#tirius 003

[visxionaries]

who: @tiriusrowan when and where; highgarden, shortly following the return of the reach court from a hunting trip, the hand of the king hears news that only reflects the gloomy weather. me: i miss tirius being hella out of pocket so here we go

there was a light, healthy drizzle of rain that opened up from the skies above the fertile fields of the reach: any sound of it drowned out by the sounds of hooves making impact with wet puddles, the chorus of the reach's court trailing through the grand white gates of highgarden's outer wall. men and women alike of noble classes found themselves upon their steeds, having only recently returned from a hunting progression that had taken the majority of the day.

the sky began to be tainted hues of orange and pink as cedric tyrell slipped from his horse, boots landing upon the cobbles beneath him. and behind him, the sun too began to sink from it's place in the world.

a leather glove remained on the mane of the dark chestnut horse he rode, having only recently found himself enjoying the sport that was hunting. as though it took the thrill of the chase from something else, and allowed his mind some sense of clarity. there was no overcomplicating matters of nature - there was the hunted, and the hunters. he called to the brothers of house rowan, briefly hearing mathis yelling something to him, half chuckling.

he noted a servant approaching the hand of the king, the eldest of the rowans of goldengrove; and it was nothing he looked at.

until he felt the atmosphere slowly shift, and drain from around him; cedric tyrell had always remained an inherently observant individual, understanding of emotions whilst not taking them into any serious account. still, a striking ocean gaze flickered over to the man he had chosen as hand in times of hardship, and kept in times of relative peace. there was something akin to a storm across his face, and cedric found himself inwardly betting on what was the news.

had one of the rowan children fled to essos in pursuit of their mother?

cedric said nothing as the man spoke to his servant in the tongue of the old way, simply waiting for the man to steady himself enough to approach him, and address the matter. their gaze locked.

[tiriusrowan]

HAND OF THE KING

"We are what stands between the North of Westeros and the Reach. We are the Marshalls of the Northmarch. Protectors of the Roseroad. Masters of the Mander. I am Hand of the King. Voice of the throne. I command the king's armies, draft the king's laws, dispense the king's justice. We are Rowans. There are no others. Only us. Our loyalty is not to be questioned and our honor is not to be soiled. We have been chosen by the Gods, time and again to not only serve but protect what is ours. Bow your heads. Let us pray."