when : the masquerade ball ; where : the refreshments table .
there is the barest of openings in his father’s choice of mask for him, the eye holes a given, though he’d found the removable lips of his mask entirely on accident. daemon was certainly grateful for the mechanism, and after a fair bit of mingle, had removed it in favor of his new position by the refreshments. between the wine and small cakes and dainty finger foods, he’d likely have been one grumpy man if he’d been expected not to enjoy the fruits of the party. ❝ there’s so many options, ❞ he offered, glancing towards the nearest individual with a delighted little smirk, ❝ how are we meant to choose ? between the tarts and the wine, and the charming outfits, i’d say his majesty has spoiled us. ❞ and oh, how the prince relished in the anonymity of it all.
he had done as he’d both been told and asked. for a week, he had remained in his rooms without once trying to escape, festering in his fear and fury, and then he had allowed the farce of a trail to commence despite every cell in his body screaming at him to fight. words and even evidence could be twisted, but the sword was always true. however, he had promised his siblings that he wouldn’t be rash; he would let justice have its opportunity to shine true. it was what emmelyne would have wanted too for it was, in certain regards, the safest choice. so he’d kept his lips pressed together even as the so-called evidence had been paraded forth, even as the realization that there would be no true justice within these walls grew and grew. but lancel lannister’s words and the king’s receptiveness to them that broke his resolve. he called out, demanding what he had wanted from the start, and when asked for a champion he sneered. ❝ there is no blade i trust more than my own, ❞ he declared.
his gaze turned to the kingsguard. the same men who had dragged him away from his family. one of whom he would now either send to the stranger or meet his end at their blade. he didn’t expect it to be euron harlaw who stepped forward for the king. another knife joined the others. while time had pulled the men apart, stefan still recalled sparring playfully with him when they were both knights, competing against him in tourneys, and celebrating their victories over drinks afterwards. he remembered writing to congratulate him for joining the kingsguard. if he thinks our past friendship will make me falter, he is mistaken. if anything, euron’s action only made the baratheon’s fury darken.
now he stood across the yard from the man, dressed in armor, though a lighter armor than that of the kingsguard in weight but far darker in color, and sword drawn. spectators surrounded them, most, stefan knew, hoping for his death. he paid them no mind. there was only one he looked for in the crowd, having already spoken to his siblings before stepping onto the field. this time he knew where to find her, standing with the royal family, but he knew her heart was here with him.
their eyes met in silence. where hers were full of terror, his, he hoped, reflected his confidence. this was the trail he had wanted. he had always preferred being the master of his own fate.
right before the combat began, euron caught his eye and smiled. did he think this some game? did he find joy in trying to kill someone he’d once called friend? how this world corrupted. there was something off about the smile, something almost sad, but stefan was blind to it. while his fury was already storming, this strengthened its winds. neither lord euron or the king would get the satisfaction of spilling his blood. that smile would be the last one that ever graced his enemy’s lips.
with a snarl, he charged.
blades clashed, parted, and then clashed again. the two men danced around each other as if they’d rehearsed every step of the fight before crossing blades. stefan struck, euron parried. euron advanced, and stefan evaded. they were equally matched, both fighting with all of their strength. the crowd vanished. time ceased to exist. there was only the deadly dance that he had thrown himself into. it was not unfamilar. the rush of battle was familiar to him as was the adrenaline filling his veins. even the presence of death, swirling around them, licking its lips every time their swords locked, was familiar; however, stefan had never been in a fight quite like this before. in tourneys, death was possible but unlikely. even in the few real fights he’d fought in, death had never been so present. this fight would only end in death. his or euron’s - there was no other option for stefan would never yield.
mighty of a storm as he was, even he needed a moment to breathe. after euron’s blade came so close that it cut a few strands of his hair, he knew he had to regroup. his opponent’s recent attacks were coming too close for comfort while his defenses felt slightly slower. not terribly so, but even a minor lapse was a deadly one.
stefan retreated, hoping distance would give him a moment to regain his breath, but euron stalked him like a predator. his weapon struck, scrapping the ground and sending up a cloud of dust, but it couldn’t catch the storm. however, when he evaded the attack his foot dragged on the ground, and he fell. whether it was due to fatigue or the fear of death growing larger mattered not. all that mattered was that he must move. recklessly, daring fate once more, he waited until he heard the sound of euron swinging his weapon and upon hearing the direction it was coming from, rolled to the side. the attack landed where he’d once lay, but stefan was already launching his own retaliation. he kicked out his legs, knocking euron over, and lashed out with his blade, cutting his opponent as he fell. blood spilled from the wound, staining the ground. some even fell on stefan’s face and armor.
only stefan baratheon rose to his feet. the tides turned. now he was the predator.
he strode forward. a vision dressed in black and covered in harlaw blood. his lips curled into a snarl. his features twisted by rage. there was not a single thought of mercy in his mind. blood was all he desired. freedom was all he desired, and that could only be gained through death, through blood. later, he might remember the second smile that euron gave him as he stared up at him. a smile of acceptance. a smile of... happiness? but in the moment, there was only fury, blinding fury.
it was NOT euron harlaw that lay at his feet. it was the king. it was lancel lannister. it was everyone who had whispered of his guilt behind his back. it was the faceless bastard that had framed him.
stefan plunged his sword through the man’s eye until it struck the earth underneath. IT WAS DONE.
he stumbled back a step. adrenaline still coursed through his veins, but for a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe. his blood soaked face looked up toward the sky. the king’s words were all that broke through the haze: “on this day, the gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent of the charges cast upon him.” free, he thought, i’m free. it almost brought him to his knees, but he stood tall. relief almost made his eyes water but that too he restrained. he had stood strong, defiant, throughout this whole ordeal; he wouldn’t let them see him crumble now. he turned and faced the king and the crowds. not even the cheers delighted him. the discontent went unnoticed. even the screams and distress of the harlaws were muffled to his ears.
he locked eyes with the king. rage still burned within dark hues, but he remained silent. it spoke louder. you did not beat me. your gods stand with me, and now my fury is stronger. he hoped the king felt as weak as he looked, standing surrounded by guards while another had died for he too cowardly to face the man he would have happily sentenced to death. at least the starks swung their own execution blades.
at last he was permitted to leave. he walked off the field with his head high. he had barely entered the privacy of his room before his siblings all rushed in. they surrounded him instantly, all talking over each other, and stefan could only smile then laugh. but the single crack of emotion was all that was needed; the dam burst open. his laughter turned in a choked sob. his smile shattered. i almost died. the thought echoed loudly in his head. the one he’d tried smothering since his arrest. i almost died. i almost died. he couldn’t breathe. the tears couldn’tt be stopped. stefan crumpled to the ground, the weight of the last week at last hitting him, and in his siblings’ arms, the mighty stag sobbed.
since she was a young girl, poppy had been taught to be mindful of how she appeared to others, to be wary of the eyes that were watching. her mother had spent many lessons attempting to teach her daughter that your words are a weapon, whether they are at your enemy’s throat or your own. ever the dutiful daughter, she had listened and taken the statement to heart, even years later.
poppy was always very careful, she had chosen that spot in particular to converse with the messenger. if she hadn’t felt as if though she was being watched, she might have never noticed the other man staring her in the eyes.
the woman had been caught and she could feel her own words being held against her throat like a knife, all of her work in court was beginning to crumble before her eyes.
maester florent. close enough to the king to bring her plenty of trouble and ruin her house’s standing further.
the plan came together soon enough, the sand dripping through an imaginary hourglass. something to keep the pointing finger far from her and her kin.
the evening came, poppy found herself helping to adorn her servant in another house’s banner, assuring them that she would protect them if anything were to go wrong. that they would be paid greatly as well for the lying she asked them to do. promises she was not entirely certain she would truly keep.
she sent them off with instructions to simply hand off the coin to the other servant, the one she had picked to commit the act. and then poppy waited. impatiently pacing her chambers as she waited for any word from her own servant, sick with the knowledge that she had pushed it into motion, a man would die and her hands would carry his blood.
they returned and she breathed a sigh of relief, though the storm in her stomach was not put to rest. poppy excused herself from the masquerade, unable to keep her hands still with the knowledge of what would truly occur that evening.
the funeral was when poppy finally saw her work come to full fruition. it was when the storm in her stomach began to ease, as her eyes watched them drag stefan baratheon away. all of the pieces had fallen into place and poppy arryn was free of any suspicion.
half a moon following the ill - fated masquerade , and a week hence following the grand master's funeral and stefan baratheon's subsequent arrest - the trial of the lord was thrown together .
the king's disappointment with his people was clear , for so many kept their eyes to the floor and kept their mouths shut when he asked for them to speak . those who did speak , he took all the more interest in . for the maester , while a member of his council just like any other , had been more than that . he had been a father , a brother - a trusted advisor and friend above all others . one whose death the king could not forgive .
when it was time for stefan to call for witnesses , each one was quick to speak in his defence . he was allowed but two , something house baratheon saw as a slight . ayleen baratheon spoke first , stating " i have known my brother for as long as i have lived . as such , i am confident in my knowledge of his character when i say that while he may be headstrong , or brash, he is a man true to his word, honorable , loyal and honest. but above all, no matter what anyone claims , lord stefan baratheon has never been , is not, and never will be a schemer , a backstabber , or treacherous . he would never stoop to making a clandestine attempt on the life of a great man such as the late grand maester . i know that as much as i know the sun will rise again tomorrow . "
following her came emmelyne celtigar , the queen’s own niece , which brought forth heavy gossip within the crowd . " there’s to be a profitable union between the baratheons and carons. so he cannot afford to risk this advantageous offer nor his siblings’ livelihood over a senseless crime. still , he is a baratheon but he is not that stupid . "
the argument was one without any arguments aside from those who supported the once proud house baratheon . few could offer true reasoning beyond character references for the man - and the statements of his siblings helped the court little , for most agreed that of course they would cover for him . members of house lannister - including the king's very own master of laws - spoke greatly about how the baratheons would have done anything in order to gain positions of power . lancel lannister himself stated " the baratheons would stop at nothing to see themselves rise once more . after robert baratheon lost his little rebellion so long ago, it was my forefathers who aided in building the kingdom back to glory . we do not take kindly to the lord stefan's actions, for the grand maester was a most important and dedicated servant to the king and kingdom , and his loss can not go so easily unpunished . "
seeing that things were not going his way , the lord baratheon spoke up soon after the lord lancel finished speaking - demanding a trial by combat . none could refuse him by the laws of the seven , and so it was agreed .
it went to the kingsguard to decide who might fight against the young lord and it was house harlaw's only son , euron , who offered himself as the king and realm's champion . though it pained his family to watch , they knew he could only succeed .
the battle began , and for the first while it had seemed as though they were evenly matched . each clang of their swords was greeted with gasps from the crowds , as they watched in fear and awe . death would not find either until the tides seemed to turn , as lord stefan was forced to run to catch his breath . lord euron’s weapon scraped the ground as it went for him , and missed . the lord stefan tripped , but managed to roll to the side to avoid being struck - knocking lord euron over and cutting him in the process . slowly lord stefan crept up . blood was smeared across the landing , and he was all but exhausted .
though none could say what was truly in his mind - only that the look upon his face was one of anger , all watched as he struck the killing blow .
there was silence across the crowd for a moment .
" with the battle's end the gods have declared the verdict between them . " the king declared , his words full of bite . " on this day , the gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent of the charges cast upon him . "
the crowd offered both cheers and jeers to the king’s declaration , murmuring carrying through them all .
in an attempt to allow the baratheons to feel as though they had earned his favour once more , and truly to be back within their good graces , the king privately allowed a single boon of the young lord - and agreed no matter how large he would do his best to grant it . while some might have asked for wealth , others great titles or properties - stefan asked for one simple thing : a marriage of his own choice . while the king had some conditions and would not see either of his daughters married to a baratheon , with some consideration he allowed it .
within the maester’s chambers a note could be seen , having fallen and been swept away beneath his desk , a note he’d written in but his last moments in old valyrian . a note with but two words on it , the name of the person he knew to be responsible - lifted by a servant and tossed to the fires .
who : open ( capping at five muses ). ( 6 / 5 )
when : the masquerade ball.
where : the outskirts of the ballroom.
it had been hard to blend in in king’s landing — there is only so much she can do to be incognito, when her looks are so striking and her lineage even more so — but in lys, aerea saw that she enjoyed, to some extent, to be more of the same among the sea of fair heads and lilac eyes; while anonymity came with its problems, it also offered perks that aerea had missed, at times, even while back in her beloved capitol. so this masquerade could not have come in a better time, and while gently tapping her claw against her glass, she finds it difficult to keep the smile from her face as she looks over her interlocutor. “ what is the farthest north you’ve ever been ? mayhaps we’ve met before.” the dark beauty suggests, tilting her head in interest. she’s never been higher than the riverlands, but if father wanted to give her a challenge, she was more than glad to play along with it.
the majority of his face is covered by his stag mask , black with silver accents painted over the piece . where usually there are bright colors to match fashions of the reach is now black with silver accents to accompany the theme . his torso is see through with silver and black embroidering because with the massive cape that covers him , his skin needs to breathe a bit . the cape is his big piece for the outfit , silver embroidery that branches out like antlers covering the entire cape with a large stag smack on his back . on his head is a wooden antler crown painted silver which shines in the light from how many times it’s been waxed . most of his fingers hold silver rings , some depicting stags while others resemble antlers or twigs . though unable to be seen unless his cape is off ( which lbr it will be later ) , he has a silver necklace that looks like antlers connected together .
raven colored locks are curled lightly , creating the appearance of rough waves as if it were the wind in her hair . they rest messily on her bare shoulders , running down her crimson covered back while contrasting heavily against her golden mask . her facial features are entirely covered , only purple hues and plump pink lips visible , the rest overrun by a jungle of golden leaves — all different shades and forms like the roof of the forest during november . earrings and necklace match her mask , the same pure gold and laurel leaves . her dress is a crimson red , flowing silks and satins that are formfitting yet swept up by the autumn air with those high slits and skin - baring cuts , befitting to her person and homeland . its shade so unfamiliar for lys but it colors westeros every year , the beginning of harvest , of prosperity and warm times with family .
Three packages arrive at the doors of their intended persons, nearly wrapped and deceptively heavy with three simply instructions from the king himself written in his own hand. One dress in the attire provided for you within the package, two bring your invitation to the ball and lastly reveal to no one your identity and refer only to your pseudonym. Three individuals take their packages and accept the challenge, accept the task given to them by the sovereign. The only man who knows who everyone is is the royal who has set up this masquerade what a dangerous and exciting time but who said anything bad ever happened at a party?
MUN NOTES: I know who each of these characters are and in an effort to keep the anonymity living just a little bit longer I won’t post graphics and strive not to be too entirely descriptive of certain identifiers that might tell you who they are. I may throw a few in there to lead you astray but what might seem like a red herring could actually be true. will you know? not until its revealed. Also! enjoy a little playlist I made to feed my muses while building their costumes / theme aesthetics. ( PLAYLIST ) Without further ado read about the golden lion, the tiger and the season of summer
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 : Sharp eyes stare at the package they are handed giving an absent minded nod to the servant who delivered the packaged, retreating into their chambers to shut a heavy door behind them. The spacious quarters, spacious for the individual mattered little opposed to the package with its unknown contents. Setting it down on the bed the individual pulled free the bindings tossing the ribbon onto the comforter. Carefully they shifted the lid to the box and a curious brow lifted, lifting the head of a lion from the box. It was a gorgeous helm, a multi faceted mask with two layers each of them golden. One pondered the reasons the king would have given them the golden lion as fingers traced golden fangs and then the under mask that covered the bottom of ones face so all one would see of a persons personal expression was their eyes. Even those were meant to be obscured as well. Smokey eyes lined with black and gold and a face brushed with flakes of it. There were golden claw rings long and sharp, golden shoes and clothing of black and gold ornately designed almost like armor for a battle of paper faces on parade.
The final piece was a singular earring of a lion's claw, golden itself in laid with diamond and a singular pearl that dangled in the curl of the claw. The golden lion ... lips pursed as the held the outfit to their person curious to the meaning behind it. Was it that the king saw them as something fearsome? Did they strike a powerful chord with him of something to be hold - an example of bravery and courage - valuable and dangerous? Was it a compliment, a warming. With a small grumble and the brush of dark hair back behind an ear holding the helm and its under mask now looking over the piece. It did fit. They were not disappointed with the costume given to them but eyes that had seen too much already in a singular lifetime to fill hundreds of books still couldn't shake the feeling there was more at play. Something was afoot.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐑 : The tiger's mask looked almost eerily realistic, the stitching and weaving in of whiskers and flares of fabric and lace made to appear as fur - the tiger themself stared at it eyes narrowed. They were majestic creatures not native to westeros and here a costumer had recreated it nearly perfectly. The individual had seen tigers before. Picture books but there had been one occasion to have seen the magnificent wild creature up close and personal. They were small and it had been caged and how righteously angered had they been to see something so powerful and beautiful caged. Trapped. Had news of that story reached the king, how had their childhood been something the Targaryen king was so particularly interested in? Odd. They took the meaning of the theme they had been assigned to be that they were fierce, strong in a way others were not - majestic. They stood for justice and integrity but they were still wild and acutely aware of their surroundings and skilled hunters. They stood for family.. royalty even.
The Tiger knew from whispers on the wind and talk they had heard only partial snippets of from those around them that the animal they were given when it became a threat were hunted, that man feared a tiger just as much as they did lions and bears but more so because a tiger knew how to stalk its prey. Was this alluding to a king knowing or at least suspecting motivations other than the party line? Only way to know if this meant something more than touching a childhood experience the king found an entertaining anecdote was to attend - perhaps a Tiger over thought the choice but in any case caution would be advised. Oranges, rich vibrant hues of the color with dashes of white and black woven among each other wrapped around a body snuggly fitting perfectly and for an added touch a face was decorated, painted personally by the hand of the Tiger themselves to complete the effect. They too would have claws, rings to place on each finger.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 : The Season of Summer frowned after opening the box, a sour look crossing their face as they had quickly untied the package and set out its contents across the bed. An intricately designed mask - options of masks that all fit the desired theme and head dresses of summer flowers and shells, gold and pearls for another dripping in the idea of summer and the feeling of being transported to the very middle of the warm and sunny season were vibrant colors ruled, flowers were in full bloom and the world was alive as was the idea of this costume to communicate as such. Lighter fabrics, flowers, golds and greens oranges and blues and a feeling of the sun. Was it because they were a sweet summer child once, perhaps it was to suggest they were gloomy ( not that this was a joke between old friends or a general speculation because of the region they hailed from ) and a sunny disposition would hide them perfectly. Perhaps it was a compliment, perhaps it was a challenge to someone else in the room that here was summer the most beloved of seasons and it was to force them to watch this was all speculation as hands that were gentle as they were skilled began to don a costume they did not fully understand the meaning of. The Season of Summer would wait for the explanation and attend the masquerade sure of one thing that the King had larger plans than simply assigning attire - this was a game and they would have to play it to know what it meant and to protect those that were their own.
