Swift as a deer. Quiet as shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

Valarr wasn’t at all surprised at the turn of events, he only wished he made more of an effort to put money on the events. Wagering coin to see who would crack first and make an attempt to escape. He decided that he wanted to drink more and he wanted to snoop. Snooping was his favorite part of visiting any place. He was a stranger to Winterfell and it would be easy to wander into the wrong with the smell of wine on him and confusion in his eye. Though, he would say that many of the Northmen seemed too blunt for coyness and that made it all the more fun. He walked through the hall, greeting those around him, it was the sort of friendliness meant to leave a taste in your mouth, something too sweet to make men wonder what he knew. 

Getting back to King’s Landing would be nice, in King’s Landing he could sit down and really put his trade to use. Writing ravens and sealing the fates of those that were unlucky enough to fall into his path of revenge. A path of destruction that he wanted to see ending with no one doubting he was the blood of the Dragon. Even bastards could breathe fire. Valarr took a drink from his cup as he moved around the room and through people, coming to a stop as he spotted his brother. 

Aeron, the lucky bastard has a name he could share with their father though he was a Waters all the same. There were some differences between the bastards. Valarr’s mother being highborn was one of those reasons, it allowed him to be fostered in nice places and to grown above his tainted birth. Valarr walked over to him, “brother.” A smile came to him easily as he addressed the other. The open “secret”. Then again, everything was an open secret through Valarr’s eyes. 

         there is much that men don’t know, he says, and jeyne cannot help but smile a little at how right he is. even if there are no such things as ghosts or ice dragons, there is a whole secret world unseen, but very much alive beneath their noses. this surely isn’t what he means, though ; it is only a little blustering, a hedging of bets. two hundred years ago men made the mistake of claiming all dragons were dead, and today still, men are hesitant to disbelieve lest their hubris be corrected by the gods. 

          this does not surprise her, but she doesn’t expect what he says next, her curiosity piqued. “ oh ? ” a twitch in her forehead as brows knit in polite confusion. “ surely you don’t mean the watery halls of the drowned god ? ” she inquires, presumptive ; the velayrons are sailors and seafarers, but still decidedly southern. is what he says not edging close to blasphemy ?

.

“the drowned god is a bloated seal wearing driftwood.” he rolled his eyes, “you should ask your maester about, the seven can’t protect the sea. nor can they protect sailors.” he wouldn’t spend their time talking about the pact with the merling king and the velaryons. there were many gods in the narrow sea. and when he sailed far enough he would visit the house of black and white to visit the statue of the merling king. but, he supposed, that she wouldn’t know. most didn’t. the seven, the trees, or the bloated man. he spit on them. 

are   you  coping ?  a  question  innocent  enough ,  yet  jo  does  not  have  an  answer.  not  a good  one  at  least ,  beyond  the  jape  that  leaves  her  lips. “  beyond  the  odd  little  inclination  scream  myself  hoarse ,  i’d  say  i’m  doing  as  well  as  anyone’s  expected  to  be in  this  situation.  ”

dorian  took  a  step  to  the  side  the  very  moment  joanna  raised  her  spear  to  strike , causing  the  stark  princess  to  very  nearly  topple  to  the  ground.  she  caught  herself  at  the  last  moment ,  her  boots  digging  into  the  packed  dirt  of  the  training  yard.  in  the brief  moment  she  allowed  herself  a  moment’s  respite  —  dorian’s  taunts  rang  through  her  ears  and  with  it ,  a  white - hot  flame  alit  in  the  young  woman’s  eyes. 

propelling  the  rest  of  her  body  forwards  from  her  heels ,  joanna  leapt  in  the  air  and brought  her  spear  down  hard  against  dorian’s.  “  needles  ? sweet  cakes ?  has  our  time apart  muddled  your  memory  of  me ? ”  joanna  teased  between  a  barely - concealed grimace  and  a  swing  of  her  spear. “  i  must  say  i’m  almost  hurt ,  dear  dorian. ”

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“screaming is counterproductive and disruptive.” dorian didn’t encourage expressing yourself loudly. choose violence. when violence was the option then choose that option. it was good to hit at something or someone. he thought it was a wonderful feeling to bottle his emotions until he was sparring with someone and forcing them to yield under his fury. but he supposed that for most it was the best feeling to scream or cry. or maybe she joked with him. a jest. 

“i suppose it has but maybe it’s your...skill. if that’s what we can even call it.” he smirked and raised his own spear against her swinging. the feeling was wonderful, the feeling of being able to get her to swing at him with purpose and to connect. “oh, that was a good one. this is what I was waiting for, a proper match.” 

before deciding to join the kingsguard, dorian spent his days dreaming of fighting across the lands. he wanted to be known as the worlds greatest swordsmen. not just the greatest swordsman in dorne. he had yet to come across someone that could out match him. he used to hope that one day he would learn the truth of his mother, that she was a dayne and he would one day be the sword of the morning. 

━━           ❛❛         lothian   offered   a   chuckle   at   the   man’s   solliloquy.   a   half-forgotten   impulse   surged   up   within   him,   both   pleased   and   taxed   by   the   diatribe,   by   how   abruptly   it   came   from   the   grove’s   eaves.   watchers   and   heralds,   saints   and   supplicants   ;   the   questions   came   barreling   as   if   he   had   entered   a   sept.   how   bold   of   the   little   lord,   was   it   not   ?   taking   aegon’s   man   to   task   over   a   stroll.   he   rounded   one   shoulder,   silent   and   veiled.   no   polished   greetings,   then.   his   movements   were   lost   in   the   ibbenese   pelts   he  had   draped   over,   that   boon   against   the   northern   cold   which   he   bought   as   soon   as   they   received   the   missive.   lothian   had   this   gift,   by   way   of   nothing   at   all   ;   to   stretch   silence   long   past   its   point   of   pleasure.   his   simper   whittled   into   a   huff,   until   it   tapered   out   entirely.   its   contemplative   sound   impaled   into   the   weirwood   bark.   in   the   end,   the   advisor   sat   down   on   the   ring   of   stones,   smile   still   high   in   the   air.   he   pretended   to   mull   over   the   question.   ❝   how…   philosophical.   in   losing   one   maester,   perhaps   we   gained   another.   tell   me,   is   there   much   theology   to   be   had   up   in   casterly   rock   —   anthor,   is   it   not   ?  for   you   sure   sound   as   if   you’ve   read   your   fill.   ❞

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             AT  LEAST  HE  SEEMED  TO  AGREE  WITH  HER,  that  was  somewhat  promising.  considering  all  things,  it  could  have  been  worse  —  aegon  could  have  betrothed  her  to,  gods  forbid,  a  true  northener.  that  would  have  been  catastrophic,  her  friendship  with  joanna  was  enough  to  prove  it,  as  much  as  she  actually  liked  the  stark  princess,  their  varying  opinions  regarding  certain  matters  …  well,    quentin’s  expression  whenever  they  got  into  it  was  enough  to  know.  though,  then  again,  he  was  usually  already  passed  out  from  the  amounts  of  wine  they’d  managed  to  feed  their  poor  friend.

             ❝  hearing  you,  it  seems  they  disregard  the  status  of  anyone  who  is  not  from  the  north  proper,  ❞  she  would  have  been  hesitant  about  the  words,  but  rhaella  knew  damn  well  the  westerlands  and  north  were  as  different  as  night  and  day  —  customs,  lifestyle,  even  religion.  she  also  figured  it  must  frustrate  at  least  some  of  them.  ❝  there  will  be  questions  regarding  our  feelings  on  love?  i  suppose  you’re  right,  love  does  tend  to  make  fools  of  even  the  best  men,  but  i  would  figure  the  motive  to  be  political,  if  anything.  ❞  she  gently  hid  the  suggestion  in  her  words  to  speak  more  on  the  matter,  intrigued  —  partially  about  how  anthor  felt,  partially  if  there  was  anything  she  could  pass  on  to  valarr  for  more  information.

             she  had  not  spoken  much  to  anthor  before,  and  despite  her  dislike  for  their  current  …  situation,  rhaella’s  curiosity  ultimately  won  out.  there  were  many  reasons  she  had  never  even  looked  for  a  marriage  before  aegon  set  her  up,  but  the  largest  was  her  list  of  criteria  —  most  of  which  related  to  her  position.  it  would  be  intriguing  to  learn  more,  see  if  he  at  least  met  some  of  them.  ❝  i  get  frustrated  with  useless  questions  regardless  of  how  long  they  take,  so  i  fear  this  might  go  poorly.  ❞  she  smiled  at  that,  light-hearted.  anyone  who  knew  rhaella  knew  her  time  was  precious  to  her,  and  she  did  not  do  well  with  distractions.

             pausing  for  barely  a  breath,  rhaella  straightened  up  slightly,  turning  her  face  towards  anthor  properly.  ❝  would  you  care  to  walk  me  over?  my  turn  should  be  up  soon,  so  i  could  use  to  hear  some  more.  ❞  it  was  the  largest  sort  of  invitation  she  would  give,  considering  her  stubborn  nature.

.

“They do. Everyone gets treated equally, as below him.” Anthor didn’t like the feeling. He tried, for a time, to get wrapped up in Northern culture. He didn’t fully understand their ways, the only thing that seemed to stick was his fascination with the Northern Gods. They were the Gods that seemed to exists and respond. The Northern Gods and the fire God. If he had to pick, he pick the one that wouldn’t burn him. A fear of being burned and marrying a dragon. His best laid plans required stepping out of his comfort zone. 

She smiled at him and he wondered how long it would take for his heart to flutter at the sight of her smile. He wondered if her beauty would ever be enough to stop him in his tracks and leave him speechless. Anthor wondered if he would ever love her, he wanted to be that guy that embraced his marriage and his wife. He wanted to be that guy that would love his wife above all else but that would make him weak, wouldn’t it? He didn’t want to be weak. Anthor wanted to demonstrate his strength for all to see, he wanted people to look at him talk of how his legacy would overtake his fathers. 

Anthor nodded, he would not be nervous and he would not have her wishing that she didn’t ask him to walk with her somewhere. He had a habit of speaking endlessly and he would swear that he could feel the words lining up neatly and waiting spill out of his mouth and crown the path before them. 

   She offered an awkward smile at the mention of a raven, perhaps some bitterness in her blood at the jealousy of him being able to travel period. Dora was far to concerned with her family to find a reason to leave, although she wanted to. What was the south like? Did the sun blaze in a free sky? “You find it fascinating? – Well I suppose it is a way to look at it, I’m finding people are tense and lost in their own thoughts.” Not that she had much to say, staring off at the sky before Valarr joined. “You may call me Isadora if you like, not as though there’s anyone around to judge if you did…” The mention of drunken sailors, lords, her lips twitched.  “All we need is sugar, rum and tea. I think it would be a much more enjoyable event.”

.

“There’s something fascinating about people in moments of high stress and tension. They’re so willing to tell you something they shouldn’t to make you leave.” Valarr smiled at her, he wondered if there was a secret that she would have for him on such a bitterly, beautiful day.  He crossed his arms behind his back, “And you may call me Valarr, it rolls off the tongue so easily.” It would be a nice day if he could get something fascinating to take back rub in the face of his sister during a council meeting. “That’s my favorite. Nothing says it’ll be a productive meeting quite like a mug of sugar, tea, and rum. If you ask for it too loud the singing starts.” 

“Andals?” Eivor asked before shaking his head, but not allowing for Anthor to answer his question. “Ah, yes. You mean the land stealing, godless, son’s of whores who drove my people from there homelands.” He hummed with a small smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Suppose that is yet another one of those small differences in our language.” Eivor joked as he took a seat next to Anthor. His light coat and furs laying loosely along his back. Eivor was custom to a much colder climate. Though some here could not imagine such a thing. “Which brings rise to a very interesting question. Who might you be, then? That so many people folk to find you.” He inquired with a raised eye brow and an extended hand. “Eivor Hagen of House Crow. Ruling Lord of the Ice Coast.” 

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“Yeah, those are the ones I’m talking about.” He smiled a bit and then looked back in front of him. The other joined him and that was nice enough. It was good enough to have some company he supposed. The Gods have plenty of time to go around. Anthor looked at the other, he was a true Northman. They all had a look about them, a way of seeming to be always caked with dirt but finely dressed. They didn’t look to be street urchins but he wouldn’t be surprised if they were. “Ser Anthor Lefford of House Lefford.” He used to make it a habit of announcing his father and his position but he was a man now and men didn’t rely on their fathers. Well, Lefford men didn’t. Couldn’t. 

who: aegon targaryen & anyone  ( @brokenstarters​ )  when: a few days after king edric stark’s coronation  where: the godswood, winterfell

lost  in  thought  (  a  phenomena  becoming  more  &  more  frequent  in  the  passing  days  ) aegon  targaryen ,  seventh  of  his  name , wandered  winterfell’s  godswood.  beneath  the night  black  as  velvet  &  the  canopy  of  leaves  red  as  blood ,  his  mind  ran  through  the history  contained  within  these  three  acres. it  was  said  that  brandon  the  builder  built winterfell  to  surround  this  ancient  grove,  that  torrhen  stark  bent  the  knee  to  the  first aegon  targaryen  here. prince  jacaerys  velaryon  married  sara  snow  before  the  heart  tree during  the  dance  of  dragons. 

further  tales ( contested  as  they  might  be  by  the  more  skeptical  of  maesters  ) suggested  that  if  one  stood  still  enough, they  could  hear  the  weirwoods  whisper  secrets,  tell  men  of  their  hearts  desire.  now ,  before  the  great  heart  tree  at  the  center  of  the  wood,  only one  thing  stood  out  in  aegon’s  mind  —  there  was  already  one  king  who  knelt.  why  not  another ?

the  southern  king  was  interrupted  from  his  musings  once  he  heard  someone  call  his  name.  he  lifted  his head  from  the  clouded  dreams  within  his  mind  &  turned  to  face them. “ ah ,  forgive  me. i  did  not  hear  you. ”  his  voice  calm  &  even ,  hands  folded  behind  his  back. his eyes flickered back to the red  “  the  godswood  of  winterfell  is  an  incredible  place ,  is  it  not ? ”

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anthor followed the old gods. when he was a boy on casterly wandering through the caves he came upon the cave of the weirwood. the walk path through a tunnel of entangled weirwood roots. they said that weirwoods knew the history of those all around them and he wondered what the tree knew of casterly. he wondered what if whispered of his house. he would swear that they heard his whispers, they answered him in a way the seven never did. he would credit the old gods for the strength given to him throughout his life. 

with so many around he wasn’t surprised that he seemed to be coming across most everyone in these godwoods. he didn’t expect to see the king, the southern king. the southern king to be standing there lost in a thought so deep his greeting went unheard. he could have turned away but the man would his brother by law. he could have walked away, he chose to walk forward, maybe it would offend the man for anthor to turn from him and walk away. with his luck he would find himself spotted as he wondered away. 

“no forgiveness required, your grace. the gods have a way of leaving us wordless. it renders the everything else unimportant.” anthor looked toward the red leaves, “their like hands reaching out to hold each other, blocking out the sun and stars.” anthor offered a bow, “are you well? shall i leave you to commune with these northern gods?” 

@brokenstarters​

Open To All 

Tristan had never done particularly well when under constraint. Being under lockdown in Winterfell was, undeniably, a constraint, one that had his skin itching and his nerves on edge. Not since he had first returned to Wayfarer’s Rest had he last felt like this, as though there was nowhere to run. He sat in the library now. It wouldn’t be his usual choice of venue, but without a change of scenery,he felt he would grow honestly and truly mad. 

It wouldn’t hold him forever, wouldn’t keep him satisfied for long, but it was enough for now. Tristan sat upon his chair, long legs crossed at the ankles, book in hand. A rare sight. The Lord could not remember the last time he had so much as glanced at a book - perhaps back before he had left the Riverlands the first time around, for reading certainly did not take up much of his time in The Free Cities. 

Tristan heard the tell-tale sounds of footsteps upon the stone floor. There was never a moment of peace in Winterfell, and though he usually preferred to be alone, he was finding himself more and more grateful of that fact. Snapping the book shut, he raised his head, surveying the newcomer thoughtfully. 

“Have you come to tell me they have found the culprits, and we can all go home? I’m afraid my mood won’t much improve unless that’s the case.”

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Ah, Anthor. Perhaps she had been looking for him subconsciously. It was a sense of being able to put a little bit of her guard down - he was someone she recognized. So many lieges had shifted and created alliances since she had last been a lady, and she found herself reminiscing over lost friends and fond memories. She had started a new chapter in her life, and Anthor’s had barely begun. “You can plot and hide while still praying to them.” She was no exception to this rule. “Did I disturb you, Thor? I can’t drive you out of your spot, not when it’s the only sense of peace we’ll have around here.”

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@deeperthanswcrds​

“I yield,” Tristan called, tossing his sword to one side and holding up his hands in surrender. When he had left The Golden Company, he never would have dreamed of giving up, even a harmless sparring match. Still, Dorian was a formidable opponent, and despite his adventures, Tristan was woefully out of practise. “But I am willing to fight again. After a short break, of course.” He would ache tomorrow, but he didn’t really mind.

.

          curiosity quirks her brow, sharp face tilting slightly more towards him, inquisitive. it’s become something of a pastime, playing at frivolity, testing where the boundaries of someone’s beliefs lie. most men believe only a fool fears that which he cannot apprehend. it’s what her father would say, when faced with her mother’s omens and anxieties. “ oh ? ” a hint of disbelief in her tone at his unexpected response. “ not that i don’t wholeheartedly agree, of course, ” she hurries to add, lest he feel himself questioned, or mocked ; the lord of the tides strikes her as a proud man, not the sort to enjoy being laughed at. 

          then again, seafarers were always of a more superstitious sort. perhaps he heard tales of sea monsters as a child, as jeyne had been told of lann the clever ; and who could fault him for believing them ? “ but what else is there, then ? according to the velaryons. a house as old as that, my lord must have countless ancient tales. ”

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daemon couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him, he could never tell when women were making fun of him. he squinted as she spoke and tilted his head to the side, did he walk into mockery? rarely did he find women that mocked him but he supposed anything could be possible. he ran his fingers over his hair and hummed. “there is much that men don’t know. anything is possible.” 

Humming softly at the other man’s words, Eivor walked a bit closer to the Heart tree. His hand brushing over its bark as he looked at the bright red leaves. The mirror imagine of this tree had been tattooed to his back years prier. “I find it odd, after all these years, that many still referrer to them as the old gods.” He admitted. “For my people, they are simply the gods. The gods of the forest.” Eivor went on. He came from the blood of Wildlings. They had never known any other gods but those who these people called old. “No. I am not lost nor am I looking for you.” He shook his head, blue eyes finally casting themselves towards Anthor. “No need to go. As you say, the gods are always watching. Regardless of whether we sit alone or with others.”

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