#swordattire

marilda wears the colors of the hightower in dark greens & silver, a gown of lyseni silk embroided with motifs of the bounty of the reach in silver thread by the best seamstresses from oldtown. heavily adorned with emeralds that circle her neck, her fingers and hang from her ears, they also hold up her coiffure — golden hair has been pinned up in an intricate twisted bun.

her wedding gown is a thing of wonder — once a product to be weaved through months, the combined effort of a dozen seamstresses have cut the work so the dress would be done on the morning at the eve of the ceremony, yet it is nothing as envisioned by the bride herself. instead of wool and furs, she is wrapped in a first layer of silk, a small modesty before an abundance of myrish lace becomes the outer layer. her shoulders were only covered during the procession towards the sept, by her paternal cloak, before that was switched by her husband's darker one with the crowned stag.  after the ceremony her shoulders remained bare, thin sleeves of lace only covering the middle of her upper arm down, tying with the bust, restricting and demanding the most graceful movements. the delicate corset's silk, of a bone-gray almost white, is embroidered with what seems to wish to pass for snowflakes — as if anyone from king's landing has seen such traces of winter. a journey south shows that the embroidery pattern changes on the skirts, snow replaced by delicate fawns that hop as she swishes the luminous skirts.  finally, her hair was braided loosely, and crowned with an adorn resembling a net seemingly made of spun silver and encrusted dark gems that accompanies her hair down to her lower back; so light and beautiful it is almost like an illusion, like the entirety of the day.