𝔏ord lyonel of the stormlands, now beholden to the knowing watch of a lady green to her titles in many ways, but not far from her wits. nobles could be tricky. some, if not all, even enjoyed it, the wicked sport of taking advantage of the good faith of better fools. no one besides the lickspittles and spiders among the beauteous pillars of grandeur, the secret places of the castles so grand, so imposing, could hope for a tongue so silver-war man that the laughing storm was. turstin wymond is not a waif to be quelled says the way she regards him then from over the goblet he has made her hesitate to bring to her lips. what stirs her blood so? ' 𝔖he ate men like you, that red mare upon my banner. not many live still from her time to recall her but i have their children for that. horrifying things, what she could do to a body. ' a quickening inside of her, passable as a man enflamed from where she eases herself into the unyielding seat across the table. she feels the weight of her father bearing down upon her brow-feels him pull his face over hers, stony, fixed. ' they thought she was a direwolf, at first, the way she tore it apart. '

like honeyed gold the lord's eyes were. she could see it even from where she sat in his good company. she's aware of herself, painfully, when at chance she glimpses his grin, lips curled like broad strokes of filigree. so cocksure. like a boy. ' what will you do for a woman with a dragon? '

@lyonelb

warm burnt orange

Riding off into the sunset, the hope of a happy ending, the bitter after taste that still in it's own way smells kinda great. Your love is all bitter hopefulness, all about a broken heart that refuses to quit, all about the unshakable knowledge that a burning fire has a great comforting warm and a soft glowing light, all about the way when the sun comes down there's a beautiful starry night. It's stubbornness, it's the refusal to give up, the clutching of broken shards despite the searing pain and being adamant that dammit you can still make a beautiful stained glass window out of it. Yours is a screaming heart, a pleading love, a bitter and almost belligerent hopefulness that things will still work out even if you have to roll up your sleeves and make them. And god, aren't you tired? Isn't your heart heavy? Is all your hard work worth it? Don't you just want to curl up and let it be? Let the fire turn to ashes and the sky turn dark and let love die down and watch people leave? But you don't, do you? You're the bravest out of all of us, so you pick up the pieces and you keep going, you keep believing and you keep your heart full of hope because some day. Some day you know you'll get it. You keep riding off into the sunset and you keep filling my heart with hope as you go because god, how do I wish you finally get it too.  

tagged by: @firelightfables