No Song So Sweet

[ofnightscng]

aphrodite.

laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

apollo.  

glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a tinder account

ares.  

armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

artemis.  

keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

athena.

discerning gaze, unreadable face, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors,  hair done up, can kill you with their brain,  heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes

demeter.  

soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

dionysus.  

drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions,  receiving a standing ovation,  rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses,  masquerade balls,  rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

hephaestus.  

the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

hera.

resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

hermes.  

devil-may-care smile, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court,chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

poseidon.

storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore,stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

zeus.

thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, expensive watch

[ofnightscng]

M E R E D Y T H   C A F F E R E N :

There was something about the man Meredyth couldn’t quite put her finger. He was polite enough, well, he was nice enough to even come help her in the first place with such mundane tasks. She supposed that yes, Renly was to thank for it, but this man was equally to thank for coming when he was asked of it, and she hoped to make sure he knew that. “I thank you both.” She replied with a smile. “Knowing Lord Renly as I do he wouldn’t have just sent anyone to come help me. He trusts you.” Meredyth wasn’t sure if that was a compliment more on Renly’s judge of character, or this man’s person, but she supposed it could be received either way.

After finishing the linen she had been tearing, she reached into a crate of herbs to begin sorting what they may need for different sorts of injuries. Suddenly, she felt a sharp prick on her palm and gave a sharp gasp as she jerked her hand back. She looked down to see a cut about a couple inches long that began to already bleed a bit. It looked worse than it was, but it stung pretty awful. Meredyth peeked back into the crate to see the culprit and noticed a knife had managed to find its way tucked into the pile of herbs. “I have no idea how a knife managed to get in there.” She muttered, going back to her pile of torn linens and attempting to patch up her little wound. “Would you mind tying this off for me?” She asked, holding up her hand with the linen now pressed against the wound. “I apologize, I’ve completely failed to get your name, my Lord.”

Usually taciturn and far from loquacious, if there was one subject that he was guaranteed to voice his opinion on it was Renly Baratheon. Still, compliments made him uneasy and he was quick to shrug it off with an short explanation of just how well the two of them knew one another. “We have known one another for years.” Bryce had always been quick to remove himself from the conversation but he had yet to neglect to mention one bit of praise for the man he privately thought so highly of. “He is a far more worthy Lord than most give him credit for.” With his endorsement of Renly’s character given, he set about tearing as he had been asked to do, pausing only when she approached him once more. Though this time the request was much different and far more unexpected.

Blood was something that he was more than slightly accustomed too when he had spent years forging a life out of his blade and the relief and distraction from his anger that it brought. He knew that there was nothing particularly glorious about violence and he could not claim to be particularly proud of how well he lent himself to it. At that moment he was somewhat grateful for the way he was desensitised to the red liquid, neither hesitating nor balking at the sight of it and instead he simply tied the knot. Perhaps if he were being honest there was more care taken that usual to ensure that rough hands had been gentle in the movements, knowing that the wound would undoubtedly sting. “Is that secure enough?” He wished instead to ask her if it was too tight, unwilling to think that he might have inflicted more pain but he settled for his initial choice of words. Passing the concern in his tone off for concern over the job he had done rather than how she was. His name left his lips simply, never having seen a reason to dress it up any more than was needed. “Bryce Caron.”

[ofnightscng]

While it was hardly a lie that the Lord of Nightsong struggled with interactions in general, he had even less skill in exchanging words with women. He had never struggled to engage with his sisters - at times even favouring them over his brothers - but since he had been left alone in the world and tied himself to Renly Baratheon, he was rarely in their company. Mostly he preferred it when he always felt a certain amount of guilt in knowing that he was blunt at best and impossible at worst, hardly the best of company. He had always, rightly or wrongly, considered women to be more innocent or at least more innocent than the men he dealt with on a daily basis. As such there was always some regret in knowing that he was unable to treat them as kindly as he might have liked.

For all that was usually the case, he found his already thin patience expiring as a rather persistent Reach woman bothered him once again. His answer to her proposition had not changed, nor would it ever alter. Feeling someone near his arm, words growled out without hesitation as he tried to ensure his point hit home “I have already told you to leave me alone." For added emphasis he had turned to meet their gaze and show that there was no room for argument but instead he was met with a face that was familiar for an entirely different reason. All hardness left his features ( or as much as it ever did ) and a penitent expression was left in its place. “Princess, forgive me.” 

Clearing his throat slightly he did his best to address her in a more appropriate, knowing fine well that if someone else had greeted her in such a way they would have been on the receiving end of a glare from him. “I trust you are enjoying yourself?”

@oflioncss​

[viviansternwood]

[ofnightscng]

viviansternwood‌:

sanditon crack: (5/?)

@ofstormlands​

[ofnightscng]

R O D R I K   F O R R E S T E R :

he had never been this uncomfortable in his life. ever since that one incident at robett glover’s nameday feast, rodrik had made sure to avoid parties and celebrations whenever he could. he had never loved to drink, his small talk was a little too small, and crowds made him feel less and less at ease. but the familiarity of the northern encampment had become almost too familiar of late, and the eldest forrester had wanted a moment away from the mess of war and the rigour of spending each waking moment amongst his fellow soldiers. as powerful a leader lord hardyng was, he had arranged the perfect event for everyone - highborn, lowborn, everyone in the middle. it was one night where petty arguments over kings he didn’t care for and realms that mattered little to him were left outside of the inn, and rodrik needed that momentary relief. 

he sipped on a horn of ale until he could feel the tangled knot of his reluctance loosen, retreating into a dark corner where nobody would bother him. but the inn was overfull with people from every corner of the seven kingdoms and beyond, the air thick with the din of roaring laughter and chatter. gathering to his feet, he wove his way through the thicket of guests, finally getting another drink before bumping into someone and watching the ale slosh all over the floor. 

“ my apologies, ” rodrik said to the person he knocked into, a faint smile of apology on his face. he quickly downed what was left in the cup - little though it was. “ i didn’t see you there. ”

Socialising had never been his strength when he found himself too angry at the world to even contemplate getting to know any of its inhabitants. There were a scarce few that made their way into his semblance of good graces and even fewer that he would be seen to be putting up with. In truth a party such as this was his worst nightmare and would rank highly on his list of nights he had no wish to repeat again. He found himself cursing Renly for what was more than the dozenth time for convincing him that the evening would be anything but a terrible idea. Surrounded by people with seemingly no escape without wading through a sea of bodies that he wanted nothing to do with it. Even ale did little to take the edge off it all but he was still sinking pint after pint in the hope that one of them would finally have the desired affect and numb his senses.

Scowl settled upon his features - hardly uncommon for him - when he took a gulp from his tankard only to find he had already emptied it. With just as little regard for everyone else as they showed him, he shoved and forced his way to the bar, expression darkening once more as not only was he bumped into but ale splashed up his feet. Jaw tightened and teeth gritted as he reined in his temper, determined not to cause Renly any issues by starting a fight. “You are far from the first and I doubt you will be the last.” 

Deep breath was taken as he squared his shoulders, determined to salvage something before he left just as bad a taste in the other man’s mouth. “There seems to be something in these drinks that makes us all lose our sense of awareness.”

[ofnymeros]

[ofnightscng]

ofnymeros‌:

“ but i warn you - i’ll break your heart. ”

                                                    “ ALREADY  B R O K E N. ”  

happy birthday! ( bryce caron @ofnightscng )

[ofnightscng]

A room packed full of intoxicated people was hardly his idea of a perfect night and not for the first time he found himself questioning how he had ended up there, despite knowing exactly just how. When word of a party had first left Renly’s lips, his initial reaction had been a firm and seemingly unchangeable refusal. However, with a skill that only he had, the Stag had soon convinced him that he would at least be better being morose and drowning his sorrows with others than moping in a tent by himself. Both things he had personally disagreed with, shooting a glare at the man before eventually - and somewhat inevitable where the other man was concerned - he had relented.

The frown that had etched itself permanently into his features had not softened even with the ale flowing through his veins that was supposed to be able to relax him. Instead he found himself more on edge than ever, suspicious gaze darting around from the spot that he had claimed. For the most part he had been able to avoid interactions with simply a dark look at anyone who thought that they might attempt to engage with him. So far the only time he risked putting himself back into the midst of the boisterous revellers was to refill his ale. It proved a risk too far though when he caught sight of someone he could not quite ignore, though his gaze still remained hard. “I suppose you want one too.” Sliding a tankard down the table to the other man, he picked another up to take a long drink for himself.

@staginrags​

[ofnightscng]

L O R A S   T Y R E L L :

Loras had always been impatient and unable to sit still for longer than it took to realise he was bored. It had been some sort of nightmare when the maesters had said he best remain bedridden for weeks yet, to let his body rest and his ribs heal. It had already been almost seven days, and though he’d had regular visits from his family, and from Renly, the confines of his tent had already become mind-numbing enough that he braced himself against the ache in his chest and had snuck out when old Maester Theron hadn’t been looking. The man had been loyal to the Tyrells for years, he should have known by now from experience that turning a blind eye on Loras was unwise. 

His gait was not so even an fluid at usual, but he managed fine enough. The fresh air and the bustle of the camp was already doing wonders for his happiness, and that was even before he spotted the familiar figure of one of his greatest friends in the world. “Gods, Caron, don’t act so excited to see me.” Loras teased, knowing all too well that though Bryce did not often know the way to verbalise things, that that did not mean he did not feel them. 

“But yes, I am back - turns out it take more than a crew of stinking pirates and a week listening to Talla prattle on about the Targaryen king to kill me.” The ordeal had rattled him to his very core, and it was not something he expected to forget any time soon no matter how much he wanted to rid all memories of it from his mind. “Thanks for, um, holding off on coming to visit. I appreciated the space… it was all just.. a bit much. I’m sure Renly passed that on…” 

Smiles had died on his features years ago but the ghost of one flickers across his lips at the Tyrell’s teasing. “It would hardly to do have you die from shock after everything if I did.” With a nod to what the other man was saying he did his best to follow along despite paying very little attention to the politics that surrounded him. "Talla?” The name was said softly when he was certain that he should know whom it belonged to but his confusion didn’t last long before a brow arched at the other knight’s choice of words. “Is he King now?” 

Words left his lips without thinking, so quick to establish distance between them once again. “I can’t claim to have thought much about it.” It felt wrong somehow to shrug off Loras’ thanks when he knew that for all of their differences, they had just as many similarities. They were both proud in their own ways and gratitude was far from easy to express. And so he mellowed slightly, more words leaving his lips still with gruffness but a touch more sincerity. “You would do the same for me.”

Huff that might have once been laughter was given in response when he had scarcely hear of anything else from the Baratheon. “He did. Along with dozens of other pieces of information. He is glad to have you back.” There was a weight to his words that silently added on the sentiment that he too was glad. He struggled to voice things when caring left himself vulnerable but he suspected that The Knight of Flowers had begun to see that there was more to his words than simple bluntness. “Though it seems as though you have left me without a capable sparring partner for a while?”

[ofnightscng]

M E R E D Y T H   C A F F E R E N :

Meredyth was glad to finally be of some use around the camp. She felt that the only thing she had going for her was being able to sing to keep people distracted. She didn’t think any of the injured would really care for that, and being able to care for the wounded was a big deal to her. She managed to come by a medical book that she was constantly referring back to. She took over her tent with ease, preparing supplies and going to nearby villages asking for cloth and herbs, or finding some for very affordable prices. She couldn’t rememeber the last time she slept more than simply resting her eyes, but she wanted to be fully prepared when they arrived.

As Meredyth was sorting linens for beds and those she would tear apart for tourniquets, she heard the voice of a man that almost made her jump. Tired, round eyes turned to see who it was. Her dark hair was pulled back into a braid that nearly went down to her waist. “Actually yes, thank you.” She replied, her airy from the exhaustion she tried so hard to hide. Meredyth gestured for him to come to her. “I need help ripping these linens up, long pieces. I imagine I’ll need to bandage lots of wounds and don’t want to run out.” She began ripping up pieces for examples. “I appreciate you coming. Who sent you?”

While there seemed little point denying that he had never felt at home even in Nightsong after the death of his family, he felt even more out of place in a medical tent. He had always been on the other side of the blade. The one inflicting the wounds that would cause a man to end up in such a place and so rarely was he the one to require assistance himself. That was not to say that he was infallible with a sword but rather he always had a stubborn refusal to neither ask for help nor even need it. Determination to remain self sufficient and not to rely on anyone for even the smallest of things meant that he had been stitching up his own wounds for as long as he could remember.

Still, there was something close to admiration felt within him for all those who had gathered with the intention of healing and helping others. He could not remember the last time that he had felt so altruistic. With a small nod of acknowledgement he set to work on what she had asked. “It is Lord Renly you have to thank, not I.” In his opinion the Baratheon did not receive nearly enough credit nor acknowledgement and although he did not say much, he would ensure that those around him knew who to thank. “I suppose we should pray that there are not many who find their way here.” He did not mean for such bitterness to come into his tone, gruff words still managing to have some bite in them, when she seemed like a decent sort. Perhaps just as tired of it all as he was. But his dislike of the gods was strong enough to cut through the censor that he usually imposed upon himself.

[ofnightscng]

R E N L Y   B A R A T H E O N :

there had been a moment, the briefest inhale and exhale of a shaky breath, when he thought that perhaps he wouldn’t go mad with grief. but ser cortnay had seen his collapse coming; he’d heard the break in his voice when he’d discovered the scouts had returned with nothing useful, he’d seen the wild look of defeat clouding his eyes and the way his fist curled tight around the tyrell pin he had scarcely let go of since the attack. ser cortnay had been the one to grip him by the arms and lead him to his tent. but renly had been the one to reach for the wine, gulping it down like he was gasping for air and begging for some sort of reprieve.

he was kneeling on the floor, arms braced forward against the cold silks of his bed - silks that still smelled of loras. and he knew he looked terrible: long, dark locks  pulled from their ribbon and left in disarray, shirt wrung so tight in his grip that it was near ripping. renly’s gaze was unfocused, but whether that was from tears or drink, he could not care. 

“ i thought if i pretended to pray, ” he began at the sound of someone entering his tent, his words were slurred, barely even intelligible. “ then perhaps the gods would give me credit for trying. ” the stormlord laughed, humourless and watery and uneven. one look told him it was bryce and even if there were two of him filling his vision, renly couldn’t stop from laughing again. “ oh, you look remarkably like lord caron, god. ”

as his friend picked up bottles he had strewn about the tent, renly rolled his eyes hard enough to leave him clutching his head for a moment. “ leave them be, bryce. ” tears were stinging his eyes again, and he knew he had to stop. nobody ever died of a broken heart, but he knew they all wished they had. settling back on the ground, he patted the patch of carpet next to himself, gesturing for the man to sit - his outstretched arm a demand for the fresh bottle of wine. “ because i seem to have lost loras, and picking up bottles won’t fix that. ”

Judgement had never been something he had allowed himself to get sucked into when most of the time he found he hardly cared all that much for the world around him. He rarely formed opinions let alone a judgement. Even if he were someone who gained pleasure or enjoyment from picking flaws in others, he knew that he would never begrudge someone the way that they chose to handle their grief or distress. He hoped that Loras was no totally lost to them but he would not fault Renly for how he was reacting in the wake of his disappearance.

Mention of the gods brought forth a quiet but bitter-filled scoff when he had long since stopped believing that the Seven truly cared about any of them. His own prayers had ceased years ago when he had no one else left to pray for and had instead decided to attempt to take his fate back into his own hands instead of relying upon an abstract concept. Dark mutterings left his lips with little intention of Renly actually hearing them. “Good luck with that.”

Comfort was something he struggled to give, silver linings always nonexistent to him and a bright side always elusive. Yet he found himself attempting for the man who had ensured that he had not felt entirely alone in the world when he had lost his family. “Lost things can be found.” The words are heavy handed perhaps but he did not believe that Loras’ absence would be permanent. “He is no different.”  

Sigh escaped his lips and for once he stood his ground instead of bending to the other man’s wishes. “Do you not think we ought to make this place presentable?” As of yet he had not heard much about any plans to launch a rescue effort but given how many were taken he doubted it would be long before such talks started. “Perhaps so you could entertain those who might help?” 

[ofnightscng]

A part of him had perhaps wanted to volunteer as part of the rescue effort but with Renly remaining behind he had known where his duty lay. He had never been one for glory, all the hours he had spent training simply a way for him to distract himself from his grief and channel his anger. It had never once been about the cheers or adoration but rather a coping mechanism to try to handle the hand that life had dealt him. All that seemed beside the point though when he knew that Renly was not himself and despite his determination to never confirm their dynamic, he would not see the other man left to his own devices. Nor would he leave him alone to help defend the camp when the Caron knew which of the two of them held more skill with a blade.

Patience had never been a trait he had learnt, far too angry at the world to even consider allowing it the time to bring things to fruition. He had been stalking the border for quite some time before his pacing seemed to become too much for the Stag and a suggestion was given that he might find himself of more use elsewhere. Glare had been shot in the other man’s direction but for all he lacked patience, he was never disobedient and he so he made his way to the tents where preparations were taking place to aid those who would be return. Clearing his throat upon seeing the first young woman who seemed to be busying herself, gruff words left his lips to explain his presence. “I was told I could be of service in here.”

@meredythcafferen​

[ofnightscng]

Days had past since the kidnapped had been returned to them after a carefully orchestrated attack from the mind of some Westerlander had been carried out. He supposed that they perhaps owed some thanks but he had seen how they had all put petty squabbles and their own egos above uniting until Renly had spoken up. Perhaps it was his own bias but he thought if anyone should get some credit it was the Baratheon. If he hadn’t spoken up he believed that there was every chance there would still be arguments now instead o the the rescue having been carried out successfully.

He knew its success meant that Loras Tyrell was back within the camp again although likely under the watchful eye of his family and their maesters but he had not considered going to see him himself. Although that was something of a lie, the notion had crossed his mind only for him quickly decide that he did not wish to see someone he almost considered a friend in that sort of state. Knowing what he did of the other man’s pride, he was certain that the Tyrell would not have thanked him for the visit either.

Busy unsaddling his horse, a glance over his shoulder told him that he had no need to seek the man out when he had already found his way back to their camp. “I see you are back then.” Gruff, blunt words left his lips betraying none of the relief that he felt that the Knight of Flowers had emerged from his capture whole enough to recover. When he did privately acknowledge such feelings he dismissed them as simple relief for his Ruling Lord and claimed that it was only selfishness that he would not have to deal with a grieving Baratheon. 

@armouredrose​

[ofnightscng]

There were few people left in this world that he could say he truly cared about and fewer still that he would ever express that to. Even when he did give a hint that his attachment might run ever so slightly deeper than simple necessity, it was never shown verbally. Instead it was demonstrated in ways that he considered subtle, so much so that even he himself did not realise the meaning behind the gesture until later. With little news of the kidnapped he had been doing what he could to return them all to them but in the wake of a seemingly dead end, he had made haste to find Renly, snatching up a bottle of wine on the way.

He may have neglected his own feelings and emotions years ago when it had been easier to welcome rage to chase away grief, but he was not blind to those of others. It seemed obvious to him that there was far more to the bond between stag and rose than simple camaraderie. He had never been one to pry into the lives of others but on this matter he felt even less inclined to all that mattered was that he knew that the loss of The Knight of Flowers would be affecting Renly greatly.

           ( If he were ever to be honest he might have been able to admit that at least                                 one part of him was feeling the absence of Loras Tyrell too )

Entering Renly’s tent without announcing himself he looked around the space, instantly spotting the almost countless number of emptied bottles. Gruff words leave his lips and though there was no real judgement in his tone the words were still pointed. “I thought you might have needed this but it looks as though you’ve had no trouble acquiring some.” Setting the bottle down he begun to pick a few of the others up. 

@ofstormlands​

[chaosrpg]

[ofnightscng]

chaosrpg‌:

Skill with a blade that flashes like lightning and clashes like thunder && responsibility set aside in favour of recklessness - a death wish born from loss.

THE STORY SO FAR

On a typically stormy night in Nightsong, Bryce Caron came quietly into the world. His brother and sisters soon followed and the young Carons grew up lively and short tempered. House Caron had defended against invasions from Dorne for generations and Bryce grew up a keen swordsman with an almost insatiable urge to learn battle strategy. At the age of twelve he was sent to Grandview to squire for Lord Hugh Grandison and further his training into becoming a great knight like all those before him. Barely a year later he was told that his whole family was lost to him, a chill claiming all their lives and leaving him alone in the world. Instead of immediately riding south back to Nightsong, he was invited east to Storms End by Renly Baratheon and he spent a few weeks there while the funerals were being prepared. Eventually though he knew he would have to head back to a home that now simply felt like any other building when almost all of the life had been taken out of it. Full of grief and rage the young lord threw himself even harder into his training and began to craft himself into more of a weapon than a man. 

The news of the death of Robert Baratheon reached him by a raven from Renly and a life that had not altered for years suddenly changed. Without hesitation he made his way to Renly’s side and has remained there since, stoic and loyal and willing to do whatever it takes to protect the man he owes so much to. He continues to keep himself isolated from all but a select few, even resisting meeting his betrothed. Estranged from his bastard half brother, a part of him knows that he should have reached out and somehow unified the two of them but bitterness over the discovery of his existence keeps him from reaching out.  He is uncertain of both is future and the future of House Caron when he knows without doubt that he would die for his lord should the need arrise.

HEADCANONS

His family had always prayed to The Seven and Bryce himself had been quite devout growing up, praying daily to The Warrior in the hopes that he would be able to become one of the great Caron knights. After his family’s death however he prayed to The Father relentlessly for a year for both their souls and also hoping that somehow the world could be made right. That year passed though with his faith faded every day and now he is left with little else but contempt for the Gods, only finding bitterness in the knowledge that his family’s deaths were part of some plan.

He has always maintained that no one could ever fill the void that his family left in his life but there are a few people who have come close to forming something of a pseudo family for him. After his first trip to Storms End he found himself returning almost annually. While he might claim it was only to keep Renly happy, he got far more from the visits than he will ever let on and to this day is unsure of what kind of shape he would be in had it not been for the insistance of the other man.

There is very little that he has left of his family when in one particularly bad bought of grief and anger he ordered most of Nightsong’s furniture to be sold or burnt because it reminded him too much of his family. It has all since been replaced with other pieces but he feels some regret over the action when he feels as though the soul has somewhat gone out of the place. He still has odd pieces of clothing from his siblings but with each year he grows older, the size of the clothing were tortures him more and more when it is only a reminder of how much he has grown without them.

[planet-onfire]

[ofnightscng]

clarissamorgentsern‌:

Sean Teale, Reign 2x18 [Part 55/?]

[ofnightscng]

tag drop

knuckles white & teeth gritted trying to hold in the storm ||

he tastes like determination & desperation & self destruction || about

made of crooked grins & hot blood & eyes on fire || portraits

chaos brewing underneath his skin like tectonic plates crashing & grinding || inspiration

only content when he’s in the eye of a storm || aesthetic

words scream within his heart & are the drumbeats to his bloodbaths || interactions

his veins are always burning with hot hungry blood || words

far too many storms inside for just one soul to hold || headcanons

he wants to be strung up in a strong light and singled out ||