#quvir

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 ? 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 as affectively as she could. sometimes she wonders if the feeling, that emotion, was tied to her soul but like a weighted chain around her ankle. just like shame or guilt or remorse. all of them serve to weight her down but no one ever taught her how to get rid of those feelings ... she just grew accustomed to sitting in the discomfort or the pain. ( alyrie would be ashamed of her father. a thought that often crosses the dowager queens mind in times of silence or reflection--he was suppose to protect her, guide her, but instead he made her life about his ambitions. otto hightower failed her but worse of all he willingly inflected pain upon her. & for what ? ) fingers continue to dig at one another with head dipped to focus only on it, eyebrows furrow when vic asks his question as it were more obvious than a question.

@quvir ASKED, " ARE YOU SCARED ? "

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃, 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓 ? their world, society, people were littered with the notion of violence. ever quickly would a king or his hand decide that a problem required the use of soldiers, swords, or dragons. they wished to get blood on their swords or to seek glory in the battles they win beliving it will win favor or honor for whoever lives at the end. all of it was for the beasts yet that is, at times she thinks, what men are or, more like, all they are capable of being. thankfully her lord husband had been able to rule the realm under a peaceful reign ... one without major war or dragon battle safe for the efforts in the stepstones. viserys could throw events or hosts feasts, he had the ability to feed & tend to his people without much strain from anything else. alicent yearns for days like that now.

@quvir ASKED, " VIOLENCE FOR VIOLENCE IS THE RULE FOR BEASTS. "

Drinking was done on rare occasions for Larys.   Of course he sipped from the obligatory cup of wine at gatherings, but rarely more than that, head always left light and buzzed after a single serving.   Though the constant darkening on the horizon, war hanging over everyone's head,   the threat of death and chaos were rising day by day,   Larys sank into a moment of weakness.

It all started with the thought of where his brother would be if he were still living.   Where would Harwin find himself if he lived to see his princess flee from her castle?   Would he be loyal to his family and stay at Harrenhal?   Would he run to Dragonstone the moment he could?   Was his eldest sibling cursed to die no matter what?   The news of Daemon's arrival in Harrenhal made him sick,   he could only see that his brother's fate was sealed no matter what;   Larys had little faith that Daemon would let his queen's paramour live especially if he held the castle he desired.

By fire his brother was destined to burn. Why the Gods never warned Larys? He will never know.   He will never forgive.

Every now and again, Astarion catches pieces of conversation; information he may deem useful to trade with. It's the prospect of information that has him standing in the streets of Flea Bottom. Always looking for something useful, and always wanting more; it was his greatest trait, undeniably. Ambition. Information was currency, and he knows someone who might be interested, but the catch is more of a headache then he cares to entangle himself in…

Thoughts wind in on each other, coalescing into ideas, until a hurried blur of black brushes past him, coming to stand in front of him, hidden amongst the dregs. ❝ I thought you wouldn't show, ❞ Astarion teases, turning a coin over in his hands. He tilts his head, looking Victor in his dark-coloured eyes. ❝ But you're here; I suppose I should be accepting of that. Victor, money is nice. It can buy you the things you need, what you want, but I can't help but feel as though I can do something more for you. To improve the situation of yourself and of the ones you're closest to. But you're being difficult. ❞ His tone is sharp, like a knife's edge, thrust forward.