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@iceforveins
( victor alli , thirty-seven , cis-man , he/him ) : ANNOUNCING !! lord edrik of house stark hailing from winterfell. they are known to be calm , careful but also, prideful , inflexible across the realm. there are faint whispers that they support house velaryon alongside their house. they are currently at court in driftmark.
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"i would welcome them and their wisdom, my lord." what remained unspoken was what both knew, that the maester of driftmark was bound to the velaryons out of long-standing, profound loyalty -- and that scholars of the realm would not so easily abandon oldtown, firmly steeped in the red and black of the house of dragon. "perhaps in another life and as a man, i would've tried my hand at learning in the citadel. until restlessness would've urged me to free myself of my chain and apply my knowledge elsewhere." such a path would've led her to dorne once more, ashara was sure of it. her heart, in any life she might've lead, past or present, would always lead her to dorne. a hand intuitively smoothed over the curve of her belly. the child eager to make its presence known, and the mother even more so to hold it in her arms. "you've nothing to apologise for, your sister has been most gracious in her efforts to help me settle in. the babe, both babes, are well. though i suppose my son is a babe no more, he has discovered the joys of walking. he took his first steps upon our arrival, it bodes well for our time on driftmark." she smiled, warm and sincere. "your injuries, do they bother you much? a brew may help, to ease aches and help you sleep."
"i would gladly entrust my wellbeing into your hands if you were a maester of my keep, my lady. i heard you are good with herbal remedies." edrik was generous and genuine with his entrustment. ashara dayne was now a karstark, and therefore a trusted distant cousin of the wolves of the north.
edrik saw the ember in the woman's eyes as she spoke of her children. such joy and pride was something he wished for himself one day. "if any luck, he'd learn how to swim as well since we are on an island."
a laugh, he felt such an ease around the lady. many had come to speak to him lately, but very few brought him peace. "i am healing quite nicely, my lady. thanks to lorent tyrell, it is only a flesh wound rather than a loss of life."
and now that the lady had wedded into the north, edrik knew her insights would be invaluable. “forgive me for bringing politics before you so soon after we have just met, but i am curious on your thoughts on the north’s chosen alliance in this war. with king corwyn’s death, do we have a lost cause on our hands?”
The pain that first hit Daella has eased somewhat. No longer is she spending all hours of the day sobbing in her chambers. She wished that she knew what the answer to the afterlife is. She hopes that there is one. The pain and pure anguish this war has cursed many, including her family… what was the point of it all? Whoever the victor may be… is a throne, a crown truly worth the sacrifice of the blood spilt?
She lets out a weary tired sigh from the Lord Stark’s question. “If only the dead could truly talk. I am sure they can— if we believe the mystic of magic. Perhaps my concern would be what happens to the dead after.
“My concerns— are if the dead are at peace when they leave this world and onto the next.”
it was daella blackwood—a recent resident of driftmark. edrik had been informed of every new arrival to corwyn's island from king's landing. and it was simply heartbreaking that the lady arrived only to receive the news of her sister's death.
having lost a brother to this treacherous war and two sisters still remaining on the other side, edrik empathized with the lady's heartbreaking words. his grey eyes cast low as he contemplated on her lamentation of the dead. "i do not have a true answer to your question, my lady."
the hand reached inside his breast pocket and produced a handkerchief for the lady, in case tears came to her eyes without control. "i am very sorry for your loss, lady daella. your sister was taken too young, too early."
He may have taken her hand in his but she could still see the fear - or what seemed to be fear - in the other's eyes. "Brother," she quietly said, "do not change the subject, I'm worried about you. When was the last time you had your bandages changed? And have you spoken to anyone about how you're feeling? By the gods you must be cold, you need a blanket," she rambled, her nerves beginning to show
"azalea." edrik gave her a long, measured look, his grip on her hand tightening slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to still her rambling. "which question do you want me to answer first? or shall i list my ailments in order of severity?"
he sighed, leaning back in his chair, the weight of it pressing against his already sore body. "the bandages were changed this morning. no, i haven’t spoken to anyone about how i’m feeling because i know how i feel. and yes, sister, i am cold—because it is the dead of night on an island, and i am sitting still in a damn chair."
his lips twitched, something almost resembling amusement before it faded. "so, if it will ease your fretting, get me a blanket"
his voice was teasing, but there was something quieter beneath it—an exhaustion he could not shake, a pain that no amount of blankets could cure.
he studied her, searching her face for something, then softened. "but i appreciate the concern." a pause. "even if it does come at the cost of my peace."
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She worried about her family, more than she seemed to worry about herself. She had been volunteering as a nurse, helping the wounded as best she could with her subpar nursing skills - but it was enough to help the lightly wounded. And while she wasn't the most religious, she found herself nearing the hall in hopes of a moment of silence - that's where she saw her brother. The once great Stark noble now demoted to a wheelchair, though his presence still weighed heavily in the room. "Brother?" she quietly asked as she took a step forward, "I came here for a moment of silence but now I worry for you"
his other sister who was on driftmark had too pledged herself to the effort. she might not have dedicated herself to the battlefield with a sword like lyanna, but her heart and hands lied with the wounded. one could not doubt the starks' loyalty to the cause, even when their other two sisters remained in king's landing.
"worry not, azalea," edrik took her hand and smiled softly. his wounded leg was hoisted up on the wheelchair and he wished not to be in such state for too long. "you look tired, sister. when was the last time you ate?"
"There isn't a question," Lyanna states as firmly as she can, aware a brother hadn't implied that she had lied to just anyone or had been so careless as to fail in taking precautions to stop the starting of what was growing inside of her. It was too early to feel any movement, to early to know more than the fact she carried life and one irrefutable fact that there was only one man who could've fathered Lyanna's child. If she were more romantic-minded at this moment, more inclined to be excited, she would blush, warmth flooding her face and a flutter to her voice. She would shine like the sun, a wash with happiness and glowing as brightly as the sun. A she-wolf would've been no happier in that single moment, but that reality had gone out with the dream of being happily in love, and in the distance, she could hear the gate closing, hear the shutting of a way out, knowing a man would see nothing other than a trap laid out for him unintentionally sprung.
Fingers dig gently into the fabric at her abdomen, the soft bit of cloth covering what in the coming weeks would be something even the best seamstress would be unable to hide from the world, concealing a child that would like its parents before it desire to be noticed and noticeable. Did she have to say his name? Could she go again years as had become the customer without saying it until a Karstark would speak it to her, pulling a memory of a man back into existance? In another day and age entirely, a time long since dead though it were, but years ago, the girl who wore a crown of wildflowers in her hair and danced barefoot in a garden paradise would've flown into the arms of her only beloved - she would've never needed to say the name. Lya would never have needed to have this conversation with the heir in the north because she would not be in the north. Lyanna would be where her heart so agonizingly ached to be the moment lungs drew in her first breath of sweet air, touching foot in the reach longing to call it home. Lyanna would be no Stark but a Tyrell and a wife, and there she would, in contentment, laying midst a verdant landscape with a burgeoning belly curling soft locks of golden sunlight between her fingers during a lazy afternoon. It was a good dream. It was a dead one, and life didn't wait for either their permission to begin again or at all for them.
Breathing again with eyes open and looking to her brother, she moved forward to settle softly at her knees, at the feet of the chair he wheeled around in to put her head against his knee or the side of the chair - whichever he would allow his foolish sister to cling to gently. Concealing her face there she breathed before looking up to find his face, to search for his loving concern or his complete disapproval or a sister he cared so deeply for - for his heir so long as he was unmarried knowing in truth she had secured their family line that the starks wouldn't die with them or be called by some other name as Eira's children were. "My Lorent. The one who saved your life - that is the father of my child. Your heir brother didn't intend to give you an heir this way but my child will be as much a wolf as it is a rose"
lorent tyrell.
edrik let out a slow breath, his fingers curling over the arm of his chair. not in anger, not in frustration—just in thought. he had suspected, of course. suspected before he even asked. but hearing it aloud, hearing her say it, made it real.
"lorent." he repeated the name, voice steady. his gaze drifted downward, to lyanna at his feet, seeking something in his expression.
he reached out, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing gently against the crown of her head before settling there. "it is not the way either of us intended," he admitted, "but it is done."
his touch remained steady, a quiet offering of comfort. "your child is a stark. my blood, your blood. and that is nothing to regret."
his gaze flickered toward the window, toward the world beyond—the one that would not be so kind, that would not care for love or circumstance. "but you know what it means, lyanna. a child born without a name of their own. a mother left unprotected. i would not have that for you."
his fingers curled slightly against her hair before he withdrew his hand. "this match was always in the making," he said finally, voice measured, "but now, it must be seen through. not for politics, not for alliances, but for you. and for the child."
he did not say because I care for you, but the words were there, unspoken, woven into every syllable.
open starter: driftmark residents location: high tide
the halls of high tide had never felt so hollow.
the salt-laden air carried the scent of the sea, as it always had, but tonight it mingled with the iron tang of blood and the stifling weight of smoke from the pyres still burning. corwyn velaryon was dead. the battle at green fork was won—if such ruin could be called victory—but the cost had been steep, and the taste of it bitter on edric stark’s tongue.
he sat on his wheelchair at the edge of the great hall, the firelight casting long shadows across the stone. the air was thick with the murmur of voices, hushed but urgent, nobles and knights alike whispering of what was to come.
edrik had no answers—only exhaustion, only the dull ache of wounds yet to heal, and the knowledge that the war had not ended with corwyn’s death. it had only begun anew.
his grey eyes flicked across the room, seeking—what, he was not certain. a familiar face. a voice of reason. another survivor of green fork. or perhaps simply a distraction from the weight pressing against his ribs.
“have you come to speak of the dead?” his voice was low, rough from war and wear. “or of what comes after them?”
Franz Kafka, 1912
@rxdianced
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— Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground
open starter. location: driftmark, some tavern.
once awoken from his poppy-induced daze, lorent had trekked his way to a tavern in spicetown. the town itself was unexciting, the establishments nothing of note, but lorent had never had much love for these dark, salt-stained nooks of westeros. on him, he carried his longsword, his favoured myrish stiletto, and a leather satchel with water, smaller belongings, and enough coin to get him just about anywhere he pleased. he hadn't set his mind on where yet. perhaps right back to his quarters at high tide. perhaps the red keep, where other familiar faces dwelled. or perhaps the other end of the world again. "the first time i tried northern stout was in a stinking alehouse in braavos, of all places. served by a wench with straw-blonde hair and a plunging neckline to distract from the muck." spoken as a perfunctory attempt at conversation. if they did not engage, he'd shrug and talk to himself. "i tried it again on my recent journey north. it tasted as shit as i remembered, but then i had it again, and again, in the company of dark locks this time." he lifted his bitter ale with more of a grimace than a grin. "i seem to have developed a taste for it at last."
tracking down lorent tyrell amidst the chaos of the recovery effort and recuperation was not easy, yet it was not impossible. the man was found in a tavern, which proved to be a challenge for the temporarily wheel-chair bound edrik stark. but once again, it was not impossible. his man rolled him to the table where lorent sat and ordered whatever the other was having. "i am glad it has grown on you, lord lorent," edrik inserted himself in the conversation.
after his sister's revelation of her new state of being, edrik knew it was high time he sat down with the man. yet he would not be the one to divulge the piece of information rightfully belonging to his sister. but lorent tyrell did come to him on the battlefield in the most timely manner. one could say edrik now owed him his life. "i apologize for the delay but i want to formally express my gratitude toward you, lord lorent. you saved my life at green fork there, and i shan't ever forget such deed."
open starter. location: driftmark, library.
the isle of driftmark may be the largest in the backwater, but ashara thought it cramped regardless, her options limited within the castle. with the horrendous aftermath of the second battle waged, she'd offered her assistance to the maester and had begun to help in the infirmary. the old man had her tending to the wounded, would send her on errands to spicetown for potions and herbs not grown in the castle gardens, and had her studying his own papers. it was rather a noble task, gave her purpose in the war, and it was one she enjoyed, for as long as her condition would allow her to stay on her feet for the better part of the day. "don't hold your peace on my account, i've all evening to pour over these." her voice echoed upon another's footsteps, resting her quill and reclining in her chair. she made no more attempts to hide the curve of her belly, fabric hugging it snugly. with a glance to the scattered papers and her meticulous notes, she smiled weakly. the quietude and soft candlelight did have a way of tiring her quickly. "the maester's own writings, observations on healing practices. the man is a less reluctant teacher than his counterpart in the capital."
"a win for driftmark at last," edrik joined the lady ashara karstark in the quiet library of high tide. after two devastating loss at rook's rest and green fork, the hand of the king responded to most things with a dry, humorous tone. "i hope scholars of the realm shall flock to our side if they know of our maester's open-mindedness compared to the one in king's landing."
he was not unkind nor sarcastic. a little humor was needed for him, and hopefully for the lady who was growing a child in her belly amidst a war. "lady ashara, i apologize for being unable to welcome you to driftmark. but i have heard my sister has kept you companied during these turbulent days. how do you fare on driftmark, my lady? how is the babe?"
Cloth boiled in wine and other substances so the deep wound within his right eye socket would not become infected. He felt ridiculous with that damned bandage wrapped around him, a reminder of his failure. “I’d be mad at that comment if not for the dubious amounts of milk of the poppy I had ingested.” The maesters could do only so much. “Indeed, what a fine soldier we make,” his remark made out of sarcasm, “Our enemies grovel at their feet when we approach.” Perhaps it was distasteful to make jokes at a time like this. But what else could they do? They suffered heavy casualties, including the loss of their king.
The supposed councilmen of the sea snake, the king. They may not have lost per se, but their failures feel like a loss. Another failure, this time their loss is great. “No— we have lost the battle, but we have yet to lose the war. There is a chance. The man we have pledged our swords to may be lost to us, but we have a new king. His heir Monterys.”
Instead of losing himself to to this loss. The Lord of Evenfall is losing himself to rage. He wanted vengeance.
"i like how you can keep your spirits high, edwyn. we shall need to fan up that flame in the next council, and i shall count on you for such task."
edrik saw the fury in edwyn's eyes and felt it in his firm declaration—they gleamed like amber, and weighed like an anchor in his voice. if the men and women of corwyn's council were to shepherd this cause to victory, they needed men with conviction like the tarth lord who defied his liege lady's alliance to fight for the cause he believed in. yet it did twist at edrik's side whenever he remembered that edwyn's liege lady was eira herself.
"between you and i, i think it is high time we talk about possibly convincing my sister over to our cause. with her maiden family having already pledged for house velaryon and now one of her most trusted and loyal sworn houses, my sister would have more cause to come to driftmark."
edrik took a moment for edwyn to consider his proposal. "what say you, edwyn? the stormlands' support would no doubt change the tide of this war in favor of us."
"The maester is an old and aging man I would suggest you do not over extend yourself as logic would certainly dicate for any injury. I don't nessesarily approve of his heavy handed use of milk of the poppy but I suppose when he ws taking his training that was a new treatment for pain relief being used" with a sound mind she replies knowing she had been for the past few days observing the handiwork of the man giving a vaguely dismissive wave of her hand. There was work to do even if she would see herself in a state that would soon take a greater toll on her than one might expect. Ashara had told her dear friend that carrying Olyvar saw her tire quickly and Lyanna disliked being idle and without purpose. It was a way to find out how she might help a hand away from a battle field without speaking to reasons yet as to why Lyanna would be interested in a lesser part of the action. A desk was death to her but there were other things one could actively take part in.
"Do not speak like that brother. We do not have the same king but we have a new face for them to rally behind. I know Monterys - I would follow him into death if needed and he will build us a future worth fighting for. We must get our sisters out of that horrible place though. WE may have less men than before but there are armies still in reserve and I suppose they need to be secured and there is the option of the golden company making inquiries to them and again my thought of sending emissaries to the wildings beyond the wall and to the arryns who are they neutral … I can't remember. It would be worth courting the Vale certainly." She spoke merely to say something wheels turning thinking out loud for her brother knowing they needed to rally with what they had. She also remembered the promise made to a brother that if she lived through a battle she would go along with his plans to betroth her to the man allergic to commitment but more than willing to crave and want her close as a comforting force. Lyanna wouldn't say it but she was sure it was on her brother's mind.
Her jaw tightened not because of the upset it was to learn that it was Lorent that saved her brother, heir to the north and her father's eldest child but a bout of nausea reared its head threatening her nerves of steel and control over her own faculties. Holding up a hand she shook her head. Taking a deep breath she looked at her brother and then to his injury blocking the way out not moving forward but suddenly rooted to her spot. "He is not mine. We will have to find something to thank him with for saving the heirs of winterfell. His shoulder is damaged but he is recovering fine from what I hear… I am - ill yes. My ankle is fine it is a more serious affliction I must speak to you about." She shakes her head.
"The maester takes care of who he can he does not need to treat me nor can he help me with what ails me. I cannot join you on the field for the next fight or the one after that until I have recovered." Her hands move to her abdomen to rest there staring at a brother, holding a chin high. She'd rather raise a bastard than tell its father she carried his child. "I am - with child"
"we currently are in no position to convince anyone to join our cause, lyanna. persuasion requires credibility, and monterys, wonderful as he may be, is not the king who raised the banner against visenya." edrik shook his head and looked afar at the waves crashing evenly against driftmark's shore. his sister was eager to help, and strong-hearted in their cause but as hand, he knew they needed more than just moral aspiration now. "but i shall take your advice in consideration, sister. the vale, if they have yet to send their army to visenya, would be a vital addition into our force."
what his sister steered the conversation toward next did surprise him. her mention of an illness did alarm him, and he reached for her hand again. it surely was not a common cold that would pass by with the right remedy, or else why would she be seeking him out to inform about it?
her hand moved to her torso and it seemed as if the truth became apparent before she could utter the word. i am with child, her words hung in the air as edrik deliberated his next words. "yes, i would agree you should stay away from the battlefield next time." he let out a soft laugh before looking back at the sea. "who is the father of the babe?"
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closed starter for edrik stark @iceforveins
"I could make a few improvements to your chair as I had once Florence's. It moves rather well and I had planned to make improvements to hers ages ago but they never came to pass" Lyanna cleared her throat, leaning in on the doorway to the chambers of the hand. Gloom hung heavy in the air, death all around them of their men, their king and of people they cared about. Shiera especially her entire being mourned that friend lost forever to her - again one Lyanna knew if she had been there would've lived and she would've died. Erren would've mourned her instead of them. Shiera would be in this doorway instead of her figure haunting him and who would love the man she cared about - who would care for the family she would leave? There was a taste that rose in her throat and she looked to her brother with her news on the tip of a tongue. "If you need my help brother, with whatever we need to proceed forward for Monterys now that he is king if he choses to be - even if there is no choice but to say yes. We do not need to speak of that yet." She breathes slowly moving forward. "How much longer does the maester say you will need to remain in the chair?" She inquired hands folding in front of her wondering how to gracefully prepare the statement she wished to tell a brother about. "Who was it that saved your life? I would like to see them honored for it, rewarded though we at this moment don't have much to do that with yet."
"i appreciate the offer." his gaze flickered toward her, something tired but resolute in his expression. "i won’t be in it long enough to need improvements." a pause. "or so the maester claims. he is vague, as they always are, but i think it won't be long if i do not overexert myself."
his eyes flickered up to lyanna as she moved forward, offering her help—offering herself, as she always dutifully did.
"monterys will say yes." his tone left no room for doubt. "or someone else will say it for him." a pause, then, quieter, "we have no king to rally behind anymore. but the realm will not wait for us to grieve."
a serpent who had lost its head, they were. knowing visenya, edrik found little time for them recoup and replenish. yet what other choice did they have after such devastation at rook's rest and green fork?
"as for who saved me—" his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he did not answer. he searched for his sister's expression, knowing the answer would not please her given their recent conversation. but she would find out the truth regardless.
"lorent," he said at last. "your lorent."
his eyes met hers then, searching, unreadable. but she seemed troubled, tense in the shoulders. "tell me, lyanna—is something bothering you? are your injuries hurting again? did the maester not take good care of you?"
