#iona 001

[withsilvereyes]

starter: the sitting room of queen katherine during the gathering in the westerlands, she invites queen iona to tea with her and catch up ; @iona-tully

context: while iona was married to lord westerling, in the court of the west, she and katherine became close friends, going so far as iona spending some time in silverhill. now that katherine is queen of the west, who’s stance is to not recognize iona’s reign, katherine finds herself in an interesting position.

golden curls sat perfectly upon the crown of the queen’s head as she said upon the loveseat near the hearth. it had always been her favorite thing - to create a special table for those close to her. though in truth, it had been long since she and iona had spoken in such circumstances, before the red-haired woman before her was crowned queen of the riverlands, over her legitimate younger brother. though the concept was intriguing to katherine, she herself didn’t necessarily have an opinion either way. none would come to know, however, as the queen of the west would always steadfastly be known to side with her husband, and her son’s future kingdom.

for truly it were a beautiful day, the bird chirped their songs, the scent of lavender filled one’s senses from the hedges in the gardens, and the sun shone brightly, with small groupings of clouds to offer enough reprieve from its rays. perhaps she would’ve opted to take to tea in the gardens, but she chose here, instead. it were more intimate, which she preferred, but she also was unsure how far conversation would go, to where she did not want wandering ears and lingering eyes upon them. not today. today, she truly wanted to try to catch up with someone she had considered a rare friend.

hands gripped the small porcelain cup, swirling the amber liquid within to dissolve the small bit of sugar she sprinkled within it. a smile came over blush lips as she moved to speak. “i do apologize i could not recall what you preferred with your tea, if anything.” it would not surprise her if those from the land of trouts, with their tempestuous minds and wit, generally preferred their tea black. “these berries were just picked this morning, however. they’re ripe to perfection.” she picked one up and plopped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet, tart flavors. “how have you fared all this time?” her meaning was of personal matters, for politics was not something katherine spoke openly on, but she would not be taken by surprise if things had become one and the same for iona, as they had in so many ways for herself.

[ronanbrackens]

who: @iona-tully when and where: set in riverrun prior to the departure to the westerlands, the queen of the riverlands continues trying to find her hand a wife.

the hand of the queen had always merely been a pin within the mind of the ruling lord of stone hedge; somethign that did not necessarily hold any greater weight than what he heard reported back to him of all the various hands the green king held. from otto hightower to criston cole, there had always been a major flaw in them all: never did ronan bracken believe he would become hand of the king. but the independence of the riverlands, the splitting of the realm; that changed and shifted things entirely.

it had been ronan who had been one of the first to petition for the river crown to grace the head of the oldest princess, rather than await for the river prince to return - if he would ever return.

that decision had been done with the intent of securing his position; a calculated risk, considering they had just ripped themselves to bits regarding whether a woman had any right to sit upon a throne. whilst ronan bracken would have no issue with speaking of the legal ramifications and loopholes of the dance of dragons, of inheritance and succession, that was a tale he thought his family needed to appear they had learned from.

being the major supporting greens left standing within the riverlands, he was careful not to isolate them; especially in the aftermath of the burning crops of fields. the risk had paid for, for the queen had appointed him her hand.

only, it seemed as though other realms had not yet realised what made the most sense. what caused less issue. the court of the lion king remained reluctant to fully place their support behind iona as the river queen, and a part of him felt a growing inclining of suspicion toward prince casimir tully for containing his close association with the westerland lords. the reach too, had not yet given a stance; something he too had issue with. he could have petitioned to the hightowers, if they had any influence - which they did not, their house being the lowest it had ever been.

his quill was against parchment now, utilising his own connections with the green lords of the westerlands; they needed to get the westerlands on board, lest their gold find more nefarious purposes. it was not yet a problem; but it very easily could be. when he heard the page announce the presence of the queen, ronan bracken stood, his hands clasping together before his tunic and his cloak which he still adorned from his hunting session - his head lowered in a bow as she entered. and what she passed him, was a piece of parchment which no doubt was another suggestion.

the river queen had been trying to find ronan bracken a wife long before the crown had graced her curls. he were surprised she still bothered with all of this. he glanced at the name and roughly sketched portrait of the woman in question, before clearing his throat. a shake of his head, and then…"have i offended yer gracious majesty?" ronan asked, a slight hint of his clover humour peeping through his posed manner. "i meant to give you an update as to the reach and the west."

[casterlygldcs]

who: @iona-tully when and where: the westerlands, following the blessing of prince arthur of house lannister. it has been some time since iona arrived to casterly rock, and tyland has yet to formally acknowledge her as queen. their hands have been meeting, but there has been little progress. and now, they finally meet.

the audience chamber of casterly rock was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. the stone walls loomed like the past itself, cold and unyielding, as tyland lannister strode toward the dais. his cloak trailed behind him, a river of gold and fur, the weight of his authority present in every step. his crown sat upon his brow, heavy and unspoken, a symbol of the supremacy he held over all in this room. queen iona of house tully was waiting.

they had asked him, time after time, why it was he did not agree. why he would not sign to an alliance, to terms of peace?

he had heard the tales, of course. the riverlands had placed her on the throne when they thought prince aidan tully had perished in the wars. a woman—chosen by men who had no better options at the time. and such options had now changed, considering the return of the legitimate male heir to the riverland throne. tyland could never respect such a decision. the thought of a woman ruling a realm, let alone one as vast and wild as the riverlands, was beyond his understanding. it would only be a matter of time before the lords revolted against her rule and her claim; whether she married one of their disliking, or picked one over the other.

he thought a woman ruling the riverlands would make the realm weaker. it were already fragile enough. and this would simply make it the fairground for the lions. "what holds me back, you ask me." he uttered, looking upon her.

she had once been married to lord westerling, and had lived in his court for a time. as a subject. tyland had seen her there, though he had never paid her much attention. a quiet, unobtrusive presence—like a faded tapestry in a hall full of noise. she had never produced children, and that, to him, was a mark of weakness. a barren womb spoke to a woman’s true worth, or lack thereof. as he looked across at her, he noticed her posture—composed, regal, as any queen might be. but to tyland, it was only the facade of strength. a distorted reflection.

"your womb is your greatest failure."

the words fell from his lips without hesitation. if she wanted to be a ruler, she would be spoken to as rulers spoke to one another. bluntly, with no silver linings. those were for their courtiers, for their pawns. "you provided lord westerling no heirs, and no legacy whilst a subject in my court. and what can a woman who cannot bear children truly offer a realm except from a succession crisis, whether it be in five years, or fifty?" the air between them seemed to grow heavier, but tyland did not flinch. he stood firm, unwavering, his gaze unbroken. "the legitimate heir to the throne is due to return. our talks will then resume. until then, we remain as we were. divided."

[niamhtullys]

who: @iona-tully when and where: the verdant concord, within highgarden, the two queens of house tully make their way through one of the many mazes - how typical of them. context: siiiisters!!

niamh tully was nearly certain she had passed that same crooked little rosebush twice now. its blooms were the palest pink, almost white, like something that had given up halfway through blushing. the path forked again before her and she did not hesitate—veered left, briskly, the train of her soft grey gown whispering over the gravel. the heat of the day clung to the stone walls of the maze, their neat hedges high and maddeningly perfect. her expression faltered for half a heartbeat. then the familiar set returned, firm and unyielding. “we’re not lost,” she added, gesturing vaguely to the left. “i know where i’m goin’.

somewhere above them, the sun glinted behind a net of clouds, and somewhere behind her, her sister was thinking, no doubt. thinking and not saying a word. niamh didn’t look back.

“it’s this way,” niamh insisted, tilting her chin as she pointed left without waiting. “i remember passin’ that flower bed shaped like a stag’s arse—we're nearly there.” she didn’t look at iona when she said it. there was always the danger that meeting her sister’s gaze would make her think twice. iona didn’t need to argue; she just had to be there, serene and still, and suddenly niamh would start second-guessing herself like a girl asking her older sister whether her dress was backwards. no, best to keep walking.

the silence lengthened, interrupted only by the distant murmur of water somewhere nearby. niamh’s steps quickened as they moved toward the left, only to find a hedge starring directly back at her. she blinked, brows furrowing momentarily as if this were some joke - it were this way. they had come this way. “ye know, ye could say somethin’ useful. instead o’ hoverin’ like one o’ them statues o’ the mother with that vague look on yer face, judgin’ the rest o’ us mere mortals.” the turn ahead opened into a circular patch of gravel surrounding yet another smug fountain, this one shaped like some abstract tree. niamh stopped dead.

then, exhaling slowly through her nose, she turned sharply back the way she came. “right. not that way. not yet. feckin’ delightful.”

[devotionturns]

who: @iona-tully where: the litha festival. the ice within the princess of winter had begun to melt over time, had turned into trickling rivers. she suspected wariness within the queen of the riverlands

"Were the participants of the masked show chosen at random?" Cyrene left out the greeting, but she did drop into a curtsy as she approached Queen Iona Tully. "I could barely look away. It was a fascinating performance."

While Cyrene had never grown fond of the court her husband held, she did like the Riverlands. Her mother had been born and raised there, her cousins resided at Raventree Hall. Benjicot Blackwood in particular had spent quite some time at the Crossing with her. Selfishly, it counted as a bit of a shield for herself as well. As though it was a show of force, whenever her blood walked the halls in support of her.

[armaans]

who: @iona-tully​ where: the dornish ball, sunspear

there were none that were able to drag him to the dance floor; despite how lively and booming the atmosphere was, it simply was not a scene he enjoyed; that is not to say he was sat, gloomy in some corner of the room. the master of whispers remained seated among a variety of various dornish courtiers and riverland courtiers, no doubt attempting to get to know one another better considering the betrothal between the king of rivers and the people's princess of dorne. 

he noticed a flicker of confusion cross over their faces as he insisted he was a cousin to the martells, knowing it did not appear so on first glance.

there was a reason for that though, was there not, at the end of the day? he knew little of how it would change, or whether he even wanted it to change. matters were smooth now, there was no need to go digging into the past and bring it up, to further cause tensions and feelings of disdain. feelings he knew he held in his heart, however displayed them less so as he found a place for himself more in court.

curious orbs of a certain individual he was unable to put a name to, stranger considering he was gifted in that regard and it had helped him excel more in the position that had been put upon him; though, she seemed to have a large amount of respect among the other riverland courtiers, one which signalled to her being somehow part of the royal family. “your name?” armaan asked, his tone casual as he looked over the posture of the woman; perhaps one of casimir’s  many sisters. 

“you’ll find i dislike being unable to put a name to faces.” he continued, his tone casual.