TRANSCENDENT

[illuminvtes]

lady ysara dayne (targaryen) / lady wylla redwyne nee manderly / lord petyr arryn nee grafton / ser errick lannister

closed mumu blog affiliated with dragonsrot

[ofglcry]

" no time like the present, my lady , " he offers unwaveringly to her lament of lack of practice. he held her hand gently, leading her towards the edge of the revelry to not get too caught up in the commotion which was just beginning to pick up again. the music still sounded a bit hesitant, beginning with a slower melody rather than a lively dance that would have the guests whirling and weaving.

" your betrothed would not take offense to another man taking your hand, i do hope , " he tilted his head with a charming smile, his other hand finding the middle of her waist with a respectable lightness. " it brings me great sorrow to see a woman such as yourself sitting on your lonesome at a great party such as this , " he explains, not wanting her to think he has the wrong idea either. her gentle face reminded him of his sweet sister, and something tugged upon his heart with the wish to see a smile grace her features.

[illuminvtes]

wylla let herself be led a little way from the press of the hall, her gloved hand resting lightly in his as the music shifted around them. the new melody was slow enough to make the dance feel almost like a thought taking shape, cautious and unfinished. she looked up at him then, the faintest trace of wariness behind her composure, though not enough to dim her politeness.

“lord blackwood is not easily offended by what he has not yet witnessed,” she said softly, though there was a small thread of dry amusement in her voice. “though i think he would survive it based on our conversation earlier this evening.”

his kindness, or something like it, settled on her with a quiet strangeness. she was not unused to courtesy, but it was rarer to receive it from someone who seemed to mean it without ornament.

“you need not be sorry for me,” she added after a moment, her gaze steady on his. “i have sat alone at far grander tables than this and found them no less crowded for it.” a pause. “still, i appreciate the thought.”

her expression softened a little, though she remained careful, measuring him as she spoke.

“i confess i am not certain whether you are being gallant, charitable, or simply brave,” she said. “but i am willing to allow for all three.”

[northernseer]

°❀.ೃ࿔*

THE SOUND OF THE MUSIC HAD softened considerably by the time wylla's fingers found the sleeve of her gown. no longer did the orchestra command the ballroom with triumphant melodies, instead, the notes drifted through the corridors like ghosts reluctant to abandon the celebration altogether. somewhere beyond the carved stone archways, laughter still lingered. goblets still clinked together. silk still whispered against marble floors. yet here, tucked away from the suffocating grandeur of the masquerade, it all felt wonderfully distant. janna stopped immediately. as she always did for wylla. dark eyes instinctively lift towards the familiar hand curled so gently around her sleeve, lingering there for the briefest heartbeat before meeting her best friend's pale gaze. there was something infinitely easier about standing beside her. she had never demanded janna be anything other than herself. never demanded explanations before they were ready to be given. she simply… remained. steadfast in the quiet way only wylla manderly ever had. the world always seemed quieter somehow - kinder. it was, perhaps, why this felt impossible. heart shaped lips parted as though to answer immediately, though no words followed. instead, she simply listened. listened as wylla confessed her own exhaustion, the faint smile tugging against her lips earning one of janna's own in return. soft, genuine and achingly small. ❝ it seems the masks have begun wearing the people rather than the reverse. ❞ voice remains gentle, scarcely louder than the hush of distant violins. ❝ i think the entire realm has forgotten what anyone truly looks like beneath them. ❞ perhaps herself most of all. when wylla's fingers finally loosened, janna found herself missing the weight almost immediately. how curious. for so many years she had spent her life shrinking away from unexpected touches, every instinct demanding distance no matter how kindly they were offered. court had only strengthened the habit. too many hands lingering too long upon sleeves. too many embraces born from obligation rather than affection. too many smiles that concealed sharpened teeth. physical closeness had become something she endured politely.

wylla had always been the exception. ❝ i would like that. ❞ the admission escapes easier than expected. ❝ very much, i think. ❞ measured footsteps fall into place beside her closest confidant without another thought, neither hurried nor reluctant, simply… familiar. the sort of pace established by years of walking together without either needing to ask the other where they were headed. somewhere along the way, janna's hand drifts unconsciously to the front of her gown, smoothing invisible wrinkles from expensive velvet that had long since settled perfectly. it lingers there - longer than necessary… far longer. her smile falters, only slightly, but falters all the same. how many times had she nearly told her ?? yesterday beneath the gardens. before that upon the terrace. another conversation stolen away before courage could firmly plant itself within her. she had almost done it then. almost. and now here they were again, standing upon the precipice of the very same confession. only now there would be nowhere left to hide. a tightness settles low within her stomach, not painful, merely serving as a reminder. ❝ i have been trying to find the proper moment. ❞ the words arrive quietly, gaze fixed stubbornly upon the stone beneath their feet as they walk. ❝ every time i convince myself i have found it… something interrupts us. another feast. another visitor. another decree. ❞ a humorless breath escapes somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. ❝ perhaps the gods themselves are attempting to make a coward out of me. ❞ the thought is stated flatly, void of amusement. there is no practiced smile now… only honesty - raw and trembling. ❝ i fear i have spent so long trying to protect you from this conversation… that i have instead denied you the honesty you deserve from me. ❞ a careful breath fills her lungs before slipping away once more. ❝ and if there is one soul in this realm who deserves every truth i carry… it is you. ❞

[illuminvtes]

with each step closer to her rooms, wylla could feel janna's unease gathering like a storm beneath the skin. it sat in the set of her shoulders, in the carefulness of her silence, in the way she carried herself as though bracing for something that had not yet been named. wylla did her best not to show how deeply that unsettled her. instead, she turned to her friend with the calmest smile she could manage: gentle, measured, and intended to soothe.

“you owe me nothing, my dear,” she said quietly. “and you should never think you must protect me from anything, lease of all you. you have done more than enough of that, and for far too long.”

her voice softened further, though there was steel beneath it still.

“whatever this is, we will manage it. it will be alright.”

they had nearly reached her chamber by then. wylla paused only long enough to give a brief instruction to the servant waiting nearby, sending her off to fetch janna's sleeping things. when the woman had gone, wylla opened the door and ushered janna inside, relieved to close out the clamor of drunken laughter and restless footsteps from the corridor beyond.

wylla let out a quiet breath before turning back to janna, her expression open and steady.

“there,” she murmured. “now no one can interrupt us.”

she folded her gloved hands together, watching her friend with a softness that was all the more striking for how sparingly she showed it to anyone else.

“unburden yourself, janna,” she said at last, voice low and patient. “what is it you need to say?”

[highonour]

Sore as she may have been about losing a game of cyvasse to a woman almost half her age, Alayne's harsh performance review of her own play faded when it came time to learn of what happened on the melee grounds. Pride with regard to how Sora had fared, versus concern with how poorly Petyr seemed, the gravity of the maester's words to her when she had followed up with him afterward.

Free hand rises to shoulder-height, palm brandished as though professing her innocence as she steps closer, armed only with a footstool from their bed chambers and a pillow tucked beneath her elbow. "I know better than to scold you for your own folly by now." Try as she might to school her expression into something resembling mild displeasure or rebuke, all she's able to do is smile. Maybe it is a consequence of over thirty years of marriage, but there is little he can do to cause her any ire, nor to take her by surprise. Yes, she had advised against him taking part in the more martial activities of the gathering—it is a young man's sport, after all—but as with most everything in their union, long gone are the days of her telling him what to do.

"The grandmaester themself would be hard pressed to find anything that you could do to make you a poor father, Petyr." It is here that she shakes her head in admonishment, silvery-blonde strands starting to slip loose from where pins had held them in place. "Besides, that Sora made it as far as he did surely speaks to your own ability, both in combat and in teaching him." And he was only bested by Robar, at that; a decisive victory for the Vale, by any means. Once she's reached his chair, she sets the footstool and pillow down, making to gently lift his leg atop of it, well-versed in the ways to treat such injuries by this stage in her life. "Perhaps it will make you think twice about ignoring an injury going forward, hm? You are not a man of three-and-twenty anymore, my dear."

[illuminvtes]

petyr's jaw tightened when his leg was moved, a low groan escaping him before he could swallow it back. his brows drew together in brief, genuine irritation at the indignity of it all, though the sharpness faded as the pain settled into something far more bearable.

"not a man of three-and-twenty," he repeated, dry as dust, though the look he gave her was already softening into his familiar, crooked sort of charm. "how cruel of you to remind me, lady arryn."

before she could properly object, he drew her in by the waist and settled her carefully across his lap, guarding the injured knee with practiced caution. the motion came easy to him, as if he had every right in the world to be so shamelessly comfortable.

a grin tugged at his mouth as he tipped his head to press a kiss to her neck, then another, lingering just enough to be irritating.

"my own wife calling me old," he murmured against her skin. "i'm being dreadfully mistreated."

his arms tightened around her with easy affection, warm and possessive, and he moved his trail of kisses

"i suppose i shall have to retire from gallant displays of valor," he said, his voice turning almost thoughtful, though the mischief never quite left it. "a terrible blow, that. i will simply have to find newer, more interesting ways to win your affections."

[illuminvtes]

[illuminvtes]

[illuminvtes]

[geryone]

Sugarblood, Liz Bowen

[wedgeantill]

Wimbledon (2004)

[nixscriptum]

[illuminvtes]

the masquerade had begun to thin at the edges. music still carried through the hall, but it had lost some of its sharpness, softened now by exhaustion and the long weight of candlelight. dancers had begun to slow, conversations stretching into quieter corners as masks grew heavier and courtesy wore thin.

wylla and janna had drifted through most of it together - never quite separated for long, even when the press of guests pulled them briefly apart. it was an old, easy rhythm between them, one that did not require constant speech to be understood.

now, however, wylla felt the evening beginning to settle into something quieter and final.

she caught janna gently by the sleeve as they passed beneath a stretch of dim corridor just beyond the main hall, where the noise of the masquerade dulled into a distant hum.

“wait,” she said softly.

when janna turned, wylla hesitated only a moment before speaking again, her voice lower now, stripped of the performance the night demanded.

“i do not think i can face another hour of this,” she admitted, a faint, tired smile touching her mouth. “and i suspect neither can you.”

her fingers loosened their hold, though she did not step away.

“would you… come back with me?” she asked. a pause, then more gently, “to my chamber. no more masks, no more music. every time you've started to tell me the news you hinted at yesterday we've been interrupted.”

her gaze held janna’s, steady and familiar in the way only years of trust could make it.

“we can pretend, for a few hours at least, that the rest of the world has decided to leave us alone.” @northernseer

[hellbcunds]

he can't help the roll of his eyes as he watches his friend's gaze move at last away from their princess, his own knowing smile settling upon his mouth. a scoff follows shortly afterward, boyish amusement taking precedence instead. " who said i had to convince anyone? perhaps it is simply known that my presence would be best on this watch. " and if his gaze flicked between his king and the dancers a fair few time, could he really be blamed? he was only a man. gaze flicks back to his friend then, head inclined. " ah, you should know by now that i am the lord commander's favourite. i wouldn't know what it feels like not to be highly favoured, but perhaps one day it will not sting as much. "

[illuminvtes]

a laugh escaped him before he could help it, quiet enough not to carry beyond the two of them. "gods preserve us," errick muttered, shaking his head. "another few minutes and i'll almost believe you've convinced yourself."

his attention drifted briefly across the yard, more out of habit than distraction, lingering only long enough to reassure himself that nothing had changed around the royal family before settling back on rickard.

"the lord commander has many admirable qualities." one corner of his mouth tugged upward. "questionable taste has never struck me as one of them."

he let the jab hang between them for a second before continuing.

"though, if you are his favourite, then i fear the rest of us have grown terribly complacent."

errick folded his hands behind his back once more, the picture of composure despite the amusement brightening his features.

"i'll grant you this much - you've enough confidence for ten men. whether you've the merit to match remains a matter of spirited debate."

[illuminvtes]

by the time petyr reached their chambers, he had decided the tournament had been an excellent idea.

he had also decided it had been an exceptionally stupid one.

the cane a maester had given him struck the stone floor with a measured rhythm as he crossed the room, slower than he cared to admit, his left leg protesting every step. whatever damage he'd managed to do sparring with sora had been survivable. insisting on fighting through it before half the realm had merely guaranteed the injury would linger.

he eased himself into a chair with a quiet grunt, setting the cane against its arm before beginning the slow, tedious work of unlacing one boot.

"if anyone asks," he called toward the adjoining room, "i lost because i felt sorry for the poor bastard."

his mouth curled into a grin despite the hiss that escaped him as he finally tugged the boot free.

"he looked as though he needed the confidence."

carefully, he rolled his trouser leg high enough to inspect the knee. angry shades of purple and blue had spread across the joint, swollen enough that even he could no longer pretend it was merely stiff.

only after he'd taken stock of his injry did he glance up, catching sight of alayne. the grin on his face softened immediately.

"don't," he said, holding up a hand before she could say a word. "i already know exactly what you're going to tell me, and i dislike being proven wrong almost as much as i dislike losing."

he leaned back with a weary sigh, rubbing absently at his knee.

"...in fairness," he added after a second, "i should probably blame sora. it sounds better than admitting i'm fifty-eight with a bad knee. that probably makes me a poor father, doesn't it?"

there was a flicker of genuine disappointment beneath the jesting then, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"i had rather hoped to make it a little farther than i did." @highonour

[wispygrace]

@illuminvtes

emmon held his goblet tightly in one hand, his knuckles whitening under pale skin. he stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, tall and with a long face adorned with a feathered black mask that only covered half of his face. fitting but predictably boring. in a sea of bright colours, it was easy to find the lord blackwood amongst the crowd.

suddenly, emmon took note of his heart rate. he counted without thinking, his pulse tapping steadily beneath his ribs. one, two, three, four. after a minute, he had counted approximately one hundred seven beats ordinarily, his heart was content to rest in the low seventies, so it was safe to assume he was on edge. crowds and social situations rarely made him nervous. as much as he rarely enjoyed them, he could face them with a cool indifference. but a masquerade’s purpose to hide one's intentions was what put him on edge. emmon disliked the uncertainty and it made him wonder the reason he was here. 

with a quick glance around the room his brows furrowed. he couldn’t discern anyone that he wished to speak with, in fact he barely recognised many at all. so it was his luck when his gaze fell on someone he certainly did recognise. there, lingering some distance away, was a lady dressed in shimmering white. with delicate pearls laced in the curls of her dark hair and a red jewel at the heart of her throat. wylla manderly. of her, he was certain.

before he could even think, he was already walking toward her. as the distance between them dwindled, he became acutely aware of his heartbeat once more. still too fast. he claimed another goblet off a serving tray, determined not to meet her empty handed. as he finally approached, he cleared his throat. “my lady.” he greeted, nodding his head at her. for once, he was a lost for words as he took her in. possibly for the best. emmon extended the goblet toward her with something approaching awkward determination. 

"i recognised you," he admitted after a small pause, his lips upturned ever so slightly. "i had thought perhaps you had already been claimed for a dance." his gaze drifted for a moment toward the couples before settling upon her once more. "and yet here we both are, lingering at the edge of the hall. so i confess... i am grateful to find you.”

[illuminvtes]

wylla reluctantly tore her attention away from the nearby lady bracken, who had spent the better part of the last song circling the edge of the dance floor with the unmistakable determination of someone hunting for a partner, when a familiar figure emerged from the crowd.

lord blackwood crossed the hall with surprising purpose and speed, one goblet already in hand and another acquired somewhere along the way.

“lord blackwood,” she greeted when he appeared by her side, a note of quiet curiosity entering her voice as he brusquely extended the cup toward her.

her brows lifted ever so slightly but she still accepted it with both gloved hands, careful not to spill a drop. despite the thin fabric between them, she felt the brief brush of his fingers before they parted, warm against her perpetual chill.

“then i am fortunate,” she replied, gentle amusement threading through her words. “it would seem i have been spared the indignity of being overlooked entirely.”

her gaze lingered on him a heartbeat longer than her mother would likely find appropriate. she noticed, as she often did, the feathered mask framing his thoughtful expression, the rigid set of his shoulders, the careful deliberation with which he seemed to weigh every sentence before allowing it into the world. a marked change from his first impression of him - a man who felt his words and opinions the only ones that mattered. where once she might have mistaken his sudden change in demeanor for indifference, she recognized it now for what it was: effort.

it was simply the way of emmon blackwood; the realization settled warmly somewhere beneath her ribs.

around them, the masquerade breathed in velvet, candlelight, and music. laughter drifted through the hall like smoke, dissolving into whispered conversations hidden behind jeweled masks. yet here, along its edges, the evening seemed to exhale. the noise softened into something gentler, and the distance between them felt untouched by the performance unfolding elsewhere.

“i'm glad to provide you with some company, my lord,” she said softly, lifting the goblet ever so slightly. “and grateful for yours.”

the faintest smile touched her lips.

“thank you for the wine.”

[ofglcry]

sebastyn baratheon ⚔ wylla redwyne ( @illuminvtes ! )

the masquerade ball at the red keep

Despite the tension that had blanketed the great hall after the King's sudden announcement, the revelry begrudgingly continued. The music carried on, drowning out concerned whispers and panicked planning, and soon enough the dance floor was full once more. Sebastyn navigated the crowd, full cup in hand, seeking out no one in particular until he spotted the brunette looking entirely lonesome.

He glanced around, unsure if he would spot her betrothed or that sister-by-law of hers who utterly loathes him, but when he found no one of the sort, he took the initiative to approach. " Lady Wylla , " he greeted with a polite bow and a smile that lacked the usual roguishness. She seemed like a woman in need of a genuine smile. He set the chalice in his hand down on the table, some of the deep crimson liquid sloshing over the side. The color reminded him of why the lady may be sitting all alone in a crowded hall in the first place.

Still, he straightened and held out his hand to her. " May I offer you this dance, my lady ? "

[illuminvtes]

wylla had scarcely noticed the music resume. though the dancing had returned after the king's announcement, the mood of the hall had shifted. smiles seemed more careful now, conversations quieter. from her place along the edge of the room, she had been watching a cluster of nobles whisper behind raised fans when a familiar voice drew her attention elsewhere.

"lord baratheon."

she inclined her head politely, but did not move at once to take his hand. her gaze rested on him a moment instead, thoughtful and faintly wary.

for a heartbeat, she debated with herself on whether to refuse. then, slowly, she placed her gloved hand in his.

"you may," she said, though the words carried a measure of caution. "i confess, i was not expecting the offer. i fear my dancing skills may be somewhat out of practice."

as she stepped foward, her eyes remained on him, curious now.

"i appreciate the kind gesture though, my lord."

[prophxtics]

closed starter for lord petyr arryn; arryn's quarters before masquerade — @illuminvtes

The arryn's chambers felt quieter than the rest of the keep, even with distant music bleeding faintly through stone walls, the private quarters offered some measure of relief from the proving eyes. beyond the doors, the realm celebrated beneath candlelight and lies. there, at least, there was honesty. olynna stepped outside her chamber already dressed for the evening, though her mask remained in her hands rather than upon her face. gold embroidery caught the warm light as she moved, the fabric of her gown whispering softly against the floor but her attention found her father almost immediately. the slight tightening around her eyes did not come from his mood alone, she had seen him after the tournament, seen the way he carried himself, the strain hidden beneath stubbornness and pride. she knew pain when she saw it.

"how is the knee?" the question came gently, though she suspected she already knew the answer and suspected even more strongly that whatever answer he gave would be less than truthful. she lingered near him for a moment, fingers tightening slightly around the mask in her hands. when she finally spoke again, the softness had changed. "father," the word came quieter now, more careful as her gaze lowered briefly to the carved edge of the mask before lifting once more, "i do not think we should stay." there was no preamble, only honesty, "i think we should return to the vale." the words came with more conviction now that they had been spoken aloud, "are we truly expected to dress in silks and masks and smile as though nothing has happened?" her voice never rose, if anything it grew quieter which somehow made it heavier. "i wish we had never come to king's landing at all."

[illuminvtes]

petyr’s mouth twitched at the question, though the answer was written plainly enough in the way he leaned more heavily than he ought to have upon his cane.

“my knee? still functional,” he said lightly, giving his knee a pat as though it were a particularly stubborn horse, barely masking a flinch at the sharp pain that shot up to his hip at the action. “though i daresay it has developed a personal grudge against me.”

there was a faint smile beneath the words, but it thinned when olynna went on. his gaze settled on her then, sharp despite the ease of his expression, and for a moment the noise of the building crowd beyond their chambers seemed very far away indeed.

“i know,” he said at last, quieter than before. “and if i had my way, i should have liked to ride back to the vale the moment we crossed the city gates despite my temporary optimism on how this week would go.”

he let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“you are not wrong, my dear. there is something deeply absurd about dressing half the realm up like dolls and pretending that makes the rot beneath prettier to look at.” his eyes flicked to the mask in her hands. “king’s landing has never cared much for honesty, but it still asks us to be polite while it lies to our faces.”

petyr shifted his weight, jaw tightening briefly before he smoothed the expression away.

“but we are here now,” he said, not unkindly. “and leaving isn't an option. even if we packed our bags, i doubt the king would open the gates for us. not before we swear fealty again during that big ceremony he seems to have planned."

a beat passed before he added, dryly, “and as for my knee, worry not. i will persist out of spite if nothing else.”

then, with a small tilt of his head toward the door, he gave her one of those bright, dangerous little smiles of his.

“come on, then. if we are to suffer king’s landing, we may as well do it with our heads held high. here, help me with this damned mask. i felt ridiculous when i tried it on for your mother and need you to validate how big a fool i look.”

[lcstmisfits]

"yes, they gods had blessed you with ease at those times," aegon said, not entirely focused on the words. the meaning going over his head for just a moment too long before- "this one?" he asked, finally connecting what his wife was telling him. "what are you saying? that you are-?" he almost didn't want to say it out loud. he wanted to hear if from ysara's lips. the idea of a third child running around, not the heir or a spare but a third would have the whole world in front of them to do as they please. perhaps this one would come out looking like him; not that he minds his dark haired children when they come out looking like their beautiful mother. aegon looked to his wife with an almost excitement in his eyes.

there was only one place where aegon felt comfortable speaking his mind and it was behind these walls of his bedchambers, the only place in the red keep where he knew he was safe, where he had personally made sure there were no weak spots for words to travel. so when ysara spook freely, aegon followed.

"aye, i would not doubt there will be new white cloaks given out at the end of the tourney." it would be like his father to want to change the guard to people he deemed worthy under his odd rulings. but that is not a good way to bring about trust of those he was displeasing.

his finger taps against the side of his cup as he thinks over her words. maelor was putting on a show, welcoming everyone to his home and pretending that everything is okay, as if he hadn't made slight at many of the great houses.

aegon got up from the table and began to slowly pace. "my father is not the same man that sat upon the throne as a young man. i fear he is reaching a point of no return since dismissing so many from his council." he wished to speak to his aunt but even behind these ways, he did not wish to speak that desire aloud.

[illuminvtes]

the smile that found ysara's lips was small, but genuine. she had seen that expression on him before - when maegelle had been placed in his arms, and again when aerys had followed. it stirred the same quiet warmth now as it always had, a reminder that for all the uncertainty surrounding them, there remained things in the world untouched by ambition for at least a moment.

she rose from her chair and crossed to him, her fingertips brushing lightly against his cheek before falling away just as quickly. the gesture lingered longer than the touch itself. then she turned toward the open window where the evening air carried the scent of roses from the gardens below. beneath the last of the fading light, servants crossed the pathways with lanterns in hand, preparing the grounds for another day of celebration. behind her, she heard aegon begin to pace.

ysara listened in silence, her hands coming to rest against the cool stone of the windowsill as the breeze lifted a few loose strands of dark hair.

"and where," she asked at last, her voice even and patient, "does that point lie?"

her fingers traced an absent rhythm against the carved stone.

"he has confined your mother to her own chambers. your aunt's family has been pushed from court. every decision he makes seems born from the fear that someone, somewhere, is preparing to betray him based on a dream he can only half-remember."

the words were careful, spoken more as observations than accusations.

"paranoia has a way of becoming self-fulfilling and can victimize anyone in its vicinity," she pushed, and a long silence followed before she continued. "so tell me, aegon."

only then did she turn to face him, violet eyes searching his with quiet, unwavering attention.

"what can be done?"