𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝑊𝐼𝑁 𝑂𝑅 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐷𝐼𝐸 (Game Of Thrones RP)

[baenerys]

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↪↪ 𝐃 𝐄 𝐌 𝐄 𝐋 𝐙 𝐀

xxxlady paramount of the vale // mentions: targaryens // tags: corbus

xxxHe did love her, that much was true. At least, Demelza believed it to be true. All those years ago, when he had come to ask for her hand in marriage, he’d sought her out even though she had two older sisters, far more beautiful and far better behaved. At the time, she’d initially thought it to be some kind of cruel joke, a wicked plot played out by her brothers, expecting her to joyously accept such a proposal, only to be made a fool of. Her legs were skinny and her knees knobbly; dense freckles and acne scars marred her face. A plain girl, who did not seem to inherit any of the natural beauty of her mother or even the rugged handsome look of her father. Nobody ever looked at her when her sisters were an option.

xxxExcept for Corbus Martell.

xxxAnd she’d frowned at him, sternly, when she had stepped forth on the dais, her father pushing her forward to meet the young Prince who would now come to rule over Dorne.

xxxAny girl would have delighted in the notion of becoming a Princess. Demelza knew that she was expected to be grateful for such an opportunity; but in that moment, and in so many moments of any lady’s life, she felt like a token to be traded rather than a girl with a heart and a mind of her own. Her whole life of 16 years had been leading to this moment, and she hated it. She did not have beauty on her side; but her mind was sharp as Valyrian steel, and she was better than any of her siblings at swordsplay or embroidery and everything in between. She was more than a pawn to be placed wherever her parents saw fit.

xxxSo when father had spoke on her behalf, accepting the proposal, she had felt a savage rage rip through her heart. The smallest shred of joy to have from the proposal was the fury and disappointment on the faces of her sisters; but that would not be enough for Demelza to be content with a life that would be set out for her. She had kept her mouth in a tight, straight line, father’s words echoing off into the distance, as her mind went elsewhere.

xxxShe took off that night through a wild thunderstorm to board the first ship she could find at the Saltpans; and from there, she left behind the name of Demelza Arryn, and adopted a new name, for a new life.

xxxAnd here they were again; only this time, she was the Paramount of this region, and she could speak her own mind. She did not love Corbus Martell. That much she knew. Even as his dark irises softened with disappointment, she was resolute. Her heart was her own, and it belonged to no man - not the Prince before her or the ghost of her husband.

xxxAs he rummaged in his pocket, Demelza felt a sense of dread - she knew where this was going. Sure enough, Corbus took her hand gently and placed in her palm a gleaming silver ring, intricately detailed with the falcon of her house sigil, and her family’s words engraved inside.

xxxHis hands were warm, and hers were cold.

xxxThere was a long, deafening silence between them, as Corbus stepped back with a polite bow, the ring still tucked in her clasp. Demelza's sheer blue eyes searched his dark irises. "I know where your true loyalties lie; and dragons have found refuge in the Mountains of the Moon, just as they have done so in the Dornish marches. That much, I think, we can see eye to eye on. As much as you say this would be more than a political arrangement for you, I don't believe that I'll ever see it as anything else." Her lips set into that straight, firm line of determination. "If you can be content with that, then my answer is yes." She paused, turning the ring in her palm. "On the condition that I raise a first born child to inherit the Vale, and a second to inherit Dorne." Another pause. "And that I'll keep my own name. And the child to inherit the Vale will inherit my name, too."

[quitting pls delete]

𝐶𝑂𝑅𝐵𝑈𝑆 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿
head of house martell // located: the eyrie // tagged: demelza


The Dornish prince meets her gaze with surprise, a slight flush coming to his cheeks beneath his kept beard. He did not expect that; not one little bit. Still, despite her assurances that the union would be purely political for her, Corbus can not help the leap of joy his heart makes. His lips curl upwards into a grin as he takes a small step forward, warm hands gently holding hers. He strokes his thumb over the top of her hands with a small hum of pleasure. "Merely being in your presence is enough for me. It would be a gift from the gods to have you as my princess. I promise to be the best husband I can to you; I would give you the world if I could. However, since I cannot do that, I will grant your request." While the arrangement is a strange one, and he is sure many of the lords of Westeros will think him a fool for agreeing to it, he does not care. Both he and Demelza will get what they need; an heir to their respective kingdoms and military aid. Corbus will also be getting the wife he has wanted to dearly for the last twenty years, even if she does not share his respective excitement, so he feels there is hardly any room to complain. "You are welcome to keep your last name and pass down the Vale to our firstborn. After all, I intend to have more than one child, should the gods bless us. It is of little consequence to me whether my heir is the first or second born. Besides, Dorne has always been an open kingdom. Such an arrangement will be accepted by the public, albeit with a little time." Corbus lifts her hand, gently placing a kiss on her thin wrist. "The coronation of the young lion is upon us. Shall we announce the engagement there? Or would you prefer something more subdued like a raven?"

𝐷𝐸𝐿𝑃𝐻𝐼 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸
lady of house clegane // located: the red keep // tagged: ursa, cressida


Delphi giddily helps her companions get ready, bouncing on her toes as she whizzes about the guest quarters she has been assigned. She, like most other young maidens in Westeros, loves a good party. There is nothing more enjoyable than dancing the night away at a ball, gossiping with the ladies of other highborn families and watching the handsome young men from across the room. Delphi is eager to secure herself one of these young men; it is her biggest ambition. As a female, she cannot hope to become the head of her house. The rest of Westeros isn't like Dorne, after all, and the only way such a feat would happen is if the rest of her family came to a brutal end. Of course, Delphi does not want that, so she sets her sights on marrying a wealthy noble instead. She knows she could make a man happy if only given the chance; she is of marrying age and certainly could produce him a few children. She is beautiful, skilled, agreeable...why hasn't she been snatched up yet? She pouts slightly as she looks at herself in the mirror. Her long, dark hair is half down, the rest of it pulled back into intricate braids to show off her slim face. Her body is dressed in a beautiful lavender gown, layers of patterned fabric creating a silhouette that is flattering to her figure. Delphi can only imagine what she would look like in a queen's gown; such a dream can never come true. Yes, House Clegane has been one of the crown's biggest allies since the rebellion, but she isn't of high enough status to marry royalty. Oh well, at least she can daydream.

[radio.active.]

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

i. lady bolton, the lady of the dreadfort xxxx ii. her guest chambers, the halls within the red keep
iii. mentions members of house lannisterxxxx iv. no tags

Even if she poured her heart into it (highly unlikely in and of itself, given the circumstances) Salezare was certain she could count on one hand the reasons she had to follow through with this. There was little to no purpose to her being present in King's Landing - political, social, or otherwise - and as always, the ever-present want to return home prowled in the back of her mind.

So why was she here? She found herself asked that question countless times over again that morning alone as her ladies scurried to and fro. The answer seemed to be curiosity, mostly. It had been many months since she had made even the briefest of public appearances, and given her standoffish nature (to put it lightly, anyhow) there was very little to keep her in the loop of gossip. As such, she had only official reports to refer to, and although said reports were often very detailed, it is hardly uncommon for embellishments or even outright lies to make their way into such official statements in order to mask any weakness.

Now that rumors of a surviving Targaryen circulated even into her reclusive fortifications, Salezare found her interest piqued in an unusual twist that had surprised even her and spurred her to journey south. Fueled by the desire to see just how the lions of King's Landing were coping with such news, she now stood in the plainest guest chambers King's Landing had to offer. A single scarlet banner was hung above the hearth of the privy chamber, the flayed man the only evidence that Lady Bolton was the individual present in these suites, as her other possessions were tucked neatly out of sight.

For a recluse, Salezare was admittedly very fashionable. Her short silvery blonde hair was neatly bobbed and curled into pristine coils that just grazed her collarbone that was decorated itself by a delicate silver chain bearing a single raw-cut garnet. Her gown was a matching deep red material, cascading in layers down her figure. The long, billowing sleeves were her favorite feature and signature style, not only adding to the waterfall appearance but additionally concealing what she affectionately referred to as her sewing needles. Two short poignard blades were carefully tucked into the folds of her sleeves. She hardly expected an altercation, but one could never be too careful.

There was still some time until the event, but Salezare was not one for idle time. She slipped on the silky soft shoes placed beside her by an unseen maid, and began a silent stroll through the halls of the Red Keep. It was nice to walk a novel route as opposed to her circuitous paths through the Dreadfort. The Red Keep contained magnificent architectural feats and beautiful works of art illuminated by warm sunlight filtering through the towering windows, a stark contrast to the frigid halls and flickering torches of home. She found herself enamored by one tapestry in particular, one of what appeared to be a not-so-discretely symbolic battle. A lion was front and center, raring its bloodied maw as it stood victoriously over the shriveling husk of a black dragon. Other beasts surrounded them, some of which Salezare could put a name to, though others she did not recognize. The hounds of Clegane Keep, the gilded kraken of Pyke, and the pitch stag of Storm's End were all featured prominently on the battlefield, gripping her attention with unbreaking intensity.

[woodland]

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⚜ ＥＤＷＩＮ ＬＡＮＮＩＳＴＥＲ

ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ;; red keep hallway---------ＴＡＧＧＥＤ;; salezare

mixed with the salty breeze and the humidity, king's landing had a celebratory mood in the air. it was a never-ending cacophony by the common and noblefolk alike. the excited musings started a week leading up to this day and surely weeks afterward would it come to a halt. every corner had its own little reminder of what was in store. if not the visual reminders like the banners or the intricate floral displays, it was apparent by the smell. overflowing aromas wafted from the kitchens below, the chefs were hard at work, preparing the grandest of meals for the select handful in all of westeros. the smell that was most apparent- wine. it was as though barrels of it were dumped when in actuality, some of the nobles had already started drinking at the crack of dawn. 'drinking to a new king' they called it when the likewise were spilling more than drinking by midday. the most exquisite events were always payed in lannister gold.

on days like these, edwin dreaded them the most. relativity was a strange matter for the youngest of the lannisters. he had grown so accustomed to getting overlooked, attention was a stranger to him. while some of his siblings thrived in the limelight, it ate at his nerves. at the comfort of his home or covered in grime at the barracks, it was easy to forget that he hailed from a distinguished house. on days like these, the tables turned. the spotlight was blinding. at the very least, he held his apprehension well. it was innate to set his personal discomforts aside for the sake of upholding his houses' prestige.

the trepidation made him restless. he had already paced in his quarters before stepping outside. the transformation from a jittery gait to a steady prowl was instant. mindlessly, he started making progress towards his sister's quarters. she was his second rock when his bothers weren't around. when all the great houses congregated, the worst of the grievances were by far the unwed noblewomen. vicious in their advances, their antics fared well with his brothers. for edwin, not so much. then there were the coy onlookers, which were a different type of threatening altogether. he wished to spend his day on his own terms, rather than waste his time gallivanting to dead ends and resentful ladies. in the company of cat, the number of such pursuers diminished.

a blot of crimson in his peripheral vison. he diverted his beeline to cat's to get a second take. it was a woman. curiously enough, her hair was short and worn differently from what was common amongst the noblewomen- from what little he know about women's fashion. it was pretty. intrigued, he speculated on which house she belonged to. no ordinary folk would have been able to afford the gown she was wearing. for a moment, he reassessed his plans to attend the coronation with his sister. perhaps she too was planning on finding a husband. isn't that what young women hoped to do during events like these? he had no inkling that the woman at the tapestry was any different. both on a whim and perplexed in fascination, he approached her because of a gut feeling this mystery woman wasn't of the typical sort he often evaded. if all went well, they could accompany each other without any expectations of courtship.

"it's rumored that two dragons live" he said plainly, keeping a respectable distance from him and the stranger. amidst the whispers that grew to rumors, he felt unthreatened at the possibility that a targaryen lurked on some far away lands. last he checked, the house had lost its followers, its supporters due to a certain volatile head.

now that he had a closer look at the stranger, "i take it that you're from somewhere in the north?"

[radio.active.]

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

i. lady bolton, the lady of the dreadfort xxxx ii. the halls within the red keep
iii. mentions the targaryens, the lannistersxxxx iv. tags edwin lannister

There was no symbol of her married house in the strands of the tapestry, no flayed man to represent the aide brought forth by the Bolton family. It was no surprise, of course, they had remained neutral during the rebellion. True, rumors fluttered about the minds of the smallfolk, telling of secret assistances and funding to the rebellion or even the Targaryens themselves, but that was all they were. Salezare was acutely aware of the rumors that circulated about both herself and her house, though she admittedly made little effort to correct the whispers that happened to cross her path. Let the smallfolk chatter like birds at dawn, it will keep them contented.

The absence of the Bolton sigil became even more apparent as her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a stranger. Although Salezare recognized him as one of the countless Lannister cubs - the golden locks were a dead giveaway - she could not seem to recall having met him in person before.

"You may be correct, though you would be amiss in assuming such a thing matters." she mused, not yet turning to face him fully. "I care quite little for the politics of these kingdoms, though, and sentimentality is not my forte. And as such, I do not concern myself with these rumors of dragons crawling back from their pits." Allowing for her words to settle for a few heartbeats, she finally turned to face the Lannister. She studied him with a passive expression, allowing her sharp green eyes to take in all they could. This lordling seemed intrigued, though she often found that to be the case when they first interacted with her. She was an odd character to her royal counterparts, a fact that she had learned quickly both in life and during this stay in the Red Keep. Her disliking of minced words and reclusive tendencies were not well-liked to these amicable ladies and indirect lords, though true to her fashion, Salezare was unbothered.

"Though perhaps you do find some unease in such whispers? Even the youngest son fears the dragons that lurk in the shadows." Her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly as she spoke. "Do not concern yourself with monsters in the dark, Lord Lannister, the worst of beasts show their faces in daylight." Salezare was not one for lies, though she would happily admit that she enjoyed a bit of theatrics. Often her words would mimic the poems she spent her time perusing in the library of the Dreadfort, fueling her penchant for theatrical lines and cryptic messages. "If you would like to put a name to one such beast, I am Salezare Bolton, lady of the Dreadfort."

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐃 𝐄 𝐌 𝐄 𝐋 𝐙 𝐀

xxxlady paramount of the vale // mentions: nikolai // tags: corbus

xxxShe was wary of him; wary of that sweet smile, that could be genuine or a very intricate lie. What concerned her was that she couldn't quite distinguish between truth and lie when it came to Corbus Martell. His flattery won nothing from her but a mild blink of disinterest. If nothing else, she was quite certain that she had him wrapped neatly about her little finger; he did not argue or query her demands, and accepted them without hesitation. She knew things to be different in Dorne - girls could inherit just as boys did - but she had expected at least a little bristle at her statements.

xxxShe wasn't about to argue, though. Demelza pulled her hand neatly from his clasp and slipped the silver falcon ring over her wedding finger. It was a perfect fit; pretty and delicate, a stark contrast to the scabs that decorated her hands from waterdancing. For a long moment, she looked at the silver ring, the cut of the falcon's wings, and felt a dreadful sense of finality as Corbus took her hand and pressed his lips to her cold skin. This was what father had wanted, all those years ago, when he'd given her away like some token.

xxxOnly, this time, she had accepted this proposal on her own terms.

xxxThey agreed to send a raven; parties and social gatherings, and the thought of having to suffer one with her in the spotlight, was something that made her lip curl in distaste. A few days passed and the news of their engagement passed through the Eyrie and beyond, and as Prince and Lady mounted their horses and took to the King's Road, rumours exploded that the isolated Lady Paramount had chosen a suitor after skulking in the Eyrie for years on end. Of course, the people of the Vale knew otherwise, and did not contribute to such gossip, instead choosing to keep their mouths tightly shut as the travelling party went along towards the Crownlands.

xxxTheir arrival in King's Landing brought stares of disbelief and scowls of scorned young women. Demelza held her chin high and disregard the wild rumours that surrounded her; most people did not even know her to see, but the gossip had obviously painted her as an illusive, sly, manipulative witch, who had cast some bizarre love spell over the Dornish Prince. The only reason that she was now recognised was because of her association with him, and for the silver falcon ring on her hand, paired with the sky blue sheer fabric of her sweeping dress.

xxxThe Red Keep was bustling with life, servants and nobility filling the halls for the new king's coronation celebrations. Too many people, for Demelza's liking, but to have avoided the Lannister cub's invitation would have suggested her to be a traitor, and that would not have served her well. So, she tolerated the hissed whispers and not-so-subtle finger-pointing, and walked into the throne room beside Corbus with that ever-present confidence in her stride.

xxxThe room was already packed with people; great feasting tables had been laid with wonderfully colourful platters, and servants with golden flagons of wine poured drinks from all sorts of exotic places. The Lannisters always made a lavish effort to show off their excessive wealth, and this coronation celebration was no different. Gold and crimson banners hung from the high ceilings, the Lannister lion roaring with triumph. Everybody had come to the event wearing their finest and richest silks and jewels, and she recognised only a handful of people; avoiding social appearances since her return from Braavos had resulted in her having a non-existent social circle of her own.

xxxThus, she remained in the company of the Dornish Prince, whose constant flattery tasted like ash in her mouth, because she simply couldn't take it to be true. They walked together, gold and blue, striking and impossible to miss even among the masses. She kept one hand neat about her skirts to keep them from trailing, and took a goblet of Dornish red from a passing servant at the first available opportunity, so that both of her hands could be occupied and she wouldn't have to let her fingers entwine with his. Still, she clinked her golden chalice with his and took a light sip. Alcohol dulled the senses, and she was wary of being surrounded by so many strangers. The young king had not yet returned from the Great Sept, where it was dictated that he would officially her crowned and anointed in the sight of the gods; so the celebration thus far was more of a chattery gathering.

xxxShe took another sip of wine, her clear blue irises watching over the rim of the chalice. Women were looking at Corbus and twittering amongst each other, flicking their intricate braids over their shoulders, tilting their heads in fake laughter, but their eyes constantly flickering to the Prince. Demelza pursed her lips and cast a look to her fiancee. "You draw quite a bit of attention," she murmured, arching an eyebrow and tilting her head in the direction of the nearest flock of twittering young women. The faintest hint of a sly smirk twitched over the corner of her thin lips. "Should I be concerned?"

[baenerys]

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↪↪ 𝐂 𝐑 𝐄 𝐒 𝐒 𝐈 𝐃 𝐀

xxxlady of riverrun // mentions: nikolai, saenyx, daenaera, demelza, corbus // tags: delphi, ursa

xxxA chance to go to King's Landing was an opportunity at which Cressida Tully had jumped at. She loved Riverrun; but the prospect of getting to see two of her closest companions in the same keep, for a party (a coronation, yes, but a party also)... It was nothing short of a blessing. Cressida had hardly been able to keep still since she'd arrived in the Red Keep, constantly scuttling off to explore the keep's never-ending chambers and the sprawling city beyond.

xxxShe had arrived early to Delphi's room before the festivities; and not long after, Ursa had arrived, and the three young women had hugged together so tight that Cress thought her lungs might burst from the giddy embrace. Perched on the plush bed, the Tully lady watched as Delphi rustled through a selection of gowns, before plucking one out for Ursa to wear. The three girls always exchanged clothes and jewellery, books and needlework; it was rare for them to be together at the one social gathering, and to not have something of the others' on their person. Cressida had chosen to wear her father's Tully blue, paired with her mother's Allyrion gold; a beautiful, rich dress of sheer layers that neatly hugged her feminine frame, golden embroidery accentuating her curves in soft rippled-waves, reminiscent of the flowing streams of her homeland. She had a nimble, athletic build, not that you could really tell, since the dress had long, floating sleeves pulled neat to her wrists with velvet ribbons, and her sturdy legs were hidden behind layer after layer of silk and sheers.

xxxShe crossed her legs lazily as she lounged on Delphi's bed, a smirk pulling on her lips at the prospect of gossip. At that, Cressida's grin widened as she extended one arm above her head in a lazy stretch. "Oh, Riverrun is lovely, as always, but terribly dull. Father hardly let me out of the keep these past few weeks. Apparently swimming under the moonlight with a certain lovely Ser Wyre Piper was not appropriate." She rolled her eyes with a mischievous smirk, bringing her arm out of its stretch to toss her curly hair over her shoulder. Wyre was the third-born son and a knight; tall, handsome, and more than willing to engage in any activities with Cressida that she suggested, whether it be swimming in the river, racing horses along the glens, or a moment of shared romantic intimacy. He was sweet, but she didn't love him, not the truly deep, sentimental love in the songs of bards. Wyre didn't love her either; it was a mutually beneficial friendship. "Other than that, nothing interesting to report."

xxxThe maid that had been scuttling about helping Ursa and Delphi get ready was soon out the door, leaving the three girls with a degree of privacy. With scarcely a moment passing by, Ursa had opened the conversation to something more serious - the prospect of a Targaryen in the south. At the mention of the dragon, Cressida's ears pricked, and she sat up on promptly from her lounging position. Arching an eyebrow in curiosity, she slipped from the bed as Ursa led her across the room to take her place at the vanity. "Well..." she started slowly, wary, "I heard that in Essos, there was a beautiful woman with hair like platinum, and eyes the colour of the sky... And that she'd been seen in Braavos one day and Lys the next, far quicker than any boat could take her..."

xxxUrsa went on to mention the rumours of another potential Targaryen heir in the Stormlands as she finished the braid she'd been weaving through Cressida's hair. She beamed at her companion and kissed her arm gently, bouncing off the vanity seat to make way for Delphi. As always, Ursa's nimble hands had woven a lovely braid that echoed the Riverlands and the northern styles together, a combination that made Cressida feel more like a warrior than a lady; the northern styles were practical, keeping wisps of hair out of your face in battle, but the half-braided style that her friend had created meant that her bouncing coils were free to tumble down her back. She walked about the room as the girls chatted, her attention drawn to a bouquet of flowers that Delphi had in a pretty vase; from it, she plucked some small white baby's breath and glided across to the vanity, offering the tiny flowers as a final touch for Delphi's dark hair.

xxx"I heard that the ghost was wandering the Mountains of the Moon... And the Dornish Marches. So Gods know where they are truly. You'd think that you'd see a great dragon roaming the skies, but I suppose, how often do we look to the heavens, unless the sun is painting the clouds?" she tilted her head in thought and wonder, twirling a strand of Delphi's dark hair about her index finger. Smoothing the tresses down her friend's back, Cressida took it as her turn to aid Ursa.

xxxShe helped the northern lady to style her blonde hair into a simple coil down her back, tying a velvet ribbon to set it off. From her own wrist, Cressida gently pulled one of her golden bangles and slipped it over Ursa's wrist, and a golden ring to match. A smile broke across her lips, as she squeezed her friends' shoulders in affection. "You both look radiant!" She pulled them both into an elegant twirl to admire all of their handiwork. With a dramatic, joking sigh, she threw her hands up into the air, her jewellery and her laugh tinkling in unison. "The boys will be spending the whole evening lining up to dance with you both! I hope that we'll still dance together, the three of us - we ought to stick together, or at the least, rescue each other if needs be!"

xxxThe evening was sure to be an interesting one. Cressida squeezed her friends' hands neatly, offering them an encouraging smile - especially for Ursa, to whom she offered a reassuring nod. The northern lady had previously engaged in a flirtatious attempted fling with the man who was today being crowned as King, and Cressida could sense a degree of nerves under the woman's skin at having to interact with him and his court again. Cress didn't think of it as humiliating; from what she could tell, Nikolai Lannister had taken the whole thing rather well, making light of the situation. Another squeeze of palms, and the trio were ready to embark.

xxxThe arrival of the three young women in the throne room attracted numerous raised brows and nudges among men and women alike. Cressida led her companions were a stride of sheer confidence, her chin held high, as they wove through the nobility to claim chalices of wine to taste their tongues. Finding a servant with a flagon of Arbor gold, Cress accepted the wine with a gracious smile and clinked her goblet with those of her friends. The newly-crowned king had yet to arrive, so the celebrations were not yet in full swing; but the hall buzzed with activity and chatter amongst nobles. Over the rim of her goblet, Cressida's dark brown eyes danced across familiar and unfamiliar faces. Not so far away, her eyes met the icy irises of Lady Demelza Arryn, standing by the handsome Dornish Prince, Corbus Martell. He was quite lovely on the eyes; a well-kept appearance, rich clothes, broad shoulders. Seeing the Prince and Lady together suddenly reminded her of another piece of gossip she'd heard from the road to King's Landing. She leaned close to her companions, darting her eyes to the couple across the way, perhaps not so subtly. "Did you hear? The Lady of the Vale is engaged to the Prince of Dorne, even after she humiliated him all those years ago... He asked for her hand in marriage when he was just claiming the family title, and her father accepted the proposal on her behalf. But that night, there was a terrible thunderstorm - and she ran off, took a boat at the Saltpans, and disappeared for years."

xxxCressida nodded her head with confidence, as if she was very knowledgeable about the whole topic. "She's cursed. When she returned to the Eyrie after running away, all of her siblings started to die in horrible accidents. They say the ghosts of her family roam the halls of the Eyrie now, haunting her." The tone with which she was speaking made the whole discussion sound like an eerie ghost story, broken by a heart laugh. "It's a horrible place, the Eyrie. So quiet. It wouldn't surprise me if Lady Demelza herself was a ghost!"

[woodland]

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ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ;; red keep hallway---------ＴＡＧＧＥＤ;; salezare

it took a lot of his will power not to burst into a laugh. his lips quirked briefly before smoothing out into the neutral plane of his face. she was funny, he had to give it to her. "oh my dear lady, you are certainly correct", adding a slight theatrical tone to match her. he meant it. from the whisperings of the smallfolk in which he concerned himself over more than a noble probably should, the being before him was a force to be reckoned with. how many of her husbands had faced an odd end to their lives? the likelihood of it being her hand, was a plausible one. isn't that how the prominent ladies rose to power? he heard quite a bit about the lady of the dreadfort. unlike his brothers who could get by with knowing the big names: arryn, baratheon, stark, martell- edwin spared no expense keeping up with the details. keeping it light, he opted to keep the mariticide accusations to a minimum.

"whispers are nothing comparable to the beasts disguised as ethereal beings before me". it was a genuine compliment if she was willing to accept the harmless thing that was said. the lady of the dreadfort was much prettier in the flesh. for someone having been married twice, he had envisioned a face beginning to get etched with frown lines and sunken cheeks. a pleasant surprise it was to see a lady with the appearance still fresh as a dewdrop. by the looks of it, she must have been his senior by no more than 3 years.

"grievances to lord anteros" he chose to feign ignorance, knowing well the eldest of the boltons had already met his demise years ago, along with the second one not too long ago. he let salezare talk, half-expecting her to correct him. not moving his feet, he craned himself slightly towards to to hear the news.

a pause. "attend the coronation with me?" - 'let us use each other'

in the driest of manners, a silky satin elbow was extended to her in invitation. he waited in a silence that felt like it was dragging. 'would she really say no?' the possibility of rejection from a recluse such as herself was on the table, even if a lannister usually got their way. but what good would it make of her if she said no? events like these- one needs... an acquaintance. by some miraculous chance, did she have one lined up?

[woodland]

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⚘ ＵＲＳＡ ＭＯＲＭＯＮＴ

ＬＯＣＡＴＩＯＮ;; king's landing---------ＴＡＧＧＥＤ;; cressida, delphi, demelza, corbus

if ser wyre piper had any feelings past friendship for cressida, he was a fool for having not accompanied her to the coronation. as the three women made their decent down the stairs to meet the festivities, ursa likened herself to the idea that they were making a descent from the heavens. a momentary change in the throne room's atmosphere was all it took to stoke her ego. it meant that their presence was not unnoticed. the changing currents of chatter shifted when they joined the throng. 'as it should be'. as far as their prime was concerned, there was no usurping this brain, brawn, heart trio for the next couple of years. she would beg to differ if anyone thought otherwise.

cress's hold was her saving grace upon entry. the lady of riverrun radiated with so much confidence, some of it embedded itself within ursa. at first, she followed suit. a false poise was her shield from what cruel words an envious lady could use against her. with cressida taking a lead on navigating the crowd, she instinctually cupped delphi's elbow with her free hand. best not to lose her in such a thick congregation lest she found a nobleman worthy of the clegane. she would have easily thrusted delphi towards the first decent one she saw, alas, she had high standards for her companion. most of them were dogs in extravagant attire, ursa knew first hand having made advances on enough of them. at the least, they were useful in providing her material goods: a pretty dress here, a little token there. it was dangerous work in its own right as noblemen were quick to point an accusing finger on a woman. one had to be tenacious when playing the game. ursa reveled in it. keeping her chin high forced her to exchange eyes with anyone in her wake. with every passing face, her confidence grew and her gazes became increasingly enamoring. it was indiscriminate towards noble men and women alike. briefly, she squeezed cress's hand and loosened her grip on her companion. a silent message: 'i'll be okay'.

in passing, a noblewoman uttered a piece of slander directed towards ursa: a clear jab at her previous love-endeavors. like fire bouncing off the hide of a dragon, she found herself unscathed. it was a cheap resort to disrupt her stride. after hearing the first of many of these tidbits, she found herself underwhelmed at what they were saying about her. a scoff escaped the back of her throat in acknowledgement of the pointless shame that had overtaken her all morning. with every weak attempt to smolder her spirit, she became increasingly emboldened by them. riding off the high of her own self-assurance, she could have enjoyed the coronation without the aid of liquid courage.

the sharp clink of golden chalices... although ecstatic by her own means, ursa could never deny a good arbour gold. she savored her first gulp with her companions, embracing the warmth it brought to her stomach. having secured a station for themselves, it wasn't long before their eyes scoured for jewels of the assembly. they had chosen a good position for themselves; not too far from the new king along with some prominent houses in proximity. her brown eyes danced around the prominent faces, sparing no time to hold her gaze if need be. she was not known for being demure and indulged when others couldn't hold her gaze. her focus was distracted by a certain dornish heir nearby, opting to let her companions selected the person of subject for cress and delphi already knew what was on ursa's mind.

even when the lady of the vale was the subject at hand, her eyes fixated themselves on corbus martell. while other woman flitted their gazes back and forth over him, ursa's was direct and unwavering. cressida's words for lady arryn was the voiceover for the lovely view she was getting. "gods, how could a lady resist the prince of dorne?", dreamily, "do the saltpans offer something grander than the possibility of becoming a princess?". if lord martell was ignoring her watch, it only relented when the blue ghost took notice. surely she would inquire towards her new fiancee. the lady of riverrun was quite the storyteller, recounting the eerie past of the woman across them. "would you still visit me if i too became a ghost of the eyrie?", her voice was lighthearted. when the moment came, she squeezed a playful wink in the brief second her eyes met with corbus. the distance was a luxury when she couldn't just walk up to him and say "hello sweetness" in front of the lady of the eyrie. "even if they are engaged, things can also go awry" - 'lest they have a wedding ceremony, he's still fair game'. one look at her competition, ursa had to admit, "the lady of vale is in excellent shape". reevaluating on her recent flirtatious advance, "only real ghosts remain youthful... cress, i hope your brilliant mind will save me when i have the ghost of the vale after me", referring to her potential misstep. theatrically, she tilted her head back to lighten things up "have i cursed myself?" leaning forward, she buried her cheek on delphi's shoulder blade and wrapped her arms around the maiden's torso to make them both appear more alluring. 'lady arryn, delphi is too darling for you to come after me at this moment'

for an instance, ursa's body jumped at the abrupt onset of music, a sure indication that the newly crowned king was entering. she inclined herself towards his direction, using her companion's fair backside as a headrest.

[radio.active.]

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

i. lady bolton, the lady of the dreadfort xxxx ii. halls of the red keep
iii. mentions her husbands, xxxx iv. tags edwin lannister

Without thinking, her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched itself. The expression had been present for less than a heartbeat, lingering for barely a blink before the Lannister schooled it into his original casual air. He found her amusing. Such a fact should have lit a fire beneath her, sending her into an unadulterated rage that demanded to know how dare he, but she found amusement of her own bubbling in the back of her mind. A flicker of a smile crossed her delicate features as the lord before her paid a compliment kinder than either husband could have hoped to produce.

"Surely your mother taught you that flattery is the food of fools," she humored. "Though I suppose today is one for indulgences, so I suppose I will allow it." Although she enjoyed humoring him, her expression hardened at the mention of her first husband. It struck her as strange that he would not offer condolences for Caerus as well - though admittedly she did not care beyond the surface. While both men had been pitiful excuses to their kind, Salezare had always had a softer spot for the younger brother. Even if Caerus had been an imbecile and an unabashed disaster, he had never been the beast or wrought the cruelties Anteros had. In fact, he hadn't even really done anything to wrong her. But as evident by the present, such a thing did not deter her.

A carefully practiced smile of sorrow crossed her expression. "I thank you for your condolences," she said in the tone she had spent years perfecting. "The Dreadfort has bore witness to more than its fair share of tragedy in recent years." Perhaps it was more accurate to say that she was the unfortunate eye of the storm as opposed to her adoptive home, but as enticing as voicing the dramatic thought sounded, she knew better than to admit such a thing to anyone. To do so would certainly mean her place on the executioner's pyre.

With the extended arm, it became apparent that this lordling was unaware of the rumors that followed in her wake. That, or he was unbothered by the prospect of the court labelling him as a dead man walking. She offered another quirked eyebrow. "And what interest would a lion have in a twice-widowed northwoman? Or better yet, what interest would she have in him?" Her words were not necessarily meant to sound so cruel, yet the opposite was equally untrue. A tiny puff of cold laughter bubbled from her chest as she stepped forward to accept his offer. "We shall call it intrigue, I suppose. I'm keen to see how this evening will go."