#dracoevent

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼: 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 . 𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭'𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 .

　　the evening was perfect for a masquerade. the stars shone bright above the red keep, as lords from all across the land made themselves present for a grand celebration. no war was to be fought, for everyone who had a seat on the feast would be protected under guest right. cersei had been the mastermind behind it all, and as such, they had to make sure they would dazzle the entire kingdom as she walked into the great hall. dawning one of her richest tunics, a number in ruby red velvet and silk, with gold embroidery all across. the mask was solid gold too, melted to resemble a lioness' head. an special expense, but did it really matter if it was the queen's desire?

　　tyrion had been against the idea from the very beginning, and yet by the time he confronted his sister about it, the ravens had taken flight. all carrying invitations signed and sealed by king joffrey himself.

　　"was i supposed to tell you?" they had asked, rage burning green in their eyes. "just as you told me about shipping my one daughter miles away from me?"

King's Landing Masquerade Ball - Betrothal Commencement

`✦ Arrivals ⊹ The whispers of farewells would sate Moondragon long enough to keep her temper at bay. The belly of capital was a labyrinth that would consume the wandering. What was once a scribe of caution were old tales that many would use to make the young fall into reason. History failed them. The collection of time's passage drew Baela to pause. He'd question the validity to which most presented with some parchment. Chronology had been one of the few things that struck him with uncertainty even as he clasped to Jacaerys' hand. A gentle squeeze was to reassure the Prince Reagent. But it was also to bring himself back to the present. He could allude to composure. His grace allowed everyone to perceive his evenness as control. But there was an inkling of worry. Worry about what could come. Every action that led to the present made him consider holding on to what he had. The chronicles of his life felt like heavy chords of a lyre. He smiled for a moment as the pair ascend stairs and cross doorways. He'd catch the absent, fleeting gaze of his betrothed, and his hand was released once their privacy had been severed. Welcoming parties would escort them into the inner chambers of the celebration. It was familiar, but the air; the feeling of these chambers, felt so distorted. These faces. These strangers.

"Remind me of our purpose, my love?" Baela whispered, withdrawing the meandering attention from Jace's curiosities back to him. His own gaze resumed the consumption of their immediate vicinity. It was best to anticipate that variables than to be caught by complete surprise. His own ignorance of their anomaly had been dispelled by the intel and informants that brought him up to speed. Driftmark was their haven. And it was now time to immerse themselves into the heaviness of politics of the kingdoms. They were prepared for this their entire lives. It was only time for Jace to step into everything their Queen had bestowed upon his shoulders. "I do believe we'd do greater good if we split our efforts after we share a dance. Make it look less suspicious, though my white hair and my grandfather's pin is doing a fine job stoking those flames." Baela gestured to the watchful gazes of the splintered courts and judging gazes.

`✦ Subtleness ⊹ Sehkirus mask did very little to obscure the features to which the gods had graced them with. The moss and lavender added a gentle fragrance amongst the consumption of wine and charred meats. Perhaps it was their ethereal essence that drew virile to make hushed bets on their attempts to provoke the priestess from their celebration. Perhaps the language of seduction roused these nobles. Their own awareness sought to release these men from their own search for fulfillment to truly celebrate another union between two houses. And for a moment, Sehkirus sought to embrace the wonderful exploits of two lovers finding one another -- regardless of political or tactical gain.

The tempers of war raged; yet, these were not their battles to which they were capable of fighting. Nor could they extinguish them. Their purpose was to serve through other means. Their hands could not wield a sword. Not of the iron nor cold steel. It was their turn to bestow the Dorne prince of well-intentions. Sehkirus place a hand over their heart to submit their regard for prince's title and throne. Also to keep the silks from slipping under the weight of their emerald pendant. It was no mystery to the Priestess' placement. It was clear how the guards and knights addressed them through their steely stares that fought off inhibitions.

"Your Highness...," Sehkirus spoke softly. Naturally, modulating between direction and regard. They were instructed to make as many exchanges with the houses, possible. Granted the chance, why not? After all, perhaps fate would have them befriend a heir for whatever intention The Nigh had for them. "It pleases me that you have a great lifetime ahead of you both. May the Gods shine upon you, both."

`✦ Boldness ⊹ To some, staring into the depths of uncertainty would present one with a state of dread. Fear, even. With what he'd learned of these chronicled bits made him only want to dig deeper. The bitterness that certainly lingered on his tongue only enhanced Baela's desire to stride deeper. He watched everyone in the room, no matter their age or position. And yet, none were wiser to his purpose nor intent. He'd known the dangers of every single stage of someone's life. And some weren't to be underestimated at any phase. He'd watched how the room moved. Some were absent in their approaches. Reproaches, even. Some danced with flirtations. Some with disgust. However, it seemed one person would assume every piece upon the board was theirs to move. Cersei Lannister. Baela moved through the crowd. His eyes were absently skimming across the many faces until servants and knights shifted into place. Their attention was anything but warm. They were receptive, but not quite as if familiarity or warmth welcomed the platinum white hair of a face hidden beneath the owl mask.

The closer he'd arrived to the particular dates of the betrothal's celebration, the more people began to spread word of Lady Baela's presence in Westeros. Fleets of sailors said it as if it as myth. Like some ghost haunting great halls and ballrooms. Some dismissing absent details. Though the widespread conversations of dragons; once again, taking to the sky had made many uneasy. Only-- the numbers of the winged beasts made information move slower. Shorelines were first to break news. How far the stories had made it? Baela wasn't exactly clear. Though, it was quite time to reveal themselves. After all, Driftmark was becoming much more lively with more of Corlys' blood stoking those flames, again.

"Your majesty." Baela broke silence as he dipped into a deep bow before the queen of this familiar shadow of a foreign land. He'd wait for the Queen to either receive or turn the Lady of Driftmark away.

`✦ Intentionality ⊹ Baela nursed the glass of wine to which he'd factored could be a token of poison. An act of sabotage. One slip of awareness; or his watchful gaze, could have him ensnared in a position that could prove to be beneficial for one party or another. Though he were displaced, Baela had become well-studied of modern structures and leverages of power. He only sought to witness the balances and exchanges for himself. All of which were consequential to his placement. Some of the knowledge was palpable. The air had grown to become dense enough to cause retching or discomfort. Anxiety and nervousness was a given. Jace and Baela were walking into a situation with half-truths at no fault of their own. They didn't belong here. It had yet to be disproven if they were the only ones thrown into this period. Additional whispers of dragons could be manufactured to keep the pair under control. But he'd always keep caution at his side. His gaze is cast upon those around him. Some houses brought silence to his wandering mind. Some details recalled, but nothing substantial. His white hair was a talking point. His regal fashioned sash made many curious. Yet the dragon's pin and the pearlescent owl drew in few anchors.

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼: 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 . 𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘺𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭'𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 .

　　« why does it have to be me? »

　　sam knew the answer, but that didn't mean he was any less frustrated about it. much to his dismay, there were very few members of the night's watch who had been raised with lands and titles to themselves, and those who did were not in a good position to present themselves anywhere near court, let alone for such a fanciful event as a masquerade celebrating the engagement of a princess. samwell, however, had taken the black willingly, with no crime or reason that would make the lords of westeros turn him away — other than his father, of course.

　　randyll tarly had chastised his wife time and time again for taking away time from sam's training sessions to instead teach him the (effeminate, he alleged) ways one carried himself through balls and feasts. social skills which the young man had taken to heart, even if his meekish nature and low self-esteem made him come across as anything but graceful or dignified. those lessons would all be put to test that very evening, as his goal was simple. to get a king - any king - to just listen to his pleas.

　　the road to king's landing was long and tiring, but sure enough, sam arrived the very night of the grand masquerade. the southern warmth embraced him after months of getting used to the wall's icy air, and sam couldn't help his smile as he let go of the bulky furs and thick leathers, to instead indulge himself with a more elegant attire. all in black, as his vows obliged, but made out of fresh silk and cotton. the mask was plain, with no elaborate decorations except for the grey trim of thread that hemmed it - all their coins had gone in putting together a decent enough outfit that would fit samwell's ample figure.

　　the castle brimmed with light and music. the scent in the air was obscene, filling samwell's nostrils with the promise of the best meal he has had in a very long time. but of course he could not let himself go fancy-free around the keep, he had a mission to accomplish. jon had told him whom he had to look for first. tall and lean, with hair of copper and eyes of blue.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤHEAR YE! HEAR YE! ㅤㅤAll ye Lords and Ladies, the honor of thy presence is requested at a masked ball celebrating the betrothal of Myrcella Baratheon and Trystane Martell. Come celebrate with the royal family in King's Landing where all are invited to revel until dawn. Food and entertainment will be aplenty. We only ask that you leave all animosity at the door, and don a mask the entire evening.

"The people are hungry for more than just food. They crave distractions. And if we don't provide them, they'll create their own. And their distractions are likely to end with us being torn to pieces". - Olenna Tyrell

What a foolish notion it must seem to throw a masquerade ball while the realm tears itself apart. Not even a war between five kings can stop the machinations of court, and a marriage between the Lannisters and Martells is one that will prove to be prosperous. If the lions want to remain upon the Iron Throne they will need all the support they can acquire. This betrothal serves as a pact between their great houses, hopefully mending any bad blood that remains between them. But it isn't easy for the Martells to forgive or forget. Invitations for the masquerade ball have been sent all over the realm. Painted scrolls announcing the betrothal arrived in castles as far as the north, and even in villages decimated by war. While the invitation calls for peace, it can serve as an opportunity to mingle with the enemy and to rub shoulders with royalty.