VERIDICALS.

𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙛𝙪𝙡, 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.

[veridicals]

#  𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙄𝘿𝙄𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙎  ⁀➷  for  the  glory  of  westeros,  as  penned  by  kris  (she/her). 

gather  and  hear  the  ballad  of  LADY  SAVA  TYRELL  of  HIGHGARDEN  and  LADY  ASELLE  DAYNE  of  STARFALL  and  JAIDE  WATERS  of  KING'S  LANDING.

𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙒𝙄𝙉𝙂  𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙊𝙉𝙂  —  introduction.  pins.

𝘿𝘼𝙒𝙉  𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙎  𝙏𝙃𝙀  𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏  —  introduction.  pins.

𝙊𝙁  𝙏𝙃𝙀  𝙒𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙎  —  introduction.  pins.

[ofashandichor-deactivated202605]

"i do not know why you subject yourself to this." naerys replied with a shake of her head. sava had always had a weak stomach and too gentle a heart for such spectacles. why she insisted then on making appearances at such events was beyond naerys's comprehension. "not quite, but they are removing him." the poor knight in question was bloodied and limping but at the very least he was not knocked out. "you may look now. would you like to go and walk? some fresh air might do you good."

[veridicals]

she  groans  some,  unable  to  disagree.  "i  hardly  know  either  sometimes,"  sava  answers  the  targaryen  with  a  grimace.  it  was  rather  unbecoming  for  the  tyrell  rose  to  enjoy  such  a  blood  spectacle,  and  so  she  did  not  allow  herself  to  —  leaning  into  the  fluttering  clench  of  her  stomach  at  the  gore.  still,  she  insists,  “no,  i  shan’t.  mathos  will  ride  soon  and  i  should  not  miss  my  brother.”  because  for  him,  she  would  bear  it.

[fatedriiiven]

daenyra  is  startled,  slightly,  by  her  cousin's  sudden  outburst.  even  more  so  than  the  bloody  scene  itself.  perhaps  it  is  because  she  has  seen  far  too  many  tourneys  in  her  years,  been  witness  to  plenty  of  brutish  acts.  she  looks  over  at  sava,  a  slight  smirk  on  her  lips  –  she  isn't  making  fun  of  her,  of  course,  but  she  finds  the  whole  thing  to  be  just  a  bit  funny.  when  sava  asks  if  she  should  look,  daenyra  turns  her  attention  downward  once  more.  “wait  a  few  more  moments,”  she  warns,  gently  placing  her  hand  on  top  of  sava's.  eventually,  the  staff  come  out  to  drag  away  the  poor  knight  that  had  been  so  violently  unhorsed.  “you're  okay  now,”  she  says,  turning  her  attention  back  to  her  cousin.  “are  you  alright,  dear?  you  won't  be  sick,  will  you?”

[veridicals]

"no,"  sava  answers,  her  nose  scrunched  in  its  distaste.  "i  am  fine,  cousin."  she  squeezes  the  princess'  palm  as  she  rises  once  more.  her  spine  straightens,  returning  to  her  perfect  posture  like  a  flower  in  the  light.  "this  is  painful,"  the  tyrell  mutters  under  her  breath,  shaking  her  head  in  a  manner  that  sees  the  dark  curtain  of  her  long  tresses  dance.  she  did  not  squirm  so  much  in  the  woods,  perfectly  capable  of  maintaining  her  cool  there.  the  performance  is  a  dramatic  show  of  her  bleeding  heart  —  incapable  of  seeing  one  hurt  in  such  a  gruesome  manner.  "i  simply  hope  mathos  doesn't  face  that  knight  next.  what  a  brute."

[freshcir]

She didn't expect to be praised for her words but to receive open disdain for her actions was slightly surprising. "The undertone in her words were meant to mock me for not understanding some of what she said, my lady," she said as she looked back at the woman who was already pulling the same stunt with another younger noble.

"Normally I would watch my tongue but I don't want to be viewed as a dimwitted fool who believes the falsehoods of someone else's words" she added, rarely sticking up for herself but she truly didn't feel that she was in the wrong here

[veridicals]

"it  is  dim  to  make  an  enemy  of  a  crownlander  house  on  the  first  day  of  celebrations,"  sava  points  out,  arms  crossing  over  the  swell  of  her  sage  silks.  the  tyrell  felt  herself  to  be  some  sort  of  moral  authority  on  the  account  that  she  was...  well...  a  tyrell.  although  of  the  reach,  there  was  a  sort  of  protectiveness  she  felt  for  the  targaryen's  homeland  vassals  —  knowing  them  rather  well  through  her  cousins.  even  while  at  disagreements,  it  was  not  so  hard  to  swallow  one's  tongue.  even  sava  was  capable  of  doing  so  from  time  to  time.  "lady  harte  is  old.  there  is  value  in  her  still."

[fatedriiiven]

when.

his  smirk  only  grows  when  she  says  that.  monterys  had  never  been  especially  prideful  nor  does  he  really  boast  about  his  abilities,  but  he  truly  is  an  amazing  fight  and  a  deft  lance.  he  would  be  stiff  competition  for  anyone  who  crossed  his  path  in  the  coming  days.

he  chuckles  and  shakes  his  head,  humility  washing  over  him  once  more.  “if,”  he  says,  though  the  smirk  on  his  lips  tells  a  different  story.

“scheming?”  he  says  in  faux  disbelief.  “i  just  think,  what's  the  fun  in  adorning  yet  another  highborn  lady  with  a  title  she's  received  a  dozen  times  before?”

[veridicals]

she  did  not  want  to  see  the  kingsguard  lose  to  some  foreign  lord,  feeling  a  strange  loyalty  to  the  crownlands  despite  having  been  born  in  another  land.  she  supposed,  she  simply  did  not  want  to  see  the  velaryon  lose  at  all.

“ah,”  they  hum  playful,  understanding  dawning  on  them  with  the  underscoring  of  a  death  march  at  a  soft,  distant  pianissimo.  the  cheekiness  of  their  smile  does  not  falter,  “so  i  am  only  fun  to  you?”

[freshcir]

"I would never," he was quick to say, not even noticing the blades at her side, though the movement caused his eyes to drift there where he began to fully understand her words. "You've not only given me no reason to resort to such actions plus I would never hit an innocent for no reason" he explained, though he had a feeling she already knew this. "I apologize for showing this side of myself to you, my lady"

[veridicals]

she  shakes  her  head  in  the  negative.  "i  am  not  a  lady,"  jaide  warns.  only  a  baseborn  bastard  who  knew  not  her  noble  father.  though,  it  was  an  easy  mistake  to  make  with  the  beauties  wandering  around  the  keep  in  their  fine  dresses.  drlyly,  arms  coming  to  rest  against  the  wide  of  their  hips,  they  continue,  "i'll  ask  your  forgiveness  for  my  distance,  as  i've  watched  you  snap  a  lord's  arm  as  though  he  were  a  twig."  sharp  eyes  watch  the  lord's  features,  in  the  same  careful  manner  she  treated  the  dragons  during  feeding  time.  still,  curiously,  she  steps  forward  with  a  raised  brow,  "how  did  you  do  it?"

[dr4gonb4ne-deactivated20260420]

out of most people in saerys' life, it was jaide who had most likely seen him at his worst. or least princely. their adventures as young kids through the streets of king's landing, through the dark alleyways of fleabottom where dirt was like a second skin. but it was with her, that he had felt his most free. saerys did not have to be someone else, to pretend the excitement of roaming free with no duty on his shoulders didn't spread happiness through his core. so it was no doubt that jaide's appearance made the tension ease from saerys' shoulders, the aching in his hip from the clench of muscles simmer to a dull throb. "can you not just sneak me out?" saerys asks, the idea of leaving here and having a drink or two amidst people that did not give a damn about him sounded nice. to finally not have to put on a face and smile at every lord that walked past, to get into discussions of political matters that he did not even have the privy of knowing, or questions of his dragon and if they could take a spin. "a cloak over my head works every time," saerys shrugs, eyes darting around the grounds and while he caught a few eyes, they turned just as quickly when violet met their own. some part of saerys reveled in the fact they could not keep eye contact, a sick and twisted part of him satisfied. "if my father comes to find me again and scolds me for my posture — which is impeccable, might i add — i will simply lose my mind. i am not above begging."

[veridicals]

"oh,  i  do  love  to  see  you  beg,"  she  grins,  wide  and  toothy.  while  some  would  think  twice  about  teasing  a  prince  in  such  a  manner,  jaide  seemed  not  too  concerned  with  propriety  at  all.  "will  you  get  on  your  knees?"

oh,  and  what  a  sight  it  would  be  to  see.

russet  hues  follow  the  line  of  the  prince's  wandering  gaze.  it  brings  them  some  quiet  pride  to  see  onlookers  scatter.  jaide  forgot  herself  around  the  prince.  or,  perhaps,  she  forgot  him.  even  in  his  targaryen  finery,  to  the  dragonkeeper,  all  she  saw  was  the  young  boy  with  coal  in  his  silver  locks.

"surely  i've  made  my  thoughts  on  the  stocks  transparent.  i  am  rather  attached  to  my  head,  and  i  would  hate  to  give  your  kingly  father  reason  to  remove  it."  she  fixes  him  with  a  stern  look.  still,  her  eyes  betray  a  telltale  mischief  that  spelled  the  thin  resolve  she  had  for  him.  he  was  the  chink  in  her  armour,  the  missing  scale  in  her  chainmail  that  allowed  a  knife  to  sneak  through.  "a  cloak  will  not  do.  we'll  have  to  shave  you  bald."

[fatedriiiven]

monterys  supposes  that  he  should've  known  she'd  say  that.  after  all,  their  ultimate  loyalty  is  to  the  crown,  of  course  she  would.  he  chuckles  slightly,  nodding  his  head.  saerys  is  indeed  a  dogged  fighter,  the  two  of  them  have  trained  in  the  yard  for  many  years  now  and  he's  seen  just  how  easily  he  can  get  the  upper  hand  on  his  opponent,  even  if  he  may  not  always  look  like  much.

of  course,  he  looks  like  a  prince,  but  some  might  not  expect  him  to  be  such  a  skilled  and  sometimes  even  dirty  fighter.

when  she  says  he  shall  have  her  favor  in  the  joust,  he  smirks.  “will  i  now?”  he  replies,  still  smirking.  “ah,  i'm  sure  that's  not  true…  you  know,  perhaps  if  i  win,  i  could  even  name  you  queen  of  love  and  beauty,  then.  could  you  imagine  the  shock?”  not  say  she  isn't  beautiful,  because  of  course  she  is,  but  a  dragonkeeper  being  named  queen  of  love  and  beauty?  the  crowd  would  be  in  an  uproar.

[veridicals]

they  hum,  lips  curved  into  something  pleased.  "if?"  dark  wavy  curls  bounce  as  they  shake  their  head  in  the  negative.  gently,  they  correct  the  kingsguard,  "when."

it  was  evil  of  her  to  take  pleasure  in  the  idea,  relishing  in  the  anguish  and  shock  of  a  crowd  that  would  truly  never  be.  as  a  child,  she  oft  thought  of  what  it  might  be  like  to  be  a  lady.  a  trueborn  daughter  of  the  westerosi  lord  her  mother  had  sworn  her  to  be  born  to.  something  pretty  and  worthy  enough  for  such  a  title.  "they  would  be  besides  themselves."

jaide  watches  the  velaryon's  smirk  from  beneath  dark  lashes,  relishing  in  the  privacy  of  the  action.  even  surrounded  by  a  pressing  crowd.  "admittedly,  i  am  pleased  to  see  you  capable  of  such  scheming  behind  the  familiarity  of  your  quiet."

[demiseblooms-deactivated2026050]

eight and ten was lady nymella when her youngest sibling's piercing cry graced the halls of starfall. she was a woman grown already ; with suitors asking for her hand in marriage at every chance. still she lived amongst her kin until the wedding to prince vharyn was finalized three years later. but for these three years she had the chance to spend with aselle, she carried many fond memories of the toddler waddling behind her like a dog would after its owner. while not particularly excited for lord and ladies to swarm the halls of red keep, seeing her blood made the occasion more pleasant.

nymella finds her sister seated in one of the chairs, gazing longing at the dance floor where ladies and lords twirled. some better than others, sober or drunk. she approaches with her own goblet of dornish red gripped tightly, hums in acknowledgement at her sister's words. " with the right companion, even difficult steps might be enjoyable. " her words carry softness reserved for close ones, " if you'll have me, we can dance together, sister. "

[veridicals]

like  the  final  clasp  of  buttons,  aselle's  spine  zippers  straight  as  a  line,  posture  so  stiff  one  could  fit  a  stack  of  books  upon  her  head  without  falling.  "would  you?"  she  gasps.  in  the  presence  of  her  older  sisters,  the  youngest  dayne  was  much  like  a  dog  still,  floppy  ears  raised  and  tail  furiously  wagging.  "you  would  dance  with  me,  truly,  nymella?"

it  was  strange  knowing  how  deeply  aselle  loved  her  sister,  even  with  their  presence  so  distant  from  her  for  the  greater  part  of  her  life.  she  had  been  too  young  to  know  what  it  was  like  to  live  with  all  her  sisters,  memories  of  the  days  slipping  from  her  childhood  mind  much  like  sand  between  spread  fingers.  aselle  took  much  comfort  in  the  thought  of  it,  though.  "i  would  like  that  a  lot."  trying  not  to  seem  to  eager,  even  with  it  written  across  her  face,  "after  you  finish  your  drink."  aselle's  cider  was  running  low  enough  to  abandon,  dancing  the  chalice  across  the  table  for  a  serving  girl  to  clear  away  at  their  earliest  convenience.

[trophaeal]

In the first year or so of occupying her office, Agriva had felt it did not befit the grand maester to make her presence known at balls and celebrations. In the years that followed, as standing beside the Iron Throne began to make her feel part of a mummer's court, she had surrendered that ideal: the grand maester must show herself at such events, for standing beside the king, she looked no more than a fool in chains instead of motley. And there was much to be learned here, too.

A young lady muttered about being frightened, and Agriva gave her an amused look over. She was passing familiar, but that could be said of every lady that had spent a week in court. A frightened hare of this nature would make poor impression in court. "If you show fear at even first steps, you will be rooted to one spot for all eternity," she said, then raised a brow. “Nobody will know you are afraid if you do not announce it thus.”

[veridicals]

"oh,"  she  responds,  her  shoulder  deflating  into  themselves.  "my  apologies,"  aselle  says  softly.  the  weight  of  her  personal  idiocy  sits  heavily  upon  the  frail  of  her  shoulders.  she  then  declares,  "i  was  foolish."

the  words  feel  much  like  a  pronouncement  of  title,  as  if  now,  the  entire  court  knows  she  is  a  child.  too  afraid  to  brave  the  familiar  confines  of  a  dance  —  her  only  true  talent  in  this  life.  "i  should  not  declare  such  things  again."  she  did  not  know  how  nymella  could  do  it,  to  remain  in  the  bright  of  the  candlelight  in  front  of  so  many  to  witness.  "thank  you,  grandmaester  agriva."  the  glimmer  of  agriva's  citadel  chain  catches  that  light.  "i  shall  continue  to  watch  the  floor.  i  do  not  wish  to...  interrupt  the  flow  of  the  party."

[dr4gonb4ne-deactivated20260420]

saerys, like most great events, was stood at the edge of it. it was terrifying to be amongst so many people, having so many eyes upon him and watching his every move. he knew especially tonight that he had to be on his best behavior, that he could not cause a scene or make a fuss and turn on his heel and leave suddenly. his father had just been crowned officially, his jovial laugh carrying through the hall and grating saerys' ears. it was not that he was upset about his father being king. saerys was rather quite glad the man sat upon the throne after his grandfather had done a number on the realm, but it meant that saerys was now not just a grandchild of a king, he was the child of a king. it meant that more people looked at him than ever and it meant that his throat tightened when they looked too long. it was suffocating and awkward. he had never been the most social, never was the best with words or exchanging pleasantries with other noble folk and he found they did not like being on the receiving end of him either. not that saerys necessarily minded, but to look so... lonesome stood in a corner by himself felt like a laughable offense as a prince. though if anything, at least aselle was stood next to him. a young woman now, someone he had seen as a babe, watched her grow up in glimpses and through the letters they exchanged. she made his heart feel at ease amidst the merriment of the evening. "i find every step is a bit scary, sweetling," saerys' voice is as soft as can be when he speaks to her, a hand resting upon her lower back for comfort. whether it was for her or himself, he did not know. "but, what if you enjoy it all the same afterward?"

[veridicals]

"there  are  too  many  here,"  aselle  answers,  chewing  the  fat  insides  of  her  cheek,  held  there  for  so  long  it  barely  registers  as  her  own  flesh  to  her  mind  now.

it  is  a  painful  thing  to  swallow  words  she  had  penned  down  to  him,  sent  to  the  prince  on  the  same  raven's  foot  as  her  father's  response  to  the  new  king's  invitation.  writing  her  excitement  for  the  celebrations,  and  how  wonderful  it  would  be  to  see  him  again,  and  that  aselle  intended  to  bring  many  ribbons  to  match  the  dozens  of  slippers  she'd  bring  with  her.  for  now  the  events  were  here,  and  part  of  the  night  had  gone,  and  she  still  had  not  moved  from  the  wall.

the  prince's  palm  is  a  balm  upon  her  anxiety,  the  connection  soothing.  she  finds  herself  leaning  against  saerys,  though  an  observer  might  say  that  she  hides  in  his  his  shadow.  "i  surely  would..."  for  aselle  so  loved  dancing.  but  she  found  it  terribly  scary  to  do  so  in  front  of  the  vastness  of  the  crowd.  "but  i  could  not  enjoy  it  alone..."  she  turns  her  gaze  upon  the  prince,  dark  eyes  wide  and  imploring.  "oh,  saerys,  you  will  dance  with  me,  won't  you?"

[diphylleial]

There is no use in lying to himself; the merriment has, as is its wont, affected him, seeped into his bones, caught fire to the dregs of what happens now? and what must I do? and who must I become, in this new era? that linger about his mind like gnats. Nothing remains in his mind but a restless humming, spurred on by the three....four....five? goblets of...Well, he is not quite certain what it was, certainly nothing as good as what they make in the Reach, but strong enough that he has no reasonable complaints to make.

He is, after a brief respite, steps away from leaping into the crowd of dancers, when a voice reaches his ears from down, down below. Surprise clouds his features, eyebrows raised, mouth falling into a slight o. She is a small thing, this lady, and Seven knows how her voice, soft and sweet, had managed to carry over the crowd and reach his ears. "A lady so fair need not concern herself with how to join a dance. I am quite certain lords and ladies aplenty would cherish a spin with you. Allow me to demonstrate," He angles his body in her direction, bows deep, extending an arm so that she pay press her hand into his own. "Will you give me the honor of a dance, my lady?" His grin is wide, his hair falling in dark waves across the ruffled, light green collar of his tunic, eyes glimmering under the hundreds of candles that light up the dance floor.

[veridicals]

her  heart  is  set  to  burst  straight  from  her  chest,  falling  to  the  floor  in  pathetic  bloody  spasms,  disembodied.  "ser  tyrell,"  she  manages  to  says,  her  freckled  cheeks  flooding  in  the  brightest  shade  of  poppy.  ser  mathos!  —  her  mind  screams,  remembering  the  bout  between  the  laughing  knight  and  the  kingsguard.  "i  have  my..."  the  fill  of  her  cider  is  down  to  the  dregs,  just  one  big  swallow  of  spice  debris  before  it  is  gone.  she  sets  it  low,  nearby.  aselle  has  not  had  enough  drink  to  match  his  imbibement,  full  only  of  apples  and  glazed  turnip.  the  steps  should  not  be  so  difficult.

"it  would  be  my  honour,"  the  youngest  dayne  says,  hands  now  available  to  slip  into  the  warmth  of  his  own.  it  is  so  strange  to  fall  in  love  with  the  lord  —  oh,  how  delusional  young  girls  can  be  —  from  the  distance  of  the  stands  to  where  he  sat  atop  his  horse.  palm  against  her  own,  flesh  and  blood.  she  feels  dizzy,  primed  to  faint.

[fatedriiiven]

it  is  not  uncommon  for  monterys  to  find  himself  amongst  the  various  other  staff  employed  by  the  dragon  house.  when  he  is  not  standing  at  laena's  side,  he  does  find  that  the  company  of  the  other  staff  is…  comforting,  in  a  way,  at  least.  clad  in  his  armor,  he  stands  at  the  side  of  one  jaide  waters,  one  hand  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword  like  usual.  just  in  case.

he  looks  down  at  her  as  they  speak,  and  a  sharp  exhale  through  the  nose  that  is  almost  like  a  laugh  leaves  him.  he's  always  liked  how  she  speaks  her  mind,  unafraid  to  say  exactly  what  it  is  they  are  thinking. 

“you  think  so?”  he  finally  says.  “i  suppose  you  are  right…”  though  it's  not  like  he'd  be  placing  any  coin  on  any  one  of  them,  even  if  he  could.  “so  who  do  you  favor  then?”

[veridicals]

“his  highness,”  jaide  says  easily,  knowing  it  already.  she  had  seen  saerys  —  the  prince,  if  they  needed  the  formality  —  in  nasty  fights,  dirtier  men  with  dirtier  hands  than  the  polished  crème  of  the  gentry.  there  was  softness  in  the  choreography  in  their  fights,  something  held  back.  most  unfamiliar  with  true  gore.  the  tavern  floors  were  a  nasty  place  to  be,  the  back  alleys  worse.

of  course,  one  would  hold  loyalty  for  their  targaryens.  each  of  the  staff  sat  in  camps.  monterys  with  the  princess  he  was  sworn  to,  jaide  to  the  prince  who  had  pulled  her  from  flea  bottom.  one  could  neatly  go  down  the  line.

“fear  not,  ser  monterys,”  jaide  hums  lightly,  craning  her  neck  to  offer  a  shameless  smile  to  the  kingsguard.  her  waist  was  kept  neatly  in  the  confines  of  her  bodice,  a  moss  green  for  the  humble  earth  she  was  born  of.  “you’ll  have  my  favour  in  the  joust  tomorrow.”  a  glance  upon  the  knight's  highbone  features  were  explanation  enough.  "in  spirit,  at  least.  i  lack  a  lady's  touch  in  florals."

[freshcir]

open! anywhere tbh

He stood there, the noble nearly a foot shorter than him berating him for bumping into him. If only this noble knew who Tyron really belonged to, the rumors being enough to send chills down a person who didn’t know him’s spine. But he stood there, and he took it, until he saw a hand being risen against him. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the noble’s arm and bent it backwards, pinning him against the wall with a loud ‘thud’.

“With such fun activities going on I advise you to not show such a disgusting side to yourself, my lord,” he calmly said, grip tightening just until he heard a crack - then he let go, watching as he fell to the ground with a thud - a loud scream echoing the halls as maesters took him away to get healed. “I would say I’m sorry but he raised his hand first, I simply defended myself,” he said as he turned around, expecting to be chastised for his actions

[veridicals]

jaide  took  great  pains  to  avoid  chastising  lords  as  a  hobby.  they  were  oft  prouder  than  a  palfrey,  and  swift  to  temper  like  a  storm.  they  glance  down  the  hall,  assessing  the  odds,  russet  eyes  roving  over  the  pitiful  man  as  his  cries  echo  in  the  silence  outside  of  the  coronation  fare.

"as  long  as  you  do  not  turn  that  grip  against  me  next,"  they  say  with  an  easy  shrug  of  their  shoulders.  “i'll  pray  you  to  those  hands  to  yourself.”  twin  blades  hang  heavily  against  the  wide  of  her  hips,  layered  over  the  skirts  of  someone  who  has  no  duty  until  her  next  round  in  the  pit.  then,  as  a  simmering  afterthought,  the  dragonkeeper  adds,  "milord."

[belcvd]

        𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟

silver lay fan out around her, hues of muddled wine closed behind the tome that baela had brought to their features — appearing as if to be reading rather than in a light doze. little of the festivities appealed to her that day, taking up residence underneath the limbs of a sprawling tree. sounds of cheering and laughter had lulled them into an easy rest, most footsteps ignored as they passed from their hiding place quickly. expectation that the next would do the same, eye cracking open when a pitter patter away did not sound. " good afternoon, " began in greeting, moving into seated position as they had never been the sort to enjoy reclining while another hovered above.

" is there something i can assist you with ? "

[veridicals]

jaide  finds  herself  sighing,  disappointed  that  the  grove  is  occupied.  how  they  loved  to  nap  under  an  elm.  in  another  life,  they  imagine  they  would  have  made  a  rather  satisfied  hedge  knight.  "not  at  all,  milady,"  she  bows  lightly  —  the  royal  greeting  of  choice  in  her  dragon's  silver,  chainmail  scales  glittering  in  the  bright  of  the  sun,  raising  their  body  temperature  exponentially.  jaide  found  it  rather  dastardly  to  spend  time  reading,  thought  it  likely  had  much  to  do  with  her  poor  westerosi  reading.  her  letters  were  done  in  braavosi  —  low  valyrian,  they  called  it  here.  lesser  than  their  valyrian  they  exhalted  above  all.  it  was  rather  blessed  she  knew  any  script  at  all.  "off  to  the  dragonpit  shortly,  though  i  am  torn  to  leave  the  festivities  before  i  know  the  victor."

[veridicals]

𝙤𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝  𝙤𝙛  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝  𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣,  𝙞𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙟𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙙𝙨  —  𝘍𝘖𝘙  𝘈𝘓𝘓.

a  terrible  gasp  tears  through  her,  gaze  falling  anywhere  but  the  stalls.  "i  shall  not  look—!"  sava  exclaims,  horrified,  turning  her  attention  away  from  the  fight  at  hand.  the  tyrell  found  it  all  too  gory  to  keep  her  eyes  fixated  on  the  bloodied  knight  unhorsed.  how  unpleasant  it  was  to  hear  the  heaving  rasps  from  them  anyway,  subjected  to  their  injury  even  as  she  looked  away.  she  had  only  interest  in  her  brother's  rallies,  truthfully,  but  it  felt  rude  to  avoid  all  but  his.  "is  it  done?"  sava  dares  to  ask,  hoping  they  have  dragged  the  body  away  in  the  fraction  of  a  second  she  has  looked  away.  "shall  i  look?"

[veridicals]

𝙤𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙝  𝙤𝙛  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝  𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣,  𝙞𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙚  𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙙𝙨  —  𝘍𝘖𝘙  𝘈𝘓𝘓.

blessedly,  jaide  did  not  need  to  appear  at  the  pit  until  the  late  afternoon  —  some  other  poor  soul  tasked  with  cleaning  the  overnight  muck  filling  the  dragon  stalls.  they  no  longer  had  mercy  or  empathy  for  such  things.  having  been  the  youngest  on  staff  for  a  handful  of  years  had  hardened  her  to  such  emotions.  it  was  high  time  for  someone  else  to  suffer  in  the  same  way.  jaide  would  happily  accept  the  evening  shift,  a  simple  feeding  and  standing  guard  at  the  entrances.  losing  a  handful  of  sleeping  hours  in  favour  of  watching  the  melee  was  well  worth  it,  wasting  their  energy  participating  in  the  melee  was  not.  they  were  rather  content  to  chew  on  peanuts  as  they  stood  against  the  barricade,  waiting  for  the  next  bout  to  begin.  "i  would  not  put  my  coin  on  either  one,"  they  laugh  airily.  they  hardly  had  the  coin  to  spend  gambling  on  another  man's  odds.  "neither  are  skilled  enough  to  be  a  clear  winning,  and  there  are  far  better  competitors  with  luck  at  their  back."