protector of the realm // game of thrones // closed

[archeron.]

Ψ Φ 𝐑𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐜𝐞 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house royce . location: the great sept . tags: wyylam . mentions: daena, zeph ]

They had moved her into a different room. One of the large ones near Daena’s since she was no longer tied to a duty as a handmaiden in the Red Keep. The first night she had spent in it she had ended up awake the entire time, unsure of the echoey walls and the heavy emptiness that came with her lack of belongings. Then her mother had sent chests of things, dresses and jewelry she had purposely left behind at Runestone to keep from being reminded of what else she had lost in that curse place. A few chests of her own personal belongings had come as well, things she had forgotten having existed and things she wished she could forget. All of them sat untouched still, standing along the wall like soldiers facing down one of the Targaryean dragons on a battlefield. Rohana had not asked for them, nor had she wanted them, and yet here they were, a cold reminder of the woman she had once been and who she was forced to be again - because of him.

Wyllam’s indiscretions had become something of a party game for the maids to report back to her, starting with how he had apparently had an amorous rendezvous with a maid, unnamed of course, only minutes after their announced betrothal. Despite having not reacted outwardly to the accusation, there had been a sharp pain in her gut that had grown with each report of him having returned to fleabottom again and again, and again. What drew him there, she neither knew nor wished to know of, though she had begun to wonder if he had found himself a mistress there, some pretty Tyroshi woman, or a fair haired bar maid who served him strong wine without question. Thinking of them, of him, making a fool of her every night had turned her already stony heart bitter, only cured by the walks she took with Daena and Zeph in the gardens most evenings. Her cousin had proved himself to be somewhat decent for a man, though she still carried her ever present apprehensions on the matter, and any time spent with Daena was time that she cherished. Time she feared was quickly beginning to run out if she were not careful.

There had been a few times where her path had crossed with Wyllam Hightower, moments where they both looked at each other expecting something, only to be disappointed when they both continued on without speaking a word. Rohana still expected an apology from the brute, for how he had treated her upon their first meeting, and while she believed he was probably waiting for something similar, she did not intend to budge. In fact, she was willing to be dragged back to Oldtown without speaking another word to him until he decided to own up to his own actions. They may have been betrothed to one another, but there was no warmth or even sign that they were anything other than utter strangers who occasionally found themselves in the same room at the same time. If it came to it though, she would be the bigger person and speak first, if only to watch him stew in not having done it himself.

Eurybea and Rhaello’s wedding, it seemed, would be their first test of civility, as there would be expectations of them attending together and presenting themselves as if they were betrothed. Amicable presences between them would have to become the norm, and while she dested being seen as his future pretty little wife whom he would only go to in order to produce an heir, Rohana did respect some traditions. She would play her part and not bring him shame simply because she was not pleased with having been ordered to his side, she was not cruel in that sense, but she felt herself growing more sick to her stomach as she thought of what might occur once the ceremony was done. Would he leave her again to go to fleabottom and whoever it was that waited for him there? Would she be forced to hold her chin to the air and pretend she did not hear the whispers of what he had done in the past and what he would do in the future?

Surprisingly, to herself and probably anyone who might have known it, she hoped he would not. Rohana held some small, healed part of her heart that hoped they might at least learn to stand each other’s presence. They would not have to be friends, or love one another, but to be able to share in a discussion without spewed insults or short words felt reasonable enough. If she was to be the mother of his children one day...she wished to have something between them, just not hatred. That was why she had prepared herself early and made her way back to his temporary quarters, her hands holding the skirts of her deep scarlet gown off the floor as she came to a stop at his door.

Their last interaction there had not gone well, and she remembered the tears that had escaped when he had called her unlovable, when he had found her weakness and twisted his daggered words into it without mercy. That was the past though, and she tried to forget it as she rapped her knuckles against the wooden door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No answer came, instead only silence that made the pit in her stomach grow heavier. Again she knocked, waiting a shorter time before repeating the process. Was he truly ignoring her and refusing to come out and speak to her?

“Lady Rohana...Lord Hightower is not in,” the timid voice of a young page peeped up from a short ways down the hall. Her blue eyes shot to him, a silent question even the young boy could read as he bowed his head nervously. “He did not return the night before from his trip into the city.”

If words could wound a soul, hers had been torn to nothing but shreds of fabric, scattered in the wind as she gave a short nod and made her retreat further down the hall and towards where the carriage intended for both of them would be waiting. She did not let herself show any emotion when she had climbed inside, only letting her shoulders slump and her eyes water when the door was closed and they were traveling towards the sept. If he decided to show himself at the royal wedding, which she certainly hoped that he did, she was unsure of how she would react to seeing him, more than likely in the same state that he had been upon their first meeting - hungover and a complete mess.

Rohana tried not to think of that either, but when she arrived at the sept and saw him, waiting for her at the top of those towering steps, she could only think of him. Her anger was evident on her face as she approached, stopping just in front of him and giving his appearance a rather scathing inspection before finding his gaze. It would have been decent to offer some sort of curtsy or word of greeting, but her silence was enough to force anyone who might have been curious to look away.

“Did you enjoy yourself then? At whatever tavern you go to every night so you can make a fool out of me? I hope it is worth whatever coin you spend, Hightower,” Rohana practically hissed, her guard that had been so prepared to drop outside of his door throwing up every defense that she had, not even allowing her to accept how handsome he looked, or how she might have wished to be seen on his arm if he had been there to answer his door. “At least you had enough decency to show up here.”

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐑 𝐇 𝐀 𝐄 𝐋 𝐋 𝐎

xxxking of westeros // mentions: carrick // tags: bea

xxxThe fire danced in the autumn wind, and his violet eyes gazed into the embers with a glassy distance. Smoke plumed around him, carried off with the breeze. Rhaello stood alone on the shore of Blackwater Bay, the sun rising up over the Narrow Sea, red as blood. The sea was crimson and gold in the morning light, a flash of colour so intense it seemed otherworldly.

xxxHe sat on the cold, coarse sand as the sun rose, chasing the dark away. A red sky in the morning, a sailor's warning. Not the kind of day one would like for their own wedding; but Rhaello welcomed the sun nonetheless, saying silent prayers to R'hllor, and his eyes fixed on the flames of the fire that burned before him. Lord of Light, protect me. Guide me. Lead me through the dark. Overhead, Rue's jet-black wings pierced the smoke, as she made the steady descent from her morning flight to land neatly in the sand beside her companion. There was a moment of silence between man and beast; then the dragon nuzzled her head into the palm of the man's hand, his skin cold to the touch of her scales. Rhaello eventually turned his gaze back to the flames, and closed his prayers with a distant look in his eyes. The night is dark, and full of terrors.

xxxThe walk back towards the city gates felt lonely, though Rue soared above him and people surrounded him otherwise. The smallfolk cleared a path for him through the streets, out of fear or respect, or perhaps a combination of both. The bustling of people quietened wherever Rhaello went, though he knew what they all whispered. Kinslayer. They were right of course; but the accusation no longer had a sting to it. He walked, head held high, up through the stench of Flea Bottom and into the heart of the city like a ghostly shadow, dressed all in black and his white hair braided away from his face, those violet eyes haunted and distant.

xxxAs he came to the stone steps leading up to the Great Sept, Rhaello's thumb went to run over the familiar silver of his father's ring, only to be reminded once again that he had given his only adornment to Eurybea two weeks prior. The stairway was packed with people, smallfolk and noble alike, but they all quietened as he began to make the ascent, a sea of colours parting to make way for him. He spoke to none, though some held their hands out in greeting, to brush the wool of his black cloak. The grand doors at the building's entrance stood open to admit him, and Rue glided into the Sept like a sweeping shadow, her wings beating with such vigour that they almost extinguished the hundreds of candles that flickered beneath the Seven statues.

xxxHis footsteps echoed throughout the silent Sept, seemingly as the masses held their breath with his arrival. The nobles of each household in Westeros, save for the northerners that they were due to go to war against. He felt the hundreds of eyes watching him in apprehension, but he did not falter; this ceremony meant nothing to him. The only reason he still allowed the Sept to stand was because the majority of Westeros still believed in the Seven, and to openly dismantle the religion would throw him into a full-out civil war. No, this ceremony was to appease the people; certainly, Eurybea did not believe in the Seven, and Rhaello had only had faith in R'hllor the past decade. But neither the Drowned God nor the Lord of Light were worshipped by the masses, and it would only stir unrest if the king and queen were not bound together in the sights of the Seven.

xxxRhaello walked up to the raised dais in the heart of the Sept, and stood in sheer silence, his violet eyes empty of any outward emotion. The septon spoke in a long drawl, but the King did not listen to the echoing words, because the grand doors had opened once more, and there stood the loneliest woman in the world.

xxxShe is alone because of me. The thought had never occurred to him before, until his eyes rested on Eurybea Greyjoy standing by herself at the end of the aisle. No family left to give her away; the corpses of her father and a brother decaying in the depths of Shipwrecker's Bay, and the other brother as good as dead in the furthest reaches of Essos, sent into exile for betraying his family. Rhaello had never really, truly registered the loss of their families to be the result of each other. His own mother and brother rotting away along with the others in Shipwrecker's Bay. He thought on his father, who's pyre had hatched Rue as an egg; how he'd died in that bloody duel, the result of his refusal to let his second son ask an ironborn woman for her hand in marriage. How Rhaenaris had taken the crown and the throne and lost them both in an uprising fighting the father of the girl Rhaello had murdered his own father for. All of the blood that had been spilled, he'd started it all for a woman who didn't love him.

xxxAll for a woman who now walked towards him looking more like a ghost than a mortal being.

xxxWhen at last she had walked the length of the sept to stand up the dais, Rhaello couldn't tear his eyes from her. She had styled her dark hair in tight braids, made for warfare; and her usual black clothes had been replaced with the white muslin layers of a dress that was so wildly out of character for her, that it was only the storm grey of her eyes that made him certain that this was indeed Eurybea Greyjoy standing before him. But the irises that he knew to be dark and calculating seemed distant, and she looked anywhere but into the violet of his eyes. That stung more than any words she could have uttered; the quiet reluctance in her motions, the hesitation in her voice as she spoke the lines expected of her, as the black cloak with the golden kraken fell from her shoulders into a heap on the floor. For perhaps a moment too long, Rhaello looked at her. He half expected her to pull a knife from her sleeve and slit his throat then and there. But there was no knife; no other movement; only a dreadful sorrow in her eyes that made him feel ashamed.

xxxHe pulled off the cloak that hung over his shoulders, and swept it around Bea in one, fluid motion. It was not so dissimilar to hers, only for the silver dragon that clasped at the throat, and the crimson embroidery of the three-headed dragon on the back. He'd had it made for the occasion; he hadn't worn his family sigil for many years otherwise. It felt wrong to cloak her in the colours he himself had not worn for so long. The silver dragon clasped shut with a neat click, a sense of finality settling over the pair in that moment. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." Though he knew the words had to have come from his mouth, Rhaello stood drowning in those grey irises, as if nobody in the sept was present, not the false gods or the nobles, as if it was only her. "And I take you as my lady and wife."

xxxBea's lips were chapped. She smelled of rosewater; not the familiar salt of the sea. His hand had slipped into hers, callouses against callouses, and though the masses would never see or know, there was a slight tremble in both their hands. The very faintest tint of pink danced across his cheeks. As he withdrew his lips gently from hers, he lingered. So many things he wanted to say...

xxxThe septon went on, drawing the ceremony to a close. "One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

xxxForever. The word hung in the air.

xxxThe septon raised his hands and the crowd began to clap, and music rang out, loud and clear and jovial, and the tension that had engulfed the Sept initially seemed to lift as the grand doors opened into the afternoon sunlight. Outside, the smallfolk had congregated and played music as well, celebratory and bright.

xxx"The night is dark, and full of terrors," he whispered, "But I am glad to have you as a guiding light."

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐋 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀

xxxlady of storm's end // mentions: ozy, rhaello, bea // tags: arina, belle, oisin

xxxThe evening they had arrived in King's Landing had been interesting, if you were into political, court intrigue. Lina, however, was not generally interested in trivial gossip about this lord or that lady; but the night still allowed for open mingling between houses, a rare treat for the three Baratheon siblings to come to the capital to wreck havoc and give their parents a break from having to deal with their wild children. From the sidelines, Lina had watched the swirl of long skirts and the tinkling laughter of young ladies with a quiet sense of jealousy. These kind of social events had never been her strong suit, and she knew that the distinct curl of distaste on her lips was enough to scare anybody away from asking her out to dance. The music was lively and any disagreement about the betrothals announced by Rhaello earlier in the evening seemed to be forgotten, or at least, tolerated.

xxxShe was glad to have dodged the seemingly random pairings that the king had set out, matching Westeros’ nobles together like some kind of game. If there was some underlying intent behind it all, Lina did not understand it. Politics - like social gatherings - had never been a strength of hers. She’d sooner solve the realm’s issues with steel than sweet words.

xxxBut it seemed that the only people with steel at their hips that were the members of the Kingsguard who stood on the high dais or mingled among the masses. Across the courtyard, she had seen Oisin laughing with Ethel Errol, the lady of Haystack Hall and one of House Baratheon’s vassals. She’d always thought that her brother was too good at heart to be a member of the Kingsguard, but there was no question that the war hammer strapped over his back was one of the most lethal weapons in the hands of a man who towered over his opponents. Sometimes Lina thought that her older siblings had stolen all the height genes for themselves, leaving her about as tall as a pixie.

xxxWatching Ethel Errol laugh at something Oisin had said brought a grimace of jealousy to Lina’s face. The lady’s laugh was light and sweet, where Lina’s was coarse and loud. They were two peas in a pod, she thought, and she felt a twinge of envy at that too. And Ethel Errol’s dress was pretty - even somebody who lacked fashion sense as Lina did could see that - and her hair was in a fancy up-do that made the Baratheon girl’s head hurt at the intricacy of it. Not for the first time, she felt self-conscious about her own appearance. The dark blue dress she wore was as simple as that of a peasant’s, lacking embroidery or encrusted jewels. A simple yarn tied over her flat chest, and though the fabric hugged her body neatly, she did not have any of the feminine curves that the other ladies showed off with their rich dresses - Lina had only a cruel burn that ran up her arm and left her skin ruined, and a mean slash across her cheek that was still healing from a scrap in the yard. She was even aware that her black hair was dull and lifeless in its simple braid. She felt sneers from the prissy, well-dressed women around her, and that only made her expression harder and colder.

xxxFrom across the courtyard, her blue irises landed on a familiar face; Ozy Lannister, golden and bright in his fancy clothes. If her expression before had been sharp and cold, it became bitter then. He was talking to a beautiful lady in a rich, purple velvet dress, her shiny chestnut hair in some impossibly intricate braid and set with a golden diadem. Her laugh was a pretty twinkling; her air was ladylike and delicate. She looked just right beside the young Lannister man, the two of them beautiful and refined, like two subjects ready to be painted by some grand master. The sight of it made Lina's lip curl in a slight scowl, as she brought the goblet of wine to her lips and took a hefty swig. Ozy was an entitled, spoilt brat, not unlike the rest of the Lannister family from what she could tell. Any time their paths had crossed before, he had been quick-witted enough to respond to her snide remarks, and he hadn't run off crying at her mean jabs, which was more than could be said about the other green-as-summer boys she'd encountered at court. Seeing him so easily settled into the social circles of King's Landing forced her to feel a pang of jealousy at how simple it was for him.

xxxHer brief time on the sidelines that night had been shadowed by the sheer mischief that she and her other two siblings had gotten into. Well, the mischief she and Bellerophon had gotten into; Arina was the wary voice of reason as always, but a participant in their shenanigans nonetheless. The three had danced to the music together, laughing and taunting each other, cutting moves that made the nobility around them drop their jaws in shock at the sheer audacity. The wine poured into their chalices frequently to the point that Lina was singing - badly - with Belle to some old sea shanties, like two crows cawing, as Arina laughed at the ridiculous sight of the pair trying to hook their arms over each other's shoulders.

xxxThe next few days had been spent nursing a dreadful hangover; but once she'd recovered, Lina spent the following days in the autumnal gardens with Arina, discussing their luck in having dodged Rhaello's list of betrothals. Though she was aware of her sister's seeming unattainable hand in marriage, Lina had still wondered how she had dodged even the swarm of suitors that night; there were various other engagements announced in the days that followed Rhaello's initial announcement, but Arina's name was not among them.

xxxThe day of Rhaello's wedding to Eurybea Greyjoy came around quickly; two weeks from the day it was made official, the couple were exchanging cloaks. The prospect that a marriage could come about so quickly was starling to Lina, but she wasn't concerned about herself - she had been scaring boys off since she was old enough to know what marriage meant. She wasn't even really worried about Belle either; he quite fancied himself as a knight in shining armour, thus, he'd no doubt swoop in to save a damsel in distress, if she owned his heart. But as far as she knew, neither Belle nor Arina had their heart set on anybody, and as they all congregated together in the Great Sept, Lina gave her siblings and the surrounding nobles a good glance over.

xxxShe hadn't really paid much attention to the whole ceremony; it was just the same as any other wedding, really, nor matter who stood on the dais. Once again, she felt under-dressed in contrast to the nobles standing around her, who were suddenly bursting into clapping and cheering. She supposed that was indication that the ceremony was over, and the king walked down the aisle hand-in-hand with his new bride. She joined in with the clapping, eager to get out of the stuffy sept and into the open air. The flow of people moved towards the great open doors, and Lina had to hook her arms with Arina and Belle to avoid getting lost - or worst, trampled, for she was certainly amongst the shortest of all the wedding guests. "Well, there's about as much love in that marriage as there is between me and embroidery," she muttered to her siblings, though it was hard not to raise her voice to talking level, given the bustling of people around them. "And I mean that; it looks like they've got the emotional range of a thimble. How dull. At least they know how to throw a good party."

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐂 𝐀 𝐑 𝐑 𝐈 𝐂 𝐊

xxxcaptain of winter's whisper // mentions: rhaello, bea // tags: mysaria

xxxKing's Landing was the same miserable pit he remembered from years gone by. Thankfully, he had not had any reason to return to the capital since the last Ironborn uprising. Carrick Greyjoy had sailed off for Essos, without a backward glance at the wreckage he was leaving behind - his family dead, save for his sister, who would take the Salt Throne no doubt for her own, and the fleet in ruins after the heavy conflict. Rhaello had taken great damages as well, of course, but Carrick himself left the final battlefield relatively unscathed.

xxxHe had sworn then, on his parting voyage, that he would not return to Westeros - there was nothing left for him here. Eurybea hated his guts; he could never sail on Ironman Bay again, given his outright betrayal to his people and family. He had made one promise to Rhaello on departure; that he would return only for his friend's wedding.

xxxCarrick was not generally a particularly honest, reliable or truthful person; but he was loyal, at least, to those that had earned it. Thus, when word reached him in the city of Lys that his oldest friend was to wed the Lady Reaper, Carrick had promptly set sail for King's Landing with a party of sellswords - just in case - and his own fiancee.

xxxThe news didn't come as a shock, rather, a laughable surprise. It was no secret (at least, to Carrick and a select few others) that Rhaello had always wanted to marry Eurybea, since they met at that gods-awful party. He'd gone so far as to challenge his own father to single combat, starting a domino-effect of events that would ultimately lead to the division of House Greyjoy and the near-destruction of House Targaryen. In his opinion, Eurybea wasn't really anything special, but Carrick had never had any success in changing Rhaello's mind. Probably the most surprising element of the engagement was that Bea had actually agreed to it.

xxxThe Great Sept had been practically filled to capacity when he and Mysaria had arrived to claim their places. They hadn't received an official invitation, but the guards by the door admitted them with recognition upon seeing Carrick and the mean scar that marred his face. Hand in hand with Mysaria, the couple took their place in the swarm of nobility. A few hushed whispers and pointed fingers in his direction and the unfamiliar beauty at his side; Mysaria's platinum white hair was impossible to miss in the crowd, but the Lysene woman was not known by Westerosi courts. He wove his arm about her waist, calloused hand resting natural and easy on her hip, and did not bother to entertain the whispers by addressing them - instead, he leaned in close to his betrothed with a sly smirk, murmuring in her ear as lovers did.

xxx"I think you're stealing the bride's limelight," Carrick tilted his head up the aisle as Eurybea entered the Sept - though numerous eyes were still flickering to the Lysene woman at his side, rather than the woman who was due to be queen. His dark irises followed Bea up the aisle towards the dais, where Rhaello stood waiting; the chap could have expressed some kind of emotion, surely. The Greyjoy man watched his sister step up onto the dais, and was practically yawning at how incredibly dull the whole ceremony was. It seemed ridiculous for them to even be getting married in a Sept, given the fact that Rhaello (very publicly) did not believe in the Seven, favouring the Lord of Light instead, and Bea had obviously been raised in the faith of the Drowned God. The whole thing was bizarre but disinteresting, even with the black dragon looming above on the shoulder of the The Stranger.

xxxThankfully, the ceremony itself was prompt and swift, and the king and queen-to-be kissed (a lingering kiss, Carrick thought with amusement at the look on Rhaello's face). Music erupted around the Sept and beyond in the streets, and everybody was clapping and cheering. Keeping one arm about Mysaria's waist, Carrick raised his other hand to cast a celebratory whistle deafeningly out across the Sept. Bea would never have thought he'd be back in Westeros, and Rhaello had probably brushed aside the sworn oath of returning, so his presence there was likely to surprise them both.

xxxLeaning into Mysaria's side, he gave his companion a sly grin, brushing a stray wisp of white hair away from her face and tucking it gently behind her ear, before whispering like sin. "This is where the fun begins."

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐑

xxxlord of harlaw // mentions: bea, rhaello, minerva, carrick, mysaria // tags: azariah

xxxThe two weeks following Rhaello's announcements went by in a flash. Every day, Torr woke on the familiar bunk on board Bea's ship, and every day, he would make the trek up through the stinking city of King's Landing, through the Red Keep, to meet with the Lady Reaper. Every day, he expected her to have concocted some cunning plan to get them out of this hell-hole and back on the open sea, preferably with the king deposed.

xxxEvery day, he was met with the same hard expression that yielded no such optimism.

xxxWhen at last the day of the wedding came around, Torr had dragged himself up through from the docks, into Flea Bottom, and up towards the Great Sept, with Minerva in tow. She had been equally displeased at the lack of action on Bea's part. While Minerva had spent the passing days with Bea in her new chambers in the Red Keep, Torr had spent the time trying to distract himself from the sense of impending doom. At one point, he'd been so desperate to escape the city that he'd purposefully mounted up on his horse and went to go out the city gates, only to have a swarm of gold cloaks chase him back into the capital's confines. That had left a sour taste in his mouth, and when he told Eurybea about it, her eyes had darkened in quiet fury, but nothing came of it.

xxxThe one saving grace was that at least some people in King's Landing weren't totally insufferable. Among the few was Daena Velayron, whose gentle nature seemed like a golden beacon in a city filled with liars. Since the first evening with Rhaello's announcements, Torr and the Lady of Driftmark had bumped into each other a number of times in the Red Keep. Their conversations were filled with enthusiastic tales of valour and exploration, and they were something to look forward to, something for Torr to seek out with purpose. They had even played cyvasse a few times in the gardens; she was ridiculously good at it too, and no matter how many times he lost, Torr was keen to play again. He asked her about the man she was too marry, and was relieved to hear that she was content, even happy, at the prospect.

xxxThe topic of Torr's engagement was in a fairly positive light as well. Azariah Uller had become a swift friend, a fierce companion, and he was glad that they were on the same sinking ship together, or the dragon's next roasty toasty dinner, a phrase which had become a quiet running joke between them. He was relieved to find that Azariah didn't seem to care about his rough-and-tumble nature, in fact, she was curious about it; he'd spent the past week teaching her how to throw an axe and a punch with equal malice, and she was good at it. So good, in fact, that he'd earned himself an accidental bruise on his cheek from lazily avoiding one of her punches. With the departure of most of the Lannister party and the Dornish, Azariah was left with little company, and Torr was content to spend time together with her. There was a brutal honesty between them that was not unlike the friendship he had with Minerva and Bea.

xxxAs the two Ironborn arrived at the Great Sept, Minerva reluctantly went off to be with the Banefort boy she'd been thrown into engagement with, leaving Torr to find his own place among the pristine nobility. His expression was dark and cold - he hadn't expected Bea to actually follow through with this whole situation. Even now, he still half expected her to gate crash her own wedding and send the whole Sept up in smokes. Self-conscious of his appearance, Torr rubbed at his long dark cloak, straightening his posture. He'd made as much effort as he could, but he still looked out of place, even in his clean clothes and fresh buzz-cut trim. It wasn't hard to find Azariah, thankfully - she was always striking in beautiful clothes at formal occasions, but he had come to recognise her sweep of dark hair just as easily. Slipping to be by her side, he offered her a small smile, genuine, if a little hesitant, given the situation. "You scrub up well," he said over the bustling of people around them. Moments later, the ceremony was due to begin, as Rhaello first took his place on the dais at the heart of the Sept, soon followed by Eurybea walking down the aisle.

xxxShe made that walk alone, and it broke his heart. The slight smile that had slipped over his lips upon finding Azariah had faded to a frown. Dark brows furrowed together in furious bitterness; Rhaello had killed so many of their kinsmen, and Eurybea was giving her fleet to him without a fight. His hope that she'd throw the marriage cloak back in that brat's face - or better yet, throw a good punch and break his stupid nose - was short-lived. Bea went through the entire ceremony with only a hint of hesitation, pressing her lips to Rhaello's and swearing the oaths. Was it binding if the people getting married didn't believe in the Seven? That was the only loophole Torr could see, but as the septon announced the couple - couple - to be officially married, Torr had to bite his tongue to avoid spitting. His foul expression was ridiculous in comparison to the surrounding nobles, who cheered and clapped in celebration. A deafening whistle rang out through the cheering, drawing Torr's eyes across the sept to its source.

xxxCarrick Greyjoy was directly across the room, with a beautiful blonde woman at his side, his arm around her waist, and a lazy grin of satisfaction of his lips as his whistling drew to a close. If Torr's expression had been hard before, it was nothing short of wicked now, as his blood boiled beneath his skin and his lips curled back to bare his teeth. His hands had clenched into tight fists, and he was about to storm across the sept and knock the prat's lights out, when a hand clasped about his wrist. Minerva had appeared again from the masses with a warning look on her face. "I'll knock him back into the sea, that wicked little-"

xxxMinerva hissed, squeezing his wrist with narrowed eyes. "At least save it until Bea's out in the open. If she sees him here, she might want the pleasure of knocking him out herself."

xxxSeething, Torr wrenched his arm free of Minerva's grip, as the Ironborn woman scuttled off to Banefort's side again. The crowd was beginning to move now as well, to make their way back to the Red Keep. He remained rooted to the tiled floor, his hands still clenched tight. It took several moments for him to realise that Azariah was still by his side, and he forced himself to calm slightly, if only for a few moments to explain his reaction. They began to walk, going with the flow of the crowd towards the door - Carrick and the blonde woman had been lost among the masses. "Sorry," he muttered, his tone dark and his mood darker. "That was Carrick Greyjoy across the Sept. Traitorous brat -" He proceeded to swear profusely, before finally getting back to the point. "Anyway. Remember that axe-throwing technique I was showing you? And the way to punch somebody taller than you? Bear those in mind."

[fortissimo]

𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍
house tully | location: the great sept of baelor | tags: roselyn | mentions: rhaello, bea, lyanna

indentThough it had been a fortnight already, it seemed as if that fateful night, that promise to an old friend made in secret, had happened yesterday, the days since then passing by like a drunken dream. The only thing Austen remembered from the remainder of the evening was returning to the courtyard, a faux smile plastered on his face as he stood next to his future good-father, who had announced the news loudly and drunkenly to anyone who cared to hear about it — which Austen doubted anyone had, considering the more… exciting announcements made earlier, especially the king’s betrothal. A lord marrying a member of one of his vassal houses seemed insignificant and unsurprising in comparison, even if it was a Lord Paramount. Regardless, he remembered the forced pleasantries and congratulations exchanged with the other guests afterwards, and, more than that, he recalled being far more sober for the occasion than he would have liked, as the ever-growing familiar pit of dread had not left him at all that evening.

indentThe next few days thereafter had been spent mostly in his temporary solar, the excuse of handling work that needed his utmost attention at once ever on his lips when any interloper dared to interrupt. While Austen had felt guilty for not paying more attention to his newly betrothed, it was a necessary evil and the safest option at the time — for himself and especially for his treacherous, treasonous heart which sang for only one woman. He was quite sure the foolhardy Yronwood lordling still wished bodily harm upon him, so he’d done his best to steer clear and avoid trouble when it was actively seeking him out, especially as this was King’s Landing, not the Riverlands. Thankfully, as the nights flew by, some of the Dornish party had departed the capital by now - said man included - and it was only after that when Austen started to stray further from his room. Cowardly? Maybe, but also the wisest course of action. He didn’t pick fights he couldn’t win. And besides that, the more time he spent around Roselyn now that they were engaged, the more likely he was to yearn for it to be real, and then he would regret his involvement in their little scheme and that simply wasn’t fair to her, not when she deserved her freedom.

indentEven now, he could remember his mother’s baffled face when he’d told her of the news. He suspected she had plenty of questions, especially considering his previous vehemence against the very notion of marriage, but she knew better than to question her blessings and, while he had thrown himself into business that he ought to attend to while in the kingdom’s capital (was any of it truly that pressing? No, but he kept that little tidbit to himself; he needed something to distract himself), she had fully dedicated herself to wedding planning. The first time she’d come up to inquire on his opinion and interrupt his work, asking him whether cream or ecru was more suitable for ceremony decorations, he’d given her such an impassive look that she had quickly retreated and declared she would ask the bride-to-be instead, and thereafter the Lady Tully had thankfully left him well enough alone. Since then, it was really no secret amongst the party from the Riverlands that he was leaving practically all of the wedding planning to his future wife.

indentReally, Austen was sure he would be happy with whatever made Roselyn happy — even if the entire occasion was no more than a farce. He had no spectacular, grandiloquent vision of what their ceremony should be like; he had never given much thought to his dream wedding because he had not believed he would ever marry! On the rare occasion when his fiancée would peek in on him to ask for his opinion on something, she always seemed contrite and sheepish, and he wondered as to her feelings on the matter. They’d agreed on this arrangement together but nevertheless, he couldn’t help but think that she might be having second thoughts about marrying him — no doubt it would serve as another painful reminder that she couldn’t be with the one her heart truly belonged to. Speaking of whom, Fionn, for his part, had been a surprisingly good sport about everything, congratulating the new ‘couple’ with not a single indication of jealousy or resentment for Austen’s good fortune and otherwise steering clear of the whole affair — understandable, given his white cloak duties. Sometimes Austen really had to wonder about his brother’s acting skills, though he supposed the other was acting like a true Tully trout, going with the flow rather than fighting the tide.

indentMost nights, instead of sleeping, he would stay up thinking about Roselyn and the paths that they had both taken to lead them here. It was some strange twist of fate that not a month ago he’d been actively doing his best to ignore her and block out her presence from his mind, and now they were engaged. There was, perhaps, some irony to be found in the situation. No doubt a cruel god was laughing at him now. And then, inevitably his thoughts would drift to how foolish and pitiful he was, secretly harboring the tiniest of hopes that she might actually grow to care for him in the same vein he did her — and then… and then it wouldn’t be fake, and maybe they would get their happily ever after, after all.

indentSuch thoughts would, inevitably, bleed into his work during the day, and he felt the need to bang his head against the wall every time his mind wandered aimlessly in that direction. His headache had only momentarily subsided when he’d received a raven from Riverrun passing onto him a hearty message of goodwill and felicitations from the Free Cities, and he remembered cracking a smile at the idea of the rumor mill spreading as far as Essos, to his childhood friend’s ears, and how the former Bracken must have fallen over himself in his haste to send appropriate congratulations.

indentIn the end, while some of the guests had left King’s Landing in lieu of remaining for the royal wedding, Austen had stayed behind. There was nothing so pressing that it needed to be seen to in person back at Riverrun, and his brother was here. Besides that, it was natural - expected, even - for the Lords Paramount to attend and represent their respective regions. Not that such an unspoken rule would drag the wolves from their Northern seat to the capital, he suspected. Even as week after week passed, none of the Starks had come to bend the knee to the dragon king, and this was another thought that had been troubling him lately, as only a blind fool could not see that war loomed dangerously on the horizon. It seemed the dogs (or wolves, as they likened themselves) had forgotten how to recognize their own master, blinded as they were by the not-princess’s promises that she’d no doubt whispered poisonously into their ears.

indentAusten had risen earlier than usual this morning and, even at such an hour, the keep was filled with clamour and excitement as servants rushed back and forth to make any finishing touches before the ceremony. For the occasion, he was dressed in clothing more formal than his usual everyday wear, his doublet proudly bearing the signature red and blue of the Tully sigil so that none, not even a disrespectful Dornishman, could mistake his identity or ranking. And while he thought to greet Roselyn and escort her to the sept himself, some part of him hesitated outside her chambers. Would she just assume it was for show, another fabricated gesture to enhance their deception, or would she see it for what it truly was — his desire to spend more time with her? Ultimately, after shuffling on the balls of his feet for some time, a servant had taken pity on him and assumed he didn’t know the way to the ceremony (a laughable mistake, but not one he’d bothered to correct) and had herded him in said direction before he could think on it too hard.

indentInside the sept, Austen had quickly joined his brother and the rest of what remained of the Riverlands party, then took his time to look around. There were plenty in attendance but he suspected the wedding would still, undoubtedly, turn out to be a dull affair, in part thanks to the dour groom’s banal tastes, and overshadowed as it already was by the persistent threat of war with the North. He half-wondered if the wedding had been done so hastily as to solidify the alliance between the Iron Islands and the crown before fighting truly broke out.

indentHe surprised himself when the caustic thought came to mind that he hoped his and Roselyn’s wedding would be a more celebratory, happy occasion, when he had dared not to think about it at all until now. An ill-advised line of thinking (though, that always seemed to be the case with Roselyn, didn’t it?) when their engagement was nothing more than a ruse.

indentAusten’s attention was soon snatched away from the celebration when he heard his brother addressing Roselyn. Turning to face her, half-fearful of what expression she might be wearing, he courteously returned her curtsy with a bow of his own, and tried his best to smile. “Hello, Rosie. You look beautiful today,” he remarked sincerely, having started to use the affectionate childhood sobriquet more often since the feast from a fortnight ago. Though he had no eye for fashion, the compliment was genuine; he truly thought the color suited her. At her next words, his expression morphed into an apologetic one and he shook his head. “My apologies if I have made you feel neglected. Of course I must attend to my duties but you, as my fiancée, always come first. If you ever have need of me, don’t hesitate to let me know.” The word “fiancée” still sounded foreign coming from his lips, at least when he was referring to himself, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to saying it. The reminder of their own wedding was a surprise, though not an unwelcome one, and he supposed he should have asked her how much headway had been made into planning it. Before he could, though, she had leaned in - his eyes briefly flew to her lips, closer as they now were, before snapping back to her gray ones, daring not to look away this time lest he give himself away (but had he not already done so? Had he not already entrusted his heart to Roselyn so many years ago?) - to whisper an apology and he’d admittedly blinked in surprise.

indentWhat was she apologizing for? For dragging him into this mess they’d made together? He hoped that was not the case; it took two to tango and he was just as much to blame as her. Or was she starting to regret it already? Although their engagement was duplicity, the thought still hurt that she didn’t want him. Nevertheless, out loud he said, “You have no need to apologize.” And it was the truth, as far as he was concerned. His eyes dared not waver from her own as they had before, but he couldn’t help but notice from the corners that she had raised one hand as if debating whether to take his arm. When she chose to lower it instead, he somehow felt disappointed that she had not gone through with it. Still, it wasn’t like he could force her to take his arm, not unless he wanted to chase her away, so he instead allowed silence to befall them as, before he could think of anything more to say, the ceremony had begun in earnest and the bride had entered alone.

indentAusten watched the proceedings with what could ultimately be described as disinterest in his eyes. It was lovely, sure, but it certainly didn’t hold a torch to the historical Golden Wedding, and he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the poor Greyjoy woman who was to become Rhaello’s bride. His eyes narrowed briefly when they exchanged vows under the Seven, half-expecting the couple to be struck by lightning from the intervention of a timely god at any moment for heresy, invoking the names of a pantheon they did not even believe in to bless their love and future together, but no such thing.

indentHe wondered if his own wedding would end in such a fate. Would the Seven look down upon him for participating in a sham marriage? Would the Maiden punish him for it, or the Stranger? Who should he even pray to for clemency, in this case?

indentOnce the septon had finished speaking, Austen clapped - mostly because it was the polite thing to do - and glanced back at Roselyn, wondering how she had taken the whole event. Although he thought it might be best not to mention their own wedding for the time being, he couldn’t help the question that came to mind: “You don’t regret anything, do you? About… us?” He’d had to leave the question intentionally vague while they were still in a crowd, enraptured though they were by the royal couple, but he suspected she knew what he meant. There was a loud, unbecoming whistle from somewhere in the gathered audience but he paid little mind to it as he waited for Roselyn’s response, not suspecting it to be anything of import.

[radio.active.]

𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

queen of westeros and the iron islands ֎֎֎ the great sept of baelor
tags; rhaello targaryen ֎֎֎ mentions; the smallfolk, the nobles, carrick greyjoy

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indentFor a moment, Bea’s eyes met Rhaello’s, and she was suddenly lost in the violet haze. No longer was she alone in a hostile land, pledging empty vows written by gods she didn’t even believe in. It was a blissfully unexpected moment in which she finally felt her shoulders settle and her brow soften in spite of it all as she allowed herself a little room for such an act. Though she couldn’t quite decide if it was a good or bad thing, the emotion shifted only a moment later as he draped her in the warmth of his cloak. It was warm and soft and all the comforting embrace that she would never have expected from a Targaryen. For another blissful moment, there wasn’t a single thought in her mind but of the soft weight of the material and the seemingly ever-present scent of cinders and… sea salt?

indentShe should have expected as much. Although the role of a king greatly limited the opportunities, he was still a sailor, so the scent of the sea wafting off of his clothing should not have come as a surprise. It was comforting in a way, though even the threat of torture could not get Bea to admit it. On that night they first met, she had burst into a fit of laughter at some snarky comment he had made, though it hardly differed from any other the pair had spat between them throughout the evening. By that point in the night, Bea was sure that she had imbibed too much even for an Ironborn, and what little reservations she possessed had been thrown out the window. Her hand had grasped his bicep to steady herself as she keeled into him and found herself enveloped with those intertwined scents of smoke and seawater.

indentThe sensation of his kiss was a complete shock to her system in a way that reminded her far too much of her baptismal blessing. That heart wrenching panic the moment before as her lungs constricted with fear and emptiness, the painful rush of adrenaline through her bones as they finally filled with air. But her ritual baptism, the ceremony in which she was held beneath the waves to be at the mercy of the Drowned God’s will, had somehow been less terrifying than this moment. She had been home then, in the practiced hands of the Drowned Acolyte whose kiss had wrenched her from the brink of death. Here, she was surrounded by lords and ladies that would likely rather kill her themselves. For a brief moment, though, Bea wondered which role Rhaello hoped to play.

indentBea thought she knew the answer to that question, that it was clear to even a blind man that Rhaello would force her head underwater the moment the opportunity presented itself. But as she suddenly became aware of his hand enveloping hers, she doubted her confidence in that assumption. His hand shook almost imperceptibly, and Bea was only a little surprised to find that hers were as well. It had to have been an illusion created by her conscience as it sought to relive those easier days.

indentBut her confidence was wavering as she became both uncomfortably aware and effectively numb. She could not recall the remainder of the ceremony, save for the brief moment in which she pulled away from the kiss and noticed what she would swear for the rest of her life was a faint blush coloring his pale cheeks. But surely it had been the light from these ridiculous stained glass panels, or maybe even these seven gods tricking her for her blatant disregard of their customs. Anything was more likely than Rhaello still harboring feelings for her.

indentRight?

indentBefore she could dissolve into another spiraling descent, the septon turned the pair to face the gathered nobles. Her throat constricted as her eyes adjusted to the glittering colors cast by the stained glass and she was finally able to pick out individual faces amongst the crowd. Dislike and faux cheer were aplenty, though none were so bold as Torr's stony expression of disgust sent sharp pains rocketing through her heart. Suddenly overwhelmed with pain and shame, she turned her attention to the other collection of nobles where the brilliant blonde locks of an unknown woman consumed her focus. The woman was Lysene if the beautiful and elegant gown she wore was any indicator, but before she could ponder it much further her eyes trained on the man beside her.

indentAll of a sudden, the ghosts of her past swarmed her. He was focused on the woman beside him, and his appearance had changed over the years, but he was still the same man she had known since birth. Her fingers flexed, digging into Rhaello’s bicep as a horde of emotions came crashing down on her like storm-wrought waves on Wavebreaker’s decks. The absolute, unadulterated gall of this man for daring to return to Westeros, much less the very sept that held her wedding. Her hands shook - as did her feet, she noticed - as the newlywed pair descended the dais and walked for the doorway out of this suffocating chapel.

indentBreathe in, twelve steps to the doors. Breathe out, eight steps. Breathe in, the swirling breeze brushed her cheeks. Breathe out, they stepped into the brilliant afternoon sun. She had to stay calm. Attacking a guest at her own wedding would only make matters infinitely worse. So much attention had been focused on her lungs that she almost missed Rhaello’s hushed words.

indentThe night is dark and full of terrors. It was no secret that Rhaello had abandoned the Faith of the Seven in favor of the Red God of Essos, but the almost-foreign words of prayer still caught her off guard. Only vague memories of expeditions to the continent across the Narrow Sea identified them as the prayer they were. “I have found that the most terrible things often appear in the light of day,” she said almost inaudibly as her mind still thought back to her brother’s familiar figure among the crowd. “I figured that much was clear, given that they can all see you and I.” And I can see them.

indentBut I am glad to have you as a guiding light. The final words, a deviation from the traditional prayer, hung in the heavy silence between them. What did he mean by such a thing? Her instinct called it a mockery, or an effort to lull her into a sense of security. She couldn’t stop the floodgates now. Did he have something to do with Carrick returning? They had been close before the rebellions, had they maintained connections even after the fact? Did they intend to kill her? Their father had never officially disowned Carrick, meaning he still had an entitlement to call a kingsmoot and claim the Seastone Chair for himself. And now that their houses were bound legally and religiously (nevermind that neither families worshipped the Seven), the Crown could lay claim to the Iron Fleet even with an unfulfilled marriage.

indentA sudden sense of calm washed over her as they entered the carriage, settling in before her husband - by the God, that word would certainly take getting used to. If they didn’t kill her first.

indentWhen the door was securely latched behind them and the carriage itself trundling down Visenya’s Hill and along the King’s Way, she sprang against him. She planted her forearm to his throat and drew the short blade hidden in her skirts, holding it at her sternum. Curse her maids for designing a gown that limited her defenses in such a way.

indent“Did you think that I wouldn’t notice him? That I couldn’t recognize my own flesh and blood or that beacon of a woman on his arm?” The words slipped between them in a feral hiss, followed by a staccato bark of a laugh as she continued. “By the Drowned God, you must be a dunce if you thought that I would be charmed by a grand title and a kiss. Perhaps I’ll leave your conspirators the gift of your heart on a platter?”

[archeron.]

𓅃 𓅃 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house mallister . location: great sept . tags: austen. mentions: fionn, rheva ]

The thought that had most often crossed her mind regarding Austen was the question of if he were happy or not. There were very few times that she had seen him, and the smile that was so befitting of him was hardly ever present, even when the topic of their conversation was meant to be something that brought joy to the both of them. Their wedding hardly seemed to bring joy to either of them. Each decision that she made felt as though it were wrong, and when she did manage to bring an opinion from her betrothed it felt as if she were forcing him to take part in a game he had no real interest in. Austen hid himself away dealing with business, and she could not bring herself to interrupt him for matters that had not even been a desire of his in the first place. In a way Roselyn felt as if she were nothing but a burden on him now, even more so than she had been when his mother had told him to talk to her on the ride to King’s Landing. That fact had come out when Lady Tully had brought samples of cloth for Roselyn to see for her wedding gown, and when the bright woman had left she had wept until dinner, her words replaying in her mind like a horrible song.

“I am simply thrilled that my telling Austen to speak to you brought about happiness for the both of you.”

She tried not to think of that again as she stood before him, forcing herself to feel as if she belonged with them instead of sitting alone - seeing as her father had returned to his seat the first chance he could. Hearing the nickname that he had so fondly used throughout their childhood only sank the knife deeper, and some horrible thought made her wonder if he was mocking her in ways that were more subtle than simply saying what he wanted. Since their announcement to marry, distinguishing between what was truly his feelings and what was what she wished them to be had become increasingly more difficult. As if it had not been before. Her stumbled words only served to make a massive fumble of their first real outing together, and his apology only settled her guilt deeper within herself, sealing it into something that would be impossible to uproot fully. The word fiance struck her though, causing her eyes to dart to his as if expecting him to change the word to something else, but he did not, and for the first time she held the title as her own. Years had passed where she had dreamed of being Austen Tully’s anything, but now that they were tied to one another with the promise of marriage, she felt as though it had not been given to her, instead like she had stolen it from another. He would not be happy with her, which was all that she had ever wanted for him.

Her apology and attempt at drawing closer to him again floundered, his dismissal of her words only leading her to feel worse about the whole situation. Roselyn simply did not know how to be his betrothed in a false engagement. The lines were not drawn so that she could easily see them, instead they were blurred or just nonexistent and she feared if she were to step on one that whatever affection might still exist between them would be gone. Thankfully there was not much time left for them to think on how many blunders they had both exchanged because the ceremony was beginning and they were quickly finding their place, watching as their new queen began the slow trek to meet her husband. Roselyn watched her, feeling a pang of sympathy towards a woman she had been jealous of only weeks ago, and wondered if she too would feel the same as Eurybea did facing her fate. In her mind she had always imagined her wedding to be a joyous celebration at Riverrun, with everyone who held any meeting to either Austen or herself in attendance. There would be music and a grand feast, but before all of that she would walk down the aisle and be greeted by a husband who loved her without question. That vision seemed further away than even a dream now, and she pushed those longing wishes away in favor of watching the solemn ceremony.

In the end she clapped, not because she felt any sort of excitement for the new couple, but because she knew if she did not that perhaps she might meet her end staring into the maw of a dragon. Her smile had faded though, and the daunting night of another feast already was laying heavy on her shoulders. Most of her familiar friends had left, leaving only Austen and Fionn as her prospects for company, but that horrid thought of only being a bother kept her from having the same excitement as before. Her mind was certainly elsewhere as the crowd began to murmur and speak, filling the great sept with noise, enough so that she missed most of the processional leaving the sept. Her eyes were still locked on the dais where the exchanging of words had happened, but they flickered when Austen’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd to reach her ears. A few blinks were all she gave as his question registered in her mind, the realization that he was not asking solely about their looming marriage hitting her square in the gut.

“I...I very much regret not having gone back to Riverrun after I left,” she started, not really sure where the truth was coming from or how best to stop it. “I was foolish and had hoped that you might have come to visit me, but by the time that I had gathered the courage to do so myself Erac had proposed marrying me to my father. I had...imagined someone else in his place.”

Roselyn’s eyes fell away from him as she swallowed deeply, forcing herself to think of her words before she spoke them, but her lips had long abandoned her thoughts in their moment of freedom.

“I do not regret having asked you to marry me,” she whispered, the ball swelling up in her throat and making it difficult to continue. “I...I regret that it was not because you wished for it though. I feel as if I have taken something from you that should have been given to another, and I am sorry for that.”

“Do you? Regret what is...what we are? Your mother told me that...that when you spoke to me on the King's Road it was because of her bidding. I never-I never meant for you to feel as if you owed me anything, Austen.”

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐔 𝐑 𝐒 𝐀

xxxdaughter of winterfell // mentions: elio, lucis, rhaello // tags: kaelyn

xxxThe journey south had been surprisingly kind. Ursa firmly believed that the Old Gods had blessed the venture out of sheer spite and vengeance; that her fury was as much her own as it was theirs. Her parents had forbidden her from running south, but the wicked shriek for revenge in her heart had spurned her onwards. They laid Wren to rest in the crypt, and she'd cried icy tears at the base of his tomb for three days before dragging herself back above ground. That very night, she'd fled Winterfell with her direwolf at her heels. A bag of essentials and a thick cloak was all she had needed, and her horse. But when she'd entered the stables, she found the mare already tacked, and Kaelyn holding the reins; and leading two more horses out of stalls was Elio Martell and Lucis Dayne.

xxxShe'd been shocked speechless at the sight of them all together, and she'd felt the burn of tears prickling at her eyes. In truth, she had thought she had no tears left to shed. She pulled Kaelyn into a suffocating hug, burying her face in the shoulder of her closest friend. I can't believe you were going to leave to assassinate him without us. Elio had laughed heartily as if they were all about to commit treason and worse. But there was a comfort in his confidence, and she had hugged the two Dornishmen tight as well in a wordless thanks.

xxxThey'd boarded the first ship south at White Harbour, and the winds were kind enough to carry them swift and sure into Blackwater Bay ten days later. In those ten days, Ursa had thought on little else other than the ways in which she could make Rhaello Targaryen suffer. She was grateful to have Elio; he was familiar with King's Landing, both the savoury and less pleasant parts of the city. They'd docked late at night into a quiet harbour, and went their separate ways with their plans moving into motion. Lucis and Elio would attend the royal wedding - conveniently, they'd heard about it at White Harbour, and their timing was perfect. Kaelyn, Polaris and Ursa would remain in the shadows of a shoddy inn just outside the Red Keep, until night fell, and they'd slip into the castle, to ambush the brat in his private chambers after the feast. If it weren't for the huge direwolf in their company, Ursa and Kaelyn could have quite easily blended into the masses; but as it was, they were confined to the attic room of the old disused tavern. At the least, it provided a neat view on to the street, and they'd see the royal carriage trundle up to the gates from their vantage point.

xxxShe sat perched in the wide window with Kaelyn, her eyes trained on the street that was already bustling with smallfolk out to celebrate the royal wedding. The sight of them all made her blood boil. Rhaello Targaryen and Eurybea Greyjoy had the cheek to be married in the Sept, in the sights of Gods that they didn't believe in. And the smallfolk marvelled in it; blind to the fact that this notion of peace between dragon and kraken was a convenient lie and political move. They had no idea of the wolves that were soon to be on their way south to spill blood mercilessly.

xxx"They're all blind to his treachery. They only see him as somebody powerful, somebody to be feared. They see his power as a blessing. They forget that he would burn this city to the ground if the notion struck him..." she muttered with bitterness, tilting her head out at the joyous smallfolk hanging dragon banners out their windows, some combined with the gold kraken of House Greyjoy. Lifting her gaze to meet Kaelyn's, she pursed her lips and slipped her hand into her companion's palm, entwining their fingers. "I know you'll not listen to me - but what we're planning..." She paused, her gaze intense and her brow furrowed. "It would be nothing short of a miracle for us to make it out alive. Even if we are successful in slitting his throat, there's no guarantee that we'll escape."

[radio.active.]

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍

lord of storm's end; second born ✠✠✠ the great sept of baelor
tags; arina, lina, oisin ✠✠✠✠✠ mentions; zeph, wyllam, rhaello, various nobles

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indentIt continued to amaze Bellerophon how much had happened in recent days, or even in the few hours before the stormlander party set foot in King’s Landing. They had been late, a signature move of the Baratheon siblings, though even in those few hours more had changed in the Seven Kingdoms than in the last decade. Bellerophon couldn’t recall if he’d asked anyone about the tense aura that hung in the air around them - likely not, he didn’t care about it all that much - yet between Arina’s friendly nature and Oisin’s need to spill every ounce of tea that came into his cup, he learned. Apparently, the dragon king fancied himself a matchmaker, pairing off lords and ladies at his own whims. Luckily the Baratheon siblings had been spared - gods help the man who tried to turn little Lina into a wife - but Oisin seemed particularly interested in discussing what his siblings thought of being excluded.

indentIn the following fourteen days, King’s Landing was abuzz. Newly engaged couples either celebrated their blessing by the King - Zephyron Arryn appeared particularly thrilled at his engagement to the Velaryon lady - or crying out to the gods for the curse they were now saddled with - Wyllam Hightower came to mind with that though, who seemed as though he’d rather walk through fire than continue on this path. Belle and Lina had taken quite a pleasure in poking fun at the latter, both behind his back and to his face, flaunting the fact that neither were now tied to another noble that hated their guts.

indentArina must have sent a letter home to their mother ratting him out as a strongly worded letter soon found its way into Bellerophon’s possession, courtesy of the grouchy raven belonging to the sitting Lady of Storm’s End. You will rectify this and find the King’s favor, she had said, though Belle could not understand why she thought that any of those affected were in Rhaello’s favor in any capacity. He had written a short response to his mother, offering weak promises that he would try, and continued to attend (or crash) each and every celebration he or Lina could sniff out.

indentBy the time the day of the royal wedding finally rolled around, Belle was a little more worn out than he would care to admit. He was too physically exhausted to even join in on Lina’s quiet mockeries, a fact that startled both of them as he found himself unable to do anything more than make a face and laugh alongside his sister until they at last stepped out of the Great Sept.

indent“I imagine they have to be good for something,” he chuckled. “Unfortunately I won’t be able to join you in all of the fun. I hate to say that mother is set to have my hide if I don’t at least try to make it seem like I care about our family’s image.” Truth be told, though, he was not wholly upset at having an excuse to take it easy this evening. Though he was only a few years her elder, Belle was not as resilient as he once was., and he was unsure if he would come out of another hangover alive.

indentStill, he dreaded the prospect of making idle chatter with the lords and ladies of Westeros. It had gone unsaid in the letter though not unacknowledged by Belle that his mother expected him to begin the groundwork for a future marriage. As the heir apparent of Storm’s End he did have certain expectations whether he liked it or not.

indentThere must have been a scowl plastered across his face judging by the way that his sisters grinned at him and patted his shoulder patronizingly. He offered them a half-baked grin as he scratched the back of his neck. “Gods, Oisin really got the lucky draw didn’t he? No pressure to get married and no need to care about politics or running a constituency. What I wouldn’t give…”