“ i might be. ” they were not. her attention kept drifting, from shifting alliances, leaving for dorne, the repeated distorted question — what would their father say ? they craved something else to focus on, mindless enough that they could find some sort of blissful silence, enough exertion that she could get some rest. lana raised the sword again, making a gesture with their chin for him to make his first move, tutting lightly. “ of course not. one more time, ” repeated again before shock overtook their features, moving again into something akin to offense. “ my mother has plenty of other things that are occupying her time, and i am not going to be injured. come on ! ” another press for more, unwilling to have to find something else to occupy her mind this early in the day.
" you would never. " he can say that with absolute certainty, assured in the fact that a lion would never cast aside it's pride for the sake of his own. he would also be rather insulted if they did. still, he watches carefully as she stands, catches the look in their eyes and is certain that now is not the time to push for conversation over distraction. he could allow elliana that at least, after all she's suffered recently. even if he does want to press, wants to comfort and let her speak of her sorrow if that's what she needs. though with elliana, perhaps there was a better chance of allowing such emotion after one more round. " fine, though you will only end up in the dirt again. " he flashes a smile then, allowing cockiness to shine through only for someone trusted, a cub he's known since they were still young. he's still quick, still strong after decades of honing such skill, maintaining it, yet his first blow is similar to one he would teach in basic training. " i suppose i could just go easy on you instead. "
daemian did not remember much of when he had landed at the bottom of the hill, to the moment he awoke for the first time in the sickbeds. it was a blur, something that felt like a distant memory but was barely hours in time. milk of the poppy coursing through his veins as he barely registers the world in which he is looking at. he sees chains — maesters then — fiddling about him, feels hands claw at him and can feel the pools of blood stick to him as they slab poultices and wrap him in bandages. he passes out quickly after, eyes fluttering into the back of his skull as the poppy dulled his senses.
a change of scenery finds him when he opens his eyes again, a voice pulling him from the addled state he had been in. violet eyes flick under eyelids before they open slightly. a pain throbbing in what seemed to be every part of his body, can still feel the fire melting his skin and licking his bones. "qȳbor?" uncle. daemian's voice is small, horse as it leaves a dry and bleeding throat, "perhaps—" his words slur, head lolling to look at the man next to him, "i shall have a dragon next time i wake." white eyes simmer in his vision, floating as he blinks sluggishly. a command listened to. "where am i?"
the sight of eyes the same shade as his own flickering open does him good, has a sigh of relief leaving him even if he could see the pain behind it. it was better than no gaze at all, better than cold, empty eyes that would never gaze upon him again. " i'mā kesor. " i'm here. just as he always tried to be when it came to his niece and nephew. he can't help but note that neither maelora or lorent were at his bedside, holding the hand that was unburnt, uncharred. not for the first time, he can feel sharp disappointment roiling through him, a tinge of resentment at the edge of it. he believed in his position, but there were plenty of times where he thought it unfair that people like his sister and good brother could have children and raise them while he was denied such joy because of a century old oath.
he allows a soft chuff of laughter, a smile offered at the joke. by the seven, did daemian deserve a distraction from what he'd been through, from the undispuible pain he must be in. " i'd have no trouble backing you for king if you had a dragon at your back next time we speak. " he cups the side of daemian's face briefly smiling down at him, love and care easy to see beneath every action before he allows his hand to drop. " you're in the sick ward along with the others that were affected by the incident. " he pulls up a chair to the bedside before sinking into it, the weight of all that occurred heavy on his shoulders. he needed to find who was responsible for all this, have them chained and trialled for their crimes. " what do you remember about what happened, daemian? "
it was the second time that their back had hit the ground, breath in their throat and gaze on the branches of the trees. for some reason, it makes them chuckle. out of place in a training ground where someone had just been knocked down, no matter how gently it had been intended — yet a reminder of how the same had happened countless of times. only with fresh snow on the ground and a lot less more comfortable. “ ugh, alright. one more time time, ” they request as they slowly stand back up, reaching for the wooden sword that had fallen as they had. months ago mistakes like the ones that she made now would not have been, exhaustion and stress making their movements clumsy and slow. “ then i will be done and out of your hair. ”
lucerys looses a heavy sigh at the words that leave their mouth, shaking his head despite his lack of surprise. " i'm almost starting to think you're letting me win. " he quips as he lowers his training sword, pommel held in his grasp as he presses the blunt point of it into the dirt. he won't offer her the indignity of helping the young lion up, knowing damn well what she was capable of and of their pride at this point. but lucerys doesn't lift his sword again, head tilting as he raises his brows. " i'd have thought you'd had enough of getting your ass knocked to the dirt today. " it's unusual at this point in their training to see elliana fall so often, too skilled after years of training and holding such skills to be felled by some of his simply manuevers. " no, we're done for the day. you're not yourself on this training yard today, lana. i fear your mother's wrath if i were to add you to the list of the injured. "
incoming starter for ..... maelora celtigar ( @liver-y )
" fucking hells, lora. " it's the only greeting he has to offer to his sister as he enters the celtigar rooms, concern etched into the harsh furrow of his brow. it was a horrifying thing to discover his family has been among the injured parties when the dragons had been loosed in the sky, strikes a fear through him in a way most doesn't. the relief was short lived when he found out that maelora wasn't harmed, intensified into worry when he heard daenys name, followed by daemian's. " what have you done now to piss off the gods enough to harm the children ? " the children only ever referring to her children of course, never his. his was tucked far away from here, a secret kept at another hearth and the only reminder being the guilt that ate at him. still, he sighs and softens, violet gaze finding her own as he switches from irritating to truly concerned the way only siblings can. " have you been to see daemian? "
the sound of wood creaking and clattering delivers an odd sense of satisfaction, even if their hand chafes from gripping their cane too tight. dexian meets the gaze of the lord commander, shaking their head. "perhaps. but that requires most to venture and be here." a shrug then, and in the next breath, they walk after the cart, tipping their head for the commander to follow.
"liege dexian, by the way. the council meeting didn't truly allow for introductions, did it?" they don't wait for an answer; instead, they ask, "what has the city guard reported on food deliveries? i've witnessed what a lack of it does to a body, and . . . " a beat, shaking their head again. "well, it'll only be worse in a place as packed as this."
" gods forbid the lords dirty their pretty little hands. " his brow furrows at the careless way the liege seems to command him with such carelessness, far too used to being the one doling out orders that it's strange to receive a silent one. still, amusement flickers behind violet eyes and he follows the liege despite that, the corners of his mouth tipping up slightly. " well met, liege dexian. i am ser lucerys, lord commander. " he doubts they don't know who he is, especially not after that council meeting, yet humility has never hurt him. the questions continue, lucerys' amusement remaining at dexian's assurance of themselves. " the people will not go hungry, especially not once we are on the roads to dorne. " and gods be good, their coffers would be more hearty than the crown's currently were.
relegated to a bed in the sick ward until further notice, PRINCESS DELFINA TARGARYEN gazes off towards the corner near the doorway, as if on perilous watch for ... someone. ACCEPTING.
her ears are ringing. dampness, proverbial dampness, seeps through her bones. long since has the driftwood been removed from her hair, which now rests tied back and brushed, and the bandages wrap tight around a sternum and chest that blotches them with crimson. this chest rises and falls. lilac eyes are dull, gazing at half-mast as if near sleeping, but her mind whirs endlessly. the darkness of the bay, the grit of the water — the generous touch of shrykos, surely it was she. she lifts her hand to her chest. touches the edge of the claw-wound there closest. a shiver runs up her spine. ( have i finally been … blessed? … aegor … you were at the bottom of the … ) a shifting movement snaps those eyes awake. the door has a shadow in it, moving blurrily to her. vials and poultices alike are settled upon the nearest table. “ don't be shy. ” hunger-hoarse. her stomach claws and roars. “ step into the light … where i can see you. if you must see me like this … ” the laugh is familiar. there is something so terribly funny about it. about those cold, dead, bloated shoulders she clung to. ( amerei! … hold on, dear … just a little longer, finally he is useful … ) “ … then it's only fair. ”
it was a relief to hear that the princess had been found in the seas. the whisper of his fellow kingsguard had left him exhaling happily, only stiffening once more when he heard what exactly had saved them. alester. he'd worked alongside the man many a years, trusted him far more then he did the hightower that now sits in his place. still, if he was the price to paid paid in order for the princess' safe return, he would gladly pay it. he'd stationed a couple of trusted kingsguards nearby the sick ward, ensuring that no one would deem to attack the future queen while in a weakened state, yet he still needed to see her alive and well with his own eyes. he's quiet when he enters, not wanting to disturb them if they're sleeping peacefully. violet hues catch on her own lilac ones and he approaches with less caution now. " it's ser lucerys celtigar, my princess. " he keeps his voice low, reverent of her not only in her healing, but also their status. in his eyes, it was their right to take the throne by blood, aegor's feelings on the matter aside. " i merely wanted to see if there was anything i could do for you, princess. "
incoming starter for ..... daemian celtigar ( @steelworn )
the events of the last several weeks had been draining upon lucerys. he had been a fool to believe that the kingsmoot would go as expected, that the houses of westeros and see reason that aegor's next living descendant should have the throne by rights. to think they would put aside their pride was a fool's errand, made clear by the trail of destruction they've all left since being here. poisonings, missing hand's that turned up dead, then fire raining from the sky and singing everything that got too close. all of it had tested his patience, made worried frown lines appear in his forehead at the burden of caring for all those affected. through it all he'd been steadfast, sturdy, a pillar in the council currently holding things afloat.
nothing had rattled him, except the news about daemian.
it is no easy thing to watch someone you've known from birth get hurt, someone he as good as considers a son to him. to learn of his injuries, the extent of them, it had sent a fear striking through his belly unlike anything he'd felt in quite some time. it hurries him through the corridors once his duty frees him, has him pushing through the doors of the maesters wings and searching until his eyes finally land on his nephew. his boy. it's a stone sinking in his gut to see the charred mess off his body, the amount of bandages that wrap him. his throat thickens, and he swallows quietly as he steels his resolve, unwilling to let him know just how horrified he was. " my boy. " he murmurs it just loud enough for the young celtigar to hear, approaching slowly an resting a hand gently beside his head on the pillow. " seems the dragons smelt your valyrian blood and at least left your face alone. i'm sure your betrothed is thrilled. "
location: somewhere near the red keep's gate as the sun sets -- several days after the council meeting
semi-open starter for @firedreamt, @arcan3ly, and two more !
curfew had made cowards of king's landing. as the sun drifted behind the city's rooftops, the streets emptied with remarkable efficiency. even the drunks seemed to find religion whenever the bells warned that darkness approached. no one wished to be caught outside should a shadow pass overhead, wings broad enough to blot out the evening sky.
seora returned only because she had to. a weathered leather pouch hung loosely from one hand, its contents announcing themselves with the lazy clink of coins each time it struck her thigh. she had spent the better part of the afternoon exactly where sensible nobles had been advised not to linger -- tucked away in one of the few gambling dens stubborn enough to continue operating despite the city's fear. better cards than councils. better dice than dragons.
her fingers absently rolled a coin over the backs of her knuckles as she crossed beneath the gates of the red keep at an unhurried pace, more interested in seeing who else remained wandering its halls than in returning to her own chambers. she felt the weight of a gaze before she found its owner -- someone had been looking just a heartbeat too long. seora came to an easy stop, her eyes sliding toward them as one brow arched in expectation. "what? have i sprouted a second head?" the question landed as anything but an inquiry, sharp enough to cut through the quiet settling over the keep.
he had always been a superstitious man. his septa growing up had instilled the fear of the old gods and the new into him with her stories, believing even now that if he did not abide by superstitions then the others would have him. it's part of why the curfew appealed to him so soundly, making sense to an analytical mind that to be inside when the dark comes will protect them from the beasts of the sky. he's stood in the red keep to ensure people adhere to such rules, watching as each and every subject makes their way inside for the evening when he catches sight of her. the salt witch. already rigid spine straightens impossibly further, her reputation something that's travelled far and wide, reaching his ears in a tavern over a cup of ale.
lucerys does not expect her to turn his way, gut twisting in sharp displeasure at the fact that it had. he'd heard one that the last person who unearthed her ire had practically dropped dead out of nowhere, sea water in their lungs when they were far from the sea. it's enough to give lucerys pause, to regard her perhaps more carefully than he would standardly. " doubt it would escape your notice if you had, my lady. " he can' help but quip, regret spiking through him a moment later at the thought of possible mystic repercussion. " you don't exactly strike me as a fool. "
ash seems to still cling to the air despite the days since dragons soared. amidst the desolation, DEXIAN CORBRAY assists with the cleanup of rhaenys' hill. // accepting ( 2/3 ) replies
debris clutters the streets. where buildings once stood, only the barest foundation remains. at least there was a storm before the dragons; at least the fire didn't spread. how much does it matter, when devastation still leaves its ugly mark?
dexian assists with one of the larger pieces of walls lying in the middle of the road. two other smallfolk grab the other side, and dexian grits their teeth as they balance with their cane. gaze flicks to the side, and at the sight of passerby, they immediately call out: "my liege! come, pick up this side. we only need to lift it to the wagon, and then we can push the rest in."
he needed a break from the castle is the truth of the matter. frustration had begun to bleed into his very demeanour, disappointed that children could cause such a shitstorm for the rest of them to clean up and that they now must uproot and travel dorne. it would only draw out the moot, breed further uncertainty and tension in the realm. lucerys had needed to clear his head, do something with his hands other than clench, and rhaenys hill was a perfect place to start. at seeing the liege struggling and him being called, he quickens his pace over to assist with the wall, the four of them just managing to get it into the wagon. " damned dragons. " he sighs quietly, shaking his head before looking across at the liege before him. " the realm appreciates your assistance, my liege. if the other nobles had half your initiative, then getting this city back in order would be no task. "
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ( celtigar e , shawn hatosy , 45 , cis male , he/him ) the hand of the late king welcomes lucerys celtigar, the lord commander of the kingsguard, to the kingsmoot. the realm knows them to be honourable and humerous, but the master of whisperers has unearthed information that speaks to their prideful and rigid tendencies. to dream of them would be to dream of a blade polished sharp that never dulls over time, body hard and scarred over every inch, a mirthful laugh over a cup of wine, sharp purple eyes always cautious of danger. they themselves dream of house targaryen or house celtigar on the throne. time is an unwieldy mistress, and only she may tell who will sit the iron throne when the dust settles.
basic information.
official name: lucerys celtigar. nickname: luke, luca. noble title: lord commander of the kingsguard. star sign: taurus. birthplace: claw isle, crownlands. home: king's landing. orientation: bisexual , biromantic. monikers: the sea's blade. languages: the common tongue , fluent. high valyrian, fluent. accent: traditional crownlands accent with a raspy tone.
physical information.
hair: brown but largely silver now. eyes: violet. height: six feet , two inches. build: tall and lean, visible muscles particularly in his arms , chest, and stomach. dominant hand: right. scars: one long gash on his left shoulder from a sword fight, small nick on his chin from a joust, lots of little ones across various parts of his body from various fights. distinguishing features: his violet eyes, the small scar on his chin. clothing style: being in the kingsguard, he's not typically seen in anything other than his armour and white cloak. when he's in his rooms of off duty though, he likes to wear one of those slutty white shirts, plain pants and boots. he has a couple of rings of gold he likes to wear as well, but he's a very basic man when it comes to his dress sense.
hobbies: sword fighting, sparring, reading, . religion: very loosely follows the faith of the seven. alliance: the throne , house targaryen , house celtigar. personal goals: to uphold the monarchy no matter who sits on the throne, to bring peace to the kingdoms throughout his life, to bring honour and glory to his name and his house. would they choose family or power?: family.
blood ties.
father: ruling lord edwell celtigar. mother: ruling lady minerva celtigar nee mooton. sibling: ruling lady maelora celtigar. child: tba.
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