@ofchrysalism - Tumblr Blog

# ofchrysalism › but whose heart could not take a flight? betray the moon as acolyte

a dependent blog affiliated with theconqueringhq. written by ari. dni if unaffiliated with the group.

At the water gardens; during the wedding festivities | starter for @ofchrysalism @rxgality + 2 more spots

Dorne. A place Aemma had never thought she would step foot in. Not after what happened with her mother and her dragon. She still remembers where she was when she heard the news. How the only thing sent back was the skull, a dragon skull, and now here she stood. The lady was conflicted by many emotions. On one side, how could her uncle think it was okay to have people of the Vale and Stormlands attend and not think something won't happen. On the other hand, it was his home. He grew up here amongst the dunes and under the Dornish sun. It just made her want to scream after everything that has happened in the past few months. As she toured the water gardens, she was lost in thiughts before she bumped into another person. "Apologies my liege, I did not see you there. My mind is elsewhere.:

ofchrysalism

esra had been walking without much purpose herself. the heat still felt strange against her skin after all these years in the south. she thought perhaps the water gardens could soothe her from it. the collision startled her briefly before features came into view, and immediately the corners of her mouth curled upward.

"we have got to stop meeting like this," she said lightly, amusement warming her voice as she steadied aemma by the arm.

the jest faded softer after a moment, concern slipping through in its place. esra studied her quietly --- enough to notice her friend's confliction.

"how are you? truly." the last word was spoken more gently, careful in a way esra rarely was. after all, she knew dorne was no easy place for aemma to stand in.

#ft ... aemma arryn.#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ esra‚ interactions.

location: somewhere in sunspear starter for @rotfyres ; @roseflamed ; @twitch0famel0dy ; @dcstiniesfm ; @shambleslily !

the hour had long since drifted past reasonable. sunspear had quieted into something softer now --- distant footsteps swallowed by the corridors and music reduced to a faint hum.

on a terrace, rowena sat alone beside her cyvasse board. one hand rested beneath her chin as she studied the arrangement of pieces before her, eyes tracing the battlefield with patient precision. a dragon cornered near the mountains. heavy horse positioned too boldly. an exposed king that would not survive more than three turns if its player had been less sentimental.

playing against herself had always been more enjoyable than most conversations. at least the board attempted to surprise her.

the soft click of a piece against lacquered wood broke the silence as rowena moved another piece forward with delicate care. only then did her gaze shift toward the presence lingering somewhere beyond the candlelight.

"you've been standing there quite awhile," she finally spoke up, attention drifting back toward the board. "i was beginning if you intend to haunt me all night."

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ rowena‚ interactions.#i gave myself a headache trying to understand cyvasse for this istg

location: grand bazaars within the winding walls starter for @gildedheirs ; @rotfyres ; @twitch0famel0dy ; @glittxeringgold ; @shambleslily !

despite the relentless dornish sun hanging heavy above, sybelle moved through the crowded pathways seemingly untouched by the heat. around her, merchants called out over one another and the air carried the mingling scents of spice, incense, and warm stone.

it was the fabrics that captured her attention. sybelle's fingers drifted almost absently across a bolt of dark red silk, the material slipping smooth beneath pale fingertips. beside it rested another silk --- midnight blue. both appeared black until the light struck them properly. beautiful, dramatic things, both of them.

decisions, decisions.

"which do you suppose is more charming?" she mused softly. one might have thought she was speaking to herself, were it not for the other person standing beside her. "the blue resembles twilight… but the red looks wonderfully like old blood beneath candlelight."

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ sybelle‚ interactions.

location: feasting hall

starter for @rotfyres ; @dcstiniesfm ; @roseflamed ; @accidentalss ; @shambleslily ; @fxll3ncr0wns !

the feasting hall had long since dissolved into noise. music drifted through the warm dornish evening, mingling with goblets clinking together and the low murmurs of nobles gossiping with each other. servants passed through the crowd carrying platters piled high with roasted meats, sugared fruits, flaky pastries dripping honey, and enough wine to drown an army.

and somewhere near the far end of the hall, partially hidden behind an unnecessarily large decorative pillar, esra was practically committing crimes against decorum.

"one more," she whispered to herself for what was probably the seventh time.

her plate was already concerning. at this point, it had stopped being a plate and turned into something resembling an architectural project --- little honey cakes stacked beside spiced nuts, slices of blood orange, and two skewers that definitely hadn't been offered directly.

the problem was that dornish food was good. offensively so. and every time she tried to leave, someone walked by carrying something else that smelled incredible.

it was most definitely not her fault that she was here trying to stuff a handful of candied almonds into her napkin "for later." unfortunately, that was the exact moment she noticed someone staring, prompting her to lower the almonds slowly.

"what?" she said in defense after a beat, "i was being efficient. imagine having to walk all the way back here later."

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ esra‚ interactions.#just greedy as helllllll

missbluebiird

open! 1/5 (but i'm easy honestly)

Dorne could piss off.

Myriame sat perched on the lip of a marble fountain. The heat of the air suffocating her. Her skin,usually the pale cream of winter, had ripened to an angry, stinging pink. She fanned herself with a desperate, rhythmic vigor, but the lace fan only served to blow the same stifling hot air.

She eyed a trio of beautiful Dornish ladies stroll past, their silk gowns whispering against the ground. They glanced her way, she was certain of it, and their laughter sharpened. It wasn’t exactly clear if they were laughing at her but it certainly felt like they were. They faded into the distance, their laughter ringing in Myriame’s ears.

Dorne really could piss off.

If she had thought Kings Landing was hot eight months ago, this was on an entirely new scale. Give her the North. Give her grey skies and biting winds, the sharp breath of the sea and the blessed chill that seeped into bone. Anything but this.

She glanced over one shoulder, then the other. The courtyard was momentarily empty, the guards retreated to the deep shadows. With a low groan, Myriame abandoned all pretense of being a high born lady.

She lunged forward, plunging her head into the fountain.

Oh it was bliss.

She held her head underneath the water and let peace take her. The water was tepid by Northern standards, but against her scorched skin, it felt a mercy sent by the gods themselves. She stayed submerged, ears filled with the dull thrum of the fountain’s pulse, letting the silence of the water drown out the oppressive heat and the memory of those gorgeous ladies. For a few moments she wasn't a lady out of her element, she was just a creature surviving.

The feeling of a presence behind her broke her momentary tranquillity.

“What?” she snapped, wrenching herself upward.

She looked a drowned rat, and she knew it. Dark, sodden strands of hair clung to her cheeks, and water cascaded from her chin, darkening the bodice of her gown. She blinked rapidly, droplets clinging to her lashes as she glared at the intruder through a blurred, watery veil. Although she couldn't quite make out who it was, “Have you never seen a woman try not to melt where she sits?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

ofchrysalism

myria watched the entire ordeal in silence. or rather, she had intended to remain silent. right until the northern lady resurfaced from the fountain like some furious, half-drowned cat dragged unwillingly from a river.

her amusement in the end, won. a laugh slipped free before she could stop it. low, warm, and entirely unashamed.

"gods," she said between the fading remnants of it, dark brows arching as she leaned lazily against the carved stone pillar behind her. "forgive me when i say this, my lady, but you looked so peaceful beneath the water that i nearly felt guilty interrupting."

and yet, you could not find an ounce of apology coating her words.

the heat did not seem to touch her in the same cruel way it did the other woman. dorne rested easily upon myria, woven into the bronze glow of her skin and the languid ease of her posture. gold glimmered at her fingers and throat alike, catching beneath the late afternoon sun, while thin silks shifted softly around her in the dry breeze.

at the sharpness in the stranger's voice, however, her smile only deepened.

"frequently," myria answered through her amusement. "though usually with less commitment. most stop at a splash of water to the wrists."

#ft ... myriame manderly.#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ myria‚ interactions.

location: somewhere on sunspear

starter for @missbluebiird ; @accidentalss ; @roseflamed ; @northaern ; @glittxeringgold !

the sun had long since begun its slow descent across sunspear, though the heat still lingered stubbornly against stone and skin. myria, however, seemed entirely unbothered by it. draped languidly across a cushioned seat beneath a shaded terrace, she looked more like some pampered desert cat than a lady. a half-finished cup of dornish red rested near her lips, dark as spilled blood and twice as sweet.

sunspear breathed as it always did -- laughter mingling with the sound of water and music. myria paid little attention to any of it. her focus seemed fixed instead on the amber glow of sunlight spilling across the palace walls, eyes half-lidded with idle contentment.

until, of course, she felt it. a stare. a lingering one, not the casual glance of someone admiring her from afar.

slowly, myria lifted her gaze towards its source. one dark brow arched almost lazily, though there was something unmistakably impatient beneath the gesture. her expression did not shift much beyond that, yet the look in her eyes spoke clearly enough.

yes? if you intend to speak, then speak. and if not, do not try to waste my time. her eyes seemed to say.

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ myria‚ interactions.#cant u tell shes spoiled 🧍‍♀️

valtsv

*sexily runs through the big gothic castle*

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ sybelle‚ musings.

accidentalss

status: open (2/3)

the heat hovering over sunspear softened after dark, settling over the palace like silk while music and laughter spilled from crowded courtyards below. nobles from across the kingdoms drank too much wine beneath fluttering banners, smiling through rivalries and whispering about the controversial wedding as though lowering their voices made their opinions less obvious.

trystane watched it all from the shade of an orange tree overlooking the feast, a goblet of dark wine turning lazily between his fingers. politics disguised as celebration. old grudges dressed in silk and gold.

his gaze lingered briefly on the flames burning from the braziers below.

eight names flickered through his mind like prayer.

then movement caught his attention nearby - someone slipping away from the festivities in search of quieter air. the easy curve of his smile returned at once as he glanced toward them.

“escaping the celebration,” he observed smoothly, lifting his goblet slightly in greeting, “or simply looking for somewhere quieter to watch the kingdoms pretend to like one another?”

ofchrysalism

rowena had not intended to flee the feast. she had simply reached the limit of her tolerance of crowded smiles and half-veiled barbs dressed as pleasantries -- though, truthfully, it was far more likely her patience had been little to none to begin with.

the sound of the stranger's voice drew her attention before she had fully registered his presence. when she turned, she regarded him with the composed coldness she regarded most things with.

"both," she answered simply, the word cool and precise. "though i suspect 'pretend' may be too generous. some of them are barely trying."

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ rowena‚ interactions.#ft ... trystane sand.#putting him with the worst of my muses sorry trystane

violetamaisonx

closed starter for @ofchrysalism sybelle tyrell nee arryn, hours after their arrival.

where: sunspear. dorne.

finally the long arduous journey to dorne has ended. The eight months that have gone by since the fatal days at the red keep were behind him. Loras had no reason to care about that. His brother gyles had married, which was eventual in of itself. loras spent most of the moons in highgarden, finally being the father and husband that his family has missed so much because of his position.

“I wonder when the serenity of these celebratory times shall be put to an end because of chaos?” he chuckled, finding amusement if this historic occasion is interrupted.

ofchrysalism

dark skirts grazed against the sun-warmed stone beneath sybelle's feet. the black gown she wore seemed out of place beneath the dornish sun -- long sleeves of soft silk, silver sings glinting fabric as dark as mourning veils. and even against the colorful colors around her, the dark fabric looked natural on her. like shadow following faithfully at someone's heels.

sybelle couldn't help but to curl her lips at his words. "do not jest carelessly, my love," she murmured, though amusement lingered openly within her voice. "chaos is terribly fond of being invited."

her hand rested lightly against loras' arm as they wandered through the palace paths. sunspear was beautiful in a way she could appreciate, though she could not allow herself to become too distracted by it -- not when there was a reason she had asked him to walk with her tonight.

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ sybelle‚ interactions.#ft ... loras tyrell.#omg he shaved

shambleslily

At the evening feast/performance on the 2nd day; during the wedding festivities | starter for @missbluebiird @sword-born + 2 open spots

She carefully studied the performers as she swirled the wine in her goblet as she walked. It was only a couple days since arriving and she was growing accustomed to the food. Emberlie wondered if there was a possible way to take some of rhe spices back with her to the Golden Tooth. Surely there was someone she can make some sort of deal with, she thought before stopping to watch the performance with a curiosity look in her eyes. "I wonder if they are telling a story once more or if this time it is merely a show?" She asked to the other who stood near her. "Or what do you think?"

ofchrysalism

marissa had known dorne would be warm. but knowing something and living it were entirely different matters. back in the riverlands, the breeze carried rain and river mist, two things she had known her entire life. here, the wind felt sun-soaked -- heavy and endless.

distraction had always been one of the things she excelled at. keeping her hands occupied and her attention fixed on something manageable rather than letting discomfort settle too deeply beneath her skin. and tonight, that distraction came in the form of performances graciously provided by their host.

"all shows become stories eventually, do they not?" she said evenly, her head tilting just slightly towards the lefford lady. "but if it is a story, i confess i have not yet learned enough of dorne to understand which one."

#ft ... emberlie lefford.#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ marissa‚ interactions.

"all wives must cheer for their husbands, don't they?" marissa had once heard that from an older noblewoman at riverrun when she was younger -- spoken with the sort of laugh that implied the answered mattered less than the performance of it. even now, years later, those words lingered unpleasantly in the back of her mind as she crossed the sunbaked grounds of sunspear.

the dornish sun pressed heavily against her shoulders despite the light fabric of her grown, warm winds stirring loose strands of jet black hair from where they had been pinned back earlier that morning.

marissa had spent the better part of twenty minutes searching for her spouse with little success, which, truthfully, did not surprise her. most conversations between them always felt as though both of them stood at the edge of a frozen lake after all. still -- the desert race was dangerous enough that even her prideful nature could not justify remaining absent.

so she searched -- only to find his palfrey instead.

at least one of them were willing to be found.

menyce huffed warmly through her nose as marissa stepped closer, producing the half apple she had stolen from a grazing table earlier. her expression softened in a way it rarely did around other people.

"there you are, sweet girl," she said, holding the fruit carefully. "where is he, hm? surely you know better than i do."

the palfrey merely nudged impatiently towards the apple. marissa couldn't help but exhaled a faint laugh beneath her breath before feeding it to her piece by piece, fingers smoothing carefully along the horse’s neck afterward.

lucky creature. at least she understood rhogar better than their own wife did.

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ marissa‚ interactions.#ft ... rhogar qoherys.#BYEEE this ended up being a marissa ft menyce instead

ofchrysalism

her gaze rested on aemma with a quiet, unnerving stillness as the words spilled from her. there was no impatience in it. she committed each detail to memory, weighing not just the man described, but the way aemma spoke of him.

when silence finally returned, it lingered, before sybelle finally spoke up. "a fool, perhaps," she murmured at last, her tone soft, touched faintly with something that might have been amusement. it was, after all, a troublesome sort of affection to cultivate, given the… delicate state of things between dorne and the vale. "but still human."

her gaze sharpened then --- not unkind, but more grounded.

"i have little say in how your father and brother choose to regard it," she continued, voice smooth and measured. "nor can i pretend their concerns are without reason. the world you belong to is not a forgiving one, dear niece. it does not look kindly upon... complications."

"but what i can say is this," she stepped a fraction closer, just enough for her presence to feel certain, anchoring. her expression eased, just enough to be felt. "what you feel is not made lesser simply because it is inconvenient. nor is it made foolish because others refuse to understand it. whether it endures or not is a different matter entirely --- but do not let them convince you that the feeling itself is something to be ashamed of."

shambleslily

Aemma did not deny that it hurt a little to hear her aunt call her a fool but when she said still human, it made her feel a little better. She was not wrong though. The young Arryn was a fool in love with a man from the region that took her mother. The only that took down a dragon and yet here she was giving her heart away to a man from the dunes. She stood in silence as her aunt spoke.

The world you belong to is not a forgiving one, she understood what the words meant. The people of the Vale loved her mother and if they were to hear about her and Cassian, they could revolt. Or worse her Uncle would do something about it. They would not allowed Dorne to have another dragon, let alone one to the household that was the Martells fighters.

If anything Aemma felt reckless more than shw felt ashamed and this only solidified that despite everything that was happening, she was allowed to feel loved. At least that was she interpreted her aunt's words. " I will take your words at heart. It seems I have much to think about when I return home." She answered with seriousness before she smiled once more. "But enough about me, I want you to tell me all about the little ones"

end.

#reblogging so i have this on my blog!!#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ sybelle‚ interactions.#ft ... aemma arryn.

liexpressway

But once he is gone who will I have?

tiktok / icarly / unknown / @/mothman / An Oresteia: Agamemnon, Aiskhylos / Bumble Ardy, Maurice Sendak / icarly / A Little Life, Hanya Yaragihara / The Fall Of The House Of Usher, Steven Berkoff / A living Chattel, Anton Chekhov

ofchrysalism

@promisednight

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ sybelle‚ musings.#ft ... ronnel arryn.#sybelle can sigh all she wants #but thats still her brother fr

rxgality

"Of course there is," he scoffed, arms folded as he neared her, too proud to admit that he had lost this time. "But they mostly are, the look of the surprised maids running around like a chicken with their head cut off are enjoyable" he laughed brightly before rolling his eyes.

"Is that code that you've heard of the betrothal?" he asked, sighing slightly, "damn our sibling for forcing me into this. You make one small mistake and suddenly you're forced to marry your best friend" he groaned. "Honestly it's quite unfair for her"

ofchrysalism

"our sibling told me." rowena's expression did not shift as she answered.

unfair. how lightly he said it --- how lightly the word seemed to sit on his tongue. rowena had long since learned that unfairness was not some rare misfortune, but the quiet, constant thread woven through every arrangement, every expectation, every duty placed upon them. still, none of that showed.

instead, she exhaled softly through her nose, her gaze drifting over him with a measured sort of calm. "i must say you are rather lucky," she began, almost contemplative. "not all of us are afforded such a luxury to marry a friend."

there was no bitterness in her tone --- at least, none that could be easily named. only a quiet certainty, the kind that came from long familiarity rather than fresh hurt.

#sigh rowena my most bitter muse #₊ ˚ ⊹‎ rowena‚ interactions.#ft ... jayse redfort.

roseflamed

ꕤ

THERE'S A SHIFT IN the air, a subtle sharpening of the tension as she closes the distance. he doesn't flinch as her gaze locks on his. he has seen men recoil from the sight of his mismatched eyes. but myria looks at him as if he were a map she is learning to read. ❝ restless, perhaps. ❞ he concedes in a manner entirely unlike him, voice dropping into that low resonant scrape of iron on stone. he doesn't look at the path ahead, nor at the struggling attendants. his focus is a singular, heavy weight anchored entirely on her. ❝ but untethered implies a lack of weight. i carry enough iron to sink a dozen men, my lady. it just does not happen to be rooted in the dirt. ❞ he takes a step to match hers, his rolling gait steadying as he aligns himself with her pace. he is acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her, entirely differing from the dry heat of the dunes surrounding them. ❝ hellholt keeps because it chooses to. ❞ the greyjoy echoes as if testing the weight of the claim on his tongue. he lets a slow, dangerous glimmer of a smile touch his own mouth - the kind of look a kraken might give a lure before it pulls the line taut. ❝ a bold boast in a city where everything is for sale and nothing is permanent. tell me, lady myria... what happens to the things that don't want to be kept ?? ❞

ofchrysalism

what happens to the things that don't want to be kept? what an amusing question. her lips curved, faint and knowing, as his question lingered inside her thoughts.

"they resist," myria said at last, a light shrug followed shortly.

funnily enough, everything --- everyone --- resisted at first. it was almost instinctual, that need to remain untouched. and yet, given enough time, they ended up wanting it. to be chosen. to be kept.

myria had been the one to make them want, after all.

"they insist they won't be kept," she went on, her tone unchanged, airy in a way that made the words feel almost inconsequential. she did not look at him right away this time --- her gaze drifting instead to the sand-strewn street beneath their feet as she walked on, unhurried. "they're usually wrong."

"hellholt has a memory for things like that," she added. not quite a warning. not enough to be a confession. "it doesn't forget what it has kept --- or taken."

the wind shifted, carrying with it a faint trace of something acrid beneath the dust --- sulfur, heat, something burned long ago and never entirely gone.

"not so long ago, someone thought herself untouchable here," myria continued, her voice dipping just slightly, as though the thought amused her more than it should have. "fire and blood, and still---"

she let the rest fall away, finding it unnecessary to finish. all of westeros knew the tale.

her attention settled back on him then, anchored and unwavering, though her pace remained unchanged --- as if none of it required more than passing mention.

"hellholt does not ask what you want, viktor," she murmured. "it does not bargain."

#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ myria‚ interactions.#ft ... viktor greyjoy.

roseflamed

i have picked up the quill and set it down a dozen times before finding the courage to let the ink meet the parchment. there is a weight in my chest that i fear only these words might begin to lift. i must start with an apology, though even that feels insufficient. i have failed you, esra. as your elder sister, i should have been a steady hand and a clear example of what it means to be a stark. instead, i allowed my own selfish heart to cause a rift in this family that i am only now beginning to truly understand. i let you down. i let our house down. and for the part i played in the discord that followed us from the south, i am deeply truly sorry. i can only hope that, in time, you might find it in your heart to forgive a sister who was too lost in her own shadows to see the light she should have been providing for you. it feels strange to speak of happiness amidst such regret, but i want to be honest with you. things with theo lannister are... growing. he has a way of seeing the world. of seeing me - that i did not expect to find and perhaps do not deserve. but there is a steadiness there, a commitment that i am learning to lean into. it is a quiet sort of thing. it is real - and it is helping me find my footing again as i try to make amends for the past. enough of my own world. how are you, little sister ?? i find myself wondering what your days are like, what you think of when you look out at the horizon. if the air feels different now that we have left. it is a bitter grief to realize that we may feel more like strangers than sisters. we should have grown up together... sharing secrets over needlework and racing through the halls of winterfell. i hate that we have been robbed of that. and i hate that i was too preoccupied to fight harder to bridge the distance between us sooner. please, tell me everything. i want to know the woman you have become, even if i have to learn it one letter at a time. with all my love

@ofchrysalism

ofchrysalism

the letter sat on esra's nightstand for a fortnight before she picked up the courage to reply to it.

to my dear sister, alara

i read your letter more than once before deciding how to answer it.

you ask for forgiveness. i will not give it to you --- simply because i see that there is nothing to forgive.

#she def contemplated briefly whether she should spoke of davos further or not lmao #ft ... alara stark.#₊ ˚ ⊹‎ esra‚ interactions.

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