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

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐑

xxxlord of harlaw // mentions: azariah, ameria, carden // tags: eurybea, minerva

xxxHe could feel the eyes of numerous nobles lingering on Eurybea - with distaste, curiosity or a combination of both - and he wanted to shove them all aside, tell them to mind their own business, but that was the way of courts in noble houses, a hotspot for twittering gossips. At her words, Torr almost laughed at the lady reaper, but the situation was so dire, he couldn't find it in himself to do so. You will trust me. Of course he would. She didn't even have to ask it of him. The truth was, they had faced worse storms than this - literally, at least - and Eurybea Greyjoy had yet to fail on bringing them both safely home. With a grim nod of acceptance, he ran his hand over his cropped hair in mild exasperation. "Of course I trust you," he muttered, "I only mean... go with caution."

xxxA smile so light had pulled on her lips, so unlike the easy, wolfish grin that Eurybea usually flashed. It filled him with a sense of dread, and small wonder why, because her next suggestion was to go and introduce himself to Azariah Uller. With a shove in the general direction, her dark eyes flashed towards the cluster of Dornishmen on the other side of the courtyard. There stood three people; the prince and princess, and another lady, dressed in a fine gown as befitted a southern noblewoman. That had to be Lady Uller. It seemed that Princess Ameria was twittering furiously at her brother, while clutching Azariah's hand so hard he thought she might stop the blood flow. Then, quite suddenly, the Princess scowled and turned on her heel, intent on dragging her companion along with her. "Go on, loverboy!" Minerva teased, giving Torr another shove as Eurybea swept away.

xxx"Get off," he snapped, "Why don't you go introduce yourself to Lord Swann, then? I'm sure he's just dying to make your acquaintance." That soon soured his companion's mood again, and she stormed off with a wicked curl to her lip - evidently heading in the complete opposite direction of her betrothed. It was common - frequent, even - for Torr and Minerva to argue, and it was always light-hearted teasing. But as she turned her back to him, Torr felt a sting from the conflict. Neither of them were happy to go along with the mysterious plan that Eurybea was concocting, but they both knew that it was all that they could do. That didn't mean they had to like it, or even agree with it.

xxxWell, if they were to go along with it all, he might as well get on with it. At that, Torr began to weave his way through the masses - which suddenly became rather difficult thanks to the lilting music that started up as a band of musicians took to the dais. He almost gave up, so unmotivated as he was at the prospect of making a first introduction to a woman he was now expected to marry. What would he even say? Lady Uller, it seems that we are to be married. Apologies for the inconvenience, but I'd rather not get charred to a crisp for refusing our charming King. He said a silent prayer to the Drowned God that he might drown in wine before he had reached the Dornish woman, and he took a hefty swig from his goblet.

xxxIt was not a graceful entrance. With all of the dancing going on around him, Torr was shoved from side to side as he wove through the crowd, dodging elbows and sweeping skirts. As if she had timed it, the Princess parted ways from her companion in favour of striding across the courtyard towards a cluster of men on the sidelines, offering her friend a softened smile and a squeeze on the shoulder before gliding away. It took him a moment to realise that he was grimacing, before promptly trying to find a more pleasant expression with which to greet the young woman. He managed a slight smile, forced as it was, not quite reaching his eyes.

xxxHe would have to be a blind man to not see that Lady Azariah Uller was beautiful. He towered over her by almost a foot, but she wasn't dainty - she looked sturdy, like she'd make a good stab at knocking him to the ground if they were scrapping in the yard. Her hair was long and dark, and her eyes were lighter, flecked with gold. A sharp jawline that was currently hard set, her expression impossible to read. She was well-presented in possibly one of the most intricate dresses in the whole keep. Beside her, Torr felt scruffy and unkempt, still in his travelling cloak, salt clinging to his skin from the journey, but it was too late now to straighten his clothes or to have washed the sea away from him.

xxx"Lady Uller," he started, pausing briefly, because the words he had hoped to magically form simply... didn't. "I have to admit that I did not think I would come to King's Landing to find myself chucked into an arranged marriage." A sheepish smile, apologetic. "I suppose if we want to keep ourselves from being that dragon's next roasty toasty dinner, then we ought to go along with it." At that, his smile widened into something more natural and easy. "And I hope that we can be friends, if nothing else." Torr extended his hand for her to shake, and for a moment, he thought of Daena, and how only just that very same evening she had shaken his hand in an agreement to sail to Old Valyria together. He hoped that their pact might hold fast despite a betrothal, but somehow, he doubted it. The discussion had been so fleeting, and though he had meant every word he'd said, he wondered if she was quite so sure. Setting those thoughts aside, he slipped his hand into Azariah's. Small callouses ran along her palm, not as coarse as those that riddled his own skin, but similar to some extent. "Torr Harlaw, by the way, in case you didn't quite catch it when the maester called it out. He was certainly prattling them off, wasn't he? If I didn't know any better, I'd say the King had plucked all of our names out as luck of the draw."

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐕 𝐀 𝐄 𝐑 𝐀

xxxlady of casterly rock // mentions: lance // tags: leo, lira

xxxHaving asked her eldest son to fetch his siblings and cousin, Vaera swept from the small council chamber without waiting for his reply. She was eager to meet with this young lady again; from their first meeting, she could distinctly recall Amelira Westerling's gentle face and her hair bright as flames, but their conversation had been brief, cut short by an eager Orian with Lord Swyft in tow. The man had been strutting round like the cockerel of his house sigil all night, trying to catch her attention, to no avail. To spare the Lady Westerling from the company of the up-jumped knight (who seemed to think his valour in battle would raise his rank to match that of a Lord Paramount), Vaera had excused herself and taken her youngest son by the hand with a gentle smile, walking with Lord Swyft for scarcely a minute before she once again excused herself to greet the Banefort family upon their excellently-timed arrival, their red hair like a beacon. That had been four months ago now, and the halls of Casterly Rock had been quiet since.

xxxAs she walked the halls of the keep that she had come to call home, Vaera's mind swam with a hundreds blazing thoughts. Did he love her? Did she love him? Would she treat him kindly and fairly? Her concern for her cubs was always the first priority, of course, but she was now intent on welcoming a newcomer to the family, and it seemed only fair to give the girl a chance. If Leander did not care for the girl (which was unlikely; Leo had a heart of gold) then Vaera would cast her aside without a second thought. Of course, she'd arrange some other suitable marriage, so that the girl would not be left to the vultures when the truth of her circumstances came to light. A small voice in the back of her mind even suggested that it was entirely possible that Lady Westerling was pregnant by some other man. It would not surprise Vaera - if anything, she was surprised that no other girl had come to their doorstep in the same situation already. With that notion in mind, she decided to proceed with caution - though the thought of having the chance to cradle a newborn with golden hair made her want to welcome the woman with wide open arms.

xxxShe came to the great hall in a matter of minutes, and paced the grand room with melancholy, tilting her eyes skyward to the ceiling. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock had spared no expense in the construction and decoration of their ancestral home, thanks to the wealth provided through the gold mines. The ceiling was painted to depict a pride of lions, bolting across a wide open plain, their manes cast with golden flecks. She had often found herself wondering about the meanings behind the painting - how the largest of the lions led the back, while a darker lioness loomed in the far corner, wicked and cruel, scars marring her face, and an identical cub at her heels. Sometimes, she thought that was what she might become, some long forgotten lioness, haunted by her own youth. But there were so many elements to the painting, so much joy elsewhere, that it was easier to focus her eyes somewhere else; on the playful cub beneath the golden sun, or the mother lioness cleaning their fur.

xxxShe twisted the bangles on her wrists in empty thought. Better to clear her mind before meeting this young lady. If she allowed herself to be selfish, then she would not see the lie, if it was indeed present. Soon enough, there came the echo of footfall outside of the hall, just as the sun was beginning to set beyond the horizon and send golden rays through the high windows. Vaera turned on her heel to face her son, and the stranger at his side. She had to remind herself that this woman was in fact, a stranger; somebody that she had only met once before, despite her being the daughter of a Lannister vassal household. With a careful, calculating gaze, Vaera looked down at the girl - down indeed, because the Lady Westerling was a wisp of a girl, petite and dainty. Amelira was close to Leo's side, their hands entwined. From that alone, Vaera knew that her son truly cared for the girl, and she for him; there was a gentle assurance between the couple, something real and genuine. Vaera envied them - and pitied them, too.

xxxThere was a hopeful look in her son's eyes, and she would not break that spark of love, not for all the gold in Casterly Rock. As the young lady stepped forward and dipped into a nervous curtsy, Vaera pursed her lips for just a moment. Then, as Amelira straightened up again, Vaera offered the girl a warm smile. If this love would make Leo happy, then that was all she could ask for, all she could ever want for him. "Oh, nonsense! What kind of a Lady would I be if I turned away a young woman, simply because she arrived unannounced and unaccompanied?" Of course, many ladies in Westeros would turn their noses up at such an arrival, and cause a whole fuss about it, but Vaera was far too taken with her suspicions to react as such. She stepped forward, and clasped the young lady's hands gently, but firm. She looked into those dark brown eyes, and searched them. And in her own eyes, Vaera spoke a warning. If this is a lie, and you think to fool me, then you will be sorry and mistaken to think so. But those earthy irises she looked into held no deceit or cruelty; only they were nervous, and gentle.

xxxShe wondered if this poor girl knew what she was getting herself into.

xxx"Do you love my son?" she asked in a whisper, for their voices before had bounced off the high ceilings and sang out for the whole keep to hear. Now, the exchange was quiet and private. She looked over the girl's shoulders, and extended her hand to Leo as well. "And do you love her? Because I'll not tolerate it if the feeling is not mutual."

[radio.active.]

𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘

queen of the iron islands ֎֎֎ the royal dais in the courtyard
tags; rhaello targaryen ֎֎֎ mentions; austen tully, roslyn mallister

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indentEven after her extensive monologuing debate regarding whether he would respond, Bea found herself mildly surprised that he had even acknowledged her return to the dais. Her surprise lasted only a few moments, allowing his words to hang in the air between them just so that she could verify that he had really said that. Then, another moment later, she tossed her head back in a very unladylike laugh. A handful of nobles nearest the dais cast her bitter glances as her bellowing cackle corrupted the air and interrupted their otherwise fantastic banquet, but she paid them no mind.

indentUnsurprisingly, Rhaello’s response was minute and almost unnoticeable. One of his infamous flickering smirks that crossed his face just to vanish as quickly as it appeared. “My dear Rhaello, I never asked you for such things as dances and affections,” she mused as she sipped the remains of this cup of wine. It took but a moment for a dark-haired boy to sweep the chalice away and replace it with another, now full of a sweet Arbor red. “And who’s to say I would have denied you a dance?”

indentThe last sentence was a little more under her breath than she had meant, but as inconsequential as it was it felt strange to acknowledge it. Once upon a time, the odd pair had been somewhat close after they had found companionship with one another in the shadowed corner of some celebration years ago. She remembered that night far better than she would ever care to admit. The pinch of those blasphemously uncomfortable shoes, the dull roar of the crowd that threatened to suffocate her, the way that her nerves and patience frayed until the only way to safely navigate the remainder of the night was to bury her nose in cup after cup of wine. She could also remember the way that a young Rhaello had appeared nearby, looking equally done with the evening and all it had brought upon them. Neither of them could have ever imagined how simple things were then, when all it took to forget the rest of the world was a simple - if a bit awkward - grin and a mind-crushingly horrible joke.

indentBack then, neither could have given a damn about status. He was a second son, and she was a newly minted sea captain who could not be paid to care about political states. If only they knew what the next few years would hold.

indentAs she recalled the distant memories of simpler times and easier conversations, Bea’s smile had shifted. The smirk that had been teasing - anyone else would say that it was bordering on playful - evolved into something bittersweet and nostalgic as she remembered their interactions that evening and the following visits. Suddenly aware of the change, she wiped the expression away with a swig of wine and turned back to face the festivities.

indentCourtly dancing had never been one of her strengths; what dance skills she did possess were more meant for lively jigs and sort-of-friendly competitions she participated in aboard the Wavebreaker. Still, watching pairs like Austen Tully and Roselyn Mallister swirl about the stone courtyard nursed a childish longing deep within her chest. She would not let yet another thought cast her into a spiral, she silently snapped at herself, nipping the imminent tangent in the bud before it had a chance.

indentBut of course when Rhaello’s next words hung in the air like an intrusion upon her comfort, Bea wished that she had let her thoughts run wild. If she were trapped in a whirlwind of words, perhaps she would not have had to endure the twelve words that now insisted on echoing within her skull. How was she supposed to react to them? Should she be insulted, or was Rhaello Targaryen actually trying to pay her a compliment in his own, odd way? That little smirk that grew more and more apparent confirmed her suspicions. Rhaello was just as out to test her nerves as she had been his, and although she should have expected it from him, her spine prickled with the needles of some unidentifiable emotion.

indentAlthough she inherited the Ironborn’s impressive tolerance for alcohol, she could feel the buzzing in the back of her skull. Only the little serving boy knew how many cups she had practically inhaled throughout the evening, or perhaps Rhaello deigned to know it, too. Part of her berated herself, demanding to know how she could have let herself become even so slightly mellowed by the wine. Another part of her, consumed by the emotions and adrenaline of the day, pondered where she could get her hands on more of that Astapori wine that tasted a bit more like kerosene but gave her that oh-so-delightful burn as it passed her lips. Perhaps if she drank enough of it she could plead amnesia and abandon the entire marriage idea.

indent“Aegon’s ghost,” she muttered as she raised her cup to her lips again, “it truly is a wonder you are not drowning in women.” For what Bea would forever argue was the longest moment of her life, she studied her own words the moment they passed her lips.

indentDuring their first conversations that fateful night they met, she could recall him spurning the idea of casual loves and secret affairs. It had been an offhand comment following a jest she had just made at the expense of her own father, who was all but making a fool of himself at the party. Still, that tiny comment and the memory of it remained as clear as a bell to her, and she wondered if Rhaello had really meant it. There had never really been any rumors of the king taking a lover, but in a world where gossip was as trustworthy as a wight, Bea always took it with a grain of salt.

indentAfter all, she had agreed with him, for she had been in love back then, enamored by the brilliant smile and quick wit of the Costayne girl. For a brief moment, Bea wondered if she was here in the courtyard under the green and gold Tyrell banners of her husband’s lord, though she resisted the urge to search the crowd for familiar eyes. Melysa Costayne would not be keen to see Bea in any capacity, even with their falling out so long ago.

indentIn the years following Melysa’s condemnation of Bea, she had gone back on the words she had spoken to Rhaello that night. Her bed was often warmed by a new face, some staying longer than others. Even a handful of other nobles had found their way to her, with a handful of recognizable faces in the crowd before her.

indentFor a horrific moment, Bea wondered what Rhaello thought of that. Would he look down on her, knowing the company she had kept. As quickly as it had come, the feeling was gone only to be replaced by another. The very idea of worrying about what anyone thought of her left a taste on her tongue more bitter than any heavy wine could hope. The thought of even considering a man’s opinion - Rhaello Targaryen’s opinion of all - brought bile to the back of her throat. Bea swallowed the rest of her cup, hoping to drown out any trace of the acrid taste and its accompanying notions, though all she seemed to feel was something bubbling deep in her chest. Part of her wanted to scowl and spit back at him as she would have if it were one of her sailors that had spoken to her that way. Instead, she grit her teeth and pushed her plate away from her.

indent“Drop the formalities.” There was no suggestion in her voice, only a cold order. “You never called me ‘lady’ of anything, and I won’t have you starting now.”

[fortissimo]

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐒
house dayne | location: winterfell | tags: ursa & alara | mentions: ameria, lyanna

indentIt hadn’t occurred to Lucis that his approach could have been misconceived as suspicious or malicious in any way, not until he’d stepped too close to Ursa to turn back now - not that he would have, given the situation - and the direwolves ceased their incessant howling to instead snarl at him as if he were a threat. He’d always thought that dogs could sense whether a person had good intentions at heart, his father often said they were the best judge of character, so to be on the receiving end of their posturing was a bit surprising. Perhaps they were just being overprotective, it was hard to mistake their actions as anything but when they deliberately put themselves between him and their masters — which he could understand given the circumstances. His heart beat so loudly it echoed in his eardrums, as he debated whether he should extend one hand out for them to sniff (that’s what his parents had always told him to do when meeting new creatures!) or if they were more likely to bite his hand off for trying it — they were direwolves, after all, not hounds.

indentBefore he could think too hard on the matter, Ursa Stark lunged at him without warning and he registered a sharp ache near his kneecaps, sending them both falling onto the snow - no, the ice, ouch, frankly speaking he would have preferred snow to cushion the landing! - below. In the midst of the chaos, Lucis had dropped Dawn, which clattered a few inches away and out of his grasp. He cursed under his breath — what a novice mistake to make, any knight worth his salt should not be disarmed so easily. Perhaps he could blame it on the wine, still admittedly dulling some of his senses, or perhaps he’d attribute it to the fact that this was supposed to be a celebration, not a damned murder mystery. Regardless, despite the persistent and sharp ache in his shins (she had really gone to town there, hadn’t she?), he registered that she had asked him a question, but the fury in her eyes and the hiss in her tone suggested that whatever he might say would only worsen the situation. Whatever he had expected to happen when he’d stepped up to join her, it had not been this, needless to say!

indentWithout missing a beat, her dirk was pressed against his throat, and Lucis suddenly found himself transported back to a battlefield from barely over a year ago, one of the many places that had seen bloodshed in the recent ironborn rebellion. Suddenly he felt the sensation of sharp, relentless rain against his cheeks rather than the gently falling snow against the backdrop of the night sky, adrenaline kicking in as he felt blood pound in his ears. He’d been pinned in a situation just like this back then, he remembered, and amidst all the fighting, screaming, and bloodshed, he vividly recalled that the one thing that kept him alive, the one goal at the forefront of his mind that he never forgot, was the thought of seeing his beloved Princess Ameria again, of finally reuniting with her under the beautiful light of Sunspear - though she would have looked more beautiful still, with her silhouette enveloped by the Dornish light - and finally asking her for her hand as he should have done years ago. His mind was working a mile a minute, no longer in the mindset of a concerned bystander but a battle-weary soldier, and the girl before him was no longer the eldest Stark daughter but an ironborn adversary on the wrong side of the war.

indentThink, you have to think, you can get out of this, you’ve been through worse, he thought desperately as he racked his brain for options. In his head he envisioned a hundred different ways this scenario could play out - were he any other person, he might have simply gone slack and given up against the pressure of the knife at his throat, but he was the Sword of the Morning and he’d be damned if he died here. Dawn had landed just a few inches away, far enough that it was out of arm’s reach, but like many other knights he always equipped himself with a secondary weapon. The parrying dagger hidden in his armor was still sheathed, but if he was fast enough then he could pull it out for its intended purpose and disarm her with a well-aimed riposte… the worst-case scenario was that she would slice his neck before he could even draw his gauche; he was a quickdraw, sure, but even he might not be quick enough for that. No, wait, he didn’t even have his dagger on him because he wasn’t wearing his armor. Why wasn’t he wearing his armor?!

indentNevermind, nevermind… he would have to think differently. He could kick her away, maybe, and that would buy him just a few seconds to grab Dawn and turn the fight around. Or if he tilted his head far back enough, she might not hit anything vital and he’d live just long enough to get back on his feet and put Dawn through her heart. The main problem was putting distance between them; once there was distance, he could grab Dawn again, and then she stood no chance. A dirk couldn’t hold up to a sword, especially not one made out of a fallen star like his own. His dark blue eyes drifted away from hers and the threat within them to the direwolf looming dangerously nearby, growling and baring its teeth. Where did the other one go? Well, nevermind. Once he was back on his feet, he could probably take her and her direwolf together. Maybe. He’d never fought off a direwolf before but he had to think optimistically. If the second wolf joined in, as he was sure it would, then… well, he’d be at a great disadvantage, and it wouldn’t be a matter of dodging all their attacks simultaneously so much as making sure that they only landed nonfatal hits. Bloodshed would be inevitable, he just had to make sure to protect his vital areas-

indentLucis’s reverie was suddenly broken when Ursa pulled away, withdrawing her dagger. That small action alone was enough to remind him where he was. Right… he was at Winterfell, not at war, and this was just a grieving older sister, not an opponent to be struck down and left for dead, and he hadn’t been wearing his armor because he had come to the North as an ally to the Starks, not an enemy. Still, the entire ordeal left him admittedly feeling shaken. Ignoring the way his body ached from the fall against the ice, he slowly stood up, wincing a bit at the action, and immediately grabbed Dawn once more, feeling much safer with the greatsword in his hands. Sure, he trusted Ursa enough not to try something like that again, but he’d already been caught off guard once — he would not be fooled twice.

indentIt took him a good moment for him to let go of that adrenaline, that fight-or-flight instinct, to calm down and realize that his life was not in any immediate danger, and he glanced at Ursa as she started to say something, her gaze not once leaving the body of the younger Stark. Were this any other situation, Lucis might have been annoyed - angered even - that she’d accosted him in the first place, but he recognized that she was mourning and in a state of shock, and he needed only to place himself in her shoes for a moment to realize why she had done so. Had Wren Stark been one of his younger sisters, he suspected he would have reacted much the same and, okay, maybe he had been wrong to simply approach her without a warning like that. He’d know better for next time.

indentHis blood ran cold at her words, though. He had already suspected that foul play was at hand, but Ursa’s words only cemented that belief in his heart. But this was Winterfell, the seat of the Starks, and most everyone was still gathered in the keep for the food and dancing. Only the Dornish and the loyal Northern bannermen were here, and Lucis was sure none of his compatriots would have done such a thing. They did not hurt children in Dorne. “Who would do such a-” Before he could finish his thought, the duo was interrupted by another’s approach and Lucis whirled in the direction of the sound of footsteps against snow. A Northerner, by the sound and looks of it, and she had taken the words right out of his mouth. While he perhaps should have at least considered her presence in the area to be suspect, the way her voice broke at her own words and the distraught expression on her face was enough for Lucis to eliminate the idea that she might have wished harm onto the young Stark lordling. Instead, he nodded along to what she’d said, glancing at Ursa to see if she had any answers… though he suspected that wasn’t the case. If she had known the identity of the mysterious assailant, she doubtless would have chased after them by now with all the fury she could muster… and he knew firsthand, now, just how ferocious she could be.

indentUnsure on what to do next - this absolutely wasn’t his forte, he didn’t know how to solve murders - Lucis considered their next course of action. Maybe they should look for footprints nearby, but there was hardly any light and the persistent snow was no doubt covering up anyone’s tracks. The direwolves could try to track the perpetrator by scent, but he suspected they would have done so by now if they had sensed anything amiss. “I think,” he began, his voice shaky at the notion that someone had pushed an innocent boy to his death, “I think that we should tell your father. He deserves to know.” A frown marred his features at the notion that everyone in the hall was happily unaware that a murder had taken place just outside the keep. “I should tell my countrymen as well.”

indentAnd perhaps someone should tell Princess Lyanna. Lucis left that thought to himself. The fallen princess undoubtedly had a lot on her mind with the war to come, but if one of those gathered within the hall had been the one to send Wren Stark to his death then… well it could mean nothing, or it could mean everything. What if there was a traitor among them?

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐀 𝐙 𝐀 𝐋 𝐄 𝐀

xxxtyrell of highgarden // mentions: cecilia, bea, rhaello, torr, roselyn, austen // tags: cyrus

xxxAs the song drew to a close, Azalea's spirits were high. The adrenaline pumping through her veins had brought a pretty pink flush to her cheeks, and her eyes glinted bright with sheer joy. In all of her dancing lessons as a child through to adulthood, she had never experienced something quite like that which she had just done with Cyrus Beesbury. It was exhilarating, a wild rush, somehow clumsy but graceful in its rapidity. Dances in court were more often strictly structured and precise, a series of steps and twirls in perfect unison - and perhaps that’s how the other guests of the Red Keep had indeed just danced, but the pair from the Reach had been sporadic. It was fun, and while she never would have thought herself to be confident enough to let loose amongst so many people, Azalea felt herself smile broad and true. She felt a twinge of disappointment as the musicians closed the song and started up something slower (and more romantic, though she didn't dare let her imagination run wild at that prospect). Cyrus was leading her away from the dance floor, but she found herself longing for a second dance, as quick and light as the first. Even as she watched couples swaying and swirling like ribbons together, she didn't envy them; it was the kind of romantic dance that she would have loved to have danced to with a strapping young man before, but now that she'd had a taste of the swift-step dancing with Cyrus, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

xxxAnd he was grinning too, and that was enough to make her smile even broader. Thankfully, the blush on her cheeks could be excused as a result of the intense dancing, as opposed to the way that playful smirk made her heart race. Show me then, she thought wildly, at the prospect of dancing with him again. She was quite sure that he ought to have been able to feel her rapidly-beating heart as his hand took hold of hers, guiding her away from the dance floor, to reclaim their goblets from the table they had been abandoned at earlier. “Show me then,” The words had slipped from her mouth before she had even really registered that she was actually going to speak them aloud - and if she was blushing before, she was positively crimson now! Was he really implying that they would dance again? She hoped so anyway, otherwise she was wildly misinterpreting the situation! A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that his words were simply empty flattery and nothing more, but the mischievous tug of his smile and that glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. Any of the practiced grace she’d maintained on the dance floor seemed to have faltered now that the dancing had stopped and she suddenly felt nervous and flustered again. Trying desperately to recover from her statement, she added hastily, “I - uh - I mean, yes - a lot. I’d like that. A lot. I’d like that a lot -”

xxxShe could have whacked herself for being so clumsy with her words. Why was it so hard to stitch a sentence together? Was it always this difficult? She knew that she could stumble over her words but really, this was quite something else! “I’d like that a lot.” She managed, though the words were more like a trailing whisper. For a moment, she diverted her eyes from her friend and caught sight of Roselyn Mallister across the courtyard pressing a swift kiss to Austen Tully’s cheek. Azalea’s eyes widened in surprise and it only added to her flustering. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves and she suddenly felt very exposed - even though the entirety of the other guests were focused on their own little conversations and dances, she felt Roselyn’s eyes on her as the young woman swept across the courtyard, evidently indicating that they ought to convene and discuss. The Tyrell woman felt her confidence take a hit, seeing how effortlessly her friend had kissed her lord’s cheek. Perhaps if she’d had a few more goblets of wine, Azalea could have mustered such bravery - but alas, she could only throw back what was remaining in her chalice, which, unfortunately, was not very much at all, and gave her no burst of courage. Pursing her lips as she let the wine’s bitterness run over her tongue, Azalea gulped - noticeably, and that made her even more frustrated with herself - and finally drew her eyes back to Cyrus. “Wine?” More of a statement really than a question, as she gently but swiftly slipped the chalice from Cyrus’ hand and into her own. She went to turn away without properly excusing herself, and heard her septa scolding her in the back of her mind, and she spun back to face her companion with a sheepish laugh and a swift curtsy. Gods, he must think her to be such a klutz. "Pardon me, just a moment. And - I - uh -" She fumbled for the words, and finally found them. "I'd like to dance again. With you. If you'd like. To dance - uh - with me, that is. It was fun! Though - I'm not so sure about these slower songs - I think they require a tad more structure and practiced elegance than we can muster."

xxxAt that, she managed a small smile - sheepish but sweet. And then she scuttled away, her golden skirts swishing behind her, as she ventured across the courtyard towards Rose. She greeted her friend with an expression that squealed yikes, as she set both goblets down and reached for a flagon of wine. "Hello," she laughed, giddy from the exhilaration of the dance and feeling a sense of relief at having - hopefully - put herself out to Cyrus, hoping that the evening would lead on to a second dance. "Is your heart as likely to burst from your chest as mine is? I might die of nerves and joy combined." At that, she laughed again, seeing the tremble in her hand as she poured the wine. Azalea took Rose's hand in her own and pressed a swift kiss to her friend's cheek in warm greeting. "I think he is in love with you. And I don't say that without feeling it to be true. The way he looked at you.." The words trailed off. It had seemed obvious to her, watching the two from the Riverlands dancing together. The affection in their eyes. Could it be anything but love?

[radio.active.]

𝐙𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘𝐍

fourth son of the eyrie, charge of the red keep ⋈ the halls; daena's solar
tags; daena velaryon, rohana royce⋈⋈⋈ mentions; daena, ro, wyllam

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indentWhether she meant to or not, there was no doubt that Rohana did not disguise her distaste towards the idea of Zephyron joining the pain, and he had to admit that he was a little surprised that she had not outright struck down Daena’s extended hand at the suggestion. Only a fool would be blind to how he was encroaching on dangerous territory with the Royce woman. When Rohana’s expression softened, even as minutely as it had in that moment, Zeph could have shouted in celebration. The appreciative smile that crossed his face would have to suffice for the time being, though the step of progress her curt nod represented felt like a leaping accomplishment. Although the pride he felt at that tiny victory was intense, reaching out to grasp Daena’s hand was almost from a dream. Even if such a thing were momentary, the briefest of contacts as she guided him down the hall, Zeph knew that he would treasure the feeling forever. As she pulled him closer to link their arms, though, Zeph could have died a happy man right then and there. Here, Daena was close enough to him that her hair was casting waves of cooling floral scents with every turn of her head, and it threatened to pitch him into an oblivious stupor. It seemed to have already done so, as he realized she was speaking to him.

indent“There is no need to apologize,” he said after he processed her words. “It was quite a series of events all at once-” The way she finished the thought, that she was happy to be paired with him, caught him wholly off guard and threatened to send him into a blubbering spiral. Daena Velaryon, in all her kind and brilliant magnificence, was happy at the prospect of marrying him. By the Seven, was he in a dream? He had to be, but the thought did not do anything to damper the dumbfounded smile that had hung across his face since the moment he felt her soft hand in his. Gods help him, he almost missed what she had said again.

indent“If either of us deserved to be called by titles and honorifics it would be you,” he said rather sheepishly. He was slowly but surely becoming what he had mocked, he realized. The ladies of the court had always fawned over Rhaello in the hopes of gaining his favor, and Zeph had never shied away from expressing his dislike for the behavior. But now, as he was all but singing Daena’s praises to the whole of Westeros, Zeph was becoming more and more of a hypocrite. A tiny smile crossed his face as he nodded. “Of course, Daena. Just please do the same for me.”

indentThe idle chatter that continued to pass among them was precisely what Zeph believed the seven heavens to hold, and it ended all too soon as they arrived at the doorway to Daena’s chambers. While part of him was dismayed to discontinue the simple talk, something else in his mind was rather excited to learn more about her. And so he did, glancing around the simply decorated rooms and taking in all that he could. There were few personal possessions that stuck out to him, though he would not call the décor sparse by any means. It was more of a careful curation of treasures, simply but beautifully defining this space as hers.

indentDaena’s slippers soon disrupted the otherwise spotless floors, cast aside by the woman who looked positively victorious with the action. Zeph found himself bearing the same stupefied smile as he took a seat on the sofa. The way that her pale eyes twinkled triumphantly in the same way a young lordling’s would after his first tournament win.

indentHis hands began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt as Ro set to work on Daena’s braids. He was unsure what to do at the moment, certain he would make a fool of himself if he offered to assist his cousin thanks to his hands being better suited to battle than beauty. But the way that Daena’s hair fell from the pins that adorned it had him once again entranced, following each silvery blonde strand be freed with an intensity that almost caused him to miss yet another movement in the conversation.

indentThat brute that called himself Lord Hightower. Zeph had been unable to hear much of the conversation that had passed between the man and his cousin, though even the din of the courtyard could not mask the bitter aura that radiated from the pair. He had not wanted to intrude in the moment, unwilling to force himself into a space in which he was unwelcome, but as Rohana revealed the content of their conversation he kicked himself for not doing so.

indentThe final nail in the coffin came with the tiny glance Ro threw his direction.

indent“Being devoured by a lion is a fate too kind for him,” Zeph said in what seemed to be half whisper and half snarl. He was unsure if the two would welcome his thoughts however small they were, but he could not stop the words before they came. “He should consider his boarish self luckier than the gods themselves to even have a chance to wed someone as brilliant and strong as yourself. If he can’t recognize that, I-” What would he do? Would he really go challenge the Lord of Oldtown to a duel to defend Rohana? Sure Zeph was in good shape - frequent training with the Kingsguard offered plenty of opportunity - but Wyllam Hightower would certainly crush him into dust before Zeph could even reach for his blade.

indentHe had stood up at some point during his thoughts, to do what he wasn’t sure. Sheepishly, he sat back down and quietly watched Rohana work through Daena’s braids. “You must excuse me,” he added, hoping that neither would be put off by his small outburst.

[archeron.]

𓅃 𓅃 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house mallister . location: red keep courtyard . tags: austen, azalea. mentions: fionn, cyrus, vorian ]

Her hands were trembling slightly as she poured herself another drink, her grey eyes watching the pool of red ripple and dance as new liquid was added to its midst. The sight was not unlike when she would stand on the riverbank skipping stones with both Austen and Fionn, the water dancing each time one of the rocks skittered across its surface only to fall into its depths when the speed finally gave out. Both brothers had been competitive in the match, leaving her to judge who it was whose stone did make it the furthest, and though she had never spoken of it before it would be a lie to say her eyes had not been a touch partial towards seeing Austen’s as the winner. Fionn must have known it was impractical that his brother would win every one of their matches, but he had never spoken a cross word to Roselyn about the matter, instead teasing her in private for being so soft for his brother. There was once though, when Fionn had been called back by his tutor for having abandoned his work early, where she had asked Austen to show her how to throw the stones so they would skip across the surface rather than just thunking in as they always did when she threw one. His arms had wrapped around her from behind, his hands gently adjusting her fingers to where best to hold the stone and then guiding her through two attempts. His laugh had been warm in her ear, and she still remembered how red she had turned when each of her attempts had only ended with the stone splashing into the depths rather unceremoniously.

It was a sweet memory, another that often brought a reminiscent smile to her lips no matter what it was she was doing - including pouring herself another goblet of wine. She was glad for the taste as she swallowed, and even more grateful for the courage it seemed to swirl up in her veins. It was only when the presence of her friend Azalea Tyrell appeared at her side did she recall what great show of courage she really had displayed in pressing a kiss to Austen’s cheek. A soft gasp echoed between her lips as a hand came up to cover that same body part. His cheek had felt warm against her lips, and she now wished that she had stopped to see how he had reacted to such an action. Of course a kiss to the cheek was innocent, something shared between friends and siblings, so there was no use in thinking he might see it as anything but that, but her heart still fluttered thinking of the memory. She could have kissed his lips, quick and innocent, then ran away into the crowd like how she had seen young girls do to the boys they fancied, and what a game of cat and mouse they might have played trying to find themselves back as dancing or conversation partners.

The daze Roselyn had found herself lost in was snapped by Azalea’s breathy greeting, instantly pulling her gaze to her friend who was nearly struggling to pour her two goblets of wine. Her question did draw another easy smile to Roselyn’s lips, a feeling that had been absent for so long and now found in such plenty. Gently she nipped her bottom lip and thought back to being spun across the floor by Austen, his hands sure and guiding on her waist and in her own, and his eyes following her even when not in his grasp, though of course that all could have just been due to a protective sense he felt for her and nothing more. Still, it was pleasant to imagine, to dream.

“I fear that the both of us might wake from such a lovely dream here if we are not careful,” Roselyn hummed in response, still watching her friend intently as she finished her task of filling her pair of glasses.

“You and Cyrus make a lovely pair of dancing partners, perhaps more?”

Rose’s voice was a bit teasing as her friend pressed a kiss of greeting to her cheek. She returned the favor in turn, her hand coming to rest on Azalea’s arm as the Tyrell made a claim, an outlandish one at that, that Austen was somehow in love with her.

“Austen? In love with me...If this were a dream then perhaps, but sadly it is not,” she laughed softly, her smile fading slight as she reached for her wine and took another long drink, trying her best to chase away the longing boiling dangerously in her chest. “He loves another, one of his boyhood friends who left for Essos. That is what everyone says at least, and it is not my place to ask him if those whispers are true, and besides, there were years where he might have found something more in his heart for me and nothing came of it. Seeing him now would not change that. He did not even speak to me until we had almost arrived here in King’s Landing...we’d been riding for days and nothing. Whatever you saw must have been the drink...nothing more.”

It was unfair to soil such a lovely mood with realities, so she forced a smile back to her lips and gently squeezed her friend’s arm to regain her full attention. Smiling widely, she let her gaze wander to where Cyrus Bessbury stood waiting for Azalea’s return.

“If it is love that we speak of tonight then I must say that the looks I cough exchanged between the pair of you looked something akin to the emotion,” the Mallister woman hummed, though her gaze wandered back to where Austen stood, their eyes meeting through the crowd and everything faded away. The music was slow and romantic, the sort of dance meant for lovers, and her heart ached to share something so intimate with him. “I must apologize to you, my friend, I will be sure to make time to speak to you during the feast, but I...there is something I must do. Dance with him again, Azalea, you never know when you might get the chance again.”

With a quick glance, and smile, she left her friend’s side and began to make her way back through the crowd, trying her best not to step on any toes or push any shoulders, but there were some inevitable accidents involved in her path. She did her best to apologize of course, but there was somewhere she needed to be, and she intended on finally using some bravery to ask Austen to dance.

He was only about two strides away, and her mouth was already opening with that question, the one she should have asked him years ago before that girl from the Westerlands could, before everything changed and they had been forced apart.

“Austen, would you-”

Her path was suddenly blocked by a new form, a head of dark hair and a smile blindingly white against his tanned, and she stumbled right into him. His hands went to her waist, where Austen had held her before, but this time she tensed, eyes widening as the male shifted to completely block Austen from her sight. Roselyn was obviously on edge, confusion written across her features when he dared to laugh at her.

“I apologize, but if you’ll excuse me I-”

“Roselyn Mallister, no? My name is Vorian Yronwood. I’ve just secured your hand in marriage, we are to be wed within the week.”

The last thing she remembered was meeting Austen’s gaze over his shoulder, and then the world went black and she was falling backwards.

[archeron.]

❧☙ 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ───────────────────────────────────────
[ house westerling . location: casterly rock . tags: leo,vaera . mentions: none ]

Vaera Lannister had always been someone that Lira had felt herself being drawn to, even before she had ever met her before she had felt herself listening to conversations where the lioness was mentioned. From what she had been told, Vaera was beautiful, but seeing her at the dance that night had made it clear that the truth of the matter was that she was easily the most beautiful woman Lira had ever seen. Ena had always held that title, but she supposed it was only fair that her sister share the title with the woman who was mother to Lira’s first love. Only love, now that Leander had made his intentions to marry her known, though the final challenge to such an event occurring now stood over her, looking at her with feline eyes and a smile that was both warm and frightening in the same heartbeat. If it was possible for her heart to have beat any faster, Lira was unsure, but it did manage to skip a few beats when the older female dismissed her apology and stepped forward to take her hands into her own. Arriving unannounced and without even a maid to accompany her could have been taken as a slight towards the lady of the house, and Lira prayed she could convince her that it had been necessary until she had known what Leander wanted.

It was when Vaera looked into her eyes that she knew though. Lira could tell that the parts of the woman that everyone was so afraid of, they were only to protect her children. Leo was her son, and there was not a part of Lira that would ever blame the woman for wanting to protect him from the world. Vaera did not have to be afraid though, she had no intent of ever hurting him, or letting anyone who might near him or their little one. She tried her best to tell the older woman as much with her eyes as best as she could, but without being told she would never know if the message had been received. All that Lira could do was pray that what Vaera saw in her was something worthy of her beautiful son standing just at Lira’s side. Leo’s presence was soothing, and she was sure without him there she might have lost all of her nerve and run off to hide away in some garden until he found her again. It felt so cowardly to be so afraid of not receiving the approval of one woman, but she was the one who could ruin any chance at a life with Leo with just one word, and that word terrified Lira more than anything in the world.

The pair stood there together for a moment, but when Vaera spoke again her voice was softer, keeping the conversation and question she voiced just between the two of them - and Leo as well, seeing as he stood beside her. Lira’s eyes flared open wide at the queary, her lashes fluttering slightly as she turned to look at Leo and then back to Vaera, who also posed a similar question to her son. Did she love Leo? The feeling she had felt when first seeing him, it had been so strong and pure, and each time that he laughed all she wished was to hear the sound again and again and again, and they had created something so beautiful that she would cherish for the rest of her life. But did she love him?

Lira’s heart answered before her brain could think anymore on the topic.

“Yes...yes I do. I love him,” she breathed, the weight of the admission startling the parts of her that had not yet even accepted that fact.

She loved him. For so long she had convinced herself she didn’t, that it was too soon, that he would never want more than that one night, but her heart had always known. It had given itself away that night without her permission, and she knew she would never be getting it back. No matter what Leo’s answer to the question was. It struck her rather shortly after her own agreement he had not said anything on the matter, and her head turned to look at him, her eyes large with hope that he might give her one last perfect moment.

[baenerys]

x

↪↪ 𝐑 𝐇 𝐀 𝐄 𝐋 𝐋 𝐎

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

xxxThe iced water passed over his lips as he concealed a smirk behind the silver chalice. Eurybea's laugh, coarse and loud, rang out across the dais, drawing the attention of some nearby nobles, who frowned at the woman's outburst in mild disapproval. My dear Rhaello. Those words were coated in poison, but it only made him smirk all the more. And who’s to say I would have denied you a dance? For just a moment, his smirk at faltered at those words.

xxxYears ago, in this very hall, they had shared a mutual distaste for such a social occasion, where dancing and gossip went hand in hand. Certainly, if a man had asked Eurybea Greyjoy to dance with him then and there, she would have howled that wild laughter in his face and turned on her heel without a second thought. Only, when they had been drunk on summerwine that very night, they'd danced together under the stars, their callous laughter ringing out at the mockery they'd made of such a traditional art. The recollection of that night was bittersweet; the beginning of an early, honest friendship, one that would carve itself into his very soul, though he had not known it then. It had been the one and only time he had asked her to dance with him - Rhaello was not fond of the activity and largely saw it as a means to climb a social ladder, rather than simply something to do for fun and enjoyment. It was a different matter in Essos, when he'd travelled the world as a secondborn son unlikely to inherit more than a cold rock on an unforgiving sea. On his travels, he'd been swept into dance circles in the streets, laughing with his friends at the sheer bliss of the freedom he'd won for himself.

xxxBut both instances had been years ago, a faded memory to all now but himself. He wondered if Eurybea remembered that night at all, or if her bitterness had turned the memories to ash. He couldn't blame her, in that case. The boy he'd been was as much a ghost as his own father.

xxxA very small part of him did want to ask her for a dance, but pride nipped at him sharply. If he was to hope for a repeat of that fateful night so many years ago, he knew that he was to be sorely disappointed. So much had changed since then. There was a rift between them that would never truly heal, that much he knew. And as he watched nobles sweep into dance together, seeing their hearts soar and their spirits high, Rhaello knew that it could never be so with Bea again. He sipped at the water again, toyed with his food, finding that he'd quite lost his appetite.

xxx"I suppose the last time we danced, it was with fire and blood and steel." He took a long drink from his goblet, before flashing his violet eyes at her with a chill. "So I should hope that our next dance would be less destructive, if nothing else."

xxxAt that, he held her gaze for a long moment - those storm-grey irises that could cut. If she had intended to strike a nerve with her next uttered comment, then she would be disappointed to see that she had failed in that pursuit. In all his time in Westeros, he'd never once been with somebody intimately as lovers, and he was satisfied with that, because in this realm, he had rank and title to his name, and to throw himself into lust in the public eye of his people was something that he did not deem worth the gossiping prattles. In Essos, it was different; though his violet eyes and silver hair were distinctive enough, he was never tagged as prince or king or even a Targaryen, if Rue was out of sight that is. But none of those people had ever struck a romantic connection with him; something intimate, yes, but never beyond into the realm of 'affection' or 'love'. He supposed that nobody in Westeros knew of his quiet exploits elsewhere; and for that, he was glad.

xxxFor an instant, he thought on who she might have known intimately, and the notion made his brow furrow just ever-so-slightly. It would not surprise him if she had known men or women - sailors abroad especially were not particularly pious when it came to lust. Perhaps some of the people in this very courtyard had known her - and at that, he promptly swapped the chalice of water for one filled with wine, and drank.

xxxInstead of replying to her, Rhaello sipped at the sharp wine through pursed lips, listening to her about dropping formalities. At that, he arched an eyebrow, then shrugged unceremoniously. "How uncivilised we were," he replied, and then, a long pause. He looked at her and wondered - how different things might have been, if he had not been so wrathful. "Only, I think that things were different then - and that we ourselves were different. And that the reason we did not call each other by title but rather by name, was because we were -" An unbearable silence rang between them, and after, he swirled the wine in his goblet and sank it in one long drain.

xxxBecause we were friends.

[radio.active.]

𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐊𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓

lady of the banefort ❂❂❂ the red keep's courtyard
tags; serra dayne ❂❂❂ mentions; leander, lannisters, baneforts

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indentWith a notably unladylike sniffle, Leuka gratefully accepted the handkerchief the Dayne woman offered her. Even through the fog and turbulence of her current state, the idea remained of how her lady mother would likely faint at the sounds she was making, wheezing and blubbering through the tail end of a burst of tears like a child who scraped her knees tumbling down a hill. That part of her burned with embarrassment, urging her to hide her face in the cloth to hide the puffiness of her eyes and pray that the gods would end her suffering then and there.

indent“Thank you, Lady Dayne,” she murmured through the soft material of the handkerchief, hoping to ground herself with the fabric’s clean scent and the woman’s kind words. The compliment she was paid did manage to elicit a small smile from the girl, glancing down at the gown she had worn to the feast. It was simple relative to the grandiosity of the gowns other women wore then, selected as much for presentability as functionality for this final leg of their journey. Although it was quite plain, the charcoal skirts embroidered with coppery patterns ranked among her favorites. “Truly,” she said, finally confident enough that her tears would not erupt again for the moment.“Thank you for your kindness.”

indentWith the small quip that followed the woman’s compliment, Leuka almost found her smile turning into a tiny giggle. Almost, of course, only to be halted as her thoughts once again devolved. Would Leo use this against her if he ever learned how he had affected her? Surely not. Surely he would be a decent enough man to not fault a young woman for coping with her pain.

indentWell, she had also thought he was a decent enough man to spare the life of their dearest friend. She had been wrong then, who was to say she couldn’t be wrong again?

indent“You mustn’t blame the Lannisters,”she added quickly, sensing Serra’s roiling anger growing.“They are attending to their duties and maintaining their familial loyalties, just as they should.”

indentAs Serra - perhaps the Dayne woman wouldn’t mind such familiar terms? - placed an arm around Leuka’s shoulders, she startled ever so slightly. She had never had much in the way of close female friends as a child or a young woman, more content in her friendships with Alisser and Leo. Thus, she was unaccustomed to the frequent physical affections shown between women and their ladies, though Leuka could not deny the affection felt warm and comforting, feeling her tense muscles relax just a few moments later.

indentWith her next inquiry, Leuka felt another wave of tension wash over her. Instead of melting into tears, much to her surprise and joy, a bitter smile crossed her face. “I cannot say there is much to it,” she said slowly, testing the words carefully in the hopes that the tears will not begin again. “We suffered a falling out after…” How should she phrase this? It seemed crass - and a surefire way to unleash another wave of tears and snot - to explain the true extent. To explain how she had told him she loved him, how the last time she had seen him before that fateful day she had nervously rose to her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, or how she had howled like an inconsolable banshee for days following. Perhaps someday she could stand to share those things with a friend, but for the time being a very carefully curated version of the truth would have to do.

indent“He made a decision,”she said measuredly,“and I could not forgive him, nor do I believe I ever could. I will sooner recover from a broken heart than a broken vow.”