A/N – Once again, I'm sorry I've taken so long to post, this week has just been crazy busy.
There's quite a lot of back story in this chapter, though I feel it's necessary for further character development.
Anyway, thank you again for the support. Reviews are always dearly appreciated and really spur me on!
Bricks and Mortar
Ezralaya
"Ezra wake up." A voice spoke softly. "The morning has come." Ezralaya's eyes blinked open and the light of the day proceeded to scorch her irises.
"Has it truly come so soon?" She sighed drowsily, sinking back down into her cocoon of warmth comprised of crimson sheets, topped by a coverlet of sable fur.
"It has." Theodora answered. "We should probably ready ourselves for the day ahead." Despite her own prudent words, she too took no heed and descended back down beneath the satin bedding, pulling the covers up high around her neck.
Ezralaya attempted to rouse herself into a state of consciousness. She pried her eyes open, and struggled to blink away the thick blur that lay before her eyes. Her penance for excessive wine consumption emerged along with the dawn in the form a dull persistent ache that centred itself at the crux of her temples.
"Goodness me." She groaned, reaching up to massage the tender skin in soothing circles. "I most defiantly should have declined that last glass of wine."
Theodora laughed lightly to herself, as much as her still wearied body would permit; "Did you enjoy the night?" she asked.
"I did, very much so. Did you?"
"Of course." Theodora grinned brightly, no doubt reminiscing over her memories of the night just passed.
"Would that smile on your face be anything to do with a certain young squire?" Ezralaya teased knowingly, aching an omniscient eyebrow. Her memories of the night passed through her rattling brain in tender flickers.
Theodora confirmed her estimations via the flush of glee that proceeded to tinge her cheeks; "Perhaps" she beamed, "He was very fine – Besides you're one to talk…" her finger poked up beyond the bedding and waggled accusatorily at her.
"Why?" Ezralaya questioned with a mystified guise.
"I saw you…" she tantalised mischievously. "Talking to the Kingslayer." She spoke his name in a drolled voice of sinister evil, how one may narrate a monster's voice to a child within a bedtime tale.
"Yes him, amongst many others." Ezralaya answered pragmatically, pushing herself up the bed in order to lie against the plush, duck feathered pillows. Theodora followed her up, bracing her posture upon her elbow.
"All I'm saying is that you looked very…."
"Very what? huh?" Ezralaya goaded. "He was very pleasant." She responded frankly.
"He's the Kingslayer!" Theodora protested with a laugh.
"We should not judge." Ezralaya spoke shrewdly, hoping to ensue some acceptance within her friend.
"Well everyone in the hall spent the whole night judging us."
"Just as we knew they would – and why should they not? We are after all, foreign strangers in their Land." Ezralaya reasoned fairly.
She knew acceptance was something they would not easily come by, owing to their unconventional pasts. That being said, she had been pleasantly surprised by the reception of which they had received. The majority had been courteous and welcoming; most notably Jaime Lannister, as well as the Lady Margaery, who had welcomed her into her arms like a long-lost friend.
Yet despite the benevolent words and sweet compliments that had been said to her face, behind her back she had overheard the cruel slurs and slanders spoken by those not so forbearing.
A King palace is no place for a bunch of scantily clad whores, was one comment that had particularly stuck with her. People truly could be so very cruel, and yet possess no true conception of their own malice. Ezralaya had merely shrugged off their cruel japes just as easily as one would shrug off a silken shawl.
"In truth, I heard no more than what I had expected – people have been far crueller." Ezralaya affirmed.
Theodora offer no answered, seeing as no matter how mighty and as fierce her dear friend Theodora was, cruel words still remained her weakness.
Theodora was like a sister to Ezralaya, as indeed, she was the closest thing Ezralaya would ever have to attaining a sister. The sorrows and triumphs of which they had felt in life had united them as one, establishing a bond more potent than blood.
Their friendship had begun within the slums of Volantis. Ezra; two and ten, and Theodora; four and ten, had passed by chance one starry night.
Both lived within the shamed realm of vagrancy. Neither had a home, nor a family, nor any prospects of salvation. They had instantly found solace in one another, each seeing apart of themselves within the other. After all, both had been dressed in tattered rags, barefooted and dirtied. With shattered nails and matted hair, knotted in cluster lugs.
That night, they'd slept beside one another within the gutter of a chandlery. And in the morning, they'd shared a roll of state bread. From then on, not a single day had passed where one had been without the other.
Theodora did not know of own origins, she never known a mother nor a father. From somewhere she had acquired the surname O'Raya, and this aspect of herself was something that continued to plague her. Always wondering who she truly was, or who she could have been.
Argo had often said that Theodora's walnut skin showed that she possessed heritage borne of the Summer Isles, coalesced with traits of the Myrish. Though she'd spurned his speculations away, maintaining that she was the unwanted upshot of some Volantian bar-maid and her encounter with a randy punter; as that was the tale that she had been weaved from an early age.
Together, Ezralaya and Theodora travelled around Volantis together, sharing tales and offering love and companionship. They had tried to find respectable work to establish some form of reputable life. Though no matter how far they ventured out of the city, nor how much they begged, there were never any vacancies.
Lack of employment meant lack of money, and lack of money meant starvation. In the end, after doing all they could do to try and abscond from their path of degradation, they'd had no choice but to revert back to all they had ever known. After all, clients were always in abundance.
Their prowl would begin as soon as they'd opened their eyes and the sun had taken prominence. From morn till dusk they'd scour the city in search of custom. Though men always tended to be more pliable at night, wherein they could allow the darkness to shield their own shame.
The girls tended to look for men who were travelling in pairs. And would then preform their services down two abutting alleys. They each took turns to pleasure the unsightliest one.
A great source of their income was generated from their treks down The Harbour, where they greet the incoming traders and merchants in their great ships upon the wharf.
The merchants were always the most generous of men, seen as most had completed long voyages from Quath or Meereen, and so had been forced to go without a woman's touch for many moons. They craved their company so much that they often offered them a bed and food for the night to prolong their stay.
It was a foul degrading life, one of which they both abhorred, but it paid well and kept their bellies full, and having each other made it all seem worthwhile.
A peculiar notion of nostalgia always washed over Ezralaya whenever she contemplated the early days of their friendship. For even though they were the darkest days of her life, she could not help but reminisce upon them within an odd fondness. For though she had so often cried in misery, there were times in which she had laughed so hard she had been unable to catch her breath.
They had vowed to one another early that one day they would free themselves from scarcity. Though little did they know that within four years they'd go from bathing with Vermin to sleeping in the palace of a King.
It was Ezralaya who'd had the wits to amass a fortune, and Theodora had always been content to let her enjoy the glory she had established for them. For glory meant fame, and fame meant adjudication from the rest of the wider world. Ezralaya's exploits had spread like wildfire across Volantis, and then dispersed further across the Western Kingdoms. The best in the world she'd declared herself in the art of fornication, and the men of Volantis had been foolish enough to believe her. They played into my palm and practically handed me the riches of the world.
Once they had achieved a level of wealth beyond calculation, their bodies had once again become their own. And both had vowed to go without touch of a man for as long as they willingly chose.
For them, their chance of prosperity had almost been a new beginning, in which they could atone for their sins, and put the world to rights. Although their shared vow of chastity had not been sworn to last a life time, Ezralaya often wondered if she'd ever trust a man enough to let him between her legs again.
Years of abuse and exploitation and left her somewhat benumbed below the waist. No desire pulsed, no arousal throbbed; her femininity was devoid of sensation, and she was, for the moment, thankful for it. For the thought of a man attempting to do with her what all men seek, made her internally retch with revulsion and faint with fear.
Though, she was still only young, and fortuitously, she still enjoyed the company of men, but for the time being abstinence suited her.
"Do you think you'll see the squire again?"
"I doubt it." Theodora answer. "I probably should not have dallied as I did. I have no intention of breaking anyone's heart." she replied. "Besides, I'm sure the only interest he had in me, was within his hopes of how the night would end."
"Oh, don't be so cynical." Ezralaya chided, pushing the covers off her body, and ascending to a stance.
She looked back upon Theodora who remained laying down, subconsciously tracing her fingertip over the circumference of the tattooed tear drop that had been branded under her right eyes at the hands of a heartless whoremaster.
The symbol decreed to all those in their city of Volantis that was a prostitute. The irremovable nature of the mark corresponded to the adage that once a whore, always a whore. The mark could never be washed away, just like the stain on her character.
Her defacement had occurred earlier than she could remember, symbolising that her life in a brothel had been preordained from the start. She could not recall the ordeal with any great deal of clarity, though every now and then, she would shudder with the phantom feeling of a needle puncturing her cheek.
Mercifully, the blight had faded over time, and so all that remained was a faint raised line, which her long fridge and sandy power could conceal.
Ezralaya had been fortunate not to have been marred by any of her three employers. Though her own scars went far deeper than outward markings.
"I thought you liked him?" Ezralaya questioned after of few moments of perceptual reflection, sighting that Theodora had done very well to talk herself out of her own happiness
"I did, but now in the light of day I have seen my own stupidity." Again, she sighed hollowly. "I could remain abstinent all my life and yet even in death I'll always be remember as a whore." She satirized scathingly; "Like it was ever my choice."
Her belated couplet plucked at Ezra's heart strings and a tune of her own self-pity began to play. Ezralaya sighed along with her friend, in a ballad of onerous breathing.
"As will I." Ezralaya affirmed hopelessly. "We have nothing to prove to anyone anymore."
"I know that." Theodora spoke, but still she sighed, unresolved.
"I don't understand why've you made yourself so disheartened. The feast was wonderful. The food, the wine, the company were all so very wonderful. Don't let some squire and a few spiteful people spoil your time here." Ezralaya climbed back onto the bed, and reached forward to hold Theodora's hand.
She squeezed it softly. "Look where we are?" she spoke, swaying her hand out over the grandiose room. "We are still guests within a King's castle – and no amount of malign words can change that."
Theodora immediately appeared to recognize her own cynicism; "I'm sorry" she began, placing a rueful kiss upon Ezralaya's thumb. "You're very right. I just find it hard sometimes. I mean the squire boy, he was so very lovely – though no matter how lovely he was to me, I could not shake off the feeling that even he disdained me."
"It'll take time." She brushed a wayward lock of hair behind her friend's ear. "I saw the way he looked at you. He was utterly rapt in your charms."
"And I saw the way Jaime Lannister looked at you."
Ezralaya felt her brow crease in perplexity; "What's that supposed to mean?" she scoffed as an odd tingling sensation crawled over her skin whilst the notion took root.
"Nothing." She replied blithely. "All I'm saying is that I saw the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't looking." Ezralaya shook her head disbelievingly.
Theodora was no liar, and never had been, and yet Ezralaya had a hard time believing the words of which she was speaking.
"I think you've been misled by your imagination. Indeed, we talked and he was pleasant. Nothing more." This time it was Theodora's turn to shake her head.
"What was it you spoke of?" Theodora probed, still adhering to her creeds.
"Nothing personal – nothing of which I would not say to anyone else." Ezralaya attempted to cast her mind back, delving into the evening prior. "I spoke nothing of us – just of King's Landing and Westeros." Their conversing almost felt like a dream, she could recall the images, but the recollections were retained in silence. "I think toward the end of the night, he told me of his childhood and I spoke of Salazay."
"I struggle to believe that you laughed as heartily as you did over mere tales of the Westerlands."
Ezralaya's eyes narrowed; "Well Jaime was amusing in his tellings."
"Oh Jaime is it? I had no inkling that you were already on first name terms." Theodora teased, nudging her provokingly in her sides.
Ezralaya could tell by the devilish glint in Theodora's eyes that she would remain staunch in her views. Though Ezralaya no longer felt like contending, and so once again, she took to her feet.
"I don't know what is with you this morning." She spoke lightly with air in her words, somewhat amused by her friend's machinations.
In her heart of hearts, she knew that she and Jaime Lannister had shared no more than pleasantries and the odd anecdote of times past. Nothing improper or insinuatingly lecherous had passed between them. Jaime had merely been attentive to her words, just as she had been to his.
Though despite this knowledge, she could not help the way in which she felt as though she had done something wrong.
"Well that being said, I am glad you don't share a fondness toward him." Theodora began, whilst she too began to rise and ready herself for the day. "He's bad news. You know what the traders of the Saltpans said about him." she continued to cogitate with drifting eyes, accusing the man of things that no one knew sure to be true.
"All of which I'm sure are foul lies to besmirch his name." Theodora shrugged unconvinced.
"Woah, so quick to come to his defence already." Again, Ezralaya felt her eyes roll back into her, in a playful show of displeasure.
Theodora had always had a way with words, in that she found it very especially difficult to hold her tongue. In fact, it was her naturally talkative nature that prevent Ezralaya from revealing to her, her most profound secret of them all.
She often felt guilty that she kept such a secret from the person she trusted the most in the world. But Theodora was prone to blabbering, and the imperils of a fortuitous blunder being uttered through loose lips was far too treacherous, as the repercussions were far too grave.
Only five people to have lived had ever known the truth; Ezralaya herself, her natal mother and father, the woman who'd raised her; Roseney Cosalario. And the woman who'd assumed the position of a mothering figure to all her Ladies; Boeenna Vetusesapienes.
Boeenna of the Braavosian Coastline was the eldest and most astute of Ezralaya's Ladies. In her forties, she was nearly more than two and a half decades older than Ezralaya and her other Ladies. This was primarily the reason that she had adopted the role of being a maternal dignitary to them all.
Ezralaya and Theodora had befriended a handful of years ago. The once downtrodden Boeenna had resided within in the Hawkoryn district of Volantis; an influential area of those that had possessed money but just not enough in capacity to be deemed wealthy.
Theodora and Ezralaya often snuck into such dwellings seeking custom. Boeenna and her husband had owned a bakery, which sold soft wholemeal loves and honeyed rolls. Boeenna had kindly given the girls a basket of bread which had gone stale and passed its best, however her husband had caught her and beat her bloody before their very eyes for doing so.
Both girls were powerless, as they didn't have the strength to fight him off, nor the wits to help her. They knew if they screamed for help no one would come, no one cared.
Instead the girls had shamefully run away, with their basket of bread in tow. The whole night neither had slept for they were both wracked with guilt and shame; we left her; was all Ezralaya could hear within her mind; we left her for dead a lasting echo would chant.
On the succeeding morning, the two girls had gone back, only to see a crippled Boeenna with a mottled face of black and blue marble. The memory still made her heart clench. They had seen her husband leave and then deemed it safe to approach. When they entered Boeenna had not borne any hatred toward them, but still they apologized refutably.
Come with us they'd urged, we live a miserable life but surely, it's better than enduring that? No matter how long they pleaded and how earnestly they begged, Boeenna remained absolute.
Over the following weeks, anytime the girls came near the bakery, they had entered only to see new cuts and bruises marring her face, from a split lip, to a great gash across her cheek. They implored her to come with them, but she maintained and spouted out the same old mantra; he loves me, I know he does, he needs me.
It was a whole year in passing before Boeenna acquiesced, though that was only after she had been forced to take one final almighty beating. And even still, her getaway had been full of her own remorse.
Though by that time, Ezralaya was already on her way to building an empire, for the girls both had a home, and a parlour to carry out their business. They had somewhere to go and a place of refuge to offer Boeenna.
Boeenna had wept for her abusive husband and rallied with her mind that was plagued by guilt. Both Ezralaya and Theodora had expected that she would one day up and leave, returning into her violent husband's domination. Though luckily, in time, Boeenna had settled and began to care for the girls, seeing them as her only chance of motherhood, as years of marriage had proved that she was undoubtedly barren.
Ezralaya had confessed her secret to Boeenna after a particular rough customer had, had his wicked way with her. He'd left her raw between the legs, with a mauled chest of veiny bruises. Usually Ezralaya had dealt with aches, pains and anguishes internally, believing that no one could help her, or save her.
However, the incident had elicited some sort of altercation within her mind set. As though the reality of her life had been pounded into her. And it was that thought that had shattered her mental forte. Tell me what grieves you child…. The world was what grieved her. Tell me and I'll fix it she'd promised in honest belief she could put her broken world back to rights.
Eventually Ezralaya confessed into the comfort to Boeenna's bosom, the burden that had encumbered her heart since the day Roseney Cosalario had passed on. Ezralaya had doubted Boeenna would even believe her, and yet when she had looked into her eyes with the new-found knowledge, she'd witnessed the truth for herself.
From then on, Boeenna had treasured her secret as though it was her own. They seldom spoke of it to one another, knowing the jeopardy of being overheard was far too perilous.
It was at the conclusion of Ezralaya's disillusioned contemplations that the door opened, and the woman who'd occupied her thoughts entered the room.
"Good morning sweet girls." She spoke crossed over the threshold of the large room, a few of Ezralaya's other ladies; Briar Lane, Maxette Moonsky and Albany Stone were trailing behind her.
Ezralaya and Theodora had perched themselves on the burnt-gold divans which were centrally placed within the room. The girls flurried around Ezralaya like bees to a honey pot.
"You all look divine." Ezralaya praised. The shades of their gowns varied from shade to shade, much like their skin tones. Their attires were sleeveless, with high rising halter neck and an overlay of a soft gossamer. The gowns all fell loosely down their bodies, though it was synched in by a belt fashioned into a golden serpent. Each had their hair tied up in a series of spiralled plats, which coiled around the crest of their heads.
All of her ladies, even those not present and save Boeenna were in-between the ages of eleven and twenty – three. The youngest members of her household were the bastard Moonsky twins, Lilia and Laila, who were ten years old. They were sadly the spawned outcomes of a raped woman from the slums of Mantary, their mother had abandoned them in vegetable baskets and sent them down the river.
The Ladies in attendance were those of whom she had chosen to attend the wedding breakfast.
"The breakfast begins at ten, so we must dress you quickly. Sweet Theodora, your gown is laid out upon your bed, Lara and Cecily shall help you into your gown and tress your hair."
"Very well." Theodora smiled, and tottered off, her bare feet pattering on the marble floor.
Albany headed over to the window and pulled back the red velvet drapes, allowing the sun to stream through the paned window in sparkling rays, enlightening Albany's hair with a hue of pastel orange.
Briar laid Ezra's gown down neatly onto the lengthy scarlet velvet divan that was central to the room. Maxette placed Ezra's shoes, jewels, and undergarments around the dark green gown, and stood to the side awaiting instruction.
Ezralaya treaded down the three steps and down to the main floor of her apportioned bedchamber. The apartments she had been given were vast and spacious; the ceiling of her boudoir was daubed with a portraiture of golden entwining vines, coordinated with tapestries of crimson which tumbled down onto floors of black marble.
A four-post bed lay on the back wall facing the immense windows that opened out onto a raised veranda that looked out onto swelling cerulean waves of the Black Water, which crashed against the rocks below in an upsurge of white effervesce. A meshing of crème encircled the bed adorned with pearls and tiny auburn diamonds in the fashion of clovers.
Two red divan sat in the centre of the room with a low dark oak table in between, complete with a bronzed bullion bowl overflowing with seasoned fruits and berries, scattered with almonds. The room was decorated with gold shimmering units bedecked with vast looking-glasses and onyx candle sticks of arty formations, topped with towering beeswax candles.
The room rightward of her bedchamber was a wash room; the ground beneath was continuously heated, a stone bath was carved into the ground in an oval shape, with three grey stone steps that led down into the warmth in which steam rose from the surface. The bath was large enough for all her ladies to share at once, which they had done before the past evenings feast.
The room leftward to her bedchamber was a large reception room, though it was more like a small hall. A large black round table was situated toward the upper corner, festooned with straight-back fur upholstered chairs. An array of futons and cushioned chairs were positioned to encircle a fire pit, laden with fireglass, in which flames of blue reached high into the air whenever the glass was aflame. The rooms were opulent in every way, complete with silver tassels and platinum doors. Even the rooms her Ladies had been assigned were richly ordained. With two to a room, the soft crème bedding and glistening taupe drapes guaranteed a comfortable stay.
Ezralaya slipped the straps of her silken night gown off her shoulders, allowing the dress to glide down her body, letting it to pool around her feet, leaving her shamelessly unclothed. Briar and Maxette stepped forward, garments at the ready. First went on her unclothes, and then the gown. It was a deep olive-green fabrication, of which a plummeting neckline partially split the bodice in two, revealing the soft inner swells of her breasts.
The slit started wide, nearing the centre the region of her collar bones, and then narrowed as it descended, joining at her upper midriff. The fabric used was rigid and structured, with prominent shoulder lines and a built-in corset, which sculpted the dress to her figure, like rubicund wine unfurling in a decanter. It was daring, yet modest all at once.
Thick braids of tightly woven, soft green yarn, with flecks of silver thread, lined the daring slit. Similar bold features of ornamental detail materialised upon the rest of her bodice and around the upper neckline, as well at trailing down the seam of her tightly fitted sleeves. The lower part of the gown, was much simpler, yet around the hemline, lay a similar procession of tessellation as above.
With Ezralaya perched upon the divan, Albany and Briar set to toil upon her hair.
"Do you still want it as we discussed?" Briar asked, running a silver comb gently through the undulations, unsnarling the tight little clusters that had formed throughout the night.
"Indeed" Ezralaya smiled lovingly up to her. "What are the others doing today?"
Boeenna's spoke first; "Lara and Cecily spoke of taking Lilia and Lalia down to go fishing for cockles and trawl for the pearls of oysters within the rock pools of the Black Water. Callahan and Caden are going with them so they shall be safe."
"Oh, how lovely. I wish I could join them." after a few moments of introspective rumination, she asked; "Did you all have a pleasant night?"
Briar piped up first; "I did indeed." she beamed, raking her finger softly through Ezralaya's golden locks, and the commenced interweaving one of many plaits.
"The food was glorious." She added brightly. Ezralaya could not see her face but could tell by her buoyant pitch that a smile rested upon her face.
Albany spoke next; "As did I also." She was sat beside Ezralaya, polishing her nails and adding a ring onto each delegated finger. "Countless people complimented my gown."
"I told you, you looked beautiful."
She looked down to the floor, where Maxette was crouched fastening her crystal-silver shoes onto her feet. "What about you Maxette, did you have a nice night?" The girl's woeful eyes looked up, accompanied by the cruel scars and despoilments that she had suffered over her life.
Maxette Moonsky may have harboured the most harrowing tale of them all. She had lived a retched life and endured the upmost cruelty of humanity. A sadistic slaver had cut out her tongue when she was three and ten and then ate it before her for his supper that same day.
From then on she'd been forced to live out the rest of her days in a state of muteness and isolation. Furthermore, she carried the Essoi bastard name of Moonsky and a tattoo similar to Theodora's was branded into her right cheeks. Thought unfortunately, the tattooist had not been as forgiving Theodora's, for Maxette's tattoo was a huge teardrop, which covered nearly the whole expanse of her cheek.
However, at some point in her life she'd taken a sharp implement to the cheek, as the teardrop was severed in half by a long twisty scar that reached from her jaw up to the bridge of her nose, in unsightly contortions of puckered skin.
Her left eye drooped slightly after taking one too many hits, and every other tooth was missing within her mouth, though they were scarcely seen as her lips tended to remained allied. Her whole body was an assemblage of cuts, scraps, scars and missing chunks.
Ezralaya had bought her off her Slave Master for an extortionate price only a few months in passing, after witnessing him beating her like some rabid dog. Once purchased and freed, they took her back to Ezralaya's white marble palace and made her a part of their family.
Maxette, could neither, talk, write or read, yet she was the most magnificent artists, which was how they'd come to learn about her past. They assumed she was one and twenty as that was the number of pictures she had drawn when depicting her life story, each image more tragic than the last.
Maxette still had functioning ears, and somehow seemed to understand their words no matter what language they spoke to her in, be it the common tongue, or Valayrian. Ezralaya had bought her paints and oils, and presented Maxette with her own room, complete with vacant walls.
Maxette had instantly grasped the kind gesture, and had set to work on creating masterpieces, for all their eyes to devour. Soon enough the girls had offered up their own bedroom walls for Maxette to beautify. Maxette was also the main person who designed Ezralaya's gown. She would fathom her thoughts down upon parchment, and then send them off to the tailors and dress makers to being her envisages to life.
Despite all of the tragedy and heartache Maxette had undergone in her condensed life, when she looked up at Ezralaya, the smile she shined portrayed more happiness that what words ever could. And her long midnight hair and kind eyes allowed her beauty to endure despite a wicked man's attempt to take it away.
"Good." Ezralaya replied, her smile infectious. "And you Bo? Are you still embittered that we are dining in a King's Palace?"
Boeenna had been by far the most steadfast in her unfavourable views of attending the King's palace. It's an abominable place she'd proclaimed when the raven had conveyed the Kings invitation, we'll all be cursed, damned, few leave the Red Keep to tell the tale.
"The night was pleasant." She answered crisply. Though offered nothing more.
"See?" Ezralaya tried to turn to gloat with her elongated intonation, though her hair was in the midst of being plaited and so it pulled when she attempted to glance over her shoulder.
"It's all a façade." Boeenna declared. "If you strip away the grandeur of their attires and the splendour of their living, beneath the opulence, they're mischievous sprites, all hungry for riches and power. I don't trust a single one, they are wicked fiends. And you'd be foolish not to heed Ezra."
"Oh, don't be so cynical." She huffed. "We're only her for a short time." smile emitted from her words.
"Yes, I agree." Boeenna resolved, and yet a staunchness still resonated, as she remained stalwart to her beliefs. "The shorter the better. I have no desire to spoil your time here, for I am prouder than anyone that you have risen so high as to dine at a palace. But lest you forget, it is just bricks and mortar."
"I am well aware." Ezralaya answered.
"Well then you will be sure to be more vigilant in whose company you choose to entertain."
"What do you mean by that?" Ezralaya quipped, feeling an odd need to justify herself, but also wanting to remain undeterred by Boeenna's disinclination.
"Well I saw you, as did everyone else.…" she spoke lowly, "Speaking with that Lannister Lord."
Ezralaya once again fought the urge to roll her eyes in derision. First Theodora, now Boeenna? spoke to every single soul within the small hall; from the Baneforts to the Bywaters, from the Tyrells to the Redwyne's. It was not my fault that the majority were so lacklustre compared to the Lord Commander.
"So?" Ezralaya questioned, rather sardonically. Her eyes bore hard into Boeenna's, hoping to elucidate a reasonable an answer.
"So…" her voice was thick with authentic sapience, congealing into words of wisdom and prudence that could not go discounted. "Be wary child. You may remain undeclared, though the inclinations of those you spend your time with are enough to affirm your allegiance, be it true or not. Have caution, my sweet one, a lion has claws and never hesitates to use them." With that, Boeenna proceed to pick her discarded garments off the floor, walking into the adjoin room to put them where they needed to be.
A silence passed over whilst Ezralaya ruminated over her words.
Westeros was a place that she never thought she'd see, given her childhood circumstances. Though against all the odds she had made it over the narrow sea, and could not bear the thought of Boeenna quashing her elation so soon.
After all, she was breathing in the air of her ancestors, treading over the threshold's that many an archaic King's had crossed from the times of yore. The legends of the songs had graced the soil and the men of the Andal's had invaded upon the same shores of which she too had travelled. It was a place of ancient wonder, of her people and yet Boeenna still seemed fraught to embrace the wonders of Westeros
Theodora re-entered the room awhile later; primed and prepped, dressed and beautified. By that time, Ezralaya's hair was finished, completed by a large cuff, studded by prominent shimmering diamonds that circled the tie that collected her hair, the rest that tumbled down her back was interwoven into a triple helix. Upon her head lay a pliable headpiece, which draped in accordance to her head shape. It was comprised of numerous silver diamonds, and interlines of silvered metal, and dangling chains. A few of the diamonds trickled down onto her upper forehead.
"You look splendid." Boeenna complimented, beholding her exterior, once again placing a cupped palm to her cheek, her eyes glistening with teary pride. "It's like you were born to dine with Kings, dance with Lords, and dally with knights." Ezralaya could not help but smile. She leant in and placed an affectionate kiss upon her cheek, forgetting their moment of shared tense words.
"Are we all ready?" she cast her gaze across her five Ladies, each perfectly exquisite and perfectly flawed, arrayed in verdant hues.
"I think so!" Albany chirped eagerly.
With Ezralaya foremost; her guards; Argo and Monty to her side, her Ladies shadowing behind her, and two more of her guards; Finnlay Harstar and Brenton Smithfield, trailing behind them. They progressed forward on through the labyrinth of gleaming marble corridors and shimmering passageways, down the shingled corkscrew stair case, across the sandstone courtyard, sprouting with blooms and onward into the Queen's Ballroom.
The intimate hall was already teeming full when they arrived. A withered old man, swathed in roughspun wool approach her. She did not recognise his visage.
"Child." The voice croaked feebly. Ezralaya looked to see a sallow skinned man, hunched with age.
"My Lord." She bobbed down in a brisk curtsy.
"I am no Lord." His voice rasped in hoary tones. "Merely a humble Maester." From the vast extent of the chains that encumbered his neck, with links of platinum, pewter, gold, pale steel, cooper and ones that she couldn't even identify, it was evident that he was far more than just any humble Maester
"Forgive me." she recoiled her folly. Despite the fact that he had been the one to approach her, she could tell that he harboured a reticence. He had no desire to willingly speak with her, thus he was clearly under an obligation or command to do so.
The Maester did not look at her directly in the eye. His own eyes merely wandered to and fro around the room and she was sure that every now and then that his eyes would take a daring glance down at her breasts, How profane Maester. Besides they meandered too quickly to be certain.
"The present ceremony is ongoing, we trust that you have bought a gift to bestow up the King, and his future bride." His tone was patronising, as though he was presuming her to have overlooked the imperial tradition.
"Of course, I have a bequest to confer." She smiled haughtily, knowing that he would be unable to chide her for idleness.
His throat audibly rolled and groused within the painfully gaunt columns of scrawny his neck. "Hm. Yes, yes. Very good." His words were chafed with a wheeze. "You may progress forward." He breathed tiresomely.
"So I shall." Ezralaya smiled brightly, making his grey aura seem all the more morbid. Obeying her words, she headed on forward, her company pursuing, leaving the Grand Maester to his own degenerating company.
The small hall was draped with crimson drapes, and long banquet tables topped with golden tableware. It was odd the shades of red were so prominent and flagrant considering they were in midst of a wedding breakfast between a Tyrell and a Baratheon.
Frontward and central, the young King and his bride sat upon the wide table in eminence under a canopy of estate. To the King's right sat his mother; the Queen, daubed in a gown of lamentation. Her twin; Ser Jaime and the man she presumed to be their Uncle, sat further along the table.
To Margery's left sat her father, as well as her handsome brother and Grandmother, though she knew none of them well enough to even know their names, let alone deduce an opinion of them.
Ezralaya stepped forward in prominence, her Ladies fanning out behind her in a charming composition.
She bowed respectfully deep in her stance, her eyes cast low in reverence "Your Grace's." She could intuitively feel the motions of her Ladies and Guards lowering along with her.
King Tommen's face had once again reddened in her presence, Margaery exuded happiness, and Ser Jaime offered a kind, reassuring smile at her. Incongruently, the Queen sat, encased by a mantle of icy rime.
"Sweet Ezralaya." Margaery chirped delightfully. "How beautiful you look." Ezralaya recomposed herself.
"Thank you, my Lady," she acknowledged smilingly "As do you." She complimented, remarking Margaery's own gown of a rich emerald green, bore the large golden rose of her house upon her bodice. She could not see her skirt, as the rich table cloth of velvet crimson concealed all of their lower bodies, but she assumed it to be as equally beautiful.
"May I present my gift" she queried lightly.
"Of course." King Tommen permitted, his blushes subduing.
Ezralaya glanced over shoulder, authorising Finnlay Harstar to progress forward unto the Royal table. Her gift held securely in the cradle of his arms and placed it steadily before the King's dignity.
He bowed once again and then retreated back to where he had once stood.
Before the King lay a board, concealed by a cover. The whole structure was utterly bedecked in fresh water pearls and oval pallid howlites. Each sitter upon the royal table looked inquisitive and in wonder of what lay beneath the ornate concealment, Loras Tyrell had his neck craned forward in an attempt to attain a better view. King Tommen looked utterly enthralled, as though he could hardly contain the suspense. Even the Queen's brow showed traces of moderate curiosity.
"A game known as Cyvasse, Your Grace" Ezralaya spoke and the boy lifted the lid, defeated by intrigue.
Thankfully, he did not look disappointed, in fact he looked positively delighted, as did the Lady Margaery.
"It is very popular in Volantis – a game for two." She supplemented, though the King was already too engrossed by the ten different pieces, the elephant had particularly taken his fancy. Each piece had been carved and sculpted out of opaque beige cut-glass veined with bronze, with the eyes devised of red rubies and any further detail adorned by speckles of platinum.
Cersei's malice crept up on her as soundlessly as a shadow, and by the time she'd realised, it was already thrust upon her; "A game in which the aim is to kill the King, correct?" her face was stoic and taunt, her words rigid and frosty.
Tommen's enthusiasm quickly diminished, as well as the intrigue from the others. Cersei's voice had a way of waning all smiles and mirth.
Ezralaya blenched; "Indeed." She answered repentantly. She hadn't even considered that the game would be considered distasteful or insulting. The people of Volantis adore it – then again they aren't governed by royalty. The Queen had made her gift appear almost treasonous, and Ezralaya could not help feeling contrite.
"Forgive…" her words were docked short.
Ser Jaime had unwittingly stepped in as her defence; "Though nonetheless, still, only a game sweet sister." Still, Cersei humphed with an eye roll and a tight upper lip.
"I think it looks wonderful." A fresh voice spoke. Ezralaya's eyes wandered down the table to find the source. "How innovative." The elderly Lady continued with her signature wimple atop her head. She was Margaery's Grandmother, whom she had very briefly spoken to at the feast in passing.
"I agree." Ser Jaime fortified, much to his sister's exasperation.
"I have been bored rigid seeing endless bestowments of cloth, bullion and fealty, as has our youthful King – that game is a perfect gift. You have trumped them all." she exclaimed heartily, striking a flat palm down onto the clothed table.
"I thank you." Ezralaya smiled with gratitude.
Margaery once again spoke up in tunes of delight; "I know the King and I shall take great pleasure when playing." Tommen nodded receptively, with an eager smile, which irked his mother further as she inhaled a sharp stream of air through her thinned nostrils.
"I am glad to hear that." Ezralaya heartened with an enlightening smile.
King Tommen once again took up his Kingly role; "We pray that you enjoy the breakfast." He smiled sweetly.
"You are sat with my cousins." Margaery informed, elated by the prospect she spoke.
"I thank you all." Ezralaya once again smiled softy, and then curtsied swiftly. She raised herself gracefully, though before she turned to walk away, she quickly shone Jaime a small smile of thanks. He acknowledged her gesture with a gentle nod, and a small smile of pressed at his lips.
Even though the moment had taken place in a minimal amount of time, she'd still had time to witness the displeasure that discoloured the Queen's face. Ezralaya did not dwell and promptly moved aside.
Ezralaya and her Ladies took their place at their designated seats along the banquet tables whilst her four guards lined the perimeter of the room, out of view, but always kept her in sight. They were, as Margery had informed, at the same table as her cousins; Alla, Elinor, Megga, Alysanne, Alyce and Meredyth, who were all utterly delightful.
Three courses were served throughout the morning in total; firstly, hot bread lathered in butter and drizzled with honey, and then topped with dashes of blackberry Jam.
A sustenance of lemon tea was served in between the first a second course, in order to cleanse the pallet.
Second, came a slaver pile high with rashers of greasy bacon, boiled eggs with the yolk split and oozing, as well as fried bread and sautéed mushrooms. Served with violatium; violets soaked in wine – sweetened with a trickle of honey.
And lastly arrived sweet course; succulent strawberry's laying on a bed on mint grass, sprinkled with the zest of a lemon.
Partway through a conversation with the one of the Tyrell cousins, Ezralaya felt a hand tap gentle upon her shoulder, requesting her attention. She turned, and looked up. Behind her stood a man. A rather plain looking man, with ashy hair and curious eyes.
"May I take a moment of your time." His voice was laced with an accent that she recognised but couldn't quite place.
"Of course." Ezralaya replied politely. She turned to pardon herself from her acquaintances, and quickly noted how the Tyrell girls were sharing glances of concern between one another. "Pardon me." she spoke, excusing her smile to the view of Boeenna's smile of induced caution.
Together they walked side by side, venturing out into the privacy of the outskirts of the ballroom.
"Forgive me for my discourtesy." The man spoke. "I am Lord Baelish. I should have liked to make my acquaintance to you sooner though I only returned to the capital this very morning at the Queen's request."
Ezralaya smiled politely, hiding her trepidation seen as his name and bearing carried great weight within her mind. Allowing. "I am Ezralaya Cosalario."
"I know who you are." He smiled wryly, like he cherished some private joke that Ezralaya was not privy to. "How could I not know who you are? Tales of your beauty are not exaggerated in the slightest, are they?"
Ezralaya pretended to blush, even if only to appear modest, seen as his words had an odd way of making her skin crawl.
"I must tell you how much I admire you. The empire you established for yourself in so few years is what I had hoped to do in my life time."
"There is still time" Ezralaya answered.
"There won't be any gold left considering the profits you reap."
"There is plenty of gold in the world Lord Baelish. And I happen to believe that a fair sum of it lies at the bottom of your pockets" He laughed, wryly.
"You pose quite a quandary to my mind."
"Do I?"
"Indeed so." He affirmed, "I had heard about your arrival on my journey from the north. And I continued to wonder how a young girl, of unimaginable wealth, who has sampled all worldly pleasures, both sinful and heavenly – would appear before my eyes."
"And how do I fair?" she questioned.
"You appear…so pure. Far too pure for a girl who has bedded every kind of man, tasted the sweat of merchants and licked the cocks of princes."
Ezralaya felt her jaw lock so that it would not fall open. She felt utterly dumbfounded by his words. Is he truly trying to shame me so boldly – am I in the midst of mockery? For to this day, I have never been mocked so boldly.
"I have offended you." he spoke, "I can tell by the way your eyes winced. Though truly, I meant no offence. I would never wish to offend someone of wish I have such great admiration for."
"Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully then my Lord" She answered, unsmilingly, unable to play along with what she presumed to be disdain.
"Honestly, to see you so young and radiant, so experienced and world wise. It makes my heart yearn for younger days." Ezralaya began to doubt herself. She could not fathom Lord Baelish's insinuations. "Tell me, do you have any desires to marry."
Again she was taken aback; "Desires indeed, plans; none as such."
"Interesting." He answered, pinching the point of his chin. "Marriage can make or break a woman – though I think it would defiantly be the making of you."
Is this some sort of peculiar proposal? She began to wonder, though before ou could speak, a different, but familiar voice resounded into the air.
"Lord Commander." Lord Baelish spoke, and Ezralaya smiled, both welcoming and thankful of his presence.
"The Queen has requested your presence my Lord. She has retreated to her solar." He informed, his gold hand glistening in the daylight.
"Very well" He went to leave, but then turned back to Ezralaya. "We must speak again. There is so much more I wish to know about you."
She turned to Jaime, whose eyes had meandered a little too far below eye level, though he quickly remembered himself, and returned to her waiting gaze.
"You've saved me twice in one day. I am in debt to you." Ezralaya laughed lightly, feeling the weight lift of her shoulders the further Lord Baelish walked away.
"I could sense your discomfort all the way from the far side of the Hall." He laughed lightly as he spoke, and she found it be infectious. "I'd be wary of him," Jaime warned on a serious level, as though he had read her own minds thoughts. "He's a man that can dance the same dance to many a different melody."
"Indeed. It was a rather bizarre conversation. One I aim to forget in a hurry."
Someone caught Jaime's sight over on the far side of the room, and his attentions were stolen from her; "Ah, I must return to my duties." He spoke regretfully. "Though before I go, I did want to thank you for last night. My spirits were rather low, and yet somehow, you managed to raise them once again. A rather dyer night turned into an enjoyable, because of you."
"Well I could say the same." She answered coyly. An odd, yet comfortable silence passed between them.
He smiled a conclusive smile, though the remembrance that he was required re-evoked across his recognition; "Forgive me, I must return to the King. I assume you are still planning on attending the wedding tomorrow?"
"Oh yes very much so." She answered.
"Well I will see you there. May I escort you anywhere? Back to your table, to your room?"
"No, no you may go about your duties. I can find my own way back.
"I bid you a good day." His head bobbed low, and she mirrored the courteous gesture.
"Until the morrow, My Lord."
"Jaime." He amended, with a smile that cut and kissed her like the blade of a knife.
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