& THE MAIDEN.

𝔩𝔬 𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔪 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔯 𝔮𝔲'𝔢𝔩 𝔠𝔬𝔯 𝔪'𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝗰𝗼𝗴𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗵𝗾

[courteley]

#𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐲 is a private compendium of characters as written by robin . please refrain from interacting if not part of the group . affiliated with cognatihq .

. 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑦𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑙 ; intro . tags .

. 𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑟ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘 ; intro . tags .

[courteley]

where : the great hall . when : moments after . with : cerelle hill / @parthenopaed

" all of this because ... someone could not bear to lose a game. " wide eyed: she can hear the crack. she can see the boy, laying there. still. he is not, he has been removed -- along with lord caron. only the dark stain of his blood upon the grey stone remains. it doesn't feel real. there is something that feels like laughter building in her throat. no. not laughter. her eyes are watery, and her voice trembles. " ... men are so strange. "

[courteley]

where : waiting for elanur, somewhere in winterfell . when : the morning before the hunt . with : lord aeron greyjoy / @drgnsfyre

" all i know is every time i hear the story, there is another blow added to it ... " the shape of the tale amuses her more than it alarms her. " by next week they shall say lord knott fought twenty men. "

[courteley]

where : outside the great keep when : before the hunt with : open to everyone except targs

" ... and poor princess daera. imagine stepping between two quarreling lords and being so completely ignored. truly, it was almost cruel to watch. " a small sigh, soft against her cup: a mix between sympathy and disappointment. " i think i would simply die of humiliation. "

[lcgionhq]

location: the  winter  market  of  wintertown

open  to : ( 1/3)

the  north  was  too  damn  cold  for  her  liking.  and  the  drab  winter  clothing  she  was  forced  to  cover  up  herself  with  was  doing  absolutely  no  justice  to  her  figure  nor  showing  off  her  latest  fashionable  designs.  it  was  only  the  second  day  and  already  alerie  was  desperately  wishing  for  the  days  to  fly  by  faster  so  she  could  go  home.  as  her  eyes  glazed  idly  over  the  homely-looking  wares  on  display  at  a  stall,  her  mind  already  wondering  what  fool  would  pay  for  such  pitiful  products  as  this,  a  sudden  fetid  stench  filled  her  nostrils.  looking  around  for  the  source  of  the  smell,  whilst  holding  her  delicate  nose,  she  abruptly  glanced  down  and  let  out  a  scream  when  she  lifted  her  foot  and  saw  a  suspicious  brown  clump  at  the  bottom  of  her  boot.  kicking  the  snow  around  her  boot,  her  entire  expression  turned  into  horror  as  a  pile  of  what  looked  it  might  be  animal  feces  was  in  place,  half  hidden  by  the  snow.  "PLEASE  TELL  ME,  THAT  IS  NOT  WHAT  I  THINK  IT  IS??"  she  shrieked  a  little  hysterically.

[courteley]

“ my lady, ” he said, courteous, measured. the  horror  on  her  face  seemed  wildly  disproportionate  to  the  crime  committed  against  her  boot.  men, women and children had  endured  winters,  famines,  and  plagues on these streets  these  past  years, and had done so with considerably less fuss.  a  southron lady  had  apparently  met  her  match  in  a  patch  of  horse  shit. he  felt  something  dangerously  close  to  amusement  stir  despite  himself. “ one should watch where one walks ... especially at market. ”

his  gaze  dropped  briefly  to  the  trampled  snow  around  her  boot  before  returning  to  her  face.  around  them,  the  market  had  already  begun  to  move  again.  merchants  returned  to  their  shouting.  buyers  returned  to  haggling.  no  one  seemed  particularly  affected  by  the  offense  committed  against  the lady.

“ you  may  have it scrubbed at the castle, ”  he  added,  his gaze returned briefly to the slush, her boot, and then lifted again. a brief pause followed. “ ... preferably before it freezes solid. ”

[gildedscage]

elanur doesn't much like being still. she isn't meant for these stuffy and luxurious rides — not the way defne is. this chitter chatter of hers is her reprieve and recreation, she knows, but gods. there is only so much of it she can take before her sister's precious chirping becomes a sedative of its own.

resigned to her fate, it's all elanur can do to gaze out of their small window and at this frigid world surrounding them. she thinks of the frigid reception they're sure to encounter once they've arrived and the just - barely veiled contempt that is like to follow and last throughout the entirety of this dreaded week. the concept makes her stomach churn, worry etching itself onto her face. how were they to possibly win over a people who blamed their misfortune on them and not their own gods who had punished them so?

desperate for relief, her mind drifts as it often does towards one most special sailor — one who holds the ocean in his eyes and her heart in his hands — but that reverie is cut short by defne's outburst. she perks up at the sound of her name, eyes wide when they shoot to her, almost as if she's been caught. "i am too!" she spits back, mind racing to catch up and put together all the bits and pieces she's been only half - listening to. something about a lady vance, a nameless paramour, and a hopeless dream, right? "gods," elanur sits up from where she'd been slouching and gives her head a shake. "it's all so pitiful."

but then, something flashes across her face and brings her back to life: a kind of mischief, most like. her eyes narrow ever so slightly as a smirk forms on her lips. if the man disappeared... "you know, i'll bet it was a raider." she'll have to ask aeron. he likes gossip just about as much as defne does. "what say you?"

[courteley]

“  well  —  ”  the  wheelhouse  jolts  hard  over  a  rut  and  she  has  to  catch  herself  against  the  cushion.  green  velvet,  still  soft,  though  it  feels  colder  with  every  mile  north.  the  wood  creaks  around  them,  and  somewhere  a  nail  gives  a  small,  sharp  complaint.  “  if  he  was  an  ironborn  raider  ...  i  suppose  she  ought  to  be  grateful  he  disappeared  before  he  stole  her  silver  and  sailed  away  with  her  sister and her favorite  horse in tow.  ”

“  ...  will  your  betrothed  be  in  attendance?  ”  she  asks  next.  watching elanur as she says it. careful. sweet. “  betrothed.  ”  she  repeats  it  at  once,  she cannot help herself. the corner of her mouth lilting upwards into a smile. teasing. “  gods,  i  do  like  that  word.  it  makes  you  sound  so  ... official.  ”

“  i  doubt  the  northmen  are  terribly  fond  of  him.  ” another  bump  in  the  road,  and  she  shifts  easily  with  it,  unbothered,  only  smoothing  her  sleeve  where  it  creases  again  at  once. “  of his people ... the ironborn, i mean.  ”

“  then  again  ...  ”  she  says,  almost  thoughtfully,  “  i  do  not  think  they  would be  very  fond  of  us  either,  are  they?  ”

[courteley]

where : second tyrell wheelhouse , the king's road when : half a day's ride from winterfell with : lady elanur tyrell / @gildedscage

the  road  north  grew  worse  with  every  cold  mile.  as  if  the  land  itself  were  losing  interest  in  being  crossed.  the  wheelhouse  rattled  over  old  ruts  and  frozen  mud,  and  even  the  horses  seemed  to  walk  with  less  patience  than  they  did  in  the  reach.

" and  lady  vance's  cousin,  people  say  she's  been  lying  about  being  with  child  for  over  a  year...  a  year,  elanur  —  they  say  she  keeps  changing  the  moon  she's  due  in  so  no  one  notices. "

her  sister  did  not  look  at  her,  defne  watched  her  for  a  moment,  waiting,  and  when  no  answer  came  she  went  on  anyway.  her  voice  was  bright,  as  it  always  was  when  she  had  something  to  say  and  no  one  to  interrupt  her.

she  did  not  mind  the  travel  as  much  as  she  thought  she  might  have.  there  were  always  people  on  the  road:  septas,  merchants,  knights  with  tired  faces,  ladies  traveling  between  keeps  —  they  told  her  things  without  seeming  to  mean  to,  little  pieces  of  gossip  and  half-finished  scandals  that  she  could  keep.

by  the  time  they  had  reached  the  north,  she  had  heard  so  many  stories  that  she  no  longer  remembered  which  ones  had  remained  as they were in  earnest  and  which  ones  she  had  made  better  in  telling.

" some  say  that  she  had  a  lover  once.  a  noble  bastard,  or  an  ironborn  raider,  or  something  of  the  kind  —  regardless,  they  say  one  day  he  just ...  disappeared.  just  like  that. " she  made  a  small  motion  with  her  hand.  " and  so  she  began  saying  she  was  with  child  because,  truly,  no  one  else  will  marry  her  if  she  is ...  and  she thinks that if  he  hears  about  it,  he  might  come  back  for  it. "

no  reaction:  nothing.  elanur  tyrell  sat  very  still  in  the  corner  of  the  wheelhouse.  her  face  turned  to  the  narrow  window.  the  glass  was  filmed  with  cold.  beyond  the  carriage  window  and  into  the  barren  northern  landscapes,  a  long  dull  sweep  of  grey  and  brown  could  not  look  more  unremarkable.  yet  her  own  sister  would  rather  give  it  her  whole  attention. " by  the  gods,  elanur,  you're  not  even  listening  to  me ! "

[courteley]

where : central square , wintertown when : first day, the procession with : lady gilliane stark / @parthenopaed

the cloth came down to a scattering of applause . torrhen stared. the statue towered over the winter town, pale creamy stone. too fine. too expensive. too southern. one could tell it did not belong against the grey of the wintertown, and the walls of winterfell. even though whomstever had carved it had been skilled enough. the fur cloak looked almost real enough to warm a man. the sword was handsome. the face was handsome too. that was the problem.

his grandfather had never been handsome. cregan stark had posessed a long face lined with age, weather, and stubbornness. he had looked like the north. this man looked as though he belonged in a song.

around him, a group of southeners smiled politely as he felt his mouth flatten. " it doesn't look like him. " he said to gilly, standing beside him with her children, and karlon on the other side. not taking his eyes off the stone. the statue gazed nobly towards the horizon. with a certain softness in his features, as though reminiscing, or contemplating wisdom. nothing of the sharp-tongued wolf that had demanded ravens be sent south every day during the winter. nothing of the man who had often complained that half the realm had been born fools.

" they've made him look ... pleasant. " his voice low, as to not be overheard. for a moment, he wonders if the sculptor had ever seen cregan stark at all. it was the eyes that bothered him the most. they were calm eyes. gentle eyes. soft. torrhen let a quiet hybrid of a breath and incredulous laughter through his nose. " gods ... he would have hated it. "

[courteley]

the  king  welcomes  defne  of  house  tyrell  of  highgarden  !  all  of  court  has  heard  that  they  are  + audacious  and  + charismatic,  but  whispers  claim  that  they  are  also  - stubborn  and  - manipulative  when  no  one  is  looking  …  how  much  of  that  is  true,  we  will  soon  find  out.  asking  around,  we  are  told  that  they  remind  people  of  a  spoiled  daughter  of  springtime’s  excess:  soft  brown  curls  framing  a  sharpened  gaze,  the  scent  of  jasmine  and  rosemary,  green  silks  trimmed  with  myrish  lace  slipping  off  sun - kissed  shoulders  ─  that  should  give  the  bards  something  to  sing  about !

i. identity

name:  defne tyrell .    titles: lady .    nickname(s):  tba .     age: twenty two .    date  of  birth:  thirteenth day of the eighth moon , 158 ac .    place  of  birth:  highgarden , the reach .    gender:  cis female .    pronouns:  she + her .    sexual  orientation:  heterosexual .    religion:  faith of the seven .    languages:  common tongue .    affiliation:  herself, and house tyrell .

ii. family

mother:  dowager lady tyrell    father:  lord lyonel tyrell ( deceased )    sibling(s):  ruling lord tyrell , sirin tyrell , elanur tyrell , erkin tyrell    significant  other(s):  none .    children:  none .    others:  tba .

iii. physique

faceclaim:  derya pinar ak .    hair  color:  chestnut brown.    hair  style:  healthy , and waist - length . often adorned with braids , flowers , and jewels .    eye  color:  walnut brown .    height:  5 ' 4 " ( 162 cm ) .    clothing  style:  gowns of flowing satins and myrish lace . pale greens , sky blues and dust pink . distinguishing  characteristics:  large , expressive dark eyes framed by strong finely defined brows , a heart shaped face with delicate features and a deceptively sweet appearance .    signature  scent:  jasmine vines in evening bloom , crushed rosemary and fresh pear .

iv. personality i

mbti:  esfp : the entertainer .    sun sign: leo . moon sign: aries . rising sign: libra . character  alignment:  chaotic good .    positive  traits:  ambitious , audacious , charismatic , confident , generous , passionate , perceptive , persuasive , resilient , sociable . .negative  traits: attention - seeking , entitled, impulsive, manipulative, prideful, reckless, self - indulgent, vain, volatile .   primary  vice:  pride .    primary  virtue:  courage .

vi. background

coming soon .

v. personality ii

she  is  charming  in  the  way  spring  is  charming:  naturally,  abundantly,  and  with  a  faint  sense  of  entitlement.  attention  comes  easily  to  her  and  she  enjoys  it,  though  she  dislikes  being  dismissed  far  more  than  she  enjoys  being  admired.  beneath  the  laughter  and  flirtation  is  a  stubborn  need  to  be  taken  seriously,  one  that  reveals  itself  whenever  someone  mistakes  her  youth  for  ignorance  or  her  beauty  for  simplicity. for  all  her  sociability,  defne  is  more  perceptive  than  people  expect.  she  notices  things.  shifts  in  tone,  lingering  glances,  conversations  that  stop  when  she  enters  a  room.  she  understands  people  well  enough  to  persuade  them  when  she  wants  something,  and  whether  that  is  charm  or  manipulation  often  depends  on  who  is  telling  the  story. she  feels  things  quickly  and  hides  them  badly.  excitement,  affection,  irritation,  jealousy.  when  she  is  hurt,  she  becomes  sharp.  when  she  is  embarrassed,  she  becomes  defiant.  beneath  it  all  is  a  fierce  love  for  her  family  and  a  quiet  frustration  at  still  being  treated  like  the  youngest  daughter  when  she  is  determined  to  be  something  more.

[courteley]

the  king  welcomes  lord torrhen  of  house  stark  !  all  of  court  has  heard  that  they  are  + perceptive  and  + steadfast,  but  whispers  claim  that  they  are  also  - blunt  and  - resentful  when  no  one  is  looking  …  how  much  of  that  is  true,  we  will  soon  find  out.  asking  around,  we  are  told  that  they  remind  people  of  controlled  irritation  rather  than  visible  anger,  snowflakes  landing  upon  dark  hair,  the  scent  of  cedar  and  smoke,  a  dull  silver  direwolf  brooch  over  a  black  wool  doublet. ─  that  should  give  the  bards  something  to  sing  about  !

i. identity

name:  torrhen stark .    titles: lord .    nickname(s):  tori ( exclusively by close family ) , torr ( used by most past a certain level of familiarity ) .     age: twenty six .    date  of  birth:  second day of the first moon , 154 ac .    place  of  birth:  winterfell , the north .    gender:  cis male .    pronouns:  he + him .    sexual  orientation:  bisexual .    religion:  practicing follower of the old gods .    languages:  common tongue .    affiliation:  house stark, the north .

ii. family

mother:  princess jaehaera targaryen ( deceased )    father:  lord rickon stark ( deceased )    sibling(s):  alaric stark , karlon stark , dacey stark .    significant  other(s):  a short list of flirtations .    children:  none .    others:  lady rosalyn arryn ( goodsister ) , lady gilliane flint ( goodsister ) , nieces and nephews through alaric and karlon .    pets:  a pair of sledding dogs : pure black and pure white , night and frost .

iii. physique

faceclaim:  jonah hauer - king .    hair  color:  dark brown.    hair  style:  medium length , naturally curly .    eye  color:  lilac grey .    height:  6 ' 2 " ( 187 cm ) .    clothing  style:  plain , unadorned clothing in neutral tones : house whites and greys, dark blues , charcoals and blacks .    distinguishing  characteristics:  the stark look : a long solemn face, skin as pale as the first frost . a grave , wolfish beauty .    signature  scent:  pine , and cold earth . wool cloaks dried beside hearth fires and crisp winter air . a faint trace of cedar and leather .

iv. personality i

mbti:  istj : the inspector .    sun sign: capricorn . moon sign: scorpio . rising sign: gemini . character  alignment:  lawful neutral .    positive  traits:  composed , diplomatic , sciplined , grounded , honest , intelligent , loyal , observant , perceptive , resolute , strategic . negative  traits: cold , contemptuous , critical , distant , guarded , impatient , judgemental , rigid , uncompromising .   primary  vice:  impatience .    primary  virtue:  discernment .

vi. background

winterfell  remembers  him  first  as  a  boy  who  was  happy  in  the  uncomplicated  way  children  are  happy  when  they  have  not  yet  been  asked  to  understand  what  they  are  missing.  he  had  no  mother  he  could  remember,  only  the  careful  way  her  absence  was  spoken  around  him,  and  he  grew  close  to  his  father  in  the  space  that  remained. that  begins  to  shift  in  late  childhood,  when  he  starts  to  look  outward  in  a  different  way.  he  drifts  quietly  from  the  centre  of  winterfell  towards  the  idea  of  something  else:  towards  the  south,  towards  the  stories  of  his  mother’s  people,  towards  courts  he  has  only  heard  of,  where  lords and ladies sound through song  better  than  they  are  in  real  life,  where  knighthood  means  something  pure  and  certain.  nothing  dramatic  marks  the  change,  only  distance  forming  in  him,  a  boy  learning  to  dream of  elsewhere. his  father’s  death  breaks  that  imagining.  torrhen  is  barely  fifteen  when  the  war  takes  him,  and  what  remains  is  not  grief  he  knows  how  to  name,  but  the  unromantic  clarity  that  life  does  not  behave  like  the  stories  he  had  been  building  inside  himself.  it  simply  continues,  and  you  are  required  to  continue  with  it. then  winter  comes  properly,  and  with  it  the  second  lesson.  the  south  he  had  once  turned  toward  does  not  exist. it does not arrive  as  salvation  or  order,  but  as  distance. taxes.  delay.  indifference  that  does  not  need  to  explain  itself.  people  in  the  north  starve  and  die,  and  the  language  of  honour  and  knighthood  starts  to  feel  thin and strained  in  retrospect,  almost  embarrassing  in  its  simplicity.  whatever  softness  remained  in  his  belief  in  it  does  not  last. by  the  time  his  grandfather  dies,  something  in  him  has  already  settled  into  recognition.  not  cruelty,  but  refusal  to  be  moved  by  what  is  said  when  it  does  not  match  what  has  happened.  it  is  not  loud.  it  simply  stays. when  the  ravens  come announcing  that  the  southern  houses  are  on  their  journey  north  for  the  funeral,  torrhen  does  not  react  at  once.  it  takes  him  a  moment  to  understand  what  has  been  set  in  motion  again:  they  are  coming.  that  they  have  chosen  now.  that  it  is  being  framed  as  respect,  as  if  the winter  had  not  already  decided  the  shape  of  things.

v. personality ii

there  is  something  in  torrhen  that  makes  it  easy  to  underestimate  him  at  first.  he  does  not  push  himself  forward  and  he  does  not  take  up  space  in  a  way  that  draws  attention.  he  is  not  warm  in  any  obvious  way  and  he  is  not  cold  in  the  way  people  assume  either.  he  does  not  offer  much  in  the  way  of  reassurance,  but  he  also  does  not  perform  distance.  he  simply  says  what  he  thinks  is  true,  without  adjusting  it  to  soften  the  impact.  that  can  make  him  seem  harsher  than  he  is.  it  is  less  judgement  than  attention  that  does  not  blur  things. he  is  easier  to  understand  in  movement  than  in  stillness.  outside,  riding,  swordfighting, working  until  exhaustion  settles  in  him,  there  is  less  of  the  restraint  that  makes  him  harder  to  read  in  rooms.  with  his  siblings  he  is  less  guarded,  not  in  a  different  personality,  but  in  the  absence  of  effort.  he  stays  present  without  withdrawing  and  without  trying  to  shape  himself  into  something  easier  to  receive. he  is  loyal  in  a  way  that  does  not  shift  often.  not  declared,  not  explained,  just  consistent  once  it  is  set.  and  underneath  everything  there  is  a  tendency  to  treat  things  as  what  they  are,  not  what  they  are  called,  which  is  where  most  of  his  impatience  comes  from.

[lexigreys]

“when they ask you what happened here, tell them the north remembers.”

[courteley]

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : tags .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : intro .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : starter .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : memes .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : answered .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : aesthetics .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : mirror .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : musings .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : dynamics .

◞ ❛ 🐺 ⋮ 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 : wants .

[courteley]

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : tags .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : intro .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : starter .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : memes .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : answered .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : aesthetics .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : mirror .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : musings .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : dynamics .

◞ ❛ 🏵️ ⋮ 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 : wants .