-- ᴏ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟᴇʀ.

[solwinters]

# solwinters. private blog affiliated with cognatihq.

❝ tell me , father , which to ask forgiveness for : what i am , or what i'm not ? tell me , mother , which should i regret : what i became , or what I didn't ? ❞

jeor umber , 33 , lord of last hearth .

kerem tyrell , 30 , ruling lord of highgarden.

[solwinters]

day one, the procession through winterfell into wintertown. @sweetwither

" seven fucking hells. " the lord tyrell cursed with an infuriated sigh under his breath as his black leather boots made a loud splash into the soft mud, the expensive material looking considerably less impressive now. he had been on his best behaviour so far, condolences and sweet words for all met with gritted teeth and judging eyes; but one thing was for sure, he would not get accustomed to the north, not the landscape nor the people.. who seemed much like the weather -- miserable. kerem looked back to make sure that the rest of his family was following closely behind him and derya. " defne, if you do not hurry along we shall abandon you there. " the eldest tyrell called out ( or more so threatened ), before continuing along the path.

" the northerners did not seem too impressed with the statue.. what do you think, sister? " kerem remarked as he walked by derya's side, he wants to ask if she is freezing yet and if it was worth it to wear her pretty dresses when surrounded by mud from old snow or rain, but he is distracted by other thoughts and random shameless looks of disdain shot their way. suddenly his lips tug slightly upwards, obviously amused by whatever thought had graced his mind. " how long do you reckon.. " kerem began, lowering his voice so that only his sister could hear, mockery in his tone hardly concealed. " ..is going to take them to tear apart that statue after we all leave? sell the scraps and materials for all their worth. they could use the gold, after all. "

[solwinters]

[  jordan patrick smith.    umber a.    33.    cis man.    he/him.  ]  the  king  welcomes  jeor  of  house  umber  of  the last hearth  !  all  of  court  has  heard  that  they  are  +intrepid  and  +protective,  but  whispers  claim  that  they  are  also  -blunt  and  -imprudent  when  no  one  is  looking  …  how  much  of  that  is  true,  we  will  soon  find  out.  asking  around,  we  are  told  that  they  remind  people  of  frost bites at your fingers, trembling hands hang over the fire ; heavy fur draped over your shoulders ; bloodied knuckles and a warrior's cry ; an axe splitting a shield in two ; spilled ale and booming laughter ; the utmost faith that your gods will never abandon you   ─  that  should  give  the  bards  something  to  sing  about  !  unbeknown  by  most,  to defend the north's best interests  is  the  real  reason  why  they  answered  the  call  of  the  king,  but  with  so  many  rumors  flying  around,  who  is  to  say  what  the  truth  is  ? 

i.  statistics

name : jeor umber age : 33 title : lord heir of last hearth date of birth : twenty eighth day of the third moon ( march 28th ) place  of  birth:  last hearth sexuality : heterosexual languages spoken : common tongue, old tongue religion : the old gods

faceclaim : jordan patrick smith height : 195cm hair colour : dark blonde with a reddish tint eye colour : blue distinguishing  characteristics: too many scars to count, frost bitten ring finger and pinky on his left hand

mbti:  estp character  alignment:  chaotic good  positive  traits:  tba  negative  traits:  tba

father : errold umber mother : arsanna umber nee wull (deceased) siblings : elarra umber (deceased), beron umber, tba umber other : tba

ii.  background  &  personality

a true umber through and through they'd tell errold, as he watched his firstborn fight with utmost ferocity, something resembling pride clear on his face. none of the other kids were a challenge for jeor and he did not stop, not when he was bleeding, not when his bruised up hands were trembling, not when he was injured. he would make a fine warrior one day. and he was forged into one.

unwavering loyalty and fierce devotion have been the main definitive factor of jeor's life for as long as he had known; to his family, his house, the north, the gods, his people.

he loved to travel, from the bay of seals to bear island, from the wall to white harbour; people at the taverns and inns knew his face and that he liked his ale dark and deer extra salty.. and that he liked a good brawl or two. anything broken was forgiven, though because the umber insisted on sticking around helping to chop up the wood. his temper went as quickly as it came. errold mostly lets him do as he pleases; in fact, he awaits stories of all sorts of shenanigans. the two clash a lot too; their blood runs hot, though jeor is softer in lots of ways. his little siblings, he adores and will come in the defence if necessary.. if he is not teasing them himself.

things change when jeor is twenty and the umbers get the call to join the war in dorne. it was the first of many tragedies that would follow one after another and often times, the umber would ask himself if the gods tested him and his faith, or if they had saved him despite it all, that they did not let him die in the wretched south. the desert took lives of friends he had known since they were children and then a letter arrives from home, informing him and beron of their mother's passing. they could not say goodbye, nor could jeor find solace in the godswood. he persists. he has to.

upon the return home the winter devastates the north. food is scarce. he spends days hunting, refusing to go back until there is a catch that will last them at least a few days. it's his responsibility. the south has abandoned them, jeor realizes every day as he clenches his fist, the very same the cold took two fingers from. they'd fought their war, sacrificed so much, only to be left to die off, one by one. jeor sees in the eyes of the others, the same hatred rising within. he persists, even at the end of the winter and his little sister's death. there won't be any more losses, the umber promises himself, even if it kills him.

he tries to remain a strong foundation for the family and his friends. jeor does his best to upkeep his usual demeanor, to be a positive force for others, the way he was before the war and the famine, but both and all the losses have deeply affected him deep down. he didn't really let himself grieve properly, he just carried on. he likes to keep busy at all times. has grown more irritable and it feels like he's on the verge of lashing out any moment now, of letting out everything he's been keeping in for years.

jeor looks at the southerners coming to pay their respects to cregan stark with disdain.

iii.  headcanons:

tba

[solwinters]

[  deniz can aktas.    ruling lord tyrell.    30.    cis man.    he/him.  ]  the  king  welcomes  kerem  of  house  tyrell  of  highgarden  !  all  of  court  has  heard  that  they  are  +charismatic  and  +insouciant,  but  whispers  claim  that  they  are  also  -manipulative  and  -decadent  when  no  one  is  looking  …  how  much  of  that  is  true,  we  will  soon  find  out.  asking  around,  we  are  told  that  they  remind  people  of  sun shining off emerald and topaz embellished armour ; the smell of flowers filling your lungs ; chivalrous bow, words smoother than the sweetest hippocras ; boredom always creeping up on you like the stranger ; head held high, for they're all beneath you ; piles of parchment scattered on wooden table ; spoiled rotten ; let them eat cake   ─  that  should  give  the  bards  something  to  sing  about  !  unbeknown  by  most,  to make important connections and ensure that he and his house come out on top no matter what  is  the  real  reason  why  they  answered  the  call  of  the  king,  but  with  so  many  rumors  flying  around,  who  is  to  say  what  the  truth  is  ? 

i.  statistics

name : kerem tyrell age : 30 title : ruling lord of highgarden date of birth : seventh day of the sixth moon ( june 7th ) place  of  birth:  highgarden sexuality : heterosexual languages spoken : common tongue, a little bit of trade talk and different valyrian dialects he's picked up from past companions religion : faith of the seven

faceclaim: deniz can aktas height : 187cm hair colour : black eye colour : dark brown distinguishing  characteristics:  knowing smile; wealth heavily displayed on everything he wears

mbti:  estp character  alignment: chaotic neutra/evil  positive  traits:  tba negative  traits:  tba

father : lyonel tyrell, deceased in 167 a. c. mother : dowager lady tyrell siblings : sirin tyrell, elanur tyrell, defne tyrell, erkan tyrell other : tba

ii.  background  &  personality

eldest son, golden child, beloved heir ; kerem is everything his parents had hoped for. he was perfect and they wasted no time in introducing him to his duties. as soon as he could talk, the young lord was always by his father's side -- to learn how to run a household, attending council meetings, attending to their vassals. his mother would teach him how important connections and good impressions are; she'd introduce kerem to her friends where he learned to perform. he knew how to make people laugh and make a good first impression. people were so predictable and easily charmed, that the eldest tyrell began to easily grow bored of them.

as kerem grew up and became more involved in the ruling itself and voicing his own thoughts, he and lord lyonel began to clash a lot. he did not like his father's, as he thought of it, desperate loyalty, the eagerness to pay off your forefather's " sins " from the dance. the concept of unwavering loyalty was a strange concept to kerem and when lyonel began to find out more and more of his son's views and what he hides deep inside behind a facade, he realized his perfect heir was far from a reality. in fact, he wasn't quite sure if he liked the person standing in front of him. is there anything you care for, other than yourself? of course there was, the lord heir insisted, almost truthfully offended. was there?

kerem is ten and seven when his father dies as he had lived -- for the crown. he does miss him, of course, as lyonel had been his father.. but there is the repulsive feeling of excitement he cannot deny nor share out loud, excitement of the power soon to fall into his hands sooner than anticipated.

hedonistic to a fault, kerem is known for throwing fine feasts, being an excellent drinking companion and enjoying a good tourney. a chivalrous knight at first sight, he embodied something out of the reach's most romantic novels.. externally, until you got to know him for more than five minutes.

all kerem had done has been in the pursuit of feeling good and benefitting himself in some way. but when he had been handed everything he's ever wanted with ease, when he himself gets something he's set his mind on with ease, he grows bored more and more easily. the tyrell begins to do things because he can and not because he wants to, as if to prove a point. sometimes he simply wants to test himself and see how far he can go.

right before the famine began, kerem attended a small tourney near highgarden. it had been his seventh charge against his opponent, no liege unhorsed, yet their armours chipped at and multiple shields broken. it was at this final charge the lances broke off, both impaling each other. the lance had barely missed kerem's heart and it took him quite a while to recover. the first year of the famine he spent bed bound; the second, he could move around more but still, rest was needed. he is almost fully recovered, but will occassionally get sharp pain where the injury used to be.

the famine did not really affect him and kerem supported the raising for prices. however that affected the tyrell reputation, he did not care for; it was easily salvagable and besides all, people still needed them. the news of how devastated the north and the vale were did not exactly pull on his heartstrings either. tough luck. perhaps it is why, when the winter ended he threw a feast in a tone - deaf matter. surviving such harsh times had to be celebrated, after all.

kerem can sense that tensions are rising, but he is hoping when chaos ensues, he can manage better than most and use it to his advantage. in fact, the thought excites him.

iii.  headcanons:

once his father didn't let him go to dorne to spend a month with his friend because his presence was required in highgarden (and honestly who cares if tensions are rising with dorne? let him go to the beach, damn). kerem was really bored so he planted his mother's jewelry at two of the maids' chambers. the household saw such scandals with the two maids blaming each other and eventually a third party, until lyonel resolved it by letting them all go.

learned how to play the fiddle when he was bed bound but in recovery, much to his family and maids' dismay. he also does not exactly possess the voice for singing. (it was loud af in his chambers)

tba

iv. wanted connections:

inner circle, his best friends and fellow annoying rich pricks, most likely childhood friends as well. from the reach, westerlands, dorne or the crownlands. will always find an excuse to throw a feast, get together and spill their family's gold on something stupid. probably lots of drama within that group (bc they're bored <3) but they always have each other's backs at the end.

acquaintances, not particularly close but on good terms. they only get to see the usual facade that kerem puts on and perhaps were surprised at how nice and generous the tyrell was, despite his and his family's bad reputation after the famine. they're all disposable to him, though, so if needed be, he'd throw any of them under the bus for personal gain.

the already burned by kerem and his selfishness in some way who hate his guts.

past flings, nothing too serious, just having a good time.

the opponent from the tourney where they almost killed each other.

someone who has seen parts of kerem's worst, but is like i can fix him. he's utterly confused by this.

[gildedscage]

his words cut her down to the quick, tearing open a wound that had only just begun to heal. her mind, often cruel and unkind, flashes back to the night of her feast and the confession aeron had so clumsily placed at her feet. she had told not a single soul what transpired that night, all too aware of what that knowledge would do to them, to her above all, but it seemed her intentions mattered naught, for here steffon was, drawing blood with it all the same.

her expression crumples all the way now, and seeing that there is no weak point of his for her to press on, elinor turns away from him, unwilling to let him see her break. her eyes well and spill over her hot, blotchy cheeks. she wants to toss the platter of scones at his head. she wants to toss the entire spread before her over the fucking balcony, offended by the idea that any of it could have possibly made this news any easier to swallow, and even more so by the idea that an audience could ever subdue her.

more than that, she wants to pivot back to the sibling angle and remind him that it does not bode well in the eyes of man or the seven to humiliate your kin in front of all who matter in the world, but what good would that do her? what good has it done her? time and time again, the world has beat her bloody with one simple truth: elinor tyrell is nothing.

but... but she is something, she thinks, defiant, desperate, and determined. more than a sister or a daughter or a scion of the greatest house in westeros, she is just as much flesh and blood as them, and this life, no matter how small it is, is hers as it always has been. ruling lord or not, steffon did not get to dangle a life in her face, declare it true before the crown, and then yank it away at the last second simply because he commanded it.

elinor wipes at her face and takes deep breaths then, willing herself to calm down and match his steel. already, anger has filled the space carved out in her by grief. when she turns to him at last, it is no longer with pleading eyes and a quivering lip. instead, she brandishes the same look of resistance she's always flashed when caught, the one that says she will not go quietly and will not play their game.

"and do you truthfully believe that you are any better? when half the realm was starving, droves of them dropping like flies, tell me, brother, what did you do? do you think that because you did not wield a sword and deliver the blows yourself, that you bear no responsibility for what transpired beyond our walls?" elinor huffs humorlessly. "you've ended more lives and taken more from the lieges of this realm than any one of them could ever dream to, and yet you're too great a fool to see it — to even begin to imagine what it means to wield such power over all living things."

her eyes prick with tears then, but she blinks them away. instead, she shakes her head again, disappointed and deeply frustrated all at once. "i don't care what havoc they wreak on the rest of the world, steffon. i don't, and as lord paramount of the reach, i remind you, neither should you." her heart batters against her ribcage, racing at the truth of it revealed. they were killers, the entire lot of them, but they had never hurt her and that was all that mattered. "with a rose in their midst, they would have spared our shores and doubled their efforts elsewhere. that means you would've had the sea and the soil under your dominion and been the envy of all the lesser kingdoms around us who must divide their time between filling our coffers and fighting enemies you long got rid of."

she looks at him expectantly then, as if this entire meeting were a parley and not a final sentencing. still, elinor charges on, hands clasped dutifully at her middle. "the path forward is clear to me. i get what i was promised before all our peers, the reach grows richer, our reputation is not further tarnished, and you get to keep your head instead of handing it to the skull breaker himself." not that he uses it, she thinks. a beat then as her eyes narrow. "what has changed for you that you would deny us such a fate?"

[solwinters]

elinor turns away from him, though his eyes remain on her. he knows little sister way enough, that she does not wish for him to see her upset, not now, stubborn as ever. it does not bring steffon any pleasure, in fact, something tugs at his heart, a strange feeling, yet he will remain unyielding, no matter what. at last, elinor turns to meet his eyes, familiar resistance in hers, she would not go down easy. though, elder tyrell expected nothing less. in typical sibling fashion, it is only his sister who can force the spectrum of emotions out of him, from guilt to anger when her next words followed.

" that you cannot blame me for. " at last, he loses his cool and tone is raised, but more in the manner of two sibling quarreling, perhaps as they did once as children rather than pure spite. " i did what was best for us. " he was younger, more foolish and much less interested in politics back then, but the winter cared for none of that. yet even then, steffon knew how to play his cards, where the remaining resources should go, who would be grateful to house tyrell and him. " should i have let you starve for the sake of the northerners? how noble would that be.. just like the stories in your books, i reckon. "

perhaps words would be deemed cruel, but the look in steffon's eyes says otherwise, although intense and focused, it does soften when he notices the tears prickling in elinor's eyes, well concealed, but not from him. little sister did not care for the havoc the ironborn caused to the rest of the world.. it seemed, they were truly one blood after all. the thought almost amuses him, though he resists the smile that threatens to show up. elinor had always been his favourite for a reason, yet, despite all the love he bore for her, he could not let her win or have her way over him in this matter.

" perhaps the raids on our western shores would stop.. for a while, under your influence.. but for how long? and how shall we grow richer, elinor, with all the copper and silver the greyjoys claim from the dead after their raids? " the question is intended to provoke, he wonders if elinor would be fine with what aeron must do both in theory and reality, if she could handle it all, the brutal reality outside of her love for the greyjoy.

" i care little for what havoc they wreak on the rest of the world as well, sister. " he admits as they stand in front of each other, two sides of the same coin. " but i am to marry cersei lannister, so her world shall be mine as well. " moments of silence follow, and steffon pours himself a cup of raspberry wine; a sip is taken as he observes elinor's reaction. " an alliance between the rose and the lion makes much more sense. " he speaks matter-of-factly now. " if we were to join forces earlier, the ironborn would not dare step a foot on our shores and perhaps you would be able to happily marry your greyjoy, and welcome all the saltwives that follow. " frustration was evident now in his words, once again hoping to pain a miserable picture in her head but also, share his own concerns that have danced on the back of his mind since the engagement was announced.

" i do not understand, elinor. " steffon leans back in his chair as a sigh escapes his lips, he speaks like a brother and not a ruling lord giving out orders. " why him? what makes him special? " eyebrows furrow in confusion as past memories are recalled. " did i not bring you along on enough tourneys? did you not witness the epitome of knighthood, the opposite of what you seek now? " surely, elinor had been very young, the tourneys were all local, not too far from highgarden, but who had the finest, most romanticized knights if not the reach? " i do not believe you are foolish enough to actually fall for him.. you are stubborn, however. "

[ivoryborn]

many  nights  alarra  had  fallen  asleep  to  the  thought  of  finally  being  reunited  with  her  family,  taken  away  back  to  the  north  without  the  weight  of  a  political  play  in  place.  from  the  moment  she  had  stepped  foot  in  the  south,  that  had  been  her  dream  ⸻  and  it  had  so  quickly  turned  into  a  nightmare;  a  bloody  and  chaotic  nightmare  and  her  family  still  left  without  all  of  it's  members.  relief  and  anger  battle  themselves  inside  of  alarra's  mind,  knowing  what  awaits  her  at  the  end  of  the  journey  and  far  too  aware  of  who  is  missing.

even  arnolf's  words  towards  the  healer  sound  like  they're  being  spoken  from  the  end  of  a  long  and  dark  tunnel,  her  eyes  devoid  of  any  focus  as  they  remain  on  a  spot  on  the  road.  all  the  stark  could  think  about  was  the  chaos,  the  blood  and  the  damn  announcement.  even  if  alarra's  body  was  there  for  all  the  winces  and  the  pain  of  the  gash  still  burned,  her  mind  was  miles  and  miles  away.  although,  even  then,  alarra  cannot  let  go  of  everything  arnolf  says.  "are  you  done  scaring  the  healer,  brother?"  it  is  part  of  her  role  as  a  sister  to  annoy  him  every  chance  she  gets,  after  all.  "he  will  not  be  able  to  take  care  of  me  properly  if  he  is  trembling  too  much."

alarra  looks  at  her  brother  when  the  healer  is  done,  giving  him  a  low  thanks  before  her  attention  is  solely  on  her  brother.  "you  ought  to  save  some  of  that  energy  for  when  we  go  back  for  gilliane."  there  is  a  hint  of  guilt  that  hits  her  chest.  she  hates  that  after  all  of  that,  her  family  does  not  come  back  whole.  and  then,  a  small  and  humourless  chuckle  escapes  her  at  arnolf's  comment,  head  shaking.  "warrior  is  exactly  the  first  word  that  comes  to  mind.  i  might  look  even  better  than  you."  now,  she  smiles  and  she  means  it.

though,  it  is  short-lived.  alarra  lets  out  a  small  sigh.  "we  have  to  go  back  for  her,  arnolf.  we  cannot  leave  her  there."

[solwinters]

as soon as the healer leaves, arnolf goes to sit by his sister's side. the lack of sleep would catch up to him soon, he could feel it; had gilly been here, she would've scolded him long ago, but she was not. a small smile tugs at his lips at alarra's words, though it is evident neither of them has much energy to joke around like they usually did, especially arnolf.

" i know.. " he finally responds, attempting to rub the sleep off his eyes and the headache off his temples, for his rage might have simmered, but it was still there and what kept him going. that, and his faith. the only thing that kept him same was gilliane's power that he knew of, surely the old gods must keep her safe, they must speak to her and his prayers would not go unheard as well.

" we shall know what's next when we return to winterfell. theon and the council need to gather properly. " he had been cleaning off the dried blood of his sword and axes until recently; yet it wasn't enough, he craved more. especially now, for gilliane's sake. his sister's next words do both jolt him awake and create a moment of silence between them. we.

" alarra.. i do not wish for you to go south, for whatever reason it might be, not now. " arnolf admits, knowing she would object or be offended by his words, yet it was his sister that remained in the softest spot of his heart. " if me or karlon were to be caught we would be blessed with a swift death. you are still betrothed.. " and he had failed to get rid of him properly, arnolf was sure, he couldn't get a full hold of the fowler that night, it was not a fatal blow. the engagement must still stand if the crown were to get their hands on alarra once more, gods forbid, or perhaps a worse punishment would await her.. " they would use that to their advantage. or worse. use you as a pawn and make you suffer for the rest of your life. i will not risk it, either way. "

[solwinters]

early october, on their way to harrenhal. inn at the crossroads, at dusk. @oflcgends

it took little for steffon to convince his friend to detour from the rest of the group and ride on their own a little more north than their destination. the gods themselves knew both lords could use the distraction and the good wine, perhaps one night that would serve as a reminder of the good old times as well. the tyrell was not particularly fond of the riverlands; the roads were always so muddy and the region itself had suffered the most from warfare throughout history, old and recent.. and it showed.

" just as good as i remember it. " steffon remarks as he finishes the rest of his food, before a cup of wine is brought up to his lips to wash it down. " the riverlands don't have much to show.. but this inn, it has a certain charm to it, does it not? " the tyrell rambles as he refills both his and tybolt's cups with more wine, his face remains focused, eyebrows scrunched, for there are thoughts racing his mind.

" as i was saying, " steffon goes back to his thoughts about their previous conversation " the greyjoy's rule is quite fragile, if you think about it.. and the way we could use that to our advantage- " the music gets louder, as it is late enough into the night, the dancers get rowdier, scantily dressed women emerge, sitting on the liege of their choosing's lap, whispering sweet nothings.

" oh, seven hells. " the tyrell exclaims, he wants nothing more than to get hammered with his best mate and wake up to a beautiful woman whose name he did not know in his arms in the morrow. even the thought of cersei torturing him for the rest of his life about it, as she had promised excited him. yet he had no desire to act upon old impulses. " you're not going to abandon me now, are you? i must remind you, i am now a man settled down, have mercy. "

[solwinters]

a tavern in lannisport, night time. late september. @cursealibi

steffon tyrell was uncharacteristically dressed in dull, simple clothes; his attire did not display neither his house nor his wealth as it usually did. a grey hood cast a shadow over his face as he made his way across the still recovering streets of lannisport. as he enters the beat up tavern, his eyes are quick to find rhygar botley and the lord of highgarden takes the seat opposite his. " my lord. " he greets the other with a slight nod of his head.

some silence follows as they are served their beverages and steffon refuses the urge to make an unpleasant expression as he takes a sip out of sour wine. " how does my sister fare? have you seen her? " miserably, steffon hopes to hear back. he wishes for elinor herself to run back to highgarden, having realized life amongst greyjoy savages was not what she had imagined.

[cfshadows]

closed starter: steffon tyrell @solwinters

time/location: after the freeing of the River and Vale lords

It had been a scene watching the swearing to the king, listening to the speeches by the man. Orys was sure this would be met with even more resistance, it wasn't something he could ignore now. The North and Iron Islands had both declared themselves independent and the fallout with the Riverlands and Vale. If there wasn't a whole gaggle of Kings and Queens by the end of the year he wouldn't be surprised. His father was standing strong and loyal, and he would be more astute next to him but his eye kept meeting Steffon. Rage had never been more obvious. As soon as they were excused Orys made his way through the crowd to reach the Tyrell. "Has Vaeron said anything else about the Greyjoys?" There was no need for pleasantries. "Does he truly expect you to stand by and do nothing?" His voice was low, right now any anger at the king could be taken as anything. "You know you have my support."

[solwinters]

steffon's eyes keep meeting orys' as the king holds his speech; much is said without words and they are not needed, for they have known each other since children and the tyrell notes the baratheon's barely concealed anger. he moves away from his lady mother and siblings to meet the other halfway. " not as of yet. " he responds with an exasperated sigh, irritated. " i suppose the dragon is a matter much more important.. " his tone lowers to match that of his friend's. " as is his cousin's wedding. " lips tug upwards in amusement.

his hand extends to tap the baratheon's back firmly. " i appreciate it.. as you will always have mine, as well. " words are truthful. most people were disposable to steffon, but the stag was one of the few, rare exceptions that were not, where friendship actually held value. " i have attempted to negotiate to no result, of course. the only tongue these savages speak is bloodshed. " he spat out with disdain. " and i know tybolt would be twice as eager to sail our armies to the islands.. but for now it must remain a last resort. though, i am not standing by idly. " the fact obviously displeased him, though he did not remain without action in other ways.

" will you be returning to storm's end or riding straight to harrenhal? " steffon asks as more people begin to pass them, tone resumed to normal.

[zodiac--signs]

Aries Sun + Sagittarius Moon

Key Phrase: Coming through!

Remarkable Traits: Extremely creative, mentally quick, bursting with new ideas. Great at leading, risk-takers, non-judgmental. They accept any kind of experience- and are friendly towards people of all walks of life.

Dark Side: Agitated and impulsive, doesn't think before acting, too impatient. Has difficulties concentrating enough / long enough to finish what they started.

Quote: "I don't like to hold back, because that's how you hurt yourself" -Chester Bennington, Aries/Sagi native

[zodiac--signs]

Leo Sun + Virgo Moon

Key Phrase: Heading West, Definitely

Remarkable Traits: Hard-working and realistic. Sets down-to-earth goals and follows their plans until the end. Tendency to observe and analyze others. Very pragmatic when it comes to life in general. Methodical and efficient.

Dark Side: A bit more complicated emotionally wise, tends to overthink, and usually lets pride and stubbornness get in the way. A perfectionist. Can be a harsh critic and demand too much from others/themselves.

[zodiac--signs]

Gemini Sun + Leo Moon

Key Phrase: Tell me, Am I glamorous?

Remarkable Traits: An artist. Mentally complex, but has a straightforward, simple approach to life. Thrives on attention. Exciting, independent, lighthearted and flirty.

Dark Side: Easily infatuated, easily bored. Almost impossible to pin down. Gets in trouble for being too curious. Can be superficial and love luxury a bit too much.

[glittxeringgold]

Where: Velaryon Quarters Who: @solwinters ft. Maelor When: early morning after the chaos

Rhaenenna was shaken by the ending of the masque. At the moment, she might have preferred another assassination attempt against her kin, compared to seeing another dragon! She might have been more rational if it was only the Ironborn attack, if it was only Lord Lannister's poisoning, but the scars running across her face burned with the fears of her childhood.

Dragons were back in the sky. They were all doomed.

She sat on the edge of the bed with her hand grazing her temples. "Brother," Rhaenenna addressed in High Valyrion. She should not be at Casterly Rock, she should be at Driftmark preparing a fleet to attack the North and defend against the dragon. "Brother what shall we do?" The question was asked in post event panic more than in strategy. It was most unusual to ask her brother for advice, often finding his way to headstrong and forward. This time she needed someone to attack, not cower as she was currently doing.

[solwinters]

all maelor could think of when he saw the dragon above them was the velaryon hatchling, the one that mauled his sister's face, such creature meant to be extinct brought to life once more. both the childhood memory and the sight of the dragon and the ball of flames.. a beast that did not belong neither to house targaryen nor velaryon haunted him, for they were dangerous weapons, now in someone else's hands.

in the midst of all the meetings arranged in chaos, maelor had found time to visit rhaenenna's chambers, in fact it is early morning, hers that he goes to first before he is to meet all those lieges and arranged meetings in his own. sleep has not found him, it would not anytime soon. what were they to do? the answers to such a question he could not give, not yet.

" you must rally our people, prepare them for war, whether they should sail west or north, we do not know yet. but they must be ready. that's all that matters. " maelor responds in high valyrian as well. this time, he sees rhaenenna out for blood rather than him and he finds himself the one to calm her down, instead of the other way around as it happened too often, during their childhood and youth and more recently.

" be prepared, yet do nothing. not yet. " amethyst eyes observed the other's, hoping they've come to terms with one another, siblings finally united at last. a hand reaches out to hold elder sister's, determined and comforting. " we are yet to find out who the dragon belongs to. " and by we, maelor means the council, though suspicions he is about to speak out thoughts that have gone through rhaenenna's head as well. " it must be one of our kin. who else would have a hold of a dragon egg, let alone be able to hatch it? " there weren't that many options out there and maelor himself had his suspicions, but he wished for a real confirmation.

" this dragon may be far from a hatchling.. but it seemed young. " high valyrian rolls of his tongue, eyebrows furried, tone filled with hatred instead of the fear that he once felt. " dorne posesses many scorpions, some leftover from past wars.. some even more developed, from what i've heard. " maelor shares all his knowledge, whether to bringe peace to his sister or prepare her for what's to come, he is not quite sure. but there are few he trusts nowadays, besides his own kin, sister and cousins alike.

" the lannisters have united forces with the tyrells. yet, how much trust can we put in them? do they have the crown's best interests and not their own? and if so, for how long? " even lewys, who was the hand, yet a lannister before all, maelor thought as much.

[romanceur]

— for  a  heartbeat,  the  world  narrowed  to  the  place  where  his  hands  found  her.  sure  and  unthinking. steady. and  in  that  brief  stillness  it  felt  as  though  the  music  itself  had  paused  to  watch.  only  when  he  drew  back  did  alina  remember  herself,  gathering  her  skirts  once  more,  a  soft  breath  leaving  her  as  her  balance  returned.  the  warmth  of  the  contact  lingered  all  the  same,  light  as  a  memory  she  had  not  yet  decided  to  set  aside. “  then  we  must  share  the  fault,  my  lord,  ”  she  said,  voice  gentle,  threaded  with  both the embarrassment, and the  quiet amusement of the situation.  her  gaze  dipped  to  the  pale  spill  of  wine  darkening  the  stone  between  them,  before  lifting  up to him again,  softened  by  relief.  “  and  no  —  my  dress  has  been  spared.  i  fear  it  is  the  floor  that  has  paid  the  price  for  our  inattention.  ” the  color  at  her  cheeks  lingered,  warm  and  unmistakable.  behind  her  mask,  her  eyes  on  him  a  moment  longer  than  propriety  might  demand  —  curious,  unguarded,  as  though  she  were  trying  to  place  him  in  a  story  she  had  not  yet  finished  telling  herself.  there  was  something  about  him  that  did  not  quite  belong  to  all  that  gold  and  candlelight,  and  it  only  drew  her  attention  more.

“  the  floor  will  forgive  us,  i  think,  ”  she  added,  as  though  the  thought  had  only  just  occurred  to  her.  a  small  smile  touched  her  lips.  “ for i am  certain that it  shall  endure  worse  than  a  little  spilled  wine  tonight.  ”

and then,  something  shifted. it  was  not  boldness,  not  truly  —  only  a  lightness,  a  loosening.  tonight,  nobody  knew  her  name.  nobody  saw  gulltown  when  they  looked  at  her,  or  the  expectations  that  came  with  it.  she  was  not  her  father’s  daughter  here  —  only  a  girl, dressed in silver, with music in her ears and a will to dance the night away. tonight, life was a song.

the  thought  made  her  heart  lift,  bright  and  a  little  unsteady. if  she  did  not  speak  now,  she  knew  she  would  not.  the  moment  would  pass,  as  so  many  moments  did,  folded  neatly  away  into  memory.  the  mask  granted  her  this  much  —  a  single  step  taken  without  consequence. “  would  you  dance  with  me,  my  lord  ?  ”

[solwinters]

such gentleness is something unfamiliar to arnolf, so is the evident softness in the stranger's eyes. had this occurred in the places he frequented or within the people he surrounded himself with, mayhaps a fight would occur or he would be told off, naturally. he is almost ready for it, ready to continue on his path, but things don't play out as he usually experienced them, so he remains in his spot, against what he had anticipated.

his eyes follow hers to the spilled mess of red wine left on the ground. without much other thought given, arnolf makes his way through the crowd around them, perhaps a bit harshly at times to those who refused to move as he places a gentle hand against the lady's back to lead her in his direction until they come to a stop, one with a clean floor and better view of the dancers he had little interest in. " since we share out fault, i think it is the lannisters that ought to deal with the mess we made, it is only fair. " the way his lip tugs upwards is hidden behind the mask.

it shall endure worse than spilled wine; the words almost take him aback. it had been what he'd hoped for ever since they'd received the raven carrying the invitation. his blood had been boiling for this exact moment ever since they left dorne; and then, the lady's next words snap him out of it.

he had never danced properly; the drunken, rare occasions in the many taverns or inns visited didn't count. yet grandsire cregan had taught him much, especially, as he put it, how one should treat ladies, especially such a wildling like you. and he did wish to enjoy himself as he had until now, for the first time in months. arnolf takes a look at his table; theon seems as displeased as he has been lately, karlon and gilly are enjoying their company as usual. there is time.

" i must warn you, i'm far from a good dancer. so you must lead. " the stark warns the mysterious lady, he skips the awkwardly bowing part as etiquette required and instead takes her hand and leads her out to the dancefloor, where they join the rest of the dancers.

[solwinters]

20th september, after the ceremony, desdymona's chambers. @harrenrot

they both sat on the balcony, table in front of them full of food and wine, as maelor had requested for his wife to be to get one of the better quarters as he did; to both his cousin and lewys. her servants busied around inside, preparing the lady lothston's luggage for the trip back to harrenhal. " i hope you do not mind that i will not be joining you on your travels back home. i have.. matters that demand my attention to deal with, here. but i shall ride to harrenhal as soon as i can. " he assured her as sweet, watered down arbor red is brought up to his lips; his eyes observe the servants still. although lothston's, he had little trust in them, for they were rivermen before all.

finally, they are done and leave desdymona's chambers, leaving them to their privacy at last. " i hope you were not treated harshly during your stay in.. the quarters. " maelor had done his best to get her out of there as soon as possible, even if the prisoners from the riverlands and the vale had much more comfort and freedom allowed so they could not feel as such. " but it was necessary. the morning after the ball, the starks and their people cut through the last few remaining lannister guards, simply slaughtered them.. only solidifying our expectations. " just as he had expected, nothing less from the northerners and their cruelty, the ways of their gods.

" we both know your vassals and most of your people are quite.. fond of them. it is why what happened, had to be done. " maelor was well aware mona and her family were different, their house and seat powerful, influential, mysterious. it was precisely so why he had insisted on this betrothal above all other offers or possibilities. " what do you think, my lady? " formalities are kept for they had met only a few times prior and desdymona is as much of a mystery to him as her castle is to the reast of the realm, yet it is that very same mystery that pulls him in and puts his trust in her.

[ivoryborn]

victaria  stands  to  the  sidelines  of  the  masquerade,  standing  as  still  as  stone  lest  the  lack  of  decorum  gives  the  ironborn  away.  dark  eyes  study  everything  around  them,  golden  goblet  hanging  near  her  lips  as  the  smell  of  the  wine  infiltrates  their  nostrils  and  it's  much  too  sweet.  victaria  detests  the  opulence  around  them,  the  way  masks  hide  faces  that  she  wants  to  make  bleed  red  and  gold  ⸻  and  yet,  there  she  stands  and  it's  all  because  of  loyalty.

before  the  islander  could  take  another  sip  of  the  wine  and  wish  for  it  to  be  ale,  a  familiar  tone  cuts  through  all  the  bullshit  around  her.  victaria  does  not  need  to  look  at  the  one  so  near,  they  don't  need  to  look  through  the  holes  in  the  mask  and  try  and  study  the  features  beneath  it  ⸻  the  ironborn  knows  who  it  is.  after  all,  how  could  she  ever  forget?  victaria's  own  gaze  meets  maelor's  through  the  masks  (  unyielding  and  unfazed  by  the  words  he  speaks  )  and  just  like  that  she  sees  the  same  man  she  saw  years  back;  the  same  one  that  enticed  her  enough  to  have  her  still  remember  every  line  of  his  face,  after  all  this  time.  victaria  matches  the  volume  of  his  own  words.  "i'm  here  to  celebrate  the  nameday  of  the  hand  of  the  king.  why  are  you  here?"  here  with  me,  here  talking  when  you  should  be  calling  for  any  and  every  guard.

they  down  the  rest  of  the  wine  in  the  goblet  they  hold,  eyes  studying  the  room  once  more.  for  someone  whose  shores  just  got  attacked,  every  mainlander  seems  to  be  enjoying  themselves.  unless,  of  course  ⸻  a  sharp  scoff  escapes  them,  attention  back  on  maelor.  victaria  takes  a  step  closer,  keeping  the  conversation  low  yet  steady.  "we  simply  wish  to enjoy  such  celebrations.  everyone  seems  pretty...  blissfully  oblivious."  now,  their  body  is  fully  turned  to  his  ⸻  not  defiant,  simply...  unafraid.  "i  can  protect  myself  just  fine,  maelor.  surely,  your  memory  serves  you  better  than  to  forget  just  how  well."  not  that  they've  ever  fought.

then,  a  heartbeat.  and  another.  "why  aren't  you  calling  for  the  guards?"

[solwinters]

his eyes meet theirs through their masks; both refuse to yield. " you were not invited. your people were not invited, for a good reason. " maelor finally speaks, voice stern, although his eyes search for something in the other's he could use, hold on to. all those qualities in victaria he had found enticing back then have now come back to haunt him. " what were you thinking? sigrin the skull breaker, i know.. but do you truly believe in him, as your king? or is it only chaos that you seek? "

he had done his best that he could, to attempt to mend relationships between westerlanders and the ironborn that was cut too short before even something resembling progress could be made, but he had all those plans in his mind, that now had no chance to happen, ever. " are the consequences that are to come worth it? have you considered them? vaeron will never give you independence, nor will any mainlander consider sigrin a king. he is nothing but a pretender to anyone else. is it war that you seek? " the words rush out of his mouth, while tone is low only for them to be heard, maelor cannot help the passion mixed with worry that overwhelm him.

why isn't he calling for the guards, truly? he does not even have to wonder. what he'd had with victaria was.. special. neither lovers nor bestest of friends, perhaps something in between, someone who had enchanted him, someone he could relate to, share a special bond with until they moved on their own paths, especially maelor. yet, the bond remained, for something beneath him despised the idea of the harlaw getting hurt, thrown in the dungeons or losing their head.

" because i care for you. " the velaryon finally admits, for it is both in their nature to be blunt; him, when he was around victaria, at least. king's landing demanded too much mind games and pretense out of him to survive. " and i do not wish to see you dead.. which goes beyond your own personal skills as the warrior i know you are. " with the pompous tyrell lord suddenly strongly involving his house and his people in ironborn matters, with house lannister about to join forces with house tyrell fully, what could this mean for the future?

it is something maelor wishes to bring up, to warn them at least, but he cannot do so. " i ask of you.. do not do anything stupid or reckless tonight. " his tone is soft now, almost defeated, hands almost reach out to grasp their face out of habit, though maelor resists it.

[brokenxxwings]

how did this happen? is the one thought that crosses his mind as it felt like it was only moments ago he had been looking at the stars with a beautiful maiden named maris when a beast he had heard only from stories crossed the night skies. he heard its screech, saw its wing span, and chaos then ensued. he had bidden his farewell, tried his best to commit her face from behind the veil she wore, and fled inside to look for his family. he helped make sure that eduardo was safe in his chamber, somewhere along the way he lost his mask, and hoped that the others were fine until he saw steffon march forward to him with a look that told him something was up. "are you sure she was with him? who saw them leave together? i thought the ironborn were prevented from being here. where the lannister men drunk to not have seen them enter the building or are they just a bunch of pretend guards who are that stupid?" while he was angry that his sister was gone, he could not help but feel a little relief that she was with aeron. he met him a few times before he learned of the relationship he had with elinor but the way his sweet little sister spoke about him, he knew she was safe. for the young love they shared with one another was proof enough to him. "we can speak about punishment all we want but that is not going to bring her back."

[solwinters]

steffon is about to speak, before ser alyn places a hand on his shoulder and whispers words in his ear; the old man had been the tyrell's most loyal guard and an important figure on their council for many years. " go with them and take all the men you need. we shall be just fine. " steffon responds, he had no doubts that both him or half - brother would be able to handle some rogue ironborn left running around had they dared to come in their way. ser alyn bows his head down and the tyrell guards follow his lead, for they are to join forces with the lannisters. finally, his full attention is back on matheos, now that it is just the two of them and two remaining guards standing beside them.

" ser alyn did. i have no reason to doubt his word. " steffon responds truthfully. his eyes pierce through matheos; he had been well aware that elinor herself was especially fond of their bastard brother, much more than steffon had been, even once, back then when they were just kids. " the ironborn were not invited, but they came regardless. why do you think the guards gently persuaded us against leaving if we wanted to do so? " perhaps he is curious if matheos had any suspicions of his own, so moments of silence follow.

" they brought bloodshed to lannisport, one of their worst, most devastating raids yet, before they brought it here. their bloodlust and arrogance know no bounds. " he paces around the stop they're stopped in; one of the guards begins to follow him and steffon dismisses him with an almost annoyed hand gesture. " do you believe our sister to be safe and happy amongst these cutthroats? half of them are probably wearing lannisport's people's fingers around their neck by now, as a trophy well earned. " steffon does wonder himself, as well. aeron might have been sweet, yes, but he wishes for elinor to be terrified of the rest of them. to see her mistake herself.

the elder tyrell stops in his tracks now, facing half - brother as a hand extends to pat his shoulder, something resembling the affection they shared as children, or he at least hoped it did. " do you plan to keep running around the realm with daemon? i do not know how safe that would be, in our current times. " it was true, the realm had divided itself in conflict, though that was only part of steffon's motives that prompted such questions. " if you choose to remain in highgarden, perhaps i could find you a seat on the council. "