all roses bear thorns

aster tyrell • prince of the reach • twenty four "So beautiful to look at, yet so painful to touch."

[astertyrell]

( princess astrid stark. )

Astrid gave him a look. She understood it was quite a different environment, especially for Southerners, but it was unlike many other royals or nobles to openly complain. “Well, as princess of the North, it’s my job to make sure you are comfortable.” She began, using her most proper voice, despite how odd it sounded coming from her lips, in her opinion. “Fine, no ale. Would you like a thicker coat? To go talk closer to the fire? Your wish is my command, Lord…?”

One of Aster’s golden brows arched, and a quiet laugh escaped his lips. Here he was trying to get this stranger to stop bothering him, but in reality it seemed that she was no stranger at all. Aster grinned, the irritation gone as he came to the realisation that he was speaking to the only princess of the North, the very same who he had befriended as a child, the very same who knew the inner workings of Aster’s world more than maybe anyone else, as he poured them out into letters bound for Winterfell. “Tyrell.” He answered, demeanor shifting from abrasive to nothing but smug at his realisation. “Suddenly I’m feeling much better.” He chuckled under his breath. “Must be the company.”   

[astertyrell]

( lady reyanna bolton. )

No matter how hard her mother had tried to make an impact in the few hours a week that she was obligated to spend with her, Reyanna never had managed to pick up an enjoyment for company like the woman had managed to instil in her sisters. While she knew how to be polite and courteous in the right situation, the brunette had never been one to seek others out for company when she vastly preferred either her horse or getting lost in her tomes. Except her loyalty to Calder meant that exceptions to her usual course of action had been made and she’d journied from The Dreadfort to Winterfell without any hesitation despite her distinct lack of interest in any form of gatherings unless it was the war council that she was so proud to be a part of. The one fleeting moment of joy for her had been seeing her friend crowned the rightful king, a position that he deserved and in her mind should have held years ago.

While she hadn’t been able to find much enjoyment in the evening, she was at least confident that she’d given the impression that she had, just the right amount of interest shown in every conversation. Though each interaction had left her longing for solitude, almost wishing that the library that her father and her had put together was available to her here. Perhaps she’d find some fascinatingly clever story of diplomacy that would give her the inspiration to continue with her niceties.

As it was, she’d had to make do without her books and settle with her horse instead and seeing as though she’d put her name down for the horse race, Reyanna felt as though it was perfectly warranted of her to go and check on the beautiful beast. The corridors of Winterfell were almost as familiar to her as her own home, so she navigated them with ease before crossing the courtyard to find her large, chestnut courser. Picking up her saddle from where she’d laid it, she lifted it with reasonable ease despite her stature. The Bolton had barely taken two steps when the sound of footsteps behind her echoed in her ears. A sigh was barely held back as she pursed her lips slightly before turning to greet the approaching with a small smile. “I thought that perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to clear my head.” 

Aster had never been one to willingly avoid a party, and yet he had grown tired of flirting and conversing with the collection of Westerosi nobility that had gathered here in good faith for the new King in the North. He was fatigued from the long journey from Highgarden, and honestly, he’d never thought about the fact that everything took more effort in this biting cold. Now the Northerners learnt to deal with this, he didn’t know, but he certainly did not envy them even in the slightest.

In serious need of a moment of respite, and without his gardens of the Reach to visit or the library his brother had collected for him to hide in, Aster had decided that the stables were the only place he could visit where he would not be out of place, and could escape the winking eyes of people he was uninterested in, the accusatory words of hearts he had toyed with, or the jovial conversation of his brother and sister-in-law. His horse, a beautiful chestnut stallion that had been a gift from the king on Aster’s 19th nameday, was the only company he craved - quiet, familiar and loyal as he was. Besides, the tourney was about to be underway, and if Aster wanted to win the horse race (which he most certainly did), he planned on being as prepared as possible. The care that he exhibited for the horse far exceeded that which he showed for any other living creature, human or otherwise, and he hummed a tune his mother had sung to him as a child under his breath to fill the eerie quietness of the stables surrounded by falling snow. 

As he entered the stables, however, he found that there was not in fact complete quiet in here, even considering the idle sounds of the horses that one should expect of a stable full to the brim like this. There was a girl here too, saddling her horse too as it seemed. He was none to happy to find his presumed oasis occupied, but supposed it was what he should have expected seeing that Winterfell was bustling with people thanks to the events of the coronation. “As did I.” He replied, masking the sourness of his words with well practiced though completely ingenuine tolerance. “Though I suppose with the sheer number of people here, that was both of our mistake in the first place.” 

[astertyrell]

( princess astrid stark. )

The strikingly familiar man emboddied everything she would’ve enivisoned of a southerner. The golden hair, the way the air was about him, as if perhaps this was not an event he would’ve willingly attended. Regardless, Astrid had to play nice, and be the good hostess she had promised, at least to herself. She didn’t quite care for his tone, though, and wondered exactly what the outcome would be if she broke her promise, just this once. A feign smile came across her face again.

“You don’t look all that alright.” Astrid cocked her head to the side, trying to gauge his reaction. Exactly who was he? Surely a highborn, but she wondered exactly what brought him to be the way he was, especially at the celebration of another Kingdom’s coronation. “Perhaps you’d like a different drink? Us northener’s tend to like things that may be considered harsher to southerner’s.”

Though if anyone asked, Aster would say he were waiting for ale cups to become empty and people to become remiss so that he could harvest the whispers he was so adept in bending to his will, but of course he would be lying. He was waiting for those things to happen so that he could sneak out of the room and back to his allocated chambers where no doubt a fire would be burning and he could be alone with his thoughts and perhaps one of the books he had already filched from Winterfell’s library. It seemed counterintuitive to him to share this with anyone, seeing as it did nothing for his reputation, but it still made him want to roll his eyes at the prospect of yet another conversation with a stranger. 

“I am freezing cold, surrounded by strangers, and bone-tired from the journey here. You will have to excuse me for not looking alright.” Vain as he was, this pained Aster to say. An eyebrow went up at her remark, wondering why on earth she would revel in enjoying the harsh when there was the fine beauty of southern wonder to appreciate instead. “I think it’s best if I decline that offer, practice temperance tonight actually.” He said, voice blunt and bored as he could muster. 

[astertyrell]

( princess saera targaryen. )

The dragon princess gave a laugh at his clever joke. “The is fitting, indeed.” Saera nodded in agreement. She found herself already liking this Tyrell prince, but she always wondered once she revealed her name what one would think back of her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, prince.” Saera returned his bow with a graceful curtsy. “I’m princess Saera Targaryen.” She introduced herself. She always spoke her name with pride and dignity, but on the inside she feared the reaction to it. It wasn’t her entire family that was soiled, but her mother’s more recent actions, or inactions, were causing sort of a scandal, amongst the rumors from previous wars.

“The pleasure is all mine, Princess Saera.” He eyed her with newfound interest having confirmed his suspicions that this was in fact the Targaryen princess he had thought she was. More concerned with meeting someone knew and finding out what he could from this girl, than he was with prejudice or blaming someone for the actions of a parent. 

Aster had never truly met a dragon in the flesh, and was intrigued by this princesses ethereal, otherworldly looks and the multitude of rumours that had come down the grapevine about a crazed queen and a crumbling kingdom that sparked a glint of curiosity in his eyes. Wars had ravaged Westeros mere generations ago under the ministrations of a crazed Tyrell king, though the stains on the roses’ reputation had been cleaned by Aster and his brother’s careful control, as well as focus shifting to the Crowlands where far more enticing food for rumours were circulating.

[astertyrell]

( princess astrid stark. )

It always fascinated Astrid to get to see all of the other nobles and people from all over Westeros. This was truly the biggest event, peaceful anyways, in which she got to see so many different people from many different houses. She wasn’t the most social, or charming, and didn’t really care to be, but she thought she might have her fun while she could.

Astrid looked her best for the event, a rarity for her as a woman who prefered to dress as she pleased and more often in armor or clothing in which she could easily move and hunt in. Today was an exception and she waltzed around like the true lady she never really cared to be, turning go grab a cup of ale from a servant, accidentally bumping someone in the process. “Oh, sorry.” She said, in the nicest voice she could muster, a smile coming about her face. “Would you like some ale, too?”

Aster held little love for venturing out of the Reach, preferring the insidious court that he had grown to understand and control so meticulously to unknown territory. Unknown faces were less averse to him, and he scoured the room for people who he might have heard rumour circulating about amongst his web of influence (as well as perhaps who he might coax into warming his bed tonight, if the opportunity arose). He had traipsed down here listening to his brother’s optimistic chatter for what a new Stark king meant for Westeros, but on his mind was solely how he could make this trip beneficial to him. 

Of course, there was more than that though. More to coming all the way to Winterfell past just abiding by his brother’s wishes, sating his curiousity about the people of the North, and of course finding the person who’s name had been signed on endless letters arriving at Highgarden intermittently. Excitement was not particularly fitting of his apathetic, sharp demeanour, but there was no denying that every face in the room was being examined for it’s resemblance to what he remembered from childhood. 

When he was collided with, a golden brow arched in an expression that said he was less than impressed, and the tone of his reply as callous and less than convincing. “No harm done.” He swished the barely touched ale in his cup around idly, none too fond of the stuff. “Thank you, but I am quite alright as is.” 

[astertyrell]

( princess saera targaryen. )

Saera let out a small sigh of relief that the man had answered her in kind. She found it easy to talk with others, in any normal setting, but perhaps she felt the weight of keeping a constant eye on her mother pressing her down this evening, and throwing her completely off. “That would be great.” She replied with a smile, looking back towards her mother once more before walking in the other direction again. Rhaegon may be upset that she left the woman’s side, but she did not see the any harm she could do, at least for a little while.

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but there are so many more people here than I predicted.” Saera observed as she watched the entire room as it bustled and moved around with such livliness. “The North is very loyal. The new King must be so loved already.” She added, then turned to the man. “May I ask your name?”

“He must be a very loved King indeed.” Aster said without a hint of genuineness, though he expertly covered his mocking with a saccharine sweetness that was well practiced. “I have heard that the Northerners are just as loyal as a pack of wolves.” He laid his emerald gaze on one of the silver direwolf banners lining the walls of the banquet hall. “Fitting, no?”  

His smile was as warm as the room was cold, well practiced within a court of liars and masks at Highgarden. This girl seemed sweet, and just as southern as he was, and if her distinct features did not deceive him, he was face to face with a dragon of the Crownlands. “Prince Aster Tyrell, my lady.” He said, with a courteous bow of his crown of curls. “May I ask yours?” 

[astertyrell]

( princess saera targaryen. )

“Mother, you have to at least try to pretend you’re happy to be here.” Saera explained in a kind and hushed voice, although inside she was frustrated. Her mother, a powerful dragon queen, was exposing her weakness, and was crumbling right before her. The princesses words were met with silence and after a moment, she sighed. “Fine, I’ll go get us something to drink then.” She said, taking off.

Saera felt a bit lost, completely unsure of where to even go as it was her first time in not just Winterfell, but all of the North. The grand room was bustling with people, but she seemed to be unable to find anyone for help, so she attempted to catch the attention of a nearby person, who looked kind enough to ask. “Pardon, do you know who I should ask for some refreshments? I can’t seem to find anyone here.”

If it had not been for the insistence of his brother, the King, that all the Tyrells should venture into the frozen lands of the North for this coronation as a show of good faith, Aster knew very well he would be back home right now, relishing in the warmth of the Reach. He did, however, love any excuse to celebrate, and thus had deigned to put up with this trip at least for now. Bored of standing silent whilst his brother conversed cheerfully with the inhabitants of the room, Aster ventured off in search of a drink to keep himself occupied. 

At the sound of a voice addressing him, he turned to face the silver-haired woman with relief that he had someone to talk to in a room full of practical strangers. “I’m afraid I do not, my lady.” Aster replied, smiling warmly. “But I seem to be at a loss for the same thing. Maybe we should search together?” 

[crownlessrp-blog1]

“ LOOK LIKE THE INNOCENT FLOWER, BUT BE THE SERPENT UNDER IT. ” - Macbeth

FULL NAME: Aster Tyrell

AGE: Twenty-Four

HOUSE: Tyrell

TITLE: Prince of the Reach

OCCUPATION / VOCATION: Prince of the Reach

ORIGIN: High Garden, The Reach

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Highgarden, The Reach

ALLEGIANCE: House Tyrell, The Reach

TRAITS:

+ Meticulous, Inquisitive, Romantic

- Vain, Manipulative, Deceitful

BIOGRAPHY:

It has always been said that harsh lands breed hard men, and perhaps the same can be said for the opposite. Aster Tyrell is a child of the Reach if ever there was one, delicate, beautiful and as coveted as a rose, and yet just as thorny. The second son born to the Tyrell king and queen, he embraced very quickly the fact that he was the spare, feeling no inclination towards ruling as his brother would, instead he revelled in a life of relative freedom with the wealth of the Reach at his every whim. While his brother Rowan was raised by their father’s side learning to be the ruler of this vast kingdom only brought to peace in the last few generations, Aster was raised in the swell of the Queen’s skirts under the careful eye of his mother and her ladies, being dressed in the finest silks, being fed the finest treats and having his golden curls petted by the court women as they taught him how to be cunning, sharp and beautifully devious. The apple of the kingdom’s eye just as much as his mother’s, Aster grew to be a worthy balance to his older brother. Cold where Rowan was warm, reserved as Rowan was open, beautiful, flirtatious and unattainable as Rowan was warlike, responsible and politically-minded. When both their parents were lost, their mother in childbirth to a Tyrell princess who died with her mother, and their father to illness of a decade old injury, Aster watched on in green and gold as his brother ascended to be the King of the Reach as he had been born to be. There were whispers, of course, the King had perished not due to illness but to his second son’s malicious actions after he was caught in a compromising situation with a diplomat from Essos that the King had threatened to punish. Though the prince denied these whispers, and exercised his adeptness for controlling rumour at their mention, there can be no denying that the prince is a devious soul, always aligned far more to his brother than to his father, who had never really cared for the kind of young man his mother had shaped him into.

Raised in a court of snakes, Aster has learnt well how to survive when there are eyes watching around every corner and ears listening no matter where you step. A prince in the court though he may be, there is no question that he would be named king of whispers that cloak Highgarden like a net. Bookish and reserved as he may seem, the prince of the roses has a better grasp of the goings-on of the court than anyone else. Though there is no question that he would rather have his nose in a book, or be lying amongst the famed gardens of his home, there are some things that must be sacrificed for the greater good of the Tyrell name.

Ever as protective of his younger brother as he had been since his birth, the new King indulged Aster’s every whim even without their parents in the world any longer. In exchange, Aster aligned himself to his brother as fiercely as one could, always willing to support or defend him whether it was deserving or not. As cautious and calculating as he is, Aster worries for his brother’s openness for his people, and courtiers, that he is too trusting, too easily swayed, too emotional. The new King of the Reach has always argued that to be a good leader, your people must learn to love and respect, not to fear or obey blindly, but Aster stands by his side nonetheless, emerald eyes trained on the moves of all who might pose a threat to his closest family behind the mask of an apathetic, spoiled prince whom no one would suspect has one hand firmly resting on the throne of the Reach.

FACECLAIM: Niels Schneider