♛ → THE NORTH presents ALEKSANDER KARSTARK, the LORD OF KARHOLD RULING LORD OF GREYWATER WATCH. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-EIGHT year old MALE who was JOVIAL & FREE-SPIRITED before they saw the first of the flames, is now RECKLESS & QUICK-TEMPERED after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the coarse feel of fur coats, a crackling fireplace, the deafening silence of falling snow and a half empty chalice of wine. ( arnas fedaravicius )
; physical attributes
— aleks was born with differently colored eyes. one is blue-green while the other is a deep hazel.
— his hair his a deep brown, almost black and near constantly kept as unruly, shaggy locks.
— from his time of fighting in the dance and afterwards in the war in the north, he carries a litany of scars. one of them runs from his left ear down to his left collarbone. another crosses from his hairline into his eyebrow. from a slash that'd split the skin over his shoulder blade had come the deepest one yet. it'd taken by far the longest to heal and it still aches when the weather is particularly unpredictable.
— height: 5 ft 11
; headcanons
— he was born in the year 116 ac.
— aleksander was five and ten when the dance of the dragons began. nothing but a mere boy, he trained and fought where he was needed and sent, did what those more experienced asked of him. unspeakable things happened in that war and he did not come out of it unscathed. he will always have scars to show for it.
— the ongoing war pushed him head first into a reckless sort of mentality. he‘d watched friends, close to him like brothers and sisters, die. aleks decided he wasn‘t going to let a day of his life go to waste, but the way he went about it was less than masterful. long nights of drinking and indulging in the warmth of a myriad of embraces, challenges to fights and duels and dangerous horse racing through dense woods. if it did not get his heartbeat to accelerate, to get the blood pumping through his veins to a dizzying degree.
— aleks isn‘t responsible unless put under pressure. he would die for those he calls family, through blood or through twists and turns of fate, but he would do so at the expense of other things.
; the death of lady sarra karstark
his sister‘s death struck aleks deeply. as soon as the raven arrived with the news that she‘d been killed by wildlings beyond the wall, while in the presence of her lover, adam stark, aleks could feel something crack inside him. something carefully tended to in the midst of a childhood tainted with a war of fire and blood finally crackled and burst into a pile of ash.
; the northern war
aleks had descended into a feeling of constant, ever present numbness after the dance of dragons. the king in the north’s new laws, or rather, the changing of old laws was a shakeup of that constant, something new in a world were things hardly ever changed for the better.
the situation devolved, of course. karhold was under attack and aleks helped to defend it. he led his own little band of rag tag volunteers to defend the walls and occasionally venture beyond them as well, taking out groups of enemies in the dark of the night.
; the death of lady meera karstark, née reed
aleks knew it wasn‘t right. hadn‘t been right from the moment the sea dragon point lord‘s sword had caught the glint of the candle light before it‘d cut through his sister in law. all she had done was whisper to the queen, grab onto her while the queen‘s expression had looked progressively more fearful. there had been no attack, but she had died nonetheless. aleks knew it wasn‘t right. something ugly coiled within him. there would be no forgiveness for this, just like there hadn‘t been for sarra‘s death.
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"it's all important," she was being unnecessarily stubborn on that point, tossing her hair over her shoulder to punctuate her point. but he was being kinder to her than she had been to him, both today and in their past meetings, and perhaps that was why she sighed, and offered him something true. "ravi is back. my brother, prince ravi." my brother. it felt strangely possessive, considering the martell siblings were about as distant as it was possible for siblings to be. strangers in all but name.
something cold went through her then, something that was nothing to do with the northern chill. he'd met someone. it did not matter, in that moment, that she had long ago decided she didn't want aleksander karstark. it mattered that it seemed that he had decided he no longer wanted her. it'll never last, the words she longed to say but managed to bit back came to her then, a nasty little noise in the back of her head that she clung to to drown out the other thoughts she did not want to pay attention to.
"have you?" she sounded almost bored when she finally spoke again. "and does she know your penchant for playing with fire? or does she think she'll be the one to tame you?"
He leaned forward the slightest bit, his interest peaked. "Your brother's returned? How's that goin' for ya?" In all the times they had met, Aleks had never seen her particularly affectionate when it had come to her family. Granted, they had not spoken of such matters much. But even now, there was something in her voice that sounded the tiniest bit off to him.
Unwittingly, he began to smile as he thought of the fire in Calla's hair and the sparks that shone in her eyes. Though, he did not think he was playing with anything here. He would have liked to describe it as playing with fire alongside someone. "I don' think tamin' me is much on her mind. She is.. I think she matches the restlessness in me well."
fiadh glanced over her shoulder. he might not have been enthused about it, but he had followed her anyway. a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "don't worry. you'll get it back later. good thing i took it, too, or else there'd be one less northman at the festival later. i'd hate for you to miss it because you've already been put to bed. you can thank me later."
her pace was leisurely, and she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the late afternoon. as they moved away from riverrun, the rush of the water grew a little louder, birdsong starting to become dominant over the chatter and cheers from the crowd. "far too nice a day to ruin with a foggy head," she pointed out, cheerfully.
she stopped for a moment, attention caught by a patch of wildflowers. she stopped to pluck one from the grass, tucking it into the folds of her sleeve. "now," she continued, straightening up and resuming her stroll. "answer me true, lord karstark. do you always bring a bottle to the riverbank, or is it a habit only on festival days?"
"You underestimate my tolerance, m'lady," he grumbled, trudging after her through the uneven terrain. Aleksander would admit, though, that it was a relief that he would be getting it back. Perhaps that was something that should worry him, and yet he paid little mind to the consequences of his drinking.
Taking this stroll was a bit exhausting, even to someone like Aleksander, but Fiadh seemed to be enjoying herself well enough. The birdsong was pretty, admittedly, the rushing sound of the water soothing. "I survive on a foggy mind, I'll have you know."
As she leaned down to pluck some wildflowers, Fiadh Vance, storm personified, voiced a question to him that Aleksander knew how to answer and also did not. He remained quiet for a few moments, watching her pick flowers with furrowed brows. "It's a habit, I suppose."
she was still leaning forward, elbows propped on her thighs as though trying to get as physically close to the flames as she could without scorching herself, but her head turned slightly, allowing her to study his expression as though asking how she was was some sort of trick. his expression seemed softer - perhaps a trick of firelight's glow. "you ask as though it's been a few weeks," she snorted. "it's been far longer than that. you can't expect me to sum up the last year in on fireside conversation."
her hands curled around her knees, a gesture that was utterly obvious in its defensiveness. "but i suppose i've been fine." as fine as any could be whilst those around them prepared for war with a man who rode a dragon. had they heard of that in the north? did he know what awaited her on her return to dorne? "and you? still playing with fire?" there was an undercurrent of something to her tone, the words half-way between a barb and a tease.
"Sum up the important things, then," he responded. Patience wasn't a quality easy to come by while around her, Aleks had realized. And yet, he did genuinely want to know. She was important to him, and he wanted to know about the things that were important to her.
"Are you?" I suppose I've been fine, did not ring entirely true to him. Being fine, knowing that you were alright, did not require an I suppose in front of it. Whispers of war came from all around. Jaehaerys Targaryen beheading someone and throwing that head at a dornish woman's feet spread like dragon fire through the realm. At her question, he found himself laughing faintly. "Ah, you know me. I do nothing but play with fire. Less now than before, I suppose, but I haven't entirely learned. I met someone."
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who: @darkenedsvn
when and where: semi-flashback to the celebration of lann's day in the westerlands, armaan yronwood finds himself in a westerlander tavern located within lannisport's square.
there were always certain parts of a night when one felt the façade of civility sipping away: when the sweat began to run and the music got louder, the liquor continued to flow and the overall volume got much higher. despite his own brutal and rougher around the edges nature, armaan yronwood was not one for such loud antics; no, it seemed as though it were the stormlords, the rivermen and the northmen who acted as though they had never tasted wine or women before each time they all congregated together - the sight of it always caused a scathing look of amusement to cross armaan's face.
he were not one for taverns, believing it to be befitting of peasants rather than the likes of him.
but what he looked for, in all honesty, was a certain woman made of marble who was reported to have stepped in the establishment only some short minutes ago - all for the sake of trying to locate her stepson. and armaan yronwood were trying to locate her. walking through the door and crossing over the threshold, he took one sweeping look over the establishment: at least, as far as he can see. there was a visible glint of ire upon his darkened expression at the prospect of her having slipped through his hands again; it were making evidently clear she was making this difficult for him. he did not appreciate losing an advantage.
it were not until he heard the roaring laugh of another did his intense gaze lock upon him, almost as a snake - some northern lord.
he made no effort to hide the look that settled upon his features as he looked upon the man, and suddenly somewhere, a level of rather surface level aggression and aggravation seemed to come over him. it were never too far away, never too hard to find; and so he only looked at the northern lord with a look of utter content, as though he were looking at some nothing. some nobody. to armaan yronwood, he may as well have been.
perhaps one may have expected for the bloodroyal to say something, some poisoned bite; and instead, a mocking grin crossed his features. his teeth flashed white, and he let out a scoff. he itched for a fight, for an argument, for an altercation of some kind - and for some reason, this nobody of a northman seemed like the target of the night.
Aleksander was thoroughly enjoying himself with the group of people he was sharing the table with. Jokes and antidotes were traded, ale and the likes ran freely between all of them. During the festivities the Lannisters were hosting, opulence was not as much of a commodity to come by as anywhere else.
He was oblivious to the struggles others were facing in the same room. Struggles of a political nature, struggles that had nothing to do with alcohol at all. And quite frankly, Aleksander cared little. He had already found his company for the evening.
A brooding man across the room was not one of them.
His head was buzzing already, pleasantly and faintly, he felt it whenever he smacked his lips together and they felt numb. Aleksander finally noticed something amiss, when his companions went quiet, looking at something over his shoulder. Aleks turned to look as well, and he only saw someone staring at him. To the state his mind was in, he did not quite comprehend. "What, do I've got somethin' on ma face?"
"oh... no, thank you. not just now." fiadh shook her head, refusing the drink offered to her by the karstark lord. the sun was still high, and it was barely afternoon. hardly the time to be getting drunk.
"in fact, why don't you put the bottle away entirely? there'll be plenty of time later, when litha starts properly. they're just setting everything up right now. if you drink too much, you'll miss it." she didn't wait for a response before taking the bottle from aleksander's hands, passing it off to a nearby servant with a quiet request that they return it to the karstark lord later.
"i'm going for a walk, though. if you'd like to join me. not far, just down the river."
It was far too early for Aleksander to be startled like this, and yet, there she went, taking the bottle of ale from him and handing it to a servant passing by. His mouth formed a silent oh as he watched the bottle be taken away, Aleks' hands now strangely empty.
Fiadh Vance moved like a little whirlwind, too.
She had made the proposition for him to follow as she went on a walk, and Aleksander was far too stunned to do much other than walk with her. "That was wonderful dornish red, y'know? Kind of hard to come by these days."
Hunting had never been a pastime of his as he grew up. It wasn't something he really acquired the taste for later in life either. Gael Hightower could handle himself well-enough in hunting grounds but it didn't come naturally to him. He had to put the same focus and effort as if he were to sit and write a Dornish style Mahākāvya. He understood the form, he understood the purpose, but executing it himself did take more diligence than he cared to admit.
The Master of the Arts glanced up, his expression brightening at the sight of a familiar face. The face of a friend, as unlikely as it turned out to be. Such was life, Gael had found, finding antagonists at home and encountering unexpected kindness in a man fate positioned to be his foe on the battlefield. When the Dragons danced, so many became enemies. Some took such rivalry to heart, but for others, it was nothing deeper than one of the many repercussions of fulfilling a duty. So Gael had not hated the Karstark lord then, even less so during that brief truce and respite to gather the dead bodies from the field.
“Thank you,” Gael greeted with a subtle, tired heave. “My gods, am I aging so poorly?” he half-joked before bringing the skin of ale to his lips for a sip. Gael knew his weariness wasn't tied to age at all but to the fact that the Karstark lord happened to be a far better hunter. Aleks and he were the same age, after all, with the other one looking very much in his element while Gael didn't quite move about as if this was all instinctive or natural to him.
Aleksander fell down next to the Hightower Lord, a faint grunt escaping him as he did so. "Ah, you're lookin' quite spry to me for your age." He was startled, yet again, that the grin he threw the man who had become an unlikely friend, felt so familiar. The bodies had piled up around them. The injuries, the stench, the squelch of wet earth underneath their soles. And in the very midst, momentary peace.
He took back the skin of ale and took another drink for himself. "However," he said, smacking his lips, "you don't look too keen on the hunting part of the whole endeavour." They had spoken for a while during their brief truce. Aleksander had gotten to know Gael Hightower moderately well during that time. Perhaps that had been foolish; they were enemies still, by all accounts. And yet, they had clicked, somehow. Now, Aleks cared.
Many a lord and lady were invited to participate in the Knight of Ninestars hunting expedition in the Vale. Calla felt fortunate to count herself as one of the guests, with invitations for more social gatherings in the realms being a reflection that her once-ruined reputation was nicely on the mend. Becoming one of Queen Katherine's ladies certainly aided in her improved social standing, and the fact that Garland Hightower's pitiful downfall as well as his second separation made some people reevaluate what had once been Calla Lefford's fall from grace.
Upon arrival, the redhead had inevitably noticed the Karstark lord among the guests as well. A glance here and there had been exchanged between the two during the journey up the mountain, even as the first dinner was shared in the luxurious, large tent that had been set up.
The expedition began for the men, with most of the ladies staying behind to socialize amongst themselves or take the time to ride close to the camp. Calla rarely let pass an opportunity to go for a ride, and once she returned she found the hunters had already begun coming back as well. One hunter in particular was back. The Lefford lady hopped off her horse and handed the reins to an attendant when Aleksander Karstark called to her.
“Lord Karstark,” she greeted the man. It was odd to be so formal, after their past encounters involved the anonymous dancing of a Western masquerade, the playfulness of the improvised performance for the Litha festival, and the unspoken intimacy of tending to the small wounds he sustained in the tourney in Riverrun.
Before she could say anything else, the lord approached her with an evident air of familiarity that Calla quietly cherished, brushing away one of her stray curls, and gifting her a pretty flower that he gently placed behind her ear. “You did not go hunting, my lord? You opted to pick up a flower for me instead?” she asked in a mildly teasing way. It was a sweet gesture. She'd never been given a flower. A woman like her was always gifted jewels, and somehow being gifted a unique wildflower seemed all the more meaningful. A small treasure that wasn't meant to last, and therefore more lovely.
"Ah, I did both. I'm good at a great many things, m'lady," Aleksander grinned, easily falling into the same tone that coloured her voice now. Teasing, mischievous. He thought it suited her. Better than any jewelry or fancy dress he'd seen Calla in so far. This cheeky glimmer in her eyes made her look so alive it had his breath hitch in his throat. "Hunting, picking flowers for beautiful ladies..." he trailed off, the grin growing. "The list practically never stops goin' on." Aleks usually didn't pick flowers, didn't have to, to charm a pretty girl. He'd certainly never done such a thing solely for the purpose of making someone smile.
The hand that had put the flower behind her ear lingered, the tips of his fingers skimming over the shell of her ear, weaved through fiery locks, traced a faint line down the side of her neck, right before he let it fall back to his side. His grin softened to a smile. "They've called for a meal in the feast tent. Would ya care to accompany me? I hear the ale in the Vale is alright." Aleksander had never been called a galant for his mannerisms, and there was a good reason for it. One might have been that it looked horribly awkward and overexaggerated when he took a small bow and offered her his arm to take, were she to accept the invitation.
The ooh's and aah's spurred him on, while a simple kiss to his cheek had him falter. His mouth had opened in an effort to speak before, but as soon as her lips had settled on his cheek, he stopped in his tracks. Aleksander froze, his wooden sword hovering in mid air as he downright leaned into the kiss, head turning and eyes flickering back to look at Calla.
His own faltering and the lingering gaze he sent the Lady seemed to capture the attention of those watching in the halls of Riverrun even further. A hush fell over the room, the air thickening. Aleksander caught himself again, regained his composure. "I shall not let you down, oh gallant lady." His voice boomed with overdone bravery. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes was for Calla alone.
He jumped forward then, moving his sword in an overly noble flourish. The Lady in the position of the dangerous creature played her part admirably as well, as they moved back in forth as what could only be described as a complicated and theatrical fighting dance. It found its dramatic conclusion as the creature managed to overwhelm Aleksander's bold character in its own dying moments, accentuated by yells and shouts of the crowd. His knees hit the wooden stage with a thump, hands covering where he had to hold his own sword to his stomach. Aleks played up the ragged gasps, the heavy breathing. He was no stranger to seeing it on the battle field, but theater was something different entirely. His gaze flickered up to Calla, catching her eyes hidden behind her mask.
Calla heard the other characters around them respond to Aleksander —the brave Ogma in the theatrical representation— choosing to face the mysterious, nefarious Badb. Kissing the lord's cheek for good fortune was a perfect detail for such a moment in the story, of course. A kiss that to some extent hadn't been entirely playacting, but a spur-of-the-moment decision that the redhead made regarding a man she wished to know beyond the masks.
Calla clapped then, cheering on the valiant warrior that was to face the crow-like creature of dark magic. Her companions on the stage followed suit, clapping and even turning to encourage the audience to applaud the hero on the stage. It was all a mixture of heroics, laughter, and dramatics. In the end, it was the brave Ogma who fell in battle, accompanied by gasps and shouts from the crowd around them.
“Oh no, brave hero,” the lady rushed to his side after he was defeated, laying down and acting his agonizing death.
The acting troupe of the Coiméide na masc had given them all their masks, their roles to play, and special plot elements they could choose to bring to the story. Áine, her character, could either kill or save someone in the story, playing with that as Calla chose. And so this was the perfect moment for the melodrama of a fallen hero, a distressed damsel, and a magical return.
Calla was quick to evoke sadness, playacting a sentiment she was too well acquainted with. Grief. She threw herself on the agonizing, cradling him, rocking as she pleaded to the gods and the mystical magical forces of the world to save the warrior's life. Playing along with her, Mug Ruith, the magical sage within the performance, then told her to shed some tears to save Ogma's life. And so Calla managed to make herself cry on the stage and held Aleksander's body close.
It was a most magical end to the play. With Ogma's magical return to life, the rest of the characters were both inspired and emboldened to face and defeat Badb together.
When the play ended, all the actors —both members of the troupe and the nobles invited to participate— stood together to get the applause of their audience. Calla stood next to the Karstark lord, holding hands as they received the cheers for their performance. Inevitably, she smiled as they removed their masks and looked at each other in the eyes.
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Aleksander was relieved that Conall did not seem to require more explanation. Perhaps, if he had one or three tankards more, he could speak about it freely without concern. Still, he was grateful to the man across from him. "To us sorry losers," Aleksander agreed with a wide grin. "Can't get more sorry than us, it appears."
despite himself, conall chuckled, tipping his glass towards aleksander. "can't get sorrier, but i think we can be drunker," he jested. "so come on, then. let me see if i can keep up with a man of the north."
whatever she expected him to say, it had not been that. she could not conceal the surprise visible in her expression. feray felt her heart skip a beat in her chest, which was quickly followed by a wave of nausea. she put a hand on her ribs, trying to work out if it was her nerves or an actual problem with her heart, but she tried her best to make it look like she was simply cold. of course, she knew what aleksander meant, but she had no idea how a karstark of all people would have come to discover her secret. she was not going to confess to anything unless forced to. feray had kept her shame hidden for so long, and every time the secret had threatened to be exposed, she had covered it up. the mornings in white harbour where she was barely there, but she had found excuses to keep hiding the truth from the manderlys. and she had prayed after each lie, hoping she would finally have the strength to stop soon.
feray did her best to keep her composure, and try to remain nonchalant. perhaps aleksander only knew she went to the docks sometimes, and maybe his suspicions were wrong. she had once been teased by a dockworker about the docks being an odd place to meet a secret sweetheart. she'd rather aleksander suspected that than the truth.
“i enjoy them as much as anyone in white harbor.”
“is that really the question you sought an honest answer to, lord karstark?”
The word was blunt. An answer to whether this was the question he had sought an honest answer to. Purely on a technicality, she could deny him any more answers now. But he'd seen her reaction to his words, the clear shook, hurriedly masked as a passing chill.
"I enjoy visitin' the docks as well," he spoke, as though it was some sort of admittance that could bridge the noticeable difference in stance between them. An attempt to break down her obvious guard. "But I doubt I enjoy it the way you do. How much money do you spend, whenever you are there?" Aleksander's gaze was sharp and assessing, almost uncharacteristically so. This had been on his mind since he had spoken to that captain months ago. "I'm wonderin' if anyone's ever noticed. I'm wonderin' if anyone has ever asked you if you need - or want - help."
He would not voice her problem out loud, not while there could have potentially been any listening ears around, even if Aleksander did not notice anyone immediately nearby. Feray was still on guard. He needed her to let it down a little on her own. Needed her to admit the need for help on her own. Alek's wasn't even sure why he cared so much, but perhaps he simply knew what it felt like to rely on something that made you feel better for moments, and worse for hours afterwards.
she was fully prepared to turn and leave, but something in his expression halted her. it wasn't one she had seen him wear before, and there was something about it that had her perplexed. she didn't know what it meant, and there was nothing elia martell loathed more than being uncertain.
she allowed him to guide her to the fire, half-expecting him to leave her there and walk away. instead, he sat, and gestured with her to do the same. she wasn't sure why she did so, and as though to make up for the fact she'd done as he bid, she folded her arms across her chest.
the warmth was welcome. elia could feel the cold of the north deep in her bones, a million miles from the heat of dorne. she sighed, leaning instinctively closer to the flames. "you don't have to sit with me," she pointed out. "i'll be just fine by myself."
He noticed something tear at her. The same thing he saw sometimes, whenever they fell together, inevitable and gut wrenching. Aleksander had done followed her wishes time and time again, no matter how it ate away at him afterwards. This time, though, he was glad she stayed, for vastly different reasons. Aleksander felt a stirring in his chest, something of old. She was just the same, every time he saw her. Well, not the same. Time came for them all. But Elia Martell exuded beauty and grace, and he had been a fool for her years ago. Perhaps he still was, in his own way. Had he been any different, he would not have led her to the fire, would not have sat down and gestured for her to do the same.
"I know," he responded, calmly. Elia had always been fine by herself. That had never stopped Aleks from keeping her company before. "How have you been?" He asked, as though nothing at all had happened between them. "What's transpired after the last time we saw one another?"
casterly rock was a place neither familiar nor unfamiliar to elys brax. he could find his way around well enough, had visited enough times in memories both recent and older, but had not spent any prolonged periods of time here. with luck, that would change.
evidently, he had gleaned some knowledge from somewhere, for he knew the quickest way to the great hall from the quarters he found himself staying in during the celebrations. he had sloped back to his rooms to change his jacket, drops of wine from a clumsy girl from the stormlands staining its material. another man may not have cared, but to elys, image was everything.
he did not expect to encounter anybody until he drew closer once again to the hall, but clearly, he was not the only one to have stepped away. he could immediately tell it was a northman he was passing. if the scruffy appearance did not give it away, the lack of manners did the trick. not even a please.
these were all thoughts elys did not vocalise. instead, he nodded his head, gesturing for him to follow. he stepped to the side of the hallway before pressing forward, trying to keep his distance. the men of the north looked like they stank, and he was not eager to confirm or deny it. "i'm heading that way. we can walk together, lord...?" he paused, awaiting a name from the other man.
The other man seemed fine enough to lead him to where he needed to go. Clearly a Westerlander, Aleks thought, the best person to get him out of his current predicament. He threw a lopsided grin the other Lord's way as he began to lead without preamble. "Karstark," he quickly supplied. "Aleksander Karstark. And you are..?"
They proceeded to walk down the orange lit hallways, the vastness of Casterly Rock even more pronounced with how long the halls were they walked down, how many doors were to their left and right.
who: @calla-lefford
where: during the hunting trip hosted by the knight of ninestars
Ever since their last encounter after a tourney fight in the Riverlands, Aleksander would see a flash of red whenever he closed his eyes.
Her touch lingered, fingers light against his cheek, a thumb trailing over a split lip. He had thought Calla Lefford made entirely of fire and the temper of a lion, witty and sharp and unattainable whenever they had danced while donning their masks. And yet, the gentleness she had shown him taking care of his, admittedly trivial, wounds had him staying still, leaning into the softness like a wounded animal. A starved sunflower turning towards the light.
The feeling terrified him. However, at the same time, he could not help coming back for more. Aleks had never been good at self preservation, and there was nothing about the Lady that made him want to run. Perhaps for her sake. Perhaps to spare her some heartache.
He twirled a wildflower between his thumb and index finger as he approached, comically hesitant. Aleksander hid it at his side as he stepped around her horse, watching as she stepped off her saddle. "My Lady," he called, a smirk building on his lips. "I have been dying to find a private moment to tell you..." Performatively, he trailed off, making a show of looking unsure. He took another step closer and raised his free hand, brushing a stray lock of her from her face. "There's something on your face..." In a sneaky moment, his other hand lifted to tuck the picked wildflower behind her ear. "There. Better."
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who: @gael-hightower
where: during the hunting trip hosted by the knight of ninestars
Some friendships were fragile things.
Forged in precarious situations, scales easily tipped by circumstance and fate. He had found such a friendship with Gael Hightower of all people. They had stood on wholly different sides of the war; one on the side of the green dragons and the other on the side of Rhaenyra Targaryen's faction.
Some friendships formed during the quiet moments, when one dance has ended before another would begin. Some friendships blossomed with kindness. An impossibly gentle moment within inexplicable violence.
Aleksander felt himself half back in a memory now, one foot on a battle field and another on jade green grass in the Vale of Arryn. He approached Gael Hightower and extended a skin of ale. "You look thirsty." The words echoed. Within the glade. Within time.
who: @elysbrax
where: casterly rock during the festivities in the westerlands
Aleksander did not know where he was headed.
Casterly Rock was wholly confusing. Well, he supposed any place was, when you were there for the first time. And maybe, Aleksander was a little drunk already. It was a gods awful dinner hosted within the great hall of the castle, in honor of the festivities. He had only looked for a moment at the fresh air and found himself on a balcony overlooking the cliffs there. Only, finding his way back had proved more difficult than he had thought it would.
By now, he assumed he was in a place he surely was not supposed to be at. Comely hallways lit in candle light, orange flames and it's shadows painting the walls. Were these the sleeping quarters? It could have been.
After what seemed like an eternity of wandering around aimlessly, Aleks was glad to stumble into someone, no matter how unfamiliar the face was.
"Do ya know how to get back to the Great Hall? I seem ta have lost my way."
