𓂅⠀ ⠀ plotted starter for⠀ ⠀ ⸻ ⠀ ⠀ @godsequal ⠀ ⠀ .
𓍼ོ ─── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑, and it is beneath their flickering ardour that 𝐛𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 is received into the halls of 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬, with all the grandeur that so ancient and so haunted a seat might yet muster. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 sits at his chest, his own closed around a half-empty cup of wine. there’s 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 at his cuffs, and 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 at his collar, stark against 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞. he is smiling — listening, as is expected of him. his attention catches, however, on the hand kept at the waist of the man’s much younger daughter wife.
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐬 have preserved their blood as done a flame: cupped close. brother unto sister, cousin unto cousin, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. it is a practice that has attracted, over the centuries, no small measure of condemnation from septons and smallfolk alike, and to which the dragonlords have remained, on the whole, serenely indifferent. and yet, even they, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲, have not gone so far as to press 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟.
and still, the man is speaking, so greatly pleased with the evening he has arranged, with himself, and baelor finds — not for the first time in his life — that the most difficult thing about men like vhamithor is not the loathing they inspire but the patience they require. 𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧.
❝ as much as i would like to hear more, i fear the music is urging me elsewhere. ❞ he extends his cup toward his host. it’s an idle gesture, almost careless — the sort a man makes when his hands have grown bored of holding something. ❝ 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. ❞ he turns, then, and extends his free hand instead to his daughter wife. the invitation is as plain as it is inescapable, and if it is also — in some quieter register — a temporary reprieve of a girl from a hand that had held her too tight, baelor does not name it as such. he is not the sort of man who uses his rank to whisk away the wives of his vassals, but 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ❝ if she would do me the honour, that is. ❞
