-- ᴏ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟᴇʀ.

her expression crumples all the way now, and seeing that there is no weak point of his for her to press on, elinor turns away from him, unwilling to let him see her break. her eyes well and spill over her hot, blotchy cheeks. she wants to toss the platter of scones at his head. she wants to toss the entire spread before her over the fucking balcony, offended by the idea that any of it could have possibly made this news any easier to swallow, and even more so by the idea that an audience could ever subdue her.

more than that, she wants to pivot back to the sibling angle and remind him that it does not bode well in the eyes of man or the seven to humiliate your kin in front of all who matter in the world, but what good would that do her? what good has it done her? time and time again, the world has beat her bloody with one simple truth: elinor tyrell is nothing.

but... but she is something, she thinks, defiant, desperate, and determined. more than a sister or a daughter or a scion of the greatest house in westeros, she is just as much flesh and blood as them, and this life, no matter how small it is, is hers as it always has been. ruling lord or not, steffon did not get to dangle a life in her face, declare it true before the crown, and then yank it away at the last second simply because he commanded it.

elinor wipes at her face and takes deep breaths then, willing herself to calm down and match his steel. already, anger has filled the space carved out in her by grief. when she turns to him at last, it is no longer with pleading eyes and a quivering lip. instead, she brandishes the same look of resistance she's always flashed when caught, the one that says she will not go quietly and will not play their game.

"and do you truthfully believe that you are any better? when half the realm was starving, droves of them dropping like flies, tell me, brother, what did you do? do you think that because you did not wield a sword and deliver the blows yourself, that you bear no responsibility for what transpired beyond our walls?" elinor huffs humorlessly. "you've ended more lives and taken more from the lieges of this realm than any one of them could ever dream to, and yet you're too great a fool to see it — to even begin to imagine what it means to wield such power over all living things."

her eyes prick with tears then, but she blinks them away. instead, she shakes her head again, disappointed and deeply frustrated all at once. "i don't care what havoc they wreak on the rest of the world, steffon. i don't, and as lord paramount of the reach, i remind you, neither should you." her heart batters against her ribcage, racing at the truth of it revealed. they were killers, the entire lot of them, but they had never hurt her and that was all that mattered. "with a rose in their midst, they would have spared our shores and doubled their efforts elsewhere. that means you would've had the sea and the soil under your dominion and been the envy of all the lesser kingdoms around us who must divide their time between filling our coffers and fighting enemies you long got rid of."

she looks at him expectantly then, as if this entire meeting were a parley and not a final sentencing. still, elinor charges on, hands clasped dutifully at her middle. "the path forward is clear to me. i get what i was promised before all our peers, the reach grows richer, our reputation is not further tarnished, and you get to keep your head instead of handing it to the skull breaker himself." not that he uses it, she thinks. a beat then as her eyes narrow. "what has changed for you that you would deny us such a fate?"

" that you cannot blame me for. " at last, he loses his cool and tone is raised, but more in the manner of two sibling quarreling, perhaps as they did once as children rather than pure spite. " i did what was best for us. " he was younger, more foolish and much less interested in politics back then, but the winter cared for none of that. yet even then, steffon knew how to play his cards, where the remaining resources should go, who would be grateful to house tyrell and him. " should i have let you starve for the sake of the northerners? how noble would that be.. just like the stories in your books, i reckon. "

perhaps words would be deemed cruel, but the look in steffon's eyes says otherwise, although intense and focused, it does soften when he notices the tears prickling in elinor's eyes, well concealed, but not from him. little sister did not care for the havoc the ironborn caused to the rest of the world.. it seemed, they were truly one blood after all. the thought almost amuses him, though he resists the smile that threatens to show up. elinor had always been his favourite for a reason, yet, despite all the love he bore for her, he could not let her win or have her way over him in this matter.

" perhaps the raids on our western shores would stop.. for a while, under your influence.. but for how long? and how shall we grow richer, elinor, with all the copper and silver the greyjoys claim from the dead after their raids? " the question is intended to provoke, he wonders if elinor would be fine with what aeron must do both in theory and reality, if she could handle it all, the brutal reality outside of her love for the greyjoy.

" i care little for what havoc they wreak on the rest of the world as well, sister. " he admits as they stand in front of each other, two sides of the same coin. " but i am to marry cersei lannister, so her world shall be mine as well. " moments of silence follow, and steffon pours himself a cup of raspberry wine; a sip is taken as he observes elinor's reaction. " an alliance between the rose and the lion makes much more sense. " he speaks matter-of-factly now. " if we were to join forces earlier, the ironborn would not dare step a foot on our shores and perhaps you would be able to happily marry your greyjoy, and welcome all the saltwives that follow. " frustration was evident now in his words, once again hoping to pain a miserable picture in her head but also, share his own concerns that have danced on the back of his mind since the engagement was announced.

many  nights  alarra  had  fallen  asleep  to  the  thought  of  finally  being  reunited  with  her  family,  taken  away  back  to  the  north  without  the  weight  of  a  political  play  in  place.  from  the  moment  she  had  stepped  foot  in  the  south,  that  had  been  her  dream  ⸻  and  it  had  so  quickly  turned  into  a  nightmare;  a  bloody  and  chaotic  nightmare  and  her  family  still  left  without  all  of  it's  members.  relief  and  anger  battle  themselves  inside  of  alarra's  mind,  knowing  what  awaits  her  at  the  end  of  the  journey  and  far  too  aware  of  who  is  missing.

even  arnolf's  words  towards  the  healer  sound  like  they're  being  spoken  from  the  end  of  a  long  and  dark  tunnel,  her  eyes  devoid  of  any  focus  as  they  remain  on  a  spot  on  the  road.  all  the  stark  could  think  about  was  the  chaos,  the  blood  and  the  damn  announcement.  even  if  alarra's  body  was  there  for  all  the  winces  and  the  pain  of  the  gash  still  burned,  her  mind  was  miles  and  miles  away.  although,  even  then,  alarra  cannot  let  go  of  everything  arnolf  says.  "are  you  done  scaring  the  healer,  brother?"  it  is  part  of  her  role  as  a  sister  to  annoy  him  every  chance  she  gets,  after  all.  "he  will  not  be  able  to  take  care  of  me  properly  if  he  is  trembling  too  much."

alarra  looks  at  her  brother  when  the  healer  is  done,  giving  him  a  low  thanks  before  her  attention  is  solely  on  her  brother.  "you  ought  to  save  some  of  that  energy  for  when  we  go  back  for  gilliane."  there  is  a  hint  of  guilt  that  hits  her  chest.  she  hates  that  after  all  of  that,  her  family  does  not  come  back  whole.  and  then,  a  small  and  humourless  chuckle  escapes  her  at  arnolf's  comment,  head  shaking.  "warrior  is  exactly  the  first  word  that  comes  to  mind.  i  might  look  even  better  than  you."  now,  she  smiles  and  she  means  it.

though,  it  is  short-lived.  alarra  lets  out  a  small  sigh.  "we  have  to  go  back  for  her,  arnolf.  we  cannot  leave  her  there."

" i know.. " he finally responds, attempting to rub the sleep off his eyes and the headache off his temples, for his rage might have simmered, but it was still there and what kept him going. that, and his faith. the only thing that kept him same was gilliane's power that he knew of, surely the old gods must keep her safe, they must speak to her and his prayers would not go unheard as well.

" we shall know what's next when we return to winterfell. theon and the council need to gather properly. " he had been cleaning off the dried blood of his sword and axes until recently; yet it wasn't enough, he craved more. especially now, for gilliane's sake. his sister's next words do both jolt him awake and create a moment of silence between them. we.

" alarra.. i do not wish for you to go south, for whatever reason it might be, not now. " arnolf admits, knowing she would object or be offended by his words, yet it was his sister that remained in the softest spot of his heart. " if me or karlon were to be caught we would be blessed with a swift death. you are still betrothed.. " and he had failed to get rid of him properly, arnolf was sure, he couldn't get a full hold of the fowler that night, it was not a fatal blow. the engagement must still stand if the crown were to get their hands on alarra once more, gods forbid, or perhaps a worse punishment would await her.. " they would use that to their advantage. or worse. use you as a pawn and make you suffer for the rest of your life. i will not risk it, either way. "

time/location: after the freeing of the River and Vale lords

It had been a scene watching the swearing to the king, listening to the speeches by the man. Orys was sure this would be met with even more resistance, it wasn't something he could ignore now. The North and Iron Islands had both declared themselves independent and the fallout with the Riverlands and Vale. If there wasn't a whole gaggle of Kings and Queens by the end of the year he wouldn't be surprised. His father was standing strong and loyal, and he would be more astute next to him but his eye kept meeting Steffon. Rage had never been more obvious. As soon as they were excused Orys made his way through the crowd to reach the Tyrell. "Has Vaeron said anything else about the Greyjoys?" There was no need for pleasantries. "Does he truly expect you to stand by and do nothing?" His voice was low, right now any anger at the king could be taken as anything. "You know you have my support."

his hand extends to tap the baratheon's back firmly. " i appreciate it.. as you will always have mine, as well. " words are truthful. most people were disposable to steffon, but the stag was one of the few, rare exceptions that were not, where friendship actually held value. " i have attempted to negotiate to no result, of course. the only tongue these savages speak is bloodshed. " he spat out with disdain. " and i know tybolt would be twice as eager to sail our armies to the islands.. but for now it must remain a last resort. though, i am not standing by idly. " the fact obviously displeased him, though he did not remain without action in other ways.

" will you be returning to storm's end or riding straight to harrenhal? " steffon asks as more people begin to pass them, tone resumed to normal.

Key Phrase: Coming through!

Remarkable Traits: Extremely creative, mentally quick, bursting with new ideas. Great at leading, risk-takers, non-judgmental. They accept any kind of experience- and are friendly towards people of all walks of life.

Dark Side: Agitated and impulsive, doesn't think before acting, too impatient. Has difficulties concentrating enough / long enough to finish what they started.

Key Phrase: Heading West, Definitely

Remarkable Traits: Hard-working and realistic. Sets down-to-earth goals and follows their plans until the end. Tendency to observe and analyze others. Very pragmatic when it comes to life in general. Methodical and efficient.

Key Phrase: Tell me, Am I glamorous?

Remarkable Traits: An artist. Mentally complex, but has a straightforward, simple approach to life. Thrives on attention. Exciting, independent, lighthearted and flirty.

Rhaenenna was shaken by the ending of the masque. At the moment, she might have preferred another assassination attempt against her kin, compared to seeing another dragon! She might have been more rational if it was only the Ironborn attack, if it was only Lord Lannister's poisoning, but the scars running across her face burned with the fears of her childhood.

Dragons were back in the sky. They were all doomed.

She sat on the edge of the bed with her hand grazing her temples. "Brother," Rhaenenna addressed in High Valyrion. She should not be at Casterly Rock, she should be at Driftmark preparing a fleet to attack the North and defend against the dragon. "Brother what shall we do?" The question was asked in post event panic more than in strategy. It was most unusual to ask her brother for advice, often finding his way to headstrong and forward. This time she needed someone to attack, not cower as she was currently doing.

in the midst of all the meetings arranged in chaos, maelor had found time to visit rhaenenna's chambers, in fact it is early morning, hers that he goes to first before he is to meet all those lieges and arranged meetings in his own. sleep has not found him, it would not anytime soon. what were they to do? the answers to such a question he could not give, not yet.

" you must rally our people, prepare them for war, whether they should sail west or north, we do not know yet. but they must be ready. that's all that matters. " maelor responds in high valyrian as well. this time, he sees rhaenenna out for blood rather than him and he finds himself the one to calm her down, instead of the other way around as it happened too often, during their childhood and youth and more recently.

" be prepared, yet do nothing. not yet. " amethyst eyes observed the other's, hoping they've come to terms with one another, siblings finally united at last. a hand reaches out to hold elder sister's, determined and comforting. " we are yet to find out who the dragon belongs to. " and by we, maelor means the council, though suspicions he is about to speak out thoughts that have gone through rhaenenna's head as well. " it must be one of our kin. who else would have a hold of a dragon egg, let alone be able to hatch it? " there weren't that many options out there and maelor himself had his suspicions, but he wished for a real confirmation.

" this dragon may be far from a hatchling.. but it seemed young. " high valyrian rolls of his tongue, eyebrows furried, tone filled with hatred instead of the fear that he once felt. " dorne posesses many scorpions, some leftover from past wars.. some even more developed, from what i've heard. " maelor shares all his knowledge, whether to bringe peace to his sister or prepare her for what's to come, he is not quite sure. but there are few he trusts nowadays, besides his own kin, sister and cousins alike.

“  the  floor  will  forgive  us,  i  think,  ”  she  added,  as  though  the  thought  had  only  just  occurred  to  her.  a  small  smile  touched  her  lips.  “ for i am  certain that it  shall  endure  worse  than  a  little  spilled  wine  tonight.  ”

and then,  something  shifted. it  was  not  boldness,  not  truly  —  only  a  lightness,  a  loosening.  tonight,  nobody  knew  her  name.  nobody  saw  gulltown  when  they  looked  at  her,  or  the  expectations  that  came  with  it.  she  was  not  her  father’s  daughter  here  —  only  a  girl, dressed in silver, with music in her ears and a will to dance the night away. tonight, life was a song.

the  thought  made  her  heart  lift,  bright  and  a  little  unsteady. if  she  did  not  speak  now,  she  knew  she  would  not.  the  moment  would  pass,  as  so  many  moments  did,  folded  neatly  away  into  memory.  the  mask  granted  her  this  much  —  a  single  step  taken  without  consequence. “  would  you  dance  with  me,  my  lord  ?  ”

his eyes follow hers to the spilled mess of red wine left on the ground. without much other thought given, arnolf makes his way through the crowd around them, perhaps a bit harshly at times to those who refused to move as he places a gentle hand against the lady's back to lead her in his direction until they come to a stop, one with a clean floor and better view of the dancers he had little interest in. " since we share out fault, i think it is the lannisters that ought to deal with the mess we made, it is only fair. " the way his lip tugs upwards is hidden behind the mask.

it shall endure worse than spilled wine; the words almost take him aback. it had been what he'd hoped for ever since they'd received the raven carrying the invitation. his blood had been boiling for this exact moment ever since they left dorne; and then, the lady's next words snap him out of it.

he had never danced properly; the drunken, rare occasions in the many taverns or inns visited didn't count. yet grandsire cregan had taught him much, especially, as he put it, how one should treat ladies, especially such a wildling like you. and he did wish to enjoy himself as he had until now, for the first time in months. arnolf takes a look at his table; theon seems as displeased as he has been lately, karlon and gilly are enjoying their company as usual. there is time.

victaria  stands  to  the  sidelines  of  the  masquerade,  standing  as  still  as  stone  lest  the  lack  of  decorum  gives  the  ironborn  away.  dark  eyes  study  everything  around  them,  golden  goblet  hanging  near  her  lips  as  the  smell  of  the  wine  infiltrates  their  nostrils  and  it's  much  too  sweet.  victaria  detests  the  opulence  around  them,  the  way  masks  hide  faces  that  she  wants  to  make  bleed  red  and  gold  ⸻  and  yet,  there  she  stands  and  it's  all  because  of  loyalty.

before  the  islander  could  take  another  sip  of  the  wine  and  wish  for  it  to  be  ale,  a  familiar  tone  cuts  through  all  the  bullshit  around  her.  victaria  does  not  need  to  look  at  the  one  so  near,  they  don't  need  to  look  through  the  holes  in  the  mask  and  try  and  study  the  features  beneath  it  ⸻  the  ironborn  knows  who  it  is.  after  all,  how  could  she  ever  forget?  victaria's  own  gaze  meets  maelor's  through  the  masks  (  unyielding  and  unfazed  by  the  words  he  speaks  )  and  just  like  that  she  sees  the  same  man  she  saw  years  back;  the  same  one  that  enticed  her  enough  to  have  her  still  remember  every  line  of  his  face,  after  all  this  time.  victaria  matches  the  volume  of  his  own  words.  "i'm  here  to  celebrate  the  nameday  of  the  hand  of  the  king.  why  are  you  here?"  here  with  me,  here  talking  when  you  should  be  calling  for  any  and  every  guard.

they  down  the  rest  of  the  wine  in  the  goblet  they  hold,  eyes  studying  the  room  once  more.  for  someone  whose  shores  just  got  attacked,  every  mainlander  seems  to  be  enjoying  themselves.  unless,  of  course  ⸻  a  sharp  scoff  escapes  them,  attention  back  on  maelor.  victaria  takes  a  step  closer,  keeping  the  conversation  low  yet  steady.  "we  simply  wish  to enjoy  such  celebrations.  everyone  seems  pretty...  blissfully  oblivious."  now,  their  body  is  fully  turned  to  his  ⸻  not  defiant,  simply...  unafraid.  "i  can  protect  myself  just  fine,  maelor.  surely,  your  memory  serves  you  better  than  to  forget  just  how  well."  not  that  they've  ever  fought.

then,  a  heartbeat.  and  another.  "why  aren't  you  calling  for  the  guards?"

he had done his best that he could, to attempt to mend relationships between westerlanders and the ironborn that was cut too short before even something resembling progress could be made, but he had all those plans in his mind, that now had no chance to happen, ever. " are the consequences that are to come worth it? have you considered them? vaeron will never give you independence, nor will any mainlander consider sigrin a king. he is nothing but a pretender to anyone else. is it war that you seek? " the words rush out of his mouth, while tone is low only for them to be heard, maelor cannot help the passion mixed with worry that overwhelm him.

why isn't he calling for the guards, truly? he does not even have to wonder. what he'd had with victaria was.. special. neither lovers nor bestest of friends, perhaps something in between, someone who had enchanted him, someone he could relate to, share a special bond with until they moved on their own paths, especially maelor. yet, the bond remained, for something beneath him despised the idea of the harlaw getting hurt, thrown in the dungeons or losing their head.

" because i care for you. " the velaryon finally admits, for it is both in their nature to be blunt; him, when he was around victaria, at least. king's landing demanded too much mind games and pretense out of him to survive. " and i do not wish to see you dead.. which goes beyond your own personal skills as the warrior i know you are. " with the pompous tyrell lord suddenly strongly involving his house and his people in ironborn matters, with house lannister about to join forces with house tyrell fully, what could this mean for the future?

" ser alyn did. i have no reason to doubt his word. " steffon responds truthfully. his eyes pierce through matheos; he had been well aware that elinor herself was especially fond of their bastard brother, much more than steffon had been, even once, back then when they were just kids. " the ironborn were not invited, but they came regardless. why do you think the guards gently persuaded us against leaving if we wanted to do so? " perhaps he is curious if matheos had any suspicions of his own, so moments of silence follow.

" they brought bloodshed to lannisport, one of their worst, most devastating raids yet, before they brought it here. their bloodlust and arrogance know no bounds. " he paces around the stop they're stopped in; one of the guards begins to follow him and steffon dismisses him with an almost annoyed hand gesture. " do you believe our sister to be safe and happy amongst these cutthroats? half of them are probably wearing lannisport's people's fingers around their neck by now, as a trophy well earned. " steffon does wonder himself, as well. aeron might have been sweet, yes, but he wishes for elinor to be terrified of the rest of them. to see her mistake herself.