#arron 001

[withsilvereyes]

setting: flashback to when the kingdoms still gathered in the west, soon after katherine's meeting with ravella, she approaches arron regarding what she has discovered ; @arronlannister

the solar was cast in a muted amber glow as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting long shadows across the polished stone floor. the queen of the rock moved carefully as she stepped inside, her golden gown brushing the ground with a soft whisper. she found the prince sat by the window, his face partially obscured by the slant of shadows. his posture seemed deceptively relaxed, which did nothing to soothe the pattering of her heart.

she paused for a fraction longer than usual at the threshold, mindful of his temper. arron had always been a man of sharp reactions, and while katherine did not fear him, she knew better than to approach carelessly.

“your highness,” she greeted with a measured warmth, her voice steady but light enough not to provoke. she stepped further into the room, her movements deliberate and unhurried. "i hope i am not disturbing you, but i felt it necessary we speak.”

she seated herself gracefully across from him, smoothing the fabric of her gown with an absent hand, though her gaze never left him. “i’ve come from an audience with queen ravella,” she began, her words carefully chosen, her tone neutral as though testing the waters. “she spoke of things that i would not have believed had they not come from a queen’s own lips. claims that Jasper is, indeed, rowan arryn's son, and that rowan himself… was not of arryn blood at all.”

her pale eyes remained fixed on him, watching for the first flicker of emotion that might betray his thoughts. “you and the princess have always been close,” she continued, her voice softening just slightly. “did you know of this? did she ever confide in you? anything that might explain what i am hearing now?”

she folded her hands in her lap, her fingers clasping tightly though her face remained calm. “i need to understand the truth, for his grace, for young jasper, for us all.” the words were earnest, yet there was a quiet undercurrent of wariness in her tone, an acknowledgment of the storm that might follow.

[myriamas]

who: @arronlannister when and where: following the festivities of jaehaerys targaryen's coronation in kings landing, tensions between the reach court and the dornish court remain incredibly high considering the dornish trading closely with the summer isles and the threat of needing to go into dornish waters. myriam allyrion is aware of the close association between the reach and the westerlands; dealing with the redwyne fleet alone would prove almost impossible, however she could not risk the westerlands further aiding with the accompaniment of the fair isle fleet. myriam makes a request for an audience with the prince of fair isle, expecting it to be within a room. instead, she had been escorted to the harbour of kings landing down by the blackwater rush.

the sight of martell and lannister guards together, their sigils emblazoned upon the shields of their weaponry, was a strange sight to see; the bursts of red matching both, and yet, she could not help but feel as though the sight was a strange one. it did not fit, and it was a feeling she could not shake as she was accompanied by both sets of guards down the harbour of the blackwater rush: there were large amounts of people, both noble and smallfolk: the smells of the city filled the air, and she looked carefully to ensure she did trip on the cobbles or her own skirts. a conversation was all she wished to have with the prince of fair isle, a conversation in a comfortable room and instead he had insisted on showing her his ships.

as though she needed to be seen ships, as though she was not currently attempting to deal with the threat of them on both sides of her daughter's borders.

there was a drunkard singing about fish, whilst seemingly lugging a barrel of it; the man looked at her as though she were some imbecile of a creature, the strongest of all animals: and then, to her utter shock, was the sound of spitting on the floor. there was a blur of movement after that, though myriam found herself staring back at the man as he was being dragged away toward the inner city - and whilst she had never come across that look at home, she was seeing it far too often here. the dornish were perceived as lusty and violent, and whilst a part of it was true, the matter was far too complex for such simple minds to understand.

arron lannister was a tall man. he emerged like a mountain from the men that surrounded him, his own crew by the looks of it; his voice boomed over the rest of them, and for a moment she found herself wondering whether this was a good idea. there was much riding on this conversation, even if it was not truly clear; impressions were important, and whilst they had passed previously and he had come to sunspear to witness the consolidation of leila as heir, this was their first true interaction that mattered. she lowered her head in respect, wearing bright colours of green and blue; hues and shades of a peacock that blended together at the bottom of her skirts.

"your highness." myriam greeted, careful with her tone, with her words, with her accent - she needed to be understood.

then, she used her hands to shield her kohl lined orbs from the sun, looking up at the sails of what she assumed was his ship. she looked at the others then, before looking back at him - how was she supposed to behave and react? ships were ships, and ships were not the main focus of dorne: they would need to think far smarter than that. there was no use in joining a race they know they would lose. better to ensure they could never take part, and ruin the game for others too. "beauty." she remarked, recalling the way sailors spoke of their ships as though they were women. it never failed to make her laugh.

"thank you for agreeing to meet with me, despite the less notice." she begun, still finding herself having to crane her neck to look up at him. how uncomfortable this was to withstand for such a long time. her common tongue was still not as good as her ancient dornish tongue, and it showed in the smallest of ways her phrases mixed up, and she forgot words and definitions. "do you take your meetings standing? i do not."

[briannabrackens]

who: @arronlannister when and where; the lann's day celebrations, whilst everyone is wearing masks. what: bri and minty are going around dapping all of the 10s.

she did not wish to put the prince of fair isle on her list - but minthara had pointed out the multiple times brianna had spoken of how handsome he was. and he was, for he was a golden knight; chivalrous toward women, even if he could turn the brain into juice within those brute hands of his. arron of house lannister was the epitome of what brianna would consider her type; tall, golden, and fair haired - a figure that appeared more out of stories of myth than the reality of man.

then again, all the family appeared in such a way; as though they had been carved by marble.

she had also been making sure to avoid him since coming to the land of the lions - for multiple reasons, including the fact she had buried the brother of the hand of his king, and the fact he were a prince, and a very, very angry one at that. but then, something utterly genius seemed to whisper in the back of her mind; that to approach him was to stop herself from hiding. from seeming suspicious.

there was no way he would suspect anyone who was shy enough to approach him in such a festivity, considering any smart guilty person would attempt to keep themselves far from his attention.

suddenly she were before him, with a turquoise mask; she held it close to her as she looked up at him. fucking gigantic. but he liked to chat. he talked a lot. didn't his wife just die? oh, perhaps this was not a good idea. still, she merely looked upon him for a moment, almost as though she were spellbound and starstruck. he truly was the vision of perfection, despite his unusual height and the way he towered over the rest of the room. "your royal highness." she then extended her hand, which was bare of any bracelet upon it; and looked at him, as though to expect him to take it.

she wished she could say more, and yet, the sight of his face had caused her mouth to go dry. how could anyone truly look like that? "i meant to congratulate you for your performance in the melee." it was here one saw how brianna too, despite her uncouth nature, seemed to adhere toward the expectations of knighthood - her style of talking even changed. "alas, i lost you in the crowds...somehow."

[gcuienveres]

who: @wcrdsarewind​ (arron) where: the dornish ball, dorne, sunspear’s old palace

♕

It still felt as though she were watching some portrayal, some play of what was once her life; those notable characters, those who had been by her side since she was a mere girl, and even those who were new and had not shared the halls of Casterly with her. She prayed for them, prayed that the lion’s pit would not swallow them alive, and that the gold would not find itself wrapped around their throat. 

Or perhaps, some thrived and excelled in such an environment - perhaps it was her that was merely the failure, unable to handle the position that had been assigned to her by the Gods.

It was upon hearing gasping, the sounds of furniture breaking and glasses shattering did her body immediately jump at such a noise, first reaction inherently being that they were under some sort of attack - she had been sleeping somewhat less than usual these last days, most notably because of the intense Dornish heat, and no doubt it had aided in having her mind run away with itself. Jumping to the worst possible conclusion, her head turned to the source of the noise.

And that was when she had seen him, worse than she had seen him in years; it were as though there were a raging animal dragged into the room from some far off corner of the known world, and only amplify it to be able to match the utter unshakeable rage and venom that came in the orbs of The King’s Rage; that was what was whispered of him within those corrupt, glittering gold walls that seemed closer further and further in with each passing breath one took. 

There had been a fight, one she had clearly just missed. But there was blood on him. It was not his own.

The bellowing, how deep and inhumane his voice had become as she heard it reflecting from the Dome itself, audible even over the sound of the music that had long since lost her focus; her orbs were too focused on the scene playing before her; Ironborn being dragged away, one she was sure she had laid eyes upon before - that face of atrocity. And then he was there, and in the chaos she heard something about the Prince going to fetch the King for all that had happened; he was stood there, bellowing and screaming in the face of the Sunspear guards attempting to keep the peace. 

He had gotten worse. So much worse. 

They all had their demons, they all had their weaknesses and what it was that made them truly wonder whether they were worthy of the heavens; and the look that crossed the face of Guinevere Lannister was not one of judgement, nor one of pity, but one of utter shock. Shock at how far this had progressed, how his orbs seemed to go entirely black and he seemed entirely impossible.

He would get himself in trouble if he kept going on; either by the hands of the Dornish or the Ironborn that would only seek for more. The Dornish would not have it within their home, she knew it. And so, hesitantly as for some reason she felt as though despite their blood, the bond they had shared, this was no longer her place. He had married - perhaps it was not. “Find Lord Farman’s wife.” She spoke to a Dornish drinks server, before picking up her champagne glittering skirts and heading over to him. 

“Walk with me, Arron. I have missed you.” She spoke, slipping beside him casually, hoping her sudden presence would confuse him, throw him off guard - something, anything to get him to stop and think even for a second. She looked at him and thought of the sister she had lost to iron chains; Guinevere too would have jumped, if it were her. Anything but that fate. “Will you speak with me?”