she would rather walk, but the castellan had warned her there is long distance and long walks within king's landing, longer than there are on her corner of the world — albeit doubtful of such words, she heeded to the old man's advice and went on to the stables. arriving there, it was clear that she was not the only one who had such a thought; she had forgotten about the competition on the nearest days. had all of these horses been brought by the lieges or were they simply owned by the crown, ready for lease to their guests? one would think they were generous. "hello," she greeted, looking from the stalls to the nearest person. "have you come to choose your ride for the competition or do you simply need to get out of the castle?"
open starter / with anyone (up to 6 different muns) on day one, during the evening's feast.
her heart pounds as the hall grows in number, the realization of the crowds of people among them setting in. she can feel her face grow warm and though what she desires most is to flee into the shadows, rhaenyra is frozen - if by her own choice or not stands unclear. eyes dart in desperation for a familiar face but sight eludes her. as if suddenly awoken from a deep slumber, she gasps and moves across the room. her attention is caught by none, finally pausing near a cupbearer who offers a drink. she accepts, holding the goblet tight in her hands before taking a sip. " oh, that's good, " rhaenyra mumbles to herself with a smile. from where she's looking at the floor, she spots a shoe beside her and peers up at them. " greetings, hello. have you had one of these yet ? " her hand lifts the goblet before clutching the cup back to her chest. " you should try them - i hear the wine is arbor gold. " her favorite, of course.
tonight makes her grateful for the stark's subdued nature, for this one is nothing like she has ever seen. the saloon is crowded as the musicians play their tune, ushering people to dance to a number she is not one bit familiar with, while many other remain on the sidelines, always gathering with several other. she wants none of that. her presence will not be noticed, and logic says that neither shall her absence so a round is all that she will give tonight. she thought not to give words either, enjoying her quietude, but a woman speeaks and she has the coloring of the so called sovereign house of the realm — purple eyes and moonlit hair.
"hello," the wildling utters, then, though she does not attempt to bow her head; instead, her eyes dance between the cup in the princess' hand, to her beautiful eyes, to the nearest cupbearer. "arbor gold." she repeats. in winterfell, she had kept to ale only. this one looks even more like piss, but the woman takes a sip not to offend the princess. "it's my first time. i'm pleasantly surprised it doesn't taste like piss." she doesn't mean it to be a quip, but it may as well sound like it. "does it get you drunk easily?"
she is lost. it's not a feeling pihla enjoys, and finds it so unfamiliar when she has always believed herself good in her tracks — but one thing is to make your way on the wild of the true north, and another is to cross some hundred corridors that all look the same. one more turn and she believes she has seen the same tapestry of dragons at least twice now; rare irritation twists her features and she exhales a noise of annoyance, before sight catches onto another person walking by. "you —" the wildling calls out. "where are you going?" then she bites her tongue. "my lady?"
she had thought winterfell left her without most common duties, but it's a whole new scale in the red keep — and she does not care for it. the boredom is such she finds herself pacing her (too large) chambers until the septa has returned with the boys, to whom her attention then turns. even when the hour grows late and rob fusses his way into slumber, she remains, torn between looking across the balcony (how can this be the same moon she had seen years ago, on her own home? how can so much have changed?) and to glance to the sleeping children.
attention becomes pronged when she notices familiar set of steps in her proximity. gaze does not shift, but her shoulders, unusually bare to handle the scorching heat, relaxes. "i should not be here." she tells the truth. "nor should you."
whenever the keep is filled with guests from any parts of the known world, saera finds herself drawn to them with such gusto she almost forgets everything else — almost. goldwing lurks on the corners of her mind and fuels her self, so she refuses to be remiss at visiting the beast before the rest of the keep awakens. today, there is another other than the dragonkeepers, a face less enjoyable, too. still, the youngest greets her sister with a long gaze. "i thought i had seen a spot of green above." she knows all of the living dragons by heart, even those yet unmounted, so she recognized one of the biggest ones with some distaste. "how's the old lady?"
with the tourney in only a few days, the keep is in a buzz. it has been far too long since they've receptioned a large number of guests, and while saera can't wait to see whom will come and what they will bring, she will miss some of the liberties that comes with the day to day — like observing the knights training without a hint of shame. not unusually, she makes her way towards the courtyard when they seem to be finished and, approaching a certain knight, she raises a handkerchief. "for all the sweat you've broken." voice remains cool, as does her expression. she knows better than to give it all away. "it does not mean you can have it as a favor, though."
for all of the amusement that having guests brings her, sometimes the selection is incredibly off. maybe someone could compare it to wine flavors, how different they are to one another and how there is always a certain wine for every person but saera only cares that it makes her tipsy, and it is no different when it comes to companions. these just aren't it. how has she gotten enrolled into talking about dead crops? "lord stark," she breaks another's words by raising her voice, periwinkle eyes turning towards the tallest man between them. "tell me anything interesting before i wilt from boredom, please."
the small purse's contents jiggle as she walks, leather heavy between her hands. there is little about tournaments saera dislikes, but over the years she has earned the right to be enthused about the betting that occurs — ever since she saw her kingsguard do it, oddly excited, she had made him also take her bets towards every small or big event happening in the city, something that has brought her some loss but also some gain. this time, however, she intends to place the bets herself, on the inviting little stand by the courtyard. "martyn! have you been listening to drunks long? tell me who are the better bets. and don't tell me you're betting all on yourself, please. i'd rather you did not bring me to bankrupcy again."
@shan-of-three-ravens / @jorah-stark ( up to you ! )
she still reeks of dragon as she walks down the corridors of the keep. goldwing was restless and wished to roam souther than king's landing away to dragonstone, and she had to tighten the reins not to return to that hell hole — something he did not entirely appreciate, but bent to his mistress' wishes neverthless. why would anyone desire to escape the red keep is beyond her, but it is the steps of another draws her from her worsening mood; coming from within an alcove, she follows the sound in hopes of seeing who the snooper was. "you know, these are the very halls ceryse hightower had her tongue ripped out. some says she still wanders these halls... is it my dear aunt out there?"
could that really be SAERA TARGARYEN, the princess of WESTEROS entering the keep ? king’s landing is sure to benefit from the twenty five year old’s ability to be zestful but beware, whispers also say they have been known to be self-willed. their loyalty belongs to HOUSE TARGARYEN and they support the ruling of house targaryen throughout westeros.
i. dossier
full name: saera targaryen
title: princess of westeros
alias(es): the hellion
age: five and twenty
birthdate: tba
gender & pronouns: cis woman & she / her
orientation: bisexual, biromantic
religion: the faith of the seven
languages spoken: high valyrian, the common tongue
allegiance: house targaryen
ii. physicality
notable features: between her silver volumnious curls and large purple eyes, she strikes as an odd beauty; she is hardly ever without some sort of smile, be it mischiveous or of true enjoyment.
height: 5’4, 162 cm
build: wispy.
eyes: periwinkle, very wide doe eyes.
hair: silver, curly and voluminous, often worn loose; when it is tied up, it is with intricately thin braids, forming valyrian braids and decorated with ribbons and jewels.
wardrobe: she favors light colors of different shades such as yellows, reds and pinks, purples, the ocasional blue.
abilities: dragonrider — goldwing hatched from an egg placed on her crib at birth. at twenty - four years old, goldwing is enormous; he is white with rose gold scales and golden wings, thus the name. he has a volatile but playful temperament and is flown on daily to get rid of his high-energy; some say he is the perfect match to his rider.
moral alignment: tba
zodiac: sag/scorpio cusp
positives: quick-witted, charming, openhanded, ebullient
negatives: challenging, spoiled, reckless, spiteful
pass times: tba
wields: besides the thousand pounds dragon, she has an inconvenient kingsguard often at her heels.
inspirations: conchita blossom (the buccaneers), aerea and saera targaryen (asoiaf), kathryn howard (the tudors), mary tudor (the spanish princess), julia the elder (domina).
v. background
a small and fragile babe at birth, many assumed that she would not survive a fortnight. it was only after an egg was placed within her crib that she began to grow stronger — the egg would hatch only on her first nameday, but, by then, she was fit as a fiddle and already a demanding young thing that would cling to her egg and to her family at every possible step. she was not a quiet babe either, quickly learning her words and dispensing commands in high valyrian to both servants and her family, even her father, who would always share a laugh at his precocious daughter.
saera was only nine when aenys died. she was too young to understand why the twins were being whisked away, why she would not see them for years forward, why uncle maegor was in their home and why they were not allowed in king's landing, why they must live with visenya now and why they were not allowed to be near their dragons. in her best fashion, she made life horrible for those involved — countless headaches for her long-suffering mother at first and it is said that visenya could not bear to be near her unless she was to be striken down by the old conqueror — something that she definitely took advantage of, acting her worst whenever she could just so the woman would stay away from them (it did not stop her from learning from the old conqueror, though. none of her witchcraft nor of her ability with dark sister, but how to hone her tongue).
when it came to the time that it was their turn to run away, she was elated. dragonstone had become akin to a prison and she dreamed of being reunited with the rest of the family — of course, that was before she learned of rhaegar's death. instead of a moment of rejoicing while they hid amongst the free cities, a period of mourning insued, and not even saera could smile away the fear from being the next to be hunted, the next to lose their dragon, the next burned to the ground like nothing.
maegor's death changed everything. once more, they were whisked away into a ship, but this time, they emerged to king's landing with the sort of joy saera would seek to achieve at each moment afterwards. no longer did she want to speak of the bad that had passed and, at reuniting with rhaenyra, she made it her job to keep her sister from mulling it over too. as princess, sister to the king, she thrived on the red keep, making her duty to know every nook and cranny of the new palace, while not forgetting to reaquantancing herself with her dragon.
could that really be PIHLA, the HEALER of WINTERFELL entering the keep ? king’s landing is sure to benefit from the thirty four year old’s ability to be adaptative but beware, whispers also say they have been known to be mysterious. their loyalty belongs to THE NORTH and are indifferent to the ruling of house targaryen throughout westeros.
i. dossier
full name: pihla (/ˈpiç.lɑ/)
meaning: rowan tree
title: none
alias(es): the soothsayer, the witch from frozen hells
age: four and thirty
birthdate: unknown; supposedly between the fifth and the sixth moon of the westerosi year 24 ac.
gender & pronouns: cis woman & she / her
orientation: heterosexual, demiromantic
religion: the old gods
languages spoken: the old tongue, the common tongue
occupation: woodswitch healer
allegiance: the north
ii. physicality
notable features: bright shock of red hair.
height: 5’7, 170 cm
build: tall, curvaceous.
eyes: light brown.
hair: her hair is licked by flames, an inheritance from her wildling mother yet is is very curly, inherited from her father's own curls. she usually wears it in northern braids.
wardrobe: she is not picky with clothing, nor the most fashionable. will wear any scrap of fur she finds, and always lines her clothing with it; besides fur, leather and cotton are her most worn textures and she tends to wear darker clothing in the shades of blacks, browns, greens and blues.
iii. ties
father: asmund of skagos
mother: thistle
siblings: none known
marital status: unmarried
children: unnamed babe (dead in the cradle c. 55 ac)
relatives: none of note; considers her companion wildlings as kin
iv. personality
abilities: although she carries no supernatural ability that she knows of, her kinship to healing and herbology akins her to a wise woman, and her queer knowledge rumors claim her as a dark woodswitch; she can also sail through rough waters and chart the stars.
moral alignment: tba
positives: tba
negatives: tba
pass times: tba
wields: always carry with her a pouch of herbs, two vials with one sprinkle of poisonous herbs and another of dried herbs for good doing; also carries a dragonglass blade on her waistline.
inspirations: mr. & mrs. everdeen ( the hunger games ), alys rivers ( asoiaf ), freydis eriksdotter & leif eriksson ( vikings valhalla ), the soothsayer ( varangian ), iseult ( the last kingdom ).
v. background
tw : death, infant death, illness, religion.
born from a skagosi who wandered through rough waters beyond the wall and a wildling woodswitch, pihlalearned of love through the veils of temporarity — it is never to last, not even that of a woman and man, or mother and daughter. still, she learned as much as she could from both mother and father until they were both to part — father for a trip that he never returned to, and mother from death’s arms. from her father, she learned the language of the stars and of the sea, of the common tongue and of the world beyond; from her mother, an old seer, she learned of the old gods, of the old tongue and of the old world, of plants and of their proprierties. through the world, she learned of its people and what they expect of you, not always in the sweetest way possible.
her mother's so called witchcraft kept her partially safe in those early years of life. people came for her for their future and for their past and for their present, and, soon enough, they would also come to trust on pihla to help them with the same, though she would think of herself less remarkably accurate than her mother. still, she noted on what her mother said, of what would one day come. she was never wrong, even if she was sometimes fuzzy.
when the woman was long passed and pihla had done well in estabilishing herself as a woodswitch and a wise woman around her parts, a man in black came to her doors. nearly dying, she took him in and healed him until they became one, over and over. he would come to tell her more about the other world, the one she knew only so much about. about lords and kings and crows and dragons; she was taken with him as much as he was with her, or so she had assumed. love is not to last, and he returned to the watch, leaving his dagger with her and a seed within her.
the babe was born during a rare warm day. pihla's world stopped and she thought no more of prophecies and of the gods, only of her beautiful son and of the life they were to lead together, forever. she was not wise, of course. the gods are demanding and took her child, a sprout dead before its time. those were her mother's words. run when the sprout is dead, she had said. run to your father's world before the chill catches you too. although heartbroken, she did as she was told; garnering supplies and making her way to the edge of the world she knew, where the great rough seas meet snow. throughout the path, she told of what she knew, and those who believed the old seer's words followed her.
with a handful or two of people, they built a sturdy ship and made their way to skagos. from skagos, to eastwatch by the sea. flocked by crows, they were only able to survive the day because pihla spoke of her own man in black, showed his words written on rough paper. that was enough for an audience with the head crow, and with the king of the north — nay, the lord stark. the chill, my lord. the dead with it, they pleaded for reprieve from the world across the wall. somehow, the lord stark's heart softened and they were given refuge; for however long his heart remained soft, that is.
though a small path of land was bregundingly given to the refugees by the watch, pihla could not bear to stay in lands infested by crows — her heart still ached for what she lost and there was a whole world to see that she had one day dreamed of. so she was allowed to accompany the stark retinue out of the wall and, alone, she perigrinated through northern towns, offering her gifts to those who would have her. the illness that coarsed the north did not touch her — she had already seen and survived it before, and knew how to see and survive it again. many, many did not. she touched and healed those she could, as best she could, yet the number of those who perished was great.
when she was summoned by the lord stark, his wife was one of those who did not survive. pihla knew so as she saw the woman, but she was able to bring the stark child back to life and their life tied with hers; his survival was enough to keep lord stark's heart soft towards her. for now. going further south is not something she had expected, but she abides to her new sire's words; she has always been heedful, after all. for as long as this one lasts.
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