— king's raven.

“And who is to say it is not the ducklings that have had the right idea here?” His babbling was senseless, mostly to prolong the amusement of the encounter. “Perhaps it should be. This one is quieter than the rest of them. More sheltered and mindful of privacy.”

The man’s words caused a smirk to appear on Mysaria’s lips. “No one, I suppose. Animals work on their instinct alone, perhaps they are right more often than we would like to believe.” Mysaria spoke, letting her words’s tone raise more questions than it answered. “Not as sheltered as you initially thought, otherwise I would not have found it.”

@mysvria

The air was thick with suspense. At least the King of the Reach was alright and the festivities could continue as planned. That didn’t stop the Lord of Castamere to snoop. It was what he did best after all. He had grown quite the network on his travels but it seemed no one had any idea who the assailant could be. He needed someone with an even better network than him. Mysaria. It was due to pure luck that he saw her exiting one of the tents in the camp and he promptly made his way to her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, my lady.” his words were overtly sweet as he caught up to her and matched her pace. “Horrible show at the archery tourney, don’t you agree?” he had no intentions of beating about the bush. She knew more than he did. She had to. “They haven’t caught he perpetrator yet, have they? I wonder who could do such a thing.”

Although surprise had hit her like waves on a rocky shore, Mysaria’s expression remained the same --- she had trained herself, year after year, to never truly show her emotions and, even without counting on it, her mind did what it had to do. “Lord Cedric,” Mysaria greeted, giving the man a charming lopsided smile before she continued to speak, “I see you are as charming as ever.” A comment that flew out of her mouth with a smirk to match, looking at the man on her side with mischief in her eyes. Another action that had caught her off guard, though not because of the subject but because of how fast their conversation --- or lack thereof --- had come to it. “Wholeheartedly.” Although she had no loyalty towards the king of the Reach, he had never given Mysaria a reason to wish him any harm. However, the first thoughts that came to mind once she saw the situation unfold were not of concern, but filled with questions instead. “They have not, unfortunately. Do you truly, Lord Cedric?” Mysaria’s words were not of accusation, but rather, how obvious the answer was. “A king does not get attacked and the perpetrator not caught immediately if it is such a random doing. Who stood to gain the most by King Garlan’s injury or death is the question one should be asking, instead.” She doubted that, if it were a lower born, like her, that the King of the Reach would be their selected target when so many other Kings were worse.

“You seem to be the only one,” He admitted with a shake of his head. People— so judgemental. “Do you care for a glass yourself?”

“Only the Gods can truly judges, is it not?” Mysaria’s words were somewhat teasing; it might be so, in theory, but men have been judging one another since the dawn of times and continue to do so. It was human nature. “Who am I to decline such a tempting offer?”

“what sort of a tourney is this where a KING gets shot and there is no repercussion?!”  in his voice there is only indignation befitting of a concerned family member, a part he knew how to play all too well.  “i have never witnessed such outrageous events in my life!” 

The concern on her expression for a king that wasn’t hers was convincing enough; all her life, Mysaria had spent her days perfecting her feigned emotions to the smallest of details. “I am sorry to hear about what happened,” Mysaria began, “hopefully, the one behind this will be brought to justice. May I ask how the king is doing?” It made her feel uneasy that she didn’t know why it had happened, though her mind was swarming with the possibilities behind such an act.

  “I’ll be bringing home a store of grain and gold for him to use for winter.” Though his mind was distracted for most of his time during the tourney, he found himself the lucky winner of the archery competition. Perhaps all those hunting trips paid off. “Perhaps he’ll kiss my feet upon my return home. I know I will be kissing the ground once I feel snow rather than sand once more.” His gaze lowered to the woman’s dress. Though he wasn’t one for fashion, the Dornish weren’t nearly as conservative as most of the houses. The north couldn’t afford to show skin. He suddenly felt self conscious in his clothes that revealed legs and biceps rather than remaining hidden under furs. “I find the clothing…odd. I have never been in a place where layers are frowned upon. Though I fear I may fall dead of heat stroke just from wearing this.” He gestured to his outfit. “Have you ever been so far south, Mysaria? Do you find it as terrible as I do. I fear wine will not even be able to make it easier. It only allows my face to grow warmer.” 

“Your northern king will be very pleased, of that I have no doubt.” Mysaria knew that, in tying times, gold and grain were the most important things --- her own King, she believed, found himself drooling at the idea of possessing either or both. “And I must congratulate you on your victory. Although I know very little about archery, I do believe you were deserving of it.” Mysaria liked Torrhen and, if she hadn’t been so quick to accept The Rock’s king’s offer, working for a northern house didn’t seem as bad as some southerners believed it to be. “Eager to return home, Lord Torrhen?” Mysaria asked, though it was a question that was meant to be playful and nothing else; his words had been obvious enough and the Mistress couldn’t blame him. A lopsided smile appeared on her lips; although her clothes didn’t make her uncomfortable, Mysaria was sure the northern lords and ladies were going through some hard times, trying to adjust their fashion and their own skin to the heat of Dorne. “Just like Dornish find northern clothing odd, I reckon.” The woman began. “If I may be so candid, I do believe you look charming, even if it is not the usual attire I am used to seeing you in.” Mysaria knew that whatever words left her mouth could be taken two ways, just like it was with everyone else; however, she was sure the northern lord knew her better than to assume she was mocking him. “I have, yes. It is not my first time in Dorne, though I have not been for quite a long while. I find it to be... quaint, definitely different from what most are used to. The Dornish red is quite good but also quite spicy, compared to Arbor. It is not ideal if a refreshing beverage is what one hopes to find.”

Tytos appeared in his finery beside the mistress of whispers, opting to not wear his full armor just yet at this very moment. He was most accustomed to wearing that more than he was finer clothes but in any coat a lion still had his claws. The words she spoke were true. It was a grand idea but from the mind of a man who was comparable to his own brother in regards to cunning plans. This would not only be a display of his own power but the leash really that they were all tethered too for each country was hungry for power, glory and grain which to feed their people. It would show those who in losing were most desperate and disappointed by their loss and in the winner if the winning was for show or necessity. Mors would do best to be very careful though for the game he played the hand he ‘extended’ could easily be bitten were it not careful enough. “You know well what I am excited for Mysaria - I was a man born for war and for fighting and action. The competition. No. What is worthy of knowing is what are you looking towards, Mistress of Whispers”

Mysaria had thrown herself into the lion’s den, living surrounded by them, day and night. It was a precarious position, one that she would not mind changing should her flesh ever be threatened by the lions’ claws. Many would appreciate her services, she reckoned. Until then, for it was inevitable, as everything in life, Mysaria would play her part ---- charming and warm, just like a summer’s day. “And what an honourable way of life it is, Prince Tytos.” The brunette commented, her lopsided smile making an appearance. Loren was a hard person to convince, but as far as the rest of the Lannisters were concerned, Mysaria was a Mistress of Whisperers that defied the position’s own reputation. With a smile and a seemingly genuine tone to every word she spoke, Mysaria played her part well --- a part meant to undermine her own person, in order to always gain the upper hand. It was something she learned as a child, really. “You flatter me. I am afraid my tastes are not as interesting as you make them out to be.” The woman began, letting a teasing and playful smirk appear on her lips. “But I have been looking forward to the jousting competition. It is the perfect combination of luck, skill and thrill.”

“an inch or a stroke of luck. it’s either they hit or they miss. let’s hope it’s the former. it’d be a shame if the latter happened. no fun in that, right?” she knew how joustings worked. she’s grown up around the whole ordeal, watching her older brothers compete. it was nothing new and wasn’t as exciting as it was once was— to her at least. “your words flatter me, my lady.” cylene smile. “one of the many things i adore here in dorne. the textile, the wine, the weather, the ambiance, i could go on. have you visited dorne prior to the tourney, my lady?”

“A man’s ego would be surely hurt, and we cannot have that.” Mysaria spoke, playfulness lacing her words but no lie found within them; she had no patience for men and their ego, far too big for their heads. “I only speak the truth.” She added; the princess did look beautiful, in any dress she wore; words easily spoken to a lady but not to a lord. “I believe many do not share your opinion, though I have to agree that Dorne is a very beautiful place. And yes, I have, once or twice before, though far too long ago. I do recommend visiting it without being confined to a tournament’s camp.”

Doubt circles around a king, especially in times of hardship. He’d grown skilled in detecting it within another pair of eyes; noticed the small traces of their features giving away the lack of confidence they had in his words, or even the concern it caused them. Much of it was to be seen on her now, especially with her choice of expression. Obligated. Yes, she was, wasn’t she?   ❛  Don’t forget, you put yourself in this position for a reason.  ❜  Comes the reminder, for once abandoning the mask their words oft wore. His gaze catches hers, conviction clearer than anything in his voice.   ❛  My words are not empty.  ❜   The tourney certainly wasn’t a guarantee, he wasn’t a fool. Loren had another precaution in place, one that would soon come to fruition. He simply thought it best not to share such plans with someone who might spread them. He also wasn’t foolish enough to believe her whispering was a one way service.  ❛  No, indeed you haven’t. Let us keep it that way, shall we?  ❜  The King, on his side, does not feel so inclined to return a smile they both knew would mean naught. 

You put yourself in this position for a reason. If Mysaria had done a good job at being herself, then those reasons --- for they were a lot more than a single one --- would never be completely clear until she wanted them to be. To not be scared, to give people a reason to never double cross her, to never go back to the life she had before; but most importantly, to hold power over those that thought themselves to be all powerful. Security was but an illusion, Mysaria had come to realise, and those that believed themselves to be above having that fear of losing everything were the ones that had the most to lose. Whether it was lands, gold or family. “How could I forget, Your Grace?” A rhetorical question, truly, for she was neither interested in furthering that conversation or hearing what the King had to say. Her nostrils widened slightly, for only half a second, her lips pressed together upon hearing Loren’s words; why she hasn’t stabbed the lion in the back --- figuratively, of course, since she would not get her hands dirty --- was beyond her, specially since her efforts to remain as loyal as she could seemed to completely go over the blond’s head. “We shall. Trust is a two way street and if you trust me with your secrets, I would do nothing to betray that.” Her words were almost defying, her gaze growing cold and her facade dropping for just one second. 

The Mother, of course. She is, after all, the strength of women. The Crone, simply because she represents foresight.

Slytherclaw. Cunning and a lover of information.

My inability to trust.

Mysaria is *gasp* not a virgin. Although she does value her virtue, she does not let her previous affairs define her worth and, out of need, she lies about her past when it comes to romantic connections. As far as anyone’s concerned (besides her previous lovers, of course), she is a lady who has never been touched by a man. 

She adores wearing her hair down more than she does wearing it up. It is a sort of shield, to her, the more of her she hides, the more at ease she is. However, this does not apply to her clothing as it’s one of her most effective weapons, specially against men. 

She always wears a necklace, a locket with a secret compartment inside, where she keeps a drawing of her mother and, engraved on the opposite side, is one of her mottos “Always be the fire in the darkness.”

What anybody desires, happiness and security.

I would happily wed Tytos if it came to be so, but alas, I have no title to be worthy of a prince. Beheading my King is out of question, as you might know, so that leaves the charming King in The Reach. Of course, since the only option left is to bed King Loren, I will have to go with that one. All of this is hypothetical, of course.