on affiliations

dependent multimuse for @103ac

[liver-y]

what is honor compared to a woman's love? what is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother's smile? wind and words. wind and words. we are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. that is our great glory, and our great tragedy. dependent multimuse affiliated with @103ac.

lady helvis baratheon née selmy — intro . threads . musings . wanted connections

shiera waters — intro . threads . musings

lady maelora celtigar — intro . threads . musings

lord grover tully — intro . threads . musings

lady arysa uller — intro . threads . musings

[liver-y]

thus dripping with jewels and donning their preferred silks, were seen the lieges helvis baratheon, shiera waters, grover tuly, maelora celtigar, and arysa uller at the ball hosted by house martell at sunspear, in the first moon of the year 104 after conquest.

[liver-y]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆    the  hand  of  the  late  king  welcomes arysa uller,   the  heir to hellholt,  to  the  kingsmoot.  the  realm  knows  them  to  be  efficient  and  decisive,  but  the  master  of  whisperers  has  unearthed  information  that  speaks  to  their  brazen  and  incendiary  tendencies.  to  dream  of  them  would  be  to  dream  of  the bitter taste of brimstone coating cracked lips; the heft of a spear in hand, lighter than a quill; smile bright as dorne’s own sun barring that one obnoxious chip; how well confidence sits upon your shoulders everywhere but where it matters most.  they  themselves  dream  of  any house or none  on  the  throne.  time  is  an  unwieldy  mistress,  and  only  she  may  tell  who  will  sit  the  iron  throne  when  the  dust  settles.

 basics.

name arysa uller. titles heir to hellholt. age four and twenty. alignment chaotic neutral. motivations to do her best by house uller.

visuals.

height 5'9. eyes a rich, warm black. build lithe and well-muscled from spear training, you can see her guns. notable features light curls through her hair, usually in a long braid she is happy to use as a weapon if desired; a spear that is often by her side in all but the most formal of locations; a white birthmark in a boat shape by her elbow; sand that can often be found in her hair, her nailbeds, and the hems of all her clothing.

family.

fathers lord a uller; lord a uller. birth parents redra greenshield Ⅹ and ser ilyn snakehill Ⅹ. uncles & aunts lieges c, d, iara, and ashara uller. 

biography. always a wip

tw: death, parental death six and twenty years ago, redra greenshield, a close friend and part of lord b uller's retinue, met ser ilyn snakehill, sworn shield of lord a uller. five and twenty years ago, both lord ullers were present at their wedding. arysa uller began the first years of her life with no name but her first, though hellholt was always her home, even as a swaddled babe asleep in the guards' quarters, or a toddler seated atop a boat sailing down the brimstone accompanying the ullers' . but the dunes of hellholt arenot always a happy place. arysa was no more than five when the ullers' retinue was attacked, raiders from the deep desert eager to seize what gold they could from what they thought was passing merchants. their discovery of their wrong came too late: ser ilyn died in the brief but bloody battle, and redra, desperate to make certain her old friend lived, rowed a half-destroyed boat holding an unconscious lord uller back to brimstone. lord uller lived... but her own death came not long after, from exposure and untended wounds. what was left behind of an old and long friendship was the daughter of both lords' old friends... ... who would soon be named their own daughter. though not lacking in memories or knowledge, arysa has been raised as the heir to hellholt from a young age, with both the duties and rights that come with it. the lavish lives of the denizens of hellholt sit comfortably with her, yet she has always been conscious of the honour her beloved parents have done her in naming her their own rather than raising her as a mere foundling in their home... and with all that she may wish to have. her wish for adventure, granted; her love for horses, encouraged; her wish to take up the spear, agreed upon. and of all the things she loved as a child and a teenager and then as a budding heir, the first has always, always, been her home. so what does it matter that the politicking of the court of dorne is beyond her? that riding leathers suit her better than the finest silk? arysa uller will be the finest heir hellholt has ever seen, and one day, its finest lady; and whatever her parents and house wish to see of her, well—that is precisely what she will be.

summary.

arysa is a serious young lady who feels a great deal of gratitude to her parents and a great deal of responsibility as the heir to house uller. would do anything for her house and to please her dads, but it's a real struggle thinking politically rather than with the pointy end of her spear. she's a good fighter, pretty good with people, and knows she's all that - really, she's confident in everything except how well she will rule hellholt - and is hoping to prove herself here even though she hasn't been asked to

[valarrghulis]

                                     it  should  break  their  hearts,  to  have  a  father  disappear  or  drowned  dead  in  the  sea.  a  body  never  recovered  and  never  buried.  he  supposed  many  were  crying  for  princess  delfina  and  for  lady  mallister,  who  had  also  fallen  into  the  sea.  but  no  tears  would  be  shed  for  lord  alester,  only  for  the  chaos  he  left  behind.  for  here  the  siblings  were,  worried  over  their  statuses  and  situation  instead  of  the  lord  hand.  addam  thought  it  was  what  he  deserved,  for  all  the  pain  he  put  them  through.  ❛❛ —  and  yet,  the  thought  of  our  wellbeing  escaped  him  completely.  we  are  actually  lucky  to  be  grown  adults  when  he  actually  died.  if  we  were  younger  and  vulnerable,  they  would  disappear  with  us  at  the  hour  of  the  wolf,  never  to  be  seen  again.  —  ❞  addam  sighed.  he  wrung  his  hands  feeling  more  anxious  than  ever,  for  reasons  unknown  to  shiera  and  to  anyone  else  but  falyn  and  him.  at  the  farmer’s  market,  falyn  had  dropped  the  biggest  news  on  him,  and  addam  could  hardly  know  what  he  felt  and  how  he  felt  about  it.  not  at  the  moment,  though,  he  needed  to  lock  in  and  keep  his  wits  about,  this  matter  could  be  dealt  with  later.  if  he  were  to  be  born  a  charming  person,  beguiling  and  sensitive  as  shiera  had  always  been,  prone  to  be  taken  advantage  of  by  anyone;  like  their  father,  like  ser  donnell,  would  he  be  used  as  a  pawn  the  same  way  shiera  was  forced  to  be.  was  he,  roguish  and  reckless,  still  a  pawn  of  lord  alester  but  in  a  different  way?  addam  did  not  believe  so,  remembering  all  the  headaches  and  the  turmoil  the  caused  his  noble  father.  but  his  resentful  thoughts  directed  to  his  father  made  him  consider  this  ludicrous  ideas.  it  was  hilarious  and  it  almost  made  him  smile,  but  somehow,  taliesin  and  his  carefree  way  brought  him  more  happiness  in  the  house  than  both  of  the  elder  waters.

                                     every  claimant  to  the  throne  needs  their  spies  and  their  pawns,  shiera  was  not  wrong  in  pointing  out  how  useful  those  abilities  were.  father  fashioned  her  to  be  it,  in  the  end.  ❛❛ —  you  have  your  qualities,  sister.  do  not  sell  yourself  so  short.  have  claws,  shiera.  I  always  told  you  that.  if  they  fear  you,  they  cannot  simply  erase  you  from  their  minds.  —  ❞  they  were  nameless  and  powerless,  unless  they  made  themselves  known.  and  feared.  he  nodded  towards  her,  they  would  both  have  to  play  for  their  advantages.  shiera’s  was  to  be  likeable,  she  could  turn  her  sweet  big  eyes  and  melt  everybody’s  heart,  it  was  sickening  to  watch.  ❛❛ —  you  do  that.  it  will  be  to  your  advantage  to  play  the  game  that  you  will  be  able  to  convince  taliesin  and  i  of  your  plots.  they  will  think  you  cunning.  I  will  offer  my  sword  to  the  highest  bidder,  I  suppose.  —  ❞  he  shrugged.  would  the  celtigars  need  a  violent  dog  to  do  their  unlawful  dirty  business,  when  things  were  done,  every  ruler  needed  someone  to  commit  the  killings  and  the  threatening  for  them  to  keep  their  hands  clean.  he  was  familiar  to  daemian  and  they  had  the  fighting  connection.  perhaps  that  would  be  enough.  ❛❛ —  our  aunt,  she  is  another  matter.  I  wonder  if  she  will  have  the  guts  to  kick  us  out  of  the  westerling  household.  father  paid  the  servants,  the  guards,  the  secrets.  I  will  reach  out  to  them  to  return  at  least  some  of  their  service.  —  ❞  he  stood  up,  feeling  too  restless  to  be  cooped  up  inside  for  too  long.  the  city  was  in  shambles  and  the  dark  pits  of  king’s  landing  had  a  lot  of  information  to  provide  if  one  know  how  to  look  for  them.  but  before  he  left,  he  proposed  to  shiera.  ❛❛ —  in  the  meantime,  make  yourself  at  home,  you  are  more  than  welcome  to  stay  as  long  as  you  want,  shiera.  for  now,  this  can  be  your  home  too.  and  taliesin’s.  —  ❞  addam  left,  closing  the  door  after  him.

[liver-y]

end.

[steelworn]

it  is  overwhelming  for  her,  to  admit  such  things  to  shiera.  she  had  spent  the  last  couple  of  years  keeping  her  pregnancy  and  child  a  secret  and  now  not  only  does  addam  finally  know,  but  a  sibling  as  well.  part  of  her  had  always  wished  to  take  this  to  her  grave,  however  shiera  was  her  friend  first,  someone  who  falyn  had  come  to  think  of  so  fondly  before  she  had  realized  her  relation  to  addam  and  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  not  telling  her.  "yes."  a  simple  answer,  but  her  voice  shakes  still;  to  admit  such  a  thing  out  loud  after  she  had  spent  so  long  attempting  to  wash  herself  of  him.  "it  was  years  ago,  when  he  had  spent  time  in  the  reach.  he  did  not  know...  not  until  before  the  attack.  he  had  refused  to  answer  any  of  my  letters  in  exile  when  i  tried  to  write  and  tell  him...  he  told  me  he  had  even  refused  to  open  them."  she  laughs,  though  it  is  watery  and  full  of  sorrow.  "her  name  is  rylene,  she—"  a  breath,  but  it  is  followed  by  a  radiant  smile  as  she  thinks  of  her  daughter,  "she  is  bright  and  beautiful,  a  happy  little  girl  that  is  so  curious  about  the  world.  i— would  you  wish  to  meet  her  one  of  these  days?" "and  i  do  not  tell  you  this  because  we  are  bound  by  this  blood  now,  i  tell  you  because  our  friendship  has  meant  much  to  me  over  these  months  and  you  deserve  to  know."  finally  falyn  turns  her  head,  looking  at  shiera  as  well  as  she  can  through  blurry  vision,  "i  hope  you  do  not  think  less  of  me  for  this.  i  know  the  weight  of  bastardy  is  a  long  and  arduous  road,  but  i  do  not  wish  to  let  her  live  by  those  parameters  alone."  there  is  conviction  in  her  voice,  a  mother's  rage  and  anguish  to  protect  the  life  that  she  had  bore.  falyn  would  take  down  armies  for  her  daughter  and  she  meant  every  word  she  had  said  to  support  that  fact.  "your  trust  is—"  she  hiccups,  more  tears  falling,  "means  more  to  me  than  you  could  know."  she  wishes  to  reach  out,  but  she  feels  it  is  too  much  right  now,  her  mind  running  in  so  many  different  directions.  "and  i  assure  you  that  the  place  i  have  offered  you  does  not  depend  solely  on  this,  i  value  you  as  yourself,  not  as  my  daughter's  aunt.  i  shall  find  it  —  within  all  my  power  to  do  so  —  that  you  are  safe  one  way  or  another."

[liver-y]

A secret so great even Addam had not known about it. A relief to some degree, that he had not been precisely as negligent as their father, when he would bear greater burden for his own bastardy... yet the heedlessness had come earlier, when he had chosen to take a noble lady to bed, certainly aware there was little likelihood of their wedding. Shiera took Falyn's hand between her own. How dainty it was. Shiera's bounteous imagination could not produce the image of Falyn swollen with child, nor holding her own. Her own babe... Shiera's niece. "Do you love him?" came the soft question, asked looking into Falyn's teary eyes. Did she miss him in his absence, or think him no better than his cavalier father? Had the sight of Shiera set her wondering about Addam's whereabouts, the night they met?

"I could hardly think less of you for bastardy given my own... my own name, and my own mother." Undoubtedly this woman who spoke with glimmering eyes of her sweet and happy daughter had concerned herself more with her future than Shiera's mother ever had with hers. Yet how odd. How meaningless, for those with every right in the world, to forget the ignominy of baseness. The way it leeched into everything one touched. Small wonder Falyn's bastard was unknown amongst court. "I would indeed... wish to meet my niece, some day. Has Addam seen her, knowing now what he does?" Addam's child interposed herself in Shiera's pictured future. Did Falyn wish to see Addam there, too? Did he? "Forgive my questions, Falyn. My... curiosities," do they sound like the demands they are when I voice them? That was not her wish. "My curiosities come only from my ignorance. But you have been a most kind friend to me," even if it was not always what you meant, “and I will not forget it. Your secret is safe with me.”

[steelworn]

falyn  groans  as  she  flops  back  into  her  seat.  surely  not  he  proper  lady  she  is  trying  to  convince  shiera  she  is,  but  it  was  nice  to  not  have  to  sit  up  straight  and  speak  in  tongues  that  would  secure  something  or  another  for  her  family.  being  with  a  friend  was  easy,  simple,  needed  during  a  time  like  this.  "it  is  nothing  improper!  i  am  just  a  little  looser  with  my  tongue,  no  silver  and  pleasantries  for  them  to  get  ahold  of."  they  are  fond  memories,  perhaps  embarrassing,  but  fond.  it  takes  her  back  to  a  simpler  time  in  life  when  things  were  not  so  chaotic.  when  her  life  was  not  tied  up  in  rumors  and  quarrels,  where  she  still  had  her  maidenhood  and  her  body  was  not  ruined  by  childbirth.  she  sighs,  something  melancholic  setting  within  her  as  she  musters  up  the  courage  to  share  with  shiera  what  she  has  been  hiding.  addam  knows  and  she  has  not  seen  him  in  days,  perhaps  she  has  purposefully  been  avoiding  him,  but  that  is  something  she  will  deal  with  later.  "i—"  she  has  to  pause,  look  away  from  shiera  because  she  does  not  know  if  she  can  say  it  while  looking  her  in  the  eye.  "i  hope  you  do  not  think  ill  of  me  for  this,  that  our  friendship  can  still  prosper  as  i  care  for  you  much,  nothing  shall  change  that,  but  i  understand  if  it  does  for  you.  all  i  ask  is  that,  what  i  say  stays  between  us,  my  last  request  if  it  is  to  be  that."  falyn  takes  a  large  gulp  of  her  wine  for  courage,  lets  the  sweetness  burn  the  back  of  her  throat.  "there  is  a  child,"  she  pauses,  "a  child  of  mine...  a  bastard,  that  i  harbor."  the  words  burn  as  they  leave  her,  but  shiera  deserves  to  know.  "she  is  your  niece."  her  ears  are  ringing,  her  heart  is  pounding,  "addam  —  your  brother  —  and  i...  a  long  time  ago—"  it  was  hard  to  talk  about,  never  having  support.  “we  coupled  and  he  gave  me  a  child,  your  niece.”  her  voice  cracks,  her  eyes  fill  with  tears,  "it  was  never  an  intention  of  mine  to  keep  such  a  thing  from  you."  the  tears  fall  and  leave  tracks  down  her  cheeks,  she  hiccups,  "but  the  safety  of  my  daughter  has  always  been  my  number  one  priority,  but  it  is  right  that  you  know,  even  if  it  puts  me  in  jeopardy."

[liver-y]

A single moment was sufficient to rearrange all understanding of this friendship. Did Falyn mean it, after all, when she said Shiera held great meaning for her yet? Or was it only her daughter's aunt she looked at? Her daughter... her daughter. Shiera leaned further forward. "You bore... Addam's child? Addam has a bastard?" she asked, fingers white about the arm of her chair. Her thoughts raced wild, faster than the waves upon which Lord Alester had crashed. Addam had protected her bodily in the stands as dragonfire and water had taken them by surprise—yet it had been one rare moment from a lifetime of petty rivalries. Addam had seen much that Shiera had not, of the world and of their father's approbation. Shiera had never had the strength to stand strong before their father's judgement. Yet... yet, no rumour of his wickedness or fraternal rivalry would have convinced her of his doing—precisely what their father had.

And saying this he dared yet call the two of them ruined alike? With Father dead, he might—but no. Addam's aspirations would not conclude with Father's death. Lord Tyrell would never support it. And yet... and yet he was not so alone as she had believed. Neither is Tal, she remembered. And who cared so for Shiera? Her eyes skittered down, away from Falyn, to the table of wine and the tile beneath it. "I cannot claim surprise to hear your daughter's security takes your first interest. No word of this will pass from my lips, Falyn." So much she could promise; for her friend's sake as well as Addam's. And the child's. A beautiful child, no doubt; Falyn was all loveliness, and Addam resembled a woman who had likely been near as beautiful as Shiera's own mother. Her lip wobbled at the thought. Had her father not always said she was her mother's own child? Why could Addam not be his father's? "What is her name?"

[firedreamt]

grover's   current   state   of   being   would   require   a   towel   or   several.   mordhred,   unaware   they   have   joined   the   weeping   ranks   albeit   silently,   when   grover   clutches   to   their   hands,   they   provide   pressure   of   comfort   and   no   additional   words.   both   gruffness   and   suspicion   have   faded   for   the   time   being.   they   do   not   wish   to   add   further   distress   to   him   upon   asking   for   details,   and   such   things   must   be   managed   in   their   smaller   stages,   otherwise   it   would   be   overwhelming.   even   for   them,   who   might   decipher   the   truth   of   this,   and   then   what   would   they   do   with   it?   what   kind   of   honuorable   man   would   they   wish   to   be   with   it?   those   are   decisions   for   the   future   of   them.        “        hush   now.   we   need   not   speak   of   it   anymore.   you   have   lived   through   more   than   most   can   dare   to   say.   the   rest   is   simply   trimmed   lace   to   the   garment.        ”        they   glance   to   the   state   of   grover's   bandages,   and   then   get   the   aforementioned   towel   to   dry   his   face   with   before   the   maester   comes   to   change   them.   best   not   to   let   them   see   the   tullys   in   such   a   state.   they   have   no   shame,   but   they   do   have   that   sense   of   privacy.

END.

[retrouviel]

myrcella listened in silence, her breathing still uneven though the worst of her sobbing had begun to ebb away. at the mention of syrenna, her fingers tightened instinctively around the blankets gathered in her lap. alive. her eyes closed briefly, and she drew in a careful breath, one that caught only once before finally settling. "that is more than enough. as long as she's still here." the thought of seeing her sister stirred something restless within her, an almost overwhelming urge to rise from the bed despite the dull ache that lingered beneath every bandage. but even that feeling dissolved beneath the weight of exhaustion now pressing against her once more.

she gave the smallest of nod then. "alright." the word came quietly, without protest. this time, when she let her eyes drift shut, there were no frantic attempts to keep herself awake, no fear of what waited behind closed lids. only the lingering warmth of a hand against her back, the steady rhythm of another's presence beside her, and the heaviness of a body finally surrendering to the haze of sleep once again.

end.

[firedreamt]

shiera's   words   imbue   him   with   confidence,   but   confidence   is   a   very   different   beast   from   the   reality   setting   in.   a   shiver   wracks   his   spine,   though   he   tenses   to   ensure   she   does   not   bear   witness   to   it.   she   would   read   him   as   simply   as   an   open   book,   despite   his   best   efforts,   and   so   this   leads   her   to   mention   more,   to   say   he   simply   must   prove   himself,   but   what   would   that   journey   look   like?   where   might   it   take   him?   stranger   things   have   happened,   this   he   cannot   deny,   and   even   their   father,   known   to   the   realm   as   charlatan   and   named   as   discarder   of   children   behind   his   own   back,   was   still   in   place   of   the   hand   of   the   king   until   such   terrible   fate   befell   him.        “        i   don't   want   to   meet   a   similar   fate.   i   enjoy   my   drinking,   my   revelry,   my   knowing   and   my   going,   but   i   don't   want   to   go   off   a   cliff.        ”        still   she   does   give   him   pause,   and   for   this,   he   steadies   himself.   he   will   not   forget   this   as   easily   as   he   wishes.        “        …   i   will   consider   it   when   the   time   comes.   but   the   time   is   not   now.   we   will   be   framed   as   traitors   at   worst   nor   told   to   be   the   iron   throne's   jesters   at   best.        ”        and   perhaps   taliesin   was   funny,   but   he   was   not   so   funny   as   to   make   a   living   at   it.   a   glorified   doll.        “        come,   let   us   not   linger.   we'll   have   enough   time   to   lay   our   plans   in   the   privacy   of   the   ship's   bottom   we're   banished   to.        ”        such   cruelty   should   not   happen,   they   do   not   expect   it   to   —   but   neither   does   taliesin   put   anything   past   anybody.

[liver-y]

end. 

[steelworn]

"i  wish  we  could  forever."  a  wistful  sigh  leaves  falyn  as  she  takes  a  drink  from  her  goblet.  to  forget  all  of  this,  to  go  back  home  to  highgarden  and  send  an  invitation  shiera's  way  to  join  her,  she  wished  for  that  most  of  all.  "do  not  feel  alone  in  such  a  thing,"  she  lets  out  a  small  laugh,  head  rolling  over  to  have  her  gaze  fall  upon  shiera  instead  of  the  sights  king's  landing  had  to  offer.  "i  do  not  drink  often,  no.  i  fear  my  tongue  is  my  biggest  worry  when  it  gets  into  my  system,  my  father  has  had  to  cover  up  my  friendly  nature  once  or  twice  with  some  nobles."  though  her  eyes  widen,  "i  do  not  mean  it  in  such  a  way,  shiera!  oh  seven,"  she  shakes  her  head  as  laughs  leave  her  lips,  "that  makes  me  sound  like  a  whore  who  leaves  her  whims  to  the  wind.  i  promise  i  did  not  mean  such  a  thing!  i  swear  i  am  a  proper  lady."  was  she  though?  when  the  woman  across  from  her  was  an  aunt  to  her  daughter  without  her  knowledge.  the  more  she  sat  with  the  information,  the  more  she  wished  to  tell  shiera.  they  were  friends  and  they  cared  for  one  another,  falyn  was  sure  she  would  not  do  anything  to  jeopardize  that.  "i—"  she  has  to  pause,  wondering  if  she  should  really  say  something  now,  of  all  times.  "there  is  something  i  wish  to  share  with  you  though,  now  that  we  are  alone."

[liver-y]

Sweet to laugh at a silly slip of the tongue, as though she was no more troubled than with the possibility of poor gossip. What a dream for this to last forever. She could see it, clear as any nighttime mirage; a balcony with the view of the green fields of Highgarden, its famed rose gardens; a cup of rosewater or honeywine; the promise that she need not run or hide or seek shelter elsewhere. False, as all the best ones were. "I would never accuse you of such improper behaviour," with a friendly giggle, lighter than she felt. "Though I must wonder what friendliness your father is forced to conceal otherwise!" Then, a pause; something in her tone felt more sombre than talk of wine and pastries. Meaningful, perhaps. Shiera lowered her glass, setting its lip upon the low table in silence, and leaned forward. Not conspiratorial, merely pleased to listen—to be a confidant in turn, when Falyn herself had been so generous and accommodating. "Whatever is the matter, Falyn?"

[fromashe]

"Yes, my feelings and history with Taliesin is only known to Falyn and well, to a much lesser extent, Princess Delfina." May as well lay all the cards, if it allowed Shiera some understanding. "Because an agreement was reached. In exchange for me reporting the ongoings of my father's schemes and fervent machinations, that House Targaryen would secure Falyn's position and also consider a firm stance on the legitimization of bastards." She hopes that does not allude to too much and that the focus would remain with why Seraphina herself is here to offer some sort of branch, some understanding that speaks to her earnest feelings towards the woman's sibling. "My father will never waver on the perversion of the faith. The alliance between Ceryse and your aunt only make that much more clear. I wanted to make it known to you, as someone who loves Taliesin, who they love equally fiercely, that I wish to be your friend. Or at the very least, I am an ally." She takes a long sip of the wine, finding herself far too verbose whenever confiding in the late hand's progeny.

"I wasn't intentionally careless with Taliesin's heart these past years." Excuses, excuses, excuses. "I didn't dare think that I lingered in their mind the same they had mine. But we've reconnected, promised to speak only truths with one another. You extended your love and care to Falyn who is closer to me than any of my siblings. I wish to return it."

"In truth, if he'd have me, I'd take Taliesin and ours and get as far from this godsforsaken place and build a life together." Marry in whatever customs of the land they found themselves in. She did not need the old nor new gods as witness. Just each other and the few loved ones that matter.

[liver-y]

An agreement with Delfina Targaryen. Shiera bit her tongue. Did Lady Seraphina know of her own agreement, with Maekara Targaryen? Did Princess Delfina? The brief madness of a princess who had just lost her mother need not last past that mother's recovery; meanwhile Shiera's father, once lost, remained so. They were allies in more ways than one, it seemed for the moment, yet one alliance remained thus far a secret. Shiera would not confide it until she knew the lady better. "The legitimisation of bastards," Shiera said softly. "Your sister weds the Lady of House Westerling—and Darklyn. You would see her own claim halved, or reduced to nothing, for Taliesin's sake?"

The thought of their running away gripped her with fear. No, he cannot leave me now! A sole contestant made for poor allies. Addam's sword and title may take him across the realm; love, or whatever this was, take Tal. Then what would come of Shiera?

She swallowed her wine and her complaint in one breath, and looked squarely at Lady Seraphina. "It is kind of you to approach me as an ally and a friend, my lady, but in truth I fail to understand what it is you wish to ask of me. Is it merely a sister's blessing? I will offer it happily where it is Taliesin's wish. If it is truth you seek, I have none to offer you, when I was the one who remained in the dark." Another bite to her tongue, harsh. Shiera forced her gaze away and to the window, where little light shone through that told her anything of worth. She was least equipped in the court of hearts. Even now she could not make whether Lady Seraphina spoke true—if Lord Hightower's daughter could mean her words of alliance with bastards and Targaryens. But if she did… if she did, could Shiera afford to reject her?

Could she, even if Lady Seraphina lied? "I make a poor friend at the moment, Lady Seraphina. But if you love my sibling true… you will have my loyalty, just as they do."

[steelworn]

"no  words  are  needed,  sweetling.  let  us  go  and  rest  with  our  treats."  she  takes  ahold  of  shiera's  arm  and  threads  it  through  her  own,  walking  them  along  the  long  stone  hallways  of  the  keep  that  falyn  was  becoming  too  familiar  with.  it  only  takes  a  few  hallways  for  them  to  find  the  tyrell  chambers  that  falyn  had  made  home  in  for  the  time  being.  nodding  gently  to  her  guard  that  stood  outside  the  door,  falyn  ushered  her  and  shiera  inside  before  anyone  could  come  looking  for  them.  "the  balcony  is  open  for  you,  go  sit."  she  encourages  before  poking  her  head  out  of  the  door.  "ser,  may  you  have  becca  bring  us  some  arbor  gold  and  cakes?"  when  she  gets  a  nod,  falyn  returns  back  to  the  room,  joining  shiera  on  the  balcony,  and  making  a  place  on  the  chair  she  so  often  sat  in  during  the  restless  nights. when  becca  walks  through  the  room  with  a  pitcher  of  wine  and  a  tray  of  cakes,  falyn  thanks  her  before  dismissing  her  again.  like  a  gracious  host,  she  poors  both  shiera  and  herself  a  goblet  each,  offering  it  to  the  waters  before  her.  "drink,  then  we  shall  forget  all  of  our  worries  for  at  least  a  little  bit."  the  lady  of  highgarden  laughs,  something  sweet  as  she  tips  the  goblets  rim  into  her  mouth  and  lets  the  sweet  tang  of  the  wine  fall  upon  her  tongue.  "i  confess  i  do  not  drink  heavily,  tell  me  you  hold  your  wine  better  than  i?"

[liver-y]

Before bright balcony doors and with a cup of wine before her, despondency seemed just beyond reach. It was this she was afraid of losing; it was this she could not hold for long. But she would not push this maudlin state over Falyn, no more than she already had. "At least for the moment," she echoed, taking a sip of the wine. The light tart taste was a familiar comfort; she took only a sip so it would not become a burden of blooming nostalgia. "Neither do I," she admitted, "though perhaps more than I ought. I fear my tongue loosens too easily after a few goblets." And she had always feared developing the ill repute her father had for drink. "A cup of wine brings smiles, and three bring tears. Do you not yourself imbibe much? I will not force it upon you."

[antagonistzz]

vaiora  remains  rather  oblivious  to  the  scene  before  her  —  eyes  glazing  over  the  faces  of  the  two  girls,  offering  only  a  small  smile  to  them  as  she  takes  shiera's  arm.  the  septas  would  help  the  latter,  surely.  it  was  nothing  of  consequence  to  a  lady  who  had  never  known  an  empty  stomach.  "i  take  you  to  feed  the  children  and  you  choose  to  insult  me?"  she  laughs  brightly,  though,  nothing  but  humour  upon  her  lips.  vaiora  would  look  rather  stupid  in  a  habit.  though,  the  white  of  their  robes  would  not  be  so  unwelcome.  her  complexion  was  made  golden  in  the  contrast.  "the  septas  would  love  to  have  me!"  she  insists,  driving  a  finger  into  shiera's  side  —  the  waters  unable  to  escape  the  playful  prod.  "though,  patience  is  the  least  of  my  sins."  hard  to  reconcile  with  a  smile  as  sweet  as  her  own,  as  perfect  as  vaiora  liked  to  present.  despite  her  many  masks,  russett  eyes  trace  the  line  of  the  waters'  smile,  wishing  more  than  anything  to  ease  her  friend's  mind.  vaiora  leans  her  head  against  the  sharp  angle  of  shiera's  shoulder,  thinking  she's  done  a  rather  good  job.  "we  can  return  tomorrow  if  you  are  free,"  the  lady  offers,  only  half  serious,  "perhaps  they  will  need  help  scrubbing  the  sept  of  soot!"

end.

[bethemouth]

of course it is not an offer for now. why does she feel the need to smear on your face the shame of still having to beg for a crown? you know house targaryen has not yet won the moot. who doesn't? so why does she feel the need to open the wound and pour salt over it? your eyes fall to the line of her tensed shoulder, the protuding veins on her neck, the sharpness of her clenched jaw. she is on edge. of course she is. you knew the risk when you approached her, knowing the offer could still feel like a slap, no matter how softly you tried to land it. it is not up to you to decide how others take a bargain after it was sprung out of your lips. once the wind takes the sounds, they become it, belong to it, to be carried wherever and however the wind pleases. still, you listen. you let her spill any arguments she sees fit, to test your bargain, as your own boots stay planted on the dais. along with her twilit inflection, you hear the waves crashing on the shore. the water was roaring below the night you met her. and it was roaring now. "and what if he did? and aegor denied him, over and over again. none of us can truly grasp the extent of their affections. i know i do not." you rolled your shoulders with a slow shrug. of course some people mocked the late king, behind his back, for never having married; for having grown old a barren curmudgeon. and of course there were rumours regarding his closeness to his lord hard throughout the years. you had heard a bit of everything. you even indulged in the jest at times, having never liked neither your uncle or his friend. but you had never set foot in the court of king's landing then, to attest for yourself if any of it was true or just mean mockery meant to prickle at the king's lack of heirs.

but it was a relief knowing she did not dream of the crag. that made dissuading her for duskendale a lot easier. you can almost see it. red and gold and black and silver, the colors draped over her, her raven hair pinned beautifully, as she dances with courtiers that'd now address her as one their own. a golden hue cast over your visions, making everything sparkle. you realize, then, it is not her you are dreaming of, but peace. your lips purse as she exposes your failure as a possibility. and it is. though you yourself can no longer give room for the thought in your head. you breathe in deep and exhale slow, taking one step closer to lord westerling's jewel. "you'll still have a place in my court in dragonstone," you tell her plain. "if ruin comes and fate decides the time for the dragon upon that sword seat has come to an end, then back to dragonstone we'll sail, and you with us. so long as i have your loyalty. so long as i can trust your whispers and aid." you do not tell her, though, that you do not think this refuge will last long. that you believe, deep in your marrow, that as long as any targaryen draw breath, you pose a threat to whatever new house wins the moot, and all of you shall be annihilated. but if she thinks such a forgiving, permissive world could exist, where you could simply go back home and forget--- let her. let her dream of solace under the roof that sheltered you since infancy. if that should happen, you will honor your part of the bargain. "what say you, shiera?"

[liver-y]

Dragonstone. The one place her father too had never set foot. It would have been the ultimate refuge had he lived, the only threshold he would not transgress. With Aegor Targaryen at his side he had held near every form of power desirable to man; with Delfina Targaryen and her brood, none. She had raised the possibility, in the privacy of her own thoughts, that Delfina Targaryen would make an ideal ally in her quest against her father's control—before reason and reality had interposed themselves, and that avenue had closed to her. Now it opened once more, not with the princess, but her daughter. Shiera looked away. It seemed a paltry haven now that the realm entire lay out of reach, no King's Landing, no Duskendale… only a sad rock to which the princess had been relegated once, and would be relegated again in case of failure.

But what else had Princess Maekara on hand? In case of failure, little remained to her. Would you offer the same to the lions or the falcons? she might ask, but the lions and falcons had no need for contingencies. "My requirement is met, it would seem," she said with a smile. Met only, and no more; but Princess Maekara would learn not to play coy with her offers in time. Their agreement could be revisited, when there was something to revisit. She wondered what Addam would have to say about this. What Taliesin would. It scarcely mattered; beggars were not granted the luxury of choice, or chance.

For her own part, then: "I would not lie to those who would shelter me and mine. Trust cannot be asked for, I know, but in time I hope you will see that you may trust what I give you. Whatever you hear from me will be true, or as true as I know it to be." She would not speak of loyalty, yet. It would hold no true meaning, no loyalty beyond that of the convenient and the dependent—and the princess may be untested in court, but Shiera did not imagine she was blindly willing to accept false promises. “Does that satisfy you, Princess?”

[fromashe]

can smiths dye dragons... smiths can't but you can? aila repeats in their mind trying to find logic in the humor. they can't find it. would it not instead suggest that she could have died? or rather, that the dragon died? they trip themselves up in the silliest of a mind fogged by poppy to keep from sitting in grover's equal part dismissal and confirmation of familial love. perhaps in the past, it was enough to know in their heart of hearts but the younger tully needed it said aloud, acknowledged, to keep in recent memory.

"yeah, what secret?" aila pressed in an exaggerated whisper, trying to return to the lighter mood, watching grover toy with the ribbon. they scooted closer, resting their elbows on their knees. "you know i love secrets." she didn't really but she liked being included.

[liver-y]

He twined the ribbon round and round and round his fingers. "I lost your ribbon," he said in a low conspiratorial whisper. "Just before I left Essos. Daemian was already gone and was bored. So I got into a stupid fight and got all my stuff stolen while I was lying face-first in the mud after losing." The humiliation had hurt worse than the actual bruises on him, and the fact that his pack had been taken. This was not true here. He was starting to regain feeling in his toes and that was almost definitely a bad sign, see: a sign that he was going to be in crying-level pain soon enough. He should probably ask them to call a maester. That could probably wait, though. "'s why I was so late. I had to trudge back after them and find the ba—" stop that, go back a step, think again, "—stards who stole my things. I wouldn't really have cared about the pack, but I couldn't exactly come back without my good luck charm, or I'd probably have crashed at sea or something worse." It wasn't the frayed little bit of blue cloth itself; it was how many times they'd handed it back and forth for luck. "They'd already spent half my gold, of course, and I didn't exactly want my clothes back after they'd worn them, so... I took the ribbon and left. I think they thought I was mad." In hindsight: maybe. He thought he was mad just at the moment, too. Mad enough to go marching into face dragons, or think about it. Maybe he hadn't realised that the dragons would be bigger than what the puppeteers had put up, or that their fire would burn hotter than a cookfire. "I almost just... bought another, but I didn't, because I might be mad. Now you know the secret."

[graveruins]

the   smile   that   twists   at   his   lips   is   a   wry   ,       dry   thing.     robbed   of   his   usual   humour   ,       there's   not   even   the   slightest   of   urges   to   point   out   the   fallacy   of   his   wife's   words.   not   when   he   knew   the   root   of   her   ire   ,       and   wished   little   to   add   to   her   growing   frustrations.   while   the   maesters   had   not   confirmed   that   their   son   would   succumb   to   his   wounds   ,       there   was   a   different   sort   of   horror   to   be   left   waiting   as   they   were.   trembling   before   the   winds   of   fate   that   could   blow   just   as   for   them   ,       as   it   would   against.     ❝     it   certainly   wouldn't.     ❞     whether   maelora   wrung   their   necks   ,       or   lorent   their   heads.   the   maesters   were   smart   enough   to   know   that   their   lives   would   be   forfeit   for   assuring   the   life   of   their   son   ,       and   then   to   be   proven   wrong   in   the   aftermath.

     ❝     i   do   not   find   fault   in   your   words   ,       my   love   ,       only concern.   it   is   one   thing   to   seek   for   answers   ,       but   do   not   create   intrigue   where   there   is   none   ,       and   proceed   to   call   it   reason.     ❞     though   perhaps   it   was   lorent   himself   ,       who   always   preferred   the   easiest   way   out.   a   plot   to   poison   ,       discovered   and   dealt   with.   a   neat   and   tidy   ending   for   what   he   referred   to   as   little   more   than   a   distasteful   showing   of   the   court.   he   did   not   wish   to   further   entangle   their   family   into   the   schemes   of   those   around   them. he only sought to offer   their   children   a   chance   to   recover   in   peace.     ❝     and   yet   daemian   is   no   regular   boy   ,       maelora.   even   if   the   blood   ⸻   your   blood   ,       did   not   call   him to the dragons   ,       perhaps   the   recklessness   of   mine   own   did.     ❞     who   knew   whose   legacy   was   that   which   called   or   cursed   him.   pushing   him   to   the   point   of   finding   himself   at   the   mercy   of   dragonfire.     ❝     i'm   not   saying   you're   wrong   ,       but   daemian   will   be   the   only   one   who   can   provide   those   answers   in   truth.   do   not   torment yourself with all the possibilities that have yet to exist.     ❞

[liver-y]

They had rarely shared the same vision. Maelora had always accounted for it as a strength, the very thing that might allow them to act in tandem but without the other's blindnesses, had they ever reason to work together. It seemed otherwise in reality. How he could fail to see the pieces lined up here, she didn't know. Maelora didn't know what they meant, together—yet. There were things she was missing, things that nobody but Daemian would be able to answer, things that wouldn't emerge until there had been an excavation of the destroyed dragonpit, and perhaps not then. Yet that did not mean there was nothing to this.

"Perhaps you're right," she said, turning to face Lorent. "Perhaps it was the blood of Old Valyria or a knight's bloodlust that took him to that street." She would not speak of the possibility of his having been responsible for the dragons' escape. Even if they were not watched and listened to here, she would not create that inkling in their minds, to be spoken aloud elsewhere. Gods knew there were plenty to find reason to point fingers their way. "But his blood did not burn him. His blood did not free the dragons from the dragonpit. Whoever, whatever did—expecting us to have all our eyes on the other end of the city—they've begun a dangerous fight." There would certainly be no more of taking this gathered court lightly. Enough figures with dangerous ideas lingered here to make that impossible. Dragons on the loose; one dead. Hundreds dead, dozens injured.. including two of her own. She stepped further into the room to place a hand on Lorent's shoulder, a quiet reassurance for the promise that was to come: that when he realised this, she would be right beside him. "For the moment you may see me only driving further blindly; you may be right. But these aren't shadows I'm jumping at. You'll see it soon enough yourself. Trust me, Lorent. When they step into the light, or get dragged into it kicking and screaming: whoever did this will answer for it." And she would hear no word of reason then.

end.

[retrouviel]

the gentle rhythm of her stepmother's hand against her back should have soothed her. instead, it only seemed to make the tears fall harder. myrcella pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes as though she could somehow will herself to stop, each uneven breath catching painfully in her chest before dissolving into another quiet sob. she hated crying like this. hated how little control she seemed to have over it. she couldn't even remember the last time she had cried so violently like this.

"i'm sorry... i'm sorry..." she managed eventually, though the words came fractured between shaky breaths. a long silence followed. when she spoke again, her voice had dwindled to little more than a whisper. "syrenna," she swallowed, her throat tightening once more. "is she alright? she was with me --" her breath caught, and she shook her head faintly, as though the question itself hurt to ask.

[liver-y]

An old, familiar pain, to watch the suffering of a sister. Constance had been so young when the Gods took her, and Helvis had not been close enough to care for her. To hear of it in the aftermath was a cruel agony. The fright Myrcella and Syrenna had both undergone was graver than anything Helvis had known thus far, and the thought of watching her own children in such a state left her frightened—and, cruelly, relieved. She only hoped this terror was at an end for House Baratheon as well... that the moment the dragons left the roads leaving south free, they might ride or sail for Storm's End, leaving only a small retinue behind to communicate with. She sighed. "Syrenna is..." could she tell the girl her sister was well, if it was not yet true? "... asleep, as you have been. The maesters say she is in no greater danger than you: now that you have awoken, I pray she too wakes soon." Another stroke down Myrcella's back. "You may see her, if you wish, once you are steadier. But you must rest, Myrcella, and regain your strength."