( emma rigby, she/her ) — high greetings to ruling lady hera of house mooton , th iron maiden. the thirty-one year old is known for being efficient but has the tendency to be domineering too. ( the heavy weight of a sword in your hand, anger unbridled and unable to be tamed, candlelight flicking over maps, a head held high throughout everything ) [ s, 18, est, she/her. ]
hera was a girl once, cheeks pink with naivety and sweetness
but now she was a woman grown, the girl from long ago was dead
the eldest of three sisters hera always grew up with the weight of maidenpool on her shoulders
as a house known for matriarchy the mootons certainly weren’t going to cut any corners with their eldest daughter. she grew up learning the finer points of politics and economics every single day.
but she made a mistake, she fell in love.
he was a guard in their home, who came from a simple family and had worked his way up to his post. hera was completely enamored.
what they had was pure and good, until one night he was killed, defending her from invaders at the castle
that night hera swore never to love again, and her promise has been kept up to this point
hera lost any sense of youth she had and took over her mother’s seat as the ruling lady of maidenpool
she became a woman known for her shrewd judgement and exacting condemnation
she was good to her people but a terror to those who would dare cross or defy her, or put the people of maidenpool at risk
most of all she protected her sisters, she ensured they were given to suitable marriages though she herself never married
she answered to no god nor man. she was her own sovereign.
when the three mooton sisters stood together rumors swirled of their beauty and intelligence. that they were beyond humans, the crone, the mother, and the maiden.
just like the crone death followed her, any who would endanger those things and people that she loved swiftly found themselves at the wrong end of an executioner’s block
but she did not want for violence or destruction, but the peace of her people, and she would sacrifice whatever morality or weight of judgement she had to sustain it
hera is cold, exacting, intelligent, and deeply serious. she is not a dangerous woman unless you get in the way of her goal. above all other things, even herself, she prioritizes maidenpool.
lawren wanted to avert his gaze when mera let the pelt slip from her hands, hands he was certain would one day rule the land they were given. he wondered, for a moment, if it would be the entire realm the delicate looking girl held in her grasp. he knew thinking her to be a flower was such a northern mindset, a man’s mindset, too, and he did not yet think of himself as a man. he hadn’t proved anything to anyone yet, despite how badly he wanted to do good for the stark name. sitting in his room in king’s landing with naemera, however, he felt like maybe he WAS doing some good, but this time for himself. “perhaps i’m just jealous,” lawren laughed, angling himself so he faced her, drinking in the sight of her there. just the two of them, like it was all that mattered in all seven kingdoms. this moment. “i don’t have the ambition you do. i can’t think of a single thing i want, myself. not really.” a pause as he turned over his words in his head, talk first and think later. that was always lawren stark. “besides this. quite enjoy this.”
something hopeful fluttered in naemera before she had the right mind to snatch it by its wings and bury it. maybe it was in the soft cadence of his voice, so dichotomous to a face like his, that her heart grabbed onto the smaller nuances of his words. she reached out a hand to cup his cheek, cold to the touch but still comforting. “i quite enjoy it too.” she said quietly enough that it was almost imperceptible. it was folly to think a tender, quiet moment like this could last for ever, or even that lawren’s benignity could survive the machinations of court. but were it only this moment she had, she would treasure it for a hundred years to come. that moment, just she and him, bathed in golden light and words left unsaid. gods she had missed him, even if he was happier in winterfell and even if she had no right to miss him the selfish part of her wanted him to stay forever. “right then, what have you brought me for my nameday? don’t tell me you intend that to be my present.”
it wasn’t that daemon lacked social graces, it was more that he lacked the patience to deal with monotony. his entire childhood taught him how to shift focus as quickly as possible, to effectively multitask, and do what needed to be done as timely as could be. he knew how to cut around small talk, to cut to the heart of the issue with politicians who only sought to placate and flatter him, and to have to excuse decades of training for this ? it was difficult, to say the least.
❛ for your sake, mera ? ❜ daemon’s smile, one that was pained, grows wider with sincerity. ❛ for your sake i’d take on the whole world, just to see you happy. ❜ his hand gently rested on hers, laughing softly when he truly took note of the grin on her face. ❛ and going to battle is easier. i’m sure that by the end of all this, two rebellions will have started and ended in these walls. ❜
they’d grown closer to the fest as the flow of energy moved toward the grand doors. she was grateful for daemon in ways she couldn’t audiate. but the gentle weight of his hand was enough to remind her of something good and warm. she wished every moment could be like this, so simple and sure. that was her nameday wish, that she could take every good thing from this moment and live it forever. a world without pain, or politics, or princes would have suited them much better.
“shall we way into battle then?” she said peering past the edge of the wall. a glittering display laid beyond, rich with the plus luxuries as plentiful as could be offered. “i am expectant of a present.”
HONEY SWEET , the targaryen princess is one he finds himself easy to entwine with his lies . a kind smile , a soft word — on nights when he warms her bed , the lord bolton fills her with stories of his youth . open up to her and she’ll do the same . except , the tales he tells are of a false past and only to persuade her he is not the reputation he has . if only she knew he was exactly that . ❝ my apologies , your grace , i have been getting myself acquainted . surely, you will forgive me ? ❞ his voice is tender , foreign to himself but all the same to naemera . ❝ would you like your gift now , or during the celebrations ? ❞
the ugly feeling that curled in mera’s gut could only be outweighed by the knowledge royce had entrusted her with. she’d been apprehensive at first, he was married. though she knew of her reputation to be privy in adultery seemed to cross a line naemera thought she was unwilling to cross. but her heart had broken as his lips poured tales of a loveless marriage, of being completely alone in the world despite being surrounded by people. royce wasn’t a monster, he was a man in pain and he was the only one who truly understood what she felt. even those nights where she lay in her bed picturing the face of someone else across from her, royce was the one there. she smiled earnestly this time less in flirtation and more in adoration. it was comforting for once to be wanted in the way she desired. she and royce were more than lovers they were kindred spirits and confidants. “you should know if it’s any less than a star from the heavens i’ll be utterly devastated. now, please!”
he hadn’t anticipated the reunion that had awaited him in king’s landing. not that he could complain, either. namera was as beautiful as he remembered her, as bright as the sun and warm to the touch, not like the girls from the north. he felt like he had frostbite under his fingers, in his very bones compared to the girl before him. perhaps it was her beauty that rendered him so silent, or his dreaded shyness that seemed to always interfere. before he allowed himself to respond, he tugged on his trousers that lay tossed on the floor in front of him, unable to tear his eyes away from mera. “maybe i’m afraid i’ll say the wrong thing and get thrown in the dungeons,” he jested, leaning back onto the pelts beneath him. “i’ve heard a thing or two about targaryen madness.” he should be holding his tongue in her presence, but he couldn’t help it. she drew the words out of him with a simple request. a true born princess, indeed. “you do enough talking for the both of us, anyway. and you’re so much better at it. i bet you get anything you’ve ever wanted, and i’m no exception.” his smile was small, but sincere as he stared up at her, the light flooding the room from an open window.
lawren’s sweet face was utterly dear and wrought with contemplation. naemera wondered what it would feel like if her fingertips traced the delicate scarring that speckled his body. she was appreciative watching the strain and flex of his hands against the soft curve of his thigh. how could anyone see the jut of his independent jaw and think him any less then an earnestly rugged northern man was beyond her. but his words reflected him in a shades of cold. targaryen madness; the hellish glimmer of her mother’s dark eyes sparkled and the wine suddenly looked far too much like blood. she laughed musically disproving any err that had mistaken her as modest as she dropped the pelt. silhouetted by sunlight she reclaimed her flimsy slip from the floor and sunk into the plush bed. “you make me sound utterly ravenous. is it such a bad thing, getting what you want?”
“that wasn’t my initial reason, no, but that fact you just said that has me concerned. for the fifth time this week, please do your best to be on good behavior. everybody’s working really hard to make this a good time for everybody.” but once cullen got his little lecture out of the way, his face softened and he took a seat beside her. “i just needed a break. your mother’s kept me by her side nonstop all month and it’s been… draining.” he let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “anyway. you seem in a good mood.”
“draining.” mera repeated sorely. “what an apt way to describe mother.” an ugly satisfaction curled in her gut at the thought of her mother hearing the venom-laden words. she sighed pushing the rush of malice from her heart. “and why i shouldn’t i be? the only thing i love more than parties are parties thrown in my honor.”
if happiness were a liqueur then naemera must have been a drunkard. passionate red surrounded her in the goblets of summer wine or the vibrant calling sign of her gown. mirthfulness was aplenty even as cullen’s dour face came into view. “you haven’t come to scold me already have you?” she laughed. “i’ve done nothing worth reproach...yet.” // @wcrdenz
daemon didn’t make it a habit of being part of the welcoming committee. as crown prince of the seven kingdoms it was a duty that could have been delegated to someone else, and as a person he would rather die than continue to sit on the iron throne, taking the greetings from every soul who walked in. but it was him or his mother, and rhaenys wasn’t quite in place to be making appearances.
as the door opened once more, daemon sighed softly. perhaps he could convince valerys to take over such a tedious task. surely he couldn’t fuck it up. leaning over to a familiar face next to him, daemon asked, ❛ what’s the likelihood that this is the last time we have to play nice and greet whoever walks through the door ? ❜
the thrill of a festival in her honor (or at least half in her honor) rang like a bell against her bones. she could feel the flow of the guests like the pulse of a river running downstream. a garish laughed escaped her at daemon’s word. he was a great leader undoubtedly, but her brother had always lacked somewhat in social graces in comparison to her. she flashed him a glittering smile traces of impish delight caressing her visage.
“surely dear brother you can be cordial for my sake.” her arm slipped comfortably into his the silken fabric of their adornments shifting. “it’s my nameday celebration. you’ll survive the great horrors of idle talk. you’ve slain those who would rise against us. the chatter of noble lady won’t fell you.”
royce bolton was a poisoned apple dipped in treacle syrup. the fine curves and angles of his face were an entrapment to mask whatever stirring dark thing lay beneath his angelic visage. naemera found herself enthralled, wishing to poke and prod until he bared his death. men were not so much a mystery when you understood their motivations; sex, wealth, power, and violence. it was the craving for danger that propelled her feet forward. she fixed him with a coquettish smile. “lord bolton, how is it that you’ve come to attend my nameday celebrations and yet i have not received your greetings?” // @dreadforts
lawren’s bed made her crave a home she had never known. the downy furs that laid scattered across the floor seemed awkward amidst the balmy summer heat of kings landing. lawren had that air to him too, of ice and chill and winter. naemera arched her back her form utterly feline as she pulled a blanket against her supple form. “why hold your tongue now?” she said pouring some drunkards rich liquid from a decanter. “you certainly weren't quiet before,” a grin settled comfortably across her face full of mirth of mischief. // @lawrenstark
( anastasia tsilimpiou, she/her ) — here ye, here ye, behold the princess of the seven kingdoms, naemera targaryen. the twenty-one year old is known for being affable but has the tendency to be mischievous too, which should be expected of the flowering dragon. ( a shining eye peering through the keyhole of a door, skirts covered in mud, lightning during a summer storm, loud boisterous laughter ) [ s, 18, est, she/her. ]
it’s the nameday girl! i tried to write this with like a serious backstory and some semblance of coherency and i just...could not so have this mess.
naemera is a messy bench who loves drama
her entire life she has been spoiled and she’s very accustomed to it. she loves pretty things and pretty people
and most of all she loves parties
she is an unfailingly gregarious person but not in the demure princess-y way most would think of
more in the sense that she’s a social butterfly who knows just about everyone
and if there’s one thing she loves more than parties its being the center of attention
so while she loves her sister, having to share her nameday? kind of annoying
best way to describe her is a girl pretending to be a woman.
she’s a brat!!! she’s used to getting what she wants and when she doesn’t oh boy is it time for a meltdown
she’s constantly playing pranks and getting in trouble
what the kids call; boy crazy. falls in love with a new visiting lord every five seconds and the inevitably gets her heart broken
tries to pretend like she’s not a hopeless romantic with dreams of grandeur (she is)
we....immature
she loves to gossip she has all the hot goss
can and will manipulate ppl to get what she wants
but she doesn’t want like power or anything...she just wants like pretty dresses, attention, maybe a suitor or two
in way over her head all the time
thinks she knows better (she does not)
DEEPLY INSECURE! not that she’d ever let anyone know that
just wants to be loved???
WANTED CONNECTIONS
betrothal, she’s turning 22 which basically makes her an old maid
“A woman fits in many titles and roles in her lifetime. She is someone else at each stage of her lifetime. She is a child. A woman. A mother. If she’s a smart and blessed subject of God she could even become a Sultana. What matters is which title and role you see fit for yourself.”
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