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@ivoryborn
⸻ a dependent blog for COGNATIHQ written by lu ( twenty-five+, she / her, gmt )
𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗨𝗖𝗜𝗡𝗚
alarra stark ( twenty - six ) + wanted dynamics
elyana blackwood ( twenty-five ) + wanted dynamics
victaria harlaw ( thirty ) + wanted dynamics
EMILY BADER My Lady Jane (2024) I Episode 7
LOTTIE MATTHEWS YELLOWJACKETS | 3.06
[she was funny for that]
semi-open starter (for iron islanders only) - @ivoryborn (1/4)
“It appears that the westerlands are down on their luck. suppose it is fate that has caught up to them, don’t you think?” she had thought she caught sight of a dragon’s wing and its roar days passed, but those are just rumors. what the iron islands have done under her loves command she actively participated in. “tell me, did you sleep well last night? I know i did.”
victaria lets out a small, humourless chuckle at alannys' words. fate is such a funny thought in the harlaw's mind. "i would not call it fate. perhaps they simply got too comfortable, arrogant even. all that gold and yet..." the ironborn smirks. "i admit i slept quite well. my body might be aware it needs the rest for what's surely to come."
they had made their stop beneath the black boughs of raventree hall, where the land still remembered old griefs and older truths. odin norrey spoke little to the other northmen once they were settled. his words, when spent too freely, had a way of binding things—and tonight he was still weighing what must be bound, and what might yet be left to the gods’ accounting. his two elder children remained close, watchful as young hawks, sensing the gravity without needing it named.
he had taken the time to brew the tea himself. roots dug with care, bark shaved thin, water brought just shy of boiling. it was no courtly thing—bitter, earthen, honest. when he found alarra stark near the weir tree, he approached without ceremony, boots soft against the ground, furs settling broad across his shoulders. the cup was held out to her before he spoke.
“it will give you strength,” he said quietly, “and clarity.”
only then did his gaze lift, following the pale spread of dawn as it began to thin the night. when he looked back to her, his voice remained low, unhurried, carrying the weight of a man used to being heard without raising it.
his eyes held hers, steady as stone set into earth. “i stand at a crossroads of silence and speech,” he went on. “what we choose to do next will add weight to the tally already held against the crown and those who shelter it.” a breath, slow and measured. “i would know your counsel before i decide whether to speak or let the old gods take note instead.”
when: the escape from casterly rock . where: raventree hall . with: odin & alarra @ivoryborn .
every inch of alarra's being just wishes to get atop of a horse and ride all the way home, finally touch the ground of winterfell with her own two feet. and yet, it would not feel the same ⸻ as gilliane stays behind with the dragon's talons around her neck, the family is not whole. that is all alarra can think of, once again proving her belief right: nothing good ever happens to a northerner when in the south.
the stark's eyes are fixated on the weir tree, as if she's waiting for the old gods to give her some semblance of comfort or, perhaps, an answer to what they ought to do so they do not lose anyone else. or, better yet, memories of her grandfather might just align themselves perfectly so, put an end to the losses of the north.
alarra hears her new company's footsteps before she even looks up. lord norrey. someone who's familiar with the losses in the name of the crown. the stark looks at the cup offered by the northman. "thank you. i reckon i am in dire need of both." if the tea offered patience, the stark might have just downed it in one. "have you brought some for yourself?" alarra shifts in her seat, a root almost as thick as the tree itself, making room for the other.
there's a small sip of the tea. it's bitter and unlike those alarra has ingested these last months ⸻ and she thanks the old gods for it. at lord norrey's words, a sigh escapes her. "i have spent months in a lair of court games and strategic silences," she speaks, looking at the other, "i would rather you speak and say what you want to say."
EMILY BADER My Lady Jane (2024) I Episode 6
HAVANA ROSE LIU as abby in hal & harper (2025)
myles cannot help but to chuckle at that, quickly clutching his side as the laughter causes a strain on his wound. he looks over at her, an easy smile on his features – both dimples on full display despite the lingering pain. “yes, i suppose i was quite persistent back then, wasn't i?” nodding, he looks to the wall for a few moments before looking back at her.
“i am glad to hear of it,” he says softly. “was the maester able to determine how bad it will scar?” part of him feels bad he wasn't able to fully stop her from getting hurt. sure, she had lived, but a facial scar… that is an awful thing, especially for a lady in a world in which looks mean so much. some would say she's damaged goods now.
“yes, i imagine you must be confused.” hells, even he was… at least a bit, anyway. for a moment, he thinks on what more he can possibly say.. but ultimately decides to say nothing more. no amount of explanation would satisfy her fully, of that he is quite certain.
“n – no, i had no idea,” he attempts to reassure her. “i know that my mother has been plotting for some time now to see me married, but i had not a clue that it would be now or to you.” not that he minds, really, though it seems that she does.
alarra presses her lips together at his question about her scar ⸻ the wolf does not care for how it looks, just that it is a reminder of all that has happened to get her and this family to this point. "it will leave a scar but i did not ask how bad." it's not as if alarra had ever really cared about looks, not as much as she perhaps she should. for a moment, she thinks this means she won't ever be used as a bargaining chip in the marriage business. and then she remembers. the wolf clears her throat. "yours is far easier to hide, isn't it?"
there's a small sigh, hands resting on top of her lap. she is confused and the last thing she wants to have any sort of debt with a southerner. "those were northmen coming for me. they would not harm me, so you got stabbed protecting me from my people." there's an amused smirk as she keeps her eyes on his; she does not see the amusement in him being hurt, just that he did so while trying to keep alarra away from the people she missed the most. "perhaps yours gods will find humour in that and make your recovery go by faster."
once alarra hears the fowler's words about the whole betrothal situation, the stark keeps her composure, even if every word spoken just rehashes this new reality of hers ⸻ a prisoner to the crown, someone the dragon can just engage to someone else without even telling her. "i see we were both blindsided, then." and part of her feels bad for the dornish man. even in their limited amount of interactions, alarra feels he does not deserve this: being caught in whatever plot the crown sees in this betrothal.
she swallows once, throat cleared. "i do not intend to honour this betrothal, lord myles. it is nothing personal but this... this is not done in our best interest. i am a prisoner of the crown and you are a pawn, thrown in the middle of it." more and more, alarra's fire towards the crown grows dangerously hot.
winterfell is within reach. they could have pushed harder, but the horses desperately need rest, and the howling winds threaten safer passage. but they were within northern borders; for a moment, the stark family can breathe. and yet, KARLON STARK swallows another swell of grief threatening to suffocate him. by the time he sits beside ALARRA STARK, pushing a share of elk meat into her hands, his eyes are tinged red. but he does not weep. // @ivoryborn
"i advise you eat it all even if you're not hungry." karlon knocks his arm against alarra's, forcing himself to chew on his own share. he must be able to stand when his children ask why he hasn't returned with their mother. "once we reach home, you won't get it this good; laithe gets all the best parts now. i fear we may be spoiling her."
he's trying to tease; he's trying to push lightness past the devastating spiral within. but even to his own ears, every he says falls achingly flat.
alarra's eyes follow karlon as he comes and sits next to her and she can't help but feel a tightness in her chest. gilliane should be back here with them, not in the claws of the dragons that thought themselves entitled to loyalty when they couldn't even give one good reason to deserve it. "i leave home for a few months and my family ends up spoiling the dragon. perhaps i should get the best meat from now on, teach laithe to share." though her words are playful, the tone is heavy with what alarra wants to say but knows better.
silence settles a bit. the wolf notices her brother's eyes but does not mention it. instead, she just looks at the meat on her hands and takes a bit, chewing on it. tiny bit after tiny bit. "theon will do as lords must and send a raven to the crown, demanding gilliane back. they have taken too much from us."
the king had once told her that her life is bound to the princess' ⸻ perhaps gilliane's life ought to be tethered to someone he calls family. "and if he refuses, we can use his own moves against him."
after plot drop | private starter for @ivoryborn - alarra
as they made the trek back up North, he was grateful to enjoy the silence. for it felt like it was only moments ago the chaos was surrounding him. when the plan to escape was concocted, he was happy to finally be able to leave. and when nightfall, they did just that. he was no stranger to taking the lives of whoever stood in their way as they tried to leave. he was a Bolton after all and seeing red was nothing scary to him anymore. but while they had been able to escape, one had to stay behind and the Starks were not happy. though seeing that they were able to have Alarra back with them was a good thing. soon they stop to take a break and Domeric saw the young wolf walk away and he followed, as silent as he could though the twigs on the ground did not help with that, to make sure they were okay.
when alarra starts walking, she doesn't really know where she wants to go nor why she wants to go. yet, she goes all the same and has no fear nor hesitation in her steps as she engulfs herself in the tall trees near the road ⸻ so far away from king's landing, so different from the walls she'd had for a prison for longer than she'd ever want. alarra takes a deep breath, the relief felt quickly replaced by anger and frustration ⸻ for what the king's done, for what her family and her people have gone through, for what gilliane had to do to get them home safe. alarra blinks away whatever tears threatened to run down her face, just in time to call out the company she knows is right behind her. "i have a new scar but i still hear as well as i did before." alarra turns to face whoever comes to check on her. "we are in friendly territory now, domeric. the trees mean me no harm, i am sure of it." there's playfulness in her words, even if her expression remains the same.
when : morning of the escape, hours after the masquerade
where : alarra's quarters
with : alarra stark @ivoryborn
the excuse is clear: distrust of the maester and care for her own kin — that is how gilliane gets past the guards at the doors, one of whom still glares at karlon as she enters the room. it is a lonely affair, she knows, so voices are rushed. “the maester is coming to see you soon. how inept the kingsguard is that a lady of a great house has been hurt like this!" is the last that her voice is raised, loud enough for those outside to hear. in truth, gilliane cares not about scarring — she has plenty of her own, and they all tell a story – though her hand does raise to cup at alarra's cheek. “keep your voice down now.” she says. ”we are leaving, now. we were supposed to do so last night when laithe flew over but that damned princess had to be by your side." a curse in the tongue of the old leaves her mouth.
alarra is caught up in her own world when the familiar voice of her sister-in-law cuts through the silence and never has company been more welcomed, even if every inch of alarra's face hurt every time she showed any type of emotion. along with amusement at hearing gilliane's words towards whoever is unlucky enough to hear her fire ( and not in a warm way ), alarra turns on her seat to meet gilliane. "a lady of a great house and a guest of the crown." words are said with venom in them, especially towards this lie of a title that she's been given. she has a humourless chuckle halfway out of her mouth, geared towards her own words when she stands to meet gilliane. alarra does not flinch away from gilliane's hand, though her eyebrows furrow in confusion at what her sister says next. "leaving? right now?" the wolf freezes, stuck between relief and disbelief though she keeps her voice down, just as gilly instructs. alarra's hand reaches for gilly's forearm, as if steadying herself. for months, she'd dreamed of hearing those words. she is going home. "that's why laithe appeared. where is she now?"
Dilireba in Love on the Turquoise Land, ep. 26
his eyes meet theirs through their masks; both refuse to yield. " you were not invited. your people were not invited, for a good reason. " maelor finally speaks, voice stern, although his eyes search for something in the other's he could use, hold on to. all those qualities in victaria he had found enticing back then have now come back to haunt him. " what were you thinking? sigrin the skull breaker, i know.. but do you truly believe in him, as your king? or is it only chaos that you seek? "
he had done his best that he could, to attempt to mend relationships between westerlanders and the ironborn that was cut too short before even something resembling progress could be made, but he had all those plans in his mind, that now had no chance to happen, ever. " are the consequences that are to come worth it? have you considered them? vaeron will never give you independence, nor will any mainlander consider sigrin a king. he is nothing but a pretender to anyone else. is it war that you seek? " the words rush out of his mouth, while tone is low only for them to be heard, maelor cannot help the passion mixed with worry that overwhelm him.
why isn't he calling for the guards, truly? he does not even have to wonder. what he'd had with victaria was.. special. neither lovers nor bestest of friends, perhaps something in between, someone who had enchanted him, someone he could relate to, share a special bond with until they moved on their own paths, especially maelor. yet, the bond remained, for something beneath him despised the idea of the harlaw getting hurt, thrown in the dungeons or losing their head.
" because i care for you. " the velaryon finally admits, for it is both in their nature to be blunt; him, when he was around victaria, at least. king's landing demanded too much mind games and pretense out of him to survive. " and i do not wish to see you dead.. which goes beyond your own personal skills as the warrior i know you are. " with the pompous tyrell lord suddenly strongly involving his house and his people in ironborn matters, with house lannister about to join forces with house tyrell fully, what could this mean for the future?
it is something maelor wishes to bring up, to warn them at least, but he cannot do so. " i ask of you.. do not do anything stupid or reckless tonight. " his tone is soft now, almost defeated, hands almost reach out to grasp their face out of habit, though maelor resists it.
victaria does not know the meaning of waving a white flag, in any circumstance. when the iron islands are thrown away like a basket of rotten fish, the iron islander makes sure to double-down on what makes her ironborn. and it comes with pride. "and yet, here we are." gaze never falters from holding maelor's, the same dark amethyst eyes that the sun gets out of sylas ⸻ even if victaria wanted to forget her time with maelor, she couldn't. a few heartbeats pass, the harlaw thinking on the velaryon's words. "i don't believe in any king, maelor. though, if i did, your dragon is not the one i would raly behind."
maelor's words cause the harlaw to shake their head, a sharp inhale cutting through. yet, she does not let go of his stare, leaning closer so that her own rushed words, careless of what is heard or not. "you speak as if i have any say in what sigrin greyjoy decides to do." truth be told, victaria gives her loyalty to those that prove they deserve it and, when it comes to greyjoys, there is only one that has her unwavering fealty. "i seek nothing but the sea but i am loyal. i will do what aeron needs me to. i suppose we shall find out what that is, soon enough." they do not want any involvement with someone else's fight ⸻ however many lieges decide they want the title of king, victaria will let them fight over a crown that only proves useful if melted for it's gold and gems.
because i care for you.
the ironborn's lips part in surprise, expression softening under the mask. many were the nights where their mind wandered and, many of those times, their thoughts would land back on the crownlander that had enticed her enough to share sleepless nights with ( and not a hint of regret ever comes along with her memories of it ). "you care for me? it has been years, maelor." and yet, victaria cannot help but be taken aback after such words. maybe, just maybe, memory is enough. it would bring her no joy to see the master of ships hurt. "but, if it eases your worry, i do not plan on dying. i do hope you plan for the same."
victaria narrows her eyes at what maelor says next, something about it catching their attention. perhaps the distrust aeron and they had about the tyrell is called for. "i will not do anything stupid or reckless, unless one of the mainlanders decides to do exactly the same. do you know about anything like that?" head tilts as they speak, another step taken closer to the other.
CAUGHT STEALING (2025) dir. Darren Aronofsky
time: during the timeskip. location: dock near seagard, shore in ironman's bay. status: for maron greyjoy ( @ofsealedfates )
feet in the sea, the riverlander takes a moment before she dips her bloodied hands in the salty water. elyana is casually humming a song ( that they are not entirely sure where they heard it ) as they scrub away a man's blood who thought himself too smart for her. when the blackwood stands up and wipes their hands on their clothes, that's when their gaze falls on a familiar face. "look who it is." elyana tilts their head, looking at maron up and down. a lopsided smile grows on her lips. "are you here to spread some chaos as you did back at the lion's home?" as if she hadn't just gotten blood on her hands.
COURTNEY EATON via Instagram (September 13, 2022)
