#dragonsrot.open

[ofravns]

in the days since her arrival, eleanor had spent most of her waking hours in the godswood of the red keep — if such a place could be called that. her raven, bael, had taken to nesting in the great oak at its heart, and so lady blackwood followed her bird, seeking refuge from the sea of unfamiliar faces that filled the castle. she had been so eager to leave raventree hall behind, but now she found herself longing for it. she missed its familiar halls and ancient trees, with gnarled limbs that seemed far more alive than the young woods of the crownlands. the godswood offered little comfort compared to home, yet she lingered there all the same.

but duty called her away. her absence would soon be noticed by her siblings, and the purpose of a feast was to be seen, after all.

the passages leading from the godswood stood silent and near deserted. such places served little purpose in a castle ruled by different gods and different customs. yet as eleanor made her way toward the banquet hall, she found she was not entirely alone. "i did not expect to find another soul in these corridors," she said. "are you heading to the feast, my liege?"

[ open starter ! ]

[wispygrace]

3/4 open starter at the feast

myriame manderly was without a doubt a little tipsy. only a little tipsy in truth, she probably appeared to be more drunk than she actually was. if others mistook cheer for drunkenness, that was their failing, not hers.

but the feast was such fun. wine overflowed, deserts of all kinds crowded the table, lemon cakes, honeyed pastries all while gentle music played. it wasn’t a feast for dancing but even so it had not stopped myriame from being swept into a lord’s careless spin, nor from allowing herself to be dipped with a flourish that sent her gown sweeping wide.

wine had sloshed from her cup at precisely the wrong moment, running in a careless ribbon down the front of her gown. she had only looked down at it, startled, then burst into laughter.

when myriame drank, laughter became infectious and decorum became….. somewhat forgotten. needless to say, the road from white harbour to kings landing was well worth it. 

she walked back to her chambers, brushing her wine soaked front. myriame, for her part, walked back to her chambers with the careful dignity of a lady who was absolutely, in full command of herself. she was also very much aware that her bodice was now ruined. her poor poor dress, beautiful lyseni silk ruined for the sake of a moment's fun. she would mourn her gown in the morning.

“poor thing” she murmured, as if her gown might appreciate the sympathy, “this is entirely my fault.” 

then she turned a corner and bumped straight into the chest of someone. the impact sent a small, startled sound from her before she could recover her footing, and in the same instant her goblet, still half full, tilted in her hand.

the wine went everywhere. dark red spilled over the stranger’s front. all myriame could do was stare.

it was then she started to laugh,

“oh,” she managed between laughter, eyes bright with it, utterly unapologetic. “oh, i perhaps am a little tipsy.” the admission sounded less like confession and more like delighted discovery.

[soulrcts]

“  are  you  certain  that  is  the  move  you  wish  to  make  ?  ”  bags  had  been  placed  in  the  rooms  and  pure  curiosity  to  see  who  would  be  the  next  to  pass  by  kept  kella  in  the  keep  rather  than  out  in  the  markets.  a  simple  game  of  cyvasse  and  idle  conversation  (  she  thought  )  kept  her  occupied  for  a  good  portion  of  the  afternoon,  the  start  of  the  sun's  rays lowering  and  casting  shadows  against  the  board.  posed  question  had  been  one  of  warning,  yet  she  supposed  they'd  taken  it  as  a  challenge  —  taking  the  move  with  more  force  than  necessary.  “  okay,  ”  she  drawls  lightly,  flicking  their  king  down  onto  the  board  with  one  of  her  catapults.  “  i  win.  would  you  like  to  …  ” begins,  pausing  as  they  abruptly  push  back  from  the  table  to  march  away  quickly,  looking  akin  to  something  like  a  lame  goose.  “  well ....  i  suppose  that  means  there  will  not  be  another  round,  "  she  speaks  in  amused  greeting  to  the  next  pair  of  eyes  that  meet  hers.    

[  open  starter,  open  to  1/5  replies  ]  

[hellbcunds]

there was a time when coming to the capitol was something she saw as a joyous occasion. a time to see her sisters, to press a kiss to the forehead of each and every niece or nephew she had. she had found it wondrous as a girl, had trailed through the palace like it was the most magical place she would ever see. now, it left a bitter taste in her mouth. reminded her of a sister she had no permissions to see, another that had been publicly insulted. a month on the road just to be confronted with such a reality leaves her simmering anger barely below the surface, arms folded tight across her chest as she looks up at the red keep. " it grows uglier each time i visit. " lysara says it bluntly, scathing, uncaring of who overhears her or what anyone makes of such a comment from the queen's sister.

[illuminvtes]

open starter! (2/2)

the red keep seemed to grow more crowded by the hour. each day brought new banners through the gates, new faces to the halls, and new voices to the endless hum of conversation that echoed throughout the castle. by tomorrow, the celebrations would begin in earnest. today, however, still belonged to arrivals, introductions, and first impressions. ysara had taken refuge in one of the castle's open courtyards, content to watch the steady flow of nobles and retainers passing through. a goblet rested loosely in one hand as she observed the activity around her, her expression thoughtful rather than distant. at the sound of someone approaching, she turned and offered a warm smile. "i was beginning to think i might be the last person in the keep to seek a quiet corner." there was amusement in her voice as she gestured lightly toward the space beside her. "i hope your journey was an easy one. tell me, how are you finding king's landing thus far? has the city managed to make a favorable impression, or have the crowds already begun testing your patience?"

[sherotten]

open   starter   for   :   𝘥𝘰𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘺𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘭   &    𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯   [   capping    at    3    /    3    ] location   &   time   :   𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩   𝘥𝘢𝘺   ,    𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥   𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭   .

the  past  days  had  been  filled  to  the  brim  with  tournaments  ,  celebrations  and  what  one  could  call  a  good  festive  time  .  the  hand  of  the  king  had  been  close  to  his  grace  most  of  it  ,  yet  there  were  settings  where  his  words  could  not  reach  the  king  either  .  standing  against  the  grand  hall's  cold  stone  wall  ,  he  watches  as  a  play  is  being  put  forth  by  travellers  .  his  hand  holding  a  goblet  of  red  and  onyx  locks  are  lose  down  his  back  .  carnelian  orbs  see  someone  approach  and  with  a  gentle  nod  of  his  head  ,  he  is  courtly  .  “  it's  a  nice  play  is  it  not  ?  it's  depicting  the  former  riders  is  it  not  ?  ”  a  tilt  of  his  head  as  he  studies  it  ,  before  turning  his  hues  to  his  newfound  companion  .  “  i  wonder  ,  should  we  allow  this  ?  im  afraid  sadness  would  spread  amongst  our  royal  court  .  ” 

[bareruin]

an open starter for 3/3. capped! day four, attending a performance in the great hall.

from where she rests against the balustrade near the back of the hall, bare shoulder pressed against cool stone, nymeria feels another's attention settle on her. her hand is curled loosely around the stem of an untouched goblet, her own gaze tracking the audience rather than the performers. on the stage, a player in knightly guise speaks of dragons and blood and destiny, of noble conquerors and divine inheritance. she pays him little mind. the story will end well before it gets truly interesting, before dragons fall from the sky, before the culling. still, nymeria raises her goblet in lieu of applause when the monologue ends, dark eyes glinting over the rim.

"a familiar story," her voice is low, pitched for the singular listener. the faint curve of her smile does not reach her eyes. "though the details tend to change, depending on the hall."

[soulrcts]

their  silent,  stilted  trek  through  the  keep  wound  them  through  to  the  gardens,  so  far,  the  most  quiet  place  erena  had  managed  to  find.  a  sort  of  nervous  energy  had  crept  to  lodge  both  in  pit  of  her  stomach  and  notched  in  their  throat  since  the  decree  had  been  received.  in  the  bowels  of  the  targaryens'  keep  it  had  risen  to  a  peak  that  left  them  feeling  close  to  choked ;  quick  steps  from  the  allotted  chambers  before  anyone  could  say  otherwise.  bustling  bodies  streaming  in  either  direction  dodged  easily,  face  downturned  as  they  first  reached  what  looked  to  be  the  kitchens,  out  to  the  foliage  lining  each  sides  of  them.  it  was  the  first  true  breath  they  had  taken  since  leaving  the  dreadfort,  inhaled  deep  and  caught  somewhere  between  nostrils  and  mouth  when  she  realized  they  had  nearly  walked  upon  another.  “  my  apologies,  my  liege.  ”

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