gilded lion

[waywardwraiith-deactivated20250]

where: the closing feast, outside in the courtyard

alysanne had had quite enough of talking to lords eager to pounce on the fact that she is an unmarried targaryen and thus far, promised to no one. many lords had approached her in efforts to impress her, and she really was having none of it. there were perhaps one or two that lingered in her mind, but even then... no, the decision would ultimately be up to her parents. no use in getting her hopes up.

she ventures out into the courtyard, admiring the godswood in the pale moonlight. there is a chill in the air as well, though she welcomes it. she's always run rather warm, after all.

there is the sudden sound of footsteps approaching, causing her to quickly look over her shoulder. a polite smile pulls at her full lips just then, though she is slightly disappointed that she is no longer alone. perhaps the company could be nice, though.

"lord lannister," she greets him with a small curtsey. "a pleasure as always... what brings you out here?"

@ofgildedlions

[ofgildedlions]

Lancel’s feet had grown heavier and his bright eyes dimmer thanks to the Arbor Gold. These days, he oft feigned his liveliness, but could only keep up the act for so long. He could only greet, laugh, and gladhand so much, especially with his body still sore and bruised from the tournament. Eventually, after feeling suffocated at the feast inside the Great Hall for the last hour, the promise of a cool breeze outside had beckoned.

Merely a step out, he felt like he could breathe again.

When he caught sight of an unmistakable Targaryen mane in the courtyard, he approached but kept an honest distance, quickly nodding his head in return to the polite, pretty smile that greeted him. Out of habit, he smoothed his hands over the lush, red velvet of his doublet, straightening it as well as himself.

“Your Grace,” he said, his tone proper despite feeling like he had drunk half his weight in wine. “The cool breeze called,” he answered. “Inside had begun to feel like a hot maze,” he admitted. “And yourself?”

@cflegends

[queencersei]

“The Rock, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head.” 

[ofsummerschildren]

Seven kingdoms united or no, it remained clear that northerners and southerners retained their differences — some of which could be acknowledged with no more than a cursory glance.

Despite efforts made, each night's feasting in the great hall saw those who were born north of the Neck lingering around each other — safety in numbers, mayhaps — while the remainder of Valaena's subjects entwined themselves in one another. Bethany did not mind this entirely; there was a comfort amongst her own people that she could not claim existed in other circles.

The arrival of an outsider was all the more notable with such invisible lines drawn. A golden head held high stood out clearly amongst the others, and as the young lord moved Bethany could not help but to observe. "Are you perhaps lost, my lord?" She called as the man approached the long table where she sat with others, "you have wandered some way from your own kind."

@ofgildedlions

[ofgildedlions]

Wandering some way from his own kind had become second-nature to him. As a younger son, lesser in some eyes, Lancel had achieved much on his adventures, traveling the Seven Kingdoms, and making a name for himself that did not hinder the reputation of his great house. Draped in Lannister crimson and backed by Lannister gold, wandering did not equal escape, and so he gladly enjoyed the fruits of his labor and the gilded privilege of his name.

“Curious, more than lost,” he answered quickly, his attention snapped away entirely by the woman’s soft voice. Bright eyes were soothed by her beauty, clear even in the dull flames of countless torches near their end. “Not that I don’t value your concern,” he added with a smile.

Judging by the look of her and those at and around her long table, his aimless wandering had brought him North. Whether the sudden chill he felt was due to them, or due to the young woman’s beauty alone, he could not say. As if to warm himself, he brought his ornate, golden goblet, adorned with garnets to his lips and took a long, satisfying sip of his Arbor Gold.

@ofsummerschildren

[ofsummerschildren]

Daena grimaced as she glanced down at her skirts. A late rain in the evening prior — combined with the copious horns of ale and chalices of wine which spilled freely across the ground — had left the dirt muddied, and the worst of it clung to her hem as she moved towards the pavilion of Lord Lannister.

The younger, though not the youngest Lord Lancel Lannister had approached the Targaryen Princess during the previous evening's festivities. While she had expected that the knight might seek her hand for a dance, his intentions had been bolder still — he had requested her favor to grace his lance at the tilts.

She had been surprised enough to say yes without much thought.

In the wake of his loss against Vaegon, she thought it only right to see after him. She did not think her cousin had dealt the lord much harm — save perhaps to his ego.

With a brief preamble by the man's squire to announce the arrival of the Princess, Daena ducked her head inside the tent. "You rode very well, Ser," she said by way of greeting, "I am only sorry that I could not offer you better luck. Vaegon is a fair rider even on the worst of days."

@ofgildedlions

[ofgildedlions]

Ser Lancel Lannister’s ego did not bruise easy, but the debate whether it or his body was more the worse for wear after his loss in the final match had proved taxing. In the short term, wine might prove a happy remedy. In the long term, he might kick himself over his mistakes until his next tournament win, which he assumed would follow in the coming weeks.

He did take solace knowing that he and the victor had given the crowd a show. Both had proved stubborn in their resilience and had piles of broken lances to show for it. Though Vaegon’s winnings were double his, Lancel was also soothed by the weight of gold now locked away in his chest at the foot of his bed. Not that a golden lion was ever wanting.

All the better if Vaegon proved difficult over his ransom.

When Humfrey, one of his loyal squires suddenly came into the spacious pavilion upright and chin up, Lancel was quick to his feet, quick to receive his announcement, and straightened all the more when he saw his beautiful visitor.

“Your Grace!” he said surprised, but warmly. “A fair rider, indeed,” he agreed, despite his ego. Vaegon was her cousin after all. “But it was your favor that got me to the end, I think,” he quickly countered, offering her his golden smile.

@ofsummerschildren

[ofgildedlions]