#rhaegxr

His own children were in the ground. She'd heard that much, and of Robert's death, too. Really, she was lucky Ned had reached her first, otherwise Rhaegar might have come back to a graveyard instead of the tower as he had left it.

Ned was outside, cautious and gracious, and she imagined, still parlaying to take her home. She had heard them talking about it( she was still too weak to travel atop a horse and Ned had no cart to make the travel easier) from the window before this conversation.

The thought of home was like a deep ache. She couldn't wait to see Brandon or her father. Ned had yet to say anything of them.

"That is why you came here, instead of King's Landing? You've crushed an uprising." She said distantly, "many things hang off of your wishes." It was not so simple as to go home.

There were loyalists and traitors to contend with. It was all rather fragile right now.

"Jaehaerys Waters?" The jab is quick as she held her son a little tighter. " Old Nan used to tell us stories of Jon Who Climbs the Wall. He was a friend of the children," She said softly as if telling the tale to her own child, watching as his little head turned towards his father's finger," in the Conqueror's time. He saw Death's hands first, and the fire second. Old Nan said he was the first to fly." She wanted her boy to fly. She wanted him to be safe. He didn't ask for this.

"You   always   speak   so   odd,   brother.   Like   riddles."   It   confuses   him   the   most,   and   it   makes   him   feel   almost   like   a   child   (   which   he   is   but   he   is   also   a   prince!   and   in   his   eyes,   that   means   he   should   be   talked   with   respect   ).   "What   do   you   mean,   Rhaegar?   You   always   speak   of   a   dragon   with   three   heads,   isn't   that   us?"  

His   brother,   himself   and   the   little   babe   that   his   mother   might   be   carrying   one   day.   Did   his   brother   wish   for   another   three   headed   dragon?   Lilac   eyes   look   over   as   he   slumbs   on   the   table,   nevermind   the   books   his   brother   was   reading.   "Your   hands   will   wrinkle   if   you   keep   reading   so   much!"   

"Most   men   would   not   hide   on   the   other   corner   of   the   world   to   avoid   a   truth,   either."   The   face   that   stares   at   him   is   one   he   had   only   seen   in   books,   drawings   of   the   dragon   prince   that   took   lyanna   stark   and   started   a   war,   and   lost.   A   face   he   was   told   that   the   north   would   hate   and   yet,   said   face   is   now   to   be   that   of   his   real   father.   He   had   only   known   Ned   Stark   as   his   father   but   he   is   now   told   that   the   truth   was   a   secret;   one   that   cost   many   people   their   lives   and   their   honor.

  To   keep   him   safe,   Ned   Stark   had   to   become   a   dishonorable   man   and   take   a   child   into   his   family,   Catelyn   Tully   would   grow   indifferent   to   the   child,   and   he   was   a   ghost   on   his   own   home   because   of   it.   He   stares   at   the   lost   prince   and   Jon   has   to   remind   himself   he   is   no   longer   just   Jon   Snow,   but   King   in   the   North,   he   can't   allow   himself   to   be   this   emotional   about   a   truth   he   doesn't   want   to   know.   "The   truth   as   you   speak   of,   changes   nothing."

♛ ⊱ @rhaegxr ⊱ storm of swords

ㅤㅤㅤFROM A YOUNG AGE, DAENERYS HAS LEARNED HOW TO FIGHT BATTLES. Not in the bloody fields of warfare, but in the company of others. The perfumed rooms full of lying tongues with pockets brimming with obscene amounts of wealth. Dusty streets where the desperate prey upon the weak. Silence was her weapon as a girl, and compliance. She has since learned a different way to fight. To use the power she holds behind her words, in her actions. Sometimes doing nothing at all can also be a winning choice. That is always what decides the difference between victory and defeat. Choice.

she was comfortable there now, familliar with the keep, her place and her role. of course, she missed home and her brothers, but the velaryon and targaryen families were close, it was no doubt she would see them again soon. she'd found she could be quite happy here.

it was a warm afternoon, despite the fact that morning had been nothing but storms. there were still storms out on the water and while she wasn't needed inside, she watched them and the ships bobbing in the distance. there was a quiet cough behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder with slight interest. the page told her the prince needed her, and the urgency of the message was more than implied upon the summons, adriel turned away from the garden wall and hurried back inside. ships abandoned for the afternoon in favor of duty.

she took the steps two at a time as she climbed the stairs to where she'd been told to meet him. rapid footsteps echoed off the stone floors until she reached the door. adriel paused, taking a moment to make herself more presentable. she brushed a hand through silver curls, and smoothed out her dress. it wouldn't do to come looking as if she'd been outside half the day, even though she had. she rapped on the wooden door and called through it "prince rhaegar, it's adriel. may i come in?"

ASOIAF: A CLASH OF KINGS STARTERS (accepting) | @rhaegxr

❝ the unseen enemy is always the most fearsome. ❞

Of all the martial games, the melee was one Margaery enjoyed the least. They lacked the dance-like cadence of the joust and the chivalric splendor she'd come to love about tourneys as a whole. The 'battles' were chaotic and brutal and—if her father was to be believed—more war-like than the other events. At any of the Reach's tournaments, she would have paid the melee little attention or forgone attendance altogether.

But this was King's Landing. She could not afford to miss a single moment of the tourney, even if she hadn't been invited to sit in the royal box. That had been Prince Aegon's doing, she was certain. No doubt, he'd wanted her to have a good view of him in the melee for however long he lasted. It boded well for their budding courtship, such that it was.

Margaery had taken note of the of the crowded field—nearly forty participants—and wondered aloud at how anyone could keep track of so many opponents. The king's voice at her right nearly made her jump but she managed to stifle the reaction. Their interactions had been limited thus far, save for her introduction to court and a handful of passing greetings. He seemed kind enough to her, if rather reserved.

“My brother Garlan believes so, Your Grace. It's why he trains with three or four opponents instead of only one. He's said that it helped him learn to expect the attacks he cannot see coming.” The brother in question was located in a group closest to the stands, stretching his limbs and chatting cheerily with the men nearest him. She could see Leonette's favor where it had been tied to his right wrist, the green ribbon fluttering in the slight wind. Though favors were more commonly given to jousters, Garlan always insisted on wearing his wife's during the melee. The thought made Margaery smile.

@rhaegxr​ said : ❝  even when you smile, your eyes are still sad.  ❞ ➵ gwyn berdara 

        𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, on the veranda of the local campus bookshop; on a brown couch inside, nesta and emerie watched them and pretended they didn’t. gwyn smiled to herself, acting as though her friends weren’t being glaringly obvious. inside, music rose and fell like the tide –– a boy in a wide-brimmed hat was strumming a guitar and singing an alicia keyes song from 2005. but outside, it was muffled, and gwyn couldn’t keep herself from humming along beneath her breath. she hadn’t noticed that rhaegar was even looking at her, she’d been so lost in the music. 

but it wasn’t until he’d say those words that she stilled, and glanced over with something like a laugh. ❝ you see that much? ❞ 

the truth was, gwyn knew exactly what he was talking about. it wasn’t that she was a sad person –– far from it. she had so much to be happy and glad for. but there was something haunted about her. something that eked out every time she sang, allowing every pain and hurt to seep into her voice. on her worst days, gwyn’s mind often wandered to catrin when she sang. it filled her with grief; with sorrow. catrin had loved singing too, though nowhere near as gwyn. they’d always dreamed of going to julliard together: gwyn as a singer, and catrin as a dancer. and now gwyn was here, but without her older sister. even seeing nesta dance was painful at times, she was so much like cat.