#loreforged

@loreforged says ❝ one war ends, another begins. there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. ❞ / maege

THE ROPE BINDING HIS HANDS STILL ISN'T ENTIRELY CUSHY , despite it having been loosened already . it also is no longer tied to his feet , which is almost hospitable at this point . they , too , have switched the non - existent comforts of his cell with a seat at the long table in the center of the Great Hall of Mormont Keep ; a dark , intimidating place if there ever was one , but strangely warm despite the rain and light drizzle of snow crashing against the stone walls . the bears have caught themselves a kraken . and Maron finds some ironic comfort in their sigil not being a salmon .

he watches while a servant refills his horn with strong , black ale , glad that the old she - bear apparently has remembered that he , too , is highborn and not some lowely villain - and cants his head at her words . seemingly calm and unafraid , but also lacking any viciousness or intent to fight . the Greyjoy knows when he's lost . for now at least . . .

Maron:

@loreforged says ❝ the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. ❞ / theon

THE MOVEMENT IS QUICK AS A WHIP AND HURTS JUST AS BAD ; Maron's hand closing around the back of Theon's neck , fingers digging into the sensitive skin , holding him by the scruff like one would a dog . he pulls him closer , a force as old as time and one unique to the strength an older brother has over the younger one . and something burns in his eyes when he glares at Theon , close , so very close nobody else in the courts of the Great Keep would hear the low hiss that follows . " don't you ever cite Stark words to me . " the grip around his neck is one of steel and iron indeed . the way it's been bred into Maron . the way it lacks in Theon .

to hear him speak in such heartfelt (and heartbreaking) candor of the tragedies he has suffered in a relatively short span of time is to make jeyne feel remorse for the many times in her youth she had found herself beseeching the gods for a more eventful life. in her folly and naivety, she had fallen into the dangerously ignorant assumption that a lively life was an inevitably positive one but that was not so. one's life could be filled with tragedies in rapid succession. far better then that her life has been spent within the mundane and tumbling corridors of the crag. or is it? how can she hope to comfort robb when she herself has not experienced such tragedies? will not her words ring hollow?

wide light brown eyes shift downwards to be concealed by her lashes as a flurry of emotions flit across her expression: sympathy, anguish, a softer strain of grief, a pain that comes from discerning the heartbreak of another. slender fingers twist together in a fleeting yet inherent gesture of inner consternation before she reaches forward to rest a light hand against his forearm.

that she and her second eldest son see the realm and its denizens differently is of little surprise to alicent but there are moments, such as now, when she finds herself taken aback at the unexpected reminder that her two eldest sons, for all of their bravado and boasts (made in different ways), are still woefully young. both aegon and aemond are more than capable of command, of holding a sword in their hands and leading men and yet in some ways, she finds them both shrouded in naivety. 'the loyalty of men in this realm are akin to mayflies. it lives but for a short time and oft not at all, not truly.' what an unpleasant reminder (as if she needs any reminding) that the lives of her children are in great peril when surrounded by so many who profess such stalwart loyalty yet fall so short in action.

'do not make your father's mistake, aemond. too often he allowed himself to believe the all-too fallible promises of men, especially those spoken by his brother.' fortunately, her sons seemed to take little after their father, despite the physical resemblance. all her children would need to be made of sterner stuff if they were to not only survive but thrive through the wars to come.

that a show of strength is so vehemently demanded in the first place despite the loss that has been suffered by the realm's ruling family is enough to make kiera bristle. she needs no reminder that it is the duty of targaryen princes and princess, both of birth and of marriage, to keep the realm at ease by keeping shoulders squared and chins stubbornly uplifted despite trials and tribulations but while such an approach seems both logical and palatable in the abstract, it is harder to embrace in practice. a father is still a father and a son is still a son, regardless of what stations they might occupy in life. the people of the realm possess hearts of their own as well as families, surely they would not be shaken by heartfelt displays of grief? surely they might prefer sincere sentiment over stoic composure?

'it grieves me that you have been made to mourn your father in such a circuitous manner. you may be the realm's greatest prince but it seems many forget that you were prince baelor's son first and that is how you should grieve him.' it is agonizing enough to think of the tumult of emotions that have plagued valarr since his father's death for so grim and shocking a demise many would be hard put to think of, but to then be prodded into moderating one's such emotions in the aftermath is a different yet just as heartwrenching agony.