kingdoms & empires

[ofwcsteros]

Blackwoods were loyal - a defining trait when they’d even refused to give up the Old Gods - and now that loyalty was at war with itself. Ever since he’d been given the unexpected and unwelcome news that he was not only to be wed but that his bride was to be from the family that his hated the most, Lucas had been in nothing short of turmoil. Perhaps it was a little dramatic but he’d always been one who felt his emotions deeply, even if he was just as quick to make a joke and laugh them off so he wouldn’t have to share them. But there was no denying that he felt torn over the news - a part of him felt as though he was betraying all the Blackwoods before him now that he was to marry a Bracken but he knew that if he did not, it would be a betrayal to both his father and his King. Then there was the fact that he just did not want to. He had possessed no intentions to marry before the war was over when he knew that there would always be a chance that he would not make it back to whatever wife he left behind. The last person he wanted to be wed to was a Bracken. With all the years of animosity between their families, he’d struggled to believe that the Brackens could be anything but the very worst that the Seven Kingdoms had to offer. 

It was a belief that had been held tightly, woven into his worldview since birth and constantly reinforced by his family, the thought that the Brackens were the very worst that the Seven Kingdoms had to offer unchallenged for years. But then there had never been a need to consider whether or not the Brackens might have had some legitimacy in their dislike of his family. Even though they were now at war with each other rather than against there’d been nothing but sour words and bad blood between the factions. Never a pause in their vitriol to get to know one long enough to have evidence that they were anything other than what he had been told. He supposed he would have to find out soon enough.

As he’d thought on his upcoming nuptials, he’d been able unable to stop his mind from running away from him and envisioning how exactly she would look and just how their nuptials would go. As far-fetched as it might have seemed, Lucas had assumed that the bitterness between their families would somehow manifest itself in her looks. That she would walk down the aisle and he’d be faced with a woman with some kind of horse-like features to match her sigil, twisted in disdain as she looked at him. But that hadn’t been the case ( well, he’d only been right about the displeasure, that much was certain ) but when it came to her looks he had been far from the mark. If she hadn’t been a Bracken he was almost certain that he would have been instantly taken with his wife, and glad to be able to call her that.

As it was, her pretty face did very little to distract him from the uncomfortable reality that they found themselves in. He wasn’t about to forget about generations of lasting hate in one evening. 

So it was inevitable that he’d suspect that his assigned bride would be nothing that he wanted and a part of him could recognise that he would likely be nothing that she wanted. It was with that in mind that he found himself biting his tongue, not just for the sake of his House but for his new wife too. From what he knew from his sisters some ladies dreamt of their wedding day, he could not know if she had been one of them but surely even if she were the practical type it was all bound to be a disappointment. Even with the feast around them, tension still permeated the air, thick and cloying, threatening to spark alight at the slightest spark of violence.

A sharp look from his father showed him he was the one who was supposed to keep things running smooth, the direction the elder Blackwood's gaze moved in showing him that some Bracken men were beginning to mutter in discontent. He supposed he had ignored his bride long enough, their courses passing with silence heavy between them, looking every inch the reluctant pair. “They keep looking over here like they expect something of us.” It was a weak first attempt and a poor offering in the face of the history their two families shared. Throat cleared slightly, plucking some words from his mind before he had chance to think about them twice, looking around for some kind of saviour. "Some music, perhaps." The murmuring grew more appreciative, a few cheers echoing the room as he rose to his feet, hand extended in offering to the woman he was now supposed to share his life with. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" Eyes were almost beseeching, knowing he had put them both on show and hoping she would not further resent him for it.

[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."

[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?”

[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.

[ofwcsteros]

With parents like his own it seemed hardly a surprise that he still possessed a certain amount of vanity and sense of self importance. Neither were traits that he was particularly proud of but when they were ingrained in him at such a young age, reinforced over the years as they could not help but boast about him. Nature and nurture uniting to weave them into his being despite his distaste for the same traits in others. That was what came from years of being hailed as the only hope for his family, not just the jewel in their crown but the very gold that would support it and lay the foundation for a better future. A glowing, golden heir. Of course, he had not quite lived up to all their hope, placing his love and concern for his sister above all else, but the effects of his upbringing still lingered - its hold on him having left marks that he doubted any time away from Westeros could undo. The worst of it was perhaps that he would always be someone far too prideful to admit that they were wrong and an apology was something that would quite possibly choke him. It had never really mattered when he had never been one to ask for permission nor forgiveness. At least until now. 

There had never been someone he had truly wished to make amends with, in the past it had only ever been to placate others rather than anything sincere. But when it came to Andrey all he knew was that he was feeling the absence of the other man in his life. Somewhere in the time that had passed since their meeting he had become important to him, a grounding and steadying presence. Now without him he felt off balance and listless. The freedom that he had been so desperate to cling to now feeling more like self inflicted isolation than the unrestrained and uninhibited life he had longed for for so many years. In the wake of a battle their dispute seemed foolish when it seemed obvious to him now that they perhaps did both want the same things. Only he would need swords flashing and blood flowing as the backdrop for his realisation. Despite knowing the simple fact that he wished to have Andrey back by his side once more, he was still reluctant to be the one to make peace. He still was not certain that he even wanted to apologise ( if he even knew how to ) or if he truly had anything to apologise for. 

After all, having spent so many years of his life shackled down by the weight of his parents expectations could he really be blamed for wanted to remain untethered for as long as possible?

But it had become an inescapable habit to check on one another after a battle, one that had swiftly felt both as easy and necessary as breathing. Given their current impasse he debated whether or not to break their new unspoken rules that left them pretending to be strangers, feigning  disinterest in one another and playing at who could seem the most detached. But the thought of not seeing him had caused something to tighten in his chest, the notion of breaking his newest habit almost making him wince. So he swallowed his pride, or at least some of it, when the rest settled to form a lump in his throat, and made his way to the area that he knew his fellow soldier tended to gravitate towards. His own injuries were superficial with the exception of a particularly deep one on his arm but as his gaze landed on Andrey he instantly noted far more red staining him than he would have liked. Usually clear blue eyes clouded over with a bitterness he did not truly feel, darkening his gaze as the frown on his brow cast a shadow over usually sunny features. But if there’s concern there he does not voice it and instead clipped, dry words leave his lips. “You’re still alive then.” 

@ofthefirstmen​

[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​

[ofwcsteros]

ROSALINE  PEAKE:​

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.”

                                                       _______

There had been a time ( if he were honest with himself there were still days ) where any thought of the future had been one he rejected when he was filled with too much longing to be reunited with his family. But he had been reminded time and time again that the land of the living was far from done with him yet and those close to him never failed to remind him of his duties and responsibilities. That for all he might not have wanted a future for himself he bore the weight of the future of his House. His and his alone.

He was painfully well aware that although he could choose to opt out of politics and the implications of who he chose to align himself with, his position meant that he would always be pulled right back in. His distaste for it all wasn’t enough, especially not now he had thrown his support behind the man he thought should be their next King. But he had no interest in being used by his wife or his wife’s family for their own political gain. The choices he made would continue to be for himself and House Caron and part of him refused to take a wife that was ambitious enough to try to steer him one way or another. It had been the reason that so many suggested matches failed to win his approval even though he was now resigned to his fate as someone’s husband, if only to ensure the survival of the Caron name. He’d almost rejected his bride to be for the same reason after meeting her parents and feeling nothing but greed and ambition pouring from them. 

The only thing that had saved the match had been the fact that she seemed entirely without guile and that, while he didn’t make a habit of noting family dynamics, there seemed to be some tension between parents and daughter. Enough to give him some faint hope that perhaps she would not make him feel beholden to her parents’ will once they were wed.

Yet the very sweetness that had made him finally agree to a betrothal and deem her a suitable bride was the very trait that he was already beginning to dread. Always a solitary man he had been about to leave the courtyard after his exchange with Ser Cuy, hoping that none would seek to approach him if wore a dark enough expression. Only one did and he found himself unable to turn away from her light. “My lady.” It was the correct response, or at least the one that politeness would have him make, but for all he’d said the words countless times he didn’t miss how leaden they felt on his tongue this time. There was a weight to them this time when she was to be his lady. 

Possessiveness had never been one of his traits, especially when it had come to romantic partners, and it certainly wasn’t about to take hold of him now. But despite a lack of ownership felt, he found he did feel responsible for her. If there was one thing he had always been ( apart from grieving ) it was dutiful and so he felt inescapably morally bound. Not only for her safety but her happiness also and there was a stubborn refusal from him to be the one who would cause her soft smile to fall today. The way it seemed to sit so hesitantly on her rosy lips made him wonder just how many times her delicate requests had been rejected and for all he kept to himself he had never been a cruel enough man to wish to join those ranks.

So the sigh that threatened to heave in his chest is kept caged behind his ribs and instead he nods, acquiescing to her request when it is one so harmless and so simple. The part of him that had given up on himself might have wondered why she was so keen to spend time with him but it was quickly silenced by the obvious - their futures were inextricably intertwined now, it was only natural to want to get to know the person she was supposed to spend the rest of her days ( or more likely his ) with. “If that is what you would like.” Elbow was extended to her, ignoring the memory that rose of his mother impressing upon him the importance of treating women with respect, instead he focuses on the present and clutches onto whatever he can to distract himself. With an awkward clearing of his throat he poses a question. “How have you found the city?” Usually he loathes small talk but he now finds himself leaning upon it as though its a crutch. 

[ofwcsteros]

Her beauty was something that she had been made aware of since she was a child and so as she grew older she had made the choice to simply embrace and accept it. There were worse things than being adored and admired, after all. She had never been one to shy away from bringing the eyes of others onto herself but her skin crawled with the look of pity that most shot her way due to her new status as a widow. So used to being the beautiful young wife of a well respected older lord, she hadn’t quite found a way to adjust to now being without him and it felt as though a part of her was now lost to her. Her identity changed from a woman most could envy to one that others could pity. Of course, it was not as though she wasn’t grieving still despite the funeral being months ago. She had loved him, in her own way, and so despite the match being more on of head than heart she had still mourned him. It had been almost two decades worth of contentment, stable and consistent. A life of comfort that matched the luxury she’d grown up with, one that she had never had to doubt the security of. Perhaps if she were more cynical or critical of herself ( both things she was perfectly capable of even if her pride refused to admit she had any flaws ) she would think that she only missed the position rather than the man but she knew she had enjoyed his company over the years too. He had been the perfect companion.

But now she was on her own and aware that Parchment wasn’t really her home anymore and neither was Stonehelm given she’d spent as many years away from it as she had growing up there. For the first time she found herself somewhat unsure of her place and while her standing had not fallen any it had undoubtedly changed. Rather than put it down any kind of personal flaw when she knew well enough that it was simply other’s awkwardness around death, she held her head high and still chose to grace others with her presence. Eventually though she grew tired of the stilted small talk and exhausted of the charm and effort it was taking to thaw others out sufficiently enough to have any sort of interesting exchange. That was when her gaze landed on Byron Hasty and she knew exactly where she was headed next. After drifting aimlessly through the event ( although of course she was effortless enough that she was certain no one would have noticed ) she finally had some direction in her steps. Perhaps she shouldn’t have looked to him as her port in the storm, an oasis in the desert of decent company, but there still something that pulled her towards him. Young love it might have been and at the time she had even convinced herself it was only a foolish fancy but the feelings had lingered and her attachment to him barely dimmed even though she pretended as though she’d extinguished it years ago.

There was a sense of relief that this time their meeting would not be tinged with the sombreness of their last, a quick exchange at Jon’s funeral. Instead she was grateful that their next meeting was at a more joyous event, even if it seemed as though someone had forgotten to remind the bride and groom of that. Her steps are full of their usual grace as she approaches but there’s no denying the trepidation she feels as she speaks, knowing all too well that now they are both left spouseless it opens the door to questions of their futures. Whether they might intertwine or not. They are not questions she’s prepared to ask nor answer and so instead she tests the waters with a joke, voice hushed and conspiratorial. “I gave them my best wishes for a happy marriage but I am not sure that will be enough for them.” Her wit always had been famously dry and more often than not at the expense of others, she couldn’t help it if they made it so easy, but as her gaze drifted to the newlyweds there was almost a soft sympathy in her eyes. She had been able to make her own choice and be content with it, they looked as though they had not even had the luxury of that. So she relents in her sharpness, ever so slightly, a rare glimpse at a more forgiving and understanding woman. “Still, they do say that with time grows fondness.” 

@ofthefirstmen​

[ofwcsteros]

Homesickness had been yet to truly affect her, until that day, even though there had been an almost constant sense of longing to see her brothers again. Resilient and adaptable her situation on Great Wyk hadn’t unsettled her when she’d always known that she’d leave Greyshield to better her standing. As soon as she’d been old enough to understand what would eventually be expected of her - what her future would or could look like - pragmatism had taken over and she’d begun to distance herself from the island that was supposed to be her home. If she would have to leave the island when she inevitably found a husband ( it wasn’t so much that her father was ambitious but she was, she knew she was beautiful enough to snare a good match and she intended to do so when she’d always thought herself worthy of gold and riches ) there was no point getting too attached to it. Still, emotions rarely listened to logic and despite having prepared herself to leave behind the place she’d grown up, she wasn’t quite ready to relinquish her fondness for it. At least not with the same willingness with which she’d left it. It was all just nostalgia though, memories of her siblings and the childhood that she’d had.

It had been a childhood defined by constant struggle between her and her sister to win the attention of her brothers. For years Viola seemed to come out on top. Always so soft and kind, her delicate composition verging on sickly more often than not in a way that lead to her constantly being fawned over. They were almost mirror images of one another, the same brown eyes that could plead with a man without saying a word, the same smiles that curved into such a pretty smile. She should have been able to rival her sister and they should have been a well matched pair. But Viola played the damsel as though she was born to be nothing more than helpless and Meredyth quickly learnt that she couldn’t compete with her sister. At least, not by playing her at her own game. Instead she made her favour hard to win with standards set so high they were almost impossible to meet. It had been a tricky act to master when if played wrongly it might have caused some to abandon their efforts but with a smile just as pretty as her sister’s she found that her approval was still sought after, perhaps even more so when it posed a challenge to all those who tried to win it. It gave her power and influence, on a small scale perhaps but because of it she’d never considered herself to be helpless. 

But in the aftermath of Gorold’s declaration she was suddenly all too aware that she was alone, isolated and almost ally-less. For the first time she realised that she had been left her powerless and completely at the mercy of the men around her. Even throughout Greyshield’s occupation she had felt as though she had some control, setting her sights on Greydon and using their bond to her advantage to secure herself the best outcome possible. Her feelings for him were a happy accident but nonetheless she had willingly returned to Hammerhorn with him with every intention of becoming his wife. Instead his father had laid claim to her, a far cry from the husband she had dreamt of for herself and all she was left feeling was anger and betrayal that her supposed love had said nothing to stop it. She’d left the room as quickly a possible without making her exit too obvious and once in the relative sanctuary that was her quarters she began to rip the fixings from her hair. Her fuming was soon interrupted and with one glance at the door her expression darkened. “I have nothing to say to you.” Tone was harsh and gaze aflame with unspoken accusation but she looked at him just long enough for him to register her fury, moments later turning away from him with chin lifted in haughty faux indifference.

@ofthefirstmen​

[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​

[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. 

[ofwcsteros]

Still adjusting to his new position as Lord of Crakehall, he had yet to claim his father’s study for himself. Instead he continued to use his own ( perhaps due to a sense of nostalgia that he’d never admit to ) with admittance strictly by invitation only. He was far from a strict Lord, he was one for high standards but he’d always found that a good nature made those around him far more willing to do his bidding, but the one unbreakable rule he did have was that he wasn’t to be bothered there. Not when he found it to be the place where he had all his best ideas, thoughts crafting themselves into delicate strategies that would crumble should too many discover them, such were the careful nature of his schemes. Privately he likened himself to an architect, determined to shape the future with his visions of what could be. His brother Lyle had always been strong and consistent, the perfect foundation on which to build his plans. The pair were always in sync with one another and he was filled with certainty that they wouldn’t even need to have a discussion before doing what needed to be done. Not when they had always acted in the best interest of Crakehall and its people. 

Merlon had always been the more unpredictable sibling and so despite his desire to bring both his brothers more firmly into the fold, he found it difficult to place quite as much trust in his youngest brother. Perhaps it was unfair of him and he certainly had no wish to cause any discord or tensions between his siblings, so he did his best to ensure that both felt valued and useful in his plans. After all, dissatisfaction could be so corrosive. The information that the youngest Crakehall could give him was truly invaluable though, so when it came to plotting their next moves he knew that discussions would need to be had in person. A raven had been sent days ago to summon his brother home and he had waited patiently for the other’s arrival. When someone finally entered his study he knew exactly who it would be, barely glancing up on greeting. “So glad you could join me, brother.” There was a hint of dryness to his words, a gentle jest to re-establish the comradery between them. “I trust your journey was comfortable?” Pleasantries had their place but they both knew why they were there and so he swiftly follows his question with the more pressing one as he poured them both a glass of wine. “What news from the capital?”

@ofthefirstmen​

[ofwcsteros]

At some point in her life she was quite certain that she would have been a sweet, unassuming child. Mild mannered and perhaps even endearing. But for as long as she could remember she’d found herself angry, the emotion morphing into bitterness and resentment with age as her understanding of her situation increased. With a father who loved his first daughter so much she became aware that the only way she might have staked any claim to his love would have been if she’d been born as his son. Then it felt like everything she ever loved or brought her joy was turned into a weapon. Her love for music seen as a point of interest, her elegant dancing as an attraction, even her smile and her own features seen as a lure. All a way to help and strengthen her House. To help the sister that her father loved so much more.

From there the path she was supposed to walk had felt like a steep decline that she had no choice but to allow herself to be carried down. All so out of her control, steps being made out of necessity and perhaps even a small amount of fear. There’d been one glimmer of hope though, a promising match with a suitable enough lord. Whether he was special or not had hardly mattered nor her feelings towards him. The attraction had been that he was her choice. A decision made by her, for her, that finally gave her some illusion of power and control over her own fate. Of course, it wasn’t to be and her father had been so quick to arrange another match for her.  And now she resented the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, partially because of their terrible first encounter but more so because he was, and seemingly forever would be, the living reminder of all the choices she’d had taken away from her.

Perhaps the one remnant of the girl she’d been was her loyalty ( though now it was almost solely tied to Cerelle as opposed to her whole family ) and so when her father informed her that she was supposed to spend some time with her betrothed, she’d acquiesced without a fight. But that didn’t mean she had to enjoy herself and as she came to a halt next to the man she was supposed to wed, her expression made it perfectly clear. “Lord Morrigen.” Some part of her could concede that he was just a victim of her holding him responsible for the sum of her troubles and woes. A charge she knew was unjust and yet as she remembered the judgement that had shone in his eyes on their first meeting, she couldn’t help but level it at him once more. Perhaps it was merely out of some sort of self defence - pushing him away before he could decide he found her lacking once more - but the reason hardly mattered when instead she simple did nothing to hide the accusation in her eyes nor the disappointment and disdain she felt for the match. “I believe we are to go for a walk.” The words are terse, barely veiling the fact that she’d rather be anywhere else but there.

@ofthefirstmen​

[ofwcsteros]

GIDEON  SUNGLASS:

Despite what their name might suggest, the Sunglass keep had been a darkened place for quite a time now.  Ever since the passing of Gideon and his brothers’ parents, there seemed to be a heaviness that walked the halls of Sweetport Sound, a dampness that seemed to linger, a cold that one could never quite shake.  Gideon blamed it on the feeling of loneliness that he never could outrun.  Guncer was more oft than not in the Sept or speaking with Maesters or performing the daily tasks of keeping Sweetport running.  And Gwayne had left not too long ago to join the Kingsguard, a worthy and righteous task, but ultimately one that left Gideon without a friend to confide in or a brother to bond with.

But the sunlight seemed to have returned to House Sunglass and Sweetport Sound when Lynesse had stepped foot inside.  The desolate days of wandering about the halls, trying to find something to do, something to read he hadn’t before, or convincing some of the locals his age to engage in any sort of activity, seemed to be over.  It’s not as if he spent the entirety of his days with his brother’s wife, but he wanted to.  And he seemed to hold his breath until he had the chance to interact with her.

He blamed the feeling on the idea of finally having a friend who wasn’t also family, not to mention someone his own age as well.  Being fairly rural, Gideon’s choice in playmates growing up and then acquaintances once grown had been fairly limited, so the detection of Lynesse’s own loneliness which had closely mirrored his own, had been easy.  And he had made it his mission to banish that feeling in her, by whatever means.  He reasoned that his feelings of wanting to make sure she was well settled and happy in her new home were both those natural of a brother in law as well as identifying with the aforementioned feelings of loneliness.

If the throughout the day Gideon didn’t find himself naturally in her presence, he had the tendency to meander near her well tread paths, places he knew she often spent time, if not in hopes of spending time with his sister-in-law, than at least to catch a glimpse and make sure all was well with her.  And while her sudden appearance as he rounded the corner was surprising, the fact that he eventually ran into her was not.  

“Depends,” that was false, regardless of how she answered he’d accompany her, possibly to the ends of the known world.  This sentiment was made clear by the fact that he was already offering his arm, despite having not yet gotten an answer.  “Where are we going today?”

                                                ___________

Heart had dropped at his words, so used to being denied the relationships that she so craved with her siblings, always kept at arms length with age as an excuse when all she’d wanted was to have been pulled close. But moments later, Gideon was offering her his arm. Letting her into his life in the way that her brother and sister never had. There had been some hope that perhaps her husband’s brother could fill that role, that she might finally get the brother she had longed for, but as she took her arms she felt warm inside. The more time that they spent together the more it was becoming  apparent that there was nothing sisterly about the way he made her feel. 

“I thought you could tell me.” Soft words slipped from her lips, still a hesitancy to them even though she’d come to accept that he seemed to value her company as much as she did his. “After all, you know our surroundings so much better, I could hardly ask for a better guide.” Appeasement had always been her way of dealing with any sort of decision from her, having grown up knowing that in the eyes of her siblings she could never win. Even if they shared the same view, the moment she voiced it their minds would change. And so she’d learned to hedge her bets until she found the path of least resistance. But she was quickly learning that such tactics were not necessary around Gideon.  

And so even though it felt as though it went against her very nature ( though perhaps nuture was more accurate ) she tentatively gave a glimpse into her wishes, even if they were disguised as a light joke. “If you are in need of inspiration though, perhaps towards the bay.” Bitterbridge lay on the banks of the Mander and so she was used to the flow of the Mander but the sea had captivated her in an entirely different way. Its constant ebb and flow was soothing, even if she couldn’t help but feel small next to it. But when she had been made to feel small her whole life there was some comfort in knowing that the sea reduced everyone who beheld it to something almost insignificant by comparison.

With a slight step in the direction she wished to go, she turned them with a gentle tug on his arm. Part of her knew that she should be wary of eyes on them but she was still determined to be a faithful wife despite the distance that her husband maintained between them. He was far more interested in prayer and politics than his new bride and Lynesse was quite certain that he found her boring. But she took solace in the fact that at least one Sunglass didn’t, head tilting to look up at him through her lashes. 

Lips pressed together slightly before she posed her question, always willing and eager to get more of a glimpse into his life - the things he liked and saw value in. She so wanted to be close to him, to truly be allowed to know someone for the first time in her life and she would take whatever flashes of insight she could glean. “Unless of course there is something new you would like to show me?” 

[ofwcsteros]

HARRY  RIVERS:

Harry figured he had drank enough to finally make someone pass the test of being the person he was looking for, but as she spoke, he realized it was the person he had been searching for in the face of every passing patron.  For a moment, all he could do was stare up at her from his position in his own chair at the table, her question hanging in the air unanswered.  It just seemed so surreal, after all this time to be in her presence.  Especially when Harry had resigned himself to the idea that he’d never see his dear old friend again.  It was the unfortunate way of things, she being a lady of the Westerlands, and for him, the longest time, a Bastard of the Riverlands, there was no reason for them to ever meet again.  If he believed in fate ( he didn’t ), he might think the fact they found themselves first at the wedding, then in the dimly lit inn together was a sign of some sort.  Whatever it said, he wasn’t sure he was literate in it’s language.  But he would simply accept it as good fortune.

Eventually, something broke Harry from his stupor enough for him to quickly and fervently tell her yes, as well as get up from his own chair to pull the seat she had gestured to out for her.  He wasn’t sure why his body thrummed with energy or his hands felt clammy.  He was a man grown now, with many name days under his belt since she had known him.  So why did he find himself acting as if he wasn’t?  As if he was still that youthful and inexperienced boy she had said goodbye to all those years before? He had worked hard for the easy confidence and silver tongue, and yet now it all failed him.

As he sat back down himself, his mind hummed with all the questions he wanted to ask her.  After all, their lives had both been through many changes since they had last known each other.  He, a bastard naturalized, she a woman married and widowed.  But first, he asked the most important question, one he felt he needed to ask, despite seeing her seemingly fairly healthy and well in front of him.  “Were you alright?  After the wedding?  What happened after I left you?”     

                                                  ____________

When a person spent as much time alone as she had in her life it was undoubtedly a struggle to not be somewhat introspective. Time had never been her ally when it afforded her the opportunity to reflect and turn things over and over in her mind. Some memories were fonder than others but there was little doubt in her mind that it was the memories that featured the man next to her that were the ones that still held the most joy for her. Of course, she was well aware that much had changed and they were far from the two lovelorn teenagers they’d been in The Vale, and yet there last few meetings had almost felt like nothing had change. Except everything had, just she held onto the hope that their bond would remain steady despite how life continued to shift around them. Perhaps the biggest obstacle would be their changing situations. There was a certain irony to the fact that their roles had now reversed and she was now the lesser option - a young widow with no real influence, her family’s power and sway waning - while his fortune was only on the rise. 

Dark eyes glance up from her hands at his words. It shouldn’t make her throat tighten as much as it does - that simple inquiry into how she is - but it just reminds her how long it’s been since anyone ever asked after her and meant it. Some part of her aches at how much she’s missed him, reminding her once again that loneliness was the only thing to never truly leave her. His company had always been the exception. The one place that she felt as though she could not only be herself but that he cared enough to get to know her. Listened to whatever glimpses she gave into her thoughts and feelings; valued her opinion and perhaps even sought her company. Cared enough to come back. Practically a feast for the girl who had always been starved of attention and hungry for affection. 

“Fine, thank you.” Smile flickers, knowing that polite niceties that might have satisfied anyone else were not what she wanted to give him. “Or as fine as anyone could be.” The times they were living through seemed increasingly dark and so she was certain that no one would be completely untouched by the events that were unfolding. She was also certain that without Harry she wasn’t sure what would have happened to her. If he hadn’t come back she’d have been left to the mercy of others and the whole kingdom seemed to be devoid of that. “Thanks to you, really.” Voice was soft as she spoke, as though she was worried that someone else might overhear her honesty. Or it was just that there was a certain intimacy to candour that made her want to reserve it solely for them. “I cannot recall much of what happened other than it wasn’t much of note. I stayed in my quarters until it was safe to leave.”

Slight hands were rested on the table in front of her as she shifted slightly in her seat, regretting that she had sought him out before she’d gotten a drink. If only so her hands wouldn’t feel so at a loss of something to hold. “I trust - I hope - things have been well with you?”

[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​

[previouslybisexualmerlin]

merlin character tropes: gwaine

«If there’s one thing that I learned from my father’s life is that titles don’t mean anything. It’s what’s inside that counts».