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@dcstiniesfm
⸻ a private & dependent multi-muse blog for THECONQUERINGHQ
LORD DESMOND MANDERLY ( intro, headcanons, album, threads )
RULING PRINCESS DERIA MARTELL ( intro, headcanons, album, threads)
LADY MARIS TULLY NEE FLORENT ( intro, headcanons, album, threads )
LADY MYRCELLA DURRANDON ( intro, headcanons, album, threads )
Aenar had walked into the dining hall guided by the quiet insistence of hunger. A servant had told him Maris had already begun her mid morning meal. He had thought little of it then, only that he might join her, share idle talk, perhaps steal a moment of ease in a day otherwise bound for tedium.
“Ah, Mari-” The word died upon his lips. He stood there a moment too long, staring down at the spread before her as though it were some grotesque offering. Osywck had tried to warn him, muttered something of cravings and peculiar fancies but the man had been a coward in his telling. He had not spoken of this. The scents warred in the air, until Aenar felt near dizzy with it.
Seven save me, he thought, his composure slipping behind his eyes. Is this what pregnancy makes of the world? A battlefield of flavours? Oh, I am certain you cannot find Luciya, he thought to himself bitterly. She had the sense I lacked. took her leave before Maris could ensnare her in this… feast. There was still time to retreat. He could offer some courteous lie, claim he had already eaten, his dignity intact. She could not fault him for that. No man in his right mind would sit before such a spread and pretend to have appetite.
His lips parted.
No, I have already eaten. Thank you though.
The words formed, clear and ready. Yet they did not pass. Instead, as Maris looked up at him, with that expectant glimmer, Aenar felt his resolve falter.
“I would be delighted to, Maris.” The lie came smooth, though his smile did not. It stretched thin across his face, valiant and doomed all at once, as he took the seat beside her. The seat creaked faintly beneath his weight, as though in warning. He folded his hands before him, eyeing the dishes as one might regard an armed foe across a narrow field.
“What could you possibly recommend,” he asked, striving for joviality , though a note of unease crept, “although I do have a weak palate, I’m afraid.” His gaze flicked once more across the table, harmony abandoned in favour of some wild desire. He braced himself, as any knight might before the charge. For he suspected, that courage would be required of him yet.
Maris beamed happily at his response, gesticulating to the chair beside hers for him to seat himself at. She had slowly gotten to know Aenar over the course of his stay at Riverrun and suffice to say she quite like the Arryn heir. He had proved to be a very nice, polite, honorable and trustworthy man. She could see now why Oswyck was so fond of his former squire and why it had hurt him greatly when Aenar never responded to his letters and failed to attend the Tully couple's wedding.
She was about to speak when Aenar's next words took her by surprise. For a moment, she stared at him almost disbelievingly. And when it became apparent that Aenar was indeed serious about actually eating her pregnancy craving dishes with her, Maris had to bite down the terrible giggles rising within her. By the gods, Aenar actually thought that she had invited him to share her dishes! Oh the poor, sweet, sweet man.
She knew how revolting those dishes would smell, taste and look for someone who wasn't pregnant like her so there was no way Aenar was actually having the appetite for them. His words 'a weak palate' was clue enough that he was just doing this to not disappoint her. However he was mistaken. Maris wasn't asking him to share her special dishes with her as his luncheon. No, she was actually just about to call for a servant to bring him the regular dishes she had instructed the cooks to make for the rest of the household.
However, for a moment, Maris decided to be a little naughty. She was in need of a little entertainment and pretending for just a teensy few more minutes wouldn't hurt. Trying her best to keep her face straight, the heavily pregnant woman gazed over the "feast" before her. "You have no idea how delighted I am that you agree to partake in this feast with me," she smiled so brightly, her tone filled with so much gratitude. "Oswyck usually would just sit and stare or stare whilst eating his terribly bland foods," she pouted. "Hmmm, I would recommend the cod cake smeared with tomato sauce to start off with. Our head cook makes the best cod cakes in this whole region, I swear. And this time, as per my request, he even mashed in bits of prunes for that surprise crunch bite to it!" she smiled widely. She then motioned for an attending serving girl to serve him a big piece. "Do give it a try. It might become your favourite dish during your stay here yet," she smiled sweetly, her eyes looking at him expectantly, though underneath the table, Maris was pinching her legs hard in order to not break into laughter.
@dcstiniesfm - ronnel
To say he was surprised would be both an understatement and leave him unsurprised at the same time. He knew that something with the Dayne and Aemma was bound to happen at some point but for her to not tell him? That was what hurt the Redfort. So, with people's attention turned towards him, he awkwardly shied away to a corner - until he found himself in the presence of Lord Arryn. "If you've come to me to question me about if I knew anything I fear I'm about to let you down, my lord"
Ronnel's extremely severe face softened slightly at that admission from Jayse. He let out a small weary sigh. "Then I offer my sincere apologies Lord Redfort. It seems that both you and I have been hoodwinked by my very willful daughter," he shook his head as his lips tightened in anger once more.
Where: Somewhere either on a balcony or outside courtyard or garden, even Water Gardens if you wish! When: An hour after the wedding feast ended ( post 1st plot drop ) ( capping at 4-6 )
Ronnel shook his head as he buried his hands into his palms. How could things have gone so terribly wrong?? For the past hour, in the presence of no one else but his personal guard, he had raged and rained curses upon Cassian, blaming the knight for everything that had transpired. And then he had dreamed up of possible scenarios in which he could annul the marriage and punish the Dornishman for what he had done. And then how to punish Aemma. Next came the memory of Rhaenys death and that made him cry quietly for awhile as grief returned momentarily and overwhelmed him.
Eventually, sadness and even more troubling thoughts invaded his mind. How could his cherished daughter, his bright-eyed princess do this to him?? To their family? Was it partly his fault? Had he made too many grave mistakes in his role as a father this past several years that Aemma turned out this way?
Hearing someone cough quietly behind him, he instantly assumed it his valet finally coming to aid him. "Arnolf, could you possibly please find some ice in this god-forsaken place? I think I may have a black eye courtesy of that damn Dayne."
When: Evening of the 7th day ( capping at 3 ) Where: The wedding feast at one of the open courtyards of Sunspear
Platters of spiced lamb, charred green peppers stuffed with cheese and herbs, gull eggs diced with bits of ham, onions and the famed Dornish Dragon peppers; citrus-glazed eel fresh from the Summer Sea, snail stew, honeyed dates, firewine sauces, blood oranges, and buttery flatbreads still warm from the ovens that came along with sides of chickpea paste and olives. The overly sumptuous and richly exotic feast almost over-stimulated Desmond with sights and smells of it.
Though his appetite wasn't that large, he was however always eager to try new cultural things and this wedding feast was one of them. Thankfully for his health, he was now free to sample all kinds of cuisine of his choosing and thus he excitedly made sure to try a bit of everything that was either served to him or spread before him. However he should have practiced a bit more caution for barely had he chewed a few bites of a rather large spoonful of gull eggs when all of a sudden, his indulgent expression turned into one of complete horror.
Heat exploded across his tongue like wildfire. Desmond's face flushed almost instantly—first pink, then a deep, alarming red creeping up the neck and ears; while his baby blues watered so quickly it looked as though he was on the verge of tears. An inhale of breath and the next minute, he was coughing and making a pained moan as he struggled through the hellishly spicy effects of the Dornish Dragon peppers. Seven hells, what was he to do?? He couldn't possibly chew till the end and swallow this down. It was burning! But could he spit it all out?? In front of everyone at his table? Why oh why had he put in a large spoonful of it into his mouth immediately? He should have nibble a mouse-sized bite of his spoon. Glancing desperately around, his eyes blinking frantically, Desmond looked for anything to help and without thinking it through, he snatched a goblet of wine right from the hand of the nearest person and wolfed it down desperately and clumsily along with the chewed morsel upon his tongue. Choking and spluttering, Desmond could no longer care about etiquette in his suffering right now. "Aahhhhh!" he gasped aloud as the food now burned his entire throat and the spicy effects still could be felt all around the walls of his mouth and tongue. "I'm so sorry, but it burns, oh it is still burning! Gods, is there water anywhere??" Sweat started to bead across his forehead.
@dcstiniesfm - desmond
She had become close friends with Myriame and, due to visiting a few times during the time between the jousting tournament and now, she had also gotten to know Desmond as well. Now to say they were close was an understatement, mainly them having just exchanged formalities in passing, but she had to admit he was quite the eye candy to look at. "Lord Manderly," she smiled, the wedding close to starting at this point, "I hope you've been faring well? I fear we only speak a few words to each other and that's it" she joked
It was fair to say that Desmond was rather excited for the grand royal wedding day to commence. He had never once had the opportunity to attend any weddings outside of the North due to his fragile health and now not only was he attending a Southern wedding but it would be without a doubt the first grandest royal wedding anyone had ever since in two decades. It would also be the most monumental one in the history of Westeros for there had never been an alliance like this between the Dornish and their neighbors. There might have been a few Dornish who had married non-Dornish Westerosis but a Martell? Unprecedented.
Head swiveling around to take in everything in awe, the Manderly would have collided into the other if she had not spoken out and greeted him in time. His brows furrowed for a moment. " I uh---Oh, Lady Azalea!" he exclaimed in relief when he finally could place a name to the rather familiar face. She had visited White Harbor a couple of times over these past 8 months but he never really had a chance to have any meaningful conversations with her.
"Forgive me for not recognizing you immediately, my lady," he bowed slightly in way of an apology. "One tends to look rather different when not heavily covered up in Winter clothing," he explained with a sheepish smile. "How have you been faring in Dorne, so far, Lady Azalea? May I please call you Azalea though? Seeing as you've grown quite close with my sister and I don't particularly care for formalities; I find them such a barrier between establishing lovely bonds. Please do call me Desmond, I beseech thee," he smiled earnestly.
open! 1/5 (but i'm easy honestly)
Dorne could piss off.
Myriame sat perched on the lip of a marble fountain. The heat of the air suffocating her. Her skin,usually the pale cream of winter, had ripened to an angry, stinging pink. She fanned herself with a desperate, rhythmic vigor, but the lace fan only served to blow the same stifling hot air.
She eyed a trio of beautiful Dornish ladies stroll past, their silk gowns whispering against the ground. They glanced her way, she was certain of it, and their laughter sharpened. It wasn’t exactly clear if they were laughing at her but it certainly felt like they were. They faded into the distance, their laughter ringing in Myriame’s ears.
Dorne really could piss off.
If she had thought Kings Landing was hot eight months ago, this was on an entirely new scale. Give her the North. Give her grey skies and biting winds, the sharp breath of the sea and the blessed chill that seeped into bone. Anything but this.
She glanced over one shoulder, then the other. The courtyard was momentarily empty, the guards retreated to the deep shadows. With a low groan, Myriame abandoned all pretense of being a high born lady.
She lunged forward, plunging her head into the fountain.
Oh it was bliss.
She held her head underneath the water and let peace take her. The water was tepid by Northern standards, but against her scorched skin, it felt a mercy sent by the gods themselves. She stayed submerged, ears filled with the dull thrum of the fountain’s pulse, letting the silence of the water drown out the oppressive heat and the memory of those gorgeous ladies. For a few moments she wasn't a lady out of her element, she was just a creature surviving.
The feeling of a presence behind her broke her momentary tranquillity.
“What?” she snapped, wrenching herself upward.
She looked a drowned rat, and she knew it. Dark, sodden strands of hair clung to her cheeks, and water cascaded from her chin, darkening the bodice of her gown. She blinked rapidly, droplets clinging to her lashes as she glared at the intruder through a blurred, watery veil. Although she couldn't quite make out who it was, “Have you never seen a woman try not to melt where she sits?” she demanded, her voice sharp.
The climate in Dorne was unlike anything Desmond had experienced before. And for a man that had grown up his whole life in wintry coldness, it felt completely bizarre to be feeling scorching heat and to sweat profusely. Sand and snow were also two completely different sensations. King's Landing was quite hot due to it being the season of late summer but being in Dorne was a completely different affair entirely.
Not that Desmond complained that much as most of his fellow Northeners did. He was actually immensely grateful and quite delighted to be in a completely different world. Everything he saw, tasted, smelled and touched were so exotic and thrilling to the man who longed to travel the world. Despite the dry heat and burning sun on his back during the daytime, the sweltering heat softens into something languid and intoxicating, frequent breezes carrying the scent of dust, citrus groves, spice, and distant sea salt from the Summer Sea through the open courts of Sunspear.
However, today it seemed almost unbearably even for the optimistic and sunny Desmond, and thus the Manderly lord wended his way to the Water Gardens to gain a dip in one of their luxurious pools. Upon the approaching the first fountain he sighted, he was momentarily surprised to see a noble lady bent over the fountain with her head totally submerged into it. Desmond couldn't help grinning and breaking out a soft chuckle at the unusual and comical sight.
However the moment the lady snapped back up to look at him, he was slightly stunned for a brief moment. "Myriame??" he stared in complete incredulity until sight of her wet hair and face with kohl now bleeding down all over her red cheeks tickled him so much that he couldn't stop himself from doubling over and laughing. "Myriame...I'm sorry for laughing...but you look too comical. Oh my gods, Myriame. Of all people, you were the last person I expected to fully dunk your head into a fountain," he giggled with laughter, wiping his eyes slightly.
Open Starter Setting: The Desert ✨
The heat had a way of pressing everything flat. Thoughts. Breath. Even time itself seemed to stretch thin beneath the weight of the sun, until the world became nothing more than light and sand and the slow rhythm of her own steps. There had been too much noise these past months, the desert, at least, was honest. Rosalyn had wandered farther than she likely should have, alone save for the dunes and the fragile peace she had been trying to recover. It should have been soothing. It usually was.
Then she realized she was no longer alone.
At first, she said nothing, did nothing, but her fingers had already begun to tremble. She reached back, her hand finding the gold stick that held her hair in place. She turned then, looking for the other, the gold pin lifted in her hand, its narrow end pointed outward.
“I would advise you not to take another step.” Her voice did not shake. That, at least, she managed. The wind moved around her, through her loosened hair, through the thin fabric at her sleeves, but she held her ground. Even as her pulse betrayed her, even as the reality of it pressed in – She could not defend herself. Not truly, not here, not with this.
Still, she held the pin as though she knew exactly where to place it, how to strike, how to follow through. As though she had ever been taught such things. Her fingers tightened around the gold, small and elegant and entirely unsuited to the role she had forced upon it.
“I believe you are close enough,” she continued, “and I am not particularly interested in discovering whether your intentions are noble.” A bluff. Fear held together by sheer, stubborn will. Her gaze fixed on the figure before her, steady despite everything, her breath measured, controlled, waiting. Daring them to move. Hoping they wouldn’t.
Desmond had been invited to an interesting luncheon with wealthy Dornish merchant whose house had been some miles outside of the Shadow City. As such due to being forced to travel by the arid desert roads, he had dressed appropriately. A turban to protect his head from the scorching sun and a thin face covering that protected his nose and mouth from the dirt and sand whenever a strong breeze blew around. As such only his strikingly bright azure blue eyes could be seen to people. Which was probably the reason why Rosalyn did not recognize him.
To be honest, he hadn't realized it was Rosalyn either at first. From behind, the figure had look slightly familiar but as he walked closer, he had been taken aback when the woman suddenly whirled around and waved a small, slightly long and sharp pin at him.
"Woah...woah, " he lifted his hands up in sincere peace as he stumbled backwards.
"My lady I truly mean no harm-- I...wait, Rosalyn, is that you?" his eyes finally widened in recognition as her name clicked into place to that very familiar face. She had looked slightly different with a different make-up, Dornish clothes instead of her Reach fashion and slightly different styled hair. He yanked off his face covering. "It's me, Desmond," he cried with a wide grin as he moved forward again towards her.
@accidentalss
It had been almost four hours since she had left the last place she took shelter in and she was still riding as fast and hard as the wind. The Northern gale was far more fiercer and bitingly colder than she had anticipated and Myrcella felt frozen to the bone as she spurred on Tempest to go on even faster in order to reach their destination quicker. The North was a harsh hostess and for a moment, Myrcella wondered how long it would take for her to acclimate to the weather. She had to do so if she was to survive the rest of her life here.
Upon finally sighting the gates of Winterfell, Myrcella finally let out a breath of great relief, finally slowly down her beloved courser. The Durrandon was bone-tired, famished and shaking slightly from the wintry cold. Despite this, she maintained as composed as she could as she told the sentries that she was the bride of Maeric Stark and lied smoothly that he was expecting her. Whilst waiting for the guards to report to their ruling lord to seek permission to let her in, Myrcella prayed hard that Maeric would not be too upset at turning up completely unannounced and would hear her out. Thankfully, the ruling lord Stark was as kind as she had hoped and she was ushered in to meet with him, clinging onto her small luggage she had packed. As she stood before him, she shredded off her heavy and wet cloak and gratefully handed it off to the servant. Wrapping her arms around her shivering body as an attempt to warm herself up for the gown she had purchased in the Vale was still not warm enough to protect her from the freezing coldness of the North, Myrcella then parted her lips she had believed have gotten half-numb from the cold and spoke as calmly and in a rather pleading tone, rare for her to be sure, " May I please have a private word with you, my lord?"
Where: Martell Chambers at the Red Keep When: After the decimation of House Morrigen
@gildedheirs
It felt that it had been years since they had a moment to themselves. Just them. The twins were busy, Qoren being shooed away from them; his siblings elsewhere, even his step-father. So now it was only mother and son. Perhaps it was Qoren looking too much into it, finding the silence unbearable while things were being packed and pushed around. Questions of why regarding her children’s betrothal still clouded his mind, but it was no longer on the forefront. They had somehow gone through so much scrutiny, and they were only destined to go through more. And yet his mother remained strong. That didn’t mean she could entirely be that, all the way through, down to her core. What son would he be without checking in on her? “How are you feeling, Mother?” A beat passes before he clarifies. “You can be honest with me, please.”
Deria had been speaking to her attendants, giving orders on departure arrangements when her beloved firstborn suddenly entered. Dismissing the staff, she then turned around to face him with her usual serene smile. At his question however, her facial expression then dropped to a contemplative and troubled sigh. "A little shaken at witnessing such a terrible decimation of an entire house of course. All those poor innocent children and members who had no inkling of what Borris Morrigen had done. I fear their screams will haunt my dreams tonight," she shuddered. "I understand why Aegon did what he did but---it is still a tragedy. I shall pray for all their souls tonight," she vowed. She then looked back up at Qoren. "And what of you, my son? How do you fare? What are your thoughts on this matter?"
Open to: Everyone Where: After the plot drop in the pavilion
Eleana sat in the corner with tears. The performance was awful. There was always a risk when one danced with fire, she just wished her mistake did not look so symbolic.
Who even convinced her fire dancing was a good idea?
It was not a secret that Eleana hated the conquerors and all they stood for. But Eleana did not plan to make as large of a public statement as she did tonight!
"How could I be so foolish?" The Princess managed to utter past her shame.
It had to be an accident...surely? Deria was quite certain of it after witnessing her daughter's expressions when the staff flew out of her hand. Eleana had looked genuinely horrified and panicked when that happened. However knowing how headstrong her daughter was against the royal matches and how impulsive she could be sometimes, there was a tiny nagging thought at the back of the back of the Ruling Princess mind as to whether Eleana had planned that disaster in any way.
Once she was finished with her round of apologies to the affected people and reassuring certain prominent nobles and King Aegon that this was a pure careless mistake by Eleana, Deria finally went off in search of Eleana.
The moment she spotted her highly distressed daughter, Deria immediately knew the truth. Eleana truly did not meant for that fire to happen. Her heart grew pained for Eleana as she smoothly sat down next to her daughter, love and concern etched all over her features. "Eleana, my darling...please do not blame yourself so," she comforted her as she pulled her daughter into her embrace and rubbed her back soothingly.
@ofchrysalism
Where: Riverrun When: The day after Violet Tully was born.
Every part of her that was below her waist still hurt like hell but Maris could easily ignore the pain when her precious newborn was in her arms. Already the little darling had both her parents completely besotted with her. Maris felt like her heart was fit to burst with extreme joy and over-powering love every time she looked at that cherubic face. She had never felt love this crazy intense for anyone else before. As great and true as her love for her beloved husband was, it still fell slightly short to the enormous intensity of unconditional and shiningly pure love she carried for her daughter. Now she truly understood what a mother's love meant and why it was one of the most powerful and most magical things in this universe. She would move the entire heavens and earth for her baby. Her child could hurt her in the most cruelest way possible and yet she would still love them till her dying day.
Her quiet and serene studying of the exquisite babe in her arms was suddenly disturbed when a knock came upon the half-open door. Looking up, she then beamed at the visitor. "Come Marissa. Your niece is eager to greet you."
" nothing is out of the ordinary. " it hurts to stretch her lips into the strained smile, so soon she drops the pretense. she has guarded her secret close to her heart long enough and perhaps telling her closest friend will ease some of the burden. " dominic harlaw and me and alara was part of it too, but i didn't know until late and, " her glass facade breaks under desmond's careful touch, tears run down her cheeks plenty and freely now. she tries to hold back a sob, but it spills over and muffles the rest of her rambling. without answering his question, she throws herself into his embrace, heedless of his injuries in her need of comfort. squeezes around his waist, then abruptly releases and takes his hands. " come to my chamber, i will tell you everything. "
Dominic Harlaw?? Who the heck is he?? And what did an Ironborn have to do with both Alara & Lynara? Confusion crossed Desmond's features at first but then he was quickly alarmed when Lynara started to openly sob so sadly in his hands. And then before he could blink, she was throwing herself in his embrace a little too roughly and her squeezing his waist caused him to wince in great pain whilst he did his best to bite down any sounds of pain, for it was Lynara's misery which was of upmost importance right now, not his. Gingerly, he rubbed her back soothingly. Desmond managed to muster up a comforting smile when she glanced back up at him and nodded at her suggestion. "I will have to walk slowly I'm afraid but yes let's please. I want you to unburden yourself with me," he stated in concern.
Upon finally reaching her chambers, Desmond had to take a moment to consider whether to sit or stand due to his tailbone injury and in end, he decided that standing up would be best for who knew how long this would take. "Okay, Lyn. We're here and I am ready to fully listen to everything first," he smiled encouragingly at her.
She’s rambling, trying to explain herself, and Oswyck sees that their work on building a stronger relationship over the past four years meant little to news as important as this. Did she not believe him when he said he wanted to share her joy, her misery, and her anger? He was a man of few words, so intent mattered more to him. Where was this repentant behavior during all of these lies? It had built into a string of lies where she could have come clean at any point. She should have come clean sooner, in Oswyck's eyes. Perhaps it would have been different if he hadn’t questioned her and took care of her during these supposed sicknesses. He had fret, feared that she was sick for another reason, when she had known the truth.
Almost four months, echoed through his head, nagging him, or perhaps egging him on. Was this all she hid from him? He loved her, their love a product of mindful connection, and wanted to know her down to the everyday highs and lows, her preferences, and her own specific thoughts and feelings. He wanted to understand her completely.
He knew this was not entirely her fault, even if it was ultimately her. Oswyck had known a family that would figure out situations together. While he would never keep Maris from her family, he feared they had taught her to hide herself not just from everyone, but herself. She had forgotten Oswyck was not a Florent. He wanted to go through it all with her, and she thought that it was best to go through it alone. He would have loved her the same no matter what happened.
It does not take long for him to look up at her. “Please sit down.” There is that frustration and fear ringing clear. “I love you, I want you safe, but that does not negate my frustration.”
He fears the gates will open. Not here, not in public, he silently begged.
The silence and tension that lingered between them was awful and Maris wanted to cry so badly. Never before in all of their 3 beautiful years of marriage had Os been upset or angry with her. Not once. This was the very first time and thus she did not know how to deal with this side of him nor how to fix it. She suddenly recalled her husband's words from a time ago, saying he wanted to experience every thing with her. All of her joy, her misery and her anger. He wanted to be there for her at every single moment of their lives no matter what happened. And now look what she had done. All because she always wanted to be perfect. Her fear of disappointing or causing any burden to anyone was now making trouble for her lovely marriage. Why was she like this??
Years of training herself to hide her tears and sadness was hindered by her emotional sensitivity and blasted pregnancy hormones as she couldn't stop the tears from flowing down silently over her cheeks. Great. Now Oswyck would think of her as a foolish child.
When he spoke with that much frustration and upset in his voice, she couldn't stop the sob that escaped her throat as she nodded and obeyed. "I truly love you too, Os, so so much, and I understand that you are hurting, angry and frustrated with me right now. You have every right to be so. I have lied and lied over something this monumental and life-changing. I regret it now. I--I should have allowed myself to be imperfect with you," she started to cry a bit again.
"I thought I could spare you the misery and worry if we were to lose this child but now I have hurt you badly instead. I'm sorry. Please, please... tell me how I can fix this?"
@missbluebiird
where: riverrun when: the beginning of the sixth month after king's landing event
Though it had been pleasantly much cooler over this particular course of the summer, Maris was still extremely uncomfortable and still sweated quite a lot. One of the most common symptoms to expect this late in her first pregnancy along with the frequent need to urinate, backaches, increased pelvic pressure, sleeping difficulties and the swollen ankles. But oh she would not complain much about all this issues for it was all going to be so very worth it for the darling babe she was going to carry in her arms soon. A very much desired and already adored babe by both parents.
Smiling indulgently at her unborn child's active kicks, she rubbed her huge belly with one hand whilst the other busied itself with stuffing more food in her mouth. The table was laden with several of her bizarre pregnancy cravings that horrified disgusted and fascinated many of the Tully household. Sardines covered with strawberry jam and pickled cucumbers, cod cake smeared with tomato sauce, peanut butter with goose meat, orange slices with cinnamon and cheese were the dishes she picked today. Maris always had a good appetite and loved enjoying a variety of cuisines but now with her first ever pregnancy, her appetite seemed to have tripled. Her mother had nagged her to watch her weight so as to not repulse her husband, but Oswyck had vowed that he'd love any changes happening to her body so she happily indulged in her cravings with gusto.
Hearing footsteps entering the dining hall, she then spotted Aenar. "Oh Aenar won't you join me for a midday meal, please? I know it's a little early for it but Oswyck had to hurry out for an urgent matter for a little while and I can't seem to find Luciya or the others yet. It's a bit lonesome eating all by myself," she pleaded.
MAI DAVIKA WEARING BRONX BANCO
She allowed the music to guide them into their first steps, steady and unhurried, giving him just enough time to follow without making it obvious she was doing so. Rosalyn’s smile lingered, though it softened just a touch as she studied him more closely now that they stood face to face. He was gentle with his words, and even gentler with the way he carried himself. There was a care to his touch, as if she might shatter beneath it if he misjudged the weight of his own hands.
At his introduction, her brows lifted ever so slightly, something like recognition settling in. “Manderly…” she echoed softly. Rosalyn remembered the conversation she had earlier with Aemma. Was that the man the maidens had whispered of? She could see the reason now. The steady kindness in those blue eyes, the effortless breadth of his shoulders, the sort of beauty that did not beg to be noticed, and yet lingered all the same… She had found herself a very fortunate dance partner indeed. “From the North, if I remember correctly?” A tinge of surprise in her voice. “How curious. I do not think I would have placed you there so easily.”
Her eyes shone with light amusement as he continued. Des? Was she already granted a nickname? She wondered if he was used to offering familiarity so easily. “Rosalyn,” she said at first, the informality coming a touch too quickly. “Tyrell,” she amended smoothly, as if suddenly remembering the necessity of it.
A melody started to play and Desmond was momentarily taken aback by how euphonious it sounded. He'd never really heard music like this in the North. It sounded so sublime and the hark, the absolute grandeur of the piece! He then started to move along to it and followed the guidance set by his partner. As a pretty adequate dancer, he could tell that the lady in his arms was an extremely skilled dancer and from the looks of it right now, a good teacher too.
He smiled widely in amusement at her surprise. "Yes indeed from the North. We reside in White Harbor which is main northern port for commerce and naval transport, my lady. Though our original roots are from the Reach about a thousand years ago." He then quirked an eyebrow slightly. "Might I inquire why you would not think me a Northmen?" Though he was fairly sure he could guess her answer, knowing just how different he was from so many of his kin and neighbors.
A Tyrell with a name that was a variation of Rose? It sounded a little bit on the nose, but then perhaps her parents thought it seemed most fitting for her? She certainly looked like an exquisite rose. "It is my honor and pleasure of making your acquaintance, Lady Rosalyn," he smiled warmly. "I should have guessed you were a Tyrell from the way you dance and carry yourself. Tell me my lady, are your music always played in such an orchestral manner?" his blue eyes shone with eager curiosity.
