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@adelaynehill
» » • THE SEVEN WHO ARE ONE
Members of the Faith worship the Seven Who Are One, a single deity with seven aspects or faces. For the less educated, however, this concept is often difficult to grasp, causing them to often believe that there are indeed seven different gods. Depending on their need, worshippers pray to specific faces of the Seven. The seven faces are:
The Faith of the Seven, often simply referred to as the Faith, is the dominant religion in most of the Seven Kingdoms. Followers of the Faith are rare in the north and on the Iron Islands, where the religions of the old gods and the Drowned God, respectively, are still strong. The gods of the Faith are sometimes known as the new gods to differentiate them from the old gods of the First Men.
@thereapcr
Slowly but surely, the bastard handmaid had begun to find the courage to delve deeper and deeper into Sunspear’s markets and bustling streets once more. She had always adored her morning walks, both here and in King’s Landing, but since the attack and the snake tongued little girl... it had been frighting. She had folded in on herself, and where once she would have traveled the area without fear, she had only been able to venture into the market stalls just outside the Martell castle. While the harbor has always been a favorite place to go and take in the sea breeze, she had not been able to explore Sunspear’s docks. Too worried, too afraid -- but the way Rhaena had spoken about the ruined Greyjoy ship had finally lead to a child-like curiosity that had always been within her. She wanted to see it-- figure out for herself if perhaps there was some connection to the new threat that hovered over her head like a dark cloud. Perhaps if she could find something here, it would lead her to the person who had turned her into such a frighted, wilting sunflower.
The ship was a sight to behold. Yet, she’d only been able to barley look upon it when the snake appeared out of nothingness as she’d rested her hand upon a shipping crate to steady herself against the sheer shock of the vessel before her. A scream left her lips as needle-thin fangs sank into the soft porcelain of her flesh, and despite that she yanked it away and the snake released her, it stared at her so... knowingly as it coiled once more, prepared to strike once more. “M-Mother’s Mercy!” She shrieked, stumbling backwards and tripping onto the wooden dock in attempt to escape it.
rvrkng:
adelayne hill.
his days in dorne were dragging, split between the trident kingdom’s manor and the martell’s castle. either submerged in disputes surrounding that of peace and trade, or absolutely nothing at all. by his father’s advising, he would not take even a second alone to roam or even a step farther than arm’s length away from the tully’s newly established kings guard who’s armor still bedecked the silver trout flopping between a river of blue and a sky of red; water and blood, the two secretions comprising the riverlands. the very riverlands bordering all, but dorne, and those very borders being hoisted and closed only months before, calling for the need of permits to convey cargo through, and a price to be paid to their bank.
not many were all too pleased with the tullys as of the moment. some accused them of stealing funds by putting a tag on other kingdoms trades. the tullys would acclaim that they were only making up for the many years their lands had been taken advantage of; destroyed by feuding nation’s bloodshed simply for being middle ground and the tullys having to rebuild in their wake. their actions were justified … or so his father would think and work to convince.
but it was not his father with the target on his back, because even though it and everything was his father’s ideas, they were passed by him: brynden tully, the river king. oh, how unusual it was and unaccommodating, he’d admit. he did not have the passion of a king, nor the drive, proper upcoming, or brains. the lack of very brains would lead him to the merchant’s market today. he could not blend in anywhere, if not for the men that followed him whether from near or far, then his height and the red in his hair. he was doing exactly what he was told not to when there were unknown and unmet enemies that did not hold the title of king or lord before their surnames, but rather targeted the many in disguise. he truly was never safe, and it was the understanding that pushed him to stop hiding and instead live.
though anxiety-driven, no hidden fact, he was adjusting quite well during his first trip. many offered fruit and fish, snippets of silk and their finest of glasswork, but all were kindly repudiated, as brynden would deny with a beholden grin to show his appreciation and apologies. after all, they did not need to put forth offerings, he was not their king, and the many that knew it did not hold back spit and slurs at his entourage. his old self that roamed the streets of lannisport was more adjusted to the latter, making it feel more like home, even if not his home now, a home he knew before.
he saw a child sitting on the steps of a brothel near a stand with beautiful tapestries, the child played all alone with a stick as if it were a sword, speaking to people of the imagination as if they were caught up in battle. brynden loomed cautiously, lifting a hand to wave off the men nearing in, insisting he refrain from the interaction. brynden would drop to a squatting position to meet the child’s eyes, no matter how bewildered or petrified the child would react he would commence a conversation, questioning why the boy was alone only to discover his mother was a whore at work. he inquired his motives with playing in this world of make-believe, and the boy would respond excitable, moreso than he himself ever did to anything really. brynden would reach into his coin purse, loosening the strings keeping the bag at his side as he did, and give the boy enough coin to buy himself a real sword, or at least a carved wooden one more accommodating than a torn piece of a bush.
when he pulled to his feet and meant to proceed through the many stalls lining the streets, his attention would be lost once more by a girl at the stall nearest. his eyes fell again, his neck starting to hurt from all this bending, only to meet a face more familiar than any he had seen thus far or even knew yet, more familiar than his own fathers or even the baker who helped make him the man he was today, a face whose lips he brushed and eyes he got lost in more times than he could count. the same face that led him here today, got him stuck here today, as he would end the most appeasing chapter of his life and any possibility to fulfill his one longed endeavor, to find her.
feelings of bliss, joy, excitement filled within him, but it was not long after that euphoria would be replaced with resentment, anger, and a sense of sadness. she was alive, she left him without even a goodbye, she never wrote. “ … ” he wanted to say something, but there were so many words flooding his mind, he could not align them, then he found one. “ adelayne? ” his voice tremored, all of his emotions competing to convey.
Adelayne watched with a mixture of confusion and curiosity as the red-haired man seemed to be looking into her very soul -- looking at her so intently that she had the sudden urge to shift away from him or hide from his gaze. But he trapped her there, and the longer the moment between them passed, the more she felt as if she had done something wrong. What was causing him to look at her like he had discovered a hidden secret -- oh, Seven, did he know her secret? -- only for the sunshine-happiness to be snuffed out by a sudden rain storm, as if she’d managed to stab him square in his heart. What was it about her that made this stranger so distraught in her presence? Perhaps it was because he thought her a thief, her kind warning nothing more than a show before she stole the coin purse that threatened to fall and vanish into the bustling crowd. The bastard knew she should have not ventured outside of the Martell’s castle. It was too soon, and this interaction made it all the more clear. But she wasn’t a thief, nor had she ever done anything to wrong this red-haired stranger--
Adelayne?
That voice -- it was deeper, now. Despite the years it had on her own, its owner had always been slow growing. Gentle, with a boyish tone to it that had whispered with her and laughed with her. Whom had shared things with her that it hadn’t with others. The voice was the same, she was sure. She’d know it anywhere, even with the deeper tone and how it had become somewhat coarse and gravely. It didn’t quite seem possible. Rather, perfectly impossible -- because while the voice was strikingly familiar, the mouth it came from had changed even more drastically. Adelayne found herself starring at his lips as it formed her name, moving to his nose, and up to his eyes, before taking in the whole of his face. It was his eyes that made her finally recognize him, her body startling so hard she had to take a half step back. Her hand rushed to her mouth as she released a soft, shocked gasp. “Brynden...?” No more than a whisper. It was all she could manage -- a rush of feelings and thoughts of the past and the possibility of a future that had simply been intangible for two young souls on different paths. Longing, heartbreak, the softer moments and the arguing.
Still unaware of just who her baker’s boy had become, Adelayne closed the space she had created between them. Two more steps forward -- the guards around him visibly tensing, though she did not notice as they took clear and deliberate steps towards her-- and Adelayne was grabbing him, wrapping her thin fingers around his forearm without truly meaning to do so. But she had to know -- she had to know he was real, and that this was not a dream she would wake up from. She was just as dumbfounded as he seemed to be. But despite her own joy and anger, she had guilt, too. So much guilt, for vanishing into thin air and stealing away to King’s Landing without telling him goodbye. How could she? How could she ever even try to explain?
She couldn’t even tell Vida.
Adelayne squeezed his arm, a clear shake beginning in her fingertips. “Y-you -- I-I -- how--?” She couldn’t form the words, stuttering and blubbering like a blind-sided fool. “What a-are you d-doing here? What about the bakery? And The Watch? You can’t b-be -- how can y-you be in Dorne? I-in Sunspear?”
。.: ♡*:・’(*︶_︺*)))♡
𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄
001. — drag my muse by the arm 002. — grab my muse by the front of their shirt, possibly shoving them back 003. — take my muse by the hips to carefully move them out of their way 004. — smack my muse upside the head 005. — grip my muse by the back of the neck 006. — put a hand on my muse’s back to steer them somewhere 007. — point sternly at a chair and tell my muse to sit down 008. — push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed 009. — press a finger to my muse’s lips to shut them up 010. — put a hand on my muse’s knee while sitting next to them, to discourage them from standing up 011. — slap my muse’s hand away from something they shouldn’t touch 012. — grab my muse’s hair and yank 013. — slam a door shut before my muse can leave the room 014. — physically pick my muse up and carry them 015. — grip my muse’s jaw to make them look yours in the eye 016. — rub my muse down with a sponge/wet cloth 017. — pin my muse with their arms behind their back 018. — slam my muse into a wall 019. — wrestle/pin my muse to the ground 020. — put a hand over my muses mouth & drag my muse out of sight
+ @emerictyrell
He felt warm and familiar. He felt solid and safe. I wanted to cling to his shirt, bury my face into the warm curve of his neck, and never let go.
Becca Fitzpatrick, Crescendo (via lastdaysofmagic)
@mcrrec
@rvrkng
She felt more like herself than she had in several days. It had been nearly a week since the Midsummer Ball attack and Adelayne’s room had been sacked, but after a nervous conversation with her Queen, she had been given several simple Dornish shifts from the other handmaids. The one she wore now was a wonderful sunset color, half way between orange and yellow with singes of pink that fell in silky billows to her ankles. She felt more revealing than normal, with her arms, shoulders, and collarbones exposed to the sun. The neck plunged more than she liked, but the warmth was welcome. The Dornish weather was quickly becoming her favorite, brining a flush to her skin and the faintest of freckles across her cheeks.
The dress had pockets, though -- so she could almost forget the amount of skin the Dornish thought normal for everyday dress. Since the sack of her chambers, she now kept the scroll of her birth close to her. Carefully folded, burning a hole into her mind.
But she was being careful to not think of it, nor the guilty feeling that had come again of keeping her siblings in the dark. She would tell Arryk -- soon, she had to. But until she figured out how, she would enjoy the market and the way she could disappear into the crowd.
She’d been admiring a tapestry when she noticed the man -- tall and red haired, and a handsome face that she didn’t know yet was a ghost from her past. Adelayne wouldn’t have said anything to him -- talking to strangers didn’t often turn out in her favor -- but when she noticed the strings of a coin purse coming loose at his side, she couldn’t help but say something. Markets were nectarous for pickpockets, and she would hate to see him lose his money.
“Sir? E-excuse me,” She said, unaware that the armored men in the market were in fact his entourage. “I really hope I’m not bothering you, but your coin purse -- one of the strings looks quite frayed. It seems close to falling.”
thereapcr:
adelayne hill
— VICKON, STILL SEATED, LOOKED UP AT THE PALE, YELLOW-HAIRED young woman and was slightly taken aback by how fearful she seemed of him… stuttering as she excused the wind for taking the papers from her hands. he offered them back to her wordlessly as she apologised, only catching a handful of words as his eyes passed the written script before it left his hands. “you should take yourself from the habit of apologising for natures you seem very passionate about the seven,” vickon commented after a moment, “why spend so much time writing your adorations to your gods — you could simply speak to them, could you not?”
— THE REAPER DIDN’T HATE THE SEVEN, BUT HE FOUND the spectacle often put on by the higher ranking members of the faith somewhat questionable. and after the attack on the shadow tide… his opinion was not high. “do you not find your gods in the world around you, or only on paper and in the statues of the sept?” he suddenly asked, curiosity stealing his tongue.
Adelayne found herself drawing her brows together in contemplation as he spoke. She supposed she could speak to them directly. She did -- she had already been to Sunspear’s sept early that morning, in place of her normal walk when the sun met the horizon. She took the papers, carefully stacking them upon themselves and tucking them under her arm. “Well --” She began, searching for the proper way to explain herself to the tall stranger. “I’m quite a bit scatterbrained at times, m’lord, i-if you don’t mind me being so blunt.” She paused, fully looking up at him, though the sight of him was still fearsome to behold. “The Seven are everywhere -- tress, and birds and people, and statues, that’s very much true. But d-don’t you ever find yourself forgetting what you’ve asked of them, a-and w-what you’re thankful for? When you are lost, or don’t know w-what to do? Words can only be spoken so many t-times before they start to change. B-but writing them down -- you can always r-remember.”
Her stuttering, nervous self, sure -- but ever so much more confident. While the Gods clearly questioned her faith, she had always been proud of the fact that she kept records of her prayers. Few did, it seemed, and she found comfort in it.
mcrrec:
“YOU’RE never gonna’ be at ease around my cussing, are you sweetling?” morrec said with a pained smile as he pulled the shirt properly down, taking care to avoid the fresh bandage and not bump or make it ripple under the fabric. “and you bought me gifts? you’re such a good soul, even amongst all this shit,” morrec nodded with a smile, a genuine one despite the lines of discomfort on his face. “you truly put together a little care package didn’t you?” he smiled again, as he took the gifts offered, “really — thank-you, ade, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”
AS he made to move away from the flowing current of people he inquired gently; “i heard you avoided the ordeal in the ball room? were you attending the queen… she was unharmed also, was she not?”
“Well, someone has to be. From the sound of all your cursing, it quite clearly isn’t going to be you, is it?” She quipped in response, releasing the little basket from her hold. She gave him a once over, her normally soft eyes looking ever so judgmental for once as she watched the bandages vanish under his shirt. He was keeping them clean, at least. With all those scars -- and the story he’d told her of how he got some of them -- she’d thought he’d press a hot blade to his skin and be done with it.
“You don’t need to thank me. Really -- I think it might make me feel better off than it does you. It’s quite selfish, really.” She admitted, crossing her arms over her chest. It seemed the only way to see him -- without making her... feelings known -- was when he’d managed to hurt himself. “Yes, unharmed, but I was... I was in my own rooms. Too much to drink, I was lucky,” She lied, letting it roll off her tongue with a laugh. “But you -- I should be thanking you. You watched over the king’s sister.” My sister. “She could have been far more hurt, if you hadn’t helped.”
HEAR ME ROAR
— when the LIONS come.
@lcnnisterking, @nicholaslannister, @lysellalannister
Van Gogh’s Tournesols
( ♛ truth serum ) : what is your greatest desire?
“Oh, I’m really quite simple in that regard. I just want to know where I belong. A bit silly, isn’t it?”
( ♛ truth serum ) : do you believe you'll ever be able to connect with your siblings?
“Well, I think I have already connected with them, at least... in small ways? Passing conversations, sure, but even if they cannot feel it, I can feel and see similarities between us. If you mean connect in a true relationship -- where they know who I am and who my father is -- then... I do. Because if I don’t believe, then I have nothing.”