No Song So Sweet @nightsxng - Tumblr Blog

TRUTH SERUM: If you could change places with anyone, who would you?

“for all eternity? absolutely not. but for a moment... it would be a dream of mine to possess harlon’s talents even for a small amount of time. have you seen that man’s work? it is quite mesmerizing.”

@harlonvflowers

#Anonymous #answered #harlon #and if you look to your right you'll see ave simping over harlon lol

TRUTH SERUM: FMK - Steffon Baratheon, Ryon Blackmont, Rowan Arryn

“i do not think i could bare the thought of killing another soul. but i also do not love any of these men deeply enough for the thought of marriage.” avelley pursed her lips, looking up to ponder the question for a moment. “i suppose i would just have to take all three to bed,” she shrugged.

@stcrmprince @ofthedunes @kingarryn

#Anonymous #answered #steffon #Ryon #rowan

shirazade

Medalion Rahimi photographed by Lionel Deluy

#[ all this and heaven too — visage ]

stcrmprince:

AVELLEY.

he can’t help but to wonder if there is truth to her words as well. honest? is he really? sure, the prince is quite blunt.. but that didn’t mean he wasn’t deceitful. he had been with her, after all. he had filled her head with pretty words, charming her with charisma and a bright smile. but he had been just a teenager then, surely he had changed.. right? at least he liked to think so. steffon tries to be a better man– truly, he does. still, old habits die hard. “of course, my lady,” he replies with a tight lipped smile.

“that is for certain,” he exhales a nervous laugh, accompanied by that bright, charming smile. he does wish for home, for the comfort of salty sea air and whipping winds. yet he is being dragged, yet again, into another war in the name of another king. sure, his sister was to wed the targaryen king but it still frustrates him that he is to fight against the river king for what he had done. though, he supposes, that if not dealt with, the trout will only further spread his treacherous ways. “if i may.. what is that brings you here, my lady? to the vale, i mean. you will not join us in the fight,” he chuckles. “so, what is your plan?” ah, blunt as ever.

a light light laugh escaped her lips at the sound of the prince’s question. she believed he knew her better than that. avelley caron was no fighter, despite her family’s reputation. she rose from her seat at the harp, composed and even-tempered. she would like to admit she had always been so collected, but she knew that was far from the truth. the lady remembered the spiteful words she directed towards steffon baratheon during their youth, cutting and used for her own selfish pleasure.

“always so forthright, your highness,” her head shaking slightly as she made her way closer to him. perfectly tailored silks lightly swept across the marble floors as she walked. “but you are correct. i have no intention to fight. you must know that my talents lie elsewhere besides a battlefield.” it was true, the lady often used her music to escape from the bloody realities that plagued her family. the carons used her talents as a way to turn their pain into something that could inspire an army of men to go out and repeat these cycles. for avelley, it was a way to cope with the suffering of loss and loneliness as she she sought solace in the company of bards from all around westeros.

“fret not steffon. i come with no ill-intent. i am simply here to sing some songs and lift the spirits of men before battle. perhaps even see some old friends in the process.” her voice remained calm with a gentle nature to it. the lady’s shoulders shrugged with a type of calmness that would make any rational person skeptical. her tone remained soft with a gentle nature to it.

#steffon

ofthedunes:

the name of the marcher lords of the stormlands ran instantly familiar to the lord of blackmont; the yellow emblem, consisted of back nightingales were a sight ryon blackmont often saw during his lengthy battles along the dornish marches. it was a sight that would often fill him with a fiery fury; they were his enemy, until his dying day - responsible for the blood of his fallen men that seeped into the infamous boneway. to come across a member of house carron would usually bring forth a spite in the blackmont lord that was simply the way of war; though to come across a lady, in a setting far from the stormlands or dorne, was a matter that seemed to have stumped him somewhat.

“different setting..,” the man repeated, a slightly mocking smile crossing his features. it were as though she were describing differences in the weather, rather than the fact two enemies had been forced together far from a land either of them knew. he briefly wondered whether the lady of nightsong had ever visited the marches; ever seen the men that gave their lives to fight against their enemies. the man cleared his throat, beginning to walk past the woman now, as though he were ready to continue his journey to his intended destination. “quite the understatement.”

a smile. it was a pleasant surprise for avelley, no matter how twisted or cynical the intent behind it made have been. in a place such as this with desires and plans that wagered on the life and death of thousands of men and women a smile was hard to come by in the halls. avelley often found herself wading through a sea of unsightly scowls. looking at the lord she remembered the tales her father told her about the dornish lords and their intent to kill any stormlanders that dare to come in their way. these stories were vivid enough to scare a child and shape their mind. avelley was no child anymore and stories were just stories. the person she called the enemy stood before her and contrary to the tales there were no claws or horns in sight, but rather just flesh and blood. to her, he appeared as harmless as any other man could.

“different indeed,” she muttered lightly as her eyes still scanned the blackmont lord. “but perhaps that’s for the better. being stuck in such a circumstance like the one our two kingdoms have been in can be suffocating to say the least.” her mind wandered to the duality of her family, a house constantly at two ends of very two extremes. on one end laid warriors and swordsmen that would fight until their last breath. on the other end, singers and poets who used their talents to send off such soldiers and welcome them back with songs of their valor.

avelley was almost certain she knew she extreme she rested upon, but the fear of that bloodshed creeping into her veins remained a constant worry in her mind. she made her decision long ago but deep within her she knew there was a wickedness that everyone in her bloodline possessed. “now tell me lord blackmont, have you been able to breathe since your arrival in the eyrie?”

#ryon

stcrmprince:

the storm prince is still getting his bearings. the vale is entirely new to him, having never visited even before the war. it is bleak, though perhaps it has a certain.. charm, if you could put it that way. he had enjoyed when they engaged in drunk festivities, but of course that had been ruined. just his luck. did anything ever go his way, really? no, not really when he thought about it. in small, fleeting, moments maybe but never in the long term. steffon baratheon had been met with misfortune and disappointment time and time again. he would never admit how it all had wounded him, though. not to himself, or anyone else.

the sound of angelic music draws him in. he follows it, curious about its source. eventually, he finds himself in a large room with high ceilings. the acoustics are perfect for such song, and a grin ghosts his features– only for it to disappear when he notices who it is that is playing. with a clenched jaw, he watches in silence. he contemplates walking out. the woman is so focused, she would never notice. but maybe he should stop running from the ghosts of his past.

as he weighs the choices, it is made for him. the songbird notices him, forcing him to smile politely. it had been some time since the two had met.. and it wasn’t on very good terms, either. “uh.. aye, of course,” he answers, words rushed. the stag is rarely flustered, yet he cannot help himself. “you are talented, my lady, but you know that.”

her gaze fell heavy on the man standing before her, peaking behind a heavy lash line. avelley had a history of always let her heart control her actions and if she was being honest with herself then she would still admit that to this day it still did. it was the very heart that allowed herself to shed countless tears for the baratheon prince years ago. she remembered the times when he was her muse and maybe he still was, but just in different tones. perhaps if they were on lighter terms she could jokingly thank him for the heartbreak that was often heard in the timber of her voice. but of course avelley kept those remarks buried deep within her chest while living in fear that those words were would uttered from her lips. she never wished to give the prince that type of credit.

avelley couldn’t help but raise her brow at his steffon’s remark. whether it was merely flattery or there was truth to his words, it was hard for her to trust nonetheless. “thank you, your highness. i’ve always appreciated your honesty,” she said softly with a polite smile. she lied to him. the lady remembered a time where she wished for nothing more than blissful ignorance to avoid the honest truth that the two were never meant for each other. avelley knew now that was nothing more than a wonderfully naive memory now. even though she would like to think she had moved on from wishing any type of ill-will among the prince, avelley simply could not forget the lingering wounds from her youth.

“i’m glad to hear it was enjoyable. i just thought that in a place so far from home we deserve a glimmer of familiarity. don’t you agree, your highness.” her voice remained dignified and sharp, unlikely of her usual tone. avelley liked to think she was well-spoken but never thought of herself as any type of diplomat. she knew very well her skills laid in different places.

#steffon

vjestyca

medalion_r: eat your ♥️ out.

#[ all this and heaven too — visage ]

ofthedunes:

the eyrie was not known for being grand in regards to size; instead it was known to be a beautiful castle, nestled far above the clouds, almost as though it were close to the gods themselves. there were times when ryon blackmont simply forgot about the relatively smaller size of the castle that had been hosting him and his entourage for the last few weeks; that was, until in the middle of the meeting between the dornish delegates regarding how many men they would be submitting to the cause against grover tully, he heard it. if it were not such a serious meeting, perhaps ryon would have found himself able to laugh at the situation; it were not as though the sound was unpleasant - far from it, as it sounded as otherworldly as a voice could.

thankfully, it seemed as though most of the lords had wrapped up their business, and were ready to submit their final say regarding numbers the next day for riyanish martell is fundamentally have a final word on. the lord of blackmont rose from his seat against the rounded table, pushing back his chair and began making his way to his own lodgings, having to pass through a smaller wing of the eyrie painted in navy and encrusted with silver. as the man pushed open the heavy wooden oak door, he found himself faced with the individual emitting such a noise; and perhaps, if ryon blackmont were a man that appreciated the beauty of the arts, he would have mentioned it. alas, the only art the man appreciated was swordplay; with double edged, double handed golden scimitars.

“you wouldn’t hear anything over your noise level.” ryon spoke, his tone not rude but somewhat curt, as though he were pointing out the most obvious of things as he paused in his steps, looking over the figure of the woman that now shared his presence. it was not a face he knew well, rather it was one he was sure he had not yet come across at all. that was one of the major downsides of treading beyond the dornish heat and the dunes he had come to know as his own. far too many strangers, in such a small space, could easily result in tensions brewing and spilling over. “we have not met - lord ryon of house blackmont.”

avelley couldn’t help but reveal an amused smile at his rather honest remark. she was neither offended nor hurt by the shortness of his comment. she could tell my the rigid nature of the man standing before him that perhaps that would be the closest resemblance to a compliment. although, avelley knew she would not lose sleep trying to decipher if that was true or not. “my deepest apologizes then. i’ve been told before that i have never been the best at controlling my noise level. but i do hope it was to your liking nonetheless.”

dark orbs studied the man’s face, trying to remember if she had seen those features in passing once before or shared a dance with him at a ball. her mind drew a blank. that blank didn’t last long as he revealed he was lord of house blackmont. her lips parted slightly at the realization, a small lump forming in her throat. the violence along the dornish marches was no secret among westeros. blood from both sides covered the region and house caron lay in the middle of the chaos, a small bird trying to navigate harsh winds. she may have been a woman of art and pleasure rather than fighting and violence, but even she could not look away from the immense pain the two sides caused each other. the lady had watched as her previous lovers returned back to nightsong wounded, or in most cases in worse condition, from battle along the marches. avelley remembered her own brother giving commands to defend the stormlands no matter the cost. much like her, he was also a man capable of creating beautiful music. yet to her horror he was also capable of causing great destruction, the two sides of him always at odds with each other. it always made her stomach turn.

“you are correct, lord blackmont. we have never met personally, but our houses have, in a very different setting.” her eyebrows raised and her eyes left faltered from his gaze. “lady avelley caron, of nightsong.”

#ryon #lol

a low hum rattled in avelley’s chest and she could hear the melody flow in her mind. she could heard her late father’s lute and when she closed her eyes. the image of him at such peace when playing the instrument bruned into her mind. she wished to remember those memories of him rather than the more painful and most recent ones. her eyes peered open, a warm gaze ever so soft under a heavy lash line. the fondness of the memory caused her lips to spread into a familiar smile. her eyes scanned the empty study ensuring that she were not to bother a concentrated mind.

the tune never left avelley’s attention as the lady closed her eyes once again, vivid colors danced behind her lids. her lungs took in a calm breath and a delicate hand rested gently against the middle of her body as if to steady herself for what was to ensue. in that moment she remembered an old tune that the house bard played when she was a child. she was mystified by the timber in every word he sang.

The Father's face is stern and strong, he sits and judges right from wrong. He weighs our lives, the short and long, and loves the little children.

The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children.

The Warrior stands before the foe, protecting us where e'er we go. With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children.

The Crone is very wise and old, and sees our fates as they unfold. She lifts her lamp of shining gold to lead the little children.

The Smith, he labors day and night, to put the world of men to right. With hammer, plow, and fire bright, he builds for little children.

The Maiden dances through the sky, she lives in every lover's sigh. Her smiles teach the birds to fly, and gives dreams to little children.

The Seven Gods who made us all, are listening if we should call. So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children. Just close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children.

her voice hung in the room and the vibrations coursed through her body. her voice eased and finally silenced as her furrowed brow relaxed. that calmness quickly ended as she heard a slight shuffle from behind, making avelley turn to face the person who had joined her. “my apologizes. it appears i didn’t hear you come in,” she admitted with a slightly embarrassed smile. she was far from shy about her abilities but she tried her best to be aware that she was miles from nightsong and not everyone in westeros wished to hear singing swirling in the halls. “i hope the singing was not too bothersome.”

#[ pls don't kill me for such a long post ]#[ also i dont know what this is i am no bard ]#[ i guess this is a starter idk ]

@stcrmprince !!

the breeze running against the silk of her hem reminded her of home. avelley always found solace high in the mountains, closer to the clouds and the birds. she wanted to feel the air billow beneath her skirts and to feel a type of weightlessness that the lowlands could never offer her. it was no surprise then that the song bird of the stormlands felt at ease in the vale.

nimble fingers gently strummed through each string. it was nearly instinctual to her at this point of her life. long gone were the days when her fingers would nervously shake when she wanted to make her first movement. her eyes narrowed on her fingers, the concentration plastered across her face. the music sounded exactly like it did in her beloved nightsong. perhaps even better as the towering hall allowed for each sound to amplify the angelic melody coming from avelley’s fingers.

avelley thought it almost poetic to see an object capable of so much beauty in the middle of an empty hall as nobles hustled around the castle plotting the death of men they had never met. she yearned to believe in heart of hearts that these men and women gathered here in good faith and peace, but not even the song bird herself was ever so gullible.

perhaps she played to give the souls of the eyrie a moment of peace. maybe if they heard her music in the halls it may be so moving that one single soul might have the strength to pause for a moment and reflect on their next decision. she wished that much to be true. she allowed herself to take a sharp inhale as her fingers finally stopped dancing. she shut her eyes for a brief and allowed herself to bask in the darkness. her breath left her chest as doe eyes opened once again. avelley always took a moment to come back into her body after floating for so long. that’s when she saw him.

she could never forget that raven colored stare. she was unaware of how long he had been standing in her presence, too consumed in her music to notice another person in the room. even if that person was steffon baratheon. a part of her heart did not wish to know how long he stayed to watch her. “was the music to your liking, steffon?”