#on today's edition of G&G the high brand duo of westeros

[gcuienveres]

who: @rememberences​ / @falcxnprince​ where: the vale settlements, barrowtown

there was a chill in the air that came not from the frost beyond the stained glass windows, nor the winter chill; but a chill that had crept down guinevere's entire being like ivy, tainted, poisoned. the very notion of the dawn of realisation upon the hand of the king's concerned and eternally exasperated features was enough to make her feel as though her skin itself was crawling; a familiar burning sensation coming from the pit her stomach, what felt like her very core, at the prospect of her personal sphere and space being utterly violated by a complete stranger, a stranger with intentions she struggled to fathom.

"there is no servant that goes by the name of tamlyn, your grace. not within your household, and not within the service of other noble courtiers of the vale." the words took a moment to correspond to her, as she was in truth, stunned; yet, the servant who went by tamlyn was a face she knew well at this point. it was he, dark curls and dark eyes with an accent that had a hint of braavosi, who would concern himself with her food should she choose not to eat publicly - which she never did. it was he that would bring her meals to her reception chamber, and take them once she had managed to get down what she could. graham royce had looked as thunderstruck as she in that moment. 

since then, the night had been a blur; escorted to the main gathering hall on orders by the hand of the king, as a full search of the vale's quarters was completed and tracking this man had begun. she knew in her gut what had occured here, and by whose hand; and most of all, as she sat with a look of silent frustration moulded into golden features, she felt so utterly angry with herself. foolish, idiot, blind; just as she had been months earlier when the blacktydes had attempted to poison her and tyland on their return to the westerlands from the vale.

the great hall doors opened, and the woman was for once relieved to see the features of graham royce; rising to her feet as the man approached her - though the look on his face said it all, considering a pouch he held in his hand. “allow me." she asked, keeping an ivory shawl around her shoulders, her golden curls falling naturally around her features as she took the pouch without waiting for him, opening it to find vials of liquids that were ... poisons. “where?” she asked, her face dropping. “where was this kept?”