she wolf

This mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.

[serenastarks-blog]

margaery

Margaery wore a sheepish expression at Serena’s inquiry, her demeanor projecting the naiveté she intended for Serena to pick up on. (If she were to pick up on anything, given her own intoxication.) “I have three elder brothers,” Margaery replied with a soft laugh, spinning gracefully as she brought Serena along with her. "And throngs upon throngs of cousins! I’ve never been left to do anything that might be considered uncouth.” 

“That makes me sad,” she pouted, bottom lip protruding as her face fell. She couldn’t imagine that kind of life, and though she had a brother (and throngs upon throngs of cousins), she’d never let any of them stop her from having a good time, from enjoying herself. “Well, my dear Margaery,” she spun toward a nearby table and scooped up two glasses of wine, twirling as gracefully as she could back to her dance partner, “we must right this terrible wrong.”

[mademoiselleboullan]

[serenastarks-blog]

alysandra

Alysandra let out a small chuckle before letting out a small sigh. “You must be careful. Any mistake no matter how little it is or if it’s because you’re in your cups, it’s noted here at court.” Alysandra paused for a moment, not wanting to come off as if she only cared about what others thought. “I would hate for your father to have a reason to bark at you anymore than he already does.” The corners of her lips curved up in a small smile. 

Her eyes softened at the mention of the wake. It had been such a long day, she had forgot that the feat and the funeral happened in the same day. “I’m faring well, truly. A bit tired, but that is to be expected. And I know, he did. Especially mine.” Alysandra truly was not sure how well she’d navigate court without him.

“Yes. I had lots of food.” Alysandra turned her head to the side and allowed a daring smirk to spread across her face. “Perhaps two more cups of wine would be suited.” Suddenly, she realized that she didn’t want to be alone. “But, only if you join me tonight in my chambers? It’s been so long since I’ve had a pillowfriend.”

She frowned at the slight reprimand, wishing only to simply have fun, not carefully construct her every waking moment so as to be deemed appropriate. But alas, such is the way of life for a lady of the court and Serena should have known better, should have paid a little more attention and a little bit less to drink. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she muttered into her cup, still taking a sip anyway, “but the damage has already been done,” she giggled, leaning in to listen as the girl spoke. She could see the turmoil that laid just behind Alysandra’s eyes and so she reached out her arms and embraced her in a hug, burying her head in the woman’s hair for a moment before backing away. 

“Of course!” Excitement overwhelmed her as memories of sleepless nights in one another’s chambers flooded her mind. The two would run about the castle, sneaking by the guards and stealing cakes from the kitchen. They were truly rambunctious little devils, but Serena wouldn’t have changed it for the world. “I would absolutely love that, Aly. I’m due for a bit of gossip, aren’t you? So many whispers in the capitol.”

[winterfellsrose-deactivated2017]

[serenastarks-blog]

margaery

Margaery’s expression remained ever warm and friendly, though her smile pulled up slightly to one corner as she took note of the way Serena’s pale skin warmed to an attractive pink. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she assured, one hand waving as if to dismiss her words entirely. “It’s difficult sometimes, to shake off all of this propriety.” She grinned happily as Serena assented to her offer, and eagerly followed after the other girl as she pulled her by the hand to the floor. 

The Tyrell girl’s brows lifted as Serena divulged her secret, and a quiet laugh left her. Margaery did not know if Serena was a lady of ambition, or if she’d come to King’s Landing simply to attend with her Lord father – but if it was the former, Margaery couldn’t profess much concern. “Oh, is that so? Rest assured – I never would have known.” 

With a twist to her hips, she spun around as they reached the center of the dance floor. Casually, she draped her arms around the girl’s waist, pulling her closer than she intended, but with the upbeat tempo of the music, it didn’t matter. But she took note of Margaery’s admission, storing it away in the back of her mind just how gullible the girl could be. She’d use that later to her advantage somehow. 

“Has my lady never been drunk?” she gasped, lifting one arm from her waist and spinning out to twirl under Margaery’s arm. It was fun, carefree and as lighthearted as Serena could be, and really, only because she was intoxicated for lowering her defenses—the filter on that dagger mouth of hers—was a true rarity. “You must try it sometime.”

[serenastarks-blog]

cassana

Wide-eyed Cassana took in the breath taking majesty of it all, every single breath of this air surrounding her was a privledge to be here and see it all. It was enough to raise a soft little whispering in the back of her mind that perhaps she would ask her father if one day would not be so bad to stay extra just so she might see more of the city, of this glorious keep if not just to stay here and count the teeth in each dragons mouth  and the number of skulls there where the Targaryen’s had of their former dragons. It was enough to whisper within her would it not be so bad to stay for Elinor alone here. Then the thought was quieted again remembering her father’s face, remembering him always ever striving to make the man proud and consider what he would view as best for them and for her. After this she would return home but she would have plenty of stories to keep her sated and to tell the villagers and their children around Haystack Hall all that happened.

“No need, my dear Lady Stark you have done me no great harm and you are already forgiven” Cassana breathed effortlessly but with all sincerity; sweet and kind and gentle. “There is much to look at and be fascinated by here this night. Congratulations to your father are indeed in order”

The sheer genuineness would have normally been enough to cause bile to rise within her throat, utter disgust consuming her when met with someone so kind for that was merely another synonym for boring according to Serena. But the inebriation had made what would usually annoy her quite bearable. With a sweet smile, she bowed her head and muttered a small note of gratitude before continuing. 

“It is quite grand, isn’t it?” she took a moment to marvel at her surroundings, though the fact that she was finally here was still a moment she’d only ever imagined. She’d traveled, yes, spent months going far and wide—from the West to the Vale, from the East to Highgarden, from Bear Island to Karhold. But never had she been this far South, though the lingering thought of going further still remained; the ache to visit Pentos and Braavos. Oh, how desperately she wanted to see the free cities if nothing more than for their name. But even the ever elusive Dorne was still there just waiting to be explored.

“I’ll pass along your sentiment,” she said warmly, though she’d rather avoid her father than tell him of Baratheon praise. “Cassana, isn’t it?” she asked, extending a hand before offering her name. “Serena,” she mused, “so happy to see you once again.”

[mademoiselleboullan]

[serenastarks-blog]

rhaegar

Rhaegar stood ignoring the man who was speaking to him. He completely forgot who the man even was but frankly, he didn’t really care. The lord was probably just another person who wanted to get into the king’s good graces. Though he was strictly talking politics, Rhaegar lost interest right when the man came and introduced himself. He was in no mood to talk politics. In fact, he was in no mood to talk at all. His heart still hurt due to the death of his friend and mentor.

“Please, excuse me.” he said to the man, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Rhaegar gave him a small bow of the head before walking off. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he was finally free from that man’s boring banter. Rhaegar was sure that man’s intentions were well but his mind was too distracted to even notice that. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. If he had a choice, Rhaegar would be up in his room, distracting himself with the many books that resided there.

Rhaegar looked over to the long table of food. He felt himself get nauseous at the sight of it. He didn’t have much of an appetite that day. Since Jon Arryn’s death, Rhaegar didn’t have much of an appetite at all actually. The sight of food made him feel completely sick to his stomach. Rhaegar soon started to circle the room, giving the lords and ladies of the court small bows as he passed them but quickly walking off so he didn’t get stuck in another boring conversation.

His attention was soon back at the table with the feast. This time he wasn’t looking at the food but the girl next to it. Rhaegar thought his mind was playing tricks on him. Though it was probably the wine since this was his third cup and he was drinking on an empty stomach. The girl’s long raven hair made him think of no one else but the woman he would never stop loving, Lyanna. Rhaegar quickly walked over to the girl. Before he could even say anything she practically ran into him.

Once he finally got a good look at here, he was in shock. Rhaegar thought he was looking into the eyes of a ghost. The girl was the spitting image of the women who still had his heart. He was completely dumbfounded by her. Even the way she spoke was like Lyanna. Rhaegar felt his heart ache as he remembered her. “No need to apologize my lady.” he said, his eyes not being able to look away.”

The moment she raised her eyes and saw whom she had just carelessly trampled, she fell into a curtsy, head falling as she bended at the knee. “Your majesty,” she breathed, rising back up but never tearing her eyes from the floor, “I’m so embarrassed.” A blush appeared upon her cheeks and she could feel her face turning hot, “please forgive me.” But when she dared to look up, embarrassment was no longer what she felt for the King was looking at her in a way only one other man had ever looked at her before. Her father, on many occasions, had given her that same glance, that same look of horror upon his face as he glared down onto his daughter—a girl he should only gaze at with love and affection, but instead gave her one filled with dread. As if he’d just seen a ghost. They never spoke of it, and she never asked, never pressured him into giving her answers even though that was something she’d normally pester out of him for the look had actually frightened her. Half pain, half misery. Two things she never wanted to feel when eyes took her in.

Lyanna had been her name. Fierce and brave and taken from the world too soon. Those were the things said about her whenever she asked. No details were ever provided and all that remained within the books in the library were facts. Queen, mother of Jon Targaryen, wife of King Rhaegar, deceased. Yet she’d spent her life being compared to the woman, to the ghost, and they were such large shoes to fill, such impossible shoes to fill for she was Serena. Not the girl they wished her to be. Not a Queen. Not yet.

“You’re quite kind,” another blush, but more precise in its display as it was coupled with a small smile. “I’m quite clumsy, unfortunately,” she lied, feigning innocence in the face of whom could potentially be her biggest asset, “but still, I apologize.”

[antigonick]

I won’t be protected. I will choose for myself what is ladylike and right. To shield me is an insult. Can’t I be trusted to face the truth?

E. M. Forster, A Room With a View

[serenastarks-blog]

renly

“It is truly awful. Though, King’s Landing is full of interesting smells that I’m sure you don’t get the pleasure of experiencing in the North,” he said, wrinkling his nose and smiling. Renly was overall a happy guy, but every now and then it was nice to be a bit snarky. One could not be all smiles all the time, after all. Particularly on a day like today.

“Perhaps I am lucky in that. But you had family, all the same. Family who loved you, and raised you. I was not quite that fortunate,” he said, joking darkly. “We all have tragedies, my lady.” She joked, and hid behind sarcastic quips. He could hide behind them too, just as he hid behind his broad smiles and easy-going nature. Someone had to be cheerful and warm on Storm’s End when it seemed like the loneliest place on Earth. If not for his niece and Loras’ eventual warming to him, Storm’s End might have been unbearable.

He had been thinking far too much about his past today. With a genuine smile, Serena Stark’s face seemed to light up. “Renly Baratheon at your service, my lady,” he said, smiling broadly back at her.

“Quite true,” she agreed. “Everything is much more...pungent,” she laughed, “in this heat. It never gets this warm in Winterfell.” It was true; she’d never left her room without slipping on a cape for the weather would never permit such skin to be exposed. “It’s far too cold, but,” she leaned in, “I do love the warmth. And the smell of the sea!” Excitement got the better of her and she exclaimed far more than anyone ever should at a funeral, but she regained her composure quickly, breezing past her immature outburst casually. 

“Do you not like your family?” She asked, quite intrigued that someone else could possibly share her sentiment for she had always thought the love of a family had made her weak, had held her back in so many aspects. “I do feel as though tragedy makes a person, don’t you?” Her smile dissipated at the serious subject. Sharing such a telling opinion hadn’t been her attention when she’d approached him, but his presence had been comforting enough to allow the slip of her facade. “It is always the interesting ones who have led a troubled life, if you ask me.”

“Serena Stark,” she effortlessly curtsied, bowing her head ever-so-slightly as Old Nan had taught her, despite her wish to shed such proper teachings. “Pleasure to meet you,” she smiled.

[serenastarks-blog]

alysandra

Alysandra was getting up with an empty cup in hand, off to find the same servant that served her the previous cup. Alysandra enjoyed the taste of the wine and wanted no other wine besides that one. As she rose from her seat and a servant rushed forward to push her chair in, she felt someone knock into her.

“Pardon!” Alysandra did not think that someone had been so closet to her. Her hand immediately went to the chair to keep herself steady, though she found that the impact was light enough. The long dark curls out of the corner of her eye were enough to tell her who it was- Serena. The irritation that somebody had knocked into her began cooling. “Serena..” Alysandra’s right hand reached out for her wrist and gently ran her hand up to her elbow in a caring gesture. “Forgive me- I didn’t mean to yell.” She let out a sigh, shaking off what had just happened and smiled at her friend. “Are you well?”

“No apology necessary, Aly,” she said sweetly, genuinely for it was always a pleasure to see her best friend, whether or not they met by purpose or accident. “You know me,” she laughed, “always so clumsy after three cups of wine, but I’m doing well.” But she shook her head, an indication that her well being was of little importance. 

“Tell me,” she started, clearing her throat and inching closer to the girl she’s come to know as sister, “how have you been? The service this morning was lovely.” It was true, of course. Only the best for Lord Arryn, and there couldn’t have been a better or larger crowd for him—for his departure. “He touched many lives, that much is evident.”

“Have you eaten?” she asked, her voice more concerned than a moment ago. “You must keep up your strength, though perhaps a cup of wine would help a bit more,” she leaned in with a wicked smile, hoping she could ease Alysandra’s pain as much as possible.

[mademoiselleboullan]

[serenastarks-blog]

INSIDE THE HEART OF THE DRAGON

open // throne room

Popping a lone grape into her mouth, Serena moved down the table of fruit before her, glancing up every so often at the dance floor just ahead, more specifically, at the table behind it. Its occupants all donned in the finest of silks, hair a beautiful golden, that is except for the King and his silver mane, and the Prince with hair as black as night—reminiscent of the very curls cascading down her own back. 

Though power does not exude from her the way it does from her cousin, the boy with the crown, but oh, what she wouldn’t do to have a taste, to drink from the poison cup passed around such a glorious game of thrones. Its a cup she has no doubt would make a home within her palm, a liquid that would pass through her lips and down her throat as easily as any other wine. And she demanded a sip. 

She took a step forward as she reached the end of the table, the bright flaming aura of the wolf, lion and dragon drawing her nearer, her surroundings all but fading as she drifted throughout the crowd. But reality crept back in as her shoulder knocked into something—or rather someone. 

“My apologies,” she whispered, a head rush getting the better of her. She stumbled back, eyes wide as she mustered up a generous smile to the person before her.

[serenastarks-blog]

margaery

Having never indulged in more than one drink at any given time, Margaery was woefully unaware of what it was to be intoxicated – and she struggled to be able to identify the tell-tale characteristics in others, save for demeanor that was blatant, or otherwise keenly observable. Serena Stark’s manner therefore slipped beneath the radar. The Northern girl was neither too clearly into her cups to stand out as a drunkard, nor did Margaery truly know her well enough to decipher her personality. She smiled when Serena laughed, and a small laugh escaped her in response. 

“Yes, I suppose some of the lords can become a bit…entitled, when too far into their cups.” The smile on her lips pulled crookedly to one side at Serena’s comment, and she tilted her head in an appraisal of the other girl. “Oh, I’d hoped we’d abandoned our titles, Serena,” she crooned gently, her gaze mirthful. “I happen to think that you would be a lovely dancer yourself – I’ve a mind that we should abandon these lords, and take to the floor together.” 

“Forgive me, Margaery,” her voice was raised, half in an attempt to not drown herself out within the crowd, half due to her intoxication and inability to regulate her own volume, but nonetheless, a smile remained plastered upon her lips. The suggestion of a dance took her by surprise, not so much because she hadn’t considered it; she’d always believed women made better dancers, better lovers, better everything. But she’d never had the pleasure of being asked herself, instead always doing the asking. 

Flattery overwhelmed her, a little unusual in her normal state, but given the wine swirling within her stomach and gooseflesh taking over her bare arms, it was no surprise when a light blush settled onto her cheeks. Inching closer, she set her cup atop a nearby table and clasped the other lightly onto Lady Tyrell’s forearm. “You needn’t ask me twice,” with a smile, her hand fell into the girl’s palm and she took a step toward the floor, tugging Margaery playfully behind her until the two reached the center. 

“Perhaps you should lead, my lady,” she giggled at the slip of formality, “Margaery,” she corrected, looking down at her feet so as to be careful not to step on the girl’s toes before leaning in with a secret atop her lips, “I may have gone too far into my own cup.” 

[serenastarks-blog]

arianne

It was raven hair that greeted her gaze, much similar to the ringlets that lay across her own back. Though that was where their similarities ended, for her skin was fair as what Arianne could imagine of winter snow. Her laugh a musical thing upon her ears, her own lips flirted somewhere between amused and pleased as she turned to the young woman beside her. A hand reaching to grasp the offered in her won, Arianne bowed her head in a graceful greeting.

“Martell.” She supplied. “Arianne Martell of Dorne, my lady.”

She was not familiar with the woman, could not recall ever making her acquaintance during her time at King’s Landing. She had certainly never met her across the great dunes of Dorne, surely, for few ventured to the true south of her home regardless. The faces she had committed to memory of those who belonged to the plentiful royal houses were all who she had met during her time in King’s Landing. ( Before her father was taken from her, before when she had come to the Throne’s Keep looking for allies and a suitor to bring home as proof of her prowess, as proof that she was to be the Princess of Dorne– -the ruler the Kingdom deserved. )

“I’m afraid we have not been acquainted in my time here.”

“Martell,” she mused, giving the woman’s hand a delicate squeeze, a small shake between acquaintances, their similarities beginning and ending with lady, but she was absolutely ravishing. Skin as smooth as silk, eyes full of soul and a beautiful smile to match, quite precocious, if Serena were asked, and she couldn’t have admired such a quality more for she considered herself in the same regard. 

Dorne had always been somewhat of a mystery to Serena, never having traveled farther south than the capital, but she’d always dreamed of it. She’d spent nearly a year with her nose in the binding of every book within the library, devouring every speck of information on Sunspear, any yet, it remained as elusive as the North would to the Dornish. Distantly she wondered if princes and princesses from the south dreamt of visiting a place so unlike their home, like the white caps of the North, just as she. 

Taking a step closer, she pulled her arms across her chest and leaned against the pillar to her left as she spoke, “I’m afraid not,” her lips fell into a small pout, feigning disappointment, though it isn’t entirely an act; she would have much preferred to get to know a woman as charming as this. “Quite unfortunate, if you ask me.” Without skipping a beat, she turned her frown upwards once more, “Serena Stark,” she offered, “of Winterfell.”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I have a little dagger of contempt and severity hidden up my sleeve.

Virginia Woolf, from “The Waves.”

[serenastarks-blog]

margaery

The celebration of Lord Stark as the newly-named Hand ushered in an explosion of colors – gone were the dowdy mourning blacks and somber expressions, and in their place stood glittering jewels and flamboyantly colored silks. Margaery herself was no exception to the cheerful shift, and the vibrant green silk skirt she wore was bright against the green-and-gold, rose-patterned bodice that dipped generously low at the front and exposed nearly all of her back. A simple gold chain dripped from her neck, and a long thornless stem ended in the golden image of a rose, which sat proudly on her sternum. An elaborate plait twisted half of her hair prettily, while the remainder of her soft brown curls fell freely down her bared back. 

Laughter cheered the air, though Margaery could not help but to wonder – how much of it was fake, as feigned as the tears they’d shed and condolences they’d cried for Jon Arryn? 

As was expected of her, Margaery searched the room for company that would prove beneficial – this event was not pleasure, but business, as most things were. Her golden-brown gaze eventually found a figure momentarily secluded from the dancing and feasting occurring, and a familiar smile soon bloomed on her lips. 

“Pardon my intrusion, if it was solitude you were seeking —” she began, a gentle laugh on her lips. “—But I could not help but to notice you alone, and I thought…well, who wouldn’t prefer to be dancing on an occasion such as this?” 

Serena Stark loves wine. The faint whiff of berries as one brings the cup to their lips. The sweetness as it coats one’s tongue. The warmth as it flows down one’s throat after a hearty sip. The swirl of one’s head as it takes over all senses. And she knew it was the only way she was going to get through an evening like this—with copious amounts of wine. With each passing waiter, she placed her empty cup atop a tray and scooped up another, time after time, until she’d lost count and her head began to spin. Disarming to most, but absolutely delightful to her. And though her brother had scolded her not once, but twice tonight, he hadn’t hindered her desire to completely numb herself during the celebration, to seek comfort in alcohol as she watched her father schmooze his way through the court. 

After a few thwarted attempts at her hand for a dance, she’d recused herself to the corner, leaning up against a stone pillar for balance as she sipped greedily at another gulp of Dorne’s finest red. It was quite peaceful, standing on the sidelines, watching the lords and ladies as they traipsed throughout the dressed up throne room. But such solace was interrupted as quickly as it was found by a sweet bird chirping in her ear. 

Who would prefer to be dancing on an occasion such as this?

“Me,” she blurted, immediately laughing at her own candor, “mostly because of the handsy men,” she continued quickly so as to not offend. “But I’d bet a dance with you would be quite enjoyable, my lady.”