On the balcony of Arianne’s chambers, looking out to sea, Marcus stood stoic as a cold marble statue the wind rushing from the coast ruffling his hair - dark and lustrous, it could almost have been mistaken for a simple brown. But the sun shining down reflected sultry hints of deep copper which could be seen around the edges and in its wily shine. Out of all the places he could stand guard for his princess he had to admit this was his favourite having just enough measure of both sun and shade to be comfortable - to most other foreigners to these lands the heat would be blazing but Marc had a long amount of time to let his body acclimatise finding a comfort in the salty breeze stirring the gardens and waves into a gentle rushing symphony whilst he watched fishermen and merchants alike peddling their trades.
As he stood there unmovingly he allowed for his thoughts to wander dwelling on how the smallest and seemingly most inconsequential matter could drastically change the pattern already in motion. Marc was resilient, driven by desires that few else who he surrounded himself with could ever understand due to the fact that he didn’t trust them enough to bring them in. How could any of them understand? Most days when he was on duty with Arianne he would often stand and speak to her - keeping them both amused from some of the boredom that a lack of activity caused though today it was different. Most of his conversation had died away from his pensiveness - lingering on thoughts of what Roslin might be doing right now at the tourney, whether Arys would be there riding and fighting. How much had Little Twig changed since last he had seen him? Would his mother have made the trip to Storm’s End to see her son become an even greater champion than he was already? Memories spun and whirled through his mind recalling the life of another starkly different person; of a proud son and brother, one who had promised to do good. How had he fallen so far from what he had always aspired to be? Over the course of his travels Marc had tried to keep a watch on his little brother - observing his ascent to fame from afar, Arys had done everything he ever wished to do and for that Marc felt a pride he could not put into words.
And then there was Roslin, the sweet girl who must be enjoying the festivities and who he might have spent his time with had he not currently occupied this position - not that he regretted the decision, in fact he appreciated everything that Arianne had done for him. She had taken him in as her confidant even in the short time he had been there he was beginning to feel a trust build that he had never expected to exist. His breathing was calm yet his usual hint of a smile was set in a neutral line evidently lost in less favourable thoughts - his reverie soon broken by Arianne’s voice piercing his musings. How long had she been speaking to him? Blinking the haze which had befallen him he turned to face his princess with a small bow of his head, “my apologies your grace… My mind was lost elsewhere” he admitted in his typical tone carrying such a strange eloquence that it often caused those who heard it to stop and listen to whatever it was Marc had to say.