(fabien frankel, cis man, he/him ) HARK! I believe the heralds are announcing the arrival of VAELOR CELTIGAR, the THIRTY-TWO year old RULING LORD of CLAW ISLE. They are known to hold loyalty towards THE CROWN, bound by vows older than conquest and fire alike, and little birds sing of them being DEVOTED & STEADFAST. When one dreams of them, images of " letters written and never sent, the glint of steel upon a ship's deck, sea-mist curling around candlelight at dusk, and silver-threaded dark hair stirred by the wind" come to mind. However their EMOTIONALLY RESERVED AND SELF-DENYING nature can make for difficult times. Time will only tell what their true intentions are.
FULL NAME:
Lord Vaelor Celtigar
ALIASES:
The Silverclaw · Lord of the Narrow Tide
AGE: 32
PLACE OF BIRTH: Claw Isle, Crownlands
PLACE OF RESIDENCE:
Claw Isle but frequent stays at King’s Landing
GENDER: Male
PRONOUNS: he / him
SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:
Heterosexual · deeply romantic · slow to love, absolute once committed
𝐈𝐈.
TITLES:
Lord of Claw Isle · Captain of the Celtigar Fleet · Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
RELIGION:
The Faith of the Seven
PERSONALITY TRAITS:
positive: loyal, principled, protective, disciplined, emotionally intuitive, steady in crisis
neutral: reserved, deliberate, formal in public, introspective, observant
negative: emotionally closed-off, self-denying, guilt-prone, avoids personal desire, slow to claim happiness
INTERESTS: Navigation and seamanship · naval tactics · polishing weapons himself · night watches · letters never sent · Valyrian histories · quiet music · mentoring younger siblings without realizing it
PLAYLIST
“Go The Distance (reprise)” - Disney's Hercules
“Soldier, Poet, King” – The Oh Hellos
“Curtain” — Dario Marianelli
“Renoir” – Clair Obscura OST
“Northern Attitude” – Noah Kahan
“Nobody’s Soldier” - Hozier
“Blood Upon the Snow” – Hozier
“Nothing Else Matters” – Metallica
“Achilles Come Down” – Gang of Youths
“Ultraviolence”- Lana Del Rey
𝐈𝐈𝐈.
MOTHER: Lady Aelora Celtigar (née Massey) — devout, politically astute, fiercely protective of her children
FATHER: Lord Maeron Celtigar (deceased) — lost at sea shortly after Aegon’s Conquest
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location: at the grand bazaar, status: open to 0/2!
Silk canopies cast short shadows beneath the midday sun, the smell of saffron and smoke drifting through the crowded bazaar. Traders shout over one another in a half-dozen accents, each of them eager to fleece the highborn guests who flooded Sunspear for this accursed marriage. Nymeria moves fluidly among them, marking sigils stitched in sleeves and cloaks, bitter reminders of the stormlords and dragonkings who now sampled her homeland freely.
She pauses beside a perfume stall with feigned interest, examining the wares through dark lashes. A few paces away, a spice merchant is attempting his usual trickery. Swollen prices for foreigners either too dazzled or dazed by the Dornish heat to refuse. Her lip curls into a smile, knowing, as she shifts closer to hear.
The stranger proved no novice. The merchant wastes no time abandoning them in favor of another.
"That was a strong refusal," Nymeria muses aloud. She waits a moment before adding, wryly, "though you seem to have bargained yourself an enemy."
Vaelor glanced after the retreating merchant only briefly before his attention settled upon the woman beside him. The noise of the bazaar rolled endlessly around them, spice smoke and heat clinging to the air thick enough to taste, but his expression remained untouched by it.
“Then he joins a very crowded list,” he replied dryly.
His gaze drifted over the stall before them, lingering on the small glass perfume bottles catching sunlight like scattered gemstones. Beautiful things built to conceal sharper truths beneath them. It felt, suddenly, rather appropriate for Dorne.
“You sound disappointed I did not let him rob me politely,” Vaelor continued, violet eyes sliding back toward Nymeria with faint amusement threading through the otherwise measured calm of his expression. “I was beginning to think extortion was considered a local custom.”
Where: Sunspear, Dorne. In the evening of day two of the festivities.
Theo stood alone along one of the open terraces overlooking the city below, a goblet loose in one hand, the other resting against the warm stone railing. Music drifted faintly from somewhere deeper within the palace. Laughter too. Dornish voices, easy and bright in a way the south seemed uniquely capable of.
He had never trusted places that encouraged people to forget themselves.
And yet.
His gaze lifted at the sound of approaching footsteps, already knowing who they belonged to before he turned. A faint smile touched his mouth at the sight of her, softer than the sharp-edged thing he offered most of the world these days.
“Lady Stark,” Theo greeted quietly. “Or perhaps Dorne has melted enough of the North out of you that I should begin calling you something else.”
The candlelight caught along the gold of his mask as he studied her, slow and unhurried before he reached up to take it off of his face the way he always did now in her presence. There was something dangerous and tender in the way he looked at her now. Not predatory, not like a lion, simply familiar and warm. As though somewhere between Winterfell and Sunspear he had forgotten how to keep her at arm’s length or how to want to.
“Tell me something honestly, Alara,” he murmured, gaze searching hers beneath the glow of lanternlight. “If we had met here first, before politics and promises and all the rest of it… do you think we still would have found each other?”
Cassian had noticed her the moment she entered the hall. Gods, how could he not? Eight months and still his eyes found her as though they had been searching the room for nothing else. The noise of the feast dimmed around her instantly, all silk and torchlight and voices fading into something distant the moment he saw that familiar shade of blue. She looked beautiful. Worse than beautiful. Familiar in the way dreams became dangerous after enough time apart.
Then she looked at him and that small smile nearly undid him where he stood.
He saw it disappear just as quickly, saw the tension return to her shoulders, the carefulness, the watching eyes around her. It made something dark and possessive stir low in his chest, something that had only sharpened during their separation. Betrothed. The word still sat bitterly with him.
He had received her letter hours before. Read it twice. Destroyed a hay-filled dummy in the yard, and then once more before burning it himself. So when she slipped from the feast, Cassian waited only long enough to avoid suspicion before following.
The corridor was quieter than the hall behind it, filled only with distant music and Dornish winds drifting through the open windows. He spotted her immediately, standing in moonlight with her attention fixed on the ring and vial in her hands.
His ring. His home. Still with her, and something in his chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt.
For a moment he simply watched her. Eight months apart and still she held those things like they mattered more than gold or crowns or the future being forced onto her shoulders. Gods, he thought he had prepared himself for this reunion but it was obvious now that he had not.
“Aemma.”
Her name left him lower than intended, roughened by months of absence and restraint.
He crossed the distance quickly after that, slowing only at the final step as though some part of him still could not believe she was truly there. His hand closed gently around hers, around the ring and sand both, grounding himself in their warmth.
“You kept them,” he murmured, though it was obvious she had. His gaze lifted fully to her then and whatever composure he had brought with him nearly failed outright. Eight months. Eight months of wondering whether distance would change her, whether duty would wear her down, whether another man’s name attached to hers would slowly force him into becoming a memory.
Instead she looked at him exactly the same.
No. Worse.
Like she still loved him.
The realization settled deep and immediate, stealing the breath from his lungs far more effectively than any blade ever had. His thumb brushed lightly against her wrist before he spoke again, quieter now.
“You’re here.”
It sounded foolish the moment it left him. Of course she was here. But that was not what he meant. You came back to me.
His eyes searched hers, lingering there with an intensity that had only deepened in their time apart. “You think I would believe you didn’t try?” Cassian asked softly, already seeing the fear in her before she voiced it. “Aemma… I know you.”
He stepped closer then, enough that the distant sounds of the feast disappeared entirely. “And if they think eight months and another man’s name beside yours was enough to make me stop loving you…” A faint breath escaped him, something disbelieving. “Then they understand neither of us at all.”
She felt the winds around her. It was different to the winds of the Vale. The winds she had known from riding her dragon as she stood. She almost thought about going back when it felt as if he would not come until she heard his voice.
He called her name and her eyes whipped up so fast as she looked at him. Seven hells did he still look handsome. Still looked as if the gods had created him for her. The way he said her name was comforting. Many had spoken her name in these months but only he said it in a way that made her heart flutter rapidly.
She watched him as he approached. He looked even better than her memory of him she held onto all this time. How could one such as him occupy her mind, occupy her dreams so easily? And now he stood in front of her, dressed in his dornish silks and he looked ethereal. As if part of a dream.
And then he held her hand. This was not dream. Cassian was here in front of her again. The light from the moon making him look beautiful. He spoke as if he could not believe she was in front of him. It was as if he was speaking everything she was thinking. And she could only look up at him with warm smile etched into her face.
"Cassian", she said his name so easily. She did not realize how much she missed saying it. Aemma feared she would never stop repeating it over and over. "Of course i am here and so are you. You kept your promise of coming back to me." She murmured to him.
She grimaced as he spoke of her betrothal. Though she was happy in knowing that he knew she had tried to get out of it. Knew that this was not her doing. Knew that despite it all, she loves him.
"They intended on seeing it through after my cousin's wedding once we return home." She tells him. It was inevitable, Aemma thought. Her father married quickly so she would be too followed by her brother.
"I do not know what else can be done." She says looking at their hands, before letting go with the vial in her hand and in his hand the ring so she could hold onto him. her arms wrap around him to pull him in close, resting her head on his chest to hear his heartbeat.
"That is why I asked to see you. Maybe we can come up with something." Aemma spoke before she turned up to him, catching his gaze. He brown eyes still looked the same, she thought. They still looked beautiful. "I do not know if I can return home, Cassian." She said with earnest in her voice as she said his name once more.
The moment she said his name, something in Cassian softened so completely it almost frightened him.
Gods, he had missed her.
Not as men missed passing comforts or old habits, but like something essential had been carved out of him the moment they parted and only now returned to its rightful place. Hearing her say his name again after months of letters and distance felt dangerously close to relief.
“You thought I wouldn’t?” he asked quietly, thumb brushing across her knuckles. “Aemma, I would cross the known world for you. Sunspear was never going to stop me.”
And he meant it.
He listened as she spoke of the betrothal, of her father’s plans, and he felt his jaw tighten despite himself. After the wedding. Once they returned home. Everything already arranged neatly around her as though her heart had never entered the matter at all.
It made anger stir low and hot in his chest.
Not at her, never at her, but at them.
At the very thought of her being dragged back to the Vale and handed to another man while he was expected to simply endure it.
Then she let go of his hand only to wrap herself around him instead, and every furious thought in his mind quieted instantly.
Cassian exhaled slowly as she pressed against him, one arm moving around her waist without thought, pulling her fully against him as though he had been starved of this exact thing for months. His chin rested briefly against the top of her head and he closed his eyes for only a moment, grounding himself in the reality of her.
She was here.
Still his.
The thought came so naturally now it no longer startled him.
When she looked up at him again, when she said she did not know if she could return home, Cassian felt something settle into place inside him with terrifying clarity.
Because he had already been thinking the same thing.
His hand rose slowly to her face, thumb brushing along her cheek with a tenderness that sat strangely against the certainty hardening in his chest.
“Then don’t.”
The words left him quietly as though there was no other answer.
His gaze held hers steadily, intensely, all hesitation gone now that the thought had finally been spoken aloud between them. “Come with me.”
It was a desperate plea, but one he wasn't too proud to make if it meant she would stay with him for all his days.
“I know what it means,” Cassian continued before she could speak, voice lower now. “Your father will call it betrayal. Your brother will call it dishonor. Surely half the realm will lose its mind over it.”
A faint breath escaped him, almost humorless.
“But let them.”
His hand slid from her cheek into her hair, fingers threading through it gently as he looked at her like she was something sacred and inevitable all at once.
“You said you couldn’t return home,” he murmured. “So don’t.”
The next words came easier than they should have. Perhaps because he had been carrying them for months already.
“Marry me, Aemma.”
No grand speech, no flourish, no theatrics. Just him and his knowledge that he would go to the ends of the earth for her.
"I will find a septon who will marry us and we can stay in my manor, south of Starfall, until your father accepts that we cannot be parted under the laws of man and Gods alike. After the royal wedding, during the feast. There will be such chaos we could slip away unnoticed and be man and wife before anyone can find us."
Theo’s eyes lingered on the stall for only a moment before returning to Dominic, cool and sharp beneath the midday sun. There was no warmth in his expression, only the faintest trace of disdain poorly concealed behind civility.
“Haggle?” he repeated, almost amused. “How unexpectedly restrained of you.”
He picked up a small Essosi carving of a wolf from the table, turning it once between his fingers before setting it down with deliberate care, a small smile at the unexpected reminder of his betrothed tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I am surprised that you do not simply take what is not yours,” Theo said lightly, though the venom beneath it was unmistakable. “That is the ironborn way, is it not? Dress theft up as culture and call yourselves proud for it.”
His gaze moved over Dominic slowly, assessing, unimpressed.
“Though I suppose stopping at simply threatening merchants would be considered rather courtly of you.”
"Alot of things can change a man." He answered with seriousness at the other. Months ago he would fought the lion over the doe eyes stark that once held him but now it is different. Now he mostly was in a mood to fight anyone that looked at him the way the other was looking at him. Especially after her death, it felt like the only way to help move forward.
He was no stranger to it but now he could not be as careless as he was once before. Not with two lives at stake and many itching to kick him out of the AP. Though he watched the other, holding in his laugh as he eyed the trinket he had held for a second. It was one he had looked at for his sea pups to have but he kept himself restrained.
"I have taken many things that are not mine, you are just lucky to catch me in a moment where I attempt to have a conscious." He murmured before a smirk appeared.
"Though if it troubles you lord Lannister, that i am not acting like myself: i can fix it right now." Dom says before his hand reaches down and pulls up a dagger. "I could easily slit the throat of the merchant in front of us, along with anyone who intervenes, and take the loot. Is that ironborn enough for you?"
He plays with the dagger in one hand as he looks between the merchant and the man. "I see after all these months you still have a mouth on you, lion. Though I guess I would to if I had the support of the great Starks. You are set to join their little family after all." Dom almost mentioned the same one he is linked to now but he kept that part to himself. Only a few knew of what truly had happened in these eight months.
Theo’s gaze dropped to the dagger the moment it appeared, and whatever faint amusement had lingered in his expression vanished entirely.
The merchant stiffened in panic, but Theo did not move away. If anything, he stepped closer.
Slowly, deliberately, his hand settled over the hilt of his sword.
“Give me a reason, sea scum.”
The words came low and calm, which somehow made them sound far more dangerous. His blue eyes remained fixed on Dominic, cold and unwavering beneath the glint of gold at the edge of his mask.
“You think waving a blade at merchants makes you fearsome?” Theo continued, voice edged now with open contempt. “All it proves is that the ironborn remain exactly what the rest of the realm believes you to be. Thieves with delusions of grandeur.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt.
“And if you so much as spill blood in front of me,” he said quietly, “I promise you will not leave this market with the hand that held the knife.”
The mention of the Starks drew the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile, though there was little softness in it. “Careful,” Theo murmured. “You sound jealous.”
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He had spent more time in the North than he'd like to admit but he spent a good amount with his old friend Wyllam Manderly. The two had struck up a friendship and it seemed that Wyllam either A. didn't know that Tyron was a Bolton or B. seemed to look past it. "Lord Manderly," he smiled softly, "it's a pleasure to see you again. I hope the heat isn't ruining your mood too much"
A warm laugh leaves Wyllam at that, easy and familiar as he clasps Tyron’s forearm in greeting.
“My friend, after surviving northern winters, I refuse to let a little southern heat defeat me.” His eyes brighten with amusement. “Though ask me again in an hour, when I have fully melted into the cobblestones.”
The humor softens quickly into something gentler, prouder.
“You arrive at a fortunate time, truly. Priya delivered twins scarcely four moons ago.” There is unmistakable warmth in his voice now, the sort that only appears when speaking of his family. “A son and a daughter. Luthor and Nira.” He shakes his head slightly, smiling to himself. “The gods have apparently decided my household was not chaotic enough.”
His gaze returns to Tyron then, open and fond.
“It is good to see you again. White Harbor has missed you more than it would ever admit aloud.”
It was good to get away from King's Landing for a bit. Duncan didn't mind the capital, he had gotten used to living there by now, but a change of scenery was welcomed. The heat was worse than what the books described, but Duncan didn't complain, he had never been one to complain. Duncan explored the palace for a few hours after his arrival, mostly because he liked to be familiar with the place he was going to be staying for the next few days.
Duncan moved with ease, slipping through the crowd of people as they explored the market, looking through all the different bazaars and what the merchants had to offer. Duncan didn't pay much attention to it, choosing to continue his walk towards the palace, where he would hopefully find a moment of peace. He entered through the big entrance, walking across the courtyard towards the main building, too focused on his walk to really pay attention to his surroundings or anyone around him.
The heat in Sunspear settled into stone and skin alike, the air thick with spice, salt, and the low murmur of a city alive at all hours. Most visitors from the north fought against it. Complained of sweat and sand and the feeling of being perpetually watched by the sun itself.
Cassian had long since stopped noticing, or perhaps he had simply learned to belong to it again.
He crossed the courtyard at an unhurried pace, loose linen stirring faintly in the warm evening breeze, one hand resting near the hilt at his hip more out of habit than thought. The palace was crowded now with nobles from every corner of the realm, all banners and pride and carefully measured smiles. It made Sunspear feel smaller somehow.
His attention drifted briefly toward the movement of servants crossing the yard before another figure caught his eye. Certainly not one of his countrymen. Perhaps a stormlander, if Cassian had to guess by the look of him, or close enough to it. The way he carried himself gave him away more than the clothes did. Too composed for a drunk lordling, too observant for a fool.
Cassian watched him for a moment before speaking.
“You look like a man trying very hard to convince himself this heat isn’t miserable,” he called casually, amusement threading through his voice.
A faint grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he stepped into the man’s path just enough to make the interaction unavoidable without being rude.
“Which means you’re either from the Stormlands… or the Reach. You don't have the look of a riverman or the rigidity of a Northman, and gods above know all you'd be covered in gold if you were from the west.” His eyes flicked briefly over the other man, thoughtful now. “So which is it?"
There was no hostility in him. Only easy confidence, the sort that came naturally to men who knew exactly where they stood.
“Duncan, isn’t it?” Cassian asked after a beat. “I heard your name mentioned earlier.” A small shrug followed. “Half the realm’s packed itself into Sunspear this week. Hard not to overhear things.”
His expression shifted slightly then, less teasing now, more genuine.
“You picked a poor time to look for peace, I’m afraid.” His gaze flicked toward the crowded halls beyond them. “There’s not much of it left in this city at the moment.”
"Here," she said as she handed the other a muffin, "it's a recipe called baklava but I kind of tweaked it and made it into a muffin," she beamed, excited to see them try it. She knew they were a practical stranger but those were the best people to get opinons from. "Don't ask how I managed to ransack a kitchen in Dorne, it's a long story," she said with a wave of her hand
Vaelor accepted the muffin with visible suspicion, turning it slightly in his hand before glancing back at her.
“You ask me not to question how you conquered a Dornish kitchen,” he said dryly, “while handing me something you describe as a baklava muffin. You make a compelling argument for concern.”
Still, he took a bite.
“…Gods.” His brows lifted faintly despite himself. “You may continue your crimes.”
So this was the Cassian that he had heard all about from Aemma, having to admit that she did, in fact, have good taste. Sure he would never admit that to her but he wasn't ashamed at admitting someone was attractive. "So you're Lord Dayne, hm?" he asked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, "I've heard all about you from Aemma, I can see she wasn't exaggerating"
Cassian’s mouth curved almost immediately, slow and amused, though there was a flicker of curiosity beneath it as he studied the man before him. Mischief recognized mischief easily enough.
“So I’m being discussed in Vale circles now?” he mused, one brow lifting slightly. “Gods. I was hoping to keep at least a little mystery about me.”
At the mention of Aemma, though, something in his expression softened despite himself. It was subtle and brief enough that most would miss it, but it was there.
“I’ll admit,” Cassian continued, voice easier now, “that’s a dangerous thing to tell a man. Hearing he’s lived up to expectations.” A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Especially when the expectations belong to someone like her.”
At one of the first feasts/performances, outside the feat hall; during the wedding festivities | starter for @xf-regents
It was tense. The air was almost suffocating as she sat in her sky-blue dress adored with a pin of her house sigil. Many from the Vale who arrived to Dorne knew what it meant coming to this region. The Arryn had never stepped into region and always thought she would never have to. For she always felt uneasy of the place until her heart told her otherwise. A part of her was sad her dragon was not here but Xylean was better off at the Eyrie.
Aemma had been sitting near her father when she spotted him. Her Cassian. It was as if she could finally breathe with ease as she watched him as a small smile lingered on her face before it dropped and she had to tear her gaze away from him when she felt someone watching her.
Eight months. They had felt too long. And yet in that time that should have made her heart falter, should have clouded her judgement, should have made her succumb to what was expected of her; she never once forgot him. How could she?
Much have changed for Aemma and yet he was the one thing that kept her from snapping even if he was not with her physically. Marriages were being done left and right of her. Lives were still moving forward and she had learned of something that she should not have.
She could only glance from afar but she already begun thinking of doing something reckless as soon as she had arrived. She needed to speak with him and had sent her handmaiden to deliver a letter to him earlier in the day to meet in secret at the feast.
Had he received her letter she sent prior to arriving? Would he find her weak that she was not able to break the betrothal before arriving to Dorne? Here she stood tethered to another that was not him and she wondered if he would think she did not try.
It was not long before one of the performers began and she took the chance to escape. Giving some excuse about needing air, Aemma left before she stood in the corridor near one of the windows. She waited for him as she stood aimlessly playing with her bracelet and the ring in her hand as she continued to look at the sand.
Cassian had noticed her the moment she entered the hall. Gods, how could he not? Eight months and still his eyes found her as though they had been searching the room for nothing else. The noise of the feast dimmed around her instantly, all silk and torchlight and voices fading into something distant the moment he saw that familiar shade of blue. She looked beautiful. Worse than beautiful. Familiar in the way dreams became dangerous after enough time apart.
Then she looked at him and that small smile nearly undid him where he stood.
He saw it disappear just as quickly, saw the tension return to her shoulders, the carefulness, the watching eyes around her. It made something dark and possessive stir low in his chest, something that had only sharpened during their separation. Betrothed. The word still sat bitterly with him.
He had received her letter hours before. Read it twice. Destroyed a hay-filled dummy in the yard, and then once more before burning it himself. So when she slipped from the feast, Cassian waited only long enough to avoid suspicion before following.
The corridor was quieter than the hall behind it, filled only with distant music and Dornish winds drifting through the open windows. He spotted her immediately, standing in moonlight with her attention fixed on the ring and vial in her hands.
His ring. His home. Still with her, and something in his chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt.
For a moment he simply watched her. Eight months apart and still she held those things like they mattered more than gold or crowns or the future being forced onto her shoulders. Gods, he thought he had prepared himself for this reunion but it was obvious now that he had not.
“Aemma.”
Her name left him lower than intended, roughened by months of absence and restraint.
He crossed the distance quickly after that, slowing only at the final step as though some part of him still could not believe she was truly there. His hand closed gently around hers, around the ring and sand both, grounding himself in their warmth.
“You kept them,” he murmured, though it was obvious she had. His gaze lifted fully to her then and whatever composure he had brought with him nearly failed outright. Eight months. Eight months of wondering whether distance would change her, whether duty would wear her down, whether another man’s name attached to hers would slowly force him into becoming a memory.
Instead she looked at him exactly the same.
No. Worse.
Like she still loved him.
The realization settled deep and immediate, stealing the breath from his lungs far more effectively than any blade ever had. His thumb brushed lightly against her wrist before he spoke again, quieter now.
“You’re here.”
It sounded foolish the moment it left him. Of course she was here. But that was not what he meant. You came back to me.
His eyes searched hers, lingering there with an intensity that had only deepened in their time apart. “You think I would believe you didn’t try?” Cassian asked softly, already seeing the fear in her before she voiced it. “Aemma… I know you.”
He stepped closer then, enough that the distant sounds of the feast disappeared entirely. “And if they think eight months and another man’s name beside yours was enough to make me stop loving you…” A faint breath escaped him, something disbelieving. “Then they understand neither of us at all.”
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Having been in Winterfell the last month the warmth of the sun was an unfamiliar yet welcoming feeling to the Lannister and she found herself dressed in the traditional dress that Dornish nobility wore. To be honest it was nice to wear loose-fitting clothing, the tight and, in her opinion, constricting clothes that were worn in the north were slightly uncomfortable to her. "I feel like I can breathe again," she laughed softly, "I nearly forgot how light-weight the dornish outfits are here. It's a welcomed change"
Theo glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly as the sunlight caught the gold along the edge of his mask. It was a rare enough expression from him these days that it almost looked unfamiliar.
“The North does seem determined to make suffering a point of pride,” he said dryly. “Heavy furs, stone halls, food that tastes...hardy .”
His gaze swept briefly over the loose Dornish silks, thoughtful rather than critical. “Though I admit, this suits you better. You look less as though you’re preparing to survive winter and more as though you actually intend to enjoy being alive.”
He paused, looking off into the distance for a brief moment.
Grand Baazars ; during the wedding festivities | starter for @glittxeringgold @fxll3ncr0wns @redxvers @xf-regents
Alot had happened to the ironborn in eight months. He had gone from a selfish swine to a man who would kill anyone who tried to harm his twins. Dominic did not think he would change so easily but it had made sense in their own twisted way what they had with one another until the Drown God decided to take what it had given him. He had done the honorable thing for once. He listened to the voice of reason and ignored the other that told him to forget it all. He had been a married man with a family for all but a moon cycle and now he stood in the sand dunes alone with two lives that depended on him. His mother was watching his kin as he looked through the stalls before stating at items from Essos. "I am tempted to either haggle or threaten them to lower the prices."
Theo’s eyes lingered on the stall for only a moment before returning to Dominic, cool and sharp beneath the midday sun. There was no warmth in his expression, only the faintest trace of disdain poorly concealed behind civility.
“Haggle?” he repeated, almost amused. “How unexpectedly restrained of you.”
He picked up a small Essosi carving of a wolf from the table, turning it once between his fingers before setting it down with deliberate care, a small smile at the unexpected reminder of his betrothed tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I am surprised that you do not simply take what is not yours,” Theo said lightly, though the venom beneath it was unmistakable. “That is the ironborn way, is it not? Dress theft up as culture and call yourselves proud for it.”
His gaze moved over Dominic slowly, assessing, unimpressed.
“Though I suppose stopping at simply threatening merchants would be considered rather courtly of you.”
Closed Starter for @roseflamed, @northaern, @xf-regents, @rxgality
Where: Courtyard in Sunspear
When: Beginning of the festivities
This was the last place he wanted to be. Leaving Winterfell was the last thing he wanted after what happened with his sister. Edwin was in no mood to celebrate, mostly something like a wedding between the Targaryens and the Martells. But they had to come, it would have been seen as a great insult if they didn't make their presence known. But no one said he had to be all smiles and warmth, after all, he was a Stark and he was known to be cold and closed off as it was. Edwin walked through the courtyard, the warm weather was already getting to him, he wasn't used to this. He made his way towards the palace, hoping to find where his quarters were going to be.
Wyllam spotted the Stark long before the man noticed him. It was not difficult. Few men carried themselves with such visible irritation at simply existing somewhere warm.
“Gods,” Wyllam called lightly as he approached, amusement already threading through his voice, “you look like the sun itself has personally offended you.”
He slowed as he drew nearer, hands folded loosely behind his back.
“My sympathies, truly. The south has a terrible habit of smelling like flowers instead of snow and pine.” His smile softened the teasing, warm rather than mocking. “Though I suspect you Starks would still look miserable even in paradise out of sheer dedication to tradition.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the palace ahead of them before returning.
“You appear to be searching for something,” Wyllam observed kindly. “Or trying very hard to look like a man who does not wish to be spoken to. Unfortunately for you, my lord, I am sociable by nature.”
Closed Starter for @xf-regents, @violetamaisonx, @twitch0famel0dy, @shambleslily, @gildedheirs
Where: Palace in Sunspear
When: During the festivities
Astrid had come here with princess Viserra since she was her sworn shield. And well, she guessed that meant that this would be her home from now on, for the foreseeable future. Not that she was complaining, Astrid liked Dorne and she was already getting tired of King's Landing. And well, there were plenty of women in Dorne for her to have her fun with, new experiences that she was looking forward to. Although, right now she had a job and a duty to focus on, with so many people arriving from all over Westeros, Astrid had to be observant of everything and keep a close eye on Viserra especially. Astrid stood on the courtyard, watching as carriages with nobles arrived in the palace to attend the festivities.
The heat of Dorne settled heavy against the courtyard stones, but Vaelor scarcely seemed to notice it. His gaze moved across the arriving nobles with quiet precision before settling on Astrid where she stood watch beside the flow of carriages and banners.
“A sworn shield guarding gates instead of shadows,” he observed smoothly as he approached. “Either Princess Viserra has become remarkably safe… or you’ve grown bored already.”
The faintest hint of amusement touched his expression before his eyes flicked briefly toward another arriving procession.
“Dorne suits you better than King’s Landing,” he added quietly. “The knives are more honest here.”
Then, after a beat, his attention returned fully to her.
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I trust this letter finds you well, and in gentler spirits than when last we spoke. The days following such unrest in the capital have weighed heavily on many, though few carry it with the same quiet awareness you showed. It is not a failing, though you seemed inclined to think so, but a kind of attentiveness the realm is often poorer without. I thought it worth setting that down, if only so you might return to it when doubt speaks more loudly than it ought.
You once entrusted me with a concern you feared might sound small when spoken aloud. I have not forgotten it, nor the care with which you chose to voice it. The lists have long since been set aside, yet I imagine you will recall that the matter resolved itself without severity, and without cost to what you held dear. Some outcomes require no declaration to be understood, only a quiet recognition of what was given, and why.
You spoke, perhaps more openly than you intended, of the habit of measuring yourself too closely and finding fault before any other might think to look. It is a discipline, of a sort, but not one that serves you as well as you have been led to believe. There are those who labor all their lives to appear worthy and never arrive at what you possess without effort. It is not something that must be so carefully constructed, nor so closely guarded.
You are permitted, I think, to set some small part of that burden aside. And if that proves difficult, then let it be enough, for now, that it has been seen and not found wanting.
I will not presume further upon your time, but you should not hesitate to send word if a thought feels better spoken than carried alone. You will find me no less willing to listen than before.
