#sevynkingdoms

𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞? the words sit on the tip of his tongue , before he reconsiders —— no. they probably don't. so many would rather go unseen. unbothered and unscathed by all the sharp points they could meet in the big , wide world. hadn't the hedge knight been taught so? it was one of the first things they'd ever spoken of.

lyonel's dark eyes stare back at him , linger a moment longer , silent observation that remains stark and unwavering all it can manage. and then he looks away again. a shrug , as if he doesn't know. couldn't possibly know. as if he isn't ever trying to throttle his ire at the fact that everyone notices him and yet no one knows him. no. never.

she'd been sitting on a bench by the city entrance for about half an hour when she caught sight of ser duncan walking next to his horse. egg was absent, but she assumed he may have been left to set up camp outside the city. maelyra shot to her feet, weaving her way through the crowd to get to him. "ser duncan!" she only slowed to a walk when she reached him. "how was your journey?"

a country on the brink of what was to be a most vicious civil war. the king dead, succession unclear and to be fought out by two heirs unwilling to concede. the whole of westeros was waiting with halted breath for inevitable destruction & despair. and now her own fate was to be decided amidst all this turmoil.

a war within the royal house. a realm threatened to be bathed in dragonfire and death. and house baratheon now found itself with dragon perched in its gardens, having delivered a prince determined to coax a changing of sides despite a previously sworn oath. a clever tactic and a common one: to marry to forge or force allegiance between two houses.

" your highness has a fierce determination, a most admirable quality. we will ensure your rooms are adequately comfortable. " gentle, smooth words delivered with a sweet smile. whether her words simply meant what was said or hinted that he may not be returning homeward as swiftly as desired ... well, that was for the prince to decide. she'd never spoken carelessly before – she'd not start now. in truth it ought to come as no surprise that these negotiations would not be done within the day. baratheon temper famously noted for a stubbornness as great as the fury that resides within their blood.

-----  𝐢𝐭  𝐡𝐚𝐬  𝐧𝐨𝐭  𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝  𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐢𝐧  𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬.  the  storm  has  finally  let  up  but  still,  she  feels  like  she  can  still  see  the  rain  with  her  sorrow  looming  over  her.  dragonstone  only  seems  more  miserable  with  her  in  it,  or  at  least  that  is  her  concern.  she  spends  her  days  in  the  princess  shireen’s  company,  teaching  her  songs  of  the  north  and  stories  of  the  first  men.  she  braids  shireen’s  hair  in  intricate  northern  braids  just  to  see  the  girl  smile  when  she  looks  upon  herself  in  the  looking  glass.  it  is  some  of  the  few  moments  that  keeps  lady  beatrice  from  drowning.

sansa  is  alone  at  the  red  keep.  father  is  dead.  gods  know  where  arya  is…

she  feels  someone  stood  at  a  distance  behind  her  and  she  knows  who  it  is.  he  has  a  presence  to  him.  a  heavy  presence  that  seems  to  strike  fear  in  everybody  but  her.  she  turns  from  the  window  and  lowers  her  knees.  she  bows  her  head  as  she  curtsies  deeply.  

“  your  grace,  what  a  lovely  surprise,  “  she  smiles,  hiding  the  worry  on  her  face.  “  i  was  about  to  go  a  take  a  turn  about  the  beach.  it  is  so  lovely  now  the  clouds  are  parted  and  the  sun  is  out.  if  it  would  please  you,  i  invite  you  to  join  me.  “  

she  remembers  walking  the  gardens  of  the  red  keep  with  lord  renly  just  a  few  months  ago,  when  everything  in  the  world  seemed  normal  and  right.  he  was  so  lively  and  he  made  her  laugh.  she  doesn’t  see  why  walking  with  her  king  would  not  be  just  as  enjoyable,  even  if  he  did  not  make  any  jokes.  he  is  so  serious,  after  all.  the  seriousness  about  him  does  strike  a  pang  of  nervousness  in  her.  enough  to  make  her  turn  her  head  with  a  flush  of  embarrassment.  

“  of  course,  i  understand  if  you  do  not  wish  to.  “

The palace had grown quite festive these past few days.

As the Red Keep’s gardens bloomed anew with spring, the city welcomed a different entourage each day - lords and ladies, servants and artists and children of every age and origin came to guest at King’s Landing. In the mornings, up on Dreamfyre, Helaena looked down and saw the endless caravans along the road. The influx had begun about a fortnight after the Crown sent out the ravens to announce the next royal wedding, and every day the princess liked the occasion even less.

Her ladies-in-waiting seemed to thrive in this environment. The girls loved to fantasize about the songs and dances, about the plays, the tourneys, the handsome knights... but Helaena was tired already.

In truth, she’d never liked weddings. The ceremonies were dull, and the guests were always eager to compensate it in the feast that followed, though Helaena only found their roaring celebration loud and chaotic. Most of the times, they went on so late that she would be snoozing on her chair before a guard took her to her chambers. All of that was unpleasant enough, but being the bride came with such exhausting demands that the princess could seldom find the time to ponder on what this meant.

❛    and for that i am ... lucky?    ❜ a teasing tone, feigned ignorance to the meaning of the phrase phrase that was not at all a convincing look on her visage. there was a hint of amusement that betrays the witch's composure, the curve of a smile that graces half of her lip as she observed daeron. in such close proximity that one might have mistaken them for something other, in truth she stands to near because her madness is drawn to his dreams. he runs from it, whilst she chases after. it is almost conspiratorial, the way she leaned closer when she spoke, the coy tilt of her head. lithe fingers reach out and pluck a stray feather that had fallen onto daeron's shoulder, undoubtedly from one of her own birds.

❛    you needn't worry. there are men here with enough pride to drown a small city yet little to show for it. those are always the most irritating kind.     ❜

serault was a marquisate more akin to pieces of shattered stained glass when she found it. through ambition and spite towards a house that had discarded her, kira turned it into everything she had been lacking, a land that held more fortune in it's coffers than other marquisates twice serault's size, and halls that she had built to be safe; not only for herself, but for those she held dear and shared a similar affliction of needing a place to belong. she has long since become accustomed to the truth that she could never return to essos, nor was dorne any more welcoming to her than the crownlands.

serault was the one thing that was irrevocably hers, for she would make it such. the land of glasswork and her magic. it is why there is something warm that blossoms in her chest as she hears haru's words; one she had called dear enough to her to offer her a place within the reflection of colored light through the chateu of a thousand windows.

❛    that makes me happy.    ❜ simple words for such joy that makes her heart feel much lighter. if she and serault could offer haru a sliver of solace than the unkindness that has plagued her before, then that would be more than enough. ❛    you will always have a place with me, i hope you never doubt that. whether within my council or at my side, i'd never let the winds forget the sound of your voice.     ❜

A fair question to ask especially towards an outsider such as himself and a question that Larys hears with great fondness,   even if he should take offense;   and he would have   - none would be taken to heart,   but he would feel it nonetheless -   if not for the person he was talking to.   She had every right to be suspicious,   to doubt him,   to seek some kind reassurance.