#dracostarter

　　　　　　dragons.

　　it was all whispers and rumours so far - an annoying amount since cersei arrived back to king's landing after a much unpleasant visit to the reach. it would have been one thing if it was just the delusion of the peasantry speaking, but even their small council was discussing the sightings of a winged beast by the outskirts of the city. along the goldroad, according to varys. the dammed eunuch was not of her trust, but his claims did make the regent feel uneasy.

　　« she cannot be here...she is just a child, leagues away, riding her steeds across the dothraki sea like the little savage she is meant to be. her dragons, if she even has them, cannot be larger than a common lizard... » and if cersei was to rely on the words of the spider's little birds, the creature spotted was larger than any other, it could not be confused with anything else.

　　not willing to think any further about such senseless allegations, the queen decided to give herself some confort. a warm bath and a fresh set of robes, adorning themselves in red and gold before dinner was served. but just as the crossed one of the empty courtyards, she could hear steps coming right behind them. a guard, perhaps, if not one of their children.

`✦ Appraisal ⊹ Delicate in approach. Intentional in decisiveness. They'd gently peruse every piece of fruit that could fit into the silk-lined basket. As its tow increased in weight, it would draw closer to their bosom. The cleave of their breast threatening to spill from the neckline of their emerald wraps. Softened whispers sought to elude the ears of Sehkirus for gossip was rampant through the cobble streets. Droves of fact and fiction seemed to be carried as if horse and carriage paraded it. Mahogany gaze danced as if ignorance shielded the chattering from their ears. A moment of victory and glee was granted before they'd flicker like a sudden wildfire. They jolted upwards as Sehkirus procured ripe plums to be juiced. Eye contact was established. The swelling smile caught them by surprise. Their disposition fed the Priestess almost as if it were the air in their lungs or water to the thirsty.

* 🏵️           —         “ my  lord , ”  he ’ d  been  cornered  —  again  —  by  a  lordling  from  the crownlands  whose  tongue  had  grown  looser  with  every  cup .  his  breath  had  been  thick  with  wine  and  mead , and boast ,  and  the rose of highgarden had  smiled ,  sweet  and  patient ,  as the man stumbled through the dance and stepped on his feet .  “ forgive  me  —  but  i  promised  another  the  next  dance . ”

a  lie ,  of  course .  but  lies  were  what happened  when  charm  failed  him .  before  the  drunkard  could  protest ,  margaeran  slipped  free ,  turning  with  a  practiced  grace  —  and  let  his  gaze  fall  upon  the  nearest  stranger .  tall ,  small , dark ,  or  fair ,  it  mattered  not ;  what  mattered  was  escape . 

“ you ’ ll  save  me ,  won ’ t  you ? ” he  stopped  before  them ,  one  hand  extended ,  the  other  resting  lightly  at  his  side .  the  faintest  glimmer  of  mischief  curved  his  mouth  as  he  bowed  his  head . “ it seems i find myself in desperate need of a new dance partner . ”

𝓽𝔀𝓸 𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓰𝓸, Corlys Velaryon had taught his grandchildren how to swim in the ocean surrounding Driftmark. Jace had always loved the water and now reminisced on days spent with Luke, when they would both dive as deeply as possible beneath her surface. He loved the silky feel of water over his skin, the refreshing sharpness of jumping into her cold embrace, and the sensation that he was flying. Jace couldn't look upon the ocean now without being reminded that Luke was somewhere, slumbering beneath her depths. Guilt had been his constant companion since that raven had arrived from Dragonstone and informed him of his brother's fate. It had been his idea to send riders instead of ravens, and now he would forever regret that decision. Poor Luke. His little brother. His confidante. His very best friend in all the realm. Vermax, sensing the grief welling in his rider, nudges Jace with his snout. He presses a shaking hand on the top of his dragon's head, allowing a breath to escape his lips. Jace couldn't allow himself to be consumed by the violent storm of emotion surging within him. For he could no longer exact his revenge upon Aemond Targaryen. Jace had departed from Winterfell, promising Cregan Stark that they would one day be reunited, only to be consumed by a yawning portal. Vermax had been in flight when brilliant flames passed over both of them. Jace had clamped his eyes shut, certain that something awful had happened to the both of them. When he opened his eyes, it appeared as if nothing had happened, for his flesh wasn't scorched, and Vermax was perfectly alright. Uncertain of the strange phenomena, Jace continued his journey to Dragonstone so he could tell his mother of his accomplishments and to mourn Luke. Touching down upon the shore, Jace quickly realized that something was amiss. His mother's forces were nowhere in sight, and the sight of Vermax touching down outside Dragonstone had caused quite the stir. When armed guards in Baratheon sigils stormed outside the gates to challenge him, Jace retreated up and into the sky. He immediately assumed that the Baratheons had stormed Dragonstone, displacing his mother and his surviving family. He had little time to think, for Vermax was exhausted and needed to rest. So touching down near the ancestral castle of Driftmark, he made camp for the night.

Beside a crumbling tower, Jace had built a small fire that now slowly cooked fish he had caught with a rudimentary fishing pole. It was Vermax that informed Jace that they were no longer alone. Having been sleeping, the dragon lifted his head and let out a hiss in warning at the stranger and their approach. Drawing his sword, Jace turns toward them with a scowl. "You'll turn around if you value your life, friend. We've no need for company, so be gone." It was unbecoming of a crown prince to be so hostile, but Jace had run out of his reserves of charm.

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?"

* 🏵️           —          the   camp   at   bitterbridge   came   alive   with   the   golden   light   of   sundown .       tents   and   pavilions   stood   along   the   riverbank,   pale   against   the   tall   grass ,   candlelight and fires , the   scent   of   woodsmoke   and   horses   heavy   in   the   air . above   it   all ,   the   crowned   gold   stag   on   green   snapped   in   the   wind ,   proud   and   impatient ,   a   promise   and   a   warning   both .    

 margaeran   tyrell   stood   beneath   the   largest   of   the   banners ,   hands   lightly   clasped   before   him ,   posture   straight   and   calm .   his   brown   hair   was   neat   ,   falling   just   so   over   his   forehead ,   chestnut   eyes   alert   yet   warm .   pale   green   doublet   embroidered   with   gold   roses ,   deep   green   cloak   lined   in   silk ,   boots   polished   and   clean .   at   his   belt ,   a   slender   dagger   gleamed   faintly   —   ornament ,   perhaps ,   but   still   a   mark   of   station .   every   detail   chosen ,   every   gesture   deliberate . the very image of what a consort should be .

“ welcome   to   bitterbridge , ”    voice   soft ,   measured ,   carrying   across   the   courtyard   without   raising   it . his   smile   was   light ,   practiced — enough   to   invite   trust . with his husband , the king . . . otherwise engaged , it fell to the consort to welcome new allies .    “ his majesty , king renly   has   graciously opened   his   camp   to   all   who   come   in   good   faith .   observe   these   grounds   and people with   care ,   and   you   will   find   only   courtesy   in   return . ”

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.