[fromashe]

#𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞  II private blog for @103ac II ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴀꜱʜ. (ꜱʜᴇ/ᴛʜᴇʏ)

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ • lady yerin harlaw,   the  ruling lady of ten towers,   ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞⊹ ࣪ ˖ • liege aila tully,   lady of riverrun  ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

࿐𓆩♖𓆪⫘⊹ ࣪ ˖ • lady seraphina hightower,  lady of oldtown  ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

[lasaraconor]

[duncan-rohanne]

Fan Changyu, Butcher Beauty, leader of the Northwest Pig Butcher Squad, Marchioness of Wu'an, carrying around the guy she married because she needed to keep her house and because he was pretty

[firedreamt]

her  laugh  and  her  voice  as  she  speaks  pours  itself  a  hymnal  to  him.  without  religion  nor  creed  to  beholden  him  besides  that  which  he  decides  upon  a  whim,  and  here  she  converts  him  to  the  euphoria  of  her  confessional.  this  place  has  been  turned  into  one,  archives  of  other  stories  to  the  scrolling  of  their  own.  when  she  slaps  at  the  scroll,  he  pulls  it  out  of  reach,  and  then  awaits  her  arms  to  lower,  then  lets  it  roll  into  the  creases  of  her  elbows  as  if  a  game  of  dominoes.  he  might  have  smirked  if  not  for  that  ringing  truth  from  her,  the  cold  of  ice  and  realisation  spoken  as  if  from  the  gods  themselves.  her  hands  to  her  abdomen,  the  cradling  of  a  now  nonexistent  void  —  the  floor  feels  as  though  it  falls  out  from  under.  a  sharp  exhale,  the  kind  which  impales  him  in  the  stomach.  his  hand  absentmindedly  taps  the  back  of  the  chair,  unable  to  resist  the  orbit  towards  her  stubborn  stance,  the  odd  halo  that  particular  candle  casts  over  her.  pacing  to  the  window,  then  bracing  against  the  sill. “  …  if  i  had  but  known.”  quieter.  “  i  am  not  so  much  a  bastard  that  i  would  have  left  you  both  starving  and  destitute.  ”  or  alone.  or  against  the  world  in  kind.  a  tyrell's  face  flashes  before  his  eyes,  but  does  not  erase  hers,  and  the  ferocity  with  which  she  fires  off  her  months  away.  the  voyage  not  taken,  the  gift  not  spared  from  the  gods'  eyes  so  she  believes,  and  the  prayers  for  his  sister's  well-being.  “  you  call  that  time  a  conquering?  ha!  so  then  that's  how  you  view  me.  ”  his  emotions  tumultuous,  the  need  to  be  sarcastic  and  cruel  attempting  to  outweigh  the  anguish  within,  at  the  idea  of  a  …  of  a  child  with  his  face  or  his  laugh  and  never  knowing.  yes,  it  strikes  somewhere  deeper  than  it  should,  the  face  of  his  own  father  westerling  and  how  coolly  he  looked  upon  him  at  first,  how  he  felt  he'd  to  earn  his  place  and  still  hadn't.  “  i  asked  where  septa  phia  went.  if  you  had  told  me  seraphina,  perhaps  we  may  have  gotten  somewhere.  ” but  where  would  that  somewhere  be?  and  what  would  it  be  named?  dare  he  even  name  it?  he  pushes  off  the  sill  and  paces  to  the  scroll  he  gave  her,  then  snatches  it  back.  the  rancid  romance  is  scrawled  across  the  page  in  familiar  handwriting,  but  for  now,  he  pays  no  attention  to  it.  uses  it  instead  to  point  at  her,  to  be  obstacle  between  the  vibrations  of  static  which  cross  through  his  arms  at  the  nearness.  he  could  shiver,  he  could  be  accosted  with  goose's  flesh.  “  focus  on  what  you  like.  clearly  you  know  better  than  i  in  all  things,  s  —  ”  he  near  addresses  her  by  first  name.  he  stops,  and  swallows  it  whole. “  willas  and  i  play  cyvasse  together.  we  met  at  the  joust,  or  the  whatever  the  fuck  it  was,  and  our  conversations  carried.  you  hightowers  tend  to  make  lasting  impressions  wherever  you  go.  ”  as  though  this  throwaway  insult  could  separate  him  from  the  blade  of  the  bond.  she  leans  upon  the  edge  of  the  table  and  he  leers  over  her,  and  yet  she  is  not  afraid.  (  he  doesn't  want  for  her  to  fear  him.  please.  )  “  i  was  honest  with  you  about  who  i  was.  i  said  waters,  not  westerling.  for  once.  and  this  is  —  never  mind.  ”  hands  splayed.  wiping  it  away.  “  that  particular  honesty  meant  nothing  in  a  bed  made  of  lies.  ”  and  he  had  in  kind.  waters  could  have  meant  anything.  he  left  no  note,  he  gave  no  written  address.  she  vanished,  and  he  faded. 

[fromashe]

she had known he was a bastard from name. but at the time of meeting three years ago, seraphina had no clue of his parentage. in truth, it had not occurred to her to look further. in her memory, he was near perfect, whether that was the truth or a version of it that grew rosy upon each revisit, she kept that day and night locked safe in her heart’s vault. the memory of drinking in the presence of someone who made her feel seen in body and mind.

sera first saw him in the crowds the morning of the tourney, a good ways away. this man whose very presence demanded attention, whom lord and ladies alike gravitated around. he held himself proud, with such self-assurance and bravado. he had an ease and this grin like they privy to a joke you'd grasp only once the conversation shifts to the next topic. the complete opposite to how seraphina learned to exist, to make herself imperceptible, to strip herself of human qualities and wants. she envied him, craving just a bit of that light. so she approached and he drew her out of herself, those knowing eyes paired with a wit that made their conversations both a dance and duel, never a dull moment. an evening that stirred something deep in her soul (as utterly pathetic as it was). sera had told herself in years passed it was her own folly, the romanization of a single evening dalliance that became a self-soothing fairytale.

but the news strikes him in a way that makes her heart clench. the people she had been with in oldtown, there was shared laughter, attraction and even care, but the expectations were clear. her vow to the faith, regardless if she remained pure of body, was lifelong. her father's one of seven till his last breath or hers, whichever predated the other. and taliesin was experienced. not to say, she doubted his honor. no, never that. the thought never even occurred that he would abandon her if he had been aware. perhaps a foolish assumption given well... men and precedent. 

how could sera explain without cruelty that he was not even part of her consideration when the realization finally came that she had been with child. the progeny in her belly was not a babe that would be a person but evidence that she had broken her sole purpose. a third blow to the shattering ideals in the wake of posey and orland's death. "i did not... do not think that you would have shrank responsibility. i simply... how to say..." gods be good, it was furthermore utterly embarrassing to reveal how little she knew of the world back then, how little still. "my sister died barely a moon after we met. when i returned to oldtown, then orland, he..." the worlds spill from her, a desperate attempt to reassure because she sees that she's hurt him, didn't think she had the right nor power to do so. "when he died so soon after, i thought it was stress or grief. i didn't pay any mind to my own body and besides how could i have known, i'd never—"

seraphina fiddles with the ribbon the scroll. "you were not my first but you were the first where i had to consider the aftermath, which i didn't because..." i didn't know what i didn't know. she wasn't even the one who saw the signs. sera suspected as any sane young woman would question but lyanna had taken one close look at her...

the linchpin upon which her already wavering faith shattered. the illusionary prophecy of her father’s wild conspiracies and preaching. taliesin marked the happiest memory and she kept him there, preserved, to visit in the privacy of her mind, unpolluted by the world. her brows furrow as he continues. we may have gotten somewhere.

no. not if perceon hightower had his way and he always did. taliesin swiped the scroll back and there's a voice in the furthest depths of her mind that imagines it. if the babe came to term, a life shared with taliesin, somewhere far from oldtown and the kingsmoot. oh. in another life, that would have been so very lovely to have gotten somewhere, to be a something to one another.

she had come to him, ironically, in the most honest version of herself. dark curls free at her shoulders, septa's coif discarded at the bottom of her wardrobe, unburdened by the paranoia that her father had spies in every room since was away from oldtown (a naive notion upon further reflection, her father had eyes everywhere). he hadn't met seraphina, the maiden, a septa, nor sera or sephie, the version of herself she's curated to keep the love of her siblings whose opinions actually mattered to her.

it wasn't until highgarden with posey's nurturing and falyn's sisterhood where she'd gotten to meet herself, explore her tastes, likes and dislikes, to experiment with the idea that not every word out of her lips had to be carefully crafted. it hurts that taliesin rejects it. to distill it down to a bed of lies when seraphina knows she is a prevaricator, has done it for her entire life out of survival, but with taliesin, she'd given him the most unfiltered version of herself, painstakingly raw. it hurts even more that a beautiful fib that made her feel whole has in turn driven a stake between them. and he mocks her by waving this fucking scroll—

sera reaches out, one hand grabbing his wrist and the other ripping the scroll from his grasp and slamming down on the table behind her. "that is not fair!" she shoots back, harsher than she ought to but her eyes have begun to sting. "you don't understand." seraphina defiantly tilts her chin up and wills back that hightower mask that he keeps throwing in her face. if he wants lady hightower, f i n e .

she drops her grip on him, swallows the lump in her throat, and dabs the bottom of her lashes to wipe teardrops before they can take shape. she summons old conditioning that she slips into with ease, retreating back into a blank expression and measured tone to take just enough responsibility to end an exchange and find shelter somewhere alone. she straightens up her back. "i apologize, ser. it was my mistake. i ought to have been more considerate and it was improper of me to have misrepresented myself." not the actual apologies she wishes to say but those words die upon her tongue. she hadn't meant for her honesty to strike at an old wound, to have delivered the news of a potential babe so indelicately without concern for his station and dredge up clear complications from taliesin's own experiences. but she only manages the heart of it, and says, "i'm sorry to disappoint."

[fromashe]

closed to @steelworn (for falyn) setting: day after the mourning feast for lord cerion

the desire to explore was quickly dashed by the reality of the situations at hand. perhaps the stale air in hightower these past moons rotted her brain and dulled too many senses for it's only after the sobering encounter with taliesin that seraphina is reminded the dangers that lurk at every corner and the bubble in which she lived most her life. but also reigniting determination to create a life for herself (and her siblings) here in Westeros instead of fleeing. mayhaps the oldest among the seven were more aligned to their father but the realm would suffer under lord perceon, and his children would continue to as well even if some refused to see it. too many thoughts, too many eyes. she decides to venture out from the hightower guest chambers once more (she hates how she's more reliant on solitude now, loathes the isolation but seeks shelter in it).

she arrives outside the tyrell suites with a bundle of florals as a peace offering, a soft apology, a token of sisterly love, a congratulatory gift. falyn ought to have been the very first person she sought out when she slipped away. sera waits till she spots a familiar and trusted lady's maid and asks them to help arrange a meeting between aunt and niece.

at the promise the rest of the tyrells were occupied elsewhere and that falyn would be retrieved, seraphina sits in a lounging chair in falyn's guest room with some tea and the bouquet in a vase. it's not long when the maid returns with falyn in tow.

"i know it's rather presumptuous of me to steal part of your afternoon but i think a reunion is long overdue. i'll trade you tea and some sweets for the pleasure of your company."

[tearsofalyssa]

"A sibling," Sabitha starts, making certain to hold Aila's large brown eyes, similar to her own, despite not one drop of blood being shared between them, "Is easy to use when one's greed takes hold of them. No one knows what happens within the privacy of a keep, Lady Aila," She hardly ever uses titles for her nieces, but her intent is to alert her to the seriousness of the matter, "We may be a united front," Well. No, but. "But not every house is the same. Lady Vaiora may have simply been the victim of Lord Redwyne's desires. And even then," A brow raises, "We cannot be certain she had no prior understanding of the events that would transpire." Her hand reaches for Aila again, this time to press firmly upon their shoulder. "If the Redwyne had poisoned their gift of wine, and they are as likely a culprit as any, mind you, for there is a kingdom to be won, they could have simply had her drink it, knowing they had the antidote in hand to save her life in a timely manner."

Aila who loves to play with swords in the mud, and whose wide eyes hold show nothing but the gullible mind behind them, needs her aid in understanding the harshness of the world, naturally. Of Westeros.

Her fingers spread along her niece's shoulder, flicking off unseen dust, her own lips turning down at the worry. "We are far from the only family to remain unharmed. House Swann is well. House Celtigar are unphased." If one does not counting the younger's betrothal, "Perhaps they are worthy of suspicion as well, in fact...We must observe them. Two betrothals with House Redwyne is surely a sign of..." Something. The thought has only come to her now, and she needs ruminate upon it. "We were much more mild with our drink. I know you did not disgrace us during the feast, hmm?" Her smile is wide, though without teeth.

[fromashe]

It was not that Aila doubted cruelty existed in the world and brother could hate brother and similar sibling disputes. Was this Kingsmoot itself not the result of disagreement between siblings? But from her meeting with Lord Desmond, encounter with Lady Mela, and her friendship with Makoa, it did not seem a family that would sink as low to poison their own for political gain... at least she deeply prayed they would not. Within their family, would someone poison a sibling, a parent, niece or nephew? Aila's gaze flickered from the ground to briefly set upon her Aunt Sabitha. Well, Auntie Sab had many an ambition but they doubted their aunt would poison one of the family. Or perhaps if she did, then surely Aunt Sabitha had good reason, and the antidote would be swiftly administered, just to get her way but for no one to truly be harmed, quite similarly to what she was already suggesting. It felt too carefully reasoned for the older Tully to have not considered poisoning someone.

With the hand on her shoulder, the youngest Tully is reminded of many moments when it seems that her aunt does not like them. Love them, yes, Aila would say so. Like, however.... They truly did their best as children to stay out of the way and make minimal trouble. Admittedly not always successful with the messes and the sprinting through halls, there was especially a time when she grew taller over a short season and found it hard to coordinate their own limbs. But while Aila knew they were no great pride of House Tully, they at the bare minimum always did their best to conduct themselves with dignity as befitting of a great house. "No, I did not drink much." If one didn't count them shoving a puff pastry as Lady Falyn turned to face them, then yes Aila did not disgrace House Tully during the feast.

"It wouldn't be the most ludicrous notion for Lord Redwyne to plan for the throne... or least keep their seat upon the small council. That would mean stability in some ways for the realm, would it not?"

[maiahunts]

As requested, here are #84 faceless gifs from Game of Thrones. I do not take any credit for any of the gifs, if you see your gif in this and would like it taken down, just shoot me a message! Please like/reblog if this helped.

[maiahunts]

Keep reading

[therukurals]

"When she beat us up earlier, she was actually holding back!?"

[faatedones]

“ah,  he  passed  some  moons  ago  now.  he  remains  in  the  mother's  embrace  now,  though.  it  is  much  better  that  way,”  she  says  with  a  slight  nod.  elissa  misses  her  father  dearly,  but  knows  he  is  much  better  off  gone  than  having  to  deal  with  the  mess  that  his  son  has  created,  surely.  “but  i  appreciate  your  kind  words,”  she  smiles  gently.

“ah,  so  we  are  alike  in  that  way,  then,”  she  muses.  “it's  strange  to  think  that  any  one  of  these  houses  here  could  now  take  the  throne…  isn't  it?  though  maybe  not  for  you,  as  i  imagine  you  are  quite  used  to  a  kingsmoot  at  this  point  in  your  life,  lady  harlaw.”

[fromashe]

yes, yerin supposed there was a cetain kindness for the older generation to avoid the mess of this kingsmoot and the chaos that would surely follow. what a nuisance that the targaryens claimed the lands a century ago to have it come to a dispute just a few generations later. "it's different when the ironborn were raised with kingsmoot as the norm. but to force the entirety of westeros to accept a supposedly barbaric custom and its results." the ruling lady of ten towers made no attempt to mince their words, gladly calling out the distain greenlanders had for those born of salt and iron. even if she, herself, hoped for a different world where trade could replace the majority of trade, yerin had no shame of her people and culture. the motivation for the future was born out of necessity to adapt.

"they'll find a way to blame us for this too, y'know? if things go wrong, and they will. you cannot gather ambition under one roof and not expect bloodshed." yerin takes a sip of her tea. "despite assumptions, i do not wish for war. it is expensive and a waste of lives lost. i pray the drowned god and whatever gods you believe in that we are spared tragedy." the loss of her child still so fresh, it mattered little who sat the ugly throne as long as there is deliverance.

from across the hall, she sees one of her sisters acting up and lets out a long, tired sigh. "i wish you a pleasant rest of your evening. i have a stain, and other matters to attend to." she tips her head respectfully before taking measured steps through the hall to intervene on behalf of whatever poor soul seora had taken to toying with.

end.

[toothd]

          located  in  the sparring yard, while the negotiations for the antidote are ongoing elsewhere in the keep   &   fated  for  @fromashe , @graveruins , @valarrghulis & @hretiks.

there was peace in being where one was supposed to be. supposed to be, in willas's case, referred merely to where his father would expect him to be —  would prefer him to be. it had little to do with his divined path, or where he himself felt the most comfortable. he longed for the darkened corner of a tavern, where he could sit, be unrecognizable without his height on display, and do whatever he pleased. instead, his brain thrumming painfully in his skull and his ass still sore from the saddle, he leans against a barrel and wonders at the roster of sick. his father and elyas had disappeared into conversation directly upon their arrival to the red keep, leaving no time for questions. he trusts that ceryse will do the seeking of information, that she will know all it is that he does not  — but ceryse is not here. forearm rested on the pommel of vigilance, its carved green flame leaves angry indents in his skin. " do you know any of the names of those who have fallen ill? " he asks, gaze angled downward towards the red dirt at the tip of his boot.

[fromashe]

when they were children, most of her siblings and herself were raised separately, each with their designated training and lessons. while she and aela were so close in age, the maiden and the stranger could not be more different. so for a time, willas was the one she got to trail after. easy for a little girl to be innocent and seraphina did well enough at the gentle arts to be permitted to watch in the sidelines of her brother's lessons, threading needle through cloth while he got to wield a weapon. in another life, sera would have liked to be learned in combat. she's managed some basic defensives with a dagger but it'd likely do her no good against any real assailant, only gifted the element of surprise. that was always her talent, she supposed, being underestimated.

it was how she managed to send a few ravens, gathering bits and pieces of information while they journeyed from oldtown. with the oldest of their siblings and father preoccupied by their plans, she had to take whatever opportunities presented themselves. "...i do. and i'll tell you if you do not question how i know. nor imply to anyone that you heard it from me."

“lady amaya and lord cerion are among the most ill. there’s also the grandmaester. the hand’s daughter, shiera.” seraphina can’t help the hint of worry that grows in her voice. she takes a breath to keep her tone leveled. “and i heard one of the redwyne siblings, even though the poison was traced back to their wine…” not an accusation, an observation. if the younger hightower had stakes in who was to sit upon the iron throne, perhaps she’d care more to look deeper. but alas, in the most fucked up way, this kingsmoot may provide more than a temporary release from high tower. she was simply sorry so many were suffering while the opportunity to breathe fresh air, even the stink of king’s landing felt like the sweetest relief. it’s why she isn’t sure if she ought to tell willas the name on the tip of her tongue, a childhood companion of his. but perhaps, it would be kinder with her as a messenger than elyas or alienor.  “i believe lady vaiora is among the poisoned.” 

[eclipt1cs]

ah-rin  almost  laughs.     not  because  anything  about  this  conversation  is  particularly  comical,   or  particularly  entertaining,   but  because  this  is  not  the  first  time  her  sister  has  asked  questions  she  already  knows  the  answer  to.     despite  the  self-imposed  distance  between  her  and  her  family,   they  are  of  the  same  blood.     they  have  known  each  other,   in  brief  moments  and  visits  stolen,   long  enough  for  the  both  of  them  to  understand     —     she  has  never  enjoyed  obedience,   has  never  desired  stupid  things,   like  peace,   love,   happiness.     no,   it  is  freedom  she  lusts  after,   and  power,   whatever  shape  that  may  take.     and  perhaps  she could  recognize  a  certain  resentment,   aimed  at  her  and  seora’s  neglect,   but  she  was  not  made  to  shrink  small  in order  to  fit  another’s  vision.     dark  gaze  drifts,   away  from  her  sister  and  again  toward  the  window.     outside,   the  sun  shines  and  the  wind  blows:     the  weather  is  perfect  for  sailing,   which  only  adds  to  her  growing  irritation.         ❝         speaking  plainly  hardly  sounds  like  us,   now  does  it?         ❞         the  irreverent  younger  sister  is  a  role  she  could  never  quite  escape,   not  even  after  moons  at  sea  and  hours  spent  separated.   

in  the  other’s  low  notes  she  hears  the  exhaustion  brought  upon  by  loss,   by  grief,   and  where  other  hearts  may  soften,   hers  remains  steel.     one  hand  idly  toys  with  the  coral  ring  adorning  her  finger,   turning  it  once,   twice,   three  times,   all  while  she  considers  her  next  words.         ❝         i  want  the  same  thing  you  do,         ❞         what  had  previously  been  a  voice  full  of  mockery  twists  into  quiet reluctance,   lips  pursing  as  she  looks  at  yerin  once  more.     her  body  moves,   legs  uncrossing,   elbows  coming  to  rest  above  her  thighs,   head  tilting  to  the  side.         ❝         the  iron  islands,   ripped  from  the  greyjoy’s  hands.     our  family  receiving  the  justice  it  is  owed.         ❞         justice  or  revenge,   the  distinction  does  not  truly  matter,   not  to  her.     a  blood  debt  must  always  be  paid.     that  glimpse  of  empathy  vanishes  as  quickly  as  it  had  arrived,   replaced  with  a  smirk,   tugging  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth.         ❝         tell  me,   yerin     —     what  is  it  that  worries  you  so?         ❞

[fromashe]

no, it was not like them to speak freely. ironborn were stubborn with their feelings, the harlaw sisters even more so. and of course, ah-rin never made anything easy. both her sisters where hurricanes, at one with the sea, wreaking havoc whenever they made landfall. but at least seora did not wield every opportunity as a sword to aimed for the weakness in her armour. perhaps it was in the mere nature of a middle child. yerin pours herself some wine, needing something to ward off the headache creeping.

she never knows what to expect so she lets ah-rin speak, taking a long drink. no, they did not want the same exact thing though. talking seora down from simply killing the greyjoys was no easy feat but managable, ah-rin, however... while it seemed they were of the same understanding, never underestimate the younger's ability to twist intention behind seemingly direct words.

"we cannot risk spilling greyjoy blood." yerin offers instead of ordering the sparing of greyjoy lives. even if violence called to the depths of her ironborn soul, blood for blood. she'd rise above it for her son's sacrifice, to protect jeong from inheriting a cycle of violence. "taking the iron islands with minimal force is what worries me. we cannot risk divide when the mainlanders watch our every move, intend to use us as scapegoats if this kingsmoot inevitably descends into war."

[fromashe]

closed to @valarrghulis (for amerei <3) setting: the tully guest chambers after grandmaester mace also falls ill

they'd stayed in self-imposed quarantine since the news of illness spread through the keep. aila had to stop herself from continuing to pick at her sleeves anxiously, some of the thread already fraying. grandfather seemed to be unaffected thus far and aila prayed to the seven that the stranger spare lord balan for at least another few years. they'd gone in to speak with grandfather once since the harvest feast. keep their back pressed against the door as if willfully blinding themselves to potential symptoms.

aila finally sat down on their bed after another round of endless pacing. "amerei. what if...?" the youngest tully stopped themselves. the rumors were swirling that even the grandmaester had befallen the mysterious sickness in addition to two of the targaryen princesses, aybüke,  lady arryn and lady helvis among the sick. lady vaiora too. aila's thoughts went to the families. the tullys remained blessed that no one had fallen ill but worried gnawed at her. the helplessness.

"i wish we could do something. it's driving me mad just staying here not able to help." it brings back memories of their dearly departed aunt. it made her stomach twist. "i pray everyone recovers swiftly."

[fromashe]

𓆩♖𓆪⫘⫘⊹ ࣪ ˖ — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 WANTED CONNECTIONS (open to collaborate)

friendships & alliances

࿐⫘ the oldtown connection (open to any muses) - 0/? friends made during seraphina's time in oldtown, could be when she was a noivce or during her unorthodox tenure as a septa

࿐⫘ highgarden acquaintances (open to any muses) - 0/? a friend or foe made during seraphina's year (around 99-100ac) at highgarden when staying with the tyrells under the guise of helping falyn with suitors

࿐⫘ a girl named phia (open to any muses) - 0/? you've met and know seraphina hightower only as phia, a distributor of fine scrolls and novels of questionable content.

࿐⫘ witchcraft mentorship (open to any muses) - 0/? this whole faith of the seven thing isn't really working out...

࿐⫘ attempted escape accomplices (open to any muses) - 0/? a friend seraphina made through the years or perhaps a contact of a mutual someone who was part of the network sera enlisted to help her escape oldtown.

࿐⫘ king's landing alliances (open to any muses) - 0/? seraphina is planning a second escape, refusing to ever take the cloth again. she may be persuaded to anyone's cause if it guarantees her a life away from her father's control, even if it means taking more drastic measures.

romantic relationships

࿐⫘ childhood crush (open to masc muse, age 24 - 28) - 0/1 the person who sera is caught holding hands with as a child, utp if they kept up the friendship over the years

࿐⫘ the almost broken vow - taken by genna lannister the person who seraphina meets before taking her vows of chastity, the one who makes sera start questioning everything

࿐⫘ oldtown bedfellows (open to any muses, ages 26-34) - 0/? fuck buddies, maybe some feelings? who knows?

࿐⫘ oh, this might be love. - taken by taliesin waters sera has never deluded herself into thinking about love, to open herself up to that sort of pain. but your muse might be worth it.

random scenarios that could be fun

࿐⫘ 'im a fan' - (open to any muses) - 0/? you've read/loved a copy of seraphina's handwritten transcribed version 'a caution for young girls' titled "maiden's pleasure: a caution for young girls"

࿐⫘ septa seraphina is a HIGHTOWER? - (open to any muses) - 0/1 you met seraphina while she was taking your confession. since septas drop their last names, how were you to know you confessed some of your secrets to the daughter of house hightower? does she still keep your secrets if she's no longer a septa?

࿐⫘ enemeissssss (open to any muses) - 0/? there's so many reasons to hate seraphina hightower. her dad is a cult leader who withheld poison. she always looks bored and a little annoyed. maybe you hate the hypocrisy of a septa doing unholy things. or maybe she's too pious for you. lets make it spicy

and more...frienemies, pen pals, maybe you're a fan of her book, anything, everything, and all in between!

[fromashe]

𓆝 𓆟 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — 𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐚 𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 WANTED CONNECTIONS; (open to collaborate )

friendships

𓇼 ⋆｡ best friend (open to any muse) - 0/1 someone who knows aila beyond their smiles and carefree attitude, a confidant, a friendship where the two can be unapologetically themselves.

𓇼 ⋆｡ childhood friend (open to any muse) - 0/1 you were close as children but time takes its toll while priorities shift, maybe the friendship can be repaired, or maybe it's better to leave things as they were

𓇼 ⋆｡ friends (open to any muses) - 0/? maybe they met at one of those events where noble houses mingle, on aila's solo adventures across westeros/essos, or perhaps one of the more formal affairs set up by the nobles. maybe they were friends as squires.

𓇼 ⋆｡ tourney circuit (open to any muses) - 0/? maybe they were friends as squires. they would have seen each other over the yers, sparred, enjoyed the merriment of tourneys and complained about the arduous tasks of being squires

mentorship: for better or worse

𓇼 ⋆｡ house where she squired (open) aila spent a few years here learning, making mischief, until realizing it might not be her path. the relationships made here though didn't have to end.

𓇼 ⋆｡ the path to knighthood (open to any muses) - 0/? mentor in the ways of a knight. maybe there's still a world where aila tully can reach their dream of being knighted, even if things have gotten in the way in the past.

𓇼 ⋆｡ the old family friend (open to any muse) - 0/1 someone who knows a bit more about aila's biological parents and the circumstances under which aila came to be adopted by the tullys, you're keeping the cards close to your chest while guiding aila through life's tribulations

𓇼 ⋆｡ the corruptor (open to any muse) - 0/1 someone trying to get more pawns on their board and a fighter that can be easily persuaded could be a worthy piece to add to one's arsenal

romantic relationships

𓇼 ⋆｡ first love (open to any muse, age 25-33) - 0/1 the allure of a whirlwind romance, a simpler time when feelings were the only thing that mattered, not name, not consequences. maybe the torch still burns, who is to say?

𓇼 ⋆｡ suitor (open to any muse, age 25-33) - 0/1 oopsie. one of the handful of suitors aila's parents tried to set up, only spurring aila to flee across the narrow sea. maybe they could have hit it off, guess we'll never find out, or will we?

𓇼 ⋆｡ future betrothal (open to any muse, age 25-33) - 0/1 little aila tully can't void being part of the tully's political board forever

random scenarios that could be fun

𓇼 ⋆｡ mistaken identity (open to any muses) - 0/? they met during one of aila's escapades, a meddler under false pretenses, only to reunite at the kingsmoot and realizing, oh. i know you from somewhere.

𓇼 ⋆｡ fake dating/betrothal (open to any muse, age 25-33) - 0/1 you have someone that you love whom your family may not approve of, so maybe you ask for help from a daughter of a great house

𓇼 ⋆｡ the rival (open to any muses) - 0/? their skills with the blade are in equal measure, spending most of their times as squires, and young adults always trying to one up each other

𓇼 ⋆｡ 'i think i stabbed you once' (0/1) either at a tourney, a random encounter, aila may have accidentally stabbed you

and more...frienemies, pen pals, sibling type figure, someone aila beat in a tourney once, anything, everything, and all in between!

[downtonlights]

ANAMARIA VARTOLOMEI as ISABELLE DE MERTEUIL The Seduction (2025), Episode 1

[omenfan666]

[onlyperioddramas]

THE SEDUCTION (2025)