『 : ̗̀➛Two parts of a whole, destined to find their second half, and when the sun finally sets on them, the last ember of hope glows in their eyes. ☄. *. ⋆ 』
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The Ravenry of Dragonstone was quiet, save for the occasional cooing of a restless bird. Alyssa stood near the stone archway, a parchment clutched in her hand. Her silver hair was unbound, cascading over her shoulders in loose waves, but her face was tense, her violet eyes scanning the letter for the fourth time. The words were etched into her mind already, but she couldn't stop reading them, as if they might change with one more look.
"Lady Tyrell,
You have been absent from Highgarden for far too long. Your duty to this house has not been fulfilled, and your prolonged defiance dishonours your vows. Return at once, or face the consequences of your abandonment. Your son will not save you from your obligations."
It wasn't signed with her husband's name—Lyonel's gentle, practiced hand was nowhere to be found. No, this came from his stewards, perhaps even his mother. The Tyrells were patient by nature, but even their patience had limits.
Alyssa crumpled the letter in her fist, her other hand instinctively brushing the silver hair of her young son, Damion, who clung to her skirts. The boy looked up at her with mismatched eyes—one violet, one green—a striking feature that never failed to draw whispers. He didn't understand her tension, but he could feel it.
"Mama?" he asked, his voice soft and uncertain.
Alyssa smiled down at him, though the expression didn't reach her eyes. "Go to your nurse," she said gently. "I need a moment."
Damion hesitated, his small fingers still gripping her skirts. "Are you angry?"
"Not at you," she said, crouching to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Now go on."
Reluctantly, the boy obeyed, his steps echoing softly as he disappeared down the corridor. Alyssa straightened, smoothing her skirts, though her hand still clutched the crumpled letter. She was about to leave the ravenry when she heard footsteps approaching.
"Dreaming in the dark, Alyssa?"
Her back stiffened at the familiar voice. She turned slowly to face Maekar, who stood in the doorway with his usual dishevelled air. His silver hair, longer than it used to be, fell across his forehead, and his tunic bore smudges of charcoal, evidence of his morning spent sketching gods-knew-what.
"What do you want, Maekar?" she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
He tilted his head, his violet eyes narrowing slightly. "I might ask the same of you. You've been here for hours, haven't you? Waiting for a raven, or a vision, or whatever else keeps you tethered to this tower."
