#adodstarter

[kyralannister-blog]

It was a lovely day; clear sky and a warm sun casting its rays upon the land, and Kyra had longed to explore the grounds. Her newly found freedom away from her parents and her uncle didn’t scare her as much as she initially thought, but perhaps it was all thanks to her powers of repression - if she could easily repress the tears her sisters often brought to her eyes, then certainly she could repress her heart’s violent beating in her chest? The vastness of the palace, the ground and the city was unlike anything she had ever seen, and her uncle’s careful words still echoed in her ears, wrapped around her conscious mind. Be careful who you trust and who you open yourself to.

She strolled through the open grounds, finding the perfect spot where the trees made a dome over a particularly cozy spot in the back of the luxurious garden. The shade that the trees cast was a welcome change from the heat of the sun and she had to admit that she rather preferred chillier atmosphere to that of the scorching, heated sun. She spotted a board game on the table and she immediately remembered it; it was the same game she played with Mychel, or her parents, and most often with her uncle. Kyra approached it, her fingers brushing over the figurines which stood slightly odd to their usual place and she began adjusting them more properly when she heard footsteps approaching her.

Lifting her glance up from the board and the figurines, she smiled to the person, greeting them. “Do you play? It has been quite some time since I last indulged myself with the game and I would like to play again. If it would not be too much of a trouble, would you like to join me? I cannot play by myself.” Shy shyly asked, forcing herself to stop rambling - a little quirk she got whenever she would find herself giving in to her nervousness.

[ruthlesslioness-blog]

The air was awfully foul; too sweet, too trying of masking the decay which followed her every step. For a moment, lady Lannister had thought that the scent had followed her, before she mentally slapped herself and remembered that, for once, this was not about her, but the newly deceased Hand of the King. Well, retired Hand, as it would seem. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, hasty uttering a prayer in honoring a man she’s never even met, let alone known or talked to, to truly miss. But, alas, appearances were everything and she was always good in keeping her posture straight and flawless.

Oh, but she really couldn’t stand the smell.

Joanna rushed outside, as gracefully and slowly as she could manage without seem to be running away disrespectfully, striding out of the Sept and into the fresh, clear air. She was never more grateful to the air she was breathing than she was now. Death had always left her with a strange train of thought, and it was a solitude she did not really welcome. Joanna closed her eyes, standing alone in the garden in front of the grand building, breathing deeply, inhaling the sweet, chilly air, when she heard the rustling of leaves and approaching footsteps on the ground.

Joanna turned her head towards the sound, a slow sigh leaving her lips.

“I am not really the greatest company right this moment, but... I would not mind some.” She reluctantly added the latter.

[cerseixtargaryen-blog]

There was not enough wine in the galaxy to satisfy Cersei’s current need. The queen was all but happy with the way the things began to unravel - Ned Stark was a fool, like all the others before him and undoubtedly after him, but if she got closer to his niece, he could be a controllable fool. She doubted it, though. The Starks were a daft family, always holed up in their precious black castle in the North, proclaiming themselves Kings in the North. As if there were any such title, she thought with a scoff. At this point, Cersei wondered if Rhaegar was a fool, too, to establish someone so unprepared, so savage and inexperienced to manage the kingdom ( but then again no one but her was even remotely adept for any kingdom-governing job. if only they would stop being so sexist and let a powerful woman rule ).

She did not enjoy the feast. The funeral was a lot more tolerable, a lot more pleasant and satisfying, given how she was the one behind his demise, after all. But, alas, appearances were everything, and she was a Lannsiter, after all, so she occasionally wiped at her cheeks, as if to shyly remove the non-existent tears. Peasants were fools, ready to believe anything and everything, but the rest of the court was not far behind in stupidity. Yes, Cersei adored the funeral. Seeing the man with stone-painted yes upon the bier made her heart sing with victory, but the same victory was now quenched after her husband’s speech.

Imbecile.

Ned Stark was not worthy of the title, no one was, but she congratulated the family with a polite smile, before retreating to her seat.  She allowed her bored gaze to wander around the room, when she noticed an individual stalking their way towards her. “Oh, come now. Stop ridiculously lingering in the shadows. Sit. Pour us both a glass. I am quite desirous of some company.”

[sandorclcgane]

Nearly over. Most days those two words drive him, as does the idea of filling his stomach with ale, wine, or whatever he can get his hands when it’s finally gotten late enough. His foul mood has grown worse, and Sandor mostly finds himself eager to see all these poor, mourning guests leave to return home. He’s tucked himself away in a corner of the throne room in the meantime, hoping to avoid conversation. The Hound’s done his fair share of talking, and he’s sick of hearing it all.

Those he’s meant to protect are nearby, but at this point he’s daring anyone to try and hurt them. Just to give him something to fucking do. With little chance of it happening, the scowl on his face is worse than usual in the hopes that it keeps all of them away from him. His glare passes by everyone and no one in particular, at least not until he hears someone approach. Whether they were approaching him or not, he still speaks harshly. “What do you want?”

[captainashas]

Asha couldn’t believe her luck: she finally drags herself to King’s Landing, only for the rest of the fucking country to be invited here as well. There was no way she would be able to get an audience with Rhaegar any time soon, she would have to find another way. At least the funeral had solved the problem of a place to board, though she really had not anticipated an invite reaching her if she were still at the Iron Islands. Thankfully, she was confident that she would not be running into Euron here. 

Against her better judgment, Asha decided to attend the funeral, and headed to the sept. She would be able to watch the highborns from a safe distance, find out who was important and who was worth steering clear of, and she was sure no one would recognise her. What the fuck, was all Asha could think as she entered the Great Sept. The smell of the place caused her eyes to water, which only pissed her off more as now it looked like she was actually mourning. She wished she was not doing this alone, and not for the first time, she wished her brother were here too. She knew Ned Stark and his collection of children should be around somewhere, she could be staring at her brother and not even know it. No, she thought, I would know him. 

Asha had been to (and caused) countless Ironborn funerals, but she had never attended a Southern funeral before. When she first saw what they had done to his face, she had to stifle a laugh. They’re all mad. It was the eyes that got to her, the painted stones sitting atop his face, watching as though he weren’t dead. She had to get out of here, she was never going to make alliances if she caused a scene here.

[ghosthilllady-blog]

King’s Landing sounded a lot more pleasant back in Dorne. She was thrilled by the palace, of course. The extravagance of the Targaryens was equal to one of Lannisters, and one can only imagine what to expect when they united - and she was far from disappointed. Her taste had been more of the warmer kind, much like the climate of her motherland, and it was the reason why she turned the somewhat gloomy Ghost Hill into such a lush and prosperous place. Of course, that could not have been accomplished without dicing into her late husband’s funds, and now her resources were coming to a rather disturbing end, alarmingly fast.

Hence, why she was here in the first place - looking to marry at least one of her daughters off to someone wealthy, and to further establish the prestige of her castle. If she finds someone tolerable enough, then by Gods, she might marry as well. As long as the man did not hold any silly thoughts of controlling her.

Nymella listened to her current acquaintance speaking, a seemingly funny tale, and she chuckled where is was necessary. Just because she thought it was not that funny, did not mean she could not pretend it was. Her companion’s wide smile only made it all that much easier to pretend to be truly amused. “How entertaining!” She exclaimed with a chuckle. “Please, do tell me more.”

[eldestrose-blog]

Being the head of house Tyrell left him under a watchful eye from fellow noble lords. Willas said the right words, he had never known lord Aryn on a very personal level but the man was good and honourable, he knew that and Willas dearly hoped he may rest in peace. He walked around the Sept, admiring the structure of the building. He hardly enjoyed being in Kings Landing, he preferred his seat from Highgarden but he was expected to come and he did. He wondered how many people in the room did truly mourn, how many were merely uncaring and happy to see the old man pass and of course, how many hungered for the opportunities this gave.

He was surprised when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, he had been lost in his own thoughts and didn’t realise the fact that people would want to talk to him, he enjoyed losing himself in his thoughts but he knew it wasn’t always the best thing, being the head of house Tyrell now. There was a slight awkwardness, you can hardly greet someone with a smile at a funeral.

[serenastarks-blog]

Don’t stray too far.

Her brother’s words, icy and meant as a grave warning, left an uneasy feeling atop her skin as they settled. His grip on her arm was tight, fingers digging roughly into her flesh. But with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, she yanked her arm away, fighting against his grasp as she’d done all her life. Faintly, she heard him sigh, exasperated by her defiance, but that only brought a sardonic smile to her painted lips as she strode in the opposite direction. 

Even in death—whether it be hers or not—she couldn’t seem to escape Rodrik, nor her father. And though his back was turned, yes, in deep conversation with the Grand Maester, Serena knew his eyes were never far from his her movement, always watching, waiting to swoop in and contain his storm of a daughter. But now was her chance to disappear, to slink away in silence and greet freedom with open arms. 

Her prayers, while selfish and wholly inappropriate, are answered in the form of a pillar to her right. Sucking in a sharp breath, she weaved within the crowd, offering up soft apologies to anyone she bumped too roughly. And as soon as she heard that familiar gruff voice cry out a plea, that of Rodrik’s calling her name in desperate fashion, she darted to the safe haven. Her back bounced against the stone of the pillar and she tugged her arms in tightly against her chest so as to hide herself. 

“I beg you,” she whispered, leaning forward and clasping a hand atop the forearm of a passerby, a soft smile now constructed along her delicate features, raven curls cascading over her shoulders, “tell me, is he still looking?” I hope not, she thought as the look on her face turned sour.