equilibrium .

[goldeir]

* 🏵️           —          the  queen ' s ballroom  shimmered  with  light  —  gold  and  crimson,  candlefire  caught  in  glass  and  silk.  the  scent  of  incense , and beeswax , and beeswax , and wine heavy .  soft  violet  silk  clung  close ,  the  hue  of  twilight  after  rain .  the  tailors  had  called  him  jonquil  when  they  fastened  the  last  of  the  blossoms  in  his  hair  —  a  crown  of  pale  flowers  threaded  through  brown  curls ,  trembling  faintly  as  he  turned  his  head .  his  mask  was  silver  filigree ,  delicate  as  frost ,  hiding  only  what  he  wished  hidden .

it  was  a  game ,  this  dance  of  glances .  elinor  had  leaned  close  a  moment  before ,  his laughter  light  as  bells  behind  his fan .  “ he ’ s  staring , ”  she ’ d  whispered ,  eyes  alight  with  mischief .  “ the  one  in  the  dark  mask  —  gods ,  cousin ,  he ’ s  coming . ” margaeran had smiled — just a small , knowing curve of his mouth . let him .

the  man  who  came  toward  him  was  tall ,  shoulders  broad  and back straight ,  his  mask  dark .  there  was  something  northern  about  him  —  in  the  way he carries himself . in the set  of  his  jaw ,  when  he  speaks ,  he hears it . his  voice  was  quiet ,  low . definitely northern .  yet ,  when  he  takes his hand , the northman is careful . almost reverent . then his  lips  brush  the  back  of  his  knuckles ,  and  for  a  heartbeat  the  noise  of  the  hall  seemed  to  dim .

“ luck ? ” margaeran  tilted  his  head ,  eyes  glinting  behind  his  mask .  when  he  spoke ,  his  voice  was  soft ,  amused . he let his gaze linger — long enough to feel the space between them tighten — before he drew his hand back , just so . “ my lord , i hear she ’ s a fickle maid . ”

“ but , ” a  pause .  a  flicker  of  a  smile .  the  faintest  tilt  of  his  chin ,  as  if  considering  whether  to  grant  a  secret . he  murmured  at  last ,  the  words  brushed  in  honey  and  mischief . “ perhaps she favors the bold tonight . ”

[sanglantroi]

"I've flirted with luck plenty of times before. Thankfully she has always been generous." Robb didn't consider his victories thus far as a result of luck. He had earned every single one of them, earning both the favor and respect of his subjects as a result. All he needed now was a profitable marriage, something his mother had considered plenty of times over. Love was the last thing upon his mind. Robb had much more pressing matters to worry over than trivial things like weddings. Though if his future bride was as stunning as the vision before him he might reconsider. "Though we will see if she continues to offer me her favor or if she'll leave me floundering. Only time will tell." Robb allows the maiden to pull away, using that moment to stand up straight. He glances at the retinue of ladies surrounding Margaeran before returning his eyes to their lady. "May I ask you for this dance?" Once again his hand is extended while a charming smile dances upon his lips. Fortune favored the bold, and Robb had very little to lose. His mask would hide his embarrassment if this beauty denied him outright.

[baelabond]

`✦ Uncertainty ⊹ Baela was known to indulge in dancing too close to flames. Just enough to tempt or to provoke. But he was intuitive and intelligent. Enough to provide himself with insight on most situations. He began to let his attention wane. Alliances? Certainly an idea. Baela only saw this as a real way to establish connections and solidify the ones they've already created. He glanced over at his betrothed and gave him a very puzzled gaze. How could he simply 'fit' in when his beautiful features and brilliant hair made him a beacon for those wandering eyes to fall upon. He squeezed Jace's hand once again. He cleared his throat and began to speak in High Valyrian. He knew Jace was a little less endowed in vocabulary but they could still hold a conversation.

<<"I can not simply pretend to be a guest. There is no mask and no cowl heavy enough to hide who I am. Besides, we've already made the mistake on identifying ourselves in Velaryon banners.">> Though proud; through and through, they were exposed. Baela could; and would, speculate of the simpletons that now sat behind those castle walls. But it wasn't wise to assume they'd simply discount who they were. By order of elimination, warring kingdoms could make their identities. <<"I trust you've already been thinking about The Highgarden?">> Baela looked away, slowly picking out his first target/elbow to rub for the evening. <<"Are there any surprises for the evening I should expect? I can only assume they're all...insatiable.">> ----<<...>>said in High Valyrian

[sanglantroi]

<<"Was it a mistake if it was intentional?">> Jace muses with a smile. He was uncertain if it would be as effective as he hoped. They were surrounded by guests in a wide array of colors, some of which wore their house colors proudly while others did so accidentally. Word had certainly spread that a mysterious pair had taken driftmark, wielding dragons and a claim to the iron throne. Their sight was set upon Dragonstone which Jace was still the prince of, no matter the banners that now decorated her shores. He would claim it for Baela, Rhaenyra, and himself. <<"I've humored the thought of it. For now my eyes are set upon Dragonstone. Together we will wretch it from Stannis Baratheon and purge its halls of the pretender.">> Jace can't help but to smile at the thought. It would be an easy feat with Stannis having left Dragonstone to his stewards. He ponders the question. It had been years since he had set foot in King's Landing. Their last night in her halls had been ruined by Aemond who offered a toast to Jace and his brothers in jest. Like everything done by the Greens it was done so with the intent to question their lineage. For a moment he wonders if either of his uncles had been sent forth into the future alongside them. That would make this exponentially more difficult. Vermax and Moondancer were capable, but paled in comparison to Vhagar who dwarfed them. <<"I would watch for the Lannisters. No doubt they've caught wind of us. If they do suspect anything we can lead them upon a wild goose chase.">> He muses with a shrug. Undermining the Lions would be fun if given the chance. <<"I trust you are armed?">> He has an inkling that he knows what the answer will be. Jace could trust Baela to protect him better than a trained soldier ever could.

[sanglantroi]

@goldeir a winter rose ft margaeryn tyrell && robb stark

Robb had been certain that this entire fiasco was a trap, designed to lure in enemies of the crown so that they might be put on trial and executed. His mother had implored him to ignore the raven, but he had refused. If all were permitted into King's Landing then he would enter with a small entourage. Under the pretense of attending the masked ball, Robb would rescue both Arya and Sansa. Finding them thus far had proven difficult. Not wanting to be perceived as paranoid or suspicious, Robb afforded himself passing glances at ladies in attendance. Thus far he hadn't caught sight of anybody resembling either of his sisters, leaving him momentarily discouraged. Had they been imprisoned or worse? Robb didn't want to humor the idea of his sisters in peril. They were far too useful to be put the blade or thrown into a cell. No, Cersei would use them for political gain. They had the misfortune of being born noble, allowing them to be used as pawns. Robb had to rescue them before they were married off to somebody undeserving. Thus his search continued. Tossing glances at the gentler sex had only garnered him unwanted attention in droves. They had all perceived his fleeting attention as flirting, and now Robb had droves of courtiers demanding a dance. Robb was forced to the outskirts of the ballroom where he could lay low. This was going poorly. Thus far he hadn't made any progress on rescuing his sisters, but was determined to continue his search. Robb resigns himself to a corner where a nobleman stood, surrounded by men in waiting. To fetch a goblet of wine from a nearby table he had to politely excuse himself, weaving in and out of the young men that surrounded their charge. With his drink in hand he lifts it to his lips so he might take a sip. He tosses a glance at the nobleman, one who appeared effortlessly charming and handsome even while hidden beneath a mask. Deciding he had done his fair share of searching, he put a pause on his mission. Robb would have all night to find his sisters.

"Have you had any luck tonight?" Robb asks, employing a smile while offering a hand for the nobleman to take. Upon receiving it he lifts it to his lips so he may grace Margaeran's knuckles with a kiss. "I believe I was just struck with it."

[legendsvng]

　　the amount of stares that samwell had garnered by just being present at the ball was starting to get discomforting. he could only speculate on whatever they were thinking. if they looked down upon a member of the watch rubbing elbows with the lords, or just happened to recognize the silly obese son of lord randyll tarly, he would never know. the place was filled with color and glamour, all which just made samwell's homely appearance stick out sorely. it only took a turn for the worse, as a rowdy voice suddenly picked out the meek steward from the rest of the crowd.

　　they can't possibly be looking for me, i have got nothing to do with anyone here, samwell thought to himself, hurriedly ready to keep on walking before the voice ordered him to stop. and even if he tried to ignore it and move on, he would not have been able to go on any further, as he soon found himself surrounded by a bunch of drunken guests. all gathered around a young man, the one who - samwell assumed, called to him in the first place.

　　sam could have thought of a million reasons for him to be called out, most revolving around how he could be made fun of - nothing he was not used to. but nothing could have prepared him for what the mysterious blond had to say, samwell's jaw practically dropping to the floor. staring in disbelief as he was called a...no, the prettiest thing.

　　he had to be joking. there was no other explanation. the stranger before him, even with the mask on, possessed undeniable beauty. with a charming, if intimidating smile, and curls that the former lord could only compare to how those of the targaryen dynasty were described as. such interest had to be a cruel joke, a joke of which samwell wanted nothing to do with. not when he had more pressing matters to take care of.

　　"e-e-excuse me, but i," his nose flinched as he could smell the bitterness of wine coming from his breath. stubby fingers curled up into fists, eyes shifting as he sought a way to walk past the handsome stranger's cronies that surrounded him. "i cannot give you a name, i-i have...i-i have to g-g-go."

[sanglantroi]

Nobody denied a king when he asked for something. Especially something as paltry as a name. "You've got somewhere else to be then?" Aegon catches the man around his wrist, pulling him back with a smile with too much teeth. "Stay." He orders, prepared to tug Sam back and into his web if he tried to budge. "That's an order. From a king." So much for staying anonymous. But this man didn't know him, or any of the men he had amassed around himself. They all thought him just another citizen celebrating a royal marriage. Aegon hadn't even bothered to learn the names of the intended bride and groom. What should he fucking care? They would be sent across the ocean back to Dorne, far away from his drunken political ambition. "Let's party. Have some fun! Cut loose a little." From how tense Sam was, Aegon doubted that the man had ever relaxed. Weren't chubby people supposed to be jolly? This one was positively glum. Aegon would fix that.

[sanglantroi]

@eyeofsapphire shared animosity ft . aemond and aegon targaryen

Like two celestial bodies caught in each other's orbit, Aegon and Aemond were never far apart. Even thrown a hundred years into the future, there was no separating them. But if there was one thing that could have driven them apart, it was definitely a party. Aemond, for all of his deadly efficiency, wasn't exactly a social butterfly. Aegon was his polar opposite, and basked in the adoration of his subjects. Or former subjects, rather. Until he cooked up a scheme to inherit the throne once more, he was content to let everything unfold before him. Five kings were already fighting for the Iron Throne, which meant that eventually one of them would die. And when one of them died, Aegon would have less competition. From what he had heard, both Baela and Jace had been dragged into the present as well. This further complicated things. Sunfyre was a decent size, but could easily be overpowered by both Moondancer and Vermax. Perhaps he could convince them to aid his cause? Aegon balks at the thought. There would be no convincing his nephew to aid him. Aemond had saw to it that Rhaenyra's bastards would do no such thing. Speaking of which. Aegon hops up and onto his feet when a slender silver-haired man walks past him. He catches his younger brother by the wrist, turning him swiftly. "It is you!" Aegon exclaims, arms thrown around Aemond to deliver a tight hug upon him. "I'd recognize strut anywhere." Knowing he had two seconds of affection left, he eases off of Aemond and smiles up at him. "How did time travel treat you, hm?"

[thenorthslittlebird]

A SONG ABOUT KNIGHTS AND FAIR MAIDENS - a masquerade starter open to all

He tried, with all his might, to keep a smile plastered on his painted lips as he stumbled through the grandiose celebration. Joffrey's sister, soon to be Sansa's as well, was to be married and the whole of the Seven Kingdom's had laid down their arms to dine and dance in their honor. There was a time where he would have thought Joffrey would have called for a celebration like this for their engagement, there was a time he would have dreamed of it; dreamed of dripping in jewels and finery, wife to a handsome and loving king, but now he simply dreamed of his mother. Their hands fixing his hair, and wiping the tears from his cheeks, promising that everything would be alright.

All he wanted was to have his father again; to be home, in Winterfell, with his family; his mother; Robb; Jon; his little brother's; even Arya. He missed them with ever fiber of his being and yet he wasn't allowed to.

Stepping forward into the fray, dressed head to toe by his beloved, Sansa tried to look out into the sea of people gathered around him to find some semblance of safety, of comfort, but found there was none waiting for him. Eyes dampened behind the mask, hands trembled at his side, the red-heads breath began to catch in his chest and throat as he stood there; drowning in his gilded cage.

Breathe...

I can't breathe...

Clutching at his chest as people seemed to swell and swarm around him, their dark eyes boring into him from behind their masks, he stumbled backwards as soft, broken, whimpered sounds escaped him between each struggled, strangled gasp for air.

Breathe...

I can't breathe...

They seemed to be laughing at him; dancing around him; pushing and pulling at him, keeping him trapped in the undertow when all he wanted was to leave.

Another sharp gasp leapt from his lips as his back collided into something sturdy. Whipping around, eyes wet and wild, Sansa blinked up through his mask and as he tried to cling to his habits; as he tried to swallow ever fear, thought, and nerve so he could hide them behind a smile.

He had to smile.

He didn't want to appear rude or ungrateful of everything the Lannister's had done for him.

[sanglantroi]

"For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack"

Eddard Stark had hammered those words into his eldest son since he was old enough to comprehend them. Robb had been born with the weight of his destiny upon his shoulders, and felt it more keenly now than ever. His father had been executed, and his family had been scattered to the wind. Robb was left with only his mother who acted as his greatest advisor during his tenure as King of the North. He balked at the title at first but now wore it proudly. It was at his mother's request for Robb to venture south. He had been hesitant to accept, not wanting to be in enemy territory where this entire masquerade ball could have been a trap. If the Lannisters dared to harm him or any of his entourage they would be violating guest rights and would tarnish their name. As if that mattered to a family that had thus far proven themselves morally corrupt. With that modicum of safety promised to Robb, he threw caution to the wind so that he might attend the betrothal celebration. His true goal, however, was to rescue both of his sisters. They had accompanied their father to King's Landing while he tried to uncover the truth of Cersei and her bastards. He had paid for his discovery with his life and his sisters were now suffering because of his crime. This ball served as the perfect distraction, allowing him to escort both Sansa and Arya to safety. He just had to be discrete. He wore a gray outfit, laced through with silver and a furred cape that hung off one shoulder. His mask was white, carved out of an expensive material his mother had procured. It was obvious he was of noble stature, but made difficult to recognize thanks to his disguise. But there was no hiding that brilliant red hair. It had been slicked back with pomade, giving him an air of sophistication and refinement. His mother had been particular, wanting Robb to look his absolute best. He didn't see the point. This ball mattered very little when he had his sisters to rescue, and intel to gather. Arriving at the party, he had been ushered in and lost in a maddening cacophony of sound and music. In another life he would have enjoyed festivities such as these, but he couldn't fathom that now. His life had thus far been so consumed with the thought of vengeance that it all felt so foreign. How could all of these people celebrate when countless lives were lost each day in the name of an undeserving king? Robb would force himself to at least pretend like he was having a good time. Doing anything but would make him suspicious. Surely Cersei and the others had spies in attendance with the very same plan of gathering information.

Gathering a goblet of wine he prowls on the edges of the ballroom like a wolf stalking its prey. It's then that Sansa accidentally bumps into him, nearly forcing him to spill his drink all over his finery. Robb turns on his heel, ready to shoot a fierce look at a careless party goer. His eyes go wide in realization. Even with those gorgeous features hidden beneath a mask, there is no denying that familial connection. They both sported red hair, speaking of their Tully heritage, and of their mother. Robb quickly places his drink down so that he can reach for Sansa. Taking his younger brother's hands into his own, he squeezes tightly. His eyes are glassy, and cheeks reddened. "Sansa?" He lets out a shaky breath of relief, "I had never thought I'd see you again."

[legendsvng]

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼: 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 . 𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭'𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 .

　　« why does it have to be me? »

　　sam knew the answer, but that didn't mean he was any less frustrated about it. much to his dismay, there were very few members of the night's watch who had been raised with lands and titles to themselves, and those who did were not in a good position to present themselves anywhere near court, let alone for such a fanciful event as a masquerade celebrating the engagement of a princess. samwell, however, had taken the black willingly, with no crime or reason that would make the lords of westeros turn him away — other than his father, of course.

　　randyll tarly had chastised his wife time and time again for taking away time from sam's training sessions to instead teach him the (effeminate, he alleged) ways one carried himself through balls and feasts. social skills which the young man had taken to heart, even if his meekish nature and low self-esteem made him come across as anything but graceful or dignified. those lessons would all be put to test that very evening, as his goal was simple. to get a king - any king - to just listen to his pleas.

　　the road to king's landing was long and tiring, but sure enough, sam arrived the very night of the grand masquerade. the southern warmth embraced him after months of getting used to the wall's icy air, and sam couldn't help his smile as he let go of the bulky furs and thick leathers, to instead indulge himself with a more elegant attire. all in black, as his vows obliged, but made out of fresh silk and cotton. the mask was plain, with no elaborate decorations except for the grey trim of thread that hemmed it - all their coins had gone in putting together a decent enough outfit that would fit samwell's ample figure.

　　the castle brimmed with light and music. the scent in the air was obscene, filling samwell's nostrils with the promise of the best meal he has had in a very long time. but of course he could not let himself go fancy-free around the keep, he had a mission to accomplish. jon had told him whom he had to look for first. tall and lean, with hair of copper and eyes of blue.

　　as long as he didn't stumble against anyone else on his way across the hall...

[sanglantroi]

Aegon had been born in the spotlight. He thrived beneath attention, especially when intoxicated and surrounded by his adoring subjects. Having arrived in his former castle, Aegon had insisted on attending the party with the intent of sowing chaos. War was ravaging the land while the Lannisters did their best to throw silken blankets over raging fires. Aegon was there to throw ale upon open flames. Having once loathed the idea of king, he found that he had rather liked it. People had looked to him for guidance, and Aegon thought he did a rather good job as their sovereign. For now he was unburdened from the weight of the crown, thrown into anonymity for his own sake. Apparently having silver hair made people automatically suspicious. Something about a mad king. Whatever the case, Aegon was there to have fun.

Having donned a simple golden mask, he immediately jumped into revelry. Aegon scooped a goblet of wine from a passing servant, downing it swiftly. Followed by another. Then another. He looped an arm with a handsome pair of strong men, joining in raucous sailor songs. Two men turned into three, then quickly turned into four. Soon enough Aegon had a thriving circle around him, large enough to fill the council chamber. He climbed upon the shoulder of a rather large man who was as drunk as he was muscular. Aegon was surprised the bastard could even walk let alone carry his would-be king. From a top of his perch he sang, drank, and enjoyed the festivities from up high.

It was misfortune that brought Sam directly into the path of Aegon. Or rather the crowd of people he had surrounded himself with. Instantly enamored with Sam, Aegon snaps his fingers at the black-clad man. "There! You there!" He snaps his fingers twice, wine dribbling down his chin after taking a generous swig. "Stop!" Aegon orders, and the crowd moves toward him like a swarm of flies. "Well, hello! Aren't you the prettiest thing I've seen all evening." He's all smiles behind his mask, teetering on the edge of euphoria and flirtation. "Isn't he, boys?" Aegon asks the crowd who all roar in agreement. "Say, what's your name?" He takes no heed to social norms or that Sam would be definitely smothered by the sudden attention. Aegon leans forward, smiling at the chubby man. "Well? Cat got your tongue?"

[baelabond]

King's Landing Masquerade Ball - Betrothal Commencement

`✦ Arrivals ⊹ The whispers of farewells would sate Moondragon long enough to keep her temper at bay. The belly of capital was a labyrinth that would consume the wandering. What was once a scribe of caution were old tales that many would use to make the young fall into reason. History failed them. The collection of time's passage drew Baela to pause. He'd question the validity to which most presented with some parchment. Chronology had been one of the few things that struck him with uncertainty even as he clasped to Jacaerys' hand. A gentle squeeze was to reassure the Prince Reagent. But it was also to bring himself back to the present. He could allude to composure. His grace allowed everyone to perceive his evenness as control. But there was an inkling of worry. Worry about what could come. Every action that led to the present made him consider holding on to what he had. The chronicles of his life felt like heavy chords of a lyre. He smiled for a moment as the pair ascend stairs and cross doorways. He'd catch the absent, fleeting gaze of his betrothed, and his hand was released once their privacy had been severed. Welcoming parties would escort them into the inner chambers of the celebration. It was familiar, but the air; the feeling of these chambers, felt so distorted. These faces. These strangers.

"Remind me of our purpose, my love?" Baela whispered, withdrawing the meandering attention from Jace's curiosities back to him. His own gaze resumed the consumption of their immediate vicinity. It was best to anticipate that variables than to be caught by complete surprise. His own ignorance of their anomaly had been dispelled by the intel and informants that brought him up to speed. Driftmark was their haven. And it was now time to immerse themselves into the heaviness of politics of the kingdoms. They were prepared for this their entire lives. It was only time for Jace to step into everything their Queen had bestowed upon his shoulders. "I do believe we'd do greater good if we split our efforts after we share a dance. Make it look less suspicious, though my white hair and my grandfather's pin is doing a fine job stoking those flames." Baela gestured to the watchful gazes of the splintered courts and judging gazes.

---@sanglantroi

[sanglantroi]

Clad in Velaryon colors, Jacaerys arrived in King's Landing with his own betrothed at his side. Having been promised to Baela since childhood there was no great announcement to consummate their future marriage. Like all royal children they were pawns in a game greater than themselves, expected to marry for the betterment of the realm. Only Jace and Baela were no ordinary nobles. They were royalty, destined to one day ascend to the Iron Throne where they would govern the realm. But tonight they were simple party guests, equipped with masks so they could hide their true identities. For once Jace didn't bemoan his lack of Targaryen features. His dark hair helped him blend in with the citizenry. Aside from the colors that spoke of his allegiance to House Velaryon he looked no different than any other courtier in attendance. Baela, on the other hand, stuck out wherever he went. His beautifully colored hair, paired with gorgeous features that not even a mask could diminish, made him stand out from the crowd. They could use that to their advantage. While the invitation to the party had requested that all animosity be left at the door, Jace had chosen to ignore it. This was his castle, after all. But he could play nice when necessary, and he had all of the charm of Rhaenyra Targaryen when she was the darling of the court. "We are to sow alliances and gather intel." He explains, smiling at passing pair of party goers who were ogling them. Together they could divide and conquer, discovering which houses to trust and which houses to avoid. "Only if you're certain. A hundred years have past, but I can wager that snakes still infest every nook and cranny of the castle." Jace would see those he couldn't trust with complete certainty tossed out of his court. "But we're in an excellent position. Nobody will recognize us which we can use to our advantage. I've half a mind to seek out whoever controls Highgarden. They supply the land with produce, and with them under our wing we could choke out our enemies before they gain traction." Jace muses as if they were in the counsel chambers and not surrounded by perfumed dancers.

[wolfofwinterfell]

Strength came easy to him; the defined peaks and valleys of muscle that made up his form were more than just decoration; his hands calloused and rough, his body built as if he was carved from the durable mountains of the north. Cregan was sure footed and sturdy, he always had been, but in that moment when he found Jace standing before him he almost collapsed. The teasing charm fell from his lips naturally but the touch, as simple as it was, mattered the most to Cregan. It was a test to see if he was really there or just another ghost of the past that was his life; haunting him.

He was real.

Jacaerys was here; with him.

"Your mask is what gave you away," he lied, in a sense. Everything about him was recognizable to Cregan. Absolutely everything. "--especially the fact I was able to get this close. You might look like Verax," the man joked, his free hand lifting to trace against the edge of the other's wooden dragon mask, "--but as much as he tolerates me, I doubt Vermax would have actually let me get this close without you between us."

There it was; that idea he was struggling to swallow. A hundred years had passed in what felt like a single night. It did not make sense to him but rather than deny a tangible truth he was doing his best to make the most of it; at least now it was going to be worth it. "Charm comes easily," when I am with you, "when wearing a mask."

He glanced back over his shoulder at the congregation beneath them, watching them carry on without a single care in the world, but they did little to hold his attention; it was only a matter of breaths before his gaze shifted back to Jace. "You are not pretending well." It was a light tease, gentle push, but neither was Cregan. All of this was strange to him. A Lannister was back on the Iron Throne, the the Velaryon's and Targaryen's seemed to be all but gone, and even his own descendants were a weakened, scattered mess.

"I do not know if your mother is here as well, or your brother's, but if the gods are laughing at you," at us, "I am at least glad we seem to be stuck in this mess together. So," a heavy breath leaves him in a huff as he turns to look over his shoulder again at the people below. "I am far too sober to try and make sense of this-- of any of it-- but I did picture what it would be like, here, once your mother had her throne. Though, in my mind, rather than standing here with you we would have been dancing; or at least drunk and laughing," he hummed. "You would be prattling on about what you were going to do when you became King, while I did my best to keep you with me in the present. Not refusing to be your hand, just preferring you as I know you; as my prince."

[sanglantroi]

Cregan was absolutely singular. Jace had taken note of that when he had first arrived in Winterfell and descended from Vermax. He had to crane his neck upward to properly converse with Cregan, and the notion of that had infuriated him at first. Harwin Strong had been just as formidable as Cregan yet lent his eldest son none of his stature. Instead Jace had inherited his worst traits. His wavy brown locks, warm brown eyes, and that volatile temper. Those features had branded him as a bastard, alienating him from the court while putting his legitimacy in question. Yet, Cregan had never treated him poorly despite his obvious lack of silver hair or purple eyes. He had treated him as an equal, and that is what drew Jace to him.

If only Vermax was as trusting of the northerner as his prince. Jace had tried his best to acquaint the pair. Instead his dragon preferred the company of Rickon and Cregan's very own direwolf, becoming quick friends with the latter. It was common for the pair to be seen together during the last few weeks of Jace's visit to the north. "Careful. I might still set you on fire if you draw too close." He threatens playfully, imagining just how displeased Vermax would be with this entire exchange. The thought makes him smile. His dragon had his temperament with none of his royal posture.

'I've always struggled to mask my emotions. If I'm annoyed or frustrated it is plain for all to see." Jace huffs. That was one thing he had yet to master. He had spent his entire life knowing what was expected of him, and the etiquette he should employ as the crown prince. He couldn't simply brush a courtier off if he was annoyed, or order the execution of criminal if he had a bad morning. Jace had hoped to have more time to practice, but was now thrust into a position where he couldn't afford himself a moment of relaxation. Even now, standing side by side with Cregan Stark, when he should have been filled with contentment, he was at a loss. "But I've managed to trick everybody thus far. You've just got an unfair advantage." "My mother is nowhere to be found. Nor any of my brothers." Jace doesn't want to explain that he uncovered the truth of what befell the entirety of his family. Of his own fate. It mattered very little when he stood in the present, free of arrows, and very dry. "You've no idea how comforting the sight of you is, Cregan." He says his name openly without title and dripping with sincerity. "We've found ourselves in quite the predicament, but have made the most of it thus far. The Velaryons still exist and until recently had sworn their loyalty to Stannis Baratheon." Jace smiles, proud of his accomplishments. "Arriving upon Vermax I was able to convince them to follow me instead." He bore their name, and would force them out of obscurity and back into the spotlight. With their ships and forces under control, seizing Dragonstone would be trivial.

You would be prattling on about what you were going to do when you became King. Jace was prattling on now and that habit would never leave him. Cregan had always been eager to listen to Jace ramble on about Targaryen history, or his plans once he inherited the throne. Jace moves to stand before Cregan, having to crane his neck upward to get a good look at him. He reaches up, allowing his hand to travel up and over the heft of Cregan's muscular chest. His hand settles a top of his heart where the pin he had bestowed upon Cregan waited for him. It marked Cregan as his hand, and had been given to the wolf in the hopes that he would one day join Jace in King's Landing. Only that never happened. He had died in the Battle of the Gullet, sinking to the bottom of the sea, becoming yet another footnote in history. "You wear it still."

[wolfofwinterfell]

The music echoing through out the extravagantly gilded and decorated halls, chasing after the rumblings of laughter and boisterous revelry might have been enticing, intoxicating even, to some but for Cregan it all felt hollow. He felt hollow.

At first glance he fit in with the rest of those congregated under the Lannister and Baratheon bannermen, he belonged just like all the other Lords from Great Houses and their vassals as well that had gathered to celebrate the betrothment and joining of two of the great houses, but he felt more like a ghost among them than a Lord; more like a ghost among them than a man. Cregan was lost. The world had moved on around him, it had moved past him, but something had decided it wasn't done with him yet; something decided to give him another chance. It was all too strange to him though. The Starks still held the north, and bore his name, but none of them were known to him; his family was gone. He had even seen his grave, and a statue in his honor built in the crypt of Winterfell, and yet here he stood; a monument to the past, unmoving, as people danced and laughed around him.

Everything felt familiar to him and foreign all in the same breath.

--but at least two things were still the same.

There was still a war unfolding for the Iron throne, and Jacaerys was here with him.

"I believe the point of the masks is to blend in, your highness," his voice was low, graveled and tired, as he stepped out to join the prince as he took a moment of refuge on one of the Red Keep's balconies; the festivities unfolding beneath them; without them. "Though, even with a more simple mask, you would still stand out amongst the rest; at least to me." He spoke quietly as filled the space next to him; his back to the railing, and the people below, as he reached out to clasp a large hand over Jacaerys' own as he leaned down closer to him.

"Where are you?" He questioned, his hand tightening around him as he looked past the other's mask-- a remarkable recreation of Vermax himself-- to look into his eyes. "You seem lost."

[sanglantroi]

Enough time had passed that Jace was certain that hopeful dance partners would begin seeking him out. When he had excused himself from the ballroom, several men had been vying for his attention. Jace was flattered, but politely declined as he was certain that if he lingered he would become trapped upon the dancefloor. It is the sound of approaching footsteps that forces him to straighten his posture. Jace opens his mouth to speak, having prepared at least a dozen excuses as to why he had vanished so abruptly. His words curdle upon his tongue. That was a voice he had never expected to hear again. An immeasurable moment follows, one where Jace is uncertain if Cregan is actually there with him or if this wine was a lot stronger than he had assumed. "I've done a remarkable job thus far. You're the only one that has managed to recognize me." It is only when Cregan joins him at the railing, and a large hand settles a top of his own that he can know with all the certainty of the cosmos that this is real.

"I see that a hundred years haven't done anything to diminish that charm." Jace responds, smiling up at Cregan who looked every bit as intimidating as he did when he had departed from Winterfell. Only now he wore a dark colored mask that did little to mask his handsome features. Jace allows the older man to lean forward, staring up and into those fierce gray eyes. "I am lost." He confirms with an embittered chuckle. Jace tosses his glance from Cregan out and onto the gathering throng beneath them. "When I imagined myself returning to the Red Keep it would be to celebrate my mother's victory. Now here I am, pretending to be jovial over some marriage I know little about." Jace draws a deep breath before exhaling. "It is as if the gods are laughing at me." He turns to face Cregan, removing his hand from his momentarily. "Though I did picture this. With you standing here, refusing my offer to be my hand whenever I would one day become king. That is the only joy I can find in all of this misery." 

[jacaerysvelaryonn]

JACE & HELAENA DANCE IN 1.08: LORD OF THE TIDES

[sanglantroi]

the winter wolf and his prince plotted starter ft. cregan && jacaerys @wolfofwinterfell

It was the sound of raucous laughter and music that guided droves of people toward the Red Keep. They had traveled far and wide so that they might participate in the revelry within. Many of them who had been exhausted were suddenly reinvigorated upon getting caught up in the fervor. Hidden beneath intricate masks, they could be anybody they wanted. Yet, for all the anonymity a mask could afford him, Jacaerys was still painfully obvious. His dark hair and plain features might have made him appear as a commoner, but he carried himself with the dignity of royalty. This was obvious to the dozens of men that had asked him to dance, thinking him a lord or somebody of great import. Jace had politely accepted each offer, dancing with gentlemen of all shapes and sizes. It was after the seventh dance that Jace politely excused himself from the party. Leaning against a balcony overlooking King's Landing, he took a moment to reflect on how silly this entire evening was. It was as foolish as it was lavish. The Lannisters had spared no expense, hiring a circus troupe, multiple bands, and hosted a banquet so fine that it made his mouth water thinking of it. Jace stared down at his reflection in a glass of red wine he had poured himself. His features were hidden beneath a dragon mask, one carved out of wood and painted green to resemble Vermax. His dragon was outside the city now and Jace could sense just how uneasy he was. This he determined, was his own fault. He had taken a risk coming here in an effort to bid for power. These people danced in the Red Keep which was his by birthright, yet none of them even knew it.

The Lannisters just like The Hightowers were nothing but pretenders. Jace wasn't certain how, but he could reclaim the throne. He had proven himself a worthy heir, and now had a chance to prove himself a worthy king. He just had to amass power, first. He had Baela supporting him, and the lords of Driftmark and her surrounding lands. Vermax was a lethal asset, making it possible to frighten lords who showed hesitance to swear their loyalty to him. Jace never threatened them, but the mere sight of a dragon was enough for them to bend the knee. Jace had already made promises to the lords that had sworn themselves to him and one day he would fulfill them. He had done so in the Vale, White Harbor, and The North a hundred years ago. Only he had never gotten to follow through. So lost in his thoughts was he that he hadn't noticed that a direwolf had happened upon him..

[baelabond]

`✦ Certainty ⊹ The paved path before them was not a treacherous one. Well, this one, at the very least. It would present its challenges. And allegiances would need to be forged, but Driftmark was procured as a haven. For now. A furtive smile begot a knowing smirk. He never wanted Driftmark. Not even the slightest. He'd relinquish his seat to the first, second, or even third alternative to better suit such a title. For now, he'd sit as an advisor. In fact, it would never cause Jace any disadvantages. He took a moment to inhale before he'd reveal part of his secrets. Some details to which the process of claiming such a grand stake was something he wasn't going to share with his beloved, but it wasn't enough to hurt nor inflict harm - of any kind.

"I had to first present proof of lineage before I could've made simple requests. They were demands ...nonetheless." There was the fiery glint in the eye and the tick of his head as he looked off to hide the blaze behind his gaze. "I will assist the fleets on some voyages. Perhaps ensure safe travels into dangerous lands. Secure diplomacy. I've yet to reveal who I am, but I do think in proper timing and in trusted spaces. We never know how deep this crux burrows." Upon Jace's inquiry, Baela assumed it was best to simply show him. He made very little fuss as he retreated toward Moondancer. The direct pathing toward the mighty beast cause her to pull from her beautiful bond with Vermax. Their dance was a very beautiful one. Elegant. Fluid. Baela and Moondancer's dance was a testament to both of their strength. Upon the back of his dragon, Baela shifted into an immediate gallop as it took to the air. "Prince Jacaerys, do follow my lead this time." A grin stitched across his features as he beamed in radiant scolding. It was nice to find some piece of glee in such a trying time.

[sanglantroi]

"Of course. What were these demands?" They couldn't offer much given their current circumstance. Their firstborn daughter had already been promised to House Stark, solidifying an alliance between their great houses. Something of which he had yet to inform Baela of. "I'm jealous. I'll surely be stuck in some stuffy room with even stuffier men explaining my legitimacy." Jace grumbles. Some things never changed, it seemed. If his mother was out there he could join Baela, proving himself worthy of the throne. He wouldn't be a coddled princeling who never lifted a finger. Jace was capable of being a good king, he knew that. His tenure in the Vale, White Harbor, and the North had shown just how capable he could be. Following after Baela, Jace finds that Vermax is hesitant to part from Baela. It was a blessing that their own dragons had taken such a liking to one another, following the leads of their riders. "I'll do my best to follow, my heart." Jace smiles at his betrothed, scaling Vermax so he might take his seat upon his saddle. Sensing that his dragon was much more at ease, Jace could relax. He always carried tension in his shoulders, and up in the air it seemed to dissipate. Vermax flew high before dropping down into a dive, showing off for Moondancer. Jace was caught off guard by the maneuver, and clutched the reigns of his dragon as a result. "Is it far?" Jace asks over the roaring wind, and the sound of his cape billowing behind him. Lost amidst the sea of clouds, he felt free. Normally he was burdened by the overwhelming weight of his responsibilities, and stifled by destiny, but up here? He was a rider atop of his dragon. For a moment or two he could be truly free.

[extinctiondefied]

He wanted to take the throne. With a dragon. Yeah, Garreth was willing to bet that would do the trick. If he remembered the stories, it only took three to conquer the entire Seven Kingdoms. And now with war on the horizon he expected one might do it.

"I'm a Snow, my Lord." Garreth had his manners, at least. In spite of his mother, rather than because of her. "I'm from the North. Left recently, looking for a better life."

[sanglantroi]

The North. Jace's eyes shimmer with fondness. He was reminded immediately of Winterfell and her people. How much had it changed in the hundred years that had passed? Did Cregan establish his line? His heart flutters at the thought of the Northern Lord, but quickly suppresses it. Cregan was long gone, hopefully survived by a long line of descendants. Jace ponders for a moment. Snow? This man was also a bastard? He felt so bad for being so short with him before. If anybody knew the tribulations he had suffered throughout his life, it was Garreth. "Why'd you leave? I rather enjoyed the north." He asks, moving to sit down on a log in front of the fire. Jace gestures for the man to join him with a warm smile.

[baelabond]

`✦ Knots ⊹ There was no other way to describe that feeling that clung to him. The prince's betrothed. As long as there was air within his lungs and a beating heart in his chest, he'd try his damnedest to take the worry from his shoulders. The crown deserved to rest on stable shoulders and a solid foundation. Baela took a second to gather the immediacy of their surroundings. Much of it remained the same. He could recount the countless times he'd stroll these waterways with his grandmother. His thumbs brushed over his knuckles; gingerly, as he washed a wave of compassion by subtle gesture. He let his eyes drift up to the sky to seek answers that he did not have.

"Until we are unable, we will continue our search. For now, I suggest we retreat into a safer space. For all we know, we need to take survey as to what higher mysteries we're being thrust into." Baela turned back to Jace. He sought words or notions that the prince's lips would never impart upon him. And no matter how difficult, Baela could decipher the depths of those eyes to which he sailed a thousand and one times. "I've already secured a small fortress that is not in ruin. And though I do not enjoy the way people look on me, I do recognize their gentleness. Almost as if I'm the haunting of these people's forgotten faith."

[sanglantroi]

"Baela." Jace smiles around his name. "How did you manage to procure a fortress?" He's giddy with pride, and the feeling extends to Vermax who chitters excitedly. Baela was very persuasive when they needed to be, and no doubt the sight of Moondancer had helped. Jace had planned on retreating to the vale where he hoped to find allies. Lannisters and Baratheons lurked in the south, leaving Jace with very little reason to venture there for the time being. Driftmark had once been his home, and Jace could easily embolden the people to rise up in support of his cause. After being ran out of Dragonstone, Jace ventured into the markets of Driftmark. He had garnered as much attention as he could, and came to the conclusion that everybody else had gone mad. It was a Targaryen that was slain by Robert Baratheon, leaving the Stag to rule over the realm. They spoke of a mad king, and of the rebellion that saw the Targaryen line snuffed out. Jace thought it all ridiculous. How could a house as mighty as his own be wiped from the face of the earth? Yet, Jace had to pause several times when a villager caught sight of the dragon emblem on his doublet. His hair and dark-colored eyes were the only reason they didn't distrust him. Jace must have just appeared very eccentric then, wearing fashions that had gone out of date nearly two hundred years ago. "They say that there are no Targaryens left. Perhaps that is why? These people have all come down with a sickness of the mind." Jace reasons with a shrug of his shoulders. "Or perhaps they are simply being forced to say so by Lord Borros." Jace cannot fathom why anybody would be intimidated by the man. "I doubt that, however. The man isn't exactly sharp." He rests a hand at the small of Baela's back. "--Now. Where's that fortress?"

[sanglantroi]

a golden rendezvous : starring sir criston and king aegon II @ofthronesandkings

"criston." aegon's voice is muffled and near indiscernible, buried beneath his lover and thick blankets. outside of the royal chambers, his subjects are making far too much noise, disturbing the king who had an awful hangover. "tell those cunts to keep it down." he tightens his grip around criston, forbidding him from actually following through with the orders of his king. aegon easily slips back into sleep, drooling onto criston's bare chest. outside a large cacophony of metal crashing forces aegon up and onto his feet. his head is pounding, and the light streaming through the windows of his chambers only makes it that much worse. "criston!" aegon snaps impatiently, shoving the man's shoulder to wake him from his slumber. "go tell them to quiet down. now." aegon throws himself back down and onto the bed, burying himself in a cocoon of bedding.

aegon was blissfully unaware that he was no longer king, and that a targaryen hadn't sat upon the throne in nearly twenty years. king joffrey had ordered the moving of furniture, getting rid of as much of his alleged father's belongings to make way for his own. outside the noise hadn't quiet down, annoying the king further. "are they moving the entire fucking castle out there? what on earth are they doing?" he moves to lay on his back now, willing sleep to return to him, but it's impossible. "good god, man. get up."

[extinctiondefied]

Garrick cringed at the question. Frankly, he didn't know. Not exactly. News didn't get out to the North like that quickly. And no one cared what the bastard ranger knew.

Could have been a year, could have been a month. He was ignorant to when the information had arrived in his nothing of a village.

"You'd have to ask someone important that question, Sir. I'm just a ranger. A whores son. I'm about as far from important as it gets." He thinks for a moment, giving, "the rebellion happened a long time ago. I might've been a babe at the time. Or not born. I'm not an educated man, so I don't know the dates. After that, King Robert took the throne."

[sanglantroi]

"You are important enough. Don't diminish yourself because of your heritage." Jace offers him a sympathetic glance. If anybody could understand the importance of circumstances of birth, it was Jace. He was the crown prince, destined to one day rule the realm. Because of his own mother's indiscretion, he had been born a bastard, and cursed when he had been born with dark colored eyes and wavy brown hair. "Well, I don't know who King Joffrey is, but he sits upon a stolen throne. It is mine by right, and I will see it returned to me." Jace might not have looked like a Targaryen, but the dragon he was bonded with spoke enough of his true heritage. "You have taught me much. I'm still confused, and angry about my circumstance, but it isn't your fault. I'm sorry for being so cross with you." Jace explains while Vermax visibly relaxes behind the prince. "From where do you hail?"