#g: threads

[nightenders-blog]

[ ofasshci | cont’d ]

✉ [ melisandre // 0239 ] This couldn’t wait at least three more hours?

✉ [ melisandre // 0256 ] ...I’m listening. In a manner of speaking.

[themaskbegins-blog]

[ upjumpedcutthroat | cont’d ]

"Yes, well, when war is raging, my primary concern is providing the escape that so many inevitably seek,” he bowed his head to further the image of being humble and magnanimous, but the sarcasm was apparent. “For the right amount of coin, of course." Those words held more truth than the rest. 

"'Lord Bronn'," he repeated, testing the sound of it. "It is missing something. A family name, I think." Derision was not his intent. In fact, any lowborn who rose above his station earned his respect. The respect, however, came with no entitlements.

[themaskbegins-blog]

[ toolongawidow  | cont’d ]

The corners of his lips tugged at his cheeks, creasing into a sardonic smile. He bore Brandon Stark no love and though long ago he despised him, he now did not think him worthy of his hatred now. He had one essential victory over him; he still lived. 

Yet he understood what it meant to still be drawn to the past. His came in the form of auburn hair and ocean blue hues, but the boy he was then was long dead, his heart buried in Riverrun.

He suspected she had her own scars as well.

"An exaggeration," he conceded, folding his hands across his lap. "When what's ours is threatened -- when those we /love/ are harmed -- aren't we all capable of cruelty? We just mask it as justice. Of course, there are those who would not tempt conflict and instead do nothing." He'd leaned forward in his chair, studying her features for even the slightest hint of understanding.  "I doubt you are of the sort to abide any grievance."

[themaskbegins-blog]

[ catelyn-t-stark ]

For a small, scrawny boy, he was fast. Lysa was fast too, and though she tired easily, she was always willing to engage in any sort of game with Petyr. Something so simple and silly as racing in the godswood appealed to her so long as he was with her and he did not fail to notice this. Though he rarely said it, he admired her for her resilience. However, he was far less appreciative of how her tackle made him fall in an indecorous manner.

"Lysa," he chided. "That wasn't part of the game. This was just a race." He pretended not to notice the longing in her eyes and the way her arms lingered around his torso. Instead, he tucked a stray strand behind her hair and smiled at her apology. "I'll forgive you if you can run back to the castle before I get there. I'll even give you a head start. Five..." He began to count down, which sent Lysa off. As soon as she was out of range, he stopped counting and took his time making his way back.

Just on the fringes of the godswood, he caught sight of the auburn hair that had bewitched him so. He felt his lips swiftly form into a smile that practically touched his eyes. 

"Cat!" He called, briskly making his way to her. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it to lessen the dirt. When his hand fell, a leaf was lodged between his fingers. He breathed an easy laugh.

"Lysa," he said, by way of explanation and offered no more in that regard. "We wanted you to join us, but Maester Vyman said you were with your lord father."

[themaskbegins-blog]

[ maidofwinter ]

To say he didn't expect this would be a lie. A terrible lie and not one he'd waste his breath dressing up. He'd been prepared for the unraveling of his work at Lannister Tech. After all, nothing lasts and empires rarely collapse at the behest of its creator, but Rome was built on ruins and surely, he would rise again.

He built his connections, found safe places to hide, prepared his covers. With suspicions starting to mount that he lied to the company, he knew he had to accelerate his plans. There was one variable, however, that could undo him and she sat nestled in the passenger seat.

It was her choice to go with him, but it was hardly a choice considering how Cersei Lannister treated the powered agents under her rule. He, on the other hand, treated her as an equal even when he mentored her and fostered in her a sense of obligation to return the kindness he showed her. She knew what he was now, what he was capable of, but she did not report him to the Lannisters.

For that, he gave her the choice to leave with him.

His hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles turning white, as he tried to sort through his thoughts. Two agents going missing would look conspicuous; he needed to draw the company's attention elsewhere and what greater target than Joffrey Baratheon? Plans were set in motion and the only safe place for him was the Vale. For them.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the huddled figure shifting. He cautiously retrieved a bag from the back seat and set it on the compartment between them. "Gas station didn't have lemon cakes, but there were lemon pies so --" He cut himself off as he switched lanes. Then, he glanced at her with a small, but empty smile. "Don’t worry, there’s a variety of other junk food in there. We've got a few more hours though, so I suggest you eat something."

[themaskbegins-blog]

[ avicuiae | cont’d ]

"Have you forgotten what business we delve in?" He took a step towards her, keeping her within arm's reach. "We cater to fantasies of all sorts. Lying is a harsh term for what we do."

One corner of his lips tugged at the end of his cheek, though there was nothing kind or cheerful about his half-smile. "But I have never been a patron of my own business." Furrowed brows did little to hide the threatening glint in his eyes. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

[nightenders-blog]

[ thescaledqueen​ ]

The war had ended and now a true Baratheon sat the throne. King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, now claimed the Iron Throne though not without scouring the court clean first. The Lannisters were eradicted, the Boltons too, as well as most of the Freys. The Greyjoys were beaten into submission and the last Targaryen was exiled. He aided the Night's Watch when the Others rose to challenge them and though his army suffered great losses, they prevailed. The king who fought winter, they’d called him. The king who ended the long night.

And now came the part of kingship that Robert failed in. Governing. A tentative peace reigned the realm as the king executed justice. Such was his rule; men reaped what they sowed. It was one he hoped his heir would take as well when she ascended the throne.

It was time, he thought, that she sat in council meetings. He’d requested her presence in the throne room to inform her of his decision. The Baratheon banners that lined the room replaced the Lannister lions. He'd taken the crowned stags as his sigil once more following the departure of the red woman. (A bitter memory he’d best not dwell on.) 

"You will sit in the next council meeting," he instructed as he regarded his daughter with a nod. "They'll no doubt discuss the coin we need to rebuild the Red Keep, but the Night's Watch will need it more. You understand why."

[nightenders-blog]

[ theeldestsun ]

Though the war ended, there was hardly any peace to be found in the Seven Kingdoms. There was unease as those who fought for the Targaryens waited to see whether a vengeful or a merciful king would descend upon them. The first house concessions needed to be made to was that which was wronged most in this war -- House Martell. 

Robert, ill-tempered fool that he was, did not see the murders of Elia and her children as atrocities. Targaryens, the lot of them, and he wanted all Targaryens dead. What remained of Elia’s family was beaten into submission, Robert claimed. They did not bind themselves to the Targaryens, therefore they were not the enemies. Stannis knew better. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. If anyone could rally an uprising against the newly crowned king, it would be a Martell. Robert’s rule started with a tentative hold on the kingdom, even with Stannis’ own successful efforts to capture Dragonstone and diminish any hope of rebellion among remaining Targaryen loyalists there. Yet Dorne...Dorne was another matter entirely. They did not bear their grudges for all to see, but what remained unseen or unknown was no less a threat.

Jon Arryn understood this as well and had thus accompanied him on his diplomatic visit to Dorne. Arryn possessed a political mind and so he did not oppose his company on that account. Stannis’ suspicions, however, were enough to make him bitter -- suspicions that Robert did not trust him to succeed to easing Dornish tensions alone. Though it soured his demeanor on the ride to Dorne, he was determined to not let it affect the talks. He would prove to Robert what he was capable of in peace time and, inevitably, receive nothing in return.

Upon their arrival in Sunspear, they were greeted by a large party united under the Martell sun. Though he was not one for frivolities, he stood with Arryn, inclining his head in gratitude in their host’s presence. The words of kind greetings he left to Jon, and later, after they’d settled in, the ill-tempered Prince Oberyn as well. Stannis requested a private audience with the older prince and was granted as much, though Areo Hotah stood guard nearby.

“Prince Doran,” he said with a measured, cautious tone. “The arrangements you made for our stay have been most gracious. I trust you understand why we are here.” He was as taut as a drawn arrow; no part of him seemed at ease as he motioned for two of the knights that accompanied him to present the contained remains of Elia Martell and her children before promptly dismissing them. 

The death of one’s kin was always a dour subject. “House Baratheon never condoned the deaths of your kin. As a gesture of good will, King Robert had their remains sent back to their home.” It was not enough, he knew as much, but it was a start.