Post by The Stranger on Apr 14, 2008 19:53:38 GMT -5
Ser Grant walked into Lord Swann’s solar, and it was just how he had remembered it. Though he had squired for his uncle, Lord Gideon Caron, he had been to Stonehelm many times as a child for his father and Lord Swann had both squired for the late Lord Dylan Estermont in their youths. He and Liam had played as children with Garlan Swann, the heir to Stonehelm, as well as his twin sister Alyana. Ser Garlan had marched with Ser Grant against the Dornish, but took a wound at the Battle of Yronwood and remained there for the duration of the war. Ser Grant arrived at Stonehelm, traveling first to Griffin’s Roost to see his home after many long months fighting in the desert.
Lord Kevan Swann rose and shook Ser Grant’s hand. “How are you doing, son?” he asked. Ser Grant took a moment before responding. “Better than I was, certainly more so to be out of that gods-forsaken desert. I trust you received my letter?” Lord Swann nodded, with a slight smile on his face.
Ser Grant waited for a response, and when none came, he spoke up in a slightly irritated tone. “Well? What of my request?” Lord Kevan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder lightly. “If you wish to woo my daughter, you may, but you’ll have to win her heart before I can consent to a marriage.” He shifted his gaze, slightly nervously. “If Alyana found out that I married her off, even to an old friend such as yourself, I should fear that I might wake up in a bed full of snakes one morning.” He laughed again, and Ser Grant laughed as well, before turning to leave.
He found her sitting under a tree in the castle’s godswood. It had been the best place to play, as children, and her favorite place as well. He remembered the sense of peace and calm he always had felt there. He’d had few cares as a child, but even the burden of knowing he was to be a lord one day had never felt so heavy in Stonehelm’s godswood. She sat under a tree, in a simple dress of black and white trimmed with gold, with a small collection of flowers. She was facing away from Ser Grant, so he quickly plucked a red rose, and then a white one from two bushes and walked over to her. A twig snapped under one of his boots and her head whipped around to see him looking sheepishly back at her. “I see you’re missing red and white, which are essential colors to any bouqet,” he said with feigned seriousness, as he offered out the flowers he had picked.
Alyana Swann laughed, which was the sweetest sound Ser Grant had heard in what felt like years. He realized it had been nearly a decade since he had seen her last, and her twentieth name-day was quickly approaching. “Thank you, Ser, I shall remember that,” she replied, equally serious. He laughed, and eased himself to a seat next to her with his back against the rough tree bark. The pair sat quietly for a few minutes, before Alya’s curiosity got the better of her and she started firing off questions about Dorne. He spoke haltingly at first, avoiding the battles and horrible things he had seen, but her coaxing brought out what was on his mind, and what had weighed on him.
He spoke to her about what he had seen for hours, going into detail but sparing her from the most gruesome parts. She took his hand, and they just sat as he talked. Occasionally he lapsed into silence, and she was there to say something that would make him continue. As the sun began to set over the castle, he had finished talking about the war, and felt better than he had since marching to King’s Landing. He turned to Alyana and helped her to her feet. He looked around nervously, and then took her hands. “Aly…” he said. “Marry me.” She smiled at him and slid her hands from his grip, reaching up for his shoulders. She nodded as she pulled his face to her own, and they sank back down onto Grant’s cloak that was spread on the ground.
Ser Grant Connington is betrothed to Alyana Swann
Lord Kevan Swann rose and shook Ser Grant’s hand. “How are you doing, son?” he asked. Ser Grant took a moment before responding. “Better than I was, certainly more so to be out of that gods-forsaken desert. I trust you received my letter?” Lord Swann nodded, with a slight smile on his face.
Ser Grant waited for a response, and when none came, he spoke up in a slightly irritated tone. “Well? What of my request?” Lord Kevan laughed and clapped him on the shoulder lightly. “If you wish to woo my daughter, you may, but you’ll have to win her heart before I can consent to a marriage.” He shifted his gaze, slightly nervously. “If Alyana found out that I married her off, even to an old friend such as yourself, I should fear that I might wake up in a bed full of snakes one morning.” He laughed again, and Ser Grant laughed as well, before turning to leave.
He found her sitting under a tree in the castle’s godswood. It had been the best place to play, as children, and her favorite place as well. He remembered the sense of peace and calm he always had felt there. He’d had few cares as a child, but even the burden of knowing he was to be a lord one day had never felt so heavy in Stonehelm’s godswood. She sat under a tree, in a simple dress of black and white trimmed with gold, with a small collection of flowers. She was facing away from Ser Grant, so he quickly plucked a red rose, and then a white one from two bushes and walked over to her. A twig snapped under one of his boots and her head whipped around to see him looking sheepishly back at her. “I see you’re missing red and white, which are essential colors to any bouqet,” he said with feigned seriousness, as he offered out the flowers he had picked.
Alyana Swann laughed, which was the sweetest sound Ser Grant had heard in what felt like years. He realized it had been nearly a decade since he had seen her last, and her twentieth name-day was quickly approaching. “Thank you, Ser, I shall remember that,” she replied, equally serious. He laughed, and eased himself to a seat next to her with his back against the rough tree bark. The pair sat quietly for a few minutes, before Alya’s curiosity got the better of her and she started firing off questions about Dorne. He spoke haltingly at first, avoiding the battles and horrible things he had seen, but her coaxing brought out what was on his mind, and what had weighed on him.
He spoke to her about what he had seen for hours, going into detail but sparing her from the most gruesome parts. She took his hand, and they just sat as he talked. Occasionally he lapsed into silence, and she was there to say something that would make him continue. As the sun began to set over the castle, he had finished talking about the war, and felt better than he had since marching to King’s Landing. He turned to Alyana and helped her to her feet. He looked around nervously, and then took her hands. “Aly…” he said. “Marry me.” She smiled at him and slid her hands from his grip, reaching up for his shoulders. She nodded as she pulled his face to her own, and they sank back down onto Grant’s cloak that was spread on the ground.
Ser Grant Connington is betrothed to Alyana Swann