— ANARI RYNDOON! ❞

♠

there was not a single part of him, in all golden youth and silver lies and emptiness that could bring himself to care the slightest for the dinner sprawl set out so prettily upon the lace; almost as prettily as the queen of the stepstones curved herself backwards for his gaze to trail over. he was hardly blind to the way dark orbs traced over him, flickering and then lingering and then flickering all over again, and it was enough for him to throw aside the napkin he had picked up and merely look upon her following the words she uttered. 

this game of talking and pretending as though they were not here for entirely another reason was one he found himself unwilling to play - for he had long since decided he knew what he wanted.

it would be too easy to explain how he wanted to hear the sound that would slip from those flushed lips into his ear as he pushed himself into her very core, slowly and then all at once; how he wanted to hear the woman who seemed to always have so much to say have nothing to say by the time he was finished, and how he wanted to see the flicker of realisation in her orbs when she realised he was hardly done with her.

there were many that claimed such casual, careless engagement in fornication was to mask a wound in the soul; and how cedric tyrell would merely telling them he was worshipping the gods themselves to pleasure the very creations they had sent to walk the same paths of life as him. that they crossed the corner of his eye, crossed the threshold of his chambers, crawled within a space that was as hazy as their very minds, and to leave again. they always left.

did she want a reaction out of him? did she want him to paint some golden grin over his features, or some shadowy smirk that spoke only a fraction of the thoughts that swirled within his mind? did she want him to let out a husky chuckle and tell how how this was hardly a good idea, and attempt to let her wind herself away him the way she was able to wind around the dragon queen’s nerves itself? 

his movement was slow, and yet sudden; the way the chair scraped backwards and suddenly he was winding around the dinner table itself, watching for a flicker of change in her eyes as he moved to close the distance between them, the sudden rise in temperature of the room nothing to do with the steady fire crackling in the hearth. a hand reached forward to trace the outline of her jawline, keeping a gaze that was as understanding as it was challenging; his thumb tracing the plumpness of her lower lip that would no doubt end up wrapped around another part of him. 

“i thought you spoke.” he muttered, hand slipping to rest upon around the curve of her neck, his other hand moving to casually trace the jewels that lined the neckline of her bodice; his face was dangerously close to her own, to the point where one could feel the breaths they let out on one another, dangerously close to setting fire to the line that had been placed between them. a hand slipped to the lace that tied together the front of her bodice, and as his hand continued to rest around the nape of her neck, the other began to untie it. 

“tell me how you want me to silence you by fucking you until you’re nothing but a mess on this table; so i can tell you how wrong you are.” the lace, criss crossing, was slowly coming undone bit by bit, obvious he had done this far too many times before. “we both know you’ll be anything but fucking quiet.”

☠

         THE PIRATE QUEEN DID, INDEED,   want a reaction out of him. though, it was not one of a boyish chuckle nor a smug smirk but rather one of a husky grunt directly into her ear, a reaction she would surely commit to memory. an echoed sound that alone would urge the curling of toes from even the holiest of beings. she was far from holy, a sinner just as he. hands tainted from the crimson bloodshed of too many enemies and even bystanders. they were one and the same. carved from the same root.   

         as if his first words had not been forward enough, the brightness of oceanic orbs seemed to all but move the tension within the air themselves, bringing forth a slight skip in her chest. not of nerves but rather excitement, eagerness. 

          she remained silent even as he stood, gaze following his every motion carefully so as to not miss a single move he made. she stood, too, though the exact moment when she had lifted herself from her seat remained a mystery. in fact, she had been far too consumed in everything that was cedric tyrell that she had not even realized her own hands had shifted to lazily find the waistband of his pants until her smooth digits pressed against the warmth of his abdomen. and then a finger of his own traced the outline of her lip, urging dark orbs to flicker up towards him. she did not crane her neck, only glanced up at him through long dark lashes for a moment if not two. 

         there’s a shake of her head upon his words, finally shifting to truly look up at him the moment his hand moved to find her neck. not that she could truly study much of him considering the closeness of their faces. that did nothing to stifle her motions, a mischievous glint in dark optics before her tongue shifts to run over his own lips, movement dangerously slow and faint. felt, though, ginger. 

          fingers swirl around his torso, nails hovering to create a ghost of a touch that even she was not aware she could muster. though, as his other hand worked on her bodice so expertly, one of her own hands dips into his pants, nowhere near where she wants to be but a teasing reminder that she could be. 

         retrieving her hands, the queen of the stepstones moves to aid him in riding her of her bodice, head tilting delicately before a hand of her own tugs at his shirt’s strings. ❝ i want you to fuck me until i’m nothing but a mess on this table. ❞ the raven haired woman echoes, hues finding the blues of the king of thorns and roses, seemingly darker in shade.

who: @stonesqueen· where: the reach lodgings, the night following the departure of the reach forces.

perhaps now more than ever before, cedric tyrell permanently felt the eyes of history itself upon him; his mind thinking of the faces of those closest to him upon the docks, watching them line one by one before hoisting the colours and watching the fleet slowly vanish over the horizon. he remained there long after that vision had departed and long after garland hightower had returned to the keep, the king of thorns and roses sat upon the rocks by the ocean; it was not a growing sense of emptiness he felt within him, but a growing sense of pressure.

pressure in knowing this could be firmly what he was remembered for in the future scriptures of the citadel. this decision to strike out, to be the aggressor, to have blood upon his hands, would be worth it. it would have to be worth it, that final end to a threat they had faced for over a thousand years.

as ocean hues flickered toward a figure clad in crimson that had approached him, a small trail of guards and an accompaniment follow, he recognised the familiar raven tresses of the pirate queen; how his orbs had looked over her time and time again since their conversation within that one hallway, and how he had attempted to distance himself from her, considering her political situation was entirely dangerous. and yet, what was he, if not attracted to the flames of danger itself? how he seemed to enjoy burning it out with his bare hands.

it was all dark eyes, silver words and emptiness that had brought her to a dinner table in his personal apartments; nothing either of them meant, and yet it were incredibly clear judging by the quiet tensions that continued to swirl between them in the silence, when only the crackling flame of the hearth spoke for them, they both wanted to be there. heat itself, spoke for them. “so what is it you would want from me now?” cedric asked, putting down the golden goblet, his mind swirling from something that was a world away from the arbor wine in his cup. 

“do you want me to continue to ask of your day, and of your people?” his voice was low, the tone it usually took when he could feel something stirring within himself, and more than that, something stirring within the orbs of the woman that sat before him; he wanted her. he wanted every inch of her, wrapped around him with those raven curls grasped in his hand; her thighs split apart on either side of him. 

“or do you want me to entertain you in ways that would include less talking - from you.”

☠

        ONE COULD STERNLY PROCLAIM THAT  allying herself with those that held the same discontent towards her homeland was the most intelligent move she had made yet. going up to cedric tyrell and making an ally out of him, that was entirely advantageous. her people surely thought so, then and all the more now after the targaryens had grown weak without so much as an effort from her end. oppositely, she had grown stronger, more stable, firmer. the allies of the dragon throne had given way to neutrality, weakening the crownlands in the most subtle of ways. but never her. even now, the reach and the westerlands taking the iron islands would in turn crush any and all competition the greyjoys could have possibly put up against her. it was beneficial.  

          doe like orbs had studied his features in a way that held no innocence much less subtlety. the same chocolate pools that had taken in the very build of the newly appointed king of thornes and roses. of course, she had seen him long before she spoke to him and even after, he had maintained her attention. anari ryndoon had wanted cedric tyrell from the very moment she had approached him. 

          anari was no fool, in fact, she was anything but. painfully aware that her reputation had been frail, dangerously tainted by the estrangement from her house and even before then when she had ran away to tyrosh and returned a pirate queen. no good would have came from giving into the enticing blues of his gaze. no good would have resulted out of making an enemy out of her ally’s wife. it seemed, fortunately for her, that things had a funny way of working to her favor. and now... there was nothing to further strain the reputation she had surely worked to strengthen.  

          they were much more alike than either perhaps cared to admit and in many more ways than one. two souls having toughened from the tragedies life had thrown at them, widows of people they tried so hard to change for - people driven by passion and ambition. thus, as the forces departed, the crimson of her dress would prove to be much more than supportive of her allies but in a way - more for him than initially intended. the very same doe like orbs of the pirate queen now locked on the oceanic hues of the king of thorns and roses, studying his full lips as he brought a golden goblet up to them. 

          her head tilts, ever so slightly, raven tresses shifting to follow the motion. she wonders then how sweet the wine would taste directly from his very lips. orbs flicker down to his hands and the sudden image of those very fingers wrapped around her throat to further press her back against his chest is far more intriguing than whatever words had slipped from his lips. ❝ hmm. ❞ the pirate queen hums, gaze suddenly much more aware considering she had slipped into her thoughts yet again moments before. his voice shifts, deeper this time, that alone draws her back to him. 

.

Argella dropped her gaze, staring at the ground, avoiding any possible eye contact with Anari and the children as they exited the ship. She had no idea how she was supposed to act. The entire situation was making her uncomfortable, and she was beginning to regret agreeing to the meeting in the first place. What, after all, did she hope to achieve with it? Meeting the woman who, according to rumors, had a son with Daemon? Was it really worth bothering herself with such thoughts? Perhaps it would have been better to turn back while there was still time.

Hearing the footsteps approaching her, the queen dowager raised her gaze once more, her eyes ready to meet Anari’s. “Thank you,” she replied quietly, almost whispering. “You, too,” she added, the statement only made to be polite.

“These are your children, I presume?” Argella inquired as she moved her feet closer to the rocks. She expected Anari to confirm that Daemon was the father of the boy. While he resembled her late husband, Argella was not ready to accept the child. She had no ill will toward him, but she wasn’t sure Anari could be trusted. After all, she was an enemy of the crown. It was wrong to meet with her, but the queen dowager had too many unanswered questions and wanted to hear Anari’s perspective.

☠

         THEY HAD NEVER TRULY  met, argella and her, having crossed paths in their youth while the baratheons were visiting the targaryens. but they never knew each other, not truly, apart from only by name. in all honesty, they could not be more different. compassion emitted from the frame of the widowed queen, soft in appearance. anari had never been soft, blunt and fiery in every possible way. short-tempered, unapologetic, firm. she had not been born to be soft. and yet... she had been - with her loved ones. her parents, her cousins, with her children, with her husband. even now, as the other struggled to meet her gaze - there was a flare or annoyance within the raven haired woman.

           pleasantries, anari had realized early on, were not her forte. she disliked every part of it. every part of having to pretend like she cared about someone’s well being when she truly did not. and yet, she had learned to play the part. so she would, at least, for now. ❝ they are. ❞ the estranged darklyn nods, her gaze shifting from the other’s towards her kids. ❝ but you knew that already. ❞ 

@stonesqueen··

location: sunspear, dorne…wherever the docks are

She couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or insecurity that had brought her to this point. Argella knew exactly where to find her thanks to the letter exchange between her and Anari. The two of them had agreed to meet - a secret she couldn’t even tell those closest to her. She couldn’t even share with her ladies, many of whom had been her companions since she was a child; even they didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine them agreeing with her actions.

Argella would tell herself that it was just a meeting. It had no meaning and caused no harm. Nonetheless, she had snuck out, concealing herself with excessive garments in an attempt to hide her identity. So much effort put into something ostensibly innocent.

She kept her gaze fixed on the ship at the docks, too afraid to approach it. She instead waited for the Queen of the Stepstones to leave and reveal herself. Argella noticed several people there, just walking around and leaving the ship. A silver-haired young boy caught her eye, and Argella immediately assumed he was the illegitimate son of Anari and Daemon about whom she had heard rumors. She had dismissed those rumours at first as lies with no truth to them, but as time passed, the more she wished to see it for herself, to see if there were any similarities in character or appearance.

So she stood there, waiting for Anari, hoping she would arrive sooner rather than later, before people noticed Argella’s absence.

☠

          DOE LIKE ORBS STUDY THE FRAME  of her firstborn, lilac orbs locked on hers - full of mischief. his sister besides him, staring up at her with the same expression. and she sighs, demeanor softening after a long pause of silence. she was meant to meet the widow of daemon targaryen moments ago and they meant to explore. ❝ the beach, that is it and do not stray farther than i can see. once i have finished, we can... wander. ❞ a victorious call from both children urges a smile from the stern woman before she shakes her head and ushers the two off the ship.  

           dark hues study the two, shifting to find the frame of argella baratheon awaiting by the edge of the docks. ❝ mind your sister, aerion. ❞ her voice calls as the pair make a beeline towards the sandy beaches. one would think they had had enough of the ocean what with going everywhere she did and navigating longer than they spend on land. still, she was grateful that they remained content - that the burden of both of their names had not caught up to their youthful joy. he was every bit his father’s son, a constant reminder with every passing day. valyrian blood but more than that, he looked nothing like her and every bit like him. jayne, however, despite the golden tint of her locks - she was every bit hers. 

          ❝ you look well. ❞ the raven haired woman spoke as soon as she was close enough to the other, brown gaze meeting hers. a smile somewhat forced onto the lips of the pirate queen, meaning to assure the other she wishes no illness from this interaction. ❝ come, i wish not let those two out of my sight and... the waves will do well to drown our conversation before they fall on lingering ears. ❞ she nods towards the rocks not too far from them.

.

Darla nodded as she followed her cousin down the hall, stopping at the door to Anari’s room, waiting to be invited inside.

“Only what is widely known, I believe,” she admitted. It didn’t seem like it was something the people around her wanted to discuss. Darla’s father, for example, barely mentioned his late wife’s family after the incident. Perhaps he wanted to protect his daughter, or perhaps he thought the circumstances were too undignified to discuss. Her lord father had died a long time ago, so she would never know. Darla continued, “I know people have stopped referring to you as a Darklyn. They also didn’t say much about you. It was as if you had died” And she herself had begun to suspect that her cousin might had, given that she had vanished without a trace many years ago. “What happened to you? Where were you?”, she inquired, her eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

☠

           SMALL HANDS PRESS AGAINST THE  wooden door until the shut indicates that they are now fairly alone. enough privacy should the two remain soft spoken and there was no reason for them not to.

           people have stopped referring to you as a darklyn. misleading doe hues do not shift, an indication of no surprise having been lost within the crownlands born woman. ❝ perhaps because i am no longer a darklyn. ❞ she admits, moving to take a seat by the newly set flames.

.

When she saw her cousin, a soft smile spread across the corners of her lips. Even after all these years, she could still recognize Anari’s dark and delicate features.

“Anari,” she said as she extended her arms forward for an embrace. The small inn did not appear to be fancy enough to attract a swarm of crownlands lords and ladies.  She assumed no one would be present to witness their reunion. “Yes, of course I am well”, Darla confirmed with a nod of her head, the hood of her cape falling off, revealing her features. “I’m surprised to see you, I admit,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I was starting to think I’d never see you here again.” It had been far too long since she had given up hope, and no one around her seemed eager to tell her the whereabouts of her cousin. Darla’s father in particular, but perhaps he was unsure of his niece’s exact location as well. “Are you coming back for good?” she inquired. “But maybe we should talk about it somewhere quiet first.”

☠

           BROWN HUES SEEM WARMER,  kinder, when met with the gaze of the other. lithe frame moves towards her, arms opening in response before delicately wrapping around the other. it is nearly instinctive, second nature. to others, however, it was entirely out of character. 

         ❝ good. ❞ the woman nods slowly - relieved that there wasn’t anything wrong.

@stonesqueen·

setting: before the blizzard NOW A FLASHBACK.

Darla was aware that some people would object to what she was about to do. But, at the same time, she didn’t feel obligated to anyone. She couldn’t understand how what she was doing was so wrong. Some would say she was on her way to meet an enemy of the crownlands, but to her, it was more than an enemy; it was her cousin. She had missed her cousin. She had no idea how long it had been since they had seen one another. It was interesting to see how their lives had diverged. They were once like sisters. Despite the fact that neither of them had natural sisters, they had discovered the sisterly bond they sought in each other. But fate had separated them. Now was their chance to reunite.

She walked slowly and carefully through the streets of Barrowtown. Her face was obscured by the dark hood she’d put on herself, and the length of the cloak nearly concealed her feet. Darla knew she wasn’t supposed to be seen by anyone, especially since she was betrothed to the Crown’s long-lost cousin. A man whose true loyalties were unclear to her at the time, but she assumed they would become clear as their relationship progressed. She had to be cautious since the situation felt so fragile to her.

Her gaze was drawn to the inn, which was only a few feet away. She took a quick step forward and took the small note from her cloak’s pocket. As she looked at the structure, she thought to herself, This is the place. 

It didn’t take long for her to find herself in front of the establishment’s door. She pushed forward, and the door opened, allowing her to enter. If only she knew the exact location of Anari’s lodgings.

“Please accept my apologies if I’m bothering you,” she said, turning to face the person closest to her. “However, do you know where I can find the innkeeper? I have a question about a guest.”

☠

           SLIM FRAME ENTERS THE INN  not long after her cousin had, information she had not yet known. hands lift to remove the hood of the furs shielding porcelain skin from the harsh winter air. the pirate queen had just returned from the docks, a daily habit - checking up on her men and their fleet. the raven haired woman hears her before she sees her, voice all too familiar even after the time that had attempted to strain their relationship. dark orbs find the golden locks of her cousin. her own flesh and blood, the closest thing to a sister she had ever had. 

          ❝ darla. ❞ her voice calls, calm and steady. the name falls from heart shaped lips with much ease as though she had last seen her yesterday. this was not the case, they both knew it - especially with anari’s permanent departure to tyrosh where she met the late king of the stepstones. even with the public shunning of the heir of darklyn, something that would then permanently be handed down to her youngest brother, a kindness of the gods.

“my thoughts are still muddled in terms of going forward with my plans for the marches. the climate has changed, it is not a questionable king now but a pregnant queen i would be dealing with. but thank you for reaffirming yourself a friend.” mors listened quietly after he spoke, face stoic as he took in the facts as anari laid them out about her son. while he had no intentions to be more than cordial with the westerlands after the fallout of ryon blackmont’s machinations with the lannisters, maybe diverting him with a targaryen heir to manipulate would further remove eyes from dorne and his dealings. tyland seemed to like to put himself in places he shouldn’t be. of course mors would never mention such a thing to the mother of the prince, not wanting to be blamed for however tyland lannister decided to implode the situation as he had with his sister. he may not have witnessed the events of white harbor, but enough eye-witnesses had spoken and it did not paint him in a good light. another reason he was glad to be informed of the truth of ryon’s betrayal.

“it is indeed a tragedy that befell poor daemon targaryen.“ as dorne had never seen the family of dragons as more than aggressors, he would not honor the man with the title of king, but as he understood it, the crownlander was a good and decent man for a dragon. so few remained in the world, and to have another taken was a loss to all who may have seen a better reign if he had lived. “as a man with sisters and wives, i would never wish for them to suffer so. but he did suffer, and has left us with the shattered remains of a house and land in turmoil. a house that has access to a giant flying fireball, if rumors of silverwing’s recovery are to be believed. a shame lord blackmont’s men could not aim better with the scorpions.“ mors gingerly moved in his chair, taking deep breaths as advised by his healer and the maesters no matter the pain that made his eyes narrow for just a moment. comfort was hard to find as his rib felt red hot in his side, but he would not do more than wince about it.

“you will have two princesses to contend with, even with their brother’s signature on a paper, to turn the crownlands to the side that supported their half-uncle and cousins. the war proved how that family likes to… bicker amongst itself.“ he remained as stoic as he had been when it was revealed to him a targaryen lurked in green territory. that was something he didn’t know. “would you be able to trust this woman with the care of your son and his interests? a good portion of the green alliance are… political animals. it may be safe to assume this targaryen is one as well.“ something he would have to question his fellows of next time the greens and dorne came together. he had no desire to play chess with other kings’ lines and business, but to remain blind was a foolish thing. wheels turned in his head as he considered everything before him that the stepstones queen offered.

☠

         DARK ORBS REMAINED FIXED ON  the heir of dorne, a frail man, it seemed. not at all adequate for battle, his very situation being more than proof of her observation. she was good at that, observing and gathering her own opinion of someone and while he attempted to be a good ruler, he had a lot of work to do. a lot of building to make up for. a lot of fear to set aside. you cannot rule a kingdom and undermine yourself. something she had learned at a young enough age - the targaryens were many things and sure of themselves was one. hence the fear they commanded from their enemies, at least, some. 

            ❝ two regents as it is entirely doubtful that the pregnant widowed queen consort is calling any shots with the sisters of daemon targaryen present. ❞ her distaste is masked with facts, words that anyone who knew the two targaryen women would abdicate for. they were stubborn as they were power hungry. an eyebrow raises gingerly at the words of the dornish prince. whether or not he truly felt for the death of the dragon king was a constant mystery, as anari could never truly factually speak on the inner turmoil of another. and yet... something told her he did not much care for the presence or lackthereof daemon targaryen. misleading doe like hues do not miss the narrow of his own, pained. it takes her by surprise, having been raised around the toughest of men. the men that masked their pain in front of others. anari had never laid eyes on a man that so easily allowed another to witness his discomfort. she does not speak on it, instead, her features soften so that not an ounce of acknowledgement remains. not for his pain or his words addressed towards the targaryen family.

his war was over before it even began. while some part of him was happy for it, to silently put aside the plans that never left the dornish council, another part wondered if this next year would be a failed harvest, if drought would come and if he had just pressed forward… no, now was not the time to wallow. tossing aside the announcement of steffon baratheon’s passing, mors sighed deeply despite the ache in his ribs. he knew what was happening now, how the targaryens had now sunk their claws deep back into the stormlands and made any thoughts of claiming the marches much more difficult. even with the scorpions dorne had, the fear of dragonfire was still a real thing. he would not have his men burn in anything other than the dornish heat.

but steffon baratheon’s death was not the only new item on the docket. as the reach gained the alliance of the stepstones pirates, which in generations past dorne also worked with, it was also revealed that the so-called queen had a targaryen heir, one with a better claim than unborn babies and two mourning sisters. mors, looking at all the facts, would at the very least consider there to be a conflict of interest on the horizon for anari, formerly of house darklyn. one that needed to be cleared up at least by some part of the alliance in the south and west of the continent. and if cedric and tyland were away, mors would take it upon himself to at least inquire.

mors rose as far as he was comfortable as she entered after being announced, watching one servant take her cloak while another began pouring a fine dornish vintage for their guest. “forgive my lack of fully standing, i was injured out in the wilds…“ he hesitated on which title to give the woman. queen or lady? how would dorne recognize the pirate fleet not so far off their waters? “–your grace.“ sitting again, he folded his hands and let himself be at some sort of ease. it was not if this was rhaenys targaryen and meria martell all over again. 

“i will be frank and speak to you as an equal, as we are neighbors more or less.” mors was in no mood for the careful meandering of politics she may have had experienced from cedric tyrell. mors didn’t have to worry about a brother on a rock somewhere catching wind of his machinations. “i had originally asked for you to see if you would lend support of your navy so that dorne may claim the marches of the stormlands… but things have changed on that prospect, and so that plan must be put to bed.“ each word was carefully considered and thought of as he spoke, his servant handing off the dornish wine to both prince and queen. these topics were still delicate. “but it has of course come to light you have a son who can claim himself a targaryen and rightful king of the crownlands. which puts you in a tricky spot, i think. allied with one side while fostering the heir of another, and during such tense times.“ the point was insinuated in his tone as he pointed out what they both already knew. what are you planning to do?

☠

          THE PIRATE QUEEN HAD, INDEED,  heard of his injuries. after all, the heir of dorne’s return to barrowtown had been met with neither irrelevance nor silence. dark orbs study the prince, head tilted ever so slightly towards either side - in thought, pondering over his words. he had wished to take part of the stormlands. the confession does not surprise her, he seemed to be a smart man and taking stormlander territory would be a very smart move. increasing the power of dorne while diminishing the power of the baratheon king and his newly wedded sister. but alas, the baratheons had a weak genetic buildup and so the newly crowned king had perished soon after his ill father and his father before that. why he had left his sister as heir was beyond her considering the fact that he had ultimately handed more lands to the targaryens rather than a male member of the baratheon house. in truth, anari was not at all up to date with the baratheons and knew not if another male heir even existed. for the sake of his memory, she hoped one did not. otherwise he was yet another foolish king that had paid the price of falling short.

             ❝ there is no need to apologize, you must be mindful if you intend to recover as quickly as possible. ❞ the dark haired queen finally speaks. she had not missed the hesitance in his words when addressing her and yet she did not wish to strain the relationship she would have to build with the dornish prince. they remained loosely aligned considering they had not come to an actual agreement themselves but she remained allied with the reach. anari intended to officially align herself with each and every kingdom in the greens. ❝ more or less. ❞ the once crownlander echoes, expression light and at ease.

            anari is quiet for a moment, gaze shifting from him to the art adorning the room they were in. he wished to have had her support and so she will confirm that he would have had it. ❝ and you would have had the support of the stepstones. you will continue to have our support should you wish. ❞ orbs settle back onto his eyes, an eyebrow lifting gingerly. as a woman born in the crownlands, she was more than aware of the mess the queen who never was had made with meria martell. the pirate queen was aware of all the messes the targaryens had created and continued to create. unstable, entitled and pretentious. she had hoped it to be in her son’s best interest to be raised aside from the chaos that surrounded the royal house of the targaryens. he wishes to know what she had planned. if she had any ulterior motives.

             ❝ the late daemon targaryen acknowledged our son, aerion. he signed his legitimization which makes my son the legitimate first born son of daemon targaryen, former king of the crownlands. ❞ she begins, frame straightening in the place she had taken a seat when indicated. her gaze does not shift nor falter. ❝ i intend to see him on that throne. ❞ the pirate queen voices before allowing her head to tilt delicately. ❝ i will sympathize with the sisters of daemon targaryen as it is a true shame that the last memory of their brother was... so gruesome. however, they were not the only ones to care for the dragon king. he and i had our differences but he remains the father of my son. i will, also, admit that they are far from capable of leading the crownlands much less the stormlands. the very proof is in their actions. caerella targaryen wishing to aim blame on the lannisters while nelaena targaryen turned against her own blood. it... ❞ the dark haired woman falls silent, seemingly attempting to regather her composure. 

.

it were as though ice itself had crept up the walls of daemon targaryen’s audience chamber, a still but deadly silence suffocating the two subjects of the crownlands that stood within it - for yes, whilst daemon targaryen wore the dragon crown and controlled the might of the targaryen’s themselves, even he himself was a subject to a legacy that was much larger than he, anari, every soul stood and walking the length and breadth of westeros. his demeanor was as hard as it had always been, not seeing a crack of emotion in the stone the targaryens had created within the chaos and the bloodshed that was turning on one another - though his sharp mind caught onto the slight tremble and desperation that seemed to cling to anari darklyn like a dark cloud she was unable to shake.

and it did nothing to him. it filled him with no concern nor worry, nor any dread or anticipation of what she would possibly tell him; gods knew if he was able to turn on his own blood, if he was able to plan and move and listen on the black prince’s plans to kill his own blood, the gods knews he was able to feel nothing, less than nothing, to the woman that had once been a constant in the court of the blacks.

her words cracked the tense silence sat between them, almost as though there was a ledge, and for a moment it were as though he did not hear her at all. in truth, he heard her loud and clear; only, he had no care for the words she had uttered to him, for whether they were lies or by some chance encounter truth, it still meant nothing to him. “you have a son.” his words were flat, cold, and dark; the only children the dragon king cared for were those in which he would bring into the world with the woman he loved, the woman he cherished, and the woman that had stood by him for so many years.

“and he has a traitorous bitch for a mother. i know not what plots you play, what schemes you have concocted for whoever’s whore you play now, lion, rose, or serpent. believe me,  me and my family will play no part in it. get out, whilst you can.” 

☠

           THERE HAD NEVER BEEN A SINGLE  ounce of hope when entering the dragon’s den. the once lady darklyn knew very well that the fire of dragon that burned within the veins of the dragon king would pay her no kindness when standing before him. he had spared her, that much she knew. regardless of whether or not she would show him that she understood that, deep down, the mere fact he hadn’t taken her head meant something. something she would never dwell on. it had been twelve winters since their son’s birth. twelve winters that she had endured herself, as was her choice. the consequences of her own actions and yet she would go through every hardship again if it meant having her son. everything had been worth it. he had made her a mother, whether he acknowledged it or not. there was nostalgia in watching the silver haired, lilac orbed boy grow. 

             nostalgia in the desperation of a new mother, overwhelmed by the cries of a baby boy, loud and obvious. as though he was being so clear in what he needed and she still could not pinpoint it. but she had learned. an inexperienced mother had learned her son’s cries, she spoke his language - fluently. anari had made it her goal to know her son, her perfect baby boy. she had experienced it all, his first steps, the very first time he had spoken, called out for her in a language everyone else understood. she had been everything to him. selfishly, as her mother often warned her. you can give him a better life, a safer life, if you tell the king. but she couldn’t. she wasn’t ready. or at least, she had not been. but times were changing and anari could not and would not condemn her son to a life of a prisoner. forever stuck on lands that did not belong to him..

            the cold harsh words of the dragon king do nothing to shift the features of the pirate queen. jaws parting slightly to allow pearly teeth to grab hold of her tongue, literally needing to bite her tongue. she was not here to fight. nor was she going to allow the denial of the silver haired man to shift her demeanor. ❝ i have a son, ❞ the raven haired woman nods, features at ease. ❝ and so do you. ❞ the king continues, digging at her as though he was aware of the alliances she had secretly formed with the greens. but she is just as good as playing a part, of keeping her composure despite their last interaction. it was the targaryens that were always successful in stirring her emotions so much so that the fire in their veins spewed from her lips. harsh. burning. unrelenting. just as he was, as she always knew he had been. despite the tenderness in his touch that fateful night. 

            daemon of house targaryen was quick to blame her, blind to his own actions, his own fault in her hardships. but she would not allow him to remain blind to their son. he would not make a villain out of their son nor would he make him a casualty to his lack of judgement, she would never allow it. ❝ you made me a whore. and i resent you for nothing, daemon targaryen for the only good thing you have ever done for me is father that boy. my boy. ❞ her tone is hushed, after all, said boy stood mere feet away from the door. ❝ you were meant to represent me, as my once true and only king. you were meant to protect me and my family. all you have done is blame me for choices you have made. ❞ get out. venom continued to lace his words, regardless of the vulnerability in hers. he stood before her, petty, resentful and spiteful. things she, too, was. but not when it came to aerion. ❝ i need you to do for him, everything you did not do for me. ❞

          while her frame does turn, her back to him, it is not at all to leave. steps echo, tense yet graceful - and the only other sound is the opening of the door. lilac hues meet hers, lifting upon registering the sound. a hand is outstretched, offered to him. the lithe frame of her son slips past her pirates, moving just barely into the room before the hood shielding his platinum locks is lowered. she watches the king, silently praying to every single god - the old and the new, that daemon of house targaryen spare her one more time. a hand moves, delicately setting the hood back over his head a couple of moments later, before her head gestures towards the hall. 

ｔｈｅ　ｓｔａｇｅｓ　ｏｆ  

                        𝖆𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖓  𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖑𝖞𝖓  𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖊𝖓

𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 “ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 : 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘰. 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴. ”

disclaimer : i do not own the pictures used in the edit, however the edit itself was made by me for ~ the visuals ~ <33 

ｔｈｅ　ｓｔａｇｅｓ　ｏｆ  

𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖑𝖞𝖓  𝖗𝖞𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖓

𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦: 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦. 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵 .

             of course, she often remained by the town - at the inn nearing the busy main streets. everything depended on the sea or the convenience of being closer to everyone else. the stares directed towards the raven-haired pirate queen were different, they had shifted from curiosity to intrigue. her reputation suddenly spiked, the once lady darklyn now queen of the pirates that had birthed an heir for the targaryen throne. alliances surrounded her, as did enemies. hidden in plain sight and not all declared. it irritated her, being so... unaware. 

            hands remain folded in front of her, casual and at ease. even as she furhter moves into the dornish section of barrowtown. the furs covering her provide warmth but the hood draped over tight braids does much more. shielding her from prying eyes. if she was meant to remain under the radar while securing further alliances, she had to be careful. lithe frame navigates easily, stopping right by the instructed door, the door the men awaiting her had led her to. 

           ❝ prince mors. ❞ comes the polite greeting just as soon as she enters the study. small hands lift, ridding her head of the hood before she moves to slip the furs off as a whole - revealing the delicacy of the pattern on her dress. it is handed off to the rightful person, soft thanks following. ❝ it is my understanding that there are things you wish to discuss ?? ❞ 

          “AN URGENT MATTER” … it was enough to cause the dragon king’s stormy amethyst orbs to narrow in obvious disdain at the prospect of once again coming into the presence of lady darklyn - she who had quickly fell from favour within the court of the crownlands. whilst initially taking a position as the mistress of whispers upon his small council, tightly knit with the other nobles of his court, before tempers and tensions had paved the way for traitorous talk. the man had little space of understanding, even less space for forgiveness; whilst he was not able to be as callous as his own father the black prince, he held spite for not being able to execute what needed to be done in the face of treachery.

daemon of house targaryen held the northern court in high esteem, noble and steady allies through times of war and proved to be so even during times of tense peace - he respected the authority the kings of winter had in their own domain, and thus when an audience was reluctantly agreed to, he knew to make no sudden moves in the face of the power that had deemed themselves an enemy. “do you plan to speak, anari darklyn, or will you stand there?” he asked, his tone blunt and every inch of vexation showing within his silver features.

though there was a time where she was the bold lady darklyn who had even caught his attention for a brief, whirlwind of a night - and yet now, many moons later, all he saw was the face of a traitor. a traitor that deserved the axe, if all truths were being told. he knew of her pride, pride that had been demonstrated during their altercations and how she had continued to stand defiant regardless of her title being stripped from her. it would only be a truly urgent matter that would have her end up before him, as though she were standing trial once again. “speak; i am listening.”

☠

         THE DARK ORBS TAKE IN THE ONCE  familiar frame of the king of the crownlands. he seemed foreign now, having no contact for so long. she was an outsider in every sense of the word. and yet... he called her anari darklyn. as though he, himself, had not stripped her of her birthright. of her inheritance. of her name, in a way. he spoke it with irony, a clear reminder of everything she used to be and was no more. ❝ give me a moment. ❞ the pirate queen lets out, suddenly all too aware of what she was meant to be doing. her words are not harsh, nor is her tone snappy. instead, it is voiced in a whisper, nearly pleading. 

           had it been any other circumstances, she would have snapped a response just as quickly as her status left his lips. but this was different. she was different. there were millions of way to get her message across and yet none seemed fitting. was she meant to ask him how he's been ?? was she supposed to pretend to care about his newfound union, the official wedding to the baratheon woman she held no interest in. not in her wellbeing nor her general existence. they had crossed paths before, of course, back when duskendale was surely hers. even then, anari held no interest in speaking to her or the rest of the baratheons. no ill-feelings, either. just... disinterest. 

           he speaks again, though, this time his words sound more of an order. it shifts something in the raven haired woman, gaze snapping away from his features and finding the familiar lilac gaze. a shiver nearly takes her for his stare is cold and impatient. somehow, harder than it had been the last time they had spoken. if one could call their interaction such a thing.