NORTHMAN.

[ncrthron]

*  ♔  ◟     (   mark rowley,   thirty - one,   cis male,   he/him/his  )     the  capital  of  king’s  landing  welcomes  theron  of  house  umber,  the  lord  heir  of  last  hearth.  news  borne  by  raven  sends  word  that  they  are  reputed  to  be  strong-willed,  but  with  the  eyes  of  court  watching  their  every  move,  they  might  prove  to  be  surly.  when  songs  are  sung,  their  verses  speak  of  the  crush  of  fresh  snow  beneath  a  hunter’s  leather  boots  &  secretive  glances  exchanged  in  dim - lit  rooms  &  smoke  rising  from  a  fire  under  a  clear  and  starry  sky.  whispers  throughout  the  seven  kingdoms  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  house  targaryen  of  dragonstone,  where  they  conspire  to defend  the  interests  of  the  north  and  its  loyal  houses.  but  in  the  end,  fealty  means  little  when  you  play  the  game  of  thrones.     ⸻  bonnie,   twenty-eight,   cdt,   she/hers. 

statistics.

name. theron umber. title/occupation. lord heir of house umber. origins. last hearth, the north. age. thirty-one years old. gender. male. pronouns. he/him/his. orientation. heterosexual. religion. faith of the old gods. status. unmarried (on-again off-again with wylla manderly rip) languages. common tongue. allegiance. targaryens of dragonstone & the north. traits. brooding, strong-willed, stubborn, robust, self-focused, loyal, temperamental.

background.

TBD!

[devotdelor-deactivated20240808]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for the second part of chapter one

Nothing welcomed a Tyrell back to King's Landing quite like the death of a Targaryen. The second-born son of Highgarden delighted in the spectacle. It took a great deal of self-control to not visibly frolic before the Crown Prince during their questioning. Instead, Amaury committed himself to meaningless chatter, with the answers his Prince sought from him being scattered about. All with a baffled and disturbed expression embroidered onto his handsome face. There was suddenly no place in Westeros he would rather be, though he did quickly find himself bored with the dragon-riders. His attention quickly turned to the other nobility before him, all shaken by the death of a woman they blindly respected; all disoriented from their long-awaited one-on-one interactions with their Crown Prince being probes into a murder. Amaury’s mask was still intact, but he could see that many of theirs were not. Invoking his charm — one of his few redeeming qualities despite his reputation — he made an effort to socialize and enchant his peers. His mind took note of every wording they chose, the tones of their voice, and to whom their eyes flickered to as they spoke. By his fifth glass of wine, he had wandered off once more, goblet still in his hand as he paced the dimly lit hallways. He saw someone pass him who was walking alone. Curiosity got the best of him and he followed them aimlessly. He was too deep into the wine to care about the heaviness of his steps announcing to the person before him that they were being accompanied.

[ncrthron]

Likewise, Theron felt a mix of intrigue and exhaustion in response to the recent turn events had taken, though he felt far more of the latter than the former. Even without the turn to tragedy, he had to admit that the enormity of the gathering simply grated on him. He had always had little patience for crowds, all the moreso for crowds whose temperaments had taken such an abrupt, uneasy shift.

He had hoped that his escape from the gathering might go unnoticed, but the sound of footsteps behind him betrayed that this had not been so. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing at once that his new companion was one of the young Southron lords, who seemed to be watching him with interest. "I promise I have no excitement to offer you, my Lord," he said, weary as he met the younger man's eyes. "Do you need something of me? I am simply looking for some relief from the constant chatter of the hall. By the gods, it seems no one in Kings Landing can ever silence themselves."

[ncrthron]

@ironforged (wylla manderly). near the encampment of the northern houses, night.

Theron had admittedly not been prepared for events to take such a dramatic turn as they had. It seemed that one moment, they had all been enveloped in festivities; the next, the city had been draped in mourning. He could not quite decide whether it made things more interesting, or even less appealing, though he did know one thing for certain: it spelt danger for everyone.

He had seated himself by one of the roaring campfires, considering his thoughts as sparks flew into the sky, when a glint of platinum hair had caught his eye. He knew immediately who it was, and stood without thinking of it to follow, his long legs quickly catching up to the liege's stride.

"Wylla," he called, a certain tension to it. Despite the fact that they had all been camped so close together, he had hardly had an opportunity to speak to them, and so he availed himself of it now. "You ought not be walking around by yourself at this hour." He knew very well that they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, and yet he still felt a protective instinct. "Are you well?" He paused, and then added, a bit more hesitantly. "And the boys?"

[pl4ythes0ng-deactivated20250915]

🐸 erena reed - day two evening, in near the blackwater rush. open starter ( 0 / ? )

the blackwater rush is infamous for its various ( irksome ) smells and though the crown has, undoubtedly , tried their best in purging it - river’s core can not simply be perfumed over for the sake of delicate lords and ladies who do not know the true smells of nature. erena knows and adores all that smells and looks naturalistic, so a simple boat cruise was not enough to quench her thirst of meeting the river first - hand. with this knowledge , under the veil of the hour of ghosts , erena greets the river. she is waist - deep in the water , her leather boots , layers of cloths and the length of her hair soaked as she stares past her reflection for a movement of fishes that have yet not gone to sleep. moss the frog sits on her shoulder whilst fungi the frog near the crown of her head. glancing over her shoulder briefly , she greets her newly acquired company with a confident statement. “   i think i can catch a trout for you.  “

[ncrthron]

"There is no need of that, my lady, though I do admire your confidence." There is an air of amusement in Theron's expression as he watches Erena there in the water. He knows her only vaguely, but he knows at least that she is of the North, as he is, and that she is loyal to the Stark banner.

He sits on the edge of the river there and watches her wade, shaking his head. "I don't know how you can stand it. Being amidst all that filth," he muses. "I know you come from the swamps, but this city is a different kind of foul altogether." He wrinkles his nose. "Hot, crowded."