bare ruin'd choirs

for: @bareruin

though his footing has long since steadied, avan's thoughts wander precariously away - northward, to colder halls. the displacement of duty is a hard wrought task, made harder still by each night of finery and leisure at the king's behest. though he has carried on each conversation as faithfully as he must, in truth he has not managed anything beyond a manufactured ease. and yet, whether for the indignity of the anecdote or by virtue of the lady tully's familiar presence, the set of his shoulders softens as she speaks. a boyish grin steals across his face, lingers through his words. "convenient that i should forget that crime, my lady. though i suspect i earned a poor reward for it." he had always thought the tully matriarch a strong presence, and that has not changed through the years. his head cants toward her as he mulls over her words, an honest answer on his lips. "tiresome," another of those smiles, thoughtful now. "but less so in present company. there may be hope for the young wolf yet."

deep  into  the  night  of  the  masquerade,  at  the  royal  keep,  where  no  invitation  goes  unanswered.  @bareruin  .

he finds her alone in the sept, a living visage among painted griefs and mercies. avan knows enough of the seven to name each stone figure, the father for judgement, the mother for mercy, the warrior for strength, they watch him as he crosses below. among such foreign eyes only rhaella's are known, yet hers remain fixed on the flames. "you have kept too much of me already." the simpler words for such keeping have long since been abandoned, but the knowing remains. there is a ruinous thing in her which has found its likeness in him, and so he stops just beyond reach, hands clasped behind his back. "your father asks me to remain. and there are those who would see me take my leave." yet, bereft of dragon flame, the king has fashioned himself other leashes. the starks remain ever tangled in them, each duty pulled taut. he considers her words in silence, earthen gaze settling upon the candles before them, meager effigies of a fire she can no longer possess. then he reaches forward, presses one into darkness between his fingertips.

@bareruin balacony, after maelor's speech

she needn't place ear to the ground to know he'd slip away before night's end. to hide in some quiet corner, no doubt, where expectation would ease. emmon never had shared her taste for indulgence, nor possessed the talent to feign it; duty alone could have kept him amongst dancers and drunkards for such an age, and she suspected even that patience had long since worn thin.

༻ ❁ ༺ open starter for ( 0 / 3 ) time & location: day 5 ; the masquerade ; the great hall

it was one of life's quieter pleasures, to bear witness to the moment another realized they were being observed. there came, first, the pause. most startled like a deer beneath the trees next, though it comes as a matter of little surprise that a tyrell should recover more gracefully. "forgive me, i was every bit as distracted," easy sincerity floods the mistruth, threaded where it doesn't belong. gracefully, rowena yields to movement, surrendering her empty flute without protest. "what fortunate timing," the blackwood muses at her glass, raising it first in toast, then to her lips. a measured sip follows, merely a sampling as she watches the movement around them. one had to admire the revelers. no measure of wine nor song would drown the decree meted out tonight, yet such valiant efforts toward celebration could not be overlooked.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

words die on his lips, surprise halting them more effectively than any command could. for a moment, avan is all but stilled in her embrace. it had been months since raya left, months since anyone had crossed the space between them without ceremony. but her presence warms him, and his arms wrap around her in kind, a firm embrace. " i am, " he answers, eyes lingering on her a moment longer, as though reluctant to believe her words. " settled. you need not trouble yourself on my account. " though she has pulled back, a hand settles on her arm, " then i will not be far from you while i am here. " the silence that falls between them an old one, familiar rather than uncomfortable. he pays little mind to the lady lingering at the edges of their conversation, listening though she pretends otherwise. " you write that you are well cared for, " yet word of the king's unpredictability needs no raven to travel north. " i’m glad to see it for myself. "

despite all her years in the north, lysara would always be more arryn than she was stark. the coldness that she presented may fool people to think otherwise, think that it was the ice of he north that made her like that. but it was the cold winds of the eyrie, the chill of high altitude. it was the love she held for the wolves she'd birthed and the ones she'd known since childhood that made her soft for her house, made her prideful of it's history. it wasn't enough to keep her ass glued to it's seat, however. " happily. " she quips, taking her nephews hand as they rise, ignoring any gazes that fall on them. " if you tried, i'd perhaps take one of those wooden swords and beat you with it. " her teasing smile betrays her, showing the jest beneath her words as they step down from the stands, spine relaxing with every step away from prying eyes. " speaking of, someone stole from my stash on the way here. you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you ? "

he guided her down the last of the steps before relinquishing her hand. the further the pair drew from the stands, the easier each breath came to him; one could never be wholly free from eyes here, but removed from the audience at last his mouth twitches. the closest thing to a grin he will afford. " do you still count the casks, then? " ever innocent is his countenance, just as it had been in the days of his youth, when he learned there was no use denying when caught by his lady aunt. standing beside her is no schooled lord stark, but a nephew, as good as seen in the act. " it was requisitioned for a worthy cause, " amusement lingers at the edges of his admission. " consider it an investment in house stark's future. "

their question is met with little more than a quiet look. there is no offense to be found upon the lord's features now, merely understanding. plainly, erena had left whatever bond existed between them within the walls of winterfell. but hadn't he, too? abandoned alongside his childhood, like countless other things he had forgotten to mourn. " i came to offer my congratulations, nothing more. " neither hollow courtesy nor obligation has carried him here. only, it would seem, a lingering curiosity. slight inclination of his head follows, the gesture is as restrained as the man himself. " i will leave you to your cup, erena. and your company. "

only a subtle nod follows the prince's assurance, though it is the softness in aemon's voice that draws avan's gaze at last. for a moment he studies him, finding only the man's profile before he abandons the effort. his own attention returns to the lists below, where the next archers take their mark. raya had never been the subject of his unease. winterfell had shaped her as surely as him; she would find her footing wherever the gods sought to place her. it was the distance that troubled him. between them lay miles of empty road, too many for a brother's sword to cross swiftly in his sister's defense. ladies and queens alike had found themselves alone in halls before, and who would aid raya, but a man who could not even meet avan's own eyes? " welcoming enough, " he answers at length. " though it is no winterfell. "

breath leaves him in a sharp hiss as arms tighten around bruised ribs, the muscles of his abdomen contracting painfully. by the time she withdraws, it is a glare that sets in his features - though robar has oft found it difficult to maintain ire where kella is concerned. even now, there is evidence of that long suffering affection. " you have always been.. generous with your congratulations. " ache does not settle, the compliment delivered through gritted teeth. and then, sharper, " my back is perfectly sound. " a shift in his seat, he sits upright in demonstration. that saccharine smile is an appalling thing when directed at him, yet the lord has found himself in worse states and still able to provoke. " perhaps you should consider a place at the citadel, sweet sister. there is still time, i'm sure, though you are aged. "

open   starter   for   :   𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘢   𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘳   &    𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯   [   capping    at    0    /    3    ] location   &   time   :   𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩   𝘥𝘢𝘺   ,   𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘺   𝘰𝘧   𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥   𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭   .

the royce lord had never been known to flee a feast. in fact, he rather enjoyed them. yet in king's landing, he was hardly in the mood to lose himself to his cups. after an hour of stewing, the cool air beyond the hall had become increasingly attractive. the balcony is already occupied by the time he reaches it, the lady's murmured observation spoken just as he considers withdrawing again. so he stays. " i imagine half the company within would disagree, " a lively tune drifts out from the hall, dancers laugh, sounds carrying clear through the crisp air. robar offers a shallow inclination of his head then, though he moves no closer. " ignorance makes for an enthusiastic audience. "

closed starter for avan stark @bareruin during the first day welcome feasts

a nod of thanks as he reaches for the goblet, raising it slightly as he speaks. " your grace, " the road south had been a tedious one. though there had been a time when the young lord stark took any excuse to stray from winterfell's walls, duty had long since stripped all romance from the idea. such travel was a poor expenditure these days, and though his wedding could wait, the north’s hunger could not. avan would offer no such complaint in present company. his gaze wanders across the hall before settling back on the prince. " as well as could be expected. i trust the realm has not made too great a demand of its host? "

there was no doubt erena had made a fine showing for the north. it had been a curious thing to watch the tourney unfold from the targaryen viewing box. without question, the elder stark rooted for his sister from the moment she stepped onto the field. yet by the time the final arrow was knocked and loosed, avan found himself unable to summon disappointment at the outcome.

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃: robar royce ( @bareruin )

in the following days, after the performance attended by alys.

iWith her children occupied, either watching the performance or being cared for by their septa, Mirelle had a bit more freedom to move about and had chosen not to settle towards the front of the hall where the best view of the performance could be found, instead opting for the quieter areas of the hall's opposite end. She was, of course, well aware this would not keep all curious eyes off her but perhaps it might alleviate the observances at least slightly. Although the noblewoman had fully adapted to being so fully perceived after taking on the mantle as ruling lady of Casterly Rock, it did not mean she wouldn't seek out bits and pieces of solitude where possible. Looking over to meet Nymeria's gaze, the raven-haired lady dipped her head in recognition. "And if we were in your hall, what alterations to the adaptation might I expect?" Mirelle asked quietly, raising one eyebrow in signal of curiosity.

the question earns a true flicker of amusement, yet nymeria finds herself turning it over all the same. she had spent most of her life beneath the banners of house martell, reared on stories of would-be conquerors, of a dragon falling from dornish skies. she offers only a shrug. " i hold no hall, and speak for none, " the admission is offered up easily, without shame. " but i have been a guest in many. i've come to know the alterations well. " she turns to better regard her, angling herself so they may still be mistaken as viewers. it strikes the dornish woman as odd that a lionness should be prowling in the margins, here among the outsiders of court, rather than basking in her place in the center. " though i must admit, i am curious. " a pause, a breath, a seemingly meaningless probe cast between them. " what interest would the lady of casterly rock have in alternative tellings? "