#weapon tw

"Alys."

Aemond hadn't seen her since he took Harrenhal with Vhagar -- killing almost every member of House Strong. The only ones left alive were her, Larys, and one of Rhaenyra's bastard children. Aemond had pleaded with her, 'help me', before passing out at her feet. His memories after that were somewhat hazy. His wound was completely healed, now that he was in Washington. And he did not wear his eyepatch, not anymore. He pauses, considering what he should say next. "Are you well?"

FOUND  IN  …  the  archery  range  on  the  first  day  of  the  tourney,  before  the  competition  has  begun.

the  laughter  in  the  air  is  a  strange  dissonance  around  the  lady  greyjoy,  like  a  buzzard  fluttering  around  the  shell  of  their  ear.  no,  she  had  not  loved  wylla.  saera  had  not  like  the  woman  in  the  slightest.  they  still  did  not.  it  was  a  shameful  mark  upon  their  house.  poison.  a  coward's  way.  still,  it  feels  wrong  that  she  should  be  dead  and  that  the  rest  celebrate.  it  feels  as  if  there  should  be  a  rebellion  on  her  part  —  but,  there  are  two  choices:  assimilate,  or  remain  an  outsider.  they  felt  that  they  needed  to  be  a  distance  between  them  and  the  other  greyjoy  lady  who  had  only  died  yesterday.  but,  when  they  had  brought  their  bow  to  the  master  of  laws,  he  and  the  lord  hand  had  denied  them  a  spot  on  the  archery  list.

the  target  that  saera  had  commandeered  in  their  simmering  anger  reads  a  bullseye  met  three  times  over,  each  arrow  split  into  each  other  like  a  bloom.  they  ready  their  arrow  once  more,  string  taut  against  the  expert  pull  of  her  arm.  "keep  your  distance,"  they  warn,  tone  flat,  in  no  mood  to  entertain  mockery.  "it  is  ready  to  fly."

*tempts you to buy a chainsaw* ~(˘▾˘~)♪