the game of thrones.

as written by   maddy   (  she / her  ,  twenty three  ,  est   )   for  proeliarp

elayna  never  cared  to  understand  the  patriarchal  societies  that  all  of  northern  westeros  had  adopted.  most  often,  their  leadership  only  lead  to  wars  because  of  their  thin  perception  of  self  while  touting  the  strength  of  their  armies.  good  men  sent  to  their  deaths  for  trivial  insults  that  would  never  matter  once  they  leave  this  realm  of  existence.  beyond  the  wars  that  were  fought,  it  seemed  most  often  that  the  greatest  kings  had  a  woman  whispering  in  their  ear  anyhow.  she  never  quite  understood  why  those  women  did  not  overthrow  the  men  that  were  wrapped  around  their  fingers.  

he  did  not  belong  here,  at  the  funeral  of  a  king  he  had  never  met,  but  it  seemed  death  bed  confessions  and  the  funeral  of  a  different  king  he  had  also  never  met  were  enough  to  provide  the  guilt  needed  to  garner  an  invitation  for  the  son  of  argilac  durrandon.  however,  it  quickly  became  clear  that  an  invitation  was  not  a  sign  of  a  difference  in  …   well  he  would  question  any  expectations  he  might  have  had.  the  limbo  he  drifted  through  now,  a  ship  without  port,  would  not  leave  him  it  seemed.  he  could  not  so  easily  return  to  the  ships  he  once  built,  nor  could  he  stand  amongst  the  lords  and  ladies  of  westeros.

despite  the  changing  of  seasons,  there’s  still  a  chill  in  places  like  this  — —  there  would  always  be  wind  this  high  in  the  mountains.  still,  toman  believes  it  might  be  better  out  here  than  the  chill  of  the  cold  or  alternatively  curious  stares  of  nobles.  he’s  given  a  few  moments  of  solace  before  hearing  the  steps  of  another.  he  swallows,  averting  his  gaze  from  the  woman.  

        ‘  apologies,  m’lady,  ’  he  speaks  with  a  twinge  of  the  docks  he  was  born  to,  despite  the  lessons  that  were  supposed  to  make  him  presentable  since  his  father  revealed  him  to  the  world.  ‘  i  didn’t  expect  anyone  t’be  out  here.  ’

 the  vale  was  much  harsher  than  her  home  in  more  ways  than  one  —  sharp  inclines  and  jagged  rocks,  cold  climate  and  trees  with  limbs  that  stretch  in  odd  angles.  that  her  father  had  sent  her  in  his  place  to  the  vale  to  pay  respects  to  the  deceased  king  surprised  her  greatly,  though  she  was  certain  there  was  some  ulterior  motive.  it  twisted  her  stomach  to  think  what  she  might  find  when  she  gets  home  —  or  rather,  what  might  not  be  there  when  she  returns.  the  chill  that  races  down  her  spine  could  be  blamed  on  the  temperature,  unused  to  the  way  it  bites  through  her  clothing,  but  it  runs  deeper.  

 for  once,  though,  remaining  inside  is  suffocating.  the  amount  of  people  seems  to  press  in  on  her  after  spending  so  much  time  alone.  outside  is  equally  uncomfortable  for  the  cold,  but  at  the  very  least  she  could  breathe.  it  smelled  different  here,  the  scents  of  home  that  she  was  used  to  had  not  followed  her  this  far  north.  she  pulls  her  cloak  a  little  tighter  around  her  as  she  wanders.

once upon a time, so many years ago now — so many in fact, she’s lived longer without than with, she had been betrothed. her father’s planning and her mother’s begrudging acceptance had placed thalia butterwell’s hand into peregrine gardener’s. a second son to be married to an only daughter, all of the assets of an entire family placed dangling above the shoulders of peregrine, all before thalia could quite understand what her father was giving away with a flourished letter and gifts of wine. 

they had been slated to meet the season that peregrine lost his brother. she remembers the day the letter came from the reach, the way her father had stormed through whitewalls and slammed his study door shut. she’d heard it a thousand times since then, but none to loud as that day. the crown prince of the reach was dead, peregrine was to take his brother’s position, and their match was no longer suitable for a king. their betrothal was broken. she had no mother to turn to, to ask questions. though it likely made no difference in his life, she’d written him a letter expressing her sorrow for his loss and that should he need anything she would help as she could.

the vale is not the first place that she would have chosen to travel. though in truth, the notion could have stopped at anything that she thought she could do. currently, she stands — she cannot bring herself to sit and crease the couch or touch the perfect way that the room is aligned. you will make yourself invisible, girl. she would not leave any part of herself behind here. she knew better.

the jagged edges of the cliff face captures her attention for the moment, so harsh in comparison to the endless plains of her home. though she does not wish poor weather on those traveling the rest of this journey, watching a storm crest those cliffs would be a sight in itself. storms had no care for what was torn down in their path, selfish and unforgiving, they would destroy anything. not her though. never her.