Thanks for the tag, @selfproclaimedunicorn. This was a really fun prompt to play with and I've so enjoyed seeing everyone else's flowers!
I used The New Language of Flowers, found online here.
Iselde - rosemary, salvia rosmarinus - remembrance, constancy, wisdom, devotion, clarity of mind
An herb more than a flower, rosemary has strong associations to home and to burial rites. It is sometimes woven into wreaths for protection., and can be burned to clean the air
Sometimes called the maidenhair tree for the shape of its leaves, the ginkgo is a sight of rare beauty during autumn. This tree is so ancient it is the only remaining member of its family.
Joan - Iris, iris subgr. iris - ardor, valor, promise in love, 'I burn for you'
Some botanists think that it is the Iris, rather than the lily, that forms the basis for the fleur de lis as the royal symbol of France. Tall and striking, irises emerge after many of the other spring bulbs but retain beauty well into the summer.
Tagging @shoshiwrites, @basilone, @softspeirs, @aloveforjaneausten, @orlissa, and anyone else who'd like to gush about their OC a little. (Just let me know you got the meme from me! I want to see your flowers, too!)
@emilykaldwen tagged me in a 'show off your OCs using this piccrew' thing a month ago...and I spent a ...not small amount of time telling myself I couldn't do that because they're characters I'm not doing anything with at the moment.. but better angels have prevailed, and gosh darn it it's the internet, and I can do what I want, so!
Elin Florent and Iselde Cargyll, at your service.
I think everyone I would tag for the vibe of this particular piccrew has done it already, so if the spirit moves you, this tag is for you.
I think I'll talk a little about Iselde Cargyll, one of my (underused) House of the Dragon OCs!
3. weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?
Iselde is a lady of the Crownlands and while the Cargylls certainly believe in the concept of duty and service to the king, they're not necessarily a...progressive family, and fighting isn't high on the list of things they expect a daughter to do. Iselde can shoot a bow, for sport, but couldn't hit a moving target with it. Her weapon of choice is a thin, bone-handled penknife, which she can wear on her belt in with her sewing things. It's handy enough for cutting thread and new quills, but it could hurt someone if she needed it to.
10. if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?
Cargyll colors are red, black, and gold, so any jewelry Iselde owns is generally gold. She has some garnet earrings that were a gift on her nameday, and a small golden pendant with a flower worked on it that was a gift from her brothers when she came to King's Landing to enter service. The Cargylls aren't a wealthy house, so any jewelry she may own later will be a gift from someone trying to win her favor - and his taste in jewels is rather different than her own. If she were to pick her own jewels, I think she'd like something in jade, or amber.
13. what languages do they speak? how fluently?
Iselde speaks Common, and over time in the Royal household has learned to recognize a few words in High Valyrian, but there hasn't been any room in her education for really learning any languages.
November One-Word Prompts: 5. Offering? I don't know enough about HotD to ask for specific characters, but I'm always ready to learn.
This is such a good prompt for this, and thank you so much for giving it!
Short version: Westeros has a bunch of faith traditions, and the most dominant is the Seven, which is kind of a trinitarian-but-add-more-aspects approach to God. It's fantasy Catholicism, it's fine.
This scene takes place in the Sept, or cathedral, of King's Landing, the royal capital. We'll meet Iselde, my OC, and several members of the royal family, who she works for as a lady in waiting.
She always felt out of place, coming here.
Iselde knew that was silly, of course. High or low, the Seven had space for all in their holy places. It was one of the first things she'd learned, as a child. But they had no sept at home like this.
The Great Sept of the city was beautiful - time and money had made it so. A person's eye could get lost, following the high columns all the way to the ceiling, where far, far above one could just make out a field of seven-pointed stars. What had once probably been brilliant blue was dimmed with several generations of accumulated candle smoke, but it was still awe-inspiring, to look up and know that men could build stone so high.
But there was no comfort in it. Everything here made her feel small, and the Seven as unapproachable and remote as the stars in the ceiling. Each stood staring down from their plinths with empty eyes, hands posed in welcome and blessing.
Greylag Hill was only a knight's holding, with no money for grand ornament, and their sept had only carved faces, mounted on the wall. Iselde knew each figure like they were members of her own family, stared at and spoken to day in and day out. Wood was more forgiving than stone, and the features of each face, the kindly smile of the Mother and the stern composure of the Smith, stood out in vivid and loving detail. Iselde could remember going into the Sept at the new year with the women of her family and cleaning the whole space, taking each mask from its place on the wall to clean them and wipe away the candle soot so that they could return to their places on the wall calmly answering the cares of House Cargyll. She'd always asked her mother to clean the Maiden, as a child, too afraid of the other faces, but as she'd gotten older she'd realized the value of the Stranger's encompassing generosity and the Crone's long-lived wisdom.
And there was something living, too, in the wood - she'd felt that spark of…of something she couldn't name, as she ran her cloth over the folds of the Stranger's hood and the shallow rises of his eyes. Grandmother had laughed and nodded at that. "There are older gods than ours in these," she'd said, and told Iselde about the ancient weirwood that had stood here in Corrin Cargyll's time, and how it had been cut down to shape the Seven. "Best to light your candles to both."
She did that, at home - but there were no old gods in this stone. Still, she'd paid her three pennies at the door for a candle, and she meant to light it and pray. Alysanne and the others flocked to the Maiden, any time they came here with Helaena, but she knew that face held no answers for her today.
There were reliquary tokens among the candles for the Warrior, tiny iron swords and clasped fists that could be pressed into the wax as a further offering to the Seven, meant to remind the gods of the supplicants' prayer long after the candle had burned out. She gently brushed several of them aside to find space for her own candle, lighting it from a taller taper that had been banded with red wax - an offering from someone who'd recently been knighted.
The wood of the kneeler could have done with a cushion, but the Warrior's ways were never easy. Iselde folded her hands together and pressed her thumbs to her lips, eyes focusing on the flickering of the candle, in amidst the others. Give me strength, and courage. Give me a stout heart and good armor. I need those here more than the Maiden's smiles.
"It's good to see someone so devoted to their prayers."
Iselde tried to rise quickly to her feet, her skirt catching inelegantly under her shoe. "Your Majesty!"
Queen Alicent looked regal in her green, the golden chain across her dress and the caul around her hair catching the flickering of the candles. "Oh, please don't get up. I didn't wish to disturb you. What a good sister you are, to pray for your brothers." For myself, Iselde amended silently. But she wouldn't tell the Queen that, or she'd doubtless ask why a lady needed the Warrior's help. "I wish my children would come here more," Alicent remarked quietly. "Perhaps my daughter will learn from your example."
Iselde could only nod, thinking of the reverent way the Princess stroked the dragon skulls below the Throne Room when court was too loud and she longed for quiet. Helaena's gods are old and strange, and she does not find them here. I don't understand them, but I know she listens, and prays, too. What he prays for I don't know, but I don't think Aegon's gods are here, either.
"I should return to my duties," she managed, giving another brief curtsy. The candle would burn without her to watch it - she'd said what needed to be said. "Mother grant you mercy, your Majesty."
Still, she couldn't help pausing at the door of the Sept to look back at the Queen, lingering at another of the statues to look up into its face, silently searching for her own answers.
But Iselde found she only had more questions. Why should the Queen be praying to the Stranger? He helps those who look for death.
I'm so excited to finally get this idea on paper - it's an OFC idea I've had bouncing around in my head for a little while for House of the Dragon and I'm so glad she finally found her name.
Fandom: House of the Dragon
Warnings: Implied sexual situations, Aegon being Aegon
The men were back early this afternoon.
She was getting used to thinking quickly on her feet, since she'd come here - things moved much faster than they did at home, and here even the smallest thing, like the house's menfolk coming back from a hunt, was a cause to be wary.
The shift she was mending was still in her lap, but her fingers folded, underneath it, around her scissors, small but sharp enough to hurt. It would be better to have a knife, her sister Hylda had said, but that can't always be hidden.
Her sister had also told her to sit watching the doors for occasions like these. But why, she'd asked, confused as anything. Because of the house, her sister had said darkly. And because of the men.
The door opened and she rose from her chair, pleasant as anything and never once surprised, the scissors hidden in her hand.
"Prince Aegon,” she said brightly. “You're home early."
After six months, she knew her sister had been right to say it. This house. And this man.
A great honor, the letter to her parents had said. Position in the royal household as mistress of the robes - a lady in waiting to the Princess Helaena. I have had good reports of your daughter Iselde's conduct, and her care and attention to detail in all matters of deportment and grace...
"You'll be serving the royal family, just like your brothers," her grandmother had said happily from her seat by the fire. The Queen's letter was still out on the table, written in a clear hand and carrying her personal seal, the flame within a seven-pointed star, distinct in deep green wax. "What an honor for the Cargylls - two names in the White Book and a lady in waiting!"
"Honor indeed," Hylda had said darkly, and wouldn't say more until Gran had gone to bed. "Look, Sis, Gran hasn't been to court since the days of Good Queen Alysanne. It's changed a bit there since then."
Iselde knew her lessons well enough, the great family trees that her mother had made sure they all knew by heart. Jaeherys married Alysanne, and had issue, 13 children, which was unlucky, since all of them died, and his grandson Viserys married once for love and once for duty, and had issue, two daughters and three sons...
And oh, what sons.
Was it any wonder none of the other ladies liked to be here? It was easier to find them in Queen Alicent’s rooms, huddled around their aunts and mothers, sharing the day’s gossip. The only threat there was Prince Aemond and his prattle of the practice yard. His brother was a different beast entirely, and one to be avoided if you liked your virtue.
The Prince looked to be in low spirits today - his boots were splattered with mud and his cloak would need a good brushing, but there was no evidence of blood anywhere on his person - usually a sign that he hadn't managed to make a kill while they were out. That would leave anyone in a foul mood, but Aegon more than most. "The sport was poor and my horse was tired," he reported. “How long were we out, Cargyll?”
Behind him, her brother Arryk looked even more uncomfortable in his muddy white cloak. Visenya had meant for the Kingsguard to be royal bodyguards, but she’d never planned her uniforms for some of the things the Tagaryens got up to. “A good four hours, your Grace.”
“Four hours,” the Prince said, throwing his gloves down on the table. “And not a fucking thing to show for it except a sore backside. Now, where is my lady wife?" he asked, clearly not thrilled by the prospect of finding her. "The maesters have told me the moon is good for making babies this week and my balls need to breathe."
Iselde took a step away from her chair and steeled her shoulders. “His Grace shall have to come back later," she said, planting herself in front of the door, mindful still of the scissors in her hand. "The Princess is indisposed at the moment."
No one had told her that standing up to the Prince would be part of her regular responsibilities. She thought, perhaps, now that no one had told her that because no one had dreamed it could be done. But Aegon still seemed …amused by it. He stared at her a moment and then laughed. "What a perfect tyrant your sister is, Cargyll. See how she stands and turns me away! Perhaps I'll have her instead,” he said, stepping forward a pace or two and moving her closer towards the door. “Since it seems Helaena's out. My grandsires took second wives to serve their pleasures,” he added, his short blonde hair just brushing her face, and she could smell clove on his breath - the spiced wine he liked in the morning to chase away the night before. “What's to stop me? I've got a needle here in need of a case and a strong hand to get it there." He leered closer, her back against the smooth wood of the door so she could feel all of him, and over his shoulder she could see her brother glowering, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I doubt your mother would approve," Iselde cut in quickly, before Arryk had a chance to say anything out of turn. (Brothers were like that, weren't they? And one of these days they'd say something and Aegon would make them regret it.) "A Crownlands girl is hardly good enough for the heir to the throne." She tried to make it sound like logic. Alicent liked her well enough as a lady in waiting, but a daughter - or a second wife? Hardly likely. Iselde could still remember her parents discussing the news of Aegon and Helaena's wedding, and how the Queen had held her tongue and would not touch her wine. Everyone was still reeling a bit from the Princess Rhaenyra's abrupt marriage to her uncle, two years before, and a second Targaryen marriage was...rather a lot.
"Bugger my mother," the Prince said dismissively. "A Crownlands girl's good for what I need now."
"Perhaps at the Bell they'll have sweeter sport, my prince," Arryk interrupted. "You know my sister's unbedded and unlikely to serve you well."
"And your lady mother did say she would look in," Iselde added, on a whim.
It was a game they played, a kind of hellish pass the parcel, trying to distract him away from the goal. But that did it - Aegon wasn't threatened by many things, but his mother finding him trysting wasn't high on his list of desires - an unhappy consequence of too many such instances as a younger man. The chances of Alicent visiting in the middle of the afternoon were slim - she was far too busy with the Small Council - but Aegon didn't know that, and it worked. He snarled and pulled away, departing the room in a whirl of cloak and sword, Arryk in close and grateful pursuit to one of his regular Flea Bottom stews.
Iselde leaned back against the door and breathed again, feeling the metal of the scissors in her hands, warm now that she’d been holding them so close for so long. He was worse when Erryk or Arryk attended him - a cheap amusement to see them squirm while he said the most vile things. On days when Ser Criston or Ser Loras were with him he paid her no mind at all. He hates his marriage - hates that he's had to wed his sister when no one else in the realm would need to. That's all it is.
She heard the lock turning behind her, and quickly stepped away from the bedroom door, hastening back to her chair and her sewing before the Princess peeked out, freshly arisen from an afternoon nap.
"You said I was indisposed again."
It was always a statement - never a question. Iselde nodded. The truth was always best, with Helaena. Not because she saw it, the way the others always said she did. The Princess only liked straightforward people. It was one of the first things Iselde had learned, when she'd first come to King's Landing. Aegon likes wine, Aemond likes books, and Helaena likes things that crawl, and the truth. "I thought you would not like to see him, your grace. He was... in an amorous mood."
"You're good at lying," Helaena said simply. "Like Mother is." She looked at Iselde's sewing, and the front of her gown. "Did he touch you?"
She knew there wasn't any harm meant by the question, but it still hurt her to answer. "Only a little."
"It bothers you, when he does that. Because you think it bothers me."
I know it doesn't bother you, Iselde thought to herself, her heart tight in her chest. But it feels disloyal, somehow - that he should be so open in scorning you. I know that it would bother other women, to have their husband look at someone else. But I know you are not like other women are, and your marriage is…different, too.
"He does it to everyone," Helaena continued, unperturbed. "Mother thinks I don't notice but I do. But you're the only one who distracts him with it. To be kind to me."
Iselde had to still her needle, and swallowed. “I hope I am kind, your Grace,” she said, and meant it. There’s so little kindness in the world for women like you. But there was something else. “He’ll be back this evening, I think. The maesters said -”
Helaena nodded - she’d already heard. How long had she been lying there, behind her door, listening? She hears more than people think she does. “They are right, in their accounts?”
Iselde nodded. Mistress of the robes meant mistress of the sheets, and the bleeding cloths, and every single speck of clothing sent to the laundrywomen. That was where the maesters got their information, but she knew Halaena’s moon cycles as well as her own. The twins were nearly a year old, now, but an heir and a spare wouldn’t do for the House of the Dragon. Helaena must have another child. “I’m just fixing the shift you like,” she said, holding it up for the Princess to see. “The one that doesn’t scratch. And I’ll have the kitchen send up a tea, and put a hot stone in the fire, for after.”
“He’ll want wine.”
“He can get that in his own apartments,” Iselde said, her voice sharper than she meant it to sound, jabbing the needle into her work.
Helaena laughed - a short, happy sound. “Who needs a dragon to guard you when you have a goose?”
Most women wouldn’t like being called a goose, Iselde thought, watching the Princess dip into her collecting boxes to pull out her centipede and let it play through her hands. But that’s the Cargyll crest, and I suppose I do guard you, your Grace. And maybe it’s not as noble as a dragon - but everyone knows what it’s good for, at least.
--
Thanks for reading! If this sounds like something you'd like more of, I love comments, tag commentary, or just old fashioned asks!
Things you said... when I wasn't meant to hear. For Iselde, please! 💚
I liked the conversation we were having about dragons and plane classes and Masters of the Air too much to put it back down. Some 1940s AU? Because that's a thing I do now, apparently? (Who am I kidding. It's the 40s. I practically live here.)
Also, fair warning, it's 🌶️🌶️🌶️ and a little explicit.
It would be just like him to give the game away.
They were hiding in the loft, in with all the spare parts for his Spitfire. "A little afternoon treat," Aegon had said with a smile, as he'd undone the buttons on her coveralls and slid down his trousers. And it had all been a treat, until Eric and Aric had come into the hangar, arguing.
Iselde watched Aegon's eyes widen with delight, and before he could make a single sound her hand was against his mouth, stifling any laughter he might let out.
There was no way on earth she was going to let her brothers know that she was up here half-naked with the Prince.
It was easy enough for them - they'd tended to the Prince's planes since before the war started and now they were doing the same work they'd always done, keeping him out of harm's way. (In more ways than one, some days.) But things were different for her - no one wanted a woman mechanic. It was sheer luck that Helaena had found her at one of the air races and offered her a job - and sheer madness that the Royal Family would let her keep it, even when the Princess was no longer allowed to fly. Helaena had that trick of making her father do what she wanted - the youngest and sweetest of his children, the one he couldn't ever say no to.
It wasn't as easy for his eldest son. She knew that Aegon sometimes wanted to be caught, just for the danger of it, the same way she knew that sometimes he flew his plane like he wanted to die. It was how he did everything else in his life, wasn't it? The carelessness and reckless abandon for everything and everyone who might have cared about him.
She pitied him, really - the best education money could buy, more power and privilege than a man could rightfully use, and still missing the one thing no one could buy him - his father's praise. He could fly every sortie in the world, shoot down more of the enemy than any other pilot alive, and the King would still ignore him, and pull his daughter to the front of the parade review. (Iselde pitied Rhaenyra, too - a crack pilot like her ought to have been flying herself. But women weren't supposed to fight.) So he would come home, and drink, and drown it all out until the next battle, the next siren, the next raid.
Pity could do strange things to a woman. Three pilots had gone down in heavy fog, and he'd rolled in, chalked his losses on the board with the WingCo, and shucked off his gear with every intention of doing nothing else that night but draining a bottle in the officer's club. She'd caught him in between the sheds and kissed him, hard and fierce, and murmured something about a better time, and he'd been all too quick to take her up on that - the fulfillment, he'd told her later, of months of unspent ambition on his part.
She'd learned since then he sometimes liked being denied things. There weren't many people who told princes no, who made him wait for what he wanted. He had a quick mind, when he wanted to, a good head for strategy, and he liked games, a chance to prove himself. She could use that, when she needed to - and she needed it today. She pressed her hand firmer against his mouth, her implication clear. Say a word, and all of this ends.
"I can't believe you accepted! Are you mad?" Aric's voice was loud and angry.
"Keep your voice down - someone could hear."
"Someone probably already has! How do you know you weren't seen?"
"I was careful. I just…I wanted to hear what she had to say."
"You swore an oath to the King, Eric!"
"And she'll be Queen one day, won't she? What's the treason in that?"
If he was listening at all, the talk of treason seemed hardly worrying to him. Aegon was smiling against her hand, the very tip of his tongue teasing the skin of her palm, his cock somehow feeling harder now than it had before. She'd made him stop mid-stroke, one arm holding himself up while the other held her thigh crooked to his shoulder, and she could feel the impatience of his desire wrestling with his reckless streak. Do you want to be found out, she'd asked, one day, after his brother Aemond had nearly caught them in his barracks. I don't like keeping secrets, he'd murmured into her ear, his voice dropping straight between her legs. I want him to know you're mine. Wouldn't it be wonderful to watch him blush?
Everything else about his life was public - why shouldn't this be? He was too used to people taking pictures of him to know that some things should stay - could stay - between the two of them, and still be sweet.
And it would be so easy to let him get his way. She'd thought about it, sometimes. But she knew what he did with power - better to keep her own. And what about what I want, she'd asked, a slight edge on her voice. They would send me away if they knew about us. That was true enough. The Queen would get her posted to the furthest base in the Outer Hebrides if she knew what they were up to, her daughter's mechanic and her oldest son. Alicent already only barely tolerated her work for Helaena - sleeping with Aegon would be a bridge too far.
And maybe, just maybe, if she helped him hang on long enough, the war would be over, and his father would finally see what he'd been missing.
His hand was moving again, brushing silently along the length of her leg, and she could feel his lips smiling against her hand. If I can't break my silence, his eyes said silently, maybe I'll break yours.
But she wanted to hear what Aric would say. "I only hope you know what you're doing," he said, finally, resigned to whatever his twin had revealed. "Because you won't get any help from me."
A door slammed, and she heard the sounds below of the radio being flicked on and the machine shop starting up. Eric wouldn't hear a thing. She let her hand fall, and Aegon beamed, thrusting into her with a suddenness that made her gasp, placing his left hand back down on the floor so he could keep his balance while he finished fucking her.
Iselde closed her eyes and let the pleasure take over. He's good at this when he tries - just like so many other things.
He pulled himself out only just in time, spending on the blanket below them with a look of utter bliss on his face before he laid down, his half-done shirt strange against her chest. "Was it good, Iss?" he asked quietly, his tone teasing, nipping lightly at her ear, the endearment only he used light on his lips. "Have I been good?"
She turned her face back up to him, smiled and brushed the hair out of his eyes. What a power you've got, Iselde Cargyll. A prince in the palm of your hand. "Very," she said, still thinking about treason, about secrets she shouldn't have heard and still needed to keep.
Hey, remember yesterday when I said that thing about OCs and having food at home?
850 words later, I stopped for takeout...and I have a new OC.
"You said I was indisposed again."
It was always a statement - never a question. Iselde nodded. The truth was always best, with Helaena. Not because she saw it, the way the others always said she did. The Princess only liked straightforward people. It was one of the first things Iselde had learned, when she'd first come to King's Landing. Aegon likes wine, Aemond likes books, and Helaena likes the truth. "I thought you would not like to see him, your grace. He was… in an amorous mood."
"You're good at lying," Helaena said. "Like Mother is."
