#rosecrowned

[pertadhel]

❝ I’m afraid our people have forgotten their history. It was your brother who led us as our first king into an age of prosperity, yet many have turned so harshly against elven influence. ❞ (@rosecrowned)

The   Half-Elf   stood   by   the   arched   balcony,   the   weight   of   millennia   pressed   into   his   calm   but   steady   bearing.   Margaery   Tyrell's   words,   spoken   with   the   grace   of   her   station,   echoed   in   the   air   between   them.   Her   gaze   was   bright,   her   tone   bold,   and   yet   her   words   carried   the   melancholy   of   someone   who   understood   the   fleeting   nature   of   memory   among   mortals.

For   a   long   moment,   Elrond   did   not   answer.   His   gaze   traveled   over   the   city,   the   shimmering   cascades   and   the   busy   streets   where   the   people   lingered   still.   Finally,   he   turned   to   her,   his   gray   eyes   deep   and   thoughtful,   as   if   he   held   within   them   the   entire   weight   of   history.   "History,"   he   began,   his   voice   measured,   "is   a   fragile   thread,   Lady   Tyrell.   Men   weave   it   to   suit   their   needs,   often   forgetting   the   loom   upon   which   it   was   spun."   His   expression   softened,   though   it   was   touched   by   sorrow.   "What   you   say   is   true.   The   memory   of   the   First   Age   wanes   as   the   light   of   the   Eldar   dims   in   Middle-earth."

Elrond   moved   closer   to   her,   his   hands   clasped   before   him   in   a   gesture   of   thoughtfulness.   "It   is   not   bitterness   that   compels   me   to   speak   thus,   but   understanding.   Mortals,   with   their   brief   lives,   look   forward,   seeking   new   hope.   The   Eldar,   who   bear   both   the   grief   and   beauty   of   eternity,   cannot   so   easily   sever   themselves   from   the   past.   And   so,   a   gulf   forms,   one   that   cannot   be   bridged   by   words   alone."

He   inclined   his   head   slightly,   his   gaze   resting   on   her   with   quiet   respect.   "That   you   remember,   and   speak   so   boldly   of   it,   honors   your   lineage   and   your   wisdom,   Lady   Tyrell.   I   would   not   ask   that   men   or   women   forsake   their   path,   only   that   they   do   not   forget   how   it   began.   You   offer   me   hope   that   my   brother's   dream   and   people   survive   beyond   his   years."

[vezosdaria]

@rosecrowned asked: "Touch me, and I swear you will never be the same."

Aegon   ’s   lips   curled   into   a   sly   smile   as   Margaery   Tyrell's   challenge   hung   in   the   air,   her   words   dripping   with   boldness.   She   was   toying   with   him,   he   knew,   but   it   only   stirred   something   darker   within   him—a   mix   of   amusement   and   temptation.

Without   hesitation,   his   hand   shot   forward,   fingers   curling   beneath   her   chin,   tilting   her   face   so   their   eyes   met.   There   was   no   softness   in   his   grip,   only   the   silent   power   that   came   from   being   a   king   and   knowing   that   nothing—no   one—could   deny   him   if   he   wished   otherwise.   Her   skin   was   warm   against   his   fingers,   her   defiance   barely   masking   the   tension   between   them.

His   gaze   lingered   on   her   lips   for   a   moment,   then   traveled   the   length   of   her   body,   admiring   her   frame   in   the   faint   candlelight   of   the   room.   "I   know   I   won't   be   the   same,"   he   murmured,   his   voice   low   and   dangerous.   His   thumb   brushed   her   chin,   a   subtle   reminder   of   his   control.   "But   neither   will   you."

For   a   heartbeat,   they   were   locked   in   place,   the   air   between   them   charged   with   something   raw,   untamed.   He   let   his   gaze   flicker   back   to   her   eyes,   dark   and   unreadable,   before   the   corner   of   his   mouth   twitched   in   a   smirk.   “You   started   this,   Lady   Tyrell.   Don't   think   you   can   simply   walk   away   now.”

[isefyres-archive]

@rosecrowned asked: ❛ they’re going to catch us - ❜ (bayard)

He    had    made    home    at    the    corner    of    her    neck,    lips    busy    leaving    a    gentle    trail    over    her    skin,    aware    he    had    to    be    careful    to    not    let    the    queen    walk    away    with    any    marks    or    bruises.    There    was    already    enough    trouble    for    her    at    court    and    perhaps    he    should    know    better    than    to    continue    this.    But    Bayard    had    found    himself    unable    to    tell    her    no    when    she    came    to    him,    or    when    he    knew    she    desired    company.    He    had    grown    in    Highgarden    and    her    presence    was    as    familiar    as    it    was    comfort,    a    little    piece    of    home    invaded    him    everytime    he    allowed    his    hands    to    wander    through    the    fabric    of    her    dress    and    squeeze    her    breasts,    feeling    them    fill    his    hand,    her    pulse    against    his    lips    as    he    kissed    her    neck.   

His    free    hand    move    to    pick    up    her    dress    and    gather    it    by    the    side,    his    hand    slighting    from    the    soft    skin    of    her    tight    to    her    core,    where    he    can    feel    her    heat    and    womanhood.    "Then    I    suppose    you    have    to    come    fast,    Your    Grace."    His    lips    curve    into    a    smile    as    he    looks    over    at    her,    just    as    his    fingers    find    what    they    wanted    and    feel    her    wetness.    "My    job    is    to    protect    you,    my    lady.    Nothing    will    harm    you    while    I'm    here.    Just    focus    on    yourself    and    tell    me    what    you    want."    his    free    hand    holds    on    her    jawline,    lips    brushing    against    her    own    but    never    quite    touching,    eyes    open    as    he    feels    a    rush    to    his    groin    watching    her    expressions    change.    "You    want    more?"

[drageulv]

@rosecrowned asked: (stolen kiss): sender kisses receiver before a battle, away from prying eyes.

While   most   people   in   Winterfell   knew   that   Jon   and   Margaery   had   been   closer   than   perhaps   they   should,   no   longer   a   secret   who   she   truly   was,   they   still   have   a   semblance   of   privacy   to   show   little   display   in   public.   But   now   the   battle   was   about   to   begin,   a   ride   to   the   Wall   to   defend   the   realm   from   the   dead   with   House   Dayne's   Dawn   being   brought   to   them.   And   he   does   the   Stark   colors   in   armor   as   the   horns   of   war   announce   they   are   waiting   for   him   to   leave.  

"Next   time   we   see   one   another,   we   will   finally   wed   one   another."   He   promises   then,   a   kiss   given   as   a   desire   to   be   fulfilled,   a   silent   promise.   The   winter   that   came   is   harsher   than   others,   and   yet   her   lips   are   warm   against   his   own.   "I   will   return   to   you."   Hands   soothe   strands   of   hair   away   from   her   features,   a   delicate   yet   strong   winter   rose   looking   back   at   him.   If   there   is   one   thing   to   live   for,   it   would   be   her.

[west1rosi]

@rosecrowned asked: ❝ you’re not made to lie. you blush and squeak and stammer. ❞ (willas)

"Please,   sister,   do   continue   to   tell   me   how   you   feel."   One   hand   on   the   cane,   the   other   remains   in   his   middle,   boosting   a   laugh   at   how   bold   her   words   were.   Amusing   too   but   they   do   hold   truth   to   them.   Willas   had   never   been   one   to   lie,   perhaps   why   he   was   never   taken   to   court   despite   being   the   heir   of   Highgarden   back   then.

  Now   the   Lord   of   the   Castle,   he   finds   that   he   enjoys   going   around   the   realms   to   see   other   sights,   but   he   is   not   made   to   lie.   Smart   and   with   wits,   his   prowess   lies   on   tactics   and   peaceful   negotiations   to   avoid   war.   "I   am   not   hiding   anything   of   importance,   but   all   brothers   have   some   secrets   from   their   little   sisters."   

[isefyres-archive]

@rosecrowned asked: i don't like sleeping alone. (Bayard)

He   had   been   lead   to   her   chambers   at   night.   A   lady   of   hers   who   said   nothing   before   giving   him   the   torch   and   letting   him   inside.   The   light   of   the   room   is   dim   and   when   he   places   the   torch   upon   it's   place   on   the   wall,   it   illuminates   the   figure   before   him.   Bayard's   chest   seems   to   contain   many   emotions   at   the   sight.   Margaery   Tyrell   is   a   beautiful   young   woman,   and   she   lays,   so   casually   on   her   nightclothes   by   her   bed,   a   book   to   the   side,   as   if   she   had   been   patiently   waiting.   Perhaps   she   thought   he   would   say   no,   but   he   had   been   curious.   Her   words   make   the   knight   smile   then.

  "And   neither   of   your   ladies   can   help   you   with   that,   my   lady?   I   heard   is   common   for   your   cousins   to   keep   you   company   and   safe."   But   not   tonight   it   seems.   He   walks   closer,   he   almost   think   this   is   a   test   and   Lord   Willas   would   take   his   head   off   with   his   cane   at   the   moment   he   gets   too   close,   but   there   she   is,   and   he   can   see   the   chemise   glim   with   the   light.   Silk,   perhaps,   too   pretty   of   a   material   and   the   man   in   him   just   wants   to   push   it   away.   "You   asked   for   me   to   sleep?"   Bayard   returns   the   question.   "Is   that   all   you   wish   from   me,   my   lady?   Warm   and   a   cuddle?"

[isefyres-archive]

@rosecrowned asked: you keep it. it's yours. (mira)

"You   know   well   that   is   not   true.   You   gave   me   this."   All   the   way   back   then,   back   in   King's   Landing   at   the   beginning   of   the   war.   It   had   been   a   simple   gift,   comfort   given   after   news   of   what   was   done   to   her   house   has   reached   her   and   her   lady   had   been   good   enough   to   give   her   a   warm   coat   as   she   silently   stared   to   the   moon.   "It's   yours   and   now,   you   are   the   one   who   needs   comfort   and   I   shall   give   it   back   to   you,   Your   Grace."

[drageulv]

@rosecrowned asked: "You look like you're carrying the weight of the world."

"Thought   that   look   was   part   of   my   charming   personality   and   looks."   But   he   knows   better.   Jon   let   the   corners   of   his   lips   fall   into   a   known   casual   smile,   the   weight   of   the   world   is   one   way   of   putting   it   all   into   place.   "I   lack   sleep,   that   is   all."   His   hand   does   reach   for   hers,   the   comfort   she   often   provides   enough   for   the   man   to   let   go   of   some   of   that   weight.   He   despises   the   idea   of   dragging   her   down   to   his   thoughts,   but   he   found   levity   when   he   shared   some   of   that   burden,   perhaps   the   same   way   his   father   and   Lady   Cately   would   behave   one   another.  

His   father   kept   secrets,   but   he   shared   almost   everything   with   his   wife   and   perhaps,   that   helped   build   the   relationship   with   the   rest   of   the   family   as   it   was.   "More   and   more   wieldings   are   coming   through   the   Wall   and   seeking   refuge   here   from   the   coming   darkness.   Ghost   remains   ever   vigilant."   Winter   was   still   there,   after   all.   "It   is   not   the   weight   that   troubles   me,   it's   the   uncertainty   of   how   much   longer   it   will   be   here."   Is   this   what   his   life   must   become?