#sparedson

THE GREEN BROTHERS died in ways different from each other, and yet the same. some say they may have deserved it.

KING AEGON died by poison, PRINCE AURANE died by water, and PRINCE AEMOND died by the sword. they will be remembered in history as some of the worst of house targaryen. (psd.)

fantasy action prompts. @sparedson.

masquerades are funny things, surely. noble-folk gathered behind ornate masks as if it will be enough to detract from identities. those emboldened to cover more than eyes perhaps carry some merit, but for the most part, she tentatively picks the ladies in court apart from each other by the tedious designs of gowns and the specific color schemes dawned for occasion. (not that she can say much, dark attire makes her appear more mourning than joyous, she imagines, and few forgo the opportunity to display the wealth behind uncommon colors and fine fabrics ... but her lady of demise is a creature of habit, and so becomes she.) still, the sorceress feeds into the chittering sound of giggles that befalls feigned ignorance, the bloom of flush from beneath jeweled masks as they playfully chastise her alleged inability to recognize.

a much preferred game, truly - to watch the sway of silhouettes drunk on wine and the very idea of anonymity for a single evening ... it makes outing likes this worth it, even if it feels like a dreadful way to spend both coin and traveling time ! (certainly she is no better, a woman quite fond of appearance, pouring over proposed attire with a pickiness unrivaled, as if she, herself, were a sitting royal rather than a woman of simple noble house.)

but oh, the silvered blond strands of offered hand are telling, it leans into core of her idle game of recognition, though she mentions not a single utterance of knowing out-loud. there are few things more recognizable than the lilac stare of a targaryen, perhaps the only thing more telling set within the fact that only one visible eye stares out at her from beneath mask. (she does not know him as one would assume on recognition alone, but she knows of him. a second prince who's portraiture long reflected features near ethereal. if she knew better, she would believe him an elf under the moon's glow ; features poignant and sharp and otherworldly.) gloved hand does little to hide the perpetual stain of black from tips of nails to highest knuckle, but they settle in the extension of his palm all the same with a feigned shyness that is more for show than anything else.

        𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔.    𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔...   𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅                𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅.              ( @sparedson​ )

                    𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐.                 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔, 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍.      ( @bruiisedpetals​ )

@sparedson ASKED: “ why aren’t you scared of me?  ” source.

pulling the arrows free of the training dummy's chest, the youngest mormont daughter scoffs at the second prince's question - demand. since arriving at the red keep wylla had been on the defensive, cold exterior and sharp tongue, embodying more of her stepmother than she cared to admit whilst in the den of hightowers and targaryens - everyday she reminded herself, she was doing this to protect dacey, to protect her house and to protect the realm. it was all bullshit.

spinning on her heel, wylla points the tip of the arrow held in pale fingers towards the one-eyed man, her own features steeling as an emotionless chuckle falls from plump lips. "there is no reason to be scared of a half-blind lizard who has never once seen true combat and death," one step. two steps. she glided closer and closer until the sharp point of her arrow was resting against the centre of his chest - most would have stopped and apologised for insolence in front of royalty, but wylla was not most people. she was as wild as the northern blood running in her veins, as feral as the sigil of her house. she was a bear through and through.

Aemond Targaryen & Penelope Redwyne ( @sparedson )

No.

Aemond didn't need to remind her when her memory of that day did. Her heart had dropped when they had announced her betrothal to Aemond. Everything in her wanted to scream no and beg them to reconsider, but Baela stood there, frozen. Her expression was unreadable to those around her. She did not dare to look at his but if she recalled he had said something. The word at that moment had gone quiet and froze around her. Baela had felt every ounce of happiness leave her. How could do they do this? Would her father not speak against it?

Yet, Baela had simply stood there. They had paired her with a man she had no shared interests with. Who probably hated her because of a night that went wrong. He would finally get to have some form of revenge now that he would be marrying her. Aemond would surely make her life hell. It had been later that night when she had let out her frustration and rode Moondancer. Part of her wanted to fly to Pentos and never look back. Hide from them all.

❝ I am ceaselessly reminded... ❞

Every single morning and every single night, she knew. Why had he cared that she had walked in the gardens with a visiting lord? Baela was being a good host and it got her out of the Keep for just a few short moments.

❝ The eyes of Keep wouldn't have let anything go unnoticed I'm sure of it. ❞