⤷ ( ander. mst/pdt. twenty. he/him/his. ) the courts offer bread and salt to QUENTIN of HOUSE TYRELL. many say that the TWENTY-SIX year old LORD of HIGHGARDEN is known to be ADVENTUROUS and IMAGINATIVE, though ill tongues whisper that he is RECKLESS and DEFENSIVE. when his name is uttered, one is reminded of the sun blinding you and you’re forced to curse, scolding surrounding you but you’re unsure of the source, whistling a tune that’s been stuck in your head for days, being surrounded by tall flowers and you can no longer see where you came from. may he be blessed and protected in this war of crowns. ( fc: ruiari o’connor )
ABOUT || SPOTIFY || PINTEREST
tw: possibly transphobia(?), body dysphoria(?) - at least on the about page, not so much in the intro
basic stats
full name: quentin atros tyrell
nicknames: quinn/quen
age: twenty-six
gender: trans man
pronouns: he/him/his
orientation: bi, demisexual, more sex repulsed
religion: faith of the seven, loosely
titles: n/a
allegiance: house tyrell, at best
place of birth: highgarden
current residence: king’s landing
past
He grew up giving his nannies and parents a run for their sanity. He definitely taught his younger siblings in the way of being a menace, too.
If he wasn’t dragging at least one of his siblings along for an adventure, what was the point? Being alone, especially with his thoughts? Not possible. Who knows what shenanigans he was going to get into?
An absolutely filthy child who had been forced into being noble lady. He tried that and would sooner commit treason against all of Westeros.
Has he had suitors before and after his transition? Perhaps. Does he give them whiplash every time, making them question if they really want to marry into the Tyrell family, especially to him? Most definitely.
He’s just glad he’s not the heir or the spare. He’d never be cut out to do that work. Have patience for once in his life? Absolutely not!
present
He’s a beacon of chaos. Honestly should be kept in Highgarden, perhaps even a cage, but he ventured out to the King’s Landing. Should he have? Who knows? Certainly not him!
He hasn’t been home in Highgarden for a few years, but has more than sent his fair share of ravens to his family.... Completely ignoring the shenanigans he’s committed from afar.
We ignore the fact that he’s been bedding a southern prince.
He’s not truly on any king’s side right now. He’s had his own fair share in court and he’s heard the rumors in the South. But there’s a new Northern King. Both kingdoms are vulnerable. He’s just trying to play his cards.
On the bright side, he can mingle with other houses, and possibly even see family he hasn’t seen in oh so long. Isn’t that a treat?
future
As long as he’s alive, even if he’s exiled, he doesn’t necessarily care. Perhaps those he cares about, too, but who truly knows with him?
What will he have to do to keep his family safe?
There’s a storm brewing within, and the roses are never safe. Their gardens hold too much power. Will they be called upon again?
The ruling lady of Driftmark was beyond angry... she was furious. Though she was glad that she and Daemon hadn't had any children yet, because if she were to be trapped in Winterfell with the people of other houses, some of which she didn't trust... she would be rightfully worried about her children. But luckily she had no children as of yet.
After the announcement that everyone from every house that was gathered inside of the hall couldn't leave Winterfell, she heard others yell, scream, cry... she heard the Salt Queen of Pyke of House Greyjoy yell that she wanted her children immediately, and she heard a few lords voice their grievances as well. Rhaenella however, stayed quiet. She silently observed the scene unfolding.
The lady of the tides with hair as red as blood that she had spilled in a few battles quite some moons back, finally spoke. "Though it isn't ideal for us all to be here in Winterfell... it is better than being out in the cold."
In the middle of this chaos, Quentin couldn’t imagine being a parent. He wouldn’t care about himself - only them and their wellbeing. But he was an uncle, and despite not being around them since he left Highgarden, he would defend them with his life. Seven hells, none of the children were behind this nonsense! No child cared about scheming politics. They didn’t deserve to be in fear, not knowing what was becoming of them and those they loved.
But he, too, stayed silent. He had no stake in this. It wasn’t fair to raise his voice among those people. But he was afraid like all of them. What would happen next?
“You’re right, my lady.” Eventually, he spoke. “Here, you can light a fire and keep warm.” However long that would last. Someone would talk eventually - they would have to. Becoming stir-crazy did that to anyone. “Outside, you’re more than likely to freeze to death, but I do believe that is my Southerner coming through.” Even now, in the worst of times, he slipped in a joke. When else could he?
On occasion he could look around and see there was something wonderful about the grounds of Winterfell. Something wonderful and haunting all the same, he wondered what ghost called these walls their home. Which ghost walked alongside the living as if their live never ended, how long would it take for them to become the sort of vengeful spirits that left behind sordid tales of hauntings and history that would write them off. Daemon believed that death didn’t end their lives, especially for the men that died out of reach of their Gods. Restless spirits, many lands and fields of battle would forever be haunted by those that lost their lives and cried to open skies for mercy. Begged for their mothers.
The North allowed too much time for introspection and that kind of thinking could only lead him to memories that made him feel strange. Memories of his brother, memories of being on high seas and fighting men with faces. Taking a pride in destroying pirates and leaving their ships to burn and their sails to be forgotten forever. The cost of losing at sea was far greater but that was just the mind of someone so one tracked.
“I’m over everything here.” He was losing his patience with the North. Maybe it was the ingrained hatred of Starks. His parents were certain to put into his head that anyone that called themselves a King without the blood of the dragon wasn’t someone to trust. But, in his experience Starks and Northmen were…unpleasant but somehow likable all the same. The weather was softening him. It was official. If he stayed any longer he would find himself starting to like these people.
There wasn’t some ingrained hatred of the Starks that rooted Quentin in place - it was the fascination with their home that did. How could anyone call this their home? Willingly? It further drove into his thought that no matter the environment, people would find a way to thrive. As long as the people one loved was there, why not give it a try? So here they all were, huddled in Winterfell, trying to scrape up what was left of their families.
A voice had pulled him from his thoughts - quite literally. His head forced him to look at who spoke aloud. How long had he been pacing? “Is it the being cooped up part that’s gotten you, or the homesickness?” Quentin honestly couldn’t figure out which one it was for him.
˙ ˖ ˙ ˖ just like that, caeryn’s entire mood shifted. what could have been a sweet moment ( had they been different people ) turned sour. anything but where you belong ━━ the words rung in his head. as if anyone knew where he belonged. he didn’t even know where he belonged. it was a constant struggle, discomfort everywhere he went. how could one simply know where they belong ? to caeryn, this appeared to be impossible. the idea of feeling a sense of belonging with the people you’re around, the roles you assume, the walls that surround you, was foreign to him. yet quentin seemed to know exactly where caeryn belonged.
❝ then tell me, lord tyrell, since you know me so well, where is it that i belong ? behind stone walls waiting to one day assume a crown unfit for my head ? ❞ the prince’s voice held a tinge of resentment. this was no riddle, but a challenge. this was no invitation to waltz, but an invitation to battle. their involvement with each other in itself was an entire war. a war not even a thousand battalions could win.
he never thought such simple words would sting. more often than not, caeryn let his walls half-down with quentin ━━ his walls that were typically so heavily guarded. each day, each time they spoke, each time they lay in silence, he wondered if it was a mistake. each time they argued he wondered if he should end their little escapade. but every sweet moment they shared made it harder to do so. how much longer could either of them do this for ?
❝ you flinch under my touch as if your skin has grazed flames. ❞ flames. that is essentially what their… entanglement was.
as if contemplating the distance between them and the ground far below, he peered over the ledge. ❝ will you stay or go and leave me at peace ? ❞
Those were bold words coming from a tiny man that hardly knew his place in the world. He scarcely knew where he fit, if he belonged at all. He belonged with his family, doing what it took for them to thrive. Despite all of this, he was still incredibly and utterly alone - even when he was with Caeryn. But he couldn’t leave him. They’d argue, their pride getting ahead of them. This time was no different.
Quentin’s blood was boiling and yet his words were low, barely a hint of what was groveling underneath. “You belong with your people, in King’s Landing or your ancient home of Valyria. In another universe, perhaps you could belong to me.” There was his answer. Was he satisfied? Was it not obvious they were made to ruin each other? Sometimes Quentin thought about their situation and thought it better to never return his letters, abandon him at court. But what good would that do? Everyone would know and he’d be of no use anymore. And he’d hate to be useless again!
But once again Quentin flinched, jumping down from the ledge. Once again, he was small but he still had thorns. “You’re a dragon. You’re anything but gentle.” Just look at their difference in stature! One was towering over the other, and if they had met at a different time in a different place, Quentin would be more than just freckled and sun-kissed. One touch was all it took to leave a mark on his skin - that they knew from experience.
the sky is pitch, scattered with stars. it’s late in the evening, but the castle remains well alive, guards wary, nervous and angry at their stations, the scullery still busy as every night, and somewhere in a tower, the king’s council is huddled around a table speaking of war and omens. but most of winterfell’s many guests have taken to their chambers, leaving an empty and anxious quiet to settle, across the castle, soft and smothering as fresh snow. she shouldn’t be out, knows better than to be, but the upheaval has stirred up a storm within her ; angry, anxious, and hopeful in turns, terrified and yet curious more than anything. a heavy heart, a mind weighed down, not the sort of thing to bring with her to the bedchamber. so instead, jeyne walks the castle walls, half-hidden in shadow and imagines herself a lion, prowling, looking out into the darkness as if through bars of a cage.
it sounds better than the truth, anyway. a lion wouldn’t be hiding out in the cold, too fearful, to restless to retreat to its den. lost in thought, in self-indulgent misery and scheming, she fails to notice another’s presence, until a noise startles her from her reverie. she jumps — a genuine spasm of fear accompanied by a rather undignified yelp — and is immediately, crushingly embarrassed.
“ you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that ! it’s a dangerous venture at the best of times, and besides, it’s rude, ” she blusters, almost scolding, trying to cover her shame with indignation, ignoring the cold fear that still lingers, battering relentlessly at her heart.
There’d been other footfalls around him, but for the most part, Quentin had managed to find himself alone. It was a terrible thing, but after the events that had occurred that night, it felt the safest option. When he was alone and afraid, he spiraled into all the wrong courses of action. He couldn’t be alone. Not now. Not when he was as confused as everyone else, if not more. The flag they had placed was Targaryen, but he knew that wasn’t right. Would Caeryn have been in on that plan? Would he tell him anything of substance?
He hadn’t noticed the other person walking down the hall, slinked in shadows. He’d been fiddling with a ring, and it had clinked onto the ground. The sound pierced his ears, and he was about to fold in on himself when he heard someone in front of him shriek. He quickly picked up the trinket and slid to the shadows.
Being criticized when one was doing the same exact thing never held well for the young lord. “At least it wasn’t a dagger I dropped.” Perhaps he should start carrying one around. Just in case. “If you believe I was purposefully sneaking up on you, you’d be sorely mistaken. Quite the cover you had - until you spoke!”
˙ ˖ ˙ ˖ caeryn nods slowly, ❝ all of the above, ❞ he repeats, seemingly lost in thought. the pair were separated for far too long && his heart was just beginning to ache. that may just have been what caeryn was thinking about : a chance to see his beloved. they hardly ever got a moment to themselves. even now, they risked being seen together. oh ━━ how troublesome their little secret could be.
his hand found and occupied the space next to quentin’s, the sides of their hands barely touching. ❝ it is a bit much at times, it’s nice to have the option to just sneak away, even if it is just for a few minutes. ❞ by this point, he was back to staring at the sky. caeryn could easily enter another trance && ignore the man sitting beside him. for a second, he pondered his choices before giving his head a slight shake && offering quentin the faintest of smiles. how could he ignore one of the few people that actually meant something to him ? it’d be hard to, especially after going so long without seeing him.
caeryn let himself forget that anyone could see or hear them at any given second. he couldn’t bother himself with being too careful, not now. he took quentin’s hand in his, gently rubbing small circles into the back of it with his thumb. ❝ i’m glad it’s you who found me. ❞ caeryn’s voice was soft && quiet as he brought quentin’s hand to his lips, leaving a kiss where his thumb had previously been. reluctantly, he let go. was he feeling a pair of eyes watching ? no ━━ it must have been paranoia. it must have been.
When Quentin's eyes closed, a sigh came out. It was only natural for a lover to crave their touch, but he hadn’t expected to be in this deep with the prince. A few rendezvous had turned into something more tender than either party wanted to admit. Yet Quentin wasn’t sure what they were, or frankly, what he wanted from this relationship. No, relationship was too serious of a word for this arrangement - he was easily replaceable. But he’d heard Caeryn hadn’t been seeing anyone besides him for some time. Was that true? Now wasn’t the time to dwell upon the jumble of feelings in his chest. He wasn’t that idiotic to start dwelling upon it now.
“Sneaking away while not in your own home is impossible at best.” They always spoke in riddles, sizing each other with each passing word and glance. Each word was a test, seeing who would change the subject or reveal their feelings first. They both had their fair share of losses.
And Caeryn had lost. All of the air in Quentin’s chest vanished. Despite the frigid air of Winterfell ready to replace it, it wasn’t as cold as he felt when he heard those words and felt his lover’s lips on his skin. There was a pair of eyes watching - it was his, boring into him like a hawk. He wanted to scream at him - scream because of their carelessness - but all that came out was a sob as he sharply drew back his hand. There were guards at every corner, and who knew who else was wandering the halls! No one was ever alone. “Anyone could have found you - you stand out among Winterfell. This is anything but where you belong.”
˙ ˖ ˙ ˖ caeryn stood leaning against cool stone that kept him from completely tumbling over the balcony, head resting on a propped up elbow. he was ( as always ) ruminating, lost in thought. how easy it was to get lost in your own tumultuous && disorienting thoughts. how easy it was to be a slave to your own thoughts. caeryn spent his entire life doing so && as easy as it was for him to get lost, it was almost just as easy to pull himself out ━━ to snap back to reality. he heard the sound footsteps approaching in the near distance && tore his gaze from the clear skies to look at the source of the sound.
❝ i see you’ve found my hiding place. ❞ though, it wasn’t much of a hiding place ━━ at any given time, someone could easily stumble upon him. ❝ what brings you here ? the desire for my company ? peace and quiet ? a slight change in scenery ? ❞
How long had Quentin been staring, just to make sure it was him? He was waiting for someone else to come by and rouse the two of them out of this sorrowful trance. Alas, that wasn't going to happen. It was now or never.
It took all of the courage he could muster to get close to the prince. In private, there was no mercy between them, but in public, they couldn’t even steal a glance. How long had it been since they had last touched each other? Months? They were still in King’s Landing then. That was enough time to sigh just by looking one-sided at Caeryn.
Quentin had hopped up onto the thick ledge, hoping that Caeryn would eventually notice his presence. No one needed to speak - but still, the prince ventured. His humor brought a smile to Quentin's face, a gentle one that hadn’t been seen in years. “All of the above.” He catches himself before he calls him ‘his love.’ Who knew who was watching? If someone was, they would notice there was a tenderness in his voice and face. This wasn’t the façade Quentin put up. No, this a part of the real Quentin, tearing down his feeble walls for the Targaryen prince. “Too much stone and people, and not enough air. A deadly combination if you ask me.”
“Alcohol doesn’t make me blind.” He looked toward him then back at the flower, they were wonderful. “Extremely pathetic but if makes you feel any better I won’t remember calling you pathetic in the morning and we can break our fast as if I’m a mannerly lord who has never given offense.” Daemon smiled, he was jesting as he himself was quite found of flowers and gardens. He made his trips around the room and he’d seen his fair share of the Reach. He didn’t like going inland very often but the few times he did, it was always enjoyable.
“Coronations are boring, the North is boring. How can you not be drunk? Tell me your secrets, Quentin and I’ll send you home with the finest rum in Westeros…if I didn’t drink it already.” He smiled a bit running his hand over his face, moving over to look at the other flowers around them. The warmth was nice, it wasn’t too much and he didn’t feel the need to leave and stand out in the cold and it was better than continuing to sit in the crowded hall.
It was impossible for him to not scoff at the other lord. Yet there was a smile on Quentin's face, hiding laughter. “Calling me pathetic is anything but an offense - I brought it up in the first place.”
How could he possibly tell the truth? All he would have to say is for the man to look at him - at best, he was a large child. Seven hells, he wouldn’t have been surprised if a child could hold their drink better than him. So, he mustered some other version of the truth. “My secret is that it is far more entertaining to watch those who are drunk. Not even they know what antics they’ll get into.” And for once, he wouldn’t be the talk of the occasion!
while brannon was annoyed to be interrupted and drawn from his musings, he certainly didn’t show it. instead, he smoothly took a careful sip from his chalice and laid it atop the cold stone bannister. it was his duty to mingle with the guests, to sent their minds at ease before filling them with drink & food. either way, however tedious, it was a gift in it’s own right - it wasn’t everyday that he could speak so casually to a member of one of the south’s most prominent families.
it was why they were hosting this event, after all. they were celebrating edric’s ascension from prince to king, and affirming the strength of the north, despite the grief of losing the former king brandon so suddenly and viciously, of course. but it was also the perfect opportunity to drop all the vipers into a pit and observe.
“ ah, that it certainly does. but i’m sure you know a fair bit about the spirit of our great lands, would you not lord quentin? ” brannon let out with ease, “ highgarden, kings landing - for someone so young, your reputation certainly precedes you. ”
He should have known better than to run into someone on his own who wasn’t interested in his private life. Each person had heard different tales - and only Quentin knew the truth. Despite knowing most of them were false, he would squirm under Brannon’s glare. There was always a grain of truth within them.
Yet he feigned his cheerfulness as he always had. No one needed to know it was all a hoax. Even Quentin didn't have to know that fact. “Ah, that is where you are disillusioned, Lord Lefford. The places you named were in the South, and last time I checked, I haven’t ventured this far north.” It was a wonder how they were on opposing sides, considering the Westerlands were technically in the South, but it allied itself with the North. How many generations ago was that implemented? Surely it wasn’t that long ago - their blood was still allied, in a way.
The Queen of Salt was not happy with the outcome of the chaotic event that had just transpired. She knew chaos would happen at the gathering eventually, what exactly was everyone expecting? All of the kings, queens and nobility were in Winterfell together. There was bound to be something to happen, what the hell were the Starks thinking?
Winterfell was officially on lockdown... Layna was pissed off. She wanted to go back home to her people. She wanted to go out to the sea where she belonged, not be trapped inland like a caged animal.
"Fuck!" She cried out in frustration. "Why do the ironborn among everyone else have to stay here!? It was obviously those mad dragon fuckers who did it! They have everything against the Starks. I mean come on, you all can't be that dense! Get your heads out of your arses! It was obviously a Targaryen who did it." Layna cried out as she gazed around the room, the Kraken Queen didn't care about her own sudden outburst.
"I just want to go back out to sea, where we ironborn belong. Not trapped in a cold and depressing place like this. The Greyjoys had nothing to do with this, the only thing my family wants to do is go home... my children are scared and want their mother. If the person who did this isn't run through with a sword before we break fast by the morning tomorrow then the Iron Fleet will set sail for home. I will not tolerate being held here like a prisoner among other prisoners in wolf territory."
Only those who thrived on pure chaos could find this a challenge. Sure, Quentin thrived in that environment, but he would never wish death upon anyone. If anything, he was just a trickster with a slightly mean streak. For the past few years, he had been trying to show others that he had good in him, too.
There was no doubt in his mind that his family wasn’t involved. What had occurred was hubris at its finest - no one would ever confess to this crime, but they certainly hadn't thought of the repercussions. Attempted murder in their own home? At least with this many people, it was impossible to pin their identity.
The hardest part was knowing he couldn’t go back home to where he knew the killers wouldn’t be. No, he’d be back in King’s Landing with the Targaryens. But were they really the killers? Or was it someone who wanted to frame them for this? His mind had been reeling about the possibilities all night. He could readily understand the Kraken Queen’s outburst. Everyone was bound to burst soon, if they already hadn’t done so.
“I’m sure they’re doing all they can to catch who did this.” With so many people, was it possible to catch them in one night? Was anyone missing from the crowd? That was always hard to tell. What he didn’t understand that the adults couldn’t get to their kids. That was infuriating. But who knew what side the Krakens were on? They could’ve caused this horror just as likely as a Southerner. No, that didn’t matter when children were involved. Did no one think of them when they were planning that? Or was this a ploy? He honestly didn’t know what to think or say - his blood always boiled. “Unfortunately, it’s too easy to cast blame. Before you know it, we all did it in someone’s eyes.”
joanna looked at the stranger, with his terribly bright red hair and short stature. for a moment she gave him a quizzical look, before bursting into peals of laughter. “oh, i like you.” she let out amidst giggles. most everyone either politely ignored her while privately thinking the stark girl was particularly loony or they chided her for acting dissimilar to that of a princess and fooling around — it was terribly rare that someone indulged in one of her japes.
“ you’re quite funny for a southerner, you know. though i can’t say i’ve met many southerners to judge the whole lot. are all southerner’s funny? or are you an anomaly? ” she asked, swinging atop the railing. anyone else who attempted to do the same might have found themselves flung from the castle walls and into a snowbank - but jo was a stark, and she knew every nook & cranny of this great castle. “ would you care to join me up here? i can’t promise any stone walls, but the view is quite lovely. ”
He was a Southerner - he didn’t know any better than to indulge the person before him. Even then, he’d indulge her. What was life without a little bit of fun? Well, even if he did look like a ragdoll half the time. So at her question, she shrugged. “If they’re not boring, they’re stuffy.” Unfortunately, that was most of what he knew growing up - no wonder he was awfully bored and grew into a raging menace. “Very select Southerners intend to be funny, I can tell you that. But when they’re unintentionally so? Even better.”
Then she asked him to join her on the railing. Out of everyone there, he was the most likely to fall flat on his face wherever the ground was down there. And she just swooped up there as if it was nothing? If he tried the same maneuver, he’d be a goner. At least he knew his shortcomings. He ended up joining her, but faced the opposite way. “You can’t promise the stone walls yet I’m staring at one. How is that not a promise?”
I crave the most innocent parts of a relationship. Like holding hands and forehead kisses and being able to tell someone how much I absolutely adore them.
