#g&m.open

daenaera wore thickened leather as she clashed the blunted sword against one of her family guards, who had stepped in to fill the role of master at arms. she advanced, and he blocked before making his own hit against her, his strength causing her to stumble back. they continued training until she met his strike with her own, wrenching downward and twisting the hilt in his hand with her sword. the angle of his wrist caused him to release the weapon, where it lay in the dirt.

"very good, my lady." the guard had commended as he bent down and picked the sword back up. "shall we go again?"

"no." she placed the sword among the other blunted steal. "you were going light on me again. if you will not train with me as you would with my brothers, then i will find someone else." her tone was dismissive as she turned her back to him.

she's angry, can feel the frustration slithering itself inside. wrapping around her diaphragm, constricting the ease of breathing. "if you continue to stare, your eyes may rot out of that pretty head of yours." daenaera's eyes flickered to the one nearby.

Location: Inner Courtyard

Sometimes she felt like she was drowning. This was one of those moments. She was descended upon the moment she emerged from her chambers today. Somehow, she's managed to drag the entire menagerie of nobles towards a seating area in the inner courtyard. At least she could be seated as she listened to court gossip, apologetic condolences, and other things that she couldn't name if you'd asked her to because she wasn't wholly paying attention

For a brief moment, Visenya was lulled by the silence outside her balcony windows, and so she made her way down. Accompanied by her loyal guard and a handmaiden, she was soon seen making her way down the stairs and into the courtyard. Sometimes, she felt the air was stale inside, and waited for just the right moment to emerge and take air. The feeling of mourning still somewhat surrounds her, evident in her attire. She longs for the day she can return to wearing colors, as mourning garb is rather drab to her, even if it's a requirement to an extent.

the sprawling harbor of king's landing unfolded before sebaston farman, like an elaborate, shimmering tapestry. ships, both large and small, anchored majestically on the shimmering blue water, their masts swaying rhythmically against the backdrop of the azure sky. gulls cried overhead, while sailors called out orders and merchants peddled their wares, contributing to the constant, lively hum of activity.

fresh from a tour of the crown's impressive fleet, sebaston's gaze was particularly drawn to king daeron's latest pride – a behemoth of a ship, gifted by house redwyne. it stood out, not just in size, but in its intricate designs and the efficiency with which its crew moved. throughout his tour, sebaston had meticulously scribbled down notes; the innovative ship designs, the organized hierarchy of the ship staff, and the clever layout of the harbor. he intended to use these as inspiration, hoping to implement and perhaps enhance some of these structures back home.

king's landing was a city of contrasts. the mingling scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery, ocean brine from the blackwater bay, and the faint tang of city life hung heavy in the air. cobbled streets bustled with people from all walks of life: nobles clad in fine silks, merchants haggling with fervor, and smallfolk going about their daily chores. among the crowd, the towering sept of baelor loomed, a testament to faith's hold on the city, while in the distance, the red keep perched atop aegon's hill, ever watchful.

lorence hightower, garbed in a refined tunic bearing the burning tower emblem of his house, navigated through the maze of king's landing streets, his short brown hair catching glints of sunlight that managed to pierce through the overhead canopies. he halted momentarily outside a bookshop, where scrolls and tomes from various parts of westeros were on display. though his primary purpose in the city was managing house hightower's trading interests, the allure of knowledge often sidetracked him.

sebaston farman stood in the dimly lit hallway, his gaze fixed on the ornate tapestries adorning the walls. the flickering torches cast dancing shadows, accentuating the intricate details of the woven scenes depicting ancient battles and noble houses. the air was thick with anticipation as another grand feast in the great hall loomed ahead, drawing the attention of lords and ladies from all corners of the realm.

lost in his thoughts, sebaston's mind wandered, tracing the familiar patterns etched into his family's history. the weight of his responsibilities as the heir to house farman rested heavily on his shoulders, and the echoes of past alliances and political maneuvers reverberated through his thoughts. as the grand doors to the great hall beckoned, he knew he would soon be enveloped in a sea of swirling conversations, hidden agendas, and the delicate dance of power.

but for now, in the quiet solitude of the hallway, sebaston found a moment of respite. you can't hide on your island forever... the soft sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, signaling the arrival of others who, like him, were preparing to immerse themselves in the grand affair that awaited. with a steady breath, he adjusted his attire, ensuring that his lineage was evident in every carefully chosen garment.

as he leaned against the cold stone wall, his mind filled with anticipation for the night that lay ahead. the feast would bring together allies and rivals, friendships and enmities, all merging in a symphony of politics and ambition. it was a stage on which he would play his part, navigating the intricate web of courtly intrigue and the delicate balance of power.