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@ofhornvale
@roseofhighgardcn​ | tytos + margaery | cersei’s bore
he was on his very best behaviour - not that he wasn’t always. but after the nuisance that had been the northern celebration, the long drawn tedious bore of smiling his most captivating smile and pretending through his teeth that he didn’t want to murder a certain man at his own wedding, his patience was wearing thin. he ought not have worried, though. greeting cersei lannister with the knowledge that she couldn’t keep her grip on the westerlands for much longer was reward enough.Â
it was by chance that he turned around when he did, still laughing at his brother’s jest, when the lord of hornvale caught sight of a certain and unmistakeable tyrell. he had seen her for just a brief moment in the godswood mere days ago, gaze drifting to her even if he should have been watching the wedding ceremony instead. it was hardly his fault; lady margaery’s beauty was famed, her reputation something to be lionized. he didn’t know what he had been expecting when their paths finally did cross, but the most he had managed was a roguish smile before he turned his attention back to tybolt.
intoxicated on a mixture of innate confidence, the very best summerwine, and an unexpected streak of good luck, tytos wove his way through the crowds of nobles; abandoning his untouched drink on a serving maid’s tray and straightening up just a little. “ lady margaery, ” he began, his grin winsome even as he tilted his head in greeting. “ i did hope to introduce myself at lord stark’s wedding, but i never found the chance. ” he was a lesser lord with a rakish reputation, and she was a widowed queen from highgarden: even if she wouldn’t remember his name come daylight, tytos wasn’t one to be deterred. “ though perhaps i’m lucky i was invited here tonight. ”
@lianevance
HARRY HARDYNG
Inspired by the lack of inspiration that had been Cersei Lannister’s gathering, the Young Falcon had been struck with an idea. In truth he had enjoyed the other evening well enough, if only because he knew how to turn a bad night into a good one. But a determination had filled him to provide a good night for everyone and looking around the room at his handiwork, he was almost certain that he had achieved his aim. Dressed from head to toe in blue so that he would be easily recognisable as host, he had been making his way around the room ensuring that everyone was having the best of time - one that they would talk about for years to come.Â
( perhaps if he were being honest he could admit that he had not only chosen the blue to be more easily spotted but perhaps to remind everyone of his ties to House Arryn and the position that he might one day hold )Â
Laughter poured out of him as one guest took to a table to serenade the room, turning to whoever was nearest him to share his enjoyment of it all. “Now this is a party, even if I do say so myself.” There was still an air of confidence behind his words that erred on the side of cockiness but he felt if it was justified at anytime then tonight was the night. Mostly though he had meant it in jest, anything to bring a smile to someone’s lips. Noting their empty hands, he motioned towards where they were all being served intent on steering them towards the alcohol. “Come, let’s get you another drink.”
while he had gone to cersei lannister’s party and the northern wedding out of political necessity - spending most of both appearing to be the perfect guest, whilst mumbling under his breath to tybolt - harry’s party was easily the best departure from all the stilted nonsense they had to bear since arriving at the capital. but he had miraculously persuaded his best friend to accompany him to the inn that night, a ridiculously smug, victorious grin splashed across his features the entire ride there. if nothing else, it was the quintessential excuse to finally relax after the last few weeks and celebrate tybolt’s news. maybe when they were all drunk on bad ale and good wine, people might actually admit that none of this would have been possible without the boar’s rescue plan. he wouldn’t hold his breath.Â
but instead of dwelling on his own sentiments regarding the lannisters and the starks that night - tepid in the late hours of a busy afternoon, broiling at any other point - tytos abandoned his drained goblet and made his way towards the host.Â
“ no one’s ever accused you of throwing a bad party, have they? ” he asked around a laugh, dark eyes bright with mirth even as they fixed on harry’s blue attire. as high as honour, indeed. clapping a steady hand on the other man’s shoulder in greeting, tytos conceded to the idea of more alcohol. he was softer around the edges at that moment, but he didn’t need to have his guard up anymore - not around harry, of all people: the valeman was an old friend, and the lord of hornvale could appreciate him bringing everyone together like this. ( he could also appreciate the wine. ) “ i’ll never say no to another drink - but only if you’ll join me. ”
a savage a n t i n o u s
the glint of an amethyst unicorn against a shield of pure silver; dark strands falling into darker, weary eyes; deep laugh lines framing a smile of unmistakeable charm; the shadow of a lost man kneeling in front of the mother’s statue; the thunder of rebellion ringing loud and clear into the abyss of the night sky.
THE STORY SO FAR
tucked away in the mountains of the westerlands, flanked by the thunderous rush of the red fork and sitting in the shadows of the golden tooth, was hornvale: a young boy’s little escape from the world. but lord andros brax was no simple-minded nobleman; he raised three knights, trained from birth to always surpass what was expected of them. and tytos was his firstborn - his heir, his pride, the perfect son he had built piece by piece. he was always smart, but never smart enough; he was always skilled with a blade, but never skilled enough; he was always charming to a terrifying degree - and well, nobody could beat him at that, could they? tytos had worked hard to balance what was expected of him and his doubts: the polished, unwavering and charming man, roguish and bold and challenging in a way only firstborn sons could be, and the quieter voice in his head that wasn’t all too sure what to expect from the world. but he soldiered on - enjoying a life of ease with his brothers, embroiling himself in political debates over wine stolen from his father’s collection with tybolt crakehall, and whiling away his nights with the most interesting person he could find that evening.
he was still outgrowing his one-man teenaged crusade to become the prodigal son when the greyjoy rebellion chased it away for him; a swift dose of reality he couldn’t hope to avoid. tytos went off to war tybolt, young men fighting a war they barely understood - a war that wasn’t even theirs, but one they would never be able to forget. by the time he came back to hornvale, he had shed his fanciful ideas and rebellious antics: he had fought and bled for his lands, the least he could do was learn how to rule them. the stag-king’s death had mattered little to him - at first. the man had left a lannister queen to inadvertently rule in his wake, and that could only work in their favour. but then the ironborn had begun to show up on their shores, just like they had all those years ago, and it wasn’t long before the northerners followed suit: forcibly taking stronghold after stronghold across the westerlands before they found themselves at hornvale. the three brax sons had made their escape from the only home they had ever known - gathering what men they had left and riding out to join the only man they could put their trust in. it didn’t escape any of them that cersei hadn’t come to their aid; it wouldn’t be forgotten, not when they all knew that tybolt crakehall was the lord paramount they deserved. but tytos was too smart, too in control, to allow his rage to seep to the surface like other men always did. instead, he appeared to be a cocksure lord of nowhere, while his distracting smile hid the great violence he wanted to wage against the north and the lannisters.
HEADCANONS
before his mother had died only a year past, she had hinted that perhaps tytos wasn’t his father’s son - but his uncle’s son instead. it had been a quiet moment with nobody else around, but the words had been said and could not be unsaid or unheard or ever forgotten. he hasn’t breathed a word of it to anyone else yet, and his father went to his grave never learning the truth either: instead, tytos succeeded him as lord of hornvale, his younger brothers unaware and unquestioning of the falsehood they believe to be true. maybe if he was a better man - maybe if he was a more honourable man - tytos would step down and let robert or flement assume their ancestral seat instead. but with the westerlands in total chaos and their own lands now controlled by northerners, he isn’t about to risk the stability of a whole kingdom just to do the stupid thing. his mother’s confession may not even be true, and deep inside, he knows he would be better at lordship than either of his brothers ever could.
tytos wears a chain around his neck: an intricate braid of gold that used to belong to his grandmother and her grandmother before her. his father used to say that wearing it was a bad omen, that the chain was cursed and wearing it would bring nothing but bad luck. but he’s never been much of a believer in luck - luck’s just a four letter word for giving up too easily and not trying hard enough. it’s complacency and defeat. tytos didn’t mean to start wearing it. he had stashed it away to pass it down to a daughter one day, if he ever had one. but now he wears it to prove a point, just because he was told to do otherwise. he lost his parents and his lands and his identity when it was just a trinket sitting in his bag, he isn’t about to care about luck ever again.
when everything else became too burdensome, tytos would escape to a secluded spot in hornvale where a large window would open out to the mountains and the headwaters of the red fork. it was a place where you could only see water pouring over rock and dirt, and the din of the terrifyingly fast river rushing past was deafening. it was where he would kip with his books or leisurely spend time for hours at a stretch, drowning out the many thoughts crowding his head. it’s the one thing he misses most about hornvale, especially since he doesn’t know when he might be able to see it again.
tag dump !!!