𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄

we are GIANTS, walking on the bodies, of those we have conquered. but we do not deserve the praise or the glory, for we only have luck within. penned by lilah.

[brokendove]

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐉 — .

The winter grows on him and tangles itself in his hair,       mother-like in touch     —    present and cold all at once.      He supposes in some ways there were lessons to be learned here.     Ned had always reminded him of that:      keep your eyes open,     sometimes it’s not only the trees that listen.       Not that he had to say much to lure out the paranoia inside of Jon.     It was natural to him.      This sharp awareness that was bred into him unintentionally during childhood and only seemed to form a piercing point in adulthood.          He doesn’t bother to search for assurances,     and he feels himself wanting even more distance from the Starks and Winterfell.      A nauseating ache that only seems to dull itself to a throb when the nights are silent and there’s only the low whines of Ghost as he paces at the foot of his bed.       Restless and eager for something to happen,     but not quite knowing how to shape it in words.      An adventure sounded too naive,    a task sounded too royal.      He relies on the limbo,       keeps himself entertained with the vague balance of listlessness and vividness.      The dreams continue.     Not all are bad,     although they feel too real.     They dig into him even with the afternoon light of the pale sun,       they force him to lose track of his current duty at hand:      polishing a few hunting daggers near the weaponry.        He’s sitting on an old stool against the armoury’s wall,   and his boots are soaked in the mud,      the discomfort forgotten to him.      Lost in thought even as his white animal darts out across the courtyard to greet a beautiful and ultimately misplaced woman.       He immediately wished Robb were around,     he always did have the ability to hide his nature to welcome visitors    —-    especially ones with air of importance and gracefulness.     Ghost seemed to be doing alright,      curled tail wagging,     still the size of a normal dog,    if not for the redness of his irises now showing a bit more.        Jon couldn’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips,     although his head remains bowed down,    stained cloth paused between wipes.        ‘Aye,     lost indeed.’     A breath,     not quite knowing what to say to someone so clearly above him in every way possible,     and someone so strikingly pretty.      Her laugh,    however,    encourages him to at least glance up for a second,    the grey eyes of the bastard seemingly hesitant to be viewed in daylight.     He goes to stand,    an awkward bow bending his waist slightly,     courteous in movement,   yet already not entirely heartfelt.          ‘Apologies,    my Lady    […]      come,     Ghost,     leave her be.’

the lady of the reach should not kneel in the snow to greet the pup. the red irises are a shock, but the small beast seems friendly enough. she brushes her fingers of the stark white coat, allowing the cool snow to sink into her cloak.   “ hello, ghost. ”   she murmurs with a smile, scratching under the chin of the dog. it seemed an appropriate enough name for the white fur covering the entirety of his body.   “ you are very handsome. ”   she compliments the beast. gaze lifts to meet the eyes of the man who called the dog away,   “ he is not a bother, i promise. ”   she offers gently.   “ it has been far too long since i have been around an animal that is kept for pleasure rather than labor. ”   of course, there had been horses and other beasts of labor, but this was different. 

[brokendove]

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍, 𝐒 —.

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧  :  the  royal  gardens,  the  red  keep,  king’s  landing,  the  crownlands. 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞  :  seventh  day,  mid  year,  300  a.c. 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡  :  margaery  tyrell  (  @brokendove​​  ).

there  was  an  excited  hum  to  the  air  in  the  royal  gardens  that  was  not  unlike  the  swarming  buzz  of  a  thousand  bees  as  the  small  pavilions  that  served  to  offer  shade  were  dismantled  to  make  space  for  the  tents  that  were  to  be  erected  for  the  festivities.  a  rumor  going  around  the  red  keep  spoke  of  fire - eaters  from  the  dothraki  sea  and  contortionists  from  lys  being  brought  over  from  across  the  narrow  seas  but  shireen  knew  that  the  crown  did  not  possess  such  wealth  to  throw  unnecessarily  ─  any  entertainment  would  likely  be  locally  sourced  from  among  the  eccentric  types  of  the  crownlands  as  the  people  of  westeros  seemed  more  likely  to  perform  for  the  royal  wedding  with  only  honor  as  payment,  rather  than  gold.  the  construction  of  the  tents  meant  that  there  were  only  a  few  shaded  areas  left,  most  being  monopolized  by  nosy  mothers  and  their  jealous  daughters,  but  they  had  managed  to  occupy  one  of  the  last  remaining  pavilions,  feet  outstretched  in  front  of  them  as  they  flipped  through  the  stolen  drafts  of  the  new  laws  their  father  would  be  proposing  to  the  small  council.

thrice,  they  had  been  approached  for  the  seats  beside  them,  only  for  the  women  to  scurry  away  with  a  frightened  and,  at  times,  scandalized  gasp  at  the  sight  of  their  scarred  features  so  much  so  that  when  the  rustling  of  skirts  reached  their  ears  once  again,  shireen  tucked  their  legs  under  the  chair,  resigned  to  the  fact  that  their  time  in  the  gardens  was  up,  lest  they  make  anyone  else  uncomfortable  by  their  presence.  no  one  ever  cared  for  their  discomfort,  the  unashamed  stares  pinning  them  into  place  but  they  had  long  since  learned  to  make  themself  small  when  necessary,  to  avoid  confrontation.

❝  please  accept  my  apologies,  my  lady.  ❞  a  quick  glance  upwards  allowed  them  to  recognize  the  other  woman  as  margaery  tyrell  ─  their  father  did  not  like  house  tyrell  on  the  account  of  the  siege  of  storm’s  end  but  they  had  never  saw  the  point  in  tending  to  old  grudges.  keeping  their  scarred  cheek  to  the  ground,  unadorned  hair  poorly  concealing  the  black - grey  skin,  shireen  stood  and  offered  the  other  woman  a  quick  curtsy,  hoping  that  she  had  nothing  unkind  to  say.  the  most  beautiful  women  were  oft  times  the  most  cruel  and  they  had  forgotten  how  doubly  accurate  that  was  for  the  capital.  how  they  felt  more  like  a  sideshow  attraction  than  a  noble  lady.  (  perhaps  joffrey  would  hire  them  as  entertainment  for  the  wedding  ─  he  was  certainly  cruel  enough  to  demand  it.  )  ❝  do  you  wish  to  use  the  space  for  yourself  and  your  friends  ?  i  have  ordered  some  tea  and  pie  which  have  yet  to  arrive  but  you  may  have  those  instead.  ❞

it’s strange — the heat in king’s landing is different to the heat within high garden. there is a heavier quality to it here, one that sits deep in her lungs and makes it harder to breath. though that could also just been the space into which everything was condensed, no true space to roam here in the red keep even with elaborate tapestries and gardens of their own. she walks the grounds instead, though perhaps that is more dangerous.

the first tent that she comes upon is full to the brim, a polite smile and conversation seeming to bubble from and over her. she’s not entirely present though, her mind wandering elsewhere. she moves through the space, chin held upwards until she finds a quieter space that is already occupied.   “ please, ”   she murmurs, holding up a hand and inviting the other to return to where they had been previously sitting.   “ do not feel you need to move on my account. i am just looking for a quiet space to sit for a few moments.  ”

head tips slightly at the offer to give up their pie and tea.   “ have your tea and your pie — i should be asking if i am imposing on you. may i borrow this seat for the moment? ”

[brokendove]

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍, 𝐌 —.

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊; margaery & myrcella 

featuring @brokendove​​

where: high garden

when: before jon arryn’s death 

high garden felt like a magical place, especially in comparison to her home of king’s landing. it was full of brightness and culture in a way far different then myrcella had known in her own home. it was somewhere she was aptly excited to explore in all it’s wonder. not without a guide, however. she wasn’t sure of herself enough to be wandering around without company in an unknown land. plus margaery was so… what was the word? there was something INSPIRING about her. the way she held herself in such composure that myrcella wanted to learn the very same. “i was hoping,” she began. “would you be my guide around high garden?” 

the young lioness, perhaps softer than a lion aught to be, is something to behold in high garden. the sun suits her complexion well enough, perhaps adding a red undertone that would not otherwise be seen hidden away in king’s landing with a mother who favored — well, it was not up to margaery to say what the QUEEN favored — her complexion over much else. she must remain beautiful after all.   “ as you wish, princess. ”   for who was she to deny the princess of the seven kingdoms? she was not to blame for the faults of his parents’.   “ is there anywhere in particular you would like to see first? ”

[brokendove]

@vargher​ .   king’s landing   ,   morning   ,   present . 

margaery knew this event would be large, lord’s and lady’s from all of the minor and major houses — knew that sansa’s kin would all be here from the north. apart from her father, of course, a tragic drama that still twisted her heart though she would not let it show. she knew not to let it show. still, she could not imagine the position the other was in. all of that to say that, even though she was aware that his kin would be here, there is still surprise to find lord robb stark — or king robb as the north called him — in attendance. 

he is touched with death and war, she can see it. she’d seen it on the knight’s who had come back from robert’s rebellion, almost a walking corpse in some moments — dead behind the eyes, yet seeing the horrors that had come to pass. she had tried to be light for them, as she will try to be light now.

“   is there any hope that i might be able to have a moment?   ”

[brokendove]

@gcldenstag​ .   king’s landing   ,   evening   ,   present . 

“  lord renly,  ”   voice is smooth as dornish silks, a smile pulling her features upwards towards the sun. there is something about it that is dangerous, perhaps influenced by the snakes that seem to appear every down and then at highgarden. something that could be lethal if provoked, but content to be as she was at the moment. gaze dips down as she drops into a mild curtsey before rising again. smile softens somewhat after that. even so she tips her head slightly,   “ it has been quite some time now, hasn’t it? ”   the words are nearly purred for him, curious when she would see the lord again.

it was no secret, at least from her perspective, that the youngest stag held some type of attraction for her brother. it was almost akin to all the stories that she had read as a child, the ones that she’d had read to her. a quiet love, unspoken — though perhaps she could not call it love. she was uncertain what it was, only that it existed.

[brokendove]

@gentlewlf​ .   king’s landing  ,  early evening  ,  present. 

“ lady sansa , ”   there is surprise there that shouldn’t be, given the reasons for why everyone was beginning to gather in the king’s landing. even so, to see the she-wolf here seems odd in comparison to where she’d once lived. so cold was the north, but there was a warmth to her there that the tyrell hopes the other keeps now. court is not kind to those with warmth, politics a game that would freeze one to death, but kindness suited the young stark well. 

a genuine smile lifts the corners of her mouth, correspondence between the two young ladies having been present long before their meeting in king’s landing. she moves to greet the other, holding out hands to meet her half way.   “ i trust that you have settled well. ”   it is not a question, does not beg for an answer. even the hedges have ears here, but she reaches for the others hand and gives a squeeze — that is where her comfort comes from. she knows the day that she is sent away from home will be a terrible one. she can hardly imagine adding being queen in addition. 

[brokendove]

@bastarhd​ .   winterfell  ,  mid-day  ,  flashback  . 

as a child she grew up hearing stories of the north — brutal winters that were the forefront of the minds of the people, even through the long summers — but she’d never truly seen it for herself. she expected, or perhaps hoped is a better word, that it might be beautiful. though she never expected to end up north, an alliance between the reach and the north unlikely, she finds herself traveling. there is a want, an ache, to see the world before she belongs to someone else. her father is, perhaps, more lenient with her than he should be and for that she is grateful.

though the summer sun shines brightly in the reach, setting auburn hair alight, the closer that her entourage creeps to the wall, the less it seems to reflect on her. the color seems to deepen with the clouds overhead, ever present except for rare moments when she is allowed to breathe again. perhaps this is a good strengthening exercise, a test for herself as she creeps closer and closer towards an unknown marriage. she would not always have the beauty of the reach around her, to light her, so she must find light in other places. 

in winterfell, light comes in the form of a small white pup running circles around her heels in the gardens — or what could be interpreted as gardens, she supposed. there was not much in the way of flora or fauna here. laughter spills out of her at the little bundle of fur, crouching down to meet it.   “ hello there. ”   she offers a hand out to the little beast.   “ has your owner lost you, then, little one? ”

[brokendove]

º   .   ♔   ⸻   the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  MARGAERY TYRELL  of  HOUSE  TYRELL,  the  LADY  of  HIGH GARDEN.  news  borne  by  a  raven  sends  word  that  she  bears  a  resemblance  to  MELIS SEZEN.  the  26  year  old  CIS FEMALE  is  reputed  to  be  BENEVOLENT  and  CAPTIVATING,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  turn  out  to  be  SHREWD  and  RESTLESS.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  FIRE  BRAND  HAIR  TANGLED  IN  RIBBONS  OF  GOLD  AND  GREEN  ;  SHARP  THORNED  ROSES  THAT  NEVER  PIERCE  HER  SKIN  FOR  SHE  IS  THE  REASON  THEY  GROW  ;  DELICATE  LAUGHTER  THAT  INTOXICATES  THOSE  WHO  HEAR  IN  FASTER  THAN  THE  STRONGEST  DORNISH  WINE  whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  HOUSE  TARGARYEN  and  POTENTIAL  RELATIONS  WITH  DORNE  where  they  conspire  to  KEEP  THE  REALMS  UNIFIED  FOR  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  TARGARYENS.  but  in  the  end  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones.

biography + wanted plot points.