#ordyneir

[saintsknight]

Aegon barely looks up when she enters, stretched across silk cushions like the room exists for his comfort alone, wine cooling in his hand. “You always walk like this place belongs to you,” he says lazily, finally flicking his eyes toward her, amused rather than impressed. “Like the walls should bow. It’s embarrassing, really. You try so hard to be serious about it all.” A slow smile curves his mouth, spoiled and careless. “The crown, the realm, destiny—gods, you make it sound exhausting. I was born into the same house and somehow managed not to turn it into a pilgrimage.” He tilts his head, studying her with the idle curiosity of someone who has never had to earn attention. “You want things too loudly, sister. Everyone hears it. Everyone watches. They don’t tell you because they’re afraid of you. I don't share that problem."

He rises then, unhurried, drifting closer as if he has all the time in the world, because he does. “My life is already decided,” he says lightly. “I have a wife, a title, wine that never runs dry, and a mother who handles the tedious parts so I don’t have to. It’s very comfortable.” A shrug. “You chase meaning while I collect pleasures. Somehow, you think that makes you stronger.” His smile sharpens, indulgent and faintly cruel. “Be careful with that certainty of yours, sister. Things that believe themselves untouchable usually shatter the loudest. And I’d hate for you to make a mess of the floors—we still have to live together.” (At least, while that man we both call Father still loves). @ordyneir

[stagish]

i don’t need their love. i need their swords.

GAME OF THRONES, ROLEPLAY PROMPTS. still accepting ! expect slow response times.

cyrus does not presume to understand her mind, knowing that to do so would surely be a mistake. however, in that same vein he can understand grief ... though having nowhere near as intimate a connection to it was the queen before him. " with their love too, comes their swords. you might earn their steel without it, but if you add in their adoration their morale would be unstoppable. "

standing on the other side of the painted table from rhaenyra, he looks down to stormsend depicted and carved into it's glowing surface. it was perhaps one of the safest strongholds in all the realm, said to have had spells sewn into it's walls to keep other magic out. that was his home, and he had left it— left it because his guilt could not have him eating tarts & pies under the same roof as the one denied of her son, which ultimately lead to his death.

" there are those loyal to you in every corner of westeros, regardless of love or not, but if you add it into the mix? you have something truly powerful. you have something that your brother cannot pray to rival. " he only hopes she can see that still, despite the loss of one of her boys, that there are those in these lands that would still see her as she was. the rightful queen.

[witchyxwoo]

@ordyneir // closed starter from baela targaryen

baela had chosen to skip the last meal in favor of some personal target practice. she knew things were going to get more amped up soon and honestly she had not been hungry anyways. so the time felt right as she went to her favorite spot outside the castle walls. each arrow loosed from her crossbow felt like a release of negative emotion from her soul. even for a brief moment it felt nice to let it go. as she noticed the sun's location change she collected her bolts, the ones that hadn't shattered, and made her way back to the castle. once inside she began the trek towards her chambers, ready to just take a seat and put away her crossbow. she heard voices along the way, but her own thoughts occupied her attention instead. even after the target practice her mind hadn't quieted down one bit.

[jacaeryse]

They believe my sex makes me weak. They err gravely.

✧˖°.⚔️.°˖✧ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ✧ open / accepting

"They know not which they speak." Jace starts, glancing away from Rhaenyra so he can look out at the expansive ocean that surrounds Dragonstone. "Their words will one day be their folly. For I have never encountered a man as fearless or determined as you, mother." His step-father and Cregan Stark spring to mind, but Jace's devotion to his mother was unwavering. Even in the face of begrudging respect or adolescent love. Jace offers a hand for his mother to take so he might provide her some comfort. Their war effort had put a great strain on all of Dragonstone, and none felt it more keenly than Jacaerys. He attended every small council meeting, offering what little wisdom he had to offer in terms of war. What he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm, and Jace wanted very badly to join the fight. He had already proven himself politically savvy by securing the entirety of the north for his mother, now it was time to test his merit with a blade. "Soon enough you'll sit upon the throne and those very same detractors will be clutching at your skirt pleading forgiveness. The thought makes me smile."

[wistrea]

there are always ravens leaving the castle of serault, and spies well hidden amidst the merchants that come and go. the lady had been empty handed as she walked through the hallway, hands restless at her sidesin expectation, but one dressed in the clothes of a maid had passed her by, slipping a scroll of parchment in her hand, and suddenly her steps were lighter. ❛ what leaves the vale has been scarce as of late, your grace. this is all that reached serault in the wake of it. ❜ parchment is placed onto the table gently, though there was a weight to the words made permanent in ink. secrets taken from amidst smallfolk and court alike, for stone way's bastard had eyes throughout the realm.

@ordyneir , liked for a starter!

[euryedice]

Is there a real difference between a life actually lived and a life lived in a dream?⠀ @ordyneir

reality is a hopeless thing,⠀a perpetual winter storm that eurydice is caught in the midst of.⠀she finds that she doesn’t dream anymore.⠀dreams are a placebo to cope with life’s severity⠀—⠀the artificial, ⠀overhead light at the end of the tunnel.⠀eurydice knows there is no light,⠀therefore there’s no use in dreaming.

though,⠀royalty see the world differently.⠀their waking moments upstage anything eurydice could conceive of.⠀rhaenyra’s dreams,⠀eurydice thinks,⠀must mirror the language in song and in poetry.⠀where [rhaenyra] dreams in hearths,⠀eurydice prays that the wind won’t instantly blow out the flame atop her only candle.

she doesn’t stumble across royalty often.⠀she wonders what compels rhaenyra to frequent a bar whose interior was in a state of rapid decline, hidden in the furthest corner of the town.⠀(— the only place eurydice could find that would offer up a match)⠀the mundanity of routine?⠀a desire to feel something new?⠀something real?

she stuffs her hands in her pockets.⠀“⠀well.⠀outside of a dream, ⠀you’re alive.⠀”

“⠀that’s worth something.⠀”

[nairangveil]

@ordyneir   ❛   please don't lie just to make me feel better. ❜   

she doesn’t like court, a deep distaste from youth that's grown stronger as the years pass. the keep reeks of rosewater and rotting silk, all cloaked smiles and hollow praise. the dragons sleep too easily here, the walls are too clean. sirat keeps to the edges when she can, half-hidden behind carved columns, her veil catching on candle smoke. she listens more than she speaks, and when she does speak, it is often mistaken for a prayer. [ she has been told many things. that her gift is divine. that her silence is wise. that the gods chose her for something beautiful, something ancient. that she must be grateful to carry a sword blessed by salt and starlight. she does not feel chosen. she feels haunted. ]

the words come from rhaenyra like a pulled thread ( . . . please don’t lie to make me feel better. . .) and they settle over sirat like dust on holy ground. she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t soften. only tilts her head slightly, gaze low and sharp as the curve of her blade. ❝ — then i won’t. ❞ her voice is calm, heavy, like the beginning of a rainstorm, soft pitter-patters before a crescendo of thunder & lightning. ❝ you were not made to be comforted, rhaenyra. you were made to be feared. to be followed. to be known. ❞ they tell her stories — of prophecy, of crowns, of women who ruled the world in whispers. they call it destiny. they say it's sacred. but sirat has learned: what they call sacred is only what they don’t understand. and power, in a woman’s hands, is only ever holy when it hurts someone else.

❝ — i will not lie to you. only stay as your ally. should you welcome me. ❞