#syndaerys

[prophetyse]

↪ "i'm too young to die!" / @syndaerys

she finds the melodrama to be exhausting. and certainly, for a dragon rider, this behavior has to be unbecoming. “will you please get ahold of yourself.” her tone holds little patience for him, certainly no sympathy either. “you are not going to die. neither of us are.” she is certain that if death was imminent, she would have foreseen it. she has, in the past, been shown danger to her person and been able to successfully avoid it. though, the small nagging part of her brain says that she has, also on occasion, been misinformed.

her grip on the railing of the ship tightens with each wave, knuckles turning white. she certainly can’t show her own fear now, after scolding him for his, can she? but her eyes do watch the waves sharply as they crash loudly against the wood sides, the spray misting her in seawater. if anything, she’s more likely to be sick. despite lys being a lovely, lonely island she has never enjoyed sea travel. the rolling water turning her stomach and the endless waves plaguing her with dizziness. when she was younger, they would have to drug her with milk of the poppy for longer journeys, to stop the vomiting from killing her. now, perhaps since she is older, it has become less severe and no longer requires a maester’s hand to deal with. “the storm is behind us. the waves will certainly calm themselves soon enough.”

[alyafae]

Corlys welcomed him in the Hall of Nine, offering wine and a seat. “I have not seen you in a while. I was beginning to think you were trying to avoid me.” He was jesting, of course. It was likely his own fault anyway, taking care of business and being away from Driftmark far more than he would have liked. But he was home to stay for a while now and as such he could welcome his old friend himself. “Say, are you here on business or is it merely a friendly visit?”

@syndaerys asked for the sea snake

[alyafae]

She heard the dragon before she saw them. Having grown up among dragonriders, she was so very familiar with their ways even though she would never claim one for herself. While she had been hoping for one of her siblings to arrive, she was quick to notice that it was not them but someone else all too familiar. A smile spread across soft features. And off she went.

Aenya rushed along the path to where she knew their guest would be landing. Mother would scold her for such a wild behavior but father had told her she had been the same when she was younger. It had made her chuckle then, and also pleased her to know she was similar to her mother after all.

The dragon landed in time as Aenya arrived. "You have chosen a fine day for your visit. I did not know you would be here, does father know? Surely you do not intend to keep your presence a secret or else you would not have taken Tysseax to get here."

@syndaerys gets the amazing aenya

[velcryons]

@syndaerys ::❝ you’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you? why? ❞

Addam looked down, his eyes cast to the ground as he struggled not to laugh. He did not think it was funny. He could not think it was funny. The last thing he wanted to do was offend one of the Queen's councilors, especially when Astarion had taken time out of his day to help Addam with his High Valyrian. True, he did not know the man well, but he could see well enough that he was not one to waste or give his time without good reason.

Yet he could not help but be amused by his teacher's exasperation. Though he spoke the Valyrian pidgin that had developed in Hull and the other fishing villages of Driftmark, the pronunciations of High Valyrian seemed to be just out of his reach. This led to Astarion repeating the sound he had missed with growing frustration until Addam said it correctly or the former threw up his hands and gave up. He did always return eventually, even if Addam had to wait a day or two ; his patience being simultaneously both thin and miraculously immense.

"I am sorry, my lord. I do not mean to laugh it's just... I think you may have said the word wrong. "

[absolventiia]

@syndaerys sent in : ' i am not bound to please you with my answers. ' to aurane !

" cousin. " aurane says pointedly, almost annoyed. this is not his cousin, not truly, but related houses do have some familiarity, and with astarion's almost - role as becoming something of near - importance to aurane's own house, the prince is forced to play nice.

still, he does not know him at all, and aurane does think it through before responding. " there is little you could say to upset me now. i spend hours in council meetings, with men that say much and do little -- they upset me with their lack of answers and, to be honest, bravery. you, however, have yet to tell me anything of note. "

the prince wanders from window to table, glancing down at maps and books with disinterested violet gaze. there are answers. answers that astarion could say that tell what side, exactly, house syndaerys would be taking in this war ( because there will be one, and aurane's dreams torture him with that fact each night ).

still, aurane does not ask directly. he's trained in diplomacy, in careful wording of words : " did you know, " the prince says, trailing fingers along the largest map, hovering lightly over lys, " my dragon syndor seems to share your house's name ? poetic, wouldn't you agree ? "

[rhaeyar]

* 🗡 . ﹙ @syndaerys ﹚ said : " you carry a sword, yet you are not a knight. "

" i am no knight. " rhaeyar concurs. within his ribcage lives the spirit of chivalry itself, but he has sworn no oath nor knelt before another in ceremony. no… that foreign tradition remains an alien concept to him yet. " i am but a man… " he draws a cloth along the length of firetamer, a valyrian scimitar forged for men of nobler birth than for what he appears; a wandering sellsword of no importance. " …with a sword. " shadow falls over the moon-pale stranger as the titan rises to his feet. strong as an ox, he is. big like one too. turning his scarred back to the other man, rhaeyar returns firetamer to her scabbard. he pulls a tunic over his head. it is still half-wet from the storm that has brought him to seek shelter here, but good sense tells him it is time to move on. " she is mine by right, if you meant to accuse me of being a pretender. " he doubts the man meant to offend, but he can not help but feel irked by the implication. the ores that made firetamer were mined, beaten into form, and given a bite long before there were lords to make knights. it has been passed down from worthy heirs to unworthy heirs and reshaped three times before the skill was lost to the doom. a blade that was never meant to be his, but his to inherit when others have gone.

[ntrgyn]

𓂅⠀ ⠀ @syndaerys⠀ asked ⠀ ❛ anger is a fine weapon ⠀ .

SHE HAD NOT TAKEN HIM FOR A PHILOSOPHER.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ well-read, perhaps, though most young nobles tend to be. still, ❝ is it, really? ❞ she sits with the thought as she reaches for her cup, the wine sweet and delicate on her tongue. it’s rather strange, of course, to be drinking at what is meant to be a more formal audience, but who is she to question such hospitality? she taps the stem of the cup, idle, a drop of spilt wine leaving her nail stained red at the tip. ❝ anger does not lend itself to careful judgment. it breeds recklessness, and a certain lack of care. ❞ she looks up at him then, still a little hesitant. ❝ surely, a sharper blade would serve you better in battle? ❞ she asks, for it’s a claim she isn’t qualified to make. with AEMOND already on the way to STORM’S END and THEIR SISTER in no state to travel, their grandsire had tasked naerys with crossing the narrow sea to champion AEGON’S CLAIM before HOUSE SYNDAERYS, but how could she possibly argue in favour of something so unjust? her gaze shifts then, briefly, to his attendants. she folds her hands over her lap, the look with which she fixes upon astarion rather straightforward: PLEASE DISMISS THEM.

[lary5trong]

“When your resources are limited … fear is all you have.”   ⤷   said @syndaerys.

Telling dark words from the young Syndaerys,   words that unsettled him,   though he did not let it show.   Lips kept flat,   brows unmoved,   and gaze held steady on Astarion,   their eyes at the same height in this moment with Larys kept slouched to his level.   Not that the idea of fear put any terror in himself,   but that it felt all too similar to how he operated.   Was this Astarion seeing more than Larys wanted to let on?   Or was it a flippant observation?

“Only if fear is all one knows to use.”   He adds,   corner of his lips raise into a careful smirk,   like he was talking only theoretically.   “But there are always more resources then one believes there are.   The Seven are more generous than they seem,   my lord.” To speak of the Seven left a stale taste on the tip of his tongue,   but so was being around those with Valyrian blood,   he felt like a a tree caught between the flame and the axe.