* ── [ millie brady , cisfemale , she/her . ] : in the frays of king aerys iii's reign , therein remains alanna stark, the twenty-three year old princess . rumor has it that their loyalties lie with house stark and they are neutral to the targaryen reign . they're so perceptive + open-minded that it makes sense , but most seem to look past their stubborn + obsessive nature . when they come up in conversation , i'm always reminded of raucous laughter filling the night, a raised eyebrow paired with a knowing grin, a dagger and sword raised in combat, a warm hand reaching out to help, bared teeth and blood splatters, an arrow slicing through the air, a strong hug in the midst of a storm, hair flying in the wind, a wolf howling to the lovely moon.
Basics
Name: Alanna Stark
Nicknames: tbd
Age: 23
Gender, Pronouns, Sexuality: Cisfemale, she/her, who knows
Loyalty: House Stark, her family, the North
Height: 5′6
Key Features: Braided dark brown hair, sword at her hip, athletic build
Bits and Bobs
Loyal to the core: She will kill for the people she loves, and die for the people she loves too... and gods be true, she loves her family and she loves the North. She would do most anything for them, especially her twin brother.
A bit of a shit growing up: She was the cheeky younger sister who got into mischief and had scabs on her knees and ran along the walls of Winterfell. She was the kind of girl who would sit silently in the shadows of a room while someone would kiss their lover, and when one of them had gone she’d peek out and smirk at the person in the room. She was the kind of kid who would notice how somebody’s eyes would slide towards somebody else, and when given the chance she’d nudge them and tease them, all in good fun of course.
Listener: She’s a good listener. She hears what is said, and what isn’t said. If her family or friends simply needs her to listen and not be a wild woman, she will do just that.
Loves a good puzzle: She’s stubborn and gets fixated and loves understanding things. Puzzle boxes and puzzling relationships and puzzling people intrigues her.
Family: Family was interesting. She was not the favored daughter, not by any measure. She was nowhere near the favored child. She was often at the receiving end of her parents’ ire and disappointment. This should have hurt her more, but she had her siblings, and her friends in Winterfell. Their love made up for it all, but some nights she couldn’t help but feel inadequate
Sword and dagger and bow and arrow: She pestered everybody until she was allowed to learn how to fight. She enjoys it. Immensely. It’s another way to release her energy, and there’s something thrilling about her mind working at peeling apart the moves of her opponent, and figuring out how to best to counter it all.
Educated: She is well-educated, and worked hard to do well in her studies. She enjoys learning in any capacity, and she enjoys being able to talk to people about anything, and that requires knowing.
Sharp: She grew up listening to people, listening to what they say, listening to how they solve problems. She enjoys thinking as much as she enjoys doing.
People: She loves to meet new people, and loves getting to know people. She got along well with most of the people who worked in Winterfell, or in the town surrounding the castle.
Courtesies: She is capable of being tactful, and this far south, she is cautious too. But she is also blunt and gets annoyed with people who beat around the bush for the sake of beating around the bush. She’s scary when she wants to be, but she rarely wants to be, and her siblings have got all that stuff covered too.
Connections
Friends: People from Northern houses? People from Southern houses that she gets along with exceptionally well? People who are a fair bit older than her? Or a fair bit younger?
Romance: It would be interesting— but who knows?
pls give me her twin brother, also wow so many starks, must’ve been chaotic
this will be updated a little more, but for now have this hodge-podge of information!
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“I can’t imagine what a pain that must have been,” Liliyana says, hastily tamping down any hint of envy. She’d always wished to be able to interact with her siblings, to take part in the goings on of her lord father’s family life. But, alas, acknowledgement doesn’t mean she was granted access to his home nor his children.
All attempts to not preen started flying out the window at the praise she received. She’d spent many a sleepless night balancing books, moving funds around, negotiating prices. It was a miracle if she managed to stay awake for an entire meeting with the Small Council. But the thrill that came with getting just the right price, with finding the one thing that no longer needed the budget it had… There was no equal.
“I thank you for the high praise, my lady. It was no easy feat, but if there is one game I will always be a happy and willing participant in, it is the game of numbers.” With that, she steps onto the dance floor. Hopefully, the dance instructors her mother had hired would pay off.
An odd expression flickered over the other woman’s face, but it did not last, so she banished any thoughts regarding it from her mind. Alanna did enjoy prying, but she knew when to stop— for the most part. It had been a lesson hard earned. Her childhood had been spent roaming Winterfell, eavesdropping and peeking in whenever she’d felt like it. But as she’d grown, she’d learned that sometimes it was best to just leave things be— pushing did not always lead to good results.
The easy smile on Liliyana’s face put her at ease. She had not been sure that her choice of dance partner was the right one, but she’d taken a chance, and felt all the better for it. Alanna was certain she was having a better time than most of the others at this event.
Her body fell into position easily enough, and she drew upon her sister as she began to dance. “It is not undeserved praise— every person in Winterfell had a hand in raising me, and as such they impressed on me the importance of competence and determination. ”
Liliyana stops at the sight of Alanna, though she can’t help the relief at the sight of the other woman. She quickens her pace, only stopping once she can take Alanna’s hands in hers. She could imagine that Alanna was as grief-stricken as they were, since it was her uncle that was found beheaded after the chaos of the fire in the great hall. Hazel eyes scan every inch of Alanna’s figure, looking for the slightest hint of injury. “My ankle is tender, but physically, I’ll live. What about you? Are you alright?”
Alanna shifted her grip so that she can grasp the other woman’s hands. “Only a handful of burns, but I’ll live.” A hint of a teasing smirk flashed across her face, before she nodded, squeezing Liliyana’s wrists gently. “You should see a Maester for your ankle. Ankles are fickle things— they seem alright in the moment, but a handful of days later, the pain might come.” It was that way with many injuries, but ankles were the worst. “But I am glad to see you relatively unharmed.”
“i cannot believe he’s real at times,” he says softly, looking at freyr as if he were the only important thing in this world. “one day you will also have a bairn like this, but that day will be very, very far off.” he gives her his best brotherly look, eyebrow cocked. “i am surprised your brother has not used this time as an opportunity to arrange your betrothal.”
Alanna glanced up, taking in the look in the other man’s eyes. His softer side was not often shown so openly, and inwardly she smiled. Freyr would be loved by his father, and that was a good start. Of course, at the topic of bairns of her own she fought back the urge to groan audibly. “I would not be surprised if he was— but I think we’re all a little busy with the Targaryen coronation.” She slowly pulled her hand away from Freyr, gently patting his cheeks as she does. “I just hope that Owain doesn’t get married in the bloody Sept,” she muttered.
𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 : the northern kingdom’s living quarters within the red keep / closed to @alannas.
all their plans to make a grandiose return to the north, cushioned by the confidence they possessed in the allies they had made whilst on their southern excursion ( a gentler word for the pleasure cruise they had been on for the past six years ), had been snuffed out by the most recent events, death and suspicion hanging about the red keep like a foreboding cloud of smog. in the face of such uncertainty, melony could not find it within themselves to call upon old friends and owed favors ─ instead, they were forced to retreat amongst the servants and the crew of the green minnow to consider their options moving forward. a true northerner, one undying loyal to the region and to house stark as most manderlys were born and bred to be, might have rushed into the assigned northern quarters with a desire to be useful but their time in the south had melted down such impulsive edges, leaving them to ponder on their worries more than anything else.
still, they could not prevent the inevitable and they refused to be seen as cowardly, so the manderly lady had anxiously breached the heavily fortified entrance to the northern quarters, bearing the proud merman of their house upon their breast and stomaching the disgruntled, disappointed looks that were thrown in their direction until someone had been kind enough to point them in the direction that alanna had been seen last. while they had been close as children, bonding over a shared excitement for folktales and a shared quiet rebellion, the princess had matured more quickly than melony had and time had seen their friendship fade into nostalgia. they could only hope that the sentimentality of their youth would soften alanna’s opinion of their embarrassing return.
swallowing the grimace that came when their title was announced, lady manderly scurried to stand before the princess, bending into a quick, deep curtsey even as their eyes roamed about the other woman’s countenance, searching to be certain of her health. ❝ forgive me. gods … alanna, forgive me. i should have come sooner. ❞ only death and fire had brought them to the door of the wolves, and they had chosen a hopefully friendly option rather than face their king. ❝ your uncle … my heart bleeds for your lost. the king … your family, they are well ? ❞
The gates to the Red Keep had remained shut, and the Northerners often found themselves wandering their little section of the keep. Alanna was no such exception, and perhaps if she squinted her eyes just so, she could pretend that the yellow halls filled with sunlight were in fact grey and covered in snow. No, she scoffed audibly, biting into a fig. This was no time for delusions.
All Northerners were raised on adages. Elders of keeps and towns would gather the children, teaching them the Old Tales, sprinkling in lessons and proverbs to mold the mind. Some axioms were older than the noble houses of the Southern Kingdom, words steeped with the Old Ways and carried by the First Men, translated word for word from the Old Tongue. Some were younger, more relevant to the lands today. But the one sentence that seemed to be tearing through the Northern Quarters these days was simply ‘The North remembers’. She closed her eyes, taking a sip from her goblet only to see her uncle’s unseeing gaze behind her lids. The goblet dropped back to the tray with a small clang— she wanted Walter, but the direwolf was better at Owain’s side right now.
She took another bite of a fig, chasing away the rotten taste of grief in her mouth when a visitor was announced, the name familiar to her ears. The fig laid forgotten on the tray as Alanna rose. “Better late than never,” she joked, a crooked smile on her face. She was at war within herself— now was not the time to be turning away friends, but was Melony still a friend? Did they consider themself a friend? Did she consider them a friend? It has been so long— “My family is as well as can be, given the circumstances. We’re not jumping for joy, but none of my siblings were majorly injured, thank the Gods.”
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The crowds of people in the halls did not seem to thin, and she wanted to growl with impatience. There were so many she cared for within these tall walls, so many that she had the itching need to find, immediately. Red hair caught her attention, and she spun on her heel, swiftly moving between the people as she made her way towards the red hair. “Myranda?” she called out, before quickly closing the distance between them. She repeated the other lady’s name, an exhale of relief escaping her as she noticed the woman was mostly unharmed. “Are you alright? And Ryon?”
Softly, as if they were still little, she brushed the hair away from her face. eyes full of pride. “my sister, my little warrior princess, hero of her people.” she whispered with love. “you’ve done right, although i wish you had not put yourself in danger. you have been true to yourself and you have come out victorious.” she grabbed her hands and moved them gentle from side to side as she examine the burns. “i can make you a dressing that will help, it will take the pain away and if the burns are not too deep perhaps you will have no scars to show for it. i will have the ingredient as soon as things calm down, for now we should get this clean.” she looked up to meet the familiar stark eyes. “it is not, simply sore and if i stay off it and let it rest i should feel much better by tomorrow, or in two days at most. don’t worry too much about it.”
Her older sister has always had a way with words, and the pride in her eyes made Alanna feel fearless. Any remnants of panic faded away as Lyarra’s words soothed her. She let her older sister move her as she saw fit to— at any other time, Alanna would have done more to hide her injuries, maybe even tend to them on her own or go straight to the Maester, avoiding her family so that they don’t worry. Not this time— this time, she let Lyarra fuss, nodding as the other woman continued to speak. “Thank you— and even if they scar, I will not hide them,” she whispered, before glancing back down at her older sister’s ankle. “We should go to your chambers then— let your leg rest. Besides, I think we’d all feel better if we were all together, don’t you think?”
𝙰 𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙾𝙽 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰 𝚆𝙾𝙻𝙵 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙿, visaera could feel her ancestors turn in their coffins, but the princess had never been one for bitter rivalries, and cared not for the hostility between fire and ice. hand snaked around alanna’s forearm, grasping tightly in an attempt to find stability. ❝ you would be surprised, your highness. the keep is a maze, and i doubt even our king knows it from the inside out. ❞ she tried to lighten the atmosphere, leading the pair into the hallway. feet were light, and one could tell she favored the foot opposite of her injury. ❝ thank you. ❞
As Princess Visaera gripped her forearm, Alanna was given a sharp reminder of the light burns that littered her arms. Her face held no such indication of pain, but internally she winced. They may not give her constant trouble, but being gripped definitely hurt— no matter. The Targaryen princess could not have known. She shifted slightly, moving the other woman’s hand closer to her elbow so that they looked more like two ladies on a stroll— and if there happened to be less burns on the crook of her elbows than her forearms, well, it was simply a happy coincidence. “I suppose many secrets of the Red Keep have been lost to time— or buried somewhere in the endless shelves of the Citadel,” she commented as they walked. “And you do not need to thank me.” The other princess had needed help, and Alanna could afford to give it.
No matter how caged she felt in the Red Keep, Alanna could not truthfully say that the castle was small. In fact, the Red Keep was quite large, with quite a few towers, and finding people seemed to be a challenge. Perhaps there should be signs pointing to places— no, making this place easier to navigate was not in everyone’s best interests right this moment. She sighed, spinning on her heel before admitting defeat. It would simply be faster to ask someone for help, and so she turned, jogging a little to catch up to the lady walking in the opposite direction. She prayed to the Old Gods that the woman would know this keep, or the movements of its people, better than her. “Excuse me— would you happen to know where the Maester might be?”
Alanna cut a solemn figure standing at one of the ramparts of the Red Keep. She could not run its length the way she would at Winterfell, but she enjoyed the feeling of the wind against her face as she watched the sunset. A day had passed since the attack— her arms were wrapped now, having been bandaged lovingly by her older sister. She rubbed the coverings absentmindedly— they were all still caged in the Red Keep. Uncle Rickard’s body should be sent North. He deserved to be buried in the crypts of Winterfell, alongside the hundreds of Starks before them all. He did not deserve to have his head stuck on a pike for the whole court to see. She wanted to leave, bring her uncle home, lick their wounds in peace— but there never seemed to be peace when a Stark goes South. She was pulled out of her thoughts by approaching footsteps and she turned. “Hello Lord Forrester,” she called out, her voice perhaps a little thinner and harsher than it usually was. “Have you come to enjoy the view?”
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Limping she closed the distance between the two when she had realized it was her younger sister, carefully wrapping her arms around her and bringing her closer, she could feel her eyes burn, she was terrified she would disappear right under her nose. “what happened to you?” she asked, a small smile in response to hers. “i am glad you’re alive, thank the gods.” she whispered, cupping her face in both her hands. “i got ambush by the mob of people trying to escape through the tunnels, what it earth happened to you.” she broke away, grabbing her hand guiding her back to sit together back to the window were she could be off her feet.
She sunk into the hug, wrapping her own arms tightly around her sister and squeezing her close. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she breathed through her nose to get ahold of her emotions. As Lyarra pulled away, Alanna couldn’t help but send a small prayer to the Old Gods— she knew she would not have been able to handle this if she’d lost any of her siblings too. “I got burned,” she whispered, bumping her forehead against her sister’s. “I was too close to the doors, and someone had shoved a Northman as they were running from the flames, and I couldn’t leave him— and we had to try to weaken the flames—” she cut herself off, staring at the light burns that littered her forearms. Her fair skin was marred with angry red splotches, but she could only thank her blessings. Her injuries could have been much worse. She slowly sat down beside her sister, before gesturing towards the other woman’s ankle. “Is it broken? Don’t you need a Maester?”
Open starter: In the gardens, in the aftermath of the assassinations
Liliyana roamed the gardens in the Red Keep, her eyes clearly a thousand miles away. Any attempts to stop her slow, wandering pace were seemingly ignored, as a heavy mix of pain, grief, and numbness reigned over her senses. The heavy singing of her dress, the smoot on her cheek, the pain in her ankle with every step she took - it all seemed so insignificant. Especially as the death of her father hit her. She had no right to mourn, since she cannot claim she ever truly knew her father, and she was little more than his bastard to boot. But the grief at the loss of a parent still remained. And so, she wandered, waiting for an end.
Alanna found herself in the gardens. She could not get the image of her uncle’s head on a spike out of her head. They had all been confined to the Red Keep, and it irritated her. She wanted to run all the way back North, with her siblings in tow. More and more this keep felt like a cage, and its towers and gleaming decor did little to make this place more appealing. She continued walking, somewhat comforted by the feeling of the knife in her boot, only to startle as she came across a familiar face. “Liliyana?” Grief was written all over the other woman’s face, and Alanna almost rocked backwards at the reminder that the first casualty had been the Baratheon lord. Her mind had been so solely focused on her own family— she shook her head. “Are you hurt?”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ●ㅤ open starter | somewhere in the red keepㅤ●
Resembling a ghost she sat by one of the window bays of the keep, she had wondered there when the northern court had become overwhelming to her. there was a tremble to her, unsure if it was her imagination if someone could spot it, she was entirely startled by the events that had passed, a noticeable bruise on the left side of her face, cuts on her palm, and a sore ankle that gave her a limp was what she had to show for her attendance at the coronation, in between the commotion she had been thrown against a wall and lost her balance, by the time someone had picked her up the injuries had already settled. Lyarra jumped to her feet, hissing at the pain that shut up her leg at the sudden weight on it. “pardon me, you have startled me, i was expecting solitude.” she excused herself.
Alanna rounded the corner with haste, her feet light and quick against the stone. Somebody had said that her sister was in these halls, and word of mouth of her siblings’ safety was not good enough, not anymore. She knew she looked a mess, with soot covering her face and a dress well on its way to ruin, but she couldn’t think about any of that until she saw her family for herself. Her pace sped up as she neared the figure by the window bay, only to swiftly slow down as she reached out to steady her older sister. “You’re alright,” she breathed out, smiling for a moment before frowning at the various injuries on Lyarra’s body. “Well, you’re in one piece— what happened?”
the princess expects a volatile outburst : and she would not have blamed the stark. there’s clear sympathy in brown eyes, apologetic, she softens considerably, a shield lowered. ❝ i’m alright. couldn’t be worst than a little bruise. ❞ it’s wishful thinking, undoubtedly, but she prays it is not a broken rib. it hurts. ❝ winded, wrong place, wrong time. i just need to find a place to sit to catch my breath. would you be able to assist me? i know you must want to be with family… but i’m embarrassed to say i don’t think i can do so on my own. ❞
A bolt of sympathy coursed through her, and Alanna took in how the other woman was clinging to the wall. The injury was definitely more than a bruise. At Visaera’s request, she simply nodded before stepping forward, offering her a hand to help her up. She was unsure if she should offer more— it was usually best to let the injured choose what sort of help they wanted, unless they were too injured to choose. “You will have to guide me. I’ve explored this keep well enough, but you would know your home better than I ever could as a visitor.”
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visaera barely held herself : having been pushed directly into the corner of an angled table nearly seconds into the chaos, the princess found it hard to maneuver without clutching onto the stone walls like a lifeline. but to be in pain out in the open, was better than to be blamed for the murder of the nobility inside. the fear still lingered, the identity of the murderer unknown, yet she only thinks now that perhaps being alone wasn’t a bright idea. ❝ if you’re here to insult me, or to kill me, go away. ❞
Anger wanted to pulse through her as she caught sight of the princess, but it was quickly pushed away. Alanna was fairly certain that the Targaryens were not behind these attacks; besides, now was not the time. She quickly closed the distance between them, blocking any curious onlooker’s view of the other woman. “Where does it hurt?” she asked, her gaze quickly landing on the woman’s side. “Do you need a Maester?” Lyarra was always better at administering aid— Alanna was good at cleaning wounds, but Lya’s countenance truly was better suited for this.
he’s been trained for this day since he was a boy . not today specifically , but for the day when someone comes for house stark . it was a gruesome sight , having to shove past sobbing strangers and stand only a few feet away from his beheaded uncle . he remembers joking about how one of them was bound to end up with their head on a pike - he just didn’t think it’d actually happen , or happen to rickard . a wave of anger threatens to choke him at the sight and he’s immediately pushed into action . ben begins to break away from the crowd that now seems to be forming into small huddles around the keep . why couldn’t they have just beheaded the beloved targaryen king and been done with it ? because that would mean war , though he’s not entirely sure that isn’t where this will end . the ruling lord baratheon was dead , among many others , but now his fear lies in where his siblings are . desperate to shake himself of his desire to strike anyone who steps too close , the prince takes a deep breath . ❝ you , aye , ‘scuse me - have you seen the northern king , owain stark - have you seen my brother ? ❞
Burns littered her arms, and soot peppered her face, but the pain barely fazed her. Her focus was solely on the head on the spike— her uncle’s eyes, still wide open. Her fingers shook, wanting to reach out and shut his eyes, but she did not move. All she could do was clench her fists to her side. She could hardly remember the frenzy of the crowd, of grabbing the back of a Northman’s tunic as she pulled him from the approaching flames to rush down the tunnels of the Keep, the heat— that feeling of unease that she’d been studiously ignoring for so long had been correct. They’d killed her uncle. Fury spread like ice in her veins, and the world around her became muffled. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart. Gods— her siblings— a familiar voice cut through the air, and Alanna turned, sound rushing back as she pushed through the crowd to get to Benjen’s side. “Benji—” she gasped, before stumbling as someone shoved past her as they sobbed, running from the Great Hall. She quickly righted herself before turning back to face her brother properly. “Are you alright? Where is everybody else?”
