they followed only strength

[ofwcsteros]

Competition between brothers had always seemed so commonplace in those around him growing up and it had at times felt expected of him and his brother throughout the years, especially when they were close in age. So close they were practically twins. But he was used to being in his brother’s shadow - at times he almost preferred it - and more than anything used to coming in second. For the most part he could bear it, after all it left him without the weighty expectations that rested on the elder Merlyn’s shoulders. He’d long since reconciled himself with the fact that Jasper would always be ahead of him, it was the way that it had to be for the good of their House. There had never been any long lasting resentment of his brother, plenty of fleeting moments but nothing enough to colour or cloud their relationship. He begrudged his brother nothing in this life but there was no denying that there’d always been one person that he had spent years wishing that he might to come first for. 

It was difficult for him to pinpoint the exact moment he had fallen in love with Gyselle when it felt like he began falling from the first moment he had met her. Found her captivating, endearing and impossible all at the same time, knowing that he had to do whatever he could to remain close to her. Her friendship had, and always would be, enough but he would not be slow to admit that in spite of all his virtues he was not immune to his flaws and could count jealousy among them. He was certain that he would have envied whichever man had her affection but it was only made harder by the knowledge that he had fallen short of his brother once again. This time in the one aspect of his life he had hoped it would not be the case. Not when the three of them had always been something of an inseparable trio, taking every chance to head out to sea that they could and he had been lulled into a sense of security that the affection between the three of them was equal. But he could not miss the glances that she sent his brother’s way. In truth he was did not know how Jasper could miss them still. 

Whilst their trips became more difficult with age, they still made every effort to take them but inevitably Jasper had becoming increasingly needed in house affairs, leaving him to play consolation prize once again. He had risen early to prepare the boat, knowing there would be more to do now that they were a pair of hands down, and he was almost finished when he heard someone approaching. Figuring that it could only be Gyselle, he called out to her in something of a warning whilst his gaze was still fixed on the knots he was tying, hoping to spare himself from having to watch her face fall at the lack of his brother. He could do without his heart dropping the same way he knew the smile would drop from her lips. “He’s busy.” A few beats passed as he checked the rest of the ropes, hoping the delay might have allowed her some time to put excitement back onto her features. “You’ll have to make do with just me again - think you’ll survive?” Teasing grin was flashed her way, finally moving towards her as he held out his hand expectantly. “Coming?”

@ofthefirstmen​

[ofthefirstmen]

Every once in awhile, Gyselle would wake up, struck with guilt on how she couldn't even recall the last time she had thought of her family or their small, secluded island. She'd see her father once a year or so, when he made the week's sail to Great Wyk for lordly business, but it had been years since she had seen the rest of her family. And it was always then she realized just how content she was with the Merlyn brothers and the rest of her community of Great Wyk, feeling more free than she ever had on Lonely Light.

Though, with it having been years since she had stepped foot on the land, she wondered if her memory of it was accurate. And while she had once thought of Great Wyk as just the start of a much larger adventure, she realized as the years passed and nothing in her life changed but her age, if Great Wyk had become her new Lonely Light. And thus her jealousy of Jasper, soon to be off on a new adventure to Pentos, continued to grow as his date of departure drew ever closer. Jealousy, the bucket of cold water dumped on to the warmth of complacency.

"Of course he is," she responded, a bit haughtily, "Off stroking the wood of his fancy boat for his fancy voyage while staring off into the distance dramatically, most likely." She finished her complaint with a thump as she dropped into the small skiff. "So I guess you will have to do. Just no silly business."

[ofwcsteros]

a kiss on the back of the neck + helaena/sygerrik

Fingers had been busy working themselves over the laces at the back of her gown when the sound of footsteps approaching ended with rough fingertips wrapping around hers, stilling them. It wasn’t the first time he’d silently offered to help but even still there was a moment of hesitation before she yielded to him ( a rare occurrence when it came to him or anyone ) and moved her hands away so that he could take over. Silvery hair was swept over her shoulders in a further show of willingness to have him aid her in this moment. She supposed that to some leaving herself somewhat exposed and open, leaning on him when she could do it herself, would have been a sign of weakness of vulnerability. Not too long ago she might have counted herself among those cynical. But it now seemed to instead declared a certain level of trust between the two of them. A mark of how far they had come in their first few months together. Perhaps even a show of strength that they had finally set pride aside enough to allow themselves slowly merge their paths and lives together instead of simply living them separately.

The somewhat rough but still careful movements of his hands had been expected. That feeling of her gown slowly being drawn together was a familiar one, after all, and she’d adjusted to his more heavy handed methods. She’d been surprised the first time he made such a gesture but now she found herself pleasantly surprised whenever the notion took him to act in the spur of the moment. They were both far more inclined to spontaneous or sporadic in showing their affection and she found some comfort in knowing that if nothing else they were similar in that way. There was a certain reassurance in the predictability of their unpredictability. 

But for all she was used to occasionally expect the unexpected with her husband, the last thing she would have predicted was for his lips to be pressed against the nape of her neck after feeling the laces of her dress tighten for a final time. She’d never been a sentimental woman but she would have sworn ( though never aloud and barely to even herself ) that her heart almost skipped a beat at the simple affection. The gratitude that had been about to slip from her lips took a moment longer to leave them, voice softer than was usual for her stubborn character. “Thank you.” Smile flickered over her lips, already planning some sort of surprise of her own for him later. He wouldn’t be the only one to win surprise. 

[ofwcsteros]

Blue eyes finally met the brown ones that they’d been searching for all evening, with his glances throughout the feast going unacknowledged he’d wondered if perhaps he’d have to wait untilt he morning to gaze into her eyes once more. It wouldn’t have been too surprising had she chosen to give him the cold shoulder a little while longer, not when another of their hushed discussions had ended in mutual frustration. Not for the first time he had refused to properly entertain her musings that perhaps they should leave this life behind to start a new one somewhere else. It had never been a lack of love that had made him seek to avoid the question of marriage with her but rather because he loved her. To others it might have felt somewhat backwards that he would chose not to marry the woman he loved when he was certain of her love in return and the happiness that it would bring them both. But he knew that their love would come with consequences, more so for Aemma than himself, and as someone who had always sought to protect her this time he was simply protecting her from herself. 

Although his love for her was strong, it would have been untruthful of him to claim that it was his sole motivation for being so evasive about their future. The more selfish part of him, though vastly outweighed by his desire to see Aemma have the life he thought she deserved, was concerned about what such a move would mean for him. He knew that a position such as the one he held within the Templeton household would not be so easy for him to come by again, least of all if it was known that he had ran off with his master’s daughter. Then the was the knowledge that he knew he couldn’t risk those brown eyes of her coming to look at him with resentment. Their life would not be an easy one and he knew that there was a good chance that he would be unable to provide for her the way that he would want to. 

But as their eyes finally met across the room, it hardly mattered to him what their future would hold and instead he focused on their present. Taking her glance as some sort of truce, he picks up two cups to take over as something of a peace offering. There’s an attempt at being discrete even if he knows that with his height it’s not an easy thing for him to achieve but he’d never been one to draw attention to their interactions, as much as he might long for them to be out in the open. Their bond was nothing he was ashamed of, despite what he was told the rest of the world might thing. “I noticed your cup was empty.” He wants to say more but aside from their location he knows that it will simply reignite their argument and so instead he remains silent, hoping that the resigned but apologetic smile on his lips is enough for her for now.

@ofthefirstmen​

[ofthefirstmen]

There were times he made her want to tear her long raven locks out at the root.  And then tear his braided blonde ones, just for good measure.  Aemma knew her own heart, even if others thought she did not.  And she was getting sick and tired of those people, whether it be Osric or her own mother doubting that.  She knew that the way she acted, the way she loved: passionately, wildly, could often come off as childish or naive, and thus their doubt grew.  But when she said she would give it all up; the fineries, the dresses, the feats, ninestars, she meant it.  She was no longer a girl of only ten and three with stars in her eyes and who’s heart beat out of her chest every time she looked at the master-at-arms’ son, she was a woman grown and she knew what she wanted.

She knew why he refused, and it wasn’t due to a lack of love, which made it all the more frustrating.  As if he knew better.  When in the history of the Andals has a man every know better?  It was laughable, and she knew it’d make her mother laugh as well if her mother wasn’t too busy thanking her stars for the boy’s refusal.  --- If anyone knew the consequences of the choice, it’d be her, a lady born and raised with the knowledge she would one day inherit a title, and she ought to remind him of that. 

But, she was too busy avoiding his eyes, a punishment of sorts.  Their secret affair had gone on for so long that they had long since became fluent in each other’s expressions, being able to express so much by a simple glance.  Thus, she deprived him of it.  But as the night continued, food was cleared away and floors were opened up for people to socialize and dance, she couldn’t help the way her eyes slowly found him in the room.  She cursed under her breath as she realized he had already been looking at her, ending her punishment unexpectedly.  

“It is.” She answered curtly.  “As obviously I am just a silly little girl who does not know how to refill it herself”, her words were a reference to their earlier fight where she had--unfairly--put words in his mouth.  He’d never call her a silly little girl, but she often felt it was how she was being treated.  Although her behavior tonight didn’t do much to disprove the accusation (that he never said).        

[ofwcsteros]

If there was one thing he truly hated in the world ( apart from his growing disdain for Cersei Lannister ) it was tardiness. He had always been careful not to form strong opinions on things when he knew that his goals would undoubtedly require flexibility from him, therefore it was better not to get set in his ways. But he had always found something detestable in the lack of discipline and planning that allowed lateness to happen. This time though his displeasure was aimed at himself when he was running nothing more than a handful of minutes late. It was only a fraction behind the time he’d organised a meeting with Cerelle Lefford but by his own high standards he might as well have been an hour. He always liked to be the one to arrive first, that small victory that came with being the more punctual and he found himself cursing the meeting with some Reach lord that had caused him to end up in this position.

There was no hint of this displeasure on his features as he arrives at the gardens, smile on his lips as his gaze lands on the one he’s supposed to be meeting. “Lady Cerelle, thank you for your patience.” There’s no apology from his lips when he’d grown accustomed to avoiding them if he didn’t deem them essential. It wasn’t that he was too prideful to let such a thing slip, on the contrary he was quite forthcoming with them on the rare occasion he was ever wrong or his charm had been miscalculated and he’d caused a slight. Too often an apology left someone thinking as though they had the upper hand and he had no intention of ever giving life to such an idea. He’d found that a compliment extolling their virtues seemed to smooth things over just as easily without giving even the slightest hint of vulnerability. Leaving behind only his cool confidence and smooth self assuredness. 

For the first time he takes in the woman who was to be his sister in law, pleased that the rumours about her beauty had been proven true. The match was a political one but there was no denying that adding a jewel to their crown was more than a small bonus. “My brother sends his deepest regrets that he’s been delayed, I hope you won’t mind my company in his absence.” Lyle had shown little interest in the match when it had been arranged and he was showing even less now. However, he had no doubt that his brother would do his duty, all he had to do was keep the future Crakehall bride happy in the meantime. Smile was sent her way once more, offering his arm so they could set off on their stroll around the grounds, under the watchful eye of all around. “Shall we?”

@ofthefirstmen

[ofthefirstmen]

Cerelle had been pleased when she had realized her father was too preoccupied with what he deemed the more important members of their family to put any proper effort into arranging marriages for Cerissa and herself. She was entirely convinced the man would have sold her and her sister off to the highest bidder, so to speak, without any real thought on political ties. And without a doubt, she believed in her own political aptitude much more than his, and knew the matches she would find for the two of them much more appropriate. Her first and foremost concern was safety, of that of their physical bodies, but also their status. Any house that seemed as if it could be ripened to fall from grace in these unsettled times were quickly scratched from her list, as it had become fairly obvious with their evolution of their own family that once married off, the two youngest Lefford sisters would be quickly forgotten. Secondly, without the boon of a large dowry, she had to find houses that were still high enough of status to give them the lives they deserved, but also needed something from them other than their dowry. And last, while she was not naive to think that she'd find them each their knight in shining armor, a certain level of...likability had to be there. Whether that meant the man in question was comely or kind. At least one had to be present.

And with Cerissa's match already secured, Cerelle had been happy to find that House Crakehall fell firmly into all three of her criteria. They were an old, established house, their wealth independent from that of the Lannister's. She felt as if she could easily pin their desire for the marriage. It was for their second son, so it needn't be someone of a family of equal footing, but having ties to another Westerlands family, especially one such as the Leffords who had previously shown their loyalty for the Lannisters, could be a driving force. And lastly, while she had only seen Lyle in passing, she knew he was fit, handsome enough that she wouldn't be put off, and altogether fairly occupied in being a soldier, so unlikely to bother her more than what duty called for. It was perfect.

"Watching the sun dance across the sky is a hobby of mine." she responded, as if she was excusing his lateness, but in it's own way, was a test. Anyone who thought little of women and their minds, would think she were being serious, as if staring at the sun was a hobby a woman was likely to have. But someone who thought otherwise would take the comment for what it was, a barb that showed she did not enjoy being kept waiting. Though, it was all presented with a smile as bright as the sun she apparently enjoyed watching. Regardless, she took his arm, with a grateful nod of the head. "And do you mind my asking what is keeping him? I pray all is well?" She didn't care enough about the man, at least as of yet, to pray.

[ofthefirstmen]

“i don’t like the way they look at you. perhaps i’ll cut their eyes out.” - asha x arwaya  

Arwaya raised a brow at that, amused.  It was no shock to her that Asha was a jealous lover.  In fact, it was something she loved about her.   To her knowledge, Asha was not a woman who did anything by halves.  She was ferocious and intense in all that she did, whether that be captaining a ship or taking Arwaya to bed, much like she had done hours ago.   

Perhaps in a different life, on the mainland, where she would be waiting to be wed, her looks; her violet eyes and raven hair, would have been an asset.  But in the life she lived now, as her calloused hands pulled on the ropes of a sail, the curve of her waist and the way her loose hair whipped in the wind distracted from her skill, from her fury, from her beautiful and vindictive violence, making her feel only half seen.   If it was up to her, her beauty would belong to Asha, be viewed only by her dark eyes.  Kept precious and safe by the person who saw not just the half of her, but the whole of her. 

She could only imagine that perhaps it was worse for Asha, her status one much higher than Arwaya’s.  Her whole life, a beautiful creature but who’s talent and fervor for the sea outweighed her beauty tenfold.  Only to be seen as the daughter, second to traitorous and weak Theon, even when hated by his own father, still somehow ranking higher than the proficient daughter.  How hard it must’ve been to win crew over when her own father treated her as such.  But she had, with brash behavior and incredible skill.  And to be frank, Arwaya had to stop herself from pinning her woman against the wheel of the ship every time she saw her standing proudly behind it.

”And I shall do the same.” She responded back haughtily, chin raised in defiance, as if she didn’t appreciate the statement, despite it stirring something deep in her belly.  “But then Westeros will be filled with blind men.  And then who will captain all the ships that will one day be under our command?”

[ofwcsteros]

“don’t say that, you don’t mean it.” patrek & rhialta

His family's future without him wasn't something that he wanted to even envisage, let alone breathe life into the idea of by letting the words leave his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was leave them with Jeffory still so young, the notion of them without him to act as protector enough to make bile rise in his throat. Not to mention the turmoil and unrest that the Riverlands still found itself falling victim too. House Mallister would go from being seen as a powerhouse that rivalled the Tullys in strength to seem an easy target despite his wife's skill in running a household overnight. Patrek had few doubts that she was beyond capable of managing without him but his mind would rest somewhat easier knowing that they had discussed what to do in the event that he was taken from them all.

Except his attempt to broach the subject had been met with something close to denial from his wife. While he couldn't blame her ( he wouldn't have taken the notion of life without her with any sort of grace. not when he loved her deeply enough that it felt as though she had become as etched into his heart as her likeness was on his armor. living without her was unthinkable and perhaps it was unfair of him to ask it of her. ) he tried to impress upon her the need for the conversation. “Rhia please, we have to consider all the potential outcomes of this war." There was exasperation creeping into his tone unbidden when any frustration he feels is simply a kind of helplessness that this had to be the time that they had to live through. Logic tells him that his sense of duty is something she loved and respected in him but he couldn't help but wonder if it was ever something she found herself resenting it the way he did sometimes when it pulled them apart so often.

Sigh slipped from his lips and he's reaching for his wife's hands to bring them up to his lips, an apology given by way of the kiss he pressed to each of them. "You must know that if the worst were to happen I would not leave you willingly?" The words were quiet and earnest, almost begging her to understand. To give him some kind of indication that she didn't doubt his love for her or their family. That she knew that he wanted nothing more than to not just return to her but to be able to stay. But just in case there was any kind of doubt plaguing her in the long weeks they were parted, Patrek made another declaration as he silently prayed that he would always be able to make good on his word with his actions. Though he was careful not to promise that he would guarantee his return when he knew it could turn into something of a curse, he felt no qualms in vowing about the things within his control. "I have promised before to do everything in my power to return and to continue returning. And I will make it again now - as long as there's strength in my body and air in my lungs I will fight against whoever or whatever is in my path on the way home to you."

[ofthefirstmen]

 laenahs​:

Confusion was rife around her with fists flying everywhere and colours and sigils all mingling as one. She wondered if that was the most united they had all ever been - brought together by the panic caused. Her own nerves were beginning to fray as she struggled to see a way out of it all when there was so much chaos and pathways through the madness were created and destroyed within seconds. It’s only when she almost imagines hearing her voice that she turns and gaze searched the crowd before landing up a welcome sight. “Harry.” His name is more exhaled than said as relief rushed through her that she had not been entirely abandoned. 

A swell of noise swallowed whatever words left his words next. She saw them moving but no sound reached her. Unable to heed any warning or instructions he might have intended for her, she was left to simple turn her attention back to the growing fray around her. It quickly became apparent that staying where she was would be impossible if she wanted to avoid getting caught up in the fighting. The usual hesitancy that overcame her was set aside after seeing him, knowing that someone had come for her but also serving as a reminder that she had never been defenceless or helpless. Reserved perhaps but never entirely dependent on another. Determination pushed her through the crowds to where she had last seen Harry only to find that she had gone too far. With a quick glance around Laenah believed she’d found him and darted forward to grab his hand or arm.

-

Every time he thought he had a clear line to her, he was pushed one way or pulled another.  He yelled out in frustration, but his voice was swallowed by the cacophony of desperation and panic.  It was a humbling feeling, one he had not ever felt before.  Unable to be heard, unable to control the direction his body moved.  Ever since he had sprouted up as a boy, he had been large, and never in a situation in which his physical body was anything but his own, always in fast control of it.  He was reminded of a doll he had when he was young, barely more than a toddler.  He had thrown it into the Trident, thinking it could swim, but instead he had watched in horror as it had been thrown to and fro in the angry currents of the river.  He felt much like that doll as he tried to make his way to Laenah.

As a group of people finally moved past him, he realized he had lost sight of her, and his heart stopped, feeling as if it had finally had enough of slamming against his ribs with such ferocity.  He could only picture her, trapped beneath trampling feet or something even worse, when he felt it.  Turning, he caught sight of that heavenly browned skin grasping onto his arm, as if he was the one saving her from drowning, rather than the other way around.  He tugged on her arm, pulling her closer, before making a rash decision, having no thought to how it would appear -- he threw her over his shoulder and made a run for it. 

[ofwcsteros]

“forget that i ever asked.” andrey & roland

Questions about his past were almost always greeted with a flippant answer from him, the reasons for how he'd ended up with the Golden Company becoming more and more outlandish with each query, no matter how innocent. He was never quite sure how to explain his situation but mostly never felt as though he should have to. After all, all that should matter was that the man next to him trusted him to watch his back during a fight and Roland was confident his skill with a blade spoke for itself. But Andrey was a little more complicated. There was a desire to know him and an even more insidious one to be known by him. But there was a part of him that felt ashamed at what he had done and its impact on his family knowing that he had been meant to raise them all to renewed heights. Restore their glory but instead, he had placed the love for his sister above his love for his house. Instead of proving that they could peak not just in name, he had instead found a way for them to reach new lows.

But perhaps the most damning thing of it all was that his only regret was that he might have damaged Rosaline's chances of ever finding a match that she deserved.

It was something that he rarely reflected on, unsure what answers he'd find in any soul searching. So when the other man had mentioned his parents, curious about the life he had led in Westeros, Roland had bitten back with brazen sarcasm. To his surprise, the dark-haired man had taken this as a cue to leave when that hadn't been at all his attention. ( if he were ever to be truthful in his feelings about the other man then he would realise that he had desired nothing more than for him to never leave his side again ) Realising that in his defensiveness over his past he might have alienated the only person that mattered in his present, he was quick to call out. “Andrey. Wait.” There's frustration in his tone but he doesn't pay attention to the feeling long enough to decide whether it's at himself or Andrey. Instead, he closes the distance between them, relieved that his words had stalled him long enough that he could grasp his arm and attempt to hold him in place, almost pleading as he did. “Please.”

“My parents are -"  He trails off, frustration clear in the in roughness with which he rakes a hand through golden hair. There was little fondness felt for his parents when he had felt so smothered in his youth. Crushed beneath their weighty expectations and the suffocating way that everything had been mapped out for him to assure that he wouldn’t ( or could not ) falter or fall as so many Peakes before him had. It hadn't worked though and instead all it had fostered was resentment. His love for his parents had been wiped out years ago but it's not something he finds himself ready to confess yet when it feels far too damning of his character. And while his earlier actions might have suggested otherwise, he did care deeply about what Andrey thought of him. He settles on the truth, vague but honest, and hopes that it is enough. “- complicated.”

There's a sigh heaved, unsure where to go next but knowing that with the way he craves a closeness between them, the physical would only go so far. He wanted more and he knew that he would have to lay himself bare to get it. It's not an enticing realisation for a man who spent his days protecting every weakness but something in his mind nagged him that it would be worth it. So he picks an easy topic, thinking of Rosaline's gentle ways, a fond smile already blooming over his lips. “But my sister, let me tell you about her?”

[ofthefirstmen]

[ofwcsteros]

❛ grasp . run to my muse & jump into their arms . ( cerelle and tybolt )

It was the first time that he had any sort of mixed emotions about returning home and this time his albeit triumphant return was overshadowed by the fact that it was undeniably delayed. The walk from the stables alone had felt endless, steps made heavy by the ache of weary limbs and the exhaustion that had lasted so long it felt as though it had become part of his bones. He was unsure what kind of reception he would receive when it felt as though all he and Cerelle had done before he left was argue. For a pair who had fallen into such a natural harmony, their regular sparring matches over his decision to lead his troops into battle himself had marred the days before his depature. Many of them had ended in a stalemate with neither of them willing to concede an inch of ground let alone defeat. But as someone who had always prided himself on an honesty that allowed him to see his flaws and improve himself, Tybolt knew that he had not won them all either.

He had known Cerelle was brilliant - it was why he had married her, after all, her intelligence too impossible for him to resist - but he had never expected her sharpened blade of wit to be aimed his way. He had been underprepared for the argument that she had leveled at him and he recognised that one of their debates had been the first argument in his life that he could remember losing when it came to both logic and feeling. She'd put her case forward with such eloquence balanced with emotion ( he could see that emotions had threatened to overwhelm her but both of them had begun fraying during the debate, their usually well-tied together selves slowly falling apart at the reality he had created ) that he had wavered and almost promised he would stay. Almost. But he had not. His desire to be the leader that the Westerlands needed outweighing the considerable love he had for her.

The first argument in his life that he had lost and he had not even possessed the decency nor grace to honour her wishes as the victor.

War was not something new to Tybolt but love was. He was a man who learned from experience as much as from scrolls or tomes and matters of the heart were an area that he found himself lacking. He had braced himself for a chilly reception, it was no less than he would have deserved after disregarding his wife's feelings in the name of what needed to be done. There's a legion of words ready to fall from his lips when he sees her, starting with a sincere apology and prepared to veer into groveling should he need to. But to his surprise, he does not have a moment to do draw breath before she was in his arms. The distance between them had been closed so quickly any thought of words left his mind, for the first time in his life. Instead, he relied on actions and simply embraced her. As he did, his aching muscles found a new lease of life, and the pain of battle was forgotten when all that occupied his thoughts was her. Relief became the overwhelming emotion. Relief that he had survived to do this at least one last time. Relief that she still wanted to. The words would come later and she would get the apology that she deserved but for now just holding her was enough.

[ofthefirstmen]

ofwcsteros​:

If it were up to her she’d scarcely leave her sister’s side all evening but as ever her duty was to her house, to forming bonds and currying favour for the eldest Lefford daughter. As the heir Alysanne would need all the help she could get - as their father never ceased to remind his two younger daughters. But she felt as though she’d done her duty long enough when she was struggling to resist the urge to roll her eyes at her current companion. Excusing herself she slipped across the room to stand at her sister’s side. Critical gaze passed over those around her, hidden behind her practised, vapid smile. “You’d think someone would have told her by now that yellow truly isn’t her colour.” Sip of her drink was taken to hide the growing smirk on her lips as she ever so slightly inclined her head in the direction of the lady from the Riverlands who’d made the erroneous choice. “If there was a colour you did not suit I certainly would not let you leave your chambers in it.” As it was her sister was so effortlessly beautiful and blessed with the perfect complexion to suit almost anything she chose to wear.

As the smirk danced over her lips, barely hidden by the glass she’d lifted up in front of them, undoubtedly there might have been some that found her cruel. She suppose that with her cold manner, with its chilly disdain and icy sharp words, that they would feel justified in such claims but Cerissa had never thought of herself as unkind. Simply that she struggled to find reasons to be kind. When it came to Cerelle though all she ever felt was outpourings of love and so it made the sweet tones flow from her lips with ease, ringing with rare sincerity. “I do hope your evening has been better than mine. I’ve yet to find a single man here that is not a complete bore.” 

@ofthefirstmen​

-

Cerelle knew that she was quite the catch.  From her milky skin and dark hair, to her sharp wit and cunning mind.  Not to mention that if all went to plan on marrying Alysanne off, a significant dowry that would go to her future husband.  And while many men thought themselves the hunter and she the doe to be caught, they were mistaken.  While their father was heavily invested in marrying Alysanne off, it seemed he lacked the same fervor in retaining a quality match for herself and Cerissa.  So the job was left to Cerelle.  And she had a discerning eye.  Not anyone would do, not for her, and especially not for her only true sister.  

So far her night had been spent socializing with many lackluster candidates for both herself and Cerissa.  While she didn’t mind an age difference if that match were right, she refused to marry Cerissa off to some geriatric in want of his third wife.  She felt much like that old fable, this one too old, this one too young, this one too big for his britches, this one unambitious.  While she was not searching for perfection, she did refuse to settle for anything less than the best she could find, for the both of them.  “Poor thing,” Cerelle tutted in response.  “Her elder sisters really must have it out for her to not tell her so.  Matching a dress to one’s hair color is truly never the way to go.”  Cerelle hummed, cocking her head “Do you think they insist she does so to try and make some connection between their house and gold?  Because I swear every event she is wearing the same pallid color.”  Cerelle mused, snickering softly behind the rim of her glass of wine. 

“Well, there were some who...” She tried to think of one, desperate to prove her sister wrong for both their sake’s “...” but she could not, “Who amazed me in how boring they were.” She fell into a small peal of laughter then, knowing that if she did not laugh, she would simply go mad from it all. 

[ofthefirstmen]

ofwcsteros​:

It would be unfair to say that the evening had been boring when it had been put on in his honour and he had been raised to at least attempt to not be ungrateful. However, despite a lot of the Frey women being far more pleasant on the eye than rumours might have suggested, there had yet to be any of them that captivated him. That wasn’t to say that any part of his evening had been truly dull - more like it was simply more of the same that he experienced at home. All fluttered lashes and shy smiles, compliments meant to stroke his ego that never truly went wrong but he was all too used to.

Perhaps that was why this new reply almost startled him out of the walking dream that he’d been in, able to make his way through the night without too much concentration. Brows rose in slight surprise but there was a look of mild amusement hovering under the confusion.

His pride was not a thing easily dented. Mostly because it had become so overinflated over the years that most jibs and digs tended to simply bounce right off him. But there was something about her apparent disinterest that managed to find a chink in the well polished armour of his ego. Not quite enough to wound him but enough that he felt a prickle at her words. An unfamiliar sensation of uneasiness briefly crashing over him at the realisation that she’d caused such a response in him. But just like the waves crashing against the shore lose all their ferocity after the powerful collision, the feeling ebbed away moments later.

The mild confusion on his features melted away to make way for the more entertained expression that had been waiting in the wings. He chose to feel intrigued by her rather than insulted - a talent he’d had for years when he had a way of assuming that all around him wished him well - lips quirking up at the side slightly. 

Words were kept light, hoping to avoid anything else that she might take issue with ( though perhaps there was a more masochistic part of him that was almost waiting to see if she’d find fault with him once more. If only for the novelty of it )  and he was fairly sure that they left his lips as good naturedly as ever. “Well I think you’d have to ask them.”

But for all he had briefly decided to play it somewhat safe, moments later he was disregarding that decision. Where was the fun in life if you didn’t take a little risk from time to time? His smile shifted to something more cocky than calmly self assured, eyes practically glinting with mirth as he leans slightly close to deliver his next words. “But I would hope quite a few or it means I’m losing my charm.”

Small sip of his drink is taken, already steeling himself for whatever response she might give him before returning to a much more socially acceptable topic of conversation. “How are you enjoying the evening?”

-

“Not to make it blatantly obvious that the men in this family have succeeded in pitting all us female relatives against each other but...I would much rather swim in the trident during a lightening storm than ask them a question.  About you or otherwise.” Despite the heat of her words, their delivery was blasé, and her statement was punctuated at the end with a bored sigh as her eyes drifted from his face and around the room. 

She was not trying to be mean spirited, but Alyx had a strained relationship with the other girls in attendance to say the least.  The Twins bred a very specific sort of resentment, born from envy and competition.  They all wanted out, but only a select few achieved that goal.  And those who had a lesser chance--those born with the unfortunate Frey phenotype--were all that much more mean to make up for it.  All the relatives that Alyx had gotten along with, were those of fairer appearances, and all had been married off and left her to rot, until her parents decided she was finally of marrying age that is.  So she liked to think she earned her spite of the other women, having dealt with their jealousy fueled attacks for years now.

She had to stop herself from letting a very unladylike snort from escaping her at his next words.  “My Lord, correct me if I am wrong, but I do not think you could lose your charm even if you tripped and it flew through the air and tumbled down a well.”  Even as she said it, she was not sure if that was a compliment or insult.  But she had the feeling it would take much to damper that man’s confidence.  Although she would say to his benefit that his charms did not leave her feeling oily and as if she needed to wash, as many other suitors who had come through those same doors had.  She could tell from his aura that it came from a good, if not over fluffed heart.  He was a peacock strutting around with his feathers, not a greasy pig rolling around in the mud.  

She was fairly sure her other behavior had enticed him, or at least she hoped by the way he still stayed, and seemed to be doing so out of something other than manners.  Always bold, Alyx decided to double down.  “Oh, how I do love being paraded around to be judged on every aspect of my being like a cattle at auction by all your many advisors.  ‘How is her countenance?’  ‘Sour, but she surely knows how to pick her words.’  ‘Well, that is not desired, but women are meant to be seen and not heard.  How are her hips, wide enough to birth a child?’ ‘Oh yes, I see no problem on that front’.” Alyx droned on, acting out two parts of a conversation she was fairly sure was being had by someone tonight.   

“But I could ask the same of you, how is your evening?  I would love to hear the perspective of the buyer rather than the bought.” 

[ofthefirstmen]

ofwcsteros​:

Cynicism had always flowed too freely in her veins under the guise of realism for her to have ever indulge in dreams of grand romance. She’d always been far too pragmatic to think that she would ever be able to marry for love and instead had taken to looking at the union through a lens of what it could possibly give her. Her first marriage had allowed her freedom and few expectations when Lester had simply wanted a wife to replace the one that he had lost. They’d been content enough and it was hard to find issue with a match that had given her so little to complain about. Even if she did now resent him for getting himself killed and leaving her in an uncertain position once more. 

But this new marriage was uncertain territory and while she was never one to back away from a challenge, she found herself searching for just how it would benefit her. It had been an impetuous choice, one made on nothing more than a desire to be away from Aurane. Yet he was still here, looking far too smug with himself for her liking and she gave no effort in tempering the glare that made her feelings perfectly well known. Perhaps he was feeling triumphant that she’d agreed to the match after nothing more than a glance at her intended but she’d learnt long ago that being married was far more of a shield than shackles. All she had to do was find a way to come to some sort of understanding with this new man even if it meant fighting against the pride that made it almost impossible for her to compromise.

Head was held high with an elegance that would have been fit for a queen ( in another lifetime perhaps that’s what she would have been )  and she smoothly rose from her seat to find her new husband. She was always loathed to ask for anything from anyone but the girls needed their beds and so she needed a few moments grace. “Sygerrik.” Earlier in the day she was certain that she had pronounced his name wrongly and as such had avoided it for hours. But after listening to countless others she felt comfortable parroting the sounds, confident that she had gotten it correct this time. “A moment.” It was more of a demand than a request but she saw little point in softening herself now. He’d already married her.

@ofthefirstmen​

-

His people thought him mad.  Skagosi never married those from off the island.  And when they did, it was to Northerners, those who they knew had grit to them and had a better chance of surviving the tempestuous island.  But to not only pursue but marry someone from so far down south as the crownlands was unheard of.  Skagos was an insular place, out of necessity, being so far from the reaches of other domains, but also out of choice.  They knew how their traditions and culture had been perverted by the Southerners, mythic tales spun to keep children in line.  If you misbehave we’ll drop you on the shores of Skagos.  Cannibals, unicorns and rocky shores oh my.  So they were wary of outsiders, understandably. But Sygerrik had a vision of broadening Skagos’ horizons.  His people were a talented folk, having to survive on the unforgiving island, having to learn to master the ruthless waters that surrounded it fo venture off.  And pairing with a Velaryon, those who so often filled the role of master of ships and lord of the tides had seemed like a smart match.  

His head turned as he heard his name, or, well, something close enough to it.  He had to admit, he was impressed.  Their first meeting had a moment in which he hadn’t even realized it was his name upon her lips, but within such a short amount of time she had seemed to get a firm grasp on the oddities of the Skagosi tongue, which was not an easy feat.  The mixing of old and common tongue along with anomalies formed over millennia of isolation making it incredibly hard to master if one wasn’t born to it.

Her demanding tone only made him smile, and he shot a smug look to his comrades as he stepped away in her direction.  He had known upon meeting her for the first time that she had the grit required to live in such a place as Skagos.  “Yes, my beloved wife?” he questioned, that amused look still alight in his eye.

[ofthefirstmen]

ofwcsteros​:

For as long as she could remember she’d known that marriage was in her future. That it was her fate to have to surrender the Karstark name and take that of her husband. There’d been little focus on anything else in her childhood, her father barely spending time with her other than the brief moments he spared to assess how she was performing as a lady. No time for any sort of bond between them when he was only concerned about how appealing she would be to potential matches. Whether she would pass muster and receive marriage offers. He always did care more about her being someone else’s wife rather than his daughter. 

If her father had had his way it would have been Robb Stark that she would have been pledged to. What a match for The North, he would claim and there were times that she could still hear his words ringing in her ears. But then he had dangled her as a prize, not caring about the the quality or character of the men that put themselves forward. No thought given to what sort of husband they’d make only what they would do for him. That thought alone reminding her of the fact that she had never been more but a tool for Rickard Karstark’s grand designs. It makes the notion that he might have been disappointed in her match that much easier to bear. She owes a dead man no loyalty. Not when she is doing her part to continue the Karstark name when her uncle and cousins would see it tarnished.

Part of her is glad that her father will never meet Sigorn. On some level it’s a personal triumph - that the match is truly her own and one he will never get to voice his opinion on. ( though she is certain she knows what he would say, none of it good )  But on another level it’s because of the building sense of protectiveness she feels towards her new husband. They barely know one another but she can’t help but feel entirely convinced that he is a good man - one that she would struggle to find better than - and she finds herself glad that he’ll never have to be subjected to the ire of her father. He’d have been deemed not  good enough simply because of his birth and a younger her might have dismissed him for the very same reason. Now though she was convinced that she couldn’t have asked for a better partner to weather all the storms that would undoubtedly come their way.

Even though they’ve been spared the scrutinisation from her father and brothers, she knows that plenty others will have their eyes fixed on Karhold. Waiting for a moment where some weakness was shown. But they would see no such weakness or failing from her. She was just as stubborn as her father had been and giving up was not an option that she would even entertained. If nothing else she had faith in her own willpower to make this marriage work but she would be lying if she said that she hadn’t felt relief and hope when he’d nodded so willingly. It was not hard, she decided, to be affectionate towards him and a smile to mirror his settled onto her lips as she holds out her hand to him. “I thought you should get to know the land that you now have.” What’s hers was his now, after all. Movement caught her peripherals and she became aware of eyes actively on them. Undeterred her smile grew wryer and she took a step closer to him, lightly leaning her shoulder against his in playful conspiracy as her voice lowered to hushed tones. “And it might be nice to have some time away from all these eyes”

⛰

In some ways, the Thenns weren’t so different from the Southerners, they had a hierarchy, lords, and a Magnar to substitute what they called King.  But her use of the word ‘have’ in reference to the land confirmed some of the more subtle difference to Sigorn.  In Thenn, while there was land that one lived upon and was the steward of...But, the land did not belong to them.  If anything, they belonged to the land.  The land was apart of them, deep in their bones, as deep as their family lines were.  The land could tell a family’s history.  The soil kept record of harvests, the trees took note of how many houses had been built, and the mountains remembered how many storms a family had weathered.   

So, he wondered, if looking on the land the Karstarks belonged to, if he would learn their history.  Her family wasn’t present, so he knew this may be the only way for him to learn about them, to know their story.  As she leaned into him, Sigorn remembered a move he had seen several other of the men do with their ladies, and he did the same, grasping her hand and threading it through his angled arm as they walked towards the stables.  It seemed to be an action of both familiarity, affection and claiming all at once, and figured as her husband, it was appropriate.  

As they reached the stables, without even looking he knew which penn his horse had been forced into, simply by the ruckus being made.  Horses of thenn lived in wide open spaces and were not used to being contained, only kept inside during the most brutal of storms, and became ornery when restrained, a feeling Sigorn understand even more now.  He gave his beast comforting brushes of his palm as he waited for Alys to pick her horse, and he tried to make some semblance of conversation.

“Who is your beloved?” he asked, hand gesturing to the many beasts in front of them.  

[ofthefirstmen]

@ofwcsteros​

Finally, a day without a feast, or a party, or a play, or ‘a simple evening of wine and music’.  Dacey would have traded her most prized possessions for all of the frivolous activities to cease.  She would have traded her warmest cloak made from a bear her mother had slayed with a bow and arrow.  She would have happily given her favorite leather vest, the one that her little sisters had colored green and presented her with for her name day.  Hells, she would have offered up her morningstar.  Well, perhaps not, but the fact that she had considered it spoke volumes.  

It was not because she did not enjoy the festivities (well, she didn’t, but that was besides the point), but rather she was desperately waiting for what came after the peace talks.  The pit in her stomach would not reside until they were done and over with, regardless of the outcome. Dacey just could not help the feeling that something terrible would happen before then, after years of fighting, after all the horrible things she had seen, it all sounded too good to be true. And that was a lesson Maege Mormont, ever the realist, had taught her daughters to live by.  If things seemed too peaceful, be prepared, the krakens were rising from the waters.  If the Spring was too long, it brought along a lengthy winter as well.  Be suspicious of good and accepting of bad.  Nothing good comes without a price  All these warnings rang in her Dacey’s mind as she found herself pacing the borders of the encampment, mug of ale in hand untouched.  The feeling in the pit of her stomach was back, boring a hole through her stomach, making it near impossible to drink or eat or be merry, no matter how merry the circumstances were.  Last time, she had not acted on that feeling, and Catelyn had ended up dead, and later people went missing.  And even now, as they celebrated their return, the hand of fear would not loosen it’s grip on Dacey’s innards.

Uneasy enough, that as her ears pricked to a noise behind her, in a fell movement her mug was dropped and lost somewhere on the bed of leaves below and bow was suddenly in hand, arrow knocked and ready to be let loose, pointed at the source of the noise.

“I’ll warn ye, the rest of the camp may be in their cups, but I am not and my aim is true.”

[ofwcsteros]

“last night we said a great many things.” tybs and cerelle

The Crakehall brothers were a well balanced trio, each with their different skills and assets that they brought to their House. But for all their unique traits and talents, they all knew where their brothers excelled and so rarely tended to challenge one another. His own sharp wits were  almost never tested to their full ability when even those that were supposed to be his equals so infrequently posed any sort of test for him. Perhaps that was why he found Cerelle’s company so refreshing when she seemed to be able to spar with quips and wit just as sharp and lethal as his own. It pleased him that the Crakehalls would be able to bring such a woman into their fold but more and more frequently he was finding himself having to rein in his thoughts as they drifted towards ideas that weren’t quite part of his plan. As enticing as her beauty was, it was her mind that had truly captured his attention and after a night spent drinking by the fire he knew that it was not just a distant admiration he was feeling. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d exchanged ideas but it had perhaps been the first time that they had allowed such candour to hang between them and now in the morning light he found himself wondering if for once he’d made a mistake. Gaze rose to acknowledge her newly arrived presence as she spoke, careful glance attempting to discern just what she remembered and what parts might have found themselves etched into her mind. Her words didn’t come as much of a surprise and he was fairly certain that he knew to exactly what they referred to. So used to being unrivalled in his own intellect more had left his lips by that fire side than he had planned to admit. In fact, there was a nagging feeling within him that he had breathed life into an idea that was most definitely not part of his careful orchestrations. He’d never allowed for his own feelings in his plans, never expecting that any woman would ever call to him more than what he considered his calling. And he still didn’t allow for them now, light chuckle falling from his lips as he spoke with a warm, easy tone. “That we did. If only the world was so easily put to rights as we made it seem.”

A hint of worry crept in that perhaps he might have caused some confusion for her and so he sought to provide some clarity. If only to reassure her that his intentions to have her be a part of his family were very much unchanged. “I hope you know that I was not so deep in cups that you could doubt my sincerity in my keenness for you to be a Crakehall.” Most others would perhaps overlook the subtlety of his words, focusing on the compliment that they held as opposed to the few words that he chose to leave out. But he knew well enough by now that Lady Cerelle Lefford was far too clever to miss the words that he had chosen not to say. That he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say that she would be his sister in law, instead only repeating his determination that she become a Crakehall. Whose wife was yet to be seen. 

[ofthefirstmen]

@ofwcsteros​

Cuticles were picked at by manicured nails, pink lips gnawed on by white teeth as she stood across the courtyard, trying to gather nerve.  For the Maiden’s sake, how was she to take the steps down the aisle of the sept if she could not even take the few steps across the courtyard to speak to him?  Although perhaps she was being too hard on herself, to be fair the only time they had met previously, Rosaline had gotten the distinct impression that he had wished to be anywhere than where he was.

When her parents had told her the news of a finally being able to nail down a match for her, a Lord no less, none of the second sons or distant cousins of heirs that had been thrust upon her before, she had been worried.  Surely, with her meager dowry and the state of the Peake name, there had to be something wrong with her betrothed.  He must be old.  He must be poor.  He must be cruel.  In need of a wife for nothing more than to say he has one.  Or perhaps all of the above.  --- So it had come as much of a shock to her upon laying her eyes on the man she was to be married off to, she found him to be...Well, extremely handsome.  And young.  Sure, there were lines between his brows from where she assumed he drew his brows together too much, and she could find no smile lines around eyes or lips to speak of, but...She could fix all that, could she not?  She could smooth the ones between his brows with soft kisses, give him ones around his eyes and mouth with mirth and joy?

The golden haired girl’s mind had been immediately been filled with fanciful and romantic notions, or finding her true love through an arranged marriage, of trading in the disdain of her parents for the adoration of a husband.  But those hopes had been quickly dashed by his surly nature and the feeling that her very existence was an impediment on his life.  --- Although, Rosaline had always been the sensitive sort, perhaps she was conditioned by a life of knowing she was a burden and simply assumed everyone else felt the same.

Maybe he felt that way of their impending nuptials, or maybe he did not.  But regardless, they were to be married and Rosaline was determined to know more about her future husband than just his name.  And after a moment, she was crossing the courtyard, delicate steps and the flow of her gown giving her the appearance of almost floating across the stones.  It was her best gown, the same one she had worn when first meeting him, and she hoped he didn’t have an eye for those sorts of things.

“Excuse me, My Lord?” She interrupted, with a small curtsy. Her voice was soft, perhaps too much so to grab the attention of anyone, but she persisted, “I was wondering if you might like to accompany me on a walk around the seawall? I heard it’s beautiful this time of day.”