⊰ ── ( CHAOS IS A LADDER )

[vaermina]

---

[undertheweather]

✾ lyanna tyrell — 22 — princess of the six kingdoms — tagged; ani, laurane, micah, bennis, open

lyanna stared at her reflection in the mirror. half of her auburn hair was tied up in braids on the top of her head, a small tiara of silver roses nestled in the braids, while the other half flowed in loose curls down past her shoulders. blue eyes trailed their way down her matching blue dress, settling on the complicated adornments of shimmering floral. soft, but bold. ladylike, but could catch anyone's attention in a crowd. and perfect for the tyrell princess.

the young woman broke her eye contact with the mirror to turn and face the handmaiden offering her the jewelry as a final touch to her outfit. she put in her own silver earrings and shuttered as her maiden placed the cold necklace around her neck. using one finger, she traced the metal down passed her collarbone and into the v neck of her dress, where the jewelry fit perfectly. maybe the whole attire was a bit much, too scandalous, too loud, too expensive, but it was important for her and her bother to make a strong impression tonight. after all, they had to prove to seven kingdoms that they were fit, not only to rule, but to lead a war against the invaders from the east.

she excused her handmaidens with a tilt of her head and turned back once more to the mirror beside her. taking one last look, she decided at the last moment to slip a dagger into a hilt on her thigh before heading toward the ceremony. lyanna was very capable of defending herself, and she figured it could not be a mistake to be wary of even their allies in these trying times. heels clicked loudly against the stone floors of the red keep as the princess made her way to the throne room. her mind wandered briefly to her father as she passed the rose tapestries on the wall, and she pondered if her brother would do any better or worse as king.

—

"long may he reign," lyanna chanted in unison with the crowd. there had been quite a turnout, and it was comforting to see the support of the other kingdoms, even if it was likely that there were a few traitors in their midst. the targaryens may have dragons and the support of essos on their side, but they are historical oppressors and it seems that much of westeros would rather not have them back on the throne. thankfully.

from her seat in the front row, the princess watched as each house began to make their appeals of congratulations and loyalty to her brother. andrik may be the one receiving the words, but lyanna had a watchful eye on each lord and lady, her strategic mind taking over. here eyes settled on the arryns, laurane mostly. the blonde falcon had always been one to catch the princess's attention. three years her senior, laurane had been at a few festivals and tourney's when they were growing up, though she had never seemed too excited to be in attendance. lyanna actually reasoned that she was probably her first crush. though many years had passed since she had last seen the lady arryn, she was just as stoic and beautiful as ever. and just as calculated. lyanna could almost see the gears turning in the other woman's mind as she spoke to the king. however, she seemed to the tyrell woman to be telling the truth, which was enough for now. lyanna's gaze breifly flickered to the yoounger arryn, who had a much less poised reputation. she chucked a little at what seemed to be a sibling rivalry, something with which she was acquainted, before turning back to her own brother.

the princess breifly locked eyes with barris, who was standing at his side, and offered him a gentle, genuine smile. she thought it was nice to know that she was not the only one looking out for the king. lyanna then refocused on assessing the other lords and ladies of the great houses, doing her best to judge them one by one. falcon, lion, stag, trout, wolf.

[winterfell.]

─ ❅ -- ( ＬＹＲＡ ＳＴＡＲＫ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : red keep ] [ title : princess of the north ] [ tagged : felix ] [ 1349 words ]


- - - - -The day was more drab than perhaps it should have been, she noticed. People in the capital always talked of how joyous an occasion a coronation was, which might have made one picture bright skies and a high golden sun to warm the terrain, to make the outside world match the liveliness of the celebration within the Red Keep. However, on this morning, Lyra found that the skies were grey, clouds blocking out the sun, a somber air settling over King's Landing. Perhaps this was more fitting, given the circumstances. A timely regime change was never something to fear. However, this was anything but timely. It had been weeks since the murder of the last Tyrell king, the man who was supposed to be Lyra's father-in-law. When she'd arrived at the Red Keep a short while prior, she hadn't been expecting the king to abandon his post, to travel to Dragonstone at the request of Targaryen bastards and have his head cut off. She wasn't close with the man by any means, but the incident still wounded her deeply. Never in her life had she witness such a bold declaration of war, let alone from an illegitimate dynasty. Yet, amidst this realization, amidst an impending invasion, she was supposed to find a way to be happy? She was supposed to ignore the troubles of the kingdoms that would soon become her own -- kingdoms she wanted nothing to do with all her life, mind you -- and put a smile on her face for her betrothed? A man who hadn't much spoken to her since she arrived? She was promised that King's Landing wouldn't be as horrible as she thought, but she was realizing very quickly that she was lied to.

- - - - -After all, how could she possibly find a way to be happy in a place like this? Her chambers were significantly more lavish than she would have liked, than she expected. She was used to things being relatively plain, like her old chambers in Winterfell. She was used to the thick furs without much need for decor. She wasn't used to all the golds and the greens, the silks and elaborate embroideries. She didn't care much for how warm everything was, for how she didn't feel the sensation of the cold against her bare feet when she walked along the corridors of the Keep. She hated looking out her window to see something other than snow and evergreens. She didn't like how people stared at her beloved Atla, no more than a pup and still larger than the average dog. However, most of all, she absolutely detested the Red Keep's lack of a proper Godswood. Without a weirwood, how could one even think to call it a Godswood? The gods had no eyes in the Red Keep and it left Lyra with a constant feeling of uncertainty, of never being truly safe, that she didn't quite know how to cope with. Perhaps she was too far from her gods now to properly worship them. She couldn't help but wonder if that was why the gods never gave her a vision of the Tyrell king's death. She should have been able to warn him, or to warn Andrik at the very least. But perhaps she was useless in the south without the Old Gods of the Forest by her side.

- - - - -She didn't need help from handmaidens to dress herself, instead asking Atla to fetch certain pieces for her. The pale grey pup was obedient, despite often showing signs of reluctance or confusion. She was a young direwolf, not nearly as massive or imposing yet as the ones of legend, but she was coming along nicely, Lyra thought. The direwolf brought her corset to her on command and Lyra dreaded the idea that she'd have to put the thing on. A coronation was a special event, one that called for a certain level of formality that she didn't enjoy. Those expectations were heavily thrust upon you when the coronation in question was to declare your betrothed king of the six kingdoms. She dressed in her grey gown, the white detailing and thread matching the snow that she missed so dearly and forming the shape of a direwolf just above the waistline. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be allowed to dress like a Stark. At some point, she'd be forced to trade in her colors and her sigil just as she'd be forced to trade away her name. When would she have to take green and gold over her beloved winter colors? She pushed that thought aside once more, taking the Stark sigil pin from Atla's mouth and securing it to her gown. She ended up calling upon her handmaidens for help with her hair, since she rarely ever did much to style it on her own. It took quite a bit of tugging, but they braided it rather intricately in a style that seemed well-loved among southern women. She didn't look like herself, but she assumed that plenty of other guests wouldn't either.

- - - - -She was able to stand with her family for the first time in weeks once she entered the Great Hall, her older brother by her side and sister by his side, Atla at her hip. They were to stand in the front of the crowd opposite the Tyrell family, since Lyra was to be queen soon, which still didn't sound right. Despite being excited to see her siblings once more, she wasn't allowed to be giddy at the moment. Silence -- or mostly silence, anyway -- fell over everyone as the ceremony began. Lyra tried to pay attention, but found herself fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the seven, whom always seemed to find their way into southern ceremonies. After a few moments of bitter thoughts regarding the false gods, she found herself eyeing her betrothed. He didn't look like he should have, she thought. His eyes looked dead, sunken in from lack of sleep. Had it not been for the fancy outfit he wore, he would have looked significantly more disheveled, less like a king and more like a madman. Despite not knowing the man well -- since he had largely ignored her and everyone else in the Keep for the past several weeks -- her heart ached for him. He was having a massive responsibility thrust on him whilst still trying to cope with the death of his father. He had a war to fight, but with what spirit? Perhaps sensing how nervous she was, Atla touched her nose to the palm of Lyra's head. She gave her direwolf a small smile, gently running her hand through the creature's fur, tangling her fingers in it. The crown was finally placed on Andrik's head. "Long may he reign," she repeated.

- - - - -Her eyes were locked on Andrik for a moment when he took the Iron Throne and the crowd erupted into applause, the lords and ladies of Westeros cheering for their newly crowned king. After a beat, the Arryns made their approach to the dias, the Lannisters following closely behind to pledge their fealty. After a moment, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, pulling her attention from her betrothed. Felix was at her side, a comfort she had been longing for since she left Winterfell in the first place. While Adryana -- whom she loved regardless -- always seemed to fill Lyra with a certain jealousy, Felix never elicited the same response. She was truly happy that he made it to the coronation, especially when he technically didn't have to. He could have stayed home with the twins had he wanted to. She nodded at him. "I have been for a while now," she said quietly. "The Godswood doesn't even have a weirwood," she added, the legitimate sorrow she felt hidden underneath the irritation of the remark. She let out a shallow sigh, her fingers running through her direwolf's fur once more. She glanced back at her betrothed for a moment before facing her brother again. "I trust the journey wasn't too horrible. How are the twins?" she asked.

[radio.active.]

i lady of the eyrie
ii the red keep
iii with laurane, micah
iv mentions various nobles

indentFrom the moment their caravan had passed through the gates of the Eyrie, Nathaley found herself dismal with homesickness. She could hardly care who sat upon the Iron Throne given the Eyrie’s seclusion and natural barriers. In fact, if it were up to her, she would never have left the safety of her towering home. Even the long, horrendous hours spent stuffed inside the carriage between her bickering siblings seemed like a safe haven compared to what awaited the Arryns at King’s Landing. Absently, she pulled at the frayed skin around her fingernails. The faint voice of her late mother snarked something in the back of her head, though it did not hold the same power over her as it once did. A small trickle of blood narrowly missed her powder-blue travelling gown, instead soaking into the soft carriage cushions. The tiny action absolutely enamored her, and for a few moments, she could tune out whatever jibes Micah and Laurane were throwing at one another. Every so often, she would offer a halfhearted ‘mhm’ or ‘I agree’ to satisfy Laurane, but otherwise allowed herself to stare out into the passing countryside with idle wonders of when she will see the mountains of the Vale again.
indentIn her dream-like state, Nathaley was vaguely aware of herself being bustled about by an attendant, a tiny twig of a girl named Minella Fyste – though Nathaley liked to simply call her Minnie. Her soft travelling gown was replaced by a still simple but fancier gown of an identical shade of blue velvet dotted with shimmering stones from the Vale’s magnificent mountains. The garment was made in a rather neutral style, with fitted sleeves and a wide but shallow neckline that showed just the right amount of her freckled collarbone and shoulders. A favorite necklace hung just at the hollow of her throat: a small semirough-hewn opal etched with the Arryn emblem. Nathaley felt quite beautiful in her own right, though she knew even the most opulent of attire could not make her outshine Laurane.

indentAs the septon droned on through the tedium of the coronation, Nathaley still found herself not quite present in the moment. Her eyes wandered throughout the sept, admiring the elegant décor and towering stained windows instead of the new Tyrell king. She hardly paid attention to anything surrounding the royal family, even to the point that the names of the Tyrell progeny frequently escaped her. “Long may he reign,” she mumbled with quite a delay thanks to her mind’s wandering.
As always, Nathaley clung to Laurane’s tail like a crowd-frightened toddler. She said nothing to the royals and lower houses that approached, simply smiling politely and curtseying as Laurane managed the social niceties. As her elder sister mentioned departing from King’s Landing soon, Nathaley nodded enthusiastically in agreement. It would be a blessing to escape this… well, she wouldn’t call it a nightmare, but it was something close.
indentLaurane and Micah’s conversation continued on, both siblings snapping back and forth at one another, hoping to find a chink in the other’s armor. There were times when it was interesting to watch, like one of the ball games that the smallfolk often played. Laurane seemed to have won, ending the verbal battle with a curt and final sentence, then surprising Nathaley by turning and paying the younger girl a compliment. “Thank you,” she smiled at her sister, “but I’m only a daisy to your rose.”
indentThe girl followed Laurane dutifully, just as she had from the moment her feet could carry her themselves, and curtseyed deeply before the newly-crowned king. She offered no words to the Tyrell, content to maintain the assumption that she was mute, and stepped aside just as quickly as she had approached. A swarm of nobles surrounded the Arryn sisters as Micah slipped away, leaving Nathaley to watch and listen as every noble house in Westeros traded niceties.

[radio.active.]

i lady heir of storm's end
ii the red keep
iii tags andrik and beanie
iv no mentions

indentValian Baratheon could not be less interested in the goings-on of King’s Landing. Politics had never been and, as far as she was concerned, never would be her thing. Of course, she attended the coronation and joined the other nobles in their booming, “Long may he reign,” but that was the extent she was willing to go to in the name of politics. However, Valian was deeply interested in the wines that were kept in the depths of the Red Keep’s cellars, and her interest was always in favor of an excuse to dazzle the high houses of Westeros.
indentFor Andrik Tyrell’s coronation, the Baratheon lady had decided to parade her own family’s colors in full view. All sorts of soft black fabrics were draped over her fit but ladylike frame and with every move of her body or flutter of her skirts, golden thread twinkled just within sight. The sleeves hung off of her shoulders and fitted to her upper arms before cascading down to join the flows of her skirts with a lining of shining golden lace. A cape – if it could be called that – hung from her shoulders. The sheer black fabric trailed behind her, fitted to her gown by a golden brooch in the shape of a stag’s antlers that lined most of her neckline, almost acting in place of a necklace. The crown of her head was similarly adorned, carrying a circlet of entangled golden antlers
indentIn the back of her mind, she knew wearing a black gown would be considered odd at best, and downright treasonous at worst, as it had often been worn to portray dislike for a newly crowned king. However, a mixture of her absolute lack of caring and the overt display of Baratheon presence at the coronation had allowed for Valian to appear in her outfit of choice.
indentAfter the coronation, Valian’s first order of business was to locate the wine. By that, she actually sent a few of her attendants to search for it for her. As she waited, she paraded around the hall and greeted the nobles she could stand to speak to. But it wasn’t long before the lady swept up onto the dais, taking the spot the moment an opening offered itself and offered the new king a dazzling smile and a curtsey. She didn’t bother to wait for her sister, content to approach him herself.
indent“Your excellency, I wish you the best of fortunes with your new status,” she all but purred to the king, then faced Bennis. She knew it was more than likely a breach of protocol, but she strode towards her brother and trilled, “Beanie! It’s been so long, how do you stand working so much?”

[winterfell.]

─ ♔ -- ( ＳＡＥＮＥＲＡ ＴＡＲＧＡＲＹＥＮ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : dragonstone ] [ title : lady of dragonstone ] [ tagged : myrrine; dramon; nerys ] [ 743 words ]


- - - - -Her bedchambers were just as dark and dreary as the rest of Dragonstone. It was fitting, she supposed. The whole castle was shrouded in a perpetual darkness, had been for generations, from what she'd heard. There was a deep, old magic built into the castles structures, in the stone dragons and the sharp, jagged architecture. Even the scent that wafted through the air of her open window was something out of a scary story. Winter was falling over Westeros, cooling her home and forcing the woman to hug a cloak to herself most of the time. Still, she couldn't bring herself to close her window, the scent of smoke, salt, and brimstone feeling like home, despite it being unpleasant at first. She was forcing herself to get used to it. A Targaryen should tolerate their ancestral home, perhaps even love it. She had to keep reminding herself that she was a Targaryen. Her blood was the blood of the dragon. Myrrine had been teacher her this throughout her life. Yet, she had a difficult time fully accepting it. Targaryens aren't bastards and Saenera was, indeed, a bastard. Her blood wasn't what it should be for her to have a position in a place like Dragonstone.

- - - - -But that never stopped Myrrine from raising her. Or her siblings. And it didn't stop any of them from being able to keep and raise dragons, something no other bloodline is capable of. Taenyr was a firm reminder that there was power in her, even if she was only a bastard daughter of the last Targaryen prince. The pale red dragon was perched on her bedside, eyeing her curiously as she fixed the silver dragon pin to her black gown. She'd been summoned by Myrrine just moments prior, though she wasn't sure what she was needed for. Through her window, she caught the glimpse of black and gold sails in the distance. The Greyjoy party was arriving to swear fealty to the remnants of the Targaryen bloodline. Odds are, the Martells would be here as well. If she remembered correctly, her younger brother -- Dramon, the less unhinged of her brothers -- was to be marrying a young Martell woman. The legitimized bastard, to be exact. She supposed that was fitting. A bastard for a bastard. She couldn't imagine any of the legitimate Greyjoy men would want to marry a Targaryen bastard, someone so lowborn. Perhaps that what why the only arrangement so far was that of two bastards.

- - - - -At the very least, the Targaryen children should be presentable, should look confident and composed, as Targaryen monarchs should be. She should pretend to be worthy of her titles, of her ancestral home. She wrapped her crimson belt around her waist, finalizing her look with the excessive rings on her fingers and the dragon amulet around her neck. Her silver hair was tied back in a braid and Taenyr perched himself on her shoulder. She left the privacy of her chambers, steps light against the stone floor as she wandered through the corridors. She'd been at Dragonstone for weeks, yet she still found herself amazed by the architecture, the overall aesthetic of the castle. The lack of bright sunlight caught her off guard as well, often causing her to miss her previous home across the Narrow Sea. It was warmer there and the sun's golden rays were constantly hidden away behind the clouds. She'd lived in many placed in her life, but none were quite so grey as this. She wondered, briefly, if the Martell and Greyjoy parties were used to this. Perhaps Westeros in general existed beneath the clouds rather than in the light of the sun. Or, perhaps it was just her home. She supposed their allies would simply have to deal with it.

- - - - -She opened the red doors at the end of the corridor, finally setting foot in the great hall. Taenyr's claws lightly dug into her skin as she caught sight of the cultists standing beside Myrrine. Dramon and Naerys were already present, Naerys wearing her armor -- armor that Saenera always thought to be much to gorgeous to belong to such an instrument of death and chaos. Dramon, Naerys," she greeted with a nod. "You're both looking well." She faced the leader of the cult, the woman who made all the decisions and pulled all the strings. "You asked for me, mother," she said. "Have you more tasks for me before we greet our guests?" she asked.

[undertheweather]

♕ rhaegon targaryen — 30 — king targaryen — tagged; saenera, dramon, naerys, cult

of course he was the last one to show.

rhaegon was the king of being fashionably late. actually, soon he would be the king of everything, but that was beside the point. the point was that the oldest targaryen was the last to enter the great hall. he had been busy staring at a map of westeros and terrorizing himself over how it could all be his. he just had to wait. wait. wait.

rhaegon had spent his whole life waiting. waiting to be saved, then waiting to invade westeros, and now waiting to be king. patience was only a virtue of rhaegon when he wanted it to be, and thankfully for himself and those around him, he wanted to be patient right now. for now. he wanted the entire reclamation of the seven kingdoms to go perfectly, and if painstakingly waiting at dragonstone and staring at maps was what he had to do make that happen, he would do it.

finally, he turned and started to make his way toward the great hall, where he had been summoned by his mother. of course, she wasnt his real mother, but she had raised him from dirt to dragon, so he was hers. and she was his. and that was all that mattered. rhaegon passed lunax, tossing a piece of meat to the dragon, whose white and gold wings fluttered on his windowsill, as he left the room. lunax had been the largest of the eggs, which was how he had ended up as rhaegon's, but fate must had intervened because the two of them now had an unbreakable bond. possibly the only real bond in his life. in the hall, rhaegon caught glimpses of his black suit in the mirrors that lined the corridor, relishing in the flickers of red from his outfit's adornments as they bounced off the reflections like specks of blood on dragonglass. rhaegon smiled.

a figure appeared at the other end of the hall with snow white hair to match his own. for a moment, rhaegon though that it might be on of his half-siblings, but on closer inspection, it was a different member with valerian blood. "daemera," he greeted in a low grown with a tilt of his head. "on your way to answer mother's call?" she questioned, almost teasingly. she was honestly as much, if not more, of a sister to him than his own kin. they had been raised together after all. rhaegon did harbor some spite for her, as he had always been jealous of her abilities, but he knew that it could not be changed. and so he kept his contempt to himself for the most part. "i dont see how its any of your buisiness," he responded in kind, "but yes, im on my way to the throne room. there is much to attend to today." the girl smiled at him mockingly before saying "big day!" and bounding around the corner and out of sight. rhaegon shook his head with a sigh. childish.

—

the heads of some of the more esteemed cult members turned towards the door as it swung open and the white dragon walked through. sylvain in particular caught the dragon lord's eye, seeming to attempt to shoot him a warning glance. too bad for him, rhaegon didn't care. after spending his entire life with the group, a good portion of it with just himself and myrrine. he was invincible. and even when he wasn't, he relished the pain. "mother," he addressed the woman before him, all but ignoring his siblings.

"finally, you're all here," the woman said, pacing back to the throne and taking a seat. "we must be vary careful of how todays events proceed. of course you know how important it is to make these connections with these ironborn and dornish children. don't you? rhaegon couldn't help but notice the way silverstone slithered his way up and began to wrap around the woman's body,

"yes, mother. fester and infect from the inside, out," rhaegon repeated the words he had heard so many times. "precisely," the black haired woman smirked, running one finger along her snake's scales. of course, he wished their dragons were full grown and they could attack with fire and blood. from the outside, in. but this was myrrine's way and it would have to do.

[skydust]

✧ 𝐶𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑅𝐴 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑂𝑁
───────────────────────────────────────
✧ cis female ✧ 24 ✧ heir of storm’s end ✧ tags: Micah (Valian, Bennis, Andrik)

Cassandra exasperatedly sighed at the conversation she was having with a Lord she couldn’t bother to remember the name of. He was much older than her, and a little too grabby for her liking. She had to hold back from stepping on his feet with the heels she was wearing when he touched her shoulder earlier. The man sputtered at her rude sigh. Clearly not expecting her to be so forthright in her disinterest in the conversation. He sneered at her, ready to make whatever silly comment that would have gotten him slapped before the doors in the back swung open. Cass quickly turned on her heel without so much as a goodbye. Irritation was already sinking into her skin as she joined her siblings in haste. Being the heir it was expected of her to be skilled in everything about diplomacy and politics. And she was. When she wasn’t ready to demonstrate her swordsmanship up close and personal. All eyes were up in the front now, the coronation beginning as the priest started talking.
Cassandra looked to the side, her attention away from Andrik Tyrell and onto Bennis Baratheon. Her sibling had joined the knights guard a bit ago. Wanting to prove something to others or himself, Cassandra wasn't sure. She was obviously skeptical of the idea at first. Her little brother leaving Storm's End didn't sit well with her, but who would sit well with their sibling leaving home and traveling miles and miles away? Cassandra was also worried because Beanie had always been the timid of the Baratheon bunch. Valian, despite really only caring about a few things, was fierce when she wanted to be. Beanie though had always been rather quiet. His personality, and even his hair color was unusual for a Baratheon. Cass loved him dearly anyways, always ready to protect anyone who would try and hurt him. So when her stormy hazel eyes finally found him beside the throne, she fidgeted in her seat. Eager to go and hug the daylights out of him.
Cassandra remembered the trip over to Kings Landing. It was rather short, especially compared to what others would have traveled to see the new King get his crown. The whole way she couldn't say she wasn't excited for the coronation. While talking prettily to the lords and ladies of Westeros wasn't exactly her strong suit, she was looking forward to seeing some people here. Though she just wished she was a tad bit more comfortable. Especially as she impatiently waited for the crown to be placed on Andriks wavy locks. Her dress was long, reaching all the way to the floor. She sported her house colors today. A lot of the fabric was as black as the midnight sky, though she had enough golden accents to make it glimmer. Especially on the top half, where a branch like pattern formed the shape of stag horns. Her hair was pulled back, weaved together with black pearls and a golden crown of stag horns nestled in her dark brown locks. While she wasn't one for jewelry, she wore a beautiful golden necklace that hung down her neck to the v-line of her dress. And it all felt very off for her. The only thing that felt slightly normal was the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh, hidden under the flowy fabric of her gown. Cassandra was never one for dresses, but she supposed it was her job to look presentable for her house. She just wished it didn't have to be in uncomfortable heels. The crown was finally placed on Andrik Tyrell's head. Cassandra joined everyone when booming voices filled the great hall with, "Long may he reign." A tremendous applause sounding right after. The chatting started once again, and both the Arryns and the Lannisters went to swear loyalty to the King. She clasped her hands together, turning to her sister to see if she wanted to join her in saying their greeting to the King and their sibling. Only to find that Valian had already wandered off.
Cassandra huffed, her eyebrows furrowing together in irritation. "Of course she leaves me the minute it ends. When I find her I swear to the gods I'll-" Cassandra's rambling was interrupted by a voice sounding behind her. She turned around towards the voice, her dress swaying with the movement. Her face quickly dropped her sour expression in place for a more happy one as she met dark eyes. Completely forgetting her manners, she smiled brightly up at him and practically threw herself into Micah's arms for a hug. Putting murdering Valian at the back of her mind, she stepped back after a minute. Feeling her face heat up slightly from literally throwing herself at him. Still, she was smiling as she spoke. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. How are you Mimi?"
It was true that she hadn't seen the Arryn Lord in a while. With the recent assassination of the late King, it seemed like Laurane had become even more protective of her siblings. Practically locking them away in the Eyrie and watching them like an eagle. Any plans for their betrothal had been put on hold as well, as most talk of marriage and betrothal had been because of the supposed recent threat of the Targaryens returning from the grave. The rumours alone left Cassandra on edge, the feeling of all out bloodshed and death approaching becoming closer and closer. Leaving her heart racing and aching for the safety of her family.

[vaell]

ＣＥＬＩＡ　ＳＴＡＲＫ ！
─────────────────────────────────── ───────────────────────────────
( title. princess of winterfell ) ( tagged. rodrik | mentioned: adryana, felix, lyra, ani, lyanna ) ( location. winterfell; courtyard )


indentcelia stark stared down at the pool of black water, looking directly into the reflection of her own dark eyes. there she sat, the sound of the wind rattling the leaves of the weirwood tree behind her. she was all alone - well, almost. rodrik was still at winterfell. but with lyra having left first - permanently - and now with felix and adryana having taken leave for the coronation of andrik tyrell, the two twins had been left to their own devices for the most part. she wished that maybe she could've went with them, because even despite the two elder stark children gone, things weren't all that peaceful with her twin brother around still. idly, she rested her cheek in the palm of her hand while flecks of snow slowly descended to fall upon the lands. she spent most of her time here, in the godswood, as a way to escape anyone trying to pester her. her reflection in the water store back at her, the image of her pale skin, and long, dark hair, pulled back in a half-up half-down style. she wore a heavy gown colored of mute greys and soft blues, with a grey pelt across her shoulders. her expression was blank, lips drawn in a thin line.
indentshe hoped that when adryana and felix got back, they could tell her all about the coronation. how all the high lords and ladies looked - what they wore, how they acted - and most of all, how happy lyra and andrik looked together. her elder sister must look so beautiful right now, she thought, the future queen of the six kingdoms. how odd it was to have two sisters at such a position. adryana was a queen and so would lyra be. they each ruled their respective kingdom. she was in no means jealous, for she would never want to hold such a title that came with such an immense responsibility that likely weighed down one's shoulders every day. she had seen it firsthand with adryana, after all, as she slowly grew distant with her. so yes, she was much more content being happy for the two of them in their own right, and nearly grateful that she would never be in that sort of position. but still. she wanted so badly to be there with them, having a taste of life outside winterfell. maybe they thought she wouldn't care to come with them? she didn't ever openly voice how she felt about what she was included in or not, so perhaps that was why. gods, she wished she had said something now.
indentso, instead of standing in a throne room full of guests, she found herself musing about the ways of the southern court as she placed a finger in the water, disrupting the image of her reflection. she pictured the keep, the iron throne sat upon by andrik, and all the attendees in the gallery of the room. nobles hailing from the stormlands, the westerlands, the riverlands, the vale..and so forth. how did they all look? she had spent most of her life only learning about the houses, their words and values, though had no real interaction with most or any of them ever. did the lannisters flaunt their riches, the tyrells their vast and fertile lands? how did the head of the houses socialize? did they dance through conversations, flashing a smile to one another but really not caring? these were all things that had crossed her mind. not that she would ever know anytime soon, she realized almost resentfully. and though celia was often one to enjoy her time spent at home, wary of new kingdoms, there was something about the idea of visiting the capital that entranced her. probably because her house had become so involved in affairs with the crown, but still. it was more that she wanted to be with all of her family, above anything else; and yes, that included rodrik, too.
indenther thoughts landed back upon the royal family. the probably-now-king andrik tyrell and his sister, princess lyanna tyrell. she had only ever seen their likes in portraits, though they were both captivating. something about them screamed royalty and the capital and all that came with it. i mean, obviously. they did live there. she wanted to meet her soon to be sister and brother-in-law. maybe she would enjoy their company, even. almost grumbling at the missed opportunity, she glared down at herself. literally.
indentwith a final contemplative stare at her own face, she shrugged her fur pelt closer around her neck, and glanced upward from the water. beside her, jaide stirred, curled up beside celia in what seemed to be a light slumber. smiling, the girl lifted her hand to stroke the top of her direwolves head, whom gave a low whine as she looked up at celia. "come on, girl," she spoke softly, rising from where she had been sitting at the edge of the water. the young direwolf perked up, also following her in her rising, and so the two made to embark back to the courtyard of winterfell. as much as she praised the serenity in the godswood, the princess felt it may be more beneficial to go see what rodrik was up to. with the trouble that he always found himself into, celia had always made sure never to get involved with his shenanigans, whether that be joining in with him on the chaos or simply watching it happen. and who knew what he was doing at this very moment.

[vaermina]

---