introducing...

Dependent blog for ASOBAI. Written by Kay.

[intheweirwood]

⸻INTHEWEIRWOOD ❞ a dependent blog for a song of blood and iron. written and destroyed by kay.

ALARRA BLACKWOOD, lady of raventree hall. intro + wanted connections. DORAN SWANN. ruling lord of stonehelm. intro + wanted connections.

"I swear it, on my honor, on my blood and on the gods."

[intheweirwood]

closed starter for @daimonas - eris tully - day four: the feast

Sweet wine seemed to flow from casket to glass with little restriction as the feast wore on, curling around the minds of even the most composed Westerosi lords and reducing them to exuberant young boys, high off the celebrations with little care for proper conduct. Alarra enjoyed it for a time, laughing with genuine amusement as boastful knights threw out excuses for poor tourney performances, but one bold hand brushing against her waist had her ducking away, barely concealing her anger as she made for the other side of the garden. Were she back home, she would have slapped that hand away and barred her teeth at whoever it belonged to, but here, a certain delicacy was expected of her. 

Perhaps that was a good thing. She had attempted at first to measure every sip with careful calculation, rolling the wine between her teeth to occupy her mouth lest she look idle and in need of further intoxication, but the night had gotten the better of her too, driving her to drink more than she would normally allow. The effect was no longer as manageable, and the last thing she needed was to start a fight that would prove it to everyone in attendance. 

Knowing something was a bad idea was not the same as not wanting to do it, however, and her jaw clenched as she loosed the collar around her neck ever so slightly, allowing fresh air to soothe flushed skin back to its usual paleness. “Leave me be,” she snapped when she saw someone approaching out of the corner of her eye, only to realize a moment later just who she had snarled at. 

“Oh! My lord, I –” Heat rushed into her cheeks as she stared at Eris Tully. Trystane was clear about his feelings about their lord paramount – he was an enemy to be overthrown – but he was still the ruler of the Riverlands and all who lived within them. More than that, Alarra remembered him as a boy, one whose sisters had been her childhood friends, whose family broke bread with her own. She had no interest in offending him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean you. I thought – well, never mind that, just… please know, your company is welcome and far preferred over who I thought you were.”

[intheweirwood]

closed starter for @melicos - alon hightower

Betting on anything could be risky. Anyone who gambles knows there is a chance that they might lose all they put in and more. And yet, Alarra was unconcerned as she cast her wager because she was not gambling. She was investing – another word for gambling, perhaps, but the kind done only when a person knows the odds are in their favor. Thanks to the generosity of the late king and his role as squire, her twin had honed his skills under the tutelage of the best knights in all of Westeros. He was admittedly better in the melee because of it, more skilled with a sword and fists than a horse and lance, but he would make her proud. Of that, she was sure. 

So sure, in fact, that she didn’t hesitate to tease a nearby man who seemed ready to risk his coin on another lordling winning the tourney.  “I wouldn’t place that bet,” she advised him with a lively confidence that spoke both of her faith in her brother’s abilities and her own inability to resist competition. “Not unless you want to lose all that gold.” 

[velminki]

alarra blackwood

“No one ever does. But I found her after she wandered from her den as a pup and couldn’t leave her behind. We’ve been together ever since.” A pause, then a swift redirection intended to draw attention away from her. “Do you have any pets, my lord?” 

alesander continues staring at her, he can't bring himself to stop. of course it's not the proper thing to do, but nothing about this situation is proper. "overwhelming is a way to put it," he says, looking over at the city again. how much he years to be in the sea, away from everything and everyone, one with the water. does she want something similar? "i'm not used to being on land for so long." alesander offers a part of himself hoping that she will do so too.

"that surely is quite unusual," he muses, looking at the wolf. of course he's nervous, that is a predator. but a part of himself is excited and alesander finds himself hiding his hand behind his back so he won't do something stupid like reaching out and trying to pet the wolf. it wouldn't look very good for an ironborn to lose his hand in such manner.

"unfortunately we do not have many animals that could be turned into pets in lonely light," he adds. "unless you count the seals, of course. lovely animals if you keep your distance." which he never had, even as a child. many times had alesander woken up among them on the beach, nearly drowning. he wonders if the same happened to her.

"but where are my manners!" alesander notes, taking his coat off. "here, my lady, wear this, it's a cold night." he passes her his coat, making a point of not looking at her. instead, he looks at the wolf again, trying to make himself more at ease with its presence.

[intheweirwood]

Though her gut still twisted with unease, Alarra’s expression softened at his comment. She could not imagine being more unused to the land than sea, but she knew what it was to miss home – already she longed to return to Blackwood Vale and chase the ravens through the trees alone, unbothered by political maneuvering and silly gossip, carried from place to place by nothing more than her own will. “It’s the noise that bothers me,” she confided, looking away from him out at the city. “Even if you manage to get away from all the people, there’s no place here to collect your thoughts.” 

Her attention shifted back to him when he began speaking about Lonely Light. She’d heard rumors about the Farwynds and what they got up to with their seals way out there in the Sunset Sea, but she believed them about as much as she believed her twin could turn into a dozen ravens and pick the flesh from a man’s bones – which is to say, she didn’t believe them at all. “It's a shame you have to keep your distance. Seals are adorable.” She paused, nose scrunching slightly as she added: “Well, they sound adorable. I’ve never seen one, but I hear they look like pups when they’re small.” 

And as everyone knew, Alarra had a certain fondness for pups. She reached out a hand to scratch behind Scout’s ear and received a soft whine in response, the animal settling back onto her haunches as if she enjoyed nothing better. That, more than anything, soothed her nerves. The wolf was quite particular about who she allowed close and Alarra knew if Scout was willing to relax in this man’s presence, she was safe to do so too – at least for now. 

“Oh!” Her first true smile of the evening appeared when he offered his coat, the gesture erasing another of her worries. “Thank you, my lord, that’s very kind.” Alarra wrapped it around herself and nestled comfortably into its warmth before crouching down beside her pet, pushing the sleeves up slightly so she could gesture for him to join her. “Would you like to pet her? She’s not quite the same as a seal, but if you’re missing home, she might make for a decent stand-in.”

[ascensionrpgee]

  an aureate coin flashed through the shared space between raven twins, gilded in heraldry as it was caught expertly between the digits of the lord of raventree hall, a grin on his lips as he saw his sister, flipping the coin skywards once more before pocketing it in the leather of his trousers, “oh dear sister, this is all I get when I’ve made you positively rich? How stingy you’ve become.” His tone was light, playful, as he grasped for the goblet of water offered by one of the young, blackwood squires, a boy from the riverlands, young and waif-thin, silent as he took his lord’s sword, gaze wide in awe at his lord and lady, before returning to the kaleidoscope of tents and people to clean and sharpen the weapon. 

as trystane was about to take a long draught from his cup to quench his thirst, he paused at the next words of his sibling. What had he learned in king’s landing all those years? How to fuck women, and kill men? How to lie and scheme? How to be a raven that flies amongst a hoard of dragons, underneath the soft light of a lone star? For certain he had learned how to hold a sword, the late king had spared no expense in ensuring his children and his pair of squires; varian dayne and himself, trystane blackwood, had trained beneath the elevated skills of the best knights that westeros had to offer.

it was the melee that suited him better because of it surely, the joust was fun, to be sure, but cutting a man down on his own two feet brought him far more pleasure. He liked to think he was one of the best, and that maybe partial truth, and partial ego. “I learned how to make you mountains of gold, it seems.” smug at his response, he parted his lips and rehydrated himself. His attentions were drawn forward again at the mention of the brackens, and as he lowered his cup, the sound of alarra’s voice abruptly ended, trailing off haphazardly and unusually. the bloodraven raised a brow as he stared her down with matching, dark gaze, waiting for her to finish. But instead, he saw her face devoid of soul, as if she were an empty husk and not a human being, “alarra?” taking a step forward, only to suddenly see the light return to her visage, and her voice spilling out once more.

  “are you…” he himself then trailed off, unsure now if he had imagined the whole thing, but decided in the end, to press on, “...alright? You seem- distracted?”

[intheweirwood]

A laugh or murmured excuse about her lack of sleep the night before was usually enough to deceive others, to convince them that whatever they witnessed was perfectly ordinary, normal, and not some sign of deeper madness. Aside from finding her strange, they thought nothing of the more benign signs – her rapid blinking, the way her skin paled, the lightheadedness that sometimes followed these unexpected journeys into her wolf’s mind, forcing her to abandon conversations to seek out a place to sit. But convincing her twin of that when he had grown up as she had, watching their mother slip in and out of hallucinations, was another thing entirely. 

It would be easier, in some ways, simply to confess the truth. Trystane would not leave her to deal with it alone, she knew, and had his own fascination with the power that allegedly ran through their bloodline, yet, she could not bring herself to reveal it. This ability had taken their mother as surely as the fall from that tower and she had known how to use it. What sort of sister would she be to lay such a burden at his feet when he already had so much to carry? 

And so, Alarra pretended, rubbing unsteady hands over her eyes as if suddenly realizing how exhausted she was. “Oh, I’m fine,” she responded, keeping her tone pointedly light, “Just exhausted from carting around my mountain of gold.”  

She made her way over to sit in one of the chairs positioned at the back of the tent, thankful, for once, that they were forced to participate in the pomp and circumstance that required such things. “I should be asking you if you're alright. Your nose took quite a hit in the joust."

[illuminvtes]

Lyam's head tilted to the side, just a fraction, as he once again examined the woman before him. The gentle amusement on her face, the way she carried herself - she wasn't a Northerner but there was something in her that felt deeply familiar and comfortable to him.

The grin on his face broadened.

"It really is a shame that the barrier was set before the forest. I'll admit, I've had moments since I've arrived when I've wanted nothing more than to slip into the trees and see what secrets this place hides. Would you mind very much if I joined you, my lady?"

He turned and shifted his gaze to the tree line, eyes squinting against the sun. This forest wasn't his home, but, like the company of Lady Blackwood, the smell of trees and grass and moss was familiar and a welcome break from political knives awaiting him at the tourney.

"I'm eager for a bit of exploration and you're the most enjoyable company I've had all afternoon."

[intheweirwood]

What he said about slipping into the trees and discovering their secrets resonated with Alarra, who’d spent her entire childhood dipping in and out of the wilderness surrounding Raventree Hall, discovering rivers that gleamed underneath the moon and vales where deer gathered with wobbly-legged fawns in the early summer months. There was a chance, of course, that the Northern lord was after a different kind of secret – something that might provide leverage in the political battles so many others in the city seemed keen to fight  – but he seemed genuine enough that she doubted it. Instead, she suspected that what he said about her could be easily reversed: he, too, was enjoyable company. 

“That’s very kind, my lord, and of course you’re welcome to join me.” A tap of her fingers against the side of her leg had Scout returning to her side so that they could journey forward together. Alarra took the relaxed set of her ears and the light swish of her tail as another good sign – the wolf could be quite particular about who she allowed close, and yet she did not seem opposed to Lord Stark’s presence. 

She glanced over at the man as they walked, wondering how the sweltering heat and busy streets of King’s Landing compared to the frozen land he called home. She did not know much about the place aside from stories about the rebellion and what could be gleaned from the old myths her mother used to share when she was more herself, but she imagined he felt even more out of place here than she did. 

“Have you always enjoyed exploring? I’ve never been that far north, but I have to confess, I always thought climbing the wall would be a grand adventure.” A stupid one, undoubtedly, that would result in failure, frostbitten fingers and chapped skin, but an adventure nonetheless.

[petaltexturedskies]

Renée Vivien, from A Woman Appeared To Me

[intheweirwood]

closed starter for @aechor - gwyneth allyrion

Gods, this was tedious. He had long ago been trained to speak in the clear, crisp periods appropriate to combat, to say what he meant and say it decisively. Talking round and round a point was like wearing lace into battle. And yet, here, in King’s Landing, it seemed no one was capable of saying what they meant. He watched, unimpressed, as the lord seated in front of him droned on and on, lavishing praise upon another whose support he clearly needed. For what no one could know. The lord had yet to reveal his need and yet it was obvious he sought something from the other fellow – that, or he simply enjoyed the taste of his boots. 

“You’ll excuse me.” Doran polished off the rest of his ale and stood without waiting for a response. He made his way over to a long table where refreshments waited and had just refilled his tankard when he was clapped on the shoulder by an overly-familiar lord he’d met that evening. He might've shrugged him off and left the hall altogether in search of better entertainment were it not for the woman the man ushered forward, intent on making an introduction. Doran’s eyes sparked as he stared at her, gaze drifting low to admire a figure he knew all too well before moving back up to her face. 

“Have you met Lady Gwyneth, my lord?” 

“No. I’m sure I’d remember her if I had.” There was a sudden suspicious tension around his jaw, as if he were fighting to suppress a grin. He would not have guessed the woman who bested half a dozen men in card games before tumbling into his bed was noble, though that was clearly intentional. She was no Larra of Essos. “Pleased to meet you, lady. I’m Lord Doran Swann.”

[intheweirwood]

INTRODUCING: DORAN SWANN, RULING LORD OF STONEHELM.

hands stained with blood and a heart stained with guilt + the distant sound of clashing swords + wounds that won’t close serving as reminders of those lost + fanning the flames of violence + the unending thrum of vengeance + the rumble of hooves against dirt + overflowing ale and tavern tales + the shift in temperature as storms approach. 

BASICS. 

full name: doran swann.  title: the lord of stonehelm. the storm’s fury.  age: thirty.  gender & pronouns: cis male & he/him.  orientation: heterosexual.  allegiance: himself, house swann, the stormlands.  spoken languages: common  tongue.  religion: faith of the seven.  familial relations: utp swann (sibling), utp swann (sibling), utp swann (sibling) relationship status: single (fuckboy) pets: none. 

PHYSICAL. 

eye color: dark brown. hair: black, cropped short.  height: 6’1” build/body: a tall and muscular man, toned from years of battle. thick, with scarred hands and a commanding presence.   distinguishing marks: a long scar across his back, earned fighting the dornish. a large tattoo on his chest inked by fellow soldiers after each battle, each whirl serving as a memorial to those lost. 

BACKGROUND. 

he came into the world screaming – a fitting start for an heir set to inherit a century of war and fighting. as the child grew into a man, whatever softness might have existed inside him gave way to vengeance, a compulsive need to avenge those lost at the hands of dornish invaders. how many good men were taken? how many friends whose shadows would never again darken his door? how many women and children unfortunate enough to live too close to the border? 

he was six when his closest boyhood friend lost his father in battle. eight when he was called to listen alongside his father, the then-ruling lord of stonehelm, to pleas for aid that came from women whose husbands could no longer provide for them. ten when he saw firsthand the aftermath of war:  burning homes, weeping families, bodies that would never be recovered. twelve when he took his first life on the battlefield. he was not meant to be there – his father said he was not ready – but he had been training for years by then, guided by the best swordsman in the stormlands, and he could not stomach sitting idly by while his house fought and died for the realm. 

whatever his father thought of it, the boy’s decision to fight gained him the respect of the men who fought for his house. they welcomed him into their ranks and from that day forward, he was with them at every opportunity. the brave, headstrong and rash boy became more soldier than lordling. the men who fought alongside him respected him for that – he proved, each time he swung between them and an enemy on the field, that he fought for them as much as with them, and that he saw his own life as no more valuable than theirs. he grew into a leader, a man they wanted to follow and trusted with their lives, and it was an honor he took seriously.

off the battlefield, the man was not so different – he laughs like a soldier, tells soldiers’ bawdy jokes, whores and drinks and brawls in taverns not meant for lordlings. he is a man of huge appetites and makes no bones about seeking out the things that please him. likewise, he is unafraid to challenge those who displease him, never backing down from words spoken in drunken bravado. 

though he spent nearly as much time away from his family as with them during his youth, he will not suffer a bad word spoken about them, nor a hand raised against them. they, more than anything else, are why he fights – so that they do not have to suffer as those under their protection have suffered. it was, after all, his mother’s face he saw reflected in the faces of the women who pled for assistance in his youth, his brother’s eyes he saw peering back at him from underneath the helms of dying men, his sister’s cries he heard echoed in the weeping of maidens whose loves would never return. 

it is this love for his family that has driven him to a darker place than ever before. 

a year ago, his father died at the hands of dornish invaders bearing the name allyrion. he and a handful of other soldiers had chosen to entertain a group of visiting braavosi ladies during their short leave, and so he was not present for the unexpected skirmish. that left his father and a small group of men to defend against the host alone. he is told that his father died well, wielding his battle axe as powerfully as he ever had, but he hates himself for not being there. had he been, he would’ve cut down anyone,  done anything, including taking the deathblow himself, to protect the man who raised him.

 instead, the soldier, angrier and more vengeful than ever before, became the ruling lord of stonehelm. he has come to king's landing in the hope of strengthening ties between the stormlanders – of forging a united, strong front to face off against any future incursions. peace is a lovely dream, he thinks, but a foolish one. he knows the small folk – he knows the hatred that burns inside them after a century of burning, pillaging, killing. they will not forget it and he doubts the dornish will either, no matter whose ass sits on the iron throne or the promises made between noble lords and ladies. and so, he sees it as his duty to make sure that when the inevitable fighting breaks out anew, the stormlands are ready. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS. 

SOLDIERS/BEST FRIENDS (1 or 2): these would be his closest friends, soldiers he fought alongside and trusts with his life, and can be either noble or small folk. doran would see them as almost brothers, people he would do anything for. they have shared memories of battle but also of late nights in taverns, drinking until they could hardly walk, picking up women while on leave, etc. basically… i’m seeking frat boy soldier energy here laksjdfl FRIENDS: new friends, old friends, soldiers he knew less well, friends he’s fallen out with, training partners, begrudging friends, people he’s trying to make alliances with, unlikely friends… open to all the things!  ENEMIES: he’s made a few enemies over the years, and i’d love to see some of them in king’s landing! would be super easy if they’re dornish (the man has a bIAS, i’m sorry) but they could also be people he’s brawled with in taverns, someone whose sister he messed about (again… i’m sorry), someone who just thinks he’s an ass (bc he is) ALLIANCES: he’s a man on a mission when it comes to unifying/strengthening the stormlands, so if there’s anyone out there who feels strongly about this, let’s gooo! maybe your muse is pushing for peace (he doesn’t think it’s possible, but he’d be down to assist) or maybe your character wants to build ties that could help them out later. i’m being kinda vague about this, but if it tickles your fancy at all, lmk and i’m happy to plot!  annnnnnd literally anything else! I’ve got so much muse for him and will throw him into pretty much any situation, so… let’s do it! 

[vcrian]

closer  and  closer,  not  in  a  way  where  his  trusty  steed  has  a  mind  of  its  own,  but  in  a  way  where  their  minds  are  aligned,  as  if  his  need  for  confirmation  could  be  felt.  she,  who  was  not  a  figment  of  his  imagination,  who  was  not  speaking  to  him  in  the  middle  of  battle  cries  as  his  body  felt  so  heavy,  draws  him  in.  with  each  stride,  her  shape  doesn’t  fade  or  falter,  though  she  does  look  different.  not  a  hair  out  of  place  or  a  stain  on  her  dress,  she’s  unlike  the  version  of  her  that  exists  in  his  memory,  but  the  way  his  breath  catches  in  his  throat  remains  the  same.

it’s  only  when  the  faces  around  her  comes  back  into  focus  that  he  realises  just  how  close  he’d  come.  the  cheers  of  crowd  coming  back  to  life  as  he  finally  tears  his  eyes  away  from  her.  how  long  had  he  stood  there?  it  could’ve  been  seconds  or  hours…  in  a  rushed  decision,  he  holds  forth  his  lance,  to  a  lady  whose  name  he  does  not  know,  though  his  eyes  betray  him  once  again  as  they  flicker  back  towards  alarra,  for  a  fleeting  moment.  “  i  humbly  ask  for  your  favour,  my  lady.  ”

[intheweirwood]

It was strange how close the past suddenly felt. Despite her best efforts to forget the years when a smile from him left her heart beating faster than a dive into freezing water, memories clearly lingered. They rose up in her as he drew nearer until she was holding her breath, shoulders tight with the effort it took not to react at the sight of him. She’d known this would happen. Coming to King’s Landing meant facing him was inevitable, and yet she hadn’t prepared for this. He extended his lance and, looking at her, requested a favour. An odd, fatalistic exhilaration seized her for a moment as her hand went for the handkerchief she’d tucked into her dress that morning, only to be replaced by a queasy feeling when another lady – the one he was actually addressing – extended her own token for him to carry. 

Alarra broke her gaze then, embarrassed and angry that she’d been foolish enough to think he meant her. Even more so that he’d likely seen her reach for that damn handkerchief, seen her consider it. She was forgotten history to Varian Dayne, just as he should be to her. She lifted her chin and stared at him again, plastering on a mask of politeness as she clapped along with the ladies twittering around her. It stung, but she knew better than to show it. Strangers are what they had become, so she would treat him as she would any stranger. And it was with that thought in mind that she sat through the joust, too stubborn to run off and lick her wounds when he would undoubtedly know that was exactly what she was doing.

[velminki]

alesander can't help but stare at her. he keeps his eyes on her face, searching for – what? he doesn't know. does she know what she was doing? even if she did, she would not tell him. after all, alesander knows that is not something one goes around telling as if it's a funny story. realizing he's been staring for a while, he offers her a smile. "of course, my lady," he says. "you didn't startle me at all, i was just..." he gestures towards the night, miles of city on the horizon. "taking some fresh air."

it's as good of a lie as if he can muster right now, rattled by the knowledge that what he had been doing, she was the same. alesander wants to ask, to tell her, to say i know, i know, but what good would that make? farwynds are known as mad, she'd think him too if he said a word about it.

he knows he is staring again, but he can't help it. he never imagined he would know someone like him, not out of the pages of the old tomes he found at his home's library. there is so much he wants to ask, and yet he doesn't dare to make the first move. instead, he shakes himself off the daze he's in, looking at the wolf instead. "i'm sorry but... it's that your pet?" he asks. "i never imagined a lady would have a wolf for a pet." or that she would turn into one, but that part he keeps to himself.

[intheweirwood]

The mask of deception was no longer a mask for Alarra. It had become a part of her back at Raventree Hall, surrounded by a hall of people who knew well the signs of madness. She wore it like a second skin, making excuses and hiding her oddities with ever-increasing ease. But beneath the intensity of his stare, Alarra felt suddenly laid bare, as if the truth of her secret was somehow obvious to him. Impossible, she told herself. Because it was. He had no reason to think she was lying. And yet, he stared. 

She fought the urge to squirm and crossed her arms over her chest instead, realizing that perhaps it was the state of her that drew his attention. The thought might have frightened her were she a different lady, but under the circumstances, Alarra thought it may be preferable if he were more distracted by her nightclothes than the alternative. When he finally looked away, gesturing out at the city, she let her gaze follow, nodding. “I understand that. The city is so full of people that it can be… overwhelming.” A diplomatic way to put it when other words might serve better: smelly, stifling, loud. 

Alarra turned her attention back to him, to see if his expression revealed anything of his own thoughts about their temporary lodgings, only to find him staring again. She froze underneath the weight of it and did not feel relief when he asked about Scout, filled with the impossible suspicion that, somehow, he knew.  “No one ever does. But I found her after she wandered from her den as a pup and couldn’t leave her behind. We’ve been together ever since.” A pause, then a swift redirection intended to draw attention away from her. “Do you have any pets, my lord?” 

[intheweirwood]

closed starter for @aechor - visenya celtigar - day three

Alarra watched with rapt attention as one competitor after another took to the field. Seeing a knight succeed in one round only to fall quickly in the next reminded her that paying attention was half the battle in any sort of fight, be it with a bow, sword or lance. A slick spot in the sand could mean defeat for those caught unaware, while a change in the wind could bring the gift of victory. This was a truth proven once again when a lady’s loud laughter distracted one of the men on the field, giving his opponent the split-second he needed to adjust his grip on his lance and slide it back before impact so that momentum could do his work for him. The other man, thrown off balance, fell forward over his horse’s shoulder into the center of the list – his distraction securing him an embarrassing loss.

“I’m beginning to believe we could best them all.” Alarra directed the words to an old friend, Visenya Celtigar, mouth curved in amusement even as she offered a polite clap. “You never would have allowed Lady Merryweather to distract you like that.” It was true, she knew. If all the archery practice she had done with the Lady of Claw Isle as a girl taught her anything it was that behind her quiet demeanor lay a person who rarely missed anything.

[navarrevelaryon]

@intheweirwood

Day: Three

Now that the boating part of the whole performance was done, Navarre was free to circulate and enjoy himself, which if he were a different man might have appealed to him. Not that quite a few of the lookers in attendance weren't worth more than a moment's appreciation, but he could hardly get drunk and he had fuck all to talk about with a bunch of noble earth huggers.

Thankfully a situation presented itself to distract him. Some little daughter of ... possibly the Riverlands? He couldn't tell, anyhow she was looking to start a fight with some lordling or possibly one of the knights, they all started to look similar. She was going on about target practice and outshooting him, which Navarre took as the perfect place to interrupt.

"You say that, but I'd have to see it to believe it. There's a set of trees over that way, bet you can't hit an apple off a branch."

[intheweirwood]

Sitting on the sidelines of a competition was never an easy thing for a girl as naturally competitive as she was, but Alarra had been doing a fairly decent job of pretending she was only interested in betting on her brother’s victory until the youngest Bracken lord made some asinine comment about how nice it was that she’d finally learned a lady’s place was in the stands. Seeing red, she’d informed him that if that was true, she’d save him a spot next to her – surely a lord who’d been bested dozens of times by the very lady he didn’t think was qualified to participate in the tourney had no business entering it himself. 

That comment had gone over about as well as spoiled fish. It was, as always, Bracken against Blackwood, voices raised as he insisted that she shut her mouth and she insisted that he make her if he could. Challenge laid, Alarra was fully prepared to grab her bow and chase him all the way back to the Riverlands when some other lord interrupted. 

Alarra whirled to look at the newcomer, hands immediately going to her hips at the doubt in his voice. “I assure you I can. It is Lord Bracken who would…” She went to shoot her old foe a withering look, only to see him walking away, laughing with the gaggle of lordlings he’d arrived with. Irritation wrinkling her brow, she raised her voice to shout after him: “Run away instead of proving himself!” 

“I do not suffer from such cowardice,” she informed him when she turned back to face him, “if you’d like a demonstration.” 

[illuminvtes]

The events scheduled to entertain the mass of lords, ladies, and lieges that had descended upon King's Landing were grand, if a tad over-extended. Lyam found himself constantly getting sucked into the excitement and grandeur, only for the flame of interest to burn itself quickly. This was certainly true for the jousting matches.

The first few were, of course, exciting. The screams of support, the tension as the crowd waited to see who would persevere, and the high or crash that occurred when your choice won or lost - there was nothing like it. But then it got repetitive, the same course of action occurring over and over, and Lyam had wandered off after only a few matches.

He ran into some people he knew, spoke to some people he didn't, and finally caught sight of a woman leaving the crowd to escape to the line of nearby trees with a wolf by her side. Lady Blackwood, he determined confidently. There weren't many outside of the North that would keep such a pet, and her reputation preceded her.

He approached rather loudly, his boots crunching twigs and grass, and he bowed when the lady encouraged her wolf not to warn him off.

"The wolves in the North are Starks as much as I or my siblings are," he agreed, eyes focusing on her and providing a smile in response to her own. "The tourney is as grand as they intended, I'm sure, but it's been a long day and I found myself in need of some fresh conversation and air."

He paused and took a second to examine her face. "And you, my lady? Are you well?"

[intheweirwood]

Alarra understood why so many were uncomfortable in the presence of her pet – a wolf was not a common companion for a noble lady, nor a common sight in the Red Keep – but it was refreshing to meet someone who did not shy away from Scout immediately or, worse, look at her as if she’d grown three heads for bringing such a beast to King’s Landing in the first place. His easy acceptance of Scout endeared her to the Stark lord instantly, and Alarra found herself nodding at his response. 

“I am. My brother has made me quite a bit of coin today.” Luckily, Trystane was as good with a sword as he was. She would never have bet on anyone else, even if he were terrible, but he’d made her proud during the melee that morning. “Though I have to agree, the air by the field is a little… stale,” she selected the word carefully, mouth twitching with amusement.

It was enough to make her long for the wide, fertile valleys of Blackwood Vale, where the air always felt fresh and clean, brought to life with the scent of the crested irises that sprouted up along the rivers. “I’ve been told the Kingswood is off-limits, so I thought perhaps a walk along the edge of the forest would do me – and my nose,” she added that bit quietly, grinning, “some good.” 

[saltbcrne]

harlon didn't have much experience with beasts. unruly and dastardly men, yes, but not ... actual beasts. he had made friends with a murder of crows on pyke and would give their furry little rat - catchers leftover morsels from dinner sometimes, sure, but those were small creatures. scout, who he eyed with no shortage of wonder, was no itty bitty thing. perhaps she was like her lady in that respect.

shifting his attention back to her keeper, he found himself chuckling at her words. "you could say that, my lady." she was smart, though that was no surprise. most people accepted or rebuffed his flattery without a second thought, and she had already more than proven that she was not like most. "does she allow others to pet her as you do?"

[intheweirwood]

His answer was a neat one that acknowledged he’d been watching, just as the others were, without giving away any indication of why – smart man. It was always good in a place like this, filled as King’s Landing was now with both friendly snakes and vipers, to pay attention. “I wouldn’t recommend trying it if I’m not with her,” Alarra advised him honestly, “But she is well-trained and has never harmed anyone.” 

To prove her point, she commanded the wolf to sit and stay, only to receive a wither look from the animal that seemed to say what did you think I was doing? Alarra pressed her lips together to contain her amusement and looked back at Lord Greyjoy, offering him an encouraging nod. “Go on then, give it a try. I promise, she won’t nip you with me here.” Her lips curved. “Especially if you scratch behind her ears. Bit of a sucker for that, really.”

[intheweirwood]

closed starter for @weirfyre - elayna baratheon - training yards

Alarra had always been taught that swordplay was a dance of sorts – an understanding of logical steps that must be followed to defeat an opponent. And just like any skilled dancer, a good swordsman must be prepared to adapt to the music and adjust to the flow of the fight should an enemy make an unexpected move. It was not just skill that made an excellent fighter; it was the ability to predict what another person might do. Different swordsmen took different approaches to developing that particular skill, and yet even with all the visits she’d made to see Trystane in the training yards over the years, she was sure she had never seen someone take the approach of the person before her now. 

Murmured appeals to the old gods reached her ears as she watched their sword arch beautifully through the air, cutting through an imagined foe with practiced precision. Alarra, who had sought out a corner of the training yard to practice her own swordsmanship, instead found herself watching, impressed despite herself, until they had finished. 

“I had hoped to practice, but I’m afraid I’d shame myself after that showing,” she called out, announcing her presence in case they had not seen her. “Who taught you to move like that?”

[deviika]

Marya Hornbacher // Maya Angelou