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@steelfyre
STEELFYRE . a dependent, private, multimuse blog affiliated with westeroslive. featuring original muses from westeros and across the narrow sea as written by alex ( 27 , she / her , est ) please do not interact if not affiliated with the group.
corridors in the red keep whisper, they spin tales of children borne of dragons that may never see the daylight. in her homelands, lilac optics are everywhere - fruitful gifts from the dragonlords but here in westeros the color is rare, or so they say. " back in lys, we consider that something good ⸺ rough waves are ominous, " siren responds, even steps as she walks towards the fawn - haired beauty. " are you unrestful when all around you is at peace, my lady. " conversation starter, seeking out boundaries with other as they finally stand next to one another.
unfamiliar accent left little doubt what empire the woman hailed from, even before brown hues rested upon valyrian features. interactions with most of the essosi had remained no different than passing interactions with other nobles - for the best, in the dayne's eyes. lips curved upward. ❝ not at all. i welcome the peace. ❞ peace could never last when the dragons reigned. but alara's features mirrored the serene nature, not her inner storm; dislike of court didn't prevent her from navigating it. ❝ and the good omen. i'm certain i'm not the only one who wishes for calm seas during our entire stay in king's landing. ❞
wandering is second nature to raya, pushed and pulled by both curiosity and restlessness ━━ they miss the godswood back home, the tall walls that she could climb and nothing in king's landing even comes close to having the same effect. not even the gardens. ❝ they are, i suppose. ❞ an empty response. raya is not one to stop and stare at flowers. ❝ does everyone in king's landing know so much about flowers? ❞ the stark could bet it is because it's a tyrell before them.
no matter the work the gardeners put in, the red keep's grounds would never compare to home - size alone a clear differentiator but they found the petals lacked the same vibrancy as if they too know they grow in poisoned soil. or perhaps own views of the city color his vision. trystane shook their head. ❝ not everyone, no. ❞ not many. they couldn't recall a time the botany book they were looking for couldn't be found in the royal library. ❝ i suspect many simply wish to select flowers that would look beautiful, understandably. however, the language of flowers is fascinating when studied. ❞
" perhaps it is time for me to visit your home again because my beloved lys is even smaller than this, " noble knows friend well enough but she continues the charade, doe - eyes all wide open and sparkling as she responds. " you can show me around then, it's been an eternity since i have last visited braavos, and maybe cat can show us around her new homelands. "
❝ it has been far too long since you graced braavos' shores. but i shall only extend the invitation if we also pay a visit to lys. ❞ her smile grew, the game far more fun when playing with another and fellow siren the perfect partner. ❝ i'm certain many houses would be delighted to host cat. so many speak highly of how they would host a gathering, surely they wouldn't disappoint. ❞ sweetness' falsity undetectable save for one who knew zalyne well.
Turning his head around upon hearing that statement, his interest and curiosity piqued, Desmond then instantly observed the other intently. He hated not knowing where to place her accent despite having studied various languages, but then again, was it truly his fault if he only had the opportunity to study things theoretically due to being bound in the confines of his home for his entire childhood and early youth? His sharp blue eyes then quickly noted that the lady was wearing clothing of exotic fashion and fabrics, very different from what he had seen other Westerosi ladies wearing so far during his short period of stay at the Red Keep. Thus a part of him fervently hoped that she was not from Westeros. Not wanting to miss the opportunity of possibly getting to know someone from a vastly different culture and continent, the youngest Umber approached the brunette gently." Please pardon my ignorance, my lady, but where is home for you, exactly?"
residence on westeros' shores didn't require an entire alteration of identity. nereid played the part, no differently than she did in every marriage, but braavosi she remained, echoes of home in the attire she wore. a sense of pride that she wasn't mistaken for a westerosi filled her chest without appearing on her visage. only a polite, understanding smile was visible. ❝ braavos, my lord. ❞ a place she hadn't laid eyes on in over a year. it wasn't the first time she'd bid home goodbye, only this time she did so for sisterly love rather than, save once, for a loveless marriage. ❝ and where is your home? westeros is so vast; i'm afraid i'm still learning how to recognize the house one hails from. ❞
delicate digits curl around chalices, one in each hand, filled with sweet lemon juice, something acidic to temper against the heat of the capital - warmth different than climate in tropical lys. " it is me who should apologize for sneaking up on you. " limb moves forward, nearly pushing the drink toward other as offering, " i brought this for you - i believe you could use the energy with all the sketching. "
acts of kindness were cherished like the finest jewels; each one tucked away within her memory, never forgotten repaid in spades. a smile, sparkling like sunlight dancing across water, was all she could gift the essosi currently. ❝ thank you, my lady. ❞ charcoal stained the pads of the porcelain digits that accepted the chalice and raised it to pink lips. the mixture of cool sweetness and tartness precisely what she needed. ❝ would you like to sit? ❞
"Oh, you must know that I would. I have not a singular artistic bone in my body, and your art looks like poetry feels." She's almost about to suggest they go now, but she would deprive no one of the splendour of the party, even if she was walking the knifes edge between enjoying herself and wanting to run. "I was loathe to leave, but the thought of reuniting with familiar faces did make quite the convincing argument. Good. I should have written. I thought about writing. I just found myself so... Busy." A lie, there was little for her to do in Karhold but wander the halls of her youth, feet falling into well worn paths, but no one wanted to hear about the same tedious day, over and over again.
color rushed across her cheeks, and eyes briefly averted. the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips twirled between emotions as it oft did when praise was bestowed. ❝ your words are far too kind. i can only hope that my paintings live up to the beauty poetry embodies. ❞ how some could mold the written word was a different gift. she was but an admirer of the stanza's beauty and how the syllables could embody sounds like bells or tumbling water when read aloud. ❝ you needn't explain. ❞ raven tresses danced as she shook her head. ❝ nothing should interfere with time spent with family and within familiar walls. besides, you can tell me about all your adventures now. ❞
"I did not mean to startle you, my lady." Amos bows head in apology, but soon dark eyes rise, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of page. "What muse has caught your fancy, if you do not mind my asking? I find it endlessly interesting, to watch as something springs from nothing. A blank page becoming art." No matter how far out of the Riverlands, Tully does not forget his words. Duty, to the people of his region, and it is that which keeps his eye on doors, and windows, and listening to the low din of castle bustling to life. “Or you could jsut as easily tell me to mind my own business.”
unwavering smile was directed at him, silent sign that irritation had not awoken. fault was partially her own; today was hardly the first time wandering mind had turned her oblivious and most likely not the last. dark orbs widened. ❝ i would never, my lord! ❞ the mere thought of speaking so out of turn toward a member of house tully was more disturbing than the visions that haunted her dreamscape. cheer quickly returned, a quiet sparkle of pride as cella nudged the sketchbook toward him. ❝ the butterflies from last night. the sight of them flying out of the fabergé eggs was so magical. ❞
for alara + calyx: all these purple eyed essosi nobles are a good way to hide those dragonseeds, but servants whispers are loud. they know the truth about boy
alara arched her brow and tilted her head to the slide. the fear that sat like a stone in her stomach given no place upon her visage. ❝ what boy? . . . surely you aren't referring to my son? ❞ she scoffed. ❝ if so, an afternoon with a history book may be in order. the daynes have a long history of also possessing purple eyes. it may have skipped one generation, but my son has his grandmother's eyes. ❞ no. davios had his father's eyes; every year that passed, he looked more like the dragonstone prince, but denial would still fall from her lips without missing a beat.
❝ yes, the servants. paragons of intelligence and truth. ❞ calyx chuckled. whispers had reached his ears, but entered as quickly as they were dismissed. a dragonseed was no true targaryen, nothing more than a bastard. ❝ i wouldn't give them any thought. the servants only want attention. they don't truly have any idea what they're talking about. ❞
is a lion any less deadly when wrapped in silk and myrish lace ? a creature such as she is designed to beguile, her grace made incandescent by the light that envelops her—seemingly shining down only to make the picturesque all the more disarming. were it not for the sharpness of her gaze, one might mistake her for a well-loved housecat in place of a lannister lionet. a hand reaches out to pluck a lemon cake from the proffered plate, verdant hues meeting her ever-assessing regard as he bites into the slightly tart dessert. old friends. he considers it, the barest trace of a smile played at his lips. how sweet. " i have found that there is no greater pleasure than to find oneself in the presence of the familiar, my lady. "
eyelashes demurely fluttered, another veil over softened emeralds but through lashes, she still watched - lioness observing while tucked away unseen in the tall, savannah grass. lips turned further upward as choice was made. gaze drifted away from fellow westerlander; fingers hovered over the plate for a beat before also selecting a lemon cake and setting the platter back down on the table. ❝ indeed. pleasing and comforting. ❞ words only true if sincerity could be bestowed upon the title itself. companion might hail from family sworn to serve her kin, but oaths paled in comparison to ambitions and whispers. alicent took a delicate bite of the cake. ❝ though, some might say that life would be terribly monotone if all one surrounded themself with was familiar. ❞
“ certainly for the right people, we can only hope. ” elras stilled, swallowing back the very uncertainty that came with this quill-penned list of people who favored the eldest. he'd been assured, under the blanket of blossoming gardens and melodic songs of winged creatures, many who spoke blessings of trystane did so with prayers for elras on their lips. but, did such a thing continue? it certainly was a tantalizing thought, an inquiry on the tip of his tongue with a sharp inhale that only served as a retorted, “ for the sake of our sister. ” he said nothing further, but perhaps an olive branch extended for something shared. the younger glanced to trystane, momentarily auspicious that he might grasp onto it, an expression as fleeting as the enchanting nature of illuminated butterflies, so quick to turn the eyes of the court downcast. “ entertaining a dragon. ”
❝ hope is unneeded. i would not be standing in my current position if i lacked the capability to navigate court. ❞ a knife in the back, only metaphorical back then, had been an effective lesson. if their own stepmother couldn't be trusted then no branches would be extended past tall walls to courtiers unless trust had been earn. even then it remained a window that could be opened one day and closed the next. ❝ nor do i need a reminder to think of alysane's wellbeing. ❞ brown hues narrowed a fraction. own insecurity, wound not entirely healed, struggled to not hear each comment as a pointed jab. yet a fleeting glimpse of elras' expression gave them pause. a trick, perhaps, but the roses adorning their walls still struggled to grow thorns. their voice was quieter, ❝ she will not face the dragons alone. ❞ both brother and sister had been sent off to the dragon's court, and ensuring his sister's safety was one of trystane's utmost priorities.
her sleeves are rolled high and her collar is undone, in protest of the heat of the south. boots are resting on a chair before her, and she huffs out a laugh that resembles a snort when her brother speaks, shaking her head. there is a smear of something on her forearm: mud, perhaps, or dirt from her earlier training. she doesn’t quite remember, nor does she care. ❝ they most definitely are, ❞ anya says, rolling their eyes. ❝ but i miss having them around. ❞ shadow is as important to them as their own heart, as the air they breathe. not spending her days with him feels like missing a limb. she leans back on her seat, looking up at her brother, lips pressed tightly against one another. ❝ how long are we supposed to stay in the keep for? ❞
there was an undeniable stubbornness in his refusal to acquiesce to wearing southern styles. fabric felt too light and hardly lessened the heat's discomfort. so far from the familiar, theon held fast to the pieces he could, irregardless if the northern attire he wore angered the sun, drawing its ire in the form of raging rays. sleeves were rolled up, but sweat still formed along his forearms and along the back of his neck. how he missed the cold's teeth. theon sighed. ❝ as do i. them being so far away doesn't feel right. ❞ luna was meant to be only a few steps away, a second shade; in her absence, a piece of him was missing as well. lips abandoned the slight smile they'd been attempting to grow, mirroring sibling's expression instead. ❝ i would hope not too much longer, but one never knows what her grace has planned. ❞
Being in King's Landing always simultaneously excited and unsettled Annaya in equal measures. It was a place so full of fascinating people and experiences but also oh so dangerous. This dance between hypervigilance and stimulation often left the eldest Mallister daughter spinning. Luckily, in time she had come to learn there were a few centering things and places that helped to soothe this cyclical beast. Although the lady heir was no devotee of the old gods, there was something about a godswood, particularly the one of the Red Keep that provided such relief. As soon as the Stark Lord spoke, the brunette froze in her tracks. "I beg your pardon, Lord. I did not intend to seek anything from you or to impose. I merely seek to enjoy the space. I can certainly depart until you are finished if that would be more pleasing." The tone of her words was apologetic and polite beyond reproach and though genuine, seemed almost distant. As if they were muscle memory rather than a spontaneous reaction.
he was no stranger to the comfort a godswood could offer. troubles never failed to lessen or acquire greater clarity whenever he set foot within winterfell's. the red keep's wasn't quite the same - air filling his lungs remained too warm, the distance sounds weren't of the woods but of the city; divinity stretched across distance, however. at court where safety was but an illusion, northern lord thanked his gods for their offered solace. silence lingered for moment, personal preference fighting against the conduct he'd been raised to uphold. the outcome unsurprising. ❝ you are not imposing, my lady, nor is your departure necessary. ❞ theon shook his head and stood. ❝ the godswood doesn't belong only to me. ❞ even if he did wonder what a southerner would seek from the space, but the stark rarely pried, enough oft on his mind, leaving little room for southern thoughts.
the stark wanders the red keep without any sort of destination and all the while, they yearn for the halls of winterfell instead ( and for the cold that feels like a warm hug instead ). their attention is caught by a familiar liege. ❝ i have been told my footsteps are quite silent. ❞ a fact spoken as raya rests her hands behind her back. ❝ what are you drawing? ❞
a soft shade of pink dusted porcelain cheeks. ❝ i also wasn't paying attention to, ❞ this reality, ❝ my surroundings. ❞ try as she might to remain grounded when surrounded by nobles who weren't kin, mind refused chains. pieces of her floated in the air, separate from mortal form, as if this realm was not the only one she belonged to. the presence of another noble, however, made the world more concrete. myrcella moved her sketchbook so they could see the drawing. ❝ the moment when the butterflies flew through the hall last night. it isn't finished yet. ❞
Myranda herself had been awake for hours, curled in a windowsill and watching as the sun rose, too cautious to wander the halls, too awake to lie in expensive sheets and stare at the ceiling, only venturing out of her room once the sound of footsteps past her door had become a more common occurrence. As the moon turned, she found herself sleeping less and less, and so far from home was satisfied with the couple of hours snatched while music still played, and last of the stragglers left the hall. "I did come seeking... I cannot quite remember. Perhaps food is a good idea." One could not survive on the cakes served the previous evening alone.
sebastian leaned back slightly in his chair, escaping the direct sunbeams. boyish grin bloomed with greater ease. he gestured with a natural flourish at the food upon the table and also the open seat. ❝ please, help yourself. ❞ the dishes he'd requested sat mostly untouched - hunger's strength overestimated in comparison to mind's heaviness. he made another effort, however, picking up a piece of bread and spreading a large amount of jam across it. ❝ the cooks were very generous but i fear my appetite has not yet awoken. ❞
nowhere to be, nowhere to go - aimless wandering takes the mourning dove in circles around the ballroom, a ghost wrapped in silver. it's comparable to predator stalking prey ; but dark wide optics only show lamb in wolf's clothing ⸺ only wishing to observe, not to hunt. " oh, there's no need to apologize. " brief look of ire is quickly replaced with usual softness, practiced smile quickly taking over. " i should have paid more attention to my surroundings too. don't worry about it. " saccharine tone accompanies subtly-pointed remarks, bright doe-shaped eyes trying to convince otherwise.
despite the sun's brightness, a fog remained over his mind, making his eyelids feel heavy. gods, he partially wished for the darkness of his chambers, curtains shut tightly, depriving light entrance until the pounding in his temples vanished entirely, but court's allure beckoned at icarus like the sun's rays. assurance received with a smile yet sheepishness wasn't dispelled. ❝ that's very kind of you. ❞ words taken as they are spoken, no thought to look at what may linger beneath the surface given. ❝ there is so much to see when court is busy. i'd thought it'd be quieter the morning after a ball. ❞
ALL AMERICAN 4.10 "6 'N the Mornin'"
