#glorytragedy

every one of elia martell's smiles are entirely deliberate, they are something that she has to put thought and a varying amount ( depending on the day ) of effort into; it could be a large amount of effort to produce a smile that is fleeting, one that blossoms and fades within seconds, it could be a small amount of effort to produce a smile that lasts - that fades and grows again and fades and grows - and yet, always maintained. it could be a medium amount of effort to produce a smile that lasts only for the duration of a single conversation. there are some days where she ? cannot maintain them at all, no matter how much she wants to. and there are some days where the outward expression of emotion in general just exhausts too much of her energy to the point she cannot even bring herself to make the attempt.

because the majority of her reserves is going to keeping herself walking, keeping herself going and moving and doing what needs to be done; what being princess consort of dragonstone and later queen consort means ( it is something she manages by allocating her energy to where there is a perceived need - a thing she mastered growing up through trial and error. there were many times as a child where she did overexert herself and end up bedridden for a few days before she began to understand that she needed to listen to her body first and foremost so she knew at what pace she could go that day, so she could ration it out accordingly and could get the most done before she needed to rest ) no matter how much she wants to. smiling can be a very tiring process for her depending on the day, but even on her better days they still take enough energy that they can never be considered instant.

that said, a lot of things make her want to. a lot of things make her at least try to smile. a lot of people. her children, chiefly, are the ones who she tries the hardest to summon a smile for, and who most of the time she manages to summon at least a partial, faint one for. her niece and her nephew make her try to smile ( nieces and nephews in the verse where she lives to meet trystane and the sand snakes ) her husband makes her try to smile, her brothers make her try to smile, her mother and her father make her try to smile, her cousins make her try to smile, her ladies in wait make her try to smile, the children of courtiers or villagers or lords that she meets make her try to smile because she ? absolutely adores children - she tries her best to be as warm and welcoming as she can be to them so they feel safe around her and not as though they need to stand on ceremony, or do anything to gain her approval because of her station.

a gift that is indicative of a degree of understanding to the type of person that she is makes her try to smile - something that is demonstrative of clear caring and prolonged effort. a musical composition also makes her try to smile whether it's ? a happy or sad composition, because it's the music itself and the feeling that it invokes; the beauty of that and the dedication to making it be felt is what makes her smile - not the specific emotion intended. as a musician herself, she can appreciate the mastery and the technique aspects of it in a way that compounds with her appreciation of the loveliness of it to make the whole thing that much more important to her. to paint makes her try and smile, because one consistent theme in the want to for her is contentment, it's peace, and her passions make her feel the most at peace.

"i am certain arya does not hate you. not truly." catelyn's voice is a low hum in the quiet room, gentle as the early summer breezes that blew across the river. the brush moves through sansa's hair with similar gentleness, its ease aided by the absence of snarls to stop it. they are so different from each other, her girls, in a way that she and lysa had not been. or had been but with different consequence: soft, sweet lysa and her timid silences. it leaves cat short of helpful stories, now.

"you are different, and differences always hurt worse when you're young." beneath the brush, sansa's hair shines in the candlelight like something molten. funny, cat thinks, how it happens : much as sansa looks like her, it is ned she takes after most in other ways.

"arya thinks courage looks a certain way. it is not the kind of courage you have, nor the courage i would want you to have. it does not mean you lack in it, or in loyalty." she arranges a new section of sansa's hair with gentle fingers, pulling it back over her shoulder. how she treasures these moments, stolen from the busy days. the chance to spend time with sansa on her own, without the clamor of the others.

CONTINUED FROM HERE. ft @glorytragedy

the hulking keep of dragonstone and it's gray surroundings are a far cry from the sun-swathed corridors of sunspear or the whisper-laden corridors of the red keep, but there is a sort of peace here in the atmosphere that feels almost within her grasp. though the reason for their relocation to dragonstone is a grim one (one she refuses to dwell on in the present daylight), she cannot but think it is all to the better as she gazes upon the swells of the sea, dark hair whipping around her face from the ocean breeze. she should have followed her husband's lead and used a veil or scarf to fasten her long tresses away from her face, but this is yet another lesson to be learned.

rhaegar's gaze is fixed on the water but elia is watching him, studying this man who is now bound to her by all the rites and divine sanction that both the westerosi and dornish hold dear. she means what she says: different though they may be in some ways, she sees potential their union, a possibility that their marriage might prove to become something more than a dynamic of mere tolerance and courtesy as so many arranged marriages often are.

'has your father always been this way?' there's a quiet hesitation underlining her words as if the dornish princess fears to tread on unwelcome territory. her dornish kin have their own quirks and struggles, but her targaryen kin by marriage have proven to be strange creatures that often defy common understanding but understand she must. she may be an outsider now, but she will not allow herself to be coaxed into remaining ignorant.

'it defies reason that a father could be so blind about his own child.' she admits as one of her hands dips to raise crimson skirts away from a particularly long-reaching swell of water. 'mayhaps he will reconsider his manner in the wake of your absence.' there is the streak of idealism that oberyn has so often teased her about.

there comes a point when anakin begins to have dreams that seemingly predict livvy’s death. in the dream he see’s her fighting valiantly, but her opponent is just too strong and she’s alone. the dream always ends the same way; livvy on the ground, a cut on her forehead dripping blood down her face, and a crimson lightsaber drawn and ready. the lightsaber arcs, livvy screams, rubble begins to fall, and then he wakes up.

anakin tries to protect her. he does his best to limit her missions and watches her like a hawk when they leave the temple. but it’s not enough. livvy ends up having what she believes to be an enlightening conversation with palpatine where she confesses that she’s worried about anakin and palpatine more or less tells her that she should protect him the way he protects her.

livvy and anakin get separated on a moon and grievous is in the area. while anakin battles grievous, livvy attempts to circumvent his plans on the other end of the station. unfortunately, dooku is there as well. they fight and livvy looses. anakin finds livvy’s lightsaber and blood in a heap of rubble; obi-wan has to physically force anakin away as he frantically searches through the debris while the station collapses around them.

olivia is presumed dead. anakin insists for months that she’s out there. that he can feel her force essence in the periphery of his senses and that he needs to find her. this is mostly written off as him grieving. eventually, even he can no longer sense her.

@glorytragedy​ :     “ you  won’t  like  what  you’ll  see. ” / from guinevak

@glorytragedy ​​ 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞: ❛  is  this  all  in  my  head ?  ❜ / from Rhaegar!

       “ Neither your eyes nor your mind deceive you. ” Alike, so very alike :  truly, a sign of destiny, for even though she has been kept from him and he from her, they burn as one. Perhaps she should have come sooner, should have sought him at an earlier time. My children, they were hurting, starving, grieving. They needed me, she reflects, watching as Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon play their game, dancing around each other in the sky, snapping, and shoving in hopes of triumph ( determined, of course, by who gets pushed into the mountains of snow beneath ) ; massive, fierce, and deadly, yet before her very eyes, she sees naught but her sweet hatchlings. In another time, she would have joined them, rolling around on the ground, giggling, as they latched onto her arms, legs, and shoulders, flashing their needled teeth and screaming. “ Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal are their names, ” she notes, lifting gloved fingers to identify them, and with the other hand, she touches her brother’s arm, smile brightening upon her lips. “ I named Rhaegal for you — — — and for my babe. Both of you precious to my heart well before I ever had the chance to meet you. ”