𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤

GROWING STRONG:    ELANUR  TYRELL,   lady  longthorn.

the  king  welcomes  elanur  of  house  tyrell  of  highgarden  !  all  of  court  has  heard  that  they  are  free - spirited  and  resourceful,  but  whispers  claim  that  they  are  also  hardheaded  and  saucy  when  no  one  is  looking  …  how  much  of  that  is  true,  we  will  soon  find  out.  asking  around,  we  are  told  that  they  remind  people  of  dancing  to  the  beat  of  your  own  drum,  no  matter  how  many  feet  you  step  on;  beautiful  gowns  defaced  with  grass  stains  &  bedazzled  pouches  carrying  various  knick - knacks;  and  a  moth's  instinctive  draw  towards  the  light  ─  that  should  give  the  bards  something  to  sing  about  !  unbeknown  by  most,  helping  to  repair  their  family's  most  ill - judged  reputation  is  the  real  reason  why  they  answered  the  call  of  the  king,  but  with  so  many  rumors  flying  around,  who  is  to  say  what  the  truth  is  ?

click  on  her  underlined name  to  be  redirected  to  her  intro.  ♡ 🌹 — musings, appearance, threads.

elanur isn't much of a drinker, she never has been, but she can't deny that she is deeply curious and ever committed to always doing as the locals do on her travels. it's how she finds herself staring down at a most generous cup of black beer, her eyes widening with apprehension as she swirls it a bit, noting its thickness. gods, she thinks. do they really drink this? and enjoy it, too? not wanting to risk chickening out — or worse: be a bad guest — elanur brings the cup to her lips at last and takes one brave mouthful.

which, of course, is the greatest mistake she's made yet.

immediately, no. she will not be swallowing this. she cannot swallow this. seven hells, she could practically fucking chew it if she wanted to. eugh. northerners and their endless curiosities — no wonder they are the way they are. she looks around, fully intending to spit it back in her cup, when she catches someone's eye.

great. now she has to swallow it.

which, actually, turns out to be an even bigger mistake.

it's moments like this that elanur treasures the most: the ones that are theirs alone and require no such performance, only an open heart and open legs, too, when the stars align. she reaches out from where she lays on her side, her head resting on a pillow and her body covered by the scratchy sheets, to comb her fingers through his greying hair. it's a little damp now, even more tousled, too, she notes with a smile, but just as soft as ever. if they're to rejoin the others soon, she'll have to remember to fix it for him. "hm, very well then, my sweet. i've decided quite magnanimously to forgive you after all," she says matter - of - factly, voice sweet and playful and rife with mischief.

this, of course, comes after chiding him for his lack of participation in more of their host's events and goading him into giving her a more private display of his strength and athleticism in recompense. to which... what can she say? old habits die hard and she's missed her beloved quite fiercely. furthermore, if they are to politick in a land so cold and unwelcoming, then making their own warmth is no less than necessary. "perhaps  it is  a  blessing  you’ve  no  interest  in  tug  o’  war, for if  anything  were to  happen  to  those  hands  of  yours  on  this  trip..." elanur tuts, then pats him on the cheek, her smile growing ever more satisfied. "why, i simply could not bear it."

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 : how does your muse protect the people they love?

elinor  is  quick  to  assume  the  blame.   it's  her  fault,   it  was  her  idea,   she's  the  one  who  did  it  ( only  the  seven  know  just  how  many  times  elinor  took  the  fall  for  something  eduardo  did ),   etc.   people  have  a  tendency  to  be  sweeter  on  her,   and  no  matter  how  she  feels  about  it,   she's  not  above  using  it  to  her  advantage  to  help  someone  she  loves.   if  she  knows  she'll  get  off  easier  for  it,   then  she'll  go  down  for  whatever  you  did  instead.

i  also  think  she'd  be  willing  to  do  the  hard  thing.   as  in,   if  you're  hesitating,   scared,   or  not  strong  enough  to  do  something,   she'll  buck  up  and  do  it  for  you.   

show  her  a  little  bit  of  loyalty  and  make  her  feel  like  a  real  person,   and  she’ll  be  your  scapegoat  and  most  willing  sin - eater,   the  one  who  dirties  her  hands  or  sullies  her  name  so  you  don’t  have  to.   if  she  loves  you,   and  i  mean  truly  loves  you,   then  she’ll  damn  herself  to  hell  for  you  without  question.   what  the  gods  failed  to  grant  her  in  terms  of  physicality,   she  more  than  makes  up  for  in  heart  and  sheer  determination.   if  she  thinks  she  can  save  you  any  grief,   guilt,   or  feelings  of  shame,   the  wretched  ghosts  that  have  haunted  her  since  she  was  but  a  girl,   then  she’ll  do  it.   whatever  it  is.

just  do  her  a  favor  and  politely  ignore  what  that  all  might  reveal  about  her  self - worth.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 : what parts of your muse are considered hard to love, and how do they deal with that?

elinor  is  far  more  sensitive  than  she's  willing  to  admit  and  it  manifests  in  various  ways.   

anger,   usually.   it’s  far  more  tolerable  to  be  spitting  mad  and feeling bigger than you are than  to be sobbing  into  your  pillow and feeling small as a pebble.   when  she  sees  red,   she  tears  the  whole  world  down.   what  you  told  her  in  confidence,   what  she's  observed  from  up  close  and  afar  —  there's  a  non - zero  %  chance  it'll  be  weaponized  against  you  when  at  war.   it’s  hard  for  her  to  see  any  of  the  lines  previously  drawn  when  she’s  in  such  a  fury,   and  so  she  tends  to  trample  all  over  them,   saying  things  she’s  not  entirely  sure  she  means,   but  hopes  will  hurt  you  just  as  much  as  you’ve  hurt  her.   when  she  was  younger,   tantrums  and  meltdowns  were  a  given;   now,   less  so.   there  is  much  she  could  do  to  deal  with  this  that  she  does  not  and  will  not  do.   sometimes,   her  anger  is  all  she  has.   if  she  stamps  that  out,   what  will  she  have  left?   who  else  will  pick  up  that  fight if not her?

she  remembers  how  you  make  her  feel  and  she  does  not  forget.   kindness  sits  with  her  for  a  long  time,   but  hurt  sits  even  longer  still.   as  such,   she  holds  grudges  even  when  she  wishes  she  wouldn't.   she  may  forgive  you,   but  her  fingers  will  inevitably  drift  back  to  that  old  wound  and  prod  it  open  again.   she  tries  to  let  things  go  in  time,   tries  very  hard  to  choose  grace,   but  they  cling  to  her,   refusing  to  let  her  be.

the iron islands were a cold and queer place. from the rocky terrain beneath her feet to all who trod on it, most everywhere elinor looked she saw sharp and hard edges. there was no sun to beat down on her bare back here and no lush greenery to pad her every footstep. it was all salt and stone, life in a constant fight to seize another day. still, she was nothing short of determined in her search of reprieve, and it was that very determination that had brought her to lordsport to celebrate lord botley.

lady elinor adjusted her grip on the axe handle and raised her hands into position. the first time they'd done this, elinor's axe had bounced off the target and onto the dirt. the botley had given her pointers then, and so had highgarden's master at arms in the months that followed — pointers that she was sure to put into practice when letting it fly now.

her weapon aimed true: the toe of it just barely striking the center of the target. still too low, but that was the best she'd gotten yet, and with how preoccupied she'd been lately, she was more than happy to take it. "ha!" with a hand on her hip, elinor whirled around to beam at rhygar, chin up and chuffed as could be. "i'd like to dedicate that one to you, my lord, in honor of your name day," she chuckled, dusting off her hands. "speaking of... one and forty, is it?" elinor nodded approvingly. "do you feel any wiser?" then, eyebrow quirked and cheeky as ever, but sure he could take it: "older, perhaps?"