" He asked, his hazel orbs clearly showing a thought process behind his words.

[iona-tully]

The queen nodded subtly, interested in the unspoken part of Lady Frey's answer. A part of her understood the subtext, of course, for she was certain many a woman could relate to thinking about the girls they once were and the women they were today. The women they had to become.

“I've enjoyed it, the few times I've been up there,” Iona admitted with a measured tone. “It's been some time now,” the Tully queen went on, remembering the last time she was selected to perform at the Coiméide na masc Cian had still been alive, she had still been just a princess. “It was an unexpected experience, the ease of acting differently than how I am, and seeing the same in others”.

Cyrene nodded in recognition. It did seem simpler that way. Random people pulled to the stage, given masks and instructions. Either they enraptured the audience or they did not - in the end, a riveting performance and an engaged crowd was to be had.

She considered Iona's question for a moment. "Once, perhaps," she spoke, more honesty bleeding into her words than she might have liked. "I was..." she allowed a small smirk to cross over her lips, "up for anything, when I was younger. Uncaring of consequence. Much has changed now, I suppose. How would you have felt? On stage, acting under a pre-assigned role."

[iona-tully]

Jalabhar's words rang sincere, and she was grateful for the sentiment. Monarchs who reigned a long time were rare in Westeros, and at the moment the crown for the Riverlands was placed upon her head, Iona quietly acknowledged to herself that she might not live a long life. And she accepted it. However brief or not her rule ended up being, she had sworn to serve and lead her people to the best of her capabilities. And for the capabilities she lacked, she surrounded herself with men like Lord Mooton, Lord Bracken, Lord Mallister, Lord Blackwood.

“My brother's position in my court cannot be seen as a threat to my rule,” Iona said, her voice calm, her demeanor measured, despite how deeply she hated that her beloved brother was the very instrument that others used to doubt her place as a rightful monarch's. It was the unfortunate turn of events, however. With the elder sibling being a queen, and the younger one being a male that others perceived as rightful, her brother's presence would always spark talk, doubt, trouble. “And what did the Western prince say?” she asked, almost reluctant to ask it. Aaron Lannister's words carried no weight here, but she had learned in her years as ambassador that it was valuable to know what were the perspectives around the Riverlands, to play into such notions or against them.

“We are to remain neutral regarding the West. I do not seek to make enemies of them, but we are not to bend to Tyland Lannister,” she said to her spymaster. “Please meet with the Lord Hand, Jalabhar. We are to try our hand at connecting with a select few Reachmen. There is only so much Lord Bracken can achieve in his role. I know you are bound to learn other valuable information by your special means,” and the queen reached out to get a quill to write down a few names. Lord Conall Blackbar. Lord Omer Florent. Lord Gael Hightower. Lady Seffora Merryweather. Lord Tion Peake. Iona handed it to him. It was important to learn from her spymaster's perspective the benefits and the downsides of seeking connections, alliances and trade relationships, to those people.

In the end, Jalabhar Mooton received some solace from the revenge rained down on those around them. And now there was something else to do as there would always be something else to do. Things he kept out of the Queen's ears and would turn to the Hand in the end it would be his choice to share with the Queen. As she spoke to him, showing him appreciation for his work he nodded with a smile. Practiced and brief.

"You will have a long rule, your grace. It's the duty of the council and the desire of the realm." They stood with her, yes there was the odd man who would whisper complaints in his cups, the occasional lord or knight but none would rise against her. Jalabhar would hate to have to put them down.

"They are reluctant, more than reluctant one would say they are offended by the notion of their being a Tully Prince serving a queen. Their own Prince questioned the matter and it wasn't quiet." He was planning on sending people west or leaving them west, it would have to be decided. His fingers moved over his chin as he leaned back in his chair. "The West, I imagine, will be a problem."

[iona-tully]

deborah ann woll ✶✶