[crownofash]

wintertownsfinest‌:

January 7 King’s Landing Police Station; Central Precinct @crownofash​

The ticking of the clock on the wall taunted him and he tightened his fingers into a fist, feeling the nails scrape against his palm before he released them. Robb Stark’s jaw clenched as he sat in the lobby of the station where they’d taken his father. He still wore the clothes he’d worn to the party, even though it was nearing midday. The tuxedo was rumpled, the jacket thrown across the back of his chair, and he ran his hand over his face, finally feeling the familiar five o’clock shadow he’d been missing.

He had argued that he be allowed in while they questioned his father – he was a lawyer, godsdamnit – but Ned had given him that long familiar look and shaken his head, asking only for the former king. It was all rather strange and Robb lifted his head as a door opened, hoping to see one of his siblings. Instead, he saw Daenerys Targaryen and Robb chose to forego the formalities of standing and bowing his head.

His jaw clenched once more. “Visiting your brother? He seemed to have some choice words for the detectives earlier.”

Viserys is guilty, Viserys is guilty, Viserys is guilty. It's relayed repeatedly within her thoughts, only interrupted by the burn of ivory canines biting down on the flesh of her cheek until metallic greets her tongue. Accusations sit perched like embers between tinder ribs, coaxing the heat of ire and weight of guilt; storms brew within a lithe silhouette, though Daenerys' appearance remains composed something courtly. She believes them, the accusations-- and thus something sits serpentine within her chest, a hurt for a man that would be branded with a word not meant for his flesh and an anger for her kin that seared it there.

She swallows thickly on her entrance within the station's expanse, light gaze sweeping the room until it stalled on a familiar set of features: Robb Stark. Was his father destined to take a blame that was not his own, or was he somehow intertwined within the chaos that ensued likely by her brothers' hand? "Choice?" a phantom of mirth quirks the full of her mouth upwards on her approach, "that is a subdued way to put it, Robb Stark. He should thank you." Her frame folds to sit beside the man, the stretch of her palms resting on fabric a differing hue to the one she wore the night prior, "Viserys can be foolish-- he is so certain he is a dragon," pupils house the heat of anger as her chin lifts to meet Robb's gaze, "but he is far more similar to a garden snake." Or perhaps a toad: slimy, slippery, quick to slip from the grasp of blame. This thought temporary lightens the weight tied heavy to her chest, "are they not allowing you to speak with on behalf of your father?"

[crownofash]

krakenmaron‌:

“It wasn’t. No.” Maron answered, though a desire to do so was not often far from his mind whenever he was in his father’s vicinity. Daenerys knew that, he thought, despite the fact it had never been verbalised between them, he knew she was sharp enough to have gathered that his mere association with her was a product of a fraught relationship between father and middle son. The Targaryen monarchy is something he’s long associated with harshness, with injustice, with violence, but he long ago came to learn that there was very little of that in Daenerys when she touched him - at least on the surface. She was a dragon at heart, he was not so naive as to forget that. “I will. Thank you.” His voice grated like a stormy sea against the rocks, but his thanks was genuine. “For now, not being alone is enough.” A paused filled only with a laboured sigh. “They took his fucking heart, Dany. There’s blood… everywhere in there.” His words were unpoken - I think they think I did this.

Her chin dips to a nod, the surface of her palm descending to rest gingerly against the bend of his knee to follow her word-- that she could do. Maron's syllables elicit a swallow. She had seen Rodrick emerge from their familial wing, the crimson of blood had drawn her gaze within a fraction of a moment, and even then she could remember how it gleamed like rubies in the shadows. Daenerys had seen but the mere fragments of the tragedy, she could only imagine what remained tucked behind the thick of a mahogany door, that which would surely haunt the Greyjoy offspring both in night and day. She sympathized with Maron, truly-- and the notion that perhaps it could have been her own brother is worn like a noose around the thick of her throat. Guilt prompts her touch to withdraw, digits moving to rest against the swell of her thigh. "The people are rioting. They're full of rage, they're seeking justice. They don't believe Jon Arryn is to blame," storms stir within the stretch of irises as her gaze lifts to the male's features, seeking some sort of reaction; did he blame her? Was he too, unable to see her from beneath the shadows cast from her brother's silhouette? A slow intake of breath is audible, "I'm not sure I do either, Maron."

[crownofash]

the founding families of westeros

/ click to focus / 

[crownofash]

roseloras‌:

Loras turned to scowl at the person who had interrupted his solace where he stood alone in a back room, fingers flying across his phone as he texted his grandmother for advice on the best way to manage the situation. The Tyrells were a heavy name, and well respected, but he knew better than to go this alone. A rose grew much stronger staked close to its kind. The scowl swelled to a smile, dimpled and charming as ever, at the sight of an old friend holding a whole bottle of his favourite vice. “Gods, I am happy to see you, darling.” He took the bottle from her with ringed-fingers and smiled a feline grin as he took a liberal swig from its neck. “What’s going on out there?” He asked, concerned for the princess in the face of a crime that seemed to swing back on the Targaryens most of the ways one could look at it. “They spoken to you yet?”

The visage of Loras begins to unravel the serpentine coil of tension tucked between tinder ribs, the male providing a lightness that she had originally been drawn to, and would always be grateful for. Her features tilt, watching the male bring the bottle to the full crevice of his mouth, "the police are attempting to appear unphased, and Westeros' finest are chasing liquor with their own conclusions."  Loras' inquiry prompts tension to grace features briefly, their questions relaying like a mantra within her skull (how did you feel about the prime minister's new measure? where were you at the time of the prime ministers death? where are your brothers?) "twice, with the promise of a third yet to come," syllables interrupts her flurry of thoughts, the blank look spread to features dissolving as she meets her company's gaze, reaching for the bottle tucked within his grasp. "And you?"

[crownofash]

starksansc‌:

Outside in the cld brought a childlike comfort over Sansa. The cold bit her skin like blades, but it was easier to endure than the tensions inside. She had been outside since the news broke. What was she to do? Her words could bring no comfort to those who had lost the Prime Minister.  Anger built up inside of her for Theon a friend who had just lost his farther.And she believed fully that those responsible were still inside. So she sat in the cold, waiting to be called in by the police. Sansa was certain that because of her family name she was likely to be questioned. The north were supportive of the Greyjoy’s, but in reality were still after their own independence. The voice broke the girl out of her internal trance, she had been starring at the same stone on the wall for a few minutes she hadn’t even noticed the white falling from the sky. 

Her eyelashes began to cover in flakes as she looked up. Failing to recall the last time she’d even seen snow this far south. “Stay, please. I think I might go insane if i’ out here alone any longer.” 

Light irises descend the length of the girl's silhouette, noting how at home she appeared as clusters of snow descended, a contrast to the tresses that appeared aflame even in the shadows. Daenerys' chin dips in a nod in response, her frame descending to join the girl atop the stone bench. "I'm sure it will be over soon," the blonde attempts reassurance, though her syllables are airy-- not quite believing them herself. How long could they truly keep a collection of Westeros’ most influential for? Surely a murder couldn't be solved in the stretch of a night. Silence drifts between the duo, Dany's gaze remaining on the timid descent of snow, the movement coaxing the stress prompting her frame rigid to begin unraveling. "Did you know Balon?" her words are tepid, approaching the subject of the dead man tenderly.  

[crownofash]

thegendrybaratheon‌:

It was more than unsettling to have a murder happen not only so suspiciously and unwarranted, but boldly in front of a whole gathering with important people and the media. It didn’t help that Gendry had been on the police’s radar for unrelated felonies that had already been taken responsibility for but Gendry doubted he wouldn’t undergo being questioned more intently than the others. It was the same reason he was currently hiding around the corner from the massive crowd and swarm of police. Gendry didn’t even want to be here in the first place and had been checking his watch for the duration of the evening, but though a murder did dim the party, the questioning would only extend the time instead of the opposite that he was hoping for. 

The most recent obstruction he had been caught for was attempting to break into an abandoned car on the side of the road. He had already been released for it without any pressed charges but he knew what the police thought of him. Gendry slumped against the wall and took a sip from his glass, chasing his nervous energy away with the bitter taste of Northern whiskey. When a shadow emerged in front of him, Gendry raised his gaze and gave a faint resemblance of a grin. “Is it still as exciting out there?” Gendry inquired with a tip of his head, gesturing towards the group of people clustered together. “I can’t believe any of this is happening…is there any updated information?”

She'd been questioned once, then twice-- the interview having ended with an officer's gaze averted to the floor, discomfort stitched to features as he admitted they'd likely need to speak with her once more, later on. Irritation sets molars to a clench, shadows tucking beneath her jaw cutting the angles of her features sharper than usual. Familiarity manages to uncoil some of the tension knotted to her spine, the ghost of a grin turning the full of her mouth upwards at the sight of Gendry Baratheon-- a boy of shadows, of rebellion. She joins him, following his gaze to the cluster of silhouettes, a brow quirking, "half are choking on silence, the others are tittering about who could possibly have the gall to kill a man in his own home," she offers him the semblance of a smile, "you're truly missing out." His inquiry sobers the mirth previously curving features, "nothing at all, I guess they plan to keep everything under wraps until they're certain." She takes a sip from her champagne flute, allowing the liquid to simmer on her tongue before wondering aloud, "why remove his heart?"

[crownofash]

thetarlygroup‌:

It was cold on the balcony, the wintry air nipping about her skin. She had not wanted to attend this party as it was but now that she’d seen what it had become, her desire to be at home – with Jon and with Ghost – had come to the forefront of her mind. As she heard another walk onto the balcony, her gaze moved to the side and she recognized the young princess before Daenerys so much as spoke. Talla shrugged her shoulders, her fingers gripping a faux fur stole she’d worn over her dress upon arrival. She thought Jon had said something about going to find his father – and his siblings – and she had gone out on the balcony for some peace and quiet, finding the whirring about of everyone so incredibly hard to take in. “It doesn’t really matter,” she admitted, her voice quiet as she played with the bangle on her wrists. “We’re all stuck here anyway.” Her shoulder shrugged. “I imagine the whispers are heavy, are they not?” she inquired.

The surface of her palm bends to rest to the balcony's ribbed edge, a chill promptly coursing the length of her silhouette like a pulse. The other girl's inquiry elicits a beat of silence before an audible sigh is tugged from lungs, clouding in front of features before dissipating into the darkness,  "it's difficult to change the minds of those who have already decided, I'm hesitant to believe that finding the true culprit will help. But I suppose it will provide the Greyjoys with some semblance of closure, which makes this stuffy lockdown worthwhile." She peers over at the brunette, fetching features illuminated by the moon's glow, "do you think they're still here? The one who did it?" 

[crownofash]

krakenmaron‌:

Maron knew how suspicious he looked - not weeping for the death of his own father while his family poured out grief, being at this party in particular when he so rarely attended things that had anything to do with the Greyjoy name. He was sure the recent pictures streaked across the pages of the Mockingbird of him and the princess weren’t helping either. Still, he saw no reason to avoid her when he stepped outside and found her standing alone in the moonlight - considering the events of the evening, she looked a little ghostly. “It’s fine. Solitude is overrated at a time like this.” He raked his hand through his curls and breathed out a labored sigh, forgoing her usual titles as he usually did when not in other company. “So, was it you?” He asked, with a wry smirk that spoke of his doubts of whether she was capable of an act like the one which had taken his father’s life.

The tension wedged between the knots of her spine begins to ease at the recognition of the male, light curls and fetching features lifting a phantom smirk to the full of her mouth, mirth coaxing something luminous to pupils, a tidy brow lifting, "was it you?" Though her amusement falters for the swell of a moment as she meets an oceanic gaze, shadows fondly rise to the curves of her features as sincerity blooms, "I don't know who it was, Maron. I'm sorry--" for your loss, for the unknown that envelopes it all. She reaches for him then, digits gingerly pressing to the fabric stretched to his bicep, "you'll let me know if there is anything I can do for you?"

[crownofash]

Daenerys remains tucked in the living area until her gaze roams the stretch of the wallpaper's loopy designs enough times that she'd surely be seeing it in her dreams (though, better that than the blood covering Rodrik's chest). She departs when she begins to feel dizzy, when boredom and the lingering gaze of others is enough to swallow her whole. Digits snake to a passing gilded tray, plucking a bottle of champagne by it's slender throat before she makes her way to an adjacent room, solely occupied by a frame stitched with familiarity. "Loras," his name serves as a greeting saturated in the saccharine of fondness, the luminosity of her features swiftly doubling in wattage at the sight of the male, and she offers an uncharacteristically wide grin on approach, shutting the large door behind her to provide some semblance of privacy. "Just the man I was hoping to stumble into," she takes a gulp from the bottle before offering it in the male's direction with the ghosting upturn of a full mouth.

@roseloras​

[tcssathompson]

“You sleep coiled; tightly wound. Hands are fists beneath pillows, clenched above cotton sheets. You are at war, even in your dreams.”

— Rest Achilles, the world will wait | p.d (via p.d vulpe)

[crownofash]

The guttural screech of death had bloomed both shock and pity to aureate features, and in a manner of mere minutes death divides and rearranges to murder, and whispers begin to fester; palms had lifted to the swell of mouths to mask syllables from her view, pupils narrowed to something feline and Daenerys could see the beginning of blame starting to stitch to her throat like a noose of pearls. Ghostly, her silhouette relocates to the stretch of the balcony, and the shadows suit her fondly: she's pearlescent, something otherworldly, snow falling and saturating light tresses. "Winter has come," it's tangled with a sigh, perhaps of awe-- and an audible approach prompts the tilt of a chin, gaze relocating to her newfound company. “I can leave, if you were looking to be alone.”