pressedxpetals

[pressedxpetals]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pressedxpetals]

keira lingered in the warm glow of the fire, her hands loosely clasped before her, thumb idly brushing over the soft fabric of her sleeve. the flickering light caught in her auburn hair, casting it in shades of copper and gold, but her expression was subdued, thoughtful. graham hadn’t turned to face her, not fully, but he hadn’t left either. that, at least, was something.

his words sat between them like a stone in her palm—solid, heavy, and not quite what she had hoped for. she understood him well enough by now to know he wasn’t trying to be cruel, only distant. and yet, keira had never been the sort to leave things untouched just because they were difficult. if she had been, she’d have folded into herself long ago, let the world carry her where it willed rather than trying to carve a place in it.

“aye, i suppose they do,” she murmured in response, lifting her gaze toward the high, arched windows where only the faintest glimmers of starlight could be seen. “perhaps can be comfort found in that itself. no matter where you are, no matter what’s changed, they’ll always be there, shining just the same.”

she let the quiet stretch between them, the only sound the occasional pop from the fire, the distant murmur of the household settling for the night. then, she exhaled a breath, tilting her head slightly. “maybe that’s why i like ‘em. steady things are hard to come by in this world.”

the tension in the space between the two of them remained thick, but she caught the faintest flicker of something in his expression—thoughtfulness, perhaps, or an awareness of the weight in her words. keira didn’t expect him to answer, not really. he was a man built on silence and steel, on duty and unspoken burdens. but she hoped, at least, that he might hear her.

at his mention of rain, she let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “always know before it comes, don’t you?” there was a quiet fondness in her tone, though she did not press it. “i’ll dress warm, then.”

her fingers brushed over the edge of the table as she turned slightly, hesitating before she took a step away. then, glancing back at him, she offered, just lightly, “you could come with me, y’know. you don’t have to find peace in it. just... company.”

she didn’t expect him to say yes. but she offered anyway.

[pressedxpetals]

keira stopped mid-step, blinking at fiadh like she’d just said the sky was green and the sea was dry. then she let out a sudden, startled laugh, sharp and bright as a bell, and shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest.

“oh, thank the gods,” she said, her accent thick with relief as the tension melted from her shoulders. “you had me picturin’ all sorts of disaster, bolts goin’ sideways, someone losin’ an eye, poor old lord westerling tryin’ to dodge behind a bale of hay. i swear, fiadh, don’t do that to me.”

she gave fiadh’s arm a playful nudge, still chuckling as they walked. “you had that whole little speech, too. the bouquet twirlin’, the grin, i was convinced! i nearly started prayin’ for the crowd.” her eyes glinted with mischief now. “though i’ve no doubt ye could sneak a pastry mid-competition and no one’d be the wiser.”

the crowd around them shifted, laughter and music floating past in snatches as they wove through the festival path. keira tilted her head at fiadh’s mention of scents, her smile softening. “lavender and honey... now that does sound like somethin’ made for me.” she bumped their shoulders gently. “and lemon and rosemary? bright, sharp, and bold. like someone else i know.”

her gaze lingered on their scarves, the contrasting colours catching the sun. “we’ll find somethin’ for you, don’t worry. purple and yellow’s good luck. we’ll carry it with us all day.”

she gave fiadh a sidelong look, the corners of her mouth lifting. “candles, bard tales, archery from a safe distance, and a river picnic?” she reached out to pluck a stray petal from fiadh’s hair. “that sounds like the perfect day to me.”

then, quieter, fond, “and maybe i’ll write about it later. just the sweet bits.”

"steady hands?" fiadh's face screwed up in thought, and she twirled her little bouquet between her fingers. "oh, maybe for writing or braiding hair. or sneaking extra pastries when nobody is looking. i'm good at that one, too." she laughed, patting her stomach with her free hand. "but archery? i'll probably be more a danger to myself than to the target. you'll have to get the crowd ducking for cover."

she'd fallen into step beside keira, the copper-gold of her hair catching in the sunlight as she walked. "maybe we'll get lucky, and they'll have a candle that's lavender and honey?" she suggested, giving keira's arm a soft squeeze. "sweet and soothing, just like you, kiki. and it'll match our scarves," she gestured around their necks, the combination of purple and yellow. "maybe we will find something purple and yellow for me, too. lemon, maybe? and rosemary? that flowers purple, don't it?" it was the perfect example of the contrast between them. while keira was drawn to warmer, more tranquil scents, fiadh's taste was brighter, more energetic.

for a moment, confusion passed over fiadh's face, before she realised what it was keira thought she needed luck for. "oh, kiki," she covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a laugh that felt cruel to let pass her lips. "i'm sorry, i thought you knew i was joking about entering the archery. imagine the disaster. i'd be almost as bad as lord westerling on horseback. oh, but i love that you had faith in me, though." she slipped her arm back through keira's.

"i do think it would be fun to watch though. how about it? candles, the bard tent, archery, and a picnic by the river to cap the day off?"

[pressedxpetals]

keira didn’t take the journal from his hands right away. for a long moment, she just looked at it where it pressed against her chest, like the weight of it had changed in her arms. something in her face shifted, not softened, not quite, but cracked, just a little, like a hairline fracture in glass.

“thank you,” she said, quiet now, her voice still rough at the edges. her fingers curled round the leather, holding it close like it could shield her.

she turned away, only a bit, arms wrapping around the journal. “i shouldn't've snapped at ye,” she said, her tone lower, thick with a breath she didn’t quite let out. “i was...startled, that’s all. doesn't make it right. i’m sorry.”

she cleared her throat, a small sound, trying to steady herself. “i know it’s only pages. words. ink and such. but that journal’s where i put things i can’t say out loud. not always important things. just thoughts, feelings—bits of me i’m not keen to share with the world. and seein’ ye with it...” her voice trailed off, and she gave a quick shake of her head, lips pressing tight. “i thought it was a cruelty. even if it wasn’t meant that way.”

then, slowly, she looked back to him. there wasn’t heat in her eyes now—just something careful and tired. “what did ye read?” she asked, quiet and curious, but not unkind. “was it the bit about the boat? or...” she tilted her head slightly, brows knitting together. “somethin’ about the twins? i write about 'em a fair bit.”

her eyes flicked down to the journal, then back up to his face. “can’t recall if i wrote anythin’ about you,” she said, and the second it left her mouth, she looked like she regretted it. her shoulders tensed, jaw tight, but she didn’t take it back. it was not meant in a rude way, just simply, many random thoughts and observations could be find scrawled within the contents of this journal.

instead, she let out a small, dry laugh. “not that it matters now, does it?” her voice barely above a whisper. “whatever it was... ye already saw it.”

ben stiffened at the sound of keira florent's voice, his face turning scarlet. it would have anyway, being caught in a library looking at one of the books, left on the table, but his embarrassment was only inflamed at the tone of her voice. his fingers tightened briefly around the journal, snapping it shut with a sharp thump. he hadn't even meant to open the damn thing, flipping through it only for something to do with her hands, and to see if he could make sense of anything written there, and now she was looking at him like he had committed some heinous crime. it took a moment for him to fully understand, but the more she spoke, it dawned on him it was no book of fairytales he was holding, but her journal.

"i wasn't..." he began, before cutting himself off. a muscle jumped in his jaw as he frowned, both in an effort to keep his temper and to try and think of a suitable lie as to why he had it in his hands that would cover the truth - that he had not been reading her private thoughts, because ben could barely read at all.

"i wasn't reading it," he said, words sharp, but coming too slow to be entirely believable. his fingers flexed against the cover, as though debating whether to toss it to her or hold on to it out of sheer spite. "you're handwriting's shit, anyway. can't make no sense of half of it, and the rest is complete drivel." the insult came before he could stop it, evidently taking even ben by surprise.

"saw your name on the cover and got curious, that's all," he grumbled. it might have been convincing - if it were not for the fact that keira florent's name was not on the cover at all.

he held the journal out, all but shoving it into her chest, though it was not a rough gesture. if anything, it was more careful that she might have expected. "here, take it." he didn't meet her eyes as he turned away, stepping back towards the window and taking his seat, thinking little about lifting one leg to rest a muddy boot on the upholstery. his stomach was churning, both with frustration, and something else he didn't care to name.

ben knew what he was. a soldier before anything else. it was all he had known since he was a young boy, too young to really know what he had missed out on. but that... that, he knew all too well. he was not normally ashamed of the things he could not do, but reading was different. it was as though it had been stolen from him the moment he picked up a sword instead of a quill.

"sorry," he grunted at her, figuring he owed her at least that. "won't happen again."

[pressedxpetals]

keira let the quiet linger between them, a soft smile playin’ at the corners of her lips. omer had always been steady, even when the world around them felt anything but. his words were blunt, but she knew the warmth behind them, knew they came from a place of care.

“you’ve always been good to me, cousin,” she said, her voice light, touched with fondness. “not everyone is.”

her fingers traced idle patterns against her skirts, a gentle, absent gesture. “it’s grand to hear the family’s well. more little ones—what a gift that is. i can only imagine the mischief runnin’ through the halls.” her smile deepened, soft and knowing. “ye must be proud.”

she turned her gaze toward the window, where the lantern light flickered against the dark. “as for meself, i manage well enough. the days come and go, and i find ways to fill ‘em. i take walks when the air is fresh, i read stories that make me smile, and every so often, i catch meself hummin’ a tune i thought i’d long forgotten. strange, isn’t it? how music finds its way back to us?”

she looked back at him then, a teasing glint in her eyes. “and what of you, cousin? do ye still test death by throwin’ yourself off the cliffs at brightwater, or have ye finally grown some sense?” she raised a brow, as if she already knew the answer. “i suppose we can thank the gods for small mercies if ye have. though, knowin’ you, i wouldn’t be surprised if ye still go flyin’ off those rocks just to see if the sea will catch ye.”

she shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “at least the world hasn’t taken that from ye. reckless as it is, it’s a kind of livin’, isn’t it?”

Omer paused for a moment, letting the quiet of Keira’s room settle over him as he reflected on the years passed. The Dance of Dragons—the brutal civil war that tore the realm apart—had taken so much from them, even though independence came at its own cost. There were scars everywhere, even among the Clover folk, who wore brave faces while secrets and old betrayals lurked in the shadows.

Then, with a soft, measured tone, he spoke. “There are no burdens here. If I found you burdensome, you wouldn’t be here, cousin. I check in because we are family and it is the spirit of the season.” His words were blunt, but there was a warmth behind them that betrayed the hard truths of their past.

Omer’s eyes softened as he continued, “I’m doing well, Keira. The family is alright. We’ll be having more children soon, by the grace of it all.” A brief smile played on his lips as he remembered brighter times amid the darkness. He knew that though trust was fragile—bonds forged long ago could shatter in a heartbeat—the ties that bound them still held strong, if only for moments like these.

He shifted his weight, his gaze steady on hers. “I’ve seen enough to know that nothing’s perfect. But tonight, we share this moment, we share our burdens, and we find strength in our kinship. We may carry our secrets and our scars, but we also carry hope.”

Omer’s tone was matter-of-fact yet sincere, his straightforward manner masking the weight of the past. “So, tell me, cousin—how have you been holding up? I’m here, as always, and I want to know that you’re doing as well as you can, despite it all.”

[pressedxpetals]

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

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

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

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

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

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

he stayed quiet as she spoke, giving her the space to share with him or not. in the end, she decided on the former, and he nodded his head, a gesture that made plain of all here tonight, he understood. his gaze flicked briefly back to the hall, to the light and warmth and distant laughter of those who did not know what it was to bear what they did. to those who loved them, but could never really put themselves in their shoes, and as isolating that way, he prayed that it would always remain so.

his eyes fell back upon keira, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. "it does," he confirm, the smile appearing on his face a small, sad thing. "i'm glad to hear you're doing well, though. despite... everything." he did not speak it aloud, a flush of red creeping up his neck at the mere fact that he had brought it up at all. their circumstances were different, but it was similar enough to set them apart from their friends, and tonight, that was enough.

keira seemed to bear the weight of it a little better than conall, though. there was a steadiness to the way he spoke that he was certain he did not possess. he was a man who always seemed upon the brink of unravelling, and thought it was never entirely hidden, it was clear now, in this moment of solitude. "yeah. life has a way of reminding us at the best of times, doesn't it?" he let out a small chuckle, though there was no humour in it. resignation, perhaps. "a better man than me would tell you it's all the more reason to hold on to the sweet, but," he spread his arms, giving a shrug that finished the sentence for him. conall made no claims to be a better man.

he leaned back against the wall, breath misting in the air, allowing the faint smile to return to his lips. he wiped his fingers on his trousers, ridding them of the last traces of ash. "sorry," he shot her an apologetic glance. "convenient excuse to step outside for a minute, isn't it? besides, gives me something to do with my hands." his tone was light, but there was a note of melancholy to it as he spoke. there were nights where it clung to him, but it felt a little more like a shared weight tonight. "it's not so much they ain't good company. it's just sometimes... well, you need a moment to yourself, don't you? to rest yourself." he did not elaborate on it further, instead hoping keira would get what he was saying without him needing to.

"but you're not interrupting," he added, hurriedly. he straightened a little, rolling his shoulders to fend off the chill from the wall creeping through his clothes. "if anything, you've stopped me going into my own head entirely, so thank you for that." his laugh was quiet, self-deprecating, though the smile slid from his face when she asked how he was. it was always difficult to put into words how he felt about abigail, the way they had started strong before crashing and burning.

"it's difficult," he admitted. "something about yule gets me thinking about the way things used to be, and the way they could be if things were different." he did not know if he and abigail would have managed to repair what had been broken, but what if they had? the guilt of it gnawed at him. "it's hard not to dwell on what's missing."

[pressedxpetals]

keira exhaled a quiet breath of relief as she accepted the page, her fingertips careful as they brushed against the edges. she cast a quick glance over the charcoal markings, ensuring the lines remained mostly intact before offering a small, appreciative smile.

“ye’ve a kind hand,” she observed, taking note of the way the woman had handled the parchment with such care. “most would’ve smudged it all to ruin without a second thought. perhaps not purposefully, just...many do not understand it.”

she tucked the page safely between the folds of her journal before properly meeting the woman’s gaze, her curiosity piqued by both her words and demeanor. the soft accent was unfamiliar to her, but the way she spoke—thoughtful, precise—reminded keira of those who understood the quiet language of art.

“i do prefer charcoal,” she admitted, brushing a stray smudge from her thumb. “it listens better than ink, if that makes sense. let’s me rethink a line or soften a shadow without much fuss.” a small chuckle left her lips, warm despite her usual reservations. “though i can’t say i’ve bested it yet—only learned to argue with it less.”

her gaze flickered briefly toward the gathering beyond, where laughter swelled like a tide, bright and unbothered. she had long since grown accustomed to observing from the edges, content in her solitude, but this woman, who handled art with reverence, intrigued her.

“and yerself?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, loose red curls dancing in the wind, framing her face. “ye sound as if ye’ve wrestled with charcoal before. do ye prefer it, or do ye fancy color more?”

there was something steadying about speaking of art. it was a conversation untouched by courtly games or veiled intentions, one that allowed keira a rare moment of ease.

petal pink imprint dulls the gleam of a gold-rimmed porcelain cup, layers of the artificial color marking the amount of time she's spent drinking from it like the rings of a great northern fir. she doesn't quite care for gatherings like this, ladies gossiping and carrying on about the families they'd begun or at the very least wished to. she would be hard-pressed to admit the extent of bitterness that such talk brought with it. while they were busy charming their way towards a brighter future, she continued to lag behind wearing her worry and grief like a heavy, woolen cloak.

'something to paint on, perhaps.' head bobs slightly in agreeance with the inward thought. some might say her way of making sense of things was quite nonsensical in itself. a mess of colors and curves meshing together to form a message that was only hers to decipher, but she had a childish thought that art was her answer for just about anything. that notion had been proven time and time again whether her mind was in disarray or in state of disassociation like she is now. the tickle of a gentle wind followed by the prick of a parchments edge against the top of her foot pulling her attention down to the soft earth that met the sole of her shoe.

only someone with a penchant for unsullied fingertips would allow it to float further without investigation. for she was a true observer of the arts and her keen eye could spot the daring use of charcoal from where she sat upright to where it had landed. shes nearly successful in getting a closer look, careful not to cause an unnecessary smear when the presumable owner calls out. cadence is a gentle one, comforting with the edge of a dialect she cant quite put a finger on.

"fret not, my lady. this particular medium and i have been acquainted many a messy time." the way she handled the parchment was delicate, almost performatively so as she approaches the edge of the fully bloomed garden. "is charcoal your only instrument? if so, you've nearly bested it, i'd say." compliment is handed alongside the page to its rightful illustrator, and a warm grin alleviating once thoughtful features.

[pressedxpetals]

setting: flashback to the crossing in the riverlands; @benblvckwood context: keira is a governess of the frey twins, before cyrene departs, her cousin, ben blackwood, makes a visit to wish her farewell.

keira smiled gently as the nursemaid entered the room, her voice soft and coaxing as she gathered the twins for supper. the little ones grumbled a bit, reluctantly setting down their papers, but soon enough they were trailing out of the room, hands tugged gently by the nursemaid’s firm but kind grip.

“mind yourselves, now,” keira called after them, her voice full of affection, “don't give her too much trouble." she lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching them scamper down the hall, before turning back to the desk where their lessons lay scattered. it had been a good day, all things considered. the twins were clever little things, but even the sharpest minds could be distracted by the smallest things.

she set to straightening the mess they had left behind, her fingers brushing over the parchment. that’s when it hit her—she’d left her journal behind. her journal. the one place where her thoughts were hers alone, filled with quiet musings, words, doodles, and memories, away from the world. she recalled leaving it in another room, after a moment of thought.

keira took a soft breath, her brow furrowing as she walked to the next room. there, she found benjicot blackwood, sitting near the window with her journal open in his hands. the sight of him casually flipping through the pages, his attention absorbed in the words, sent an unexpected sting of discomfort through her.

“lord blackwood,” she said, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. she didn’t bother to mask the heat in her tone as she crossed the room, her eyes narrowing at him. “what are ye doing with that?”

the sight of him with her journal, his eyes moving over her words as though it was some trivial matter, was enough to boil her blood.

“that is mine,” she spat, her voice sharp now, cutting through the still air like a blade. “ye have no right to be reading it, none whatsoever.”

she was no longer standing still, her feet moved her closer to him before she realized it, but still stood some paces away. “i didn’t leave it for ye to go rummaging through,” she continued, her voice rising. “it was a mistake. a mistake i did not expect any to take advantage of.”

her chest heaved, and she was close to losing herself. “what kind of man does that? reads the pages of a lady's private diary?” her cheeks were hot, and she glared at him, the indignation running deep. “i don’t care what ye think of the words written there, or if ye find them amusing or trivial, but they were never meant for your eyes. ever.”

she stepped closer, her voice lower but filled with an icy venom. “i’d appreciate it if ye returned it to me, and if ye learned a lesson in respect while yer at it.”

[pressedxpetals]

keira watched as fiadh gathered the flowers, her fingers deft and delicate as she plucked each bloom. the sight of it—simple, unhurried—settled something in her. the festival carried on behind them, the distant hum of revelry threading through the air, but here, on the quieter path, she could breathe. when fiadh rose, arranging the small bouquet in her palm, keira took in her impish grin with quiet amusement.

“so you’re set on archery, then?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. there was no doubt in her voice, only curiosity. “well, you’ve always had a steady hand.” she glanced down at the lilac scarf at her neck, smoothing it between her fingers. “i think I’ll find a candlemaker's stall before the day is done. i’ve been meanin’ to get a new one for my room.” her voice softened slightly, as if confessing something small but personal. “one with lavender, maybe. or honey. somethin’ warm.”

as they began walking again, fiadh’s fingers brushed over keira’s scarf, adjusting it in an absent, familiar way that made keira’s chest tighten—not in sorrow, not in longing, but in the quiet recognition of being known. she swallowed, offering a faint smile.

“the bard’s tent, then,” she said in agreement, the words steadier now. “maybe they’ll tell a tale i’ve never heard before.” she exhaled lightly, her gaze flickering toward fiadh. “and after that, maybe we can sit by the river for a while. just listen to the water.” her smile turned the barest bit wry. “a quieter sort of spectacle.”

she reached out then, taking one of the small flowers from fiadh’s gathered bunch and tucking it carefully behind her friend’s ear. “for luck,” she said simply, her voice gentle. “not that you’ll need it.”

then, after a beat, she tilted her head slightly, studying her friend's face. “what drew you to archery, anyhow?” there was no teasing in the question, only the quiet weight of genuine curiosity. “just felt like tryin’ something new, or is there a reason?”

"i'd be shocked if you didn't remember it. it was the grandest spectacle of the day," fiadh's eyes danced with mirth. "the poor man had half the crowd holding their breath every time he shifted in his saddle. and then everyone started taking bets on how many more times he'd eat dirt." it had been unkind, upon reflection, but at the time fiadh had laughed and put a few coins on the line.

her laughter faded into something gentler, and she gave keira's arm an encouraging squeeze. "you're right, you know. about climbing back on. bravest thing anyone can do." it was something she had admired about keira herself, even if she would not spoil the day by voicing it out loud. when life had knocked her off her horse, keira had picked herself up, and made a new life for herself. fiadh didn't know if there could be any more courage in the world than that.

fiadh didn't want to linger on that, though, instead letting out a small laugh to dispel any sentimentality. "but if he falls again, i can't promise you won't hear me laughing at him. don't think i could hold it in."

the path they were walking on had drawn them away from the crowd, no longer lined with stalls and wares but grass and wildflowers. fiadh detached herself from keira to crouch, plucking at the flowers until she was holding a small bunch of them in her hand. "thought i'd enter the archery contest," she said, with an impish grin. keira knew well that fiadh had never shot a bow in her life. "can't be that hard, can it? just point and shoot." she mimed drawing a bow, still clutching her posy in one hand. "we need to go to the bard's tent later. see what sort of stories they tell in the west."

she straightened up, returning to keira's side. her free hand reached out to straighten the scarf around her friend's neck, a quiet gesture, but a fond one, nonetheless. "what about you, kiki?" she asked, softly. "what would you like to do today?"

[pressedxpetals]

keira lingered in the warm glow of the fire, her hands loosely clasped before her, thumb idly brushing over the soft fabric of her sleeve. the flickering light caught in her auburn hair, casting it in shades of copper and gold, but her expression was subdued, thoughtful. graham hadn’t turned to face her, not fully, but he hadn’t left either. that, at least, was something.

his words sat between them like a stone in her palm—solid, heavy, and not quite what she had hoped for. she understood him well enough by now to know he wasn’t trying to be cruel, only distant. and yet, keira had never been the sort to leave things untouched just because they were difficult. if she had been, she’d have folded into herself long ago, let the world carry her where it willed rather than trying to carve a place in it.

“aye, i suppose they do,” she murmured in response, lifting her gaze toward the high, arched windows where only the faintest glimmers of starlight could be seen. “perhaps can be comfort found in that itself. no matter where you are, no matter what’s changed, they’ll always be there, shining just the same.”

she let the quiet stretch between them, the only sound the occasional pop from the fire, the distant murmur of the household settling for the night. then, she exhaled a breath, tilting her head slightly. “maybe that’s why i like ‘em. steady things are hard to come by in this world.”

the tension in the space between the two of them remained thick, but she caught the faintest flicker of something in his expression—thoughtfulness, perhaps, or an awareness of the weight in her words. keira didn’t expect him to answer, not really. he was a man built on silence and steel, on duty and unspoken burdens. but she hoped, at least, that he might hear her.

at his mention of rain, she let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “always know before it comes, don’t you?” there was a quiet fondness in her tone, though she did not press it. “i’ll dress warm, then.”

her fingers brushed over the edge of the table as she turned slightly, hesitating before she took a step away. then, glancing back at him, she offered, just lightly, “you could come with me, y’know. you don’t have to find peace in it. just... company.”

she didn’t expect him to say yes. but she offered anyway.

♟

graham paused at the door, his broad frame silhouetted by the dim, flickering firelight that cast long, uneven shadows across the stone walls of the great hall. his hand hovered near the doorframe, fingers brushing the splintered wood as though he could anchor himself in place. keira’s words lingered behind him, soft and tentative, carrying an air of quiet hope. they were not a plea, not exactly, but there was something raw in her tone, something vulnerable that made his chest tighten.

yet he didn’t turn around. his gaze dropped to the worn stone beneath his boots, its grooves and cracks a testament to the countless generations that had walked these halls. tonight, those stones felt heavier than ever, as if they carried the weight of the legacy pressing down on his shoulders.

he felt trapped between the echoes of his father’s voice, now little more than a rasp in the throes of illness, and the unspoken expectations of a wife who waited in silence, her words soft but deliberate. the fire crackled behind him, and he imagined her standing there, framed by its warm glow, her hands likely folded in that careful, measured way she always held herself. keira was delicate—too delicate for the life she’d been bound to, or so he often thought. she didn’t understand the weight of it all, not fully. how could she?

she had not lived through years of bloodshed on foreign soil, hadn’t seen what he had seen, hadn’t felt the fear that came with knowing that every decision he made, every swing of his blade, carried the fate of men and their families.

and yet, a part of him recognised the unfairness of it. she had her own burdens, though she never spoke of them aloud. her softness was no shield; it was an armour of a different kind, though he didn’t know how to reach beneath it. he told himself she was doing her duty, as was he. but as the years wore on, it seemed her presence, her attempts to close the distance between them, only sharpened the divide. her burdens were her own to carry, as women did. his were his carry, as men did. that was the way the world worked.

graham shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest as if to put some barrier between them. “i’ve seen enough skies to last a lifetime,” he added after a moment, his tone lowering despite himself. not softer, but quieter. “stars look the same no matter where you are. they’re no different here than anywhere else.” how many stars had he been forced to look upon as his dark grey gaze looked upon the sky, back on the mud of the earth, getting what limited sleep a man needed before he fought for king and life the next day. even then, he thought his words weren't entirely true, and he knew it. the stars over runestone did feel different. they were steadier, brighter somehow, more alive.

the words felt heavy in his mouth, awkward and stilted. graham had never been good with feelings—his own or anyone else’s. he glanced at her briefly, just for a moment. the firelight danced in her wide eyes, and for a fleeting second, he thought of how she had looked on their wedding day. she had been so full of hope then, her gaze so open and trusting. now, there was something quieter in her expression, something tempered, like someone who had learned not to expect too much. “but i’m not the sort to find peace in all that,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost as though he were speaking to himself. it were clear, this marriage was one of sorrow.

but he wasn’t about to admit that to her, or to himself. not yet. there was something about the way she looked at him, her expression open and searching, that made him feel unsteady, vulnerable. he didn’t like it. “you should go,” he said after a long pause, his voice gruff but not unkind. just dismissive, even when he did not mean for it to be. did he care if it seemed it? “if it helps you, then go. it’s good to have peace where you can find it.” and perhaps that was the reality of the matter; she deserved a partner, someone able to show her what it was she clearly wanted. he deserved what he needed. "it'll rain within two hours though, so dress warm." such was the strange trait of graham royce; being able to guess when it would rain.

[pressedxpetals]

keira smiled faintly as giadh’s laughter filled the space between them, a warmth she hadn’t realized she’d been craving until now. the soft lilac scarf around her neck was a small, thoughtful weight, and she reached up to adjust it as they walked arm in arm.

“oh, i remember it well,” she said, her voice carrying the gentle lilt of her homeland, her words unhurried and soft. “lord westerling gave us a show, didn’t he? flat on his back before the joust even began—twice, no less. by the end, i wasn’t sure whether to feel pity for the man or his poor horse.” her eyes crinkled with quiet humor as she glanced sideways at fiadh. “though, i suppose there’s bravery in climbing back on, even if it’s just to fall off again.”

keira let out a small laugh, her tone softening as she tilted her head to look at the bustling market around them. “you’re always one to make the most of such things, though. you could make a tumble like that seem like the grandest spectacle of the day.”

as they wove between the stalls, keira’s gaze lingered on fiadh, her expression thoughtful. “and what about you, fi?” she asked gently, her voice light but sincere. “what are you lookin’ forward to this time ‘round? surely there’s somethin’ that’s caught your fancy. you’ve a knack for findin’ joy where others might not think to look.”

the question hung in the air between them, her curiosity genuine as she studied her friend’s animated features. keira always found fiadh’s excitement infectious, and though she didn’t always share the same boundless energy, moments like this reminded her how much she treasured her friend's company.

fiadh abandoned the scarf she was holding immediately upon the sound of a familiar voice, bright, unrestrained smile spreading across her face as she scanned the crowd for keira florent. it took a moment to spot her, but there she was, tucked between the throng and looking a little like it might swallow her up at any moment. despite the fact keira was only a few feet away from her, fiadh raised her hand in a cheerful wave before starting forward to greet her.

"keira!" she closed the gap between them, throwing her arms around keira in a fond embrace without a second thought. it was not a swift hug - fiadh clung on, rubbing keira's back and swaying back and forth on her feet as though it had been years since they last met, rather than a matter of a few weeks. they were never truly far apart these days, not with keira in the riverlands in the service of the freys, but fiadh would spend every day with keira if she could.

"oh, i've missed you, she admitted with a laugh, stepping back to take in keira's appearance properly. "no getting lost - the day is too young, and i want to spend it with you." there was little more to it than that - the sun was shining, fiadh was in a joyful mood, and she could not think of another she would rather have for company than keira.

"you know me, keira, i've never minded a bit of chaos. trick is to lean into it," her smile turned a bit more mischievous, and she turned back to the scarf stall, picking up two and paying for them before winding one gently around keira's neck and draping one around her own shoulders - a soft lilac for keira, and butter yellow for fiadh. "trick is to lean into the madness a bit. let it carry you rather than trying to fight it."

it had always been the difference between the two, fiadh the extrovert, who could talk to any she came across with little trouble, who did not mind being the centre of attention, and keira, the quieter and more introspective of the pair. in fiadh's opinion, it was a match made in heaven. fiadh could speak up for keira when she did not feel comfortable doing so, and in turn, keira was a calming, grounding influence on fiadh when her imagination threatened to carry her away.

she did not hesitate before looping her arm through keira's, taking charge of leading them both down the quieter path. she let out a laugh, shaking her head. "do you remember the last tourney at riverrun? lord westerling fell off his horse twice before the joust even started. one would hope that this time, he'd at least make it to the tourney grounds before taking a tumble."

[pressedxpetals]

the firelight danced across the walls, its soft glow casting flickering shadows over the room. keira sat by the window, her hands resting lightly on her lap, a knitted shawl draped over her shoulders. her gaze lingered on the frost-glazed panes, the distant sound of laughter from the main hall barely reaching her ears. when omer entered, she turned slightly, offering him a faint smile, warm but subdued.

“omer,” she greeted softly, her voice carrying the faint lilt of the brightest of waters. “ye’ve caught me unawares. i wasn’t expectin’ anyone to check on me.”

she gestured to the chair by the fire, an invitation without words, though her own posture remained a touch reserved. her fingers fiddled with the edge of the shawl absentmindedly as she listened to him speak. his words, careful and kind, filled the space between them, and for a moment, she was quiet, thoughtful.

“ye’ve a kind heart, cousin,” she said, her smile deepening just a touch, though her gaze fell briefly to her hands. “but ye needn’t worry so much about me. i've found peace in what yule brings—found it long before this night, truly. there’s comfort in the love of family, in the traditions that carry on despite all else.”

her voice softened further, her eyes lifting to meet his. “but i won’t deny the feelin’s creep up on me now and again. it’s the way of things, i think. the shadows don’t disappear altogether, but they’ve less power than they once did. i suppose it’s a reminder of what’s been lost… and what still lingers in the heart.”

her gaze flickered to him, her smile tinged with something bittersweet. “but i’m fine, omer. truly. i’d not want my burdens weighin’ on the family. ye’ve all been so good to me. better than i deserve, if i’m honest.”

her hands stilled, her eyes meeting his. “what about yerself? surely, ye’ve been carryin’ more than ye’ll admit. tell me, how are ye, omer? your little brood?”

who: @pressedxpetals what: during yule at the florent apartments omer checks in with his cousin to see how she is.

The soft crackle of the fire was the first thing Omer noticed as he entered Keira’s quarters, the glow of the hearth casting a warm hue over the modest yet cozy room. The air smelled faintly of herbs, a familiar scent that reminded him of Brightwater’s gardens.

His casual attire was a far cry from the heavy armor he often wore in public, but still, his tunic was of rich blue, embroidered with subtle threads of orange. He had let his shoulders relax, his back not quite so rigid as it was on duty, though there was still a quiet strength in his stance. Omer had always been someone who appeared composed, even in moments of rest.

"Keira," he greeted softly, his voice carrying the lilt of his homeland. His accent, thick and rich, added warmth to his words, a gentle contrast to the stillness in the room. His blue eyes took in the sight of her, his cousin, the woman who had seen more pain and hardship than most of their kin would ever understand.

"How are ye, cousin?" Omer asked, his tone tender but direct, his gaze softening as it met hers. "The Yule season should bring some peace, aye? Yet, I know well enough how the heart finds it harder to rest than the body." His hands were tucked into his pockets, his thumb rubbing the edge of the polished seven-pointed star he carried in his pocket—a constant reminder of faith and strength.

"I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry," he admitted, though he quickly added, "But ye need not fear for my concerns. I only wish to see ye well." Omer’s posture was patient, a quiet respect for the distance Keira had learned to place between herself and the world. His words weren’t rushed, each one carefully chosen, as if testing the weight of the silence that filled the room between them.

[pressedxpetals]

the frosty night air bit at keira’s cheeks as she paused, the golden glow of the hall behind her casting long shadows across the stone courtyard. she hadn’t expected to find anyone else here, least of all conall, whose quiet presence matched the stillness of the winter evening. he greeted her softly, his voice carrying a note of weariness she recognized all too well. for a moment, she hesitated, unsure whether to intrude or retreat, but his small gesture inviting her to stay felt genuine—unforced. she stepped closer, the crunch of frost underfoot breaking the silence as she joined him against the wall.

the smoke lingered in the air between them, the faint scent mingling with the crispness of the night. keira tucked her hands into the folds of her cloak, her breath forming pale clouds as she exhaled. she wasn’t sure what to say at first. the weight of similar but unspoken experiences hung between them, heavy but oddly comforting. it wasn’t often she felt understood in the way his quiet glance seemed to offer now.

when his question came—soft and careful—it was like stepping into warm water, an invitation rather than a demand.

“i suppose i’m doing as well as one could hope,” she began, her voice low but steady. her fingers tightened around the edges of her cloak, grounding herself. “yule has a way of bringin' everything to the surface, doesn’t it? it reminds me of the love and family i have, but…” she trailed off, glancing at the glow of the hall behind them, the muffled hum of voices filtering through the air. “it’s bittersweet, in a way. a reminder of what isn’t there, too.” her smile flickered briefly, a mix of warmth and self-awareness. “but isn’t that just life? a little sweetness, a little bitterness. one never seems to come without the other.”

there was a brief pause, and she found herself lost in thought for a moment, eyes cast downward, feeling the weight of the night’s celebrations. she didn't often speak so much in general, let alone about this. her gaze shifted back to him, and her lips quirked upward in a faint, teasing smile. “although, i think the bitterness is amplified by that tobacco of yours.” she waved a hand lightly in front of her, her tone playful despite the seriousness lingering in her expression. “whatever you’re burnin’ there, conall, i hope it’s better company than the crowd inside”

her smile softened as she tucked her hands into her cloak, stealing a glance at him. “i hope I didn’t interrupt yer own moment of peace. i know how rare they can be, especially on nights like these.” she paused, her voice gentler now. "and you? how're you holding up?"

closed starter for @pressedxpetals setting : lil yule chat

the night stretched around conall, oddly quiet, despite the festivities still going on inside. fiadh vance had begun to sing, and he had taken that as his cue to step outside for a moment, the biting cold clearing his head from the fog caused by both the drink and something far more melancholic. it always hit him at the most inopportune times, the wave of loneliness that had him separating himself from those who knew and loved him best. his fingers were curled around a cigarette he intermittently lifted to his lips, the faint warmth of the embers glowing against his calloused hands a small comfort in the chill. for a brief moment, it was as though the light and the laughter spilling from inside the room was another world away, too distant for him to touch, part of a life he had once belonged to, but didn't really deserve to dwell in anymore.

the smoke drifted upwards, mingling with the air. it had not always been this way. yule was supposed to be a time for joy, and for most of the day, it had been, but his mood had turned now, his thoughts on abigail blackbar. they had spent precious few yules together as man and wife before their union had turned sour, so perhaps it was silly to ruminate on this now. and yet, he could not help herself, the weight of her ghost pressing against him, as it often did, with all the complicated feelings that she brought with her.

the sound of approaching footsteps drew him from his thoughts, and he turned slightly, his gaze falling on keira florent. her silhouette was lit from behind from the glow of the hall, her breath visible in the frosty air as she hesitated, clearly not expecting to see him there. he recognised that hesitation, the look on her face mirroring his own yearning for solitude after being surrounded by people. it was what had brought him out here himself, after all. it stirred something in him - a kinship, perhaps, or simply the desire to offer her the solace that none had really been able to give him, because there were very few who understood what it was to be in their shoes. though their paths were not the same, there were enough similarities.

"keira," he greeted her softly, voice hushed in the stillness. his mouth curved into a faint, but welcoming smile, though it did little to alleviate the tiredness in his eyes. the years and the drink had carved a weariness into his features, and it was never more pronounced than at times like these. he gestured with the hand holding a cigarette for her to join him, leaning against the wall, leaving the choice entirely in her hands.

for a moment, conall said nothing, merely studying her out of the corner of his eye in the dim moonlight. once, they'd been the first of their circle to marry. others might have envied them for it, though they would not have done if they had known what was to come. now, they may as well have been ghosts themselves, the remnants of what had been, but would not be again, ach marked by something they hadn't chosen, but which had affected them both all the same.

"i hope i'm not prying," he began. "but how are you doing?" the question was gently spoken, and he took a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it with the toe of his boot. he wanted to give her the space to speak, if she wanted to, to share if she wished, but more than anything, conall understood the need for silence, and the fact that sometimes, the fact that someone merely cared to ask was enough.

he glanced back at her, clearing his throat. "i like yule, but it can be hard. for me." the second part was added hurriedly, as though to assure her he wasn't making assumptions. "all them ghosts rattling around up here," he tapped the side of his head with a self-deprecating smile, the confession coming surprisingly easily. maybe it was the late hour, or the whiskey, or the fact that she seemed to mirror something that he felt within himself, but he did not mind offering her that piece of him.

"is it the same for you?" he asked, gaze drifting to the horizon. "the way all the empty spaces feel bigger?"

[pressedxpetals]

@fiadhvance

Emma & Saoirse behind the scenes of ‘Little Women’

[pressedxpetals]

Looking out the window and seeing a little bird can honestly be so life changing

[pressedxpetals]

setting: in the westerlands, during one of the tea parties hosted by queen katherine, keira has found herself a bit more secluded at the edges of the gathering, writing in her journal ; starter for @naaijas

the gardens were awash with vibrant colors, the roses and marigolds bright under the warm afternoon sun. soft laughter and the tinkling of porcelain drifted from the tea party, where noblewomen exchanged pleasantries over dainty sandwiches and fragrant tea. keira sat at the edge of the gathering, content in her solitude beneath a blooming arbor of wisteria.

a well-worn leather journal rested on her lap, its pages filled with delicate sketches and notes. in her hand, a slender piece of charcoal moved over the paper with soft, deliberate strokes. her fingers bore faint smudges from the tool, evidence of her quiet work. she preferred charcoal to ink—its impermanence felt more forgiving, more like her quiet musings than proclamations.

she tilted her head slightly, considering the line she had just drawn, when a sudden breeze swept through the garden. her eyes widened as a loose page from her journal, its surface marked with careful sketches of roses, took flight. “oh, no!” she murmured, rising abruptly as the page tumbled through the air, carried far from her reach.

it floated past the edge of the party, coming to rest near a woman she hadn’t met before. keira hesitated, clutching her journal to her chest, before stepping forward, her feet brushing the gravel path.

“excuse me,” she called gently, her voice soft but clear. “that page seems to’ve gotten away from me.” she stopped a polite distance away, smoothing her skirts nervously, her gaze flickering between the page and the stranger. “i hope it hasn’t smudged too much. charcoal’s a terrible one for makin’ everything untidy.”

[pressedxpetals]

setting: at one of the family dinners in brightwater keep, keira is sat next to caitria ; @caitria-blackbar

the warm glow of the hearth flickered across the stone walls of brightwater keep’s dining hall, where the scent of roasting meats and fresh bread filled the air. keira sat at the familiar table, her hands wrapped gently around her goblet as she took in the scene before her. the clatter of plates and soft laughter drifted around her, but her attention was on caitria, seated beside her. though they weren’t bound by blood, their shared roots as clover folk made them family in a deeper, more meaningful sense. the bond between them had been forged in childhood, and keira had always found comfort in caitria’s lively, ambitious nature—traits that made her a force to be reckoned with in any room.

keira smiled, a touch shy, as she caught caitria’s animated expression in the glow of the firelight. she reached for her plate, her voice soft but warm. “i can’t recall the last time you weren’t the one leading the conversation.” her words carried a teasing edge, but her tone was affectionate. “it’s easy to get lost in your energy sometimes.”

there was no judgment in her words, only the quiet admiration that had always colored her view of caitria. keira had always been the quieter one, content to observe rather than engage. but caitria’s fire and determination had always drawn her in, a source of inspiration even when keira remained in the background.

“i’ve always wondered,” keira continued, leaning slightly forward, her voice dropping to a more thoughtful pitch, “whether you ever stop and think about where all this is leading you. i suppose I’m the opposite—i spend too much time in my own thoughts. but you… you always seem to know where you’re going.”