[RPG • 100] House of the Dragon| Speeltopic - Speeltopics

27 juli 2024 - 15:38 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

HOUSE
^{^{𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓}}

╓┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╖
rollentopic
praattopic • praattopic II • praattopic III
praattopic IV • praattopic V • praattopic VI
praattopic VII
speeltopic I
Map of King's Landing

Storyline

King's Landing is sinds Aegon's Verovering het centrum van de macht in Westeros. De jonge Targaryen koning Aegon the Conqueror veroverde Westeros samen met zijn queen-sisters en hun draken. Nu heersen zij vanuit de hoofdstad over het continent. Aan het hof van de Targaryen's verblijven de machtigste adelijken van het land, samen met hun hofhouding.

Nu, één jaar na de verovering van heel Westeros, is de grote zaal van de Red Keep rijk versierd met Targaryen-banners, drakenmotieven en weelderige bloemstukken. De zaal wordt gevuld met muziek terwijl adellijke families samenkomen om de eenwording van Westeros onder Targaryen-heerschappij te vieren. Ter ere van het éénjarig jubileum van Aegon's Verovering wordt een debutantenbal georganiseerd. Dit bal dient als een gelegenheid om huwbare edelen te presenteren voor potentiële huwelijken, waarmee allianties worden gesmeed en de stabiliteit van het nieuwe rijk wordt versterkt.

Regels van het Hof

Deze regels helpen om de orde, respect en veiligheid binnen het Targaryen hof te handhaven en zorgen ervoor dat het hofleven soepel en volgens protocol verloopt:

Basisinformatie

Deze RPG speelt zich af aan het hof in King's Landing, ongeveer 300 jaar voor de gebeurtenissen in "House of the Dragon".

Situatie voor Aegon's Vervovering - De Zeven Regerende Families

Vóór Aegon's Verovering (ook bekend als Aegon's Conquest) waren er verschillende grote huizen die over de Zeven Koninkrijken van Westeros heersten. Elke regio had zijn eigen heersende huis:

• Kingdom of the North (Het Noorden) - Het Huis Stark regeerde als koningen van het Noorden vanuit Winterfell.
• Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale (De Vale) - Het Huis Arryn heerste over de Vale van Arryn.
• Kingdom of the Isles and Rivers (De Rivierenlanden) - Het Huis Hoare (House Hoare) regeerde over de Rivierenlanden vanuit Harrenhal.
• Kingdom of the Rock (De Westlanden) - Het Huis Lannister was het heersende huis in de Westlanden vanuit Casterly Rock.
• Kingdom of the Stormlands (De Stormlanden) - Het Huis Durrandon regeerde over de Stormlanden vanuit Storm's End.
• Kingdom of the Reach (Het Bereik) - Het Huis Gardener was de heersende dynastie in het Bereik vanuit Highgarden.
• Princedom of Dorne (Dorne) - Dorne werd geregeerd door verschillende vorstenhuizen, zoals het Huis Martell vanuit Sunspear.

Situatie na Aegon's Vervovering - Targaryen heerschappij

Na Aegon's Conquest waren er geen onafhankelijke koningen meer in de Zeven Koninkrijken van Westeros. Na Aegon's Conquest werden alle eerdere koninkrijken verenigd onder de heerschappij van de Targaryens. De titels van koning werden afgeschaft voor alle regionale heersers behalve voor de koning op de IJzeren Troon, dat is Aegon momenteel. Hij heert samen met zijn twee sisterqueens Visenya and Rhaenys. ~~Ja ze zijn siblings en met elkaar getrouwd.~~ De oude regionale heersers dienden als leenmannen van de Targaryen-koningen. De belangrijkste leenmannen van Aegon de Veroveraar waren:

• House Stark - Lords van Winterfell en het Noorden.
• House Arryn - Lords van de Vale van Arryn.
• House Lannister - Lords van Casterly Rock en de Westlanden.
• House Baratheon - Lords van Storm's End en de Stormlanden.
• House Gardener - Lords van Highgarden en het Bereik (voor hun ondergang in de Field of Fire).
• House Martell - Lords van Sunspear en Dorne (na hun vredige overgave).

Deze huizen, samen met andere regionale heersers, erkenden Aegon als hun koning nadat hij met zijn draken en legers Westeros had veroverd. Ze behielden een mate van autonomie in hun respectievelijke regio's, maar waren verplicht om Aegon te dienen en belastingen en troepen bij te dragen wanneer dat nodig was.

Personages

Rollen kunnen een highborn of een lowborn inwoner van King's Landing zijn. Ze kunnen zowel uit Westeros als Essos afkomstig zijn, al zullen de meeste leden van het hof afkomstig zijn uit Westeros.

High borns

Als hooggeborene ben je een lid van de adel en speel je een belangrijke rol aan het hof. Je kan een lid zijn van de Targaryen familie of een van de andere adelijke families in Westeros. Je kunt, maar dat hoeft niet, een van de volgende posities bekleden:

• ~~Hand van de Koning~~ - De belangrijkste adviseur en rechterhand van de koning, beheert de dagelijkse zaken van het koninkrijk.
• ~~Meester van de Wetten~~ - Toezicht op de handhaving van wetten en het beheer van gerechtigheid.
• Meester van de Munt - Beheert de financiën en schatkist van het koninkrijk, zorgt voor economische stabiliteit.
• Meester van Schepen - Verantwoordelijk voor de koninklijke marine en de verdediging van de kustlijnen van het koninkrijk.
• ~~Meester van Whisperers~~ - Verantwoordelijk voor inlichtingen en spionage, verzamelt informatie ter bescherming van het rijk.
• Lord Commander van de Kingsguard - Leidt de elite Kingsguard, zorgt voor de veiligheid van de koninklijke familie.
• Hoge Septoon - De hoogste religieuze figuur, biedt spirituele leiding en houdt toezicht op religieuze ceremonies.
• Warden - Adellijke heren die verantwoordelijk zijn voor de veiligheid en het beheer van specifieke regio's (~~Noord~~, Oost, Zuid, West).
• Hofdames - Adellijke vrouwen die de koningin en prinsessen dienen, hen assisteren met verschillende taken en gezelschap bieden.

Invullijstje High borns

Low borns

De Low borns werken aan het hof. Zij zijn niet afkomstig uit een adellijke familie, maar kunnen wel bastaarden van die families zijn. Alle low borns in de rpg moeten een baan hebben aan het hof, deze banen zijn :

• Drakenhouders - Verzorgen en beheren de draken van de Targaryens. [2/2]
• Rentmeesters - Verantwoordelijk voor het beheer van het huishouden, het toezicht op de voorraden en het coördineren van dagelijkse activiteiten. [0/2]
• Kamermeisjes/Kamerdienaars - Verzorging van de persoonlijke behoeften van edelen, zoals het schoonmaken van kamers, het voorbereiden van kleding en helpen met aankleden. [1/2]
• Keukenpersoneel - Koks, bakkers en assistenten die maaltijden bereiden voor het hof. [0/2]
• Staljongens - Verzorgen de paarden en onderhouden de stallen, zorgen ervoor dat de rijdieren klaar zijn voor reizen en evenementen. [0/2]
• Wachters/Schutters - Zorgen voor de beveiliging van het kasteel en zijn inwoners, bewaken ingangen en patrouilleren over het terrein. [0/2]
• Boodschappers/Koeriers - Brengen berichten binnen het kasteel en naar nabijgelegen locaties, zorgen voor soepele communicatie. [0/2]
• Entertainers - Muzikanten, dansers en narren die optreden voor het hof tijdens evenementen en bijeenkomsten. [1/2]

Invullijstje Low borns

Rollen

Highborns
- Visenya Targaryen| F | House Targaryen | Master of Laws | 22 | Faceclaim | ziggystardust
- Valerion Targaryen| M | House Targaryen | The Spare Prince of the Seven Kingdoms | 22 | Faceclaim | ziggystardust
- Aelor Targaryen| M | House Targaryen | The Spare Prince of the Seven Kingdoms | 24 | Faceclaim | Hennessy
- Domeric Bolton| M | House Bolton | 33 | Aaron Taylor Johnson| ziggystardust
- Cedrick Stark| M | House Stark | 30 | Warden of the North | Faceclaim | lustforlife
- Celia Lannister| F | House Lannister | 21 | Sydney Sweeney| lustforlife
- ~~Qhomir Hoare~~ Aeron Greyjoy | M | House Greyjoy | 31 | Manny Jacinto | Hennessy
- Nashayana Hightower| F | House Hightower | 22 | FC| albono
- Haelle Bolton ~~Manderly~~| F | House Bolton | 25 | FC| albono
- NAME HOUSE| F/M | House Frey| 00 | FC| lustforlife
- NAME HOUSE| F/M| House Umber | 00 | FC| ziggystardust

Lowborns
- Lethia| F | Court Musician| Aubri Ibrag| albono
- Kiren 'Ren' Celtigar Waters | F | Bastard of House Celtigar | Dragonkeeper | 23 | Mia Goth| Hennessy
- Rhaegar Waters| M | Bastard of House Targaryen | 24 | Faceclaim | albono
- Pyotr Baelish| M | House Baelish| 25 | FC| ziggystardust

Inactief
- Emrys Dayne | T | House Dayne | 29 | Vico Ortiz | Hennessy
- Doran Sand| M | Bastard from Dorne | Damiano David| ziggystardust
- Nehemia Martell| F | House Martell | 20 | Bruna Marquezine| captainlee

Timeline of Westeros

Relationships

-31 AC
• Birth of Domeric Bolton

-30 AC
• Birth of Cedrick Stark
• Birth of Qhomir Hoare

-26 AC
• Birth of Pyotr Baelish

-24 AC
• Birth of Haelle Manderly
• Birth of Ylva of the Snowshade

-23 AC
• Birth of Rhaegar (bastard of house Targaryen and house Velaryon )
• Birth of Aelor and Elaena Targaryen
• Birth of Lethia Solani
• Birth of Sivga Umber

-22 AC
• Birth of Kiren Waters ( Bastard of House Celtigar of Claw Isle)

-21 AC
• Birth of Visenya Targaryen
• Birth of Valerion Targaryen
• Birth of Nashayana Hightower
• Birth of Serra Frey

-20 AC
• The Targaryen Conquest of Westeros Begins[/b]: Aegon I Targaryen, along with his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya, begins his campaign to conquer the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The Targaryen dynasty’s control of the Iron Throne will be established through this conquest, which includes battles, diplomacy, and strategic marriages.
• Birth of Celia Lannister

-19 AC
• Rhaegar claims a dragon (age 4)

-16 AC
• Qhomir gets a new name, Aeron.

-15 AC
• The Fall of House Gardener and the First Battle of the Conquest: The Targaryens defeat House Gardener of the Reach at the Battle of the Field of Fire. This battle marks a significant victory, and House Gardener falls, with the Reach being incorporated into Targaryen rule.

-14 AC
• Kiren moves to Dragonstone

-10 AC
• The Conquest Continues: The Targaryen forces continue their conquest, facing resistance from various houses, including House Stark and House Arryn. However, the Targaryens’ superior forces and dragons give them a significant advantage.

-9
• Pyotr enrolled in the Citadel.

- 6 AC
• Engagement Elaena (17) and Valerion (15) Targaryen
• Kiren (17) and Eleana (17) make plans to run away together.
• Princess Elaena’s death
• Marriage between Haelle and Domeric Bolton

-5 AC
• The Unification of the Seven Kingdoms: After multiple battles and strategic marriages, Aegon the Conqueror successfully unites the Seven Kingdoms under his rule, establishing the Targaryen dynasty on the Iron Throne.
-4 AC
• Celia’s fiancée, the heir of House Durrandon is killed by Orys Baratheon him during the conquest and took over the Storm Lands.

-3 AC
• Death of Lord Baelish
• Serra got engaged to Othgar Hoare
• Cedrick became Lord of Winterfell. His family was murderd by House Bolton ( Torrhen, Brannon and Cregan) were killed.
-2 AC
• the entire Hoare-family was murdered after Lord Harren refused to bend the knee. Aegon burned them all by flying over Harrenhal with his dragon. (Qhomir’s family and Serra’s fiancée die)
• Haelle gets abducted.

-1 AC
• Pyotr joined the Kings Guard
• Maisie, daughter of Haelle, is born.

0 AC
• Aegon I’s Coronation: Aegon I Targaryen is crowned as the first King of the Seven Kingdoms at a grand ceremony in Oldtown, marking the official beginning of Targaryen rule in Westeros. The Seven Kingdoms are now united under the Iron Throne.
• Letha moved to King’s Landing

1 AC - Current year
• Targaryen Reign Solidified: Following his coronation, Aegon consolidates his rule and begins the rebuilding of the realm. The Iron Throne becomes a symbol of his authority, and his rule marks the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty’s long reign over Westeros.

Regels van de RPG

• Het woordenminimum is 100 woorden.
• De huisregels van Quizlet en daarbij in het bijzonder het RPG-forum gelden uiteraard ook hier.
• 16+ is toegestaan, maar gelieve hier wel voor te waarschuwen zodat anderen het kunnen mijden als zij het liever niet lezen.
• Bespreek gevoelige onderwerpen op voorhand met je schrijfpartner.
• Als eternalsunshine niet online is, maakt de laatste die reageert een nieuw topic.
• Maximaal 3 characters per schrijver.
• Als ik 21 dagen niets van je hoor, stuur ik je een reminder PB.
• Als je 45 dagen niets post, wordt je char opgeofferd in een blood sacrifice.
• Reserveringen blijven 10 dagen staan.

When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.
One side greatness, the other madness.

[ bericht aangepast op 13 april 2025 - 21:14 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

5 april 2025 - 20:38 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Visenya
^{^{of the House Targaryen

✦ . 　⁺ Master of Laws ⁺ 　 . ✦}}

Wearing • 22 y/o • Dragon Pit • with Kiren

"W hat kind of question is that?” Rhaegar said after almost choking from shock. Clearly flustered, cheeks still burning, Visenya hid her amusement behind her cup, taking a slow sip. Oh how she had missed her brother at previous events. Rhaegar didn’t share the same smugness nor the cunning behaviour her usual peers did.
“Someone with a volatile temper should never work with dragons.”
“I agree with you, brother.” Visenya tilted her head slightly, turning to Kiren.
''I have not, your Grace.” Kiren said, “Although it is not my place to be a judge of your brothers' tempers,'' She added quickly. ''The Master of Dragons shows a calm temperament with the dragons and the other keepers.''
“The only distractions he has are the dragons themselves, your Grace.”
Visenya gave a soft, amused hum, her violet eyes flicking briefly toward Rhaegar again. He was so unlike their other brothers. So unlike Aelor. Or Valerion..
“And you?” she asked, quieter now, voice brushed with something close to genuine curiosity. “How have you fared these last days, with the hatching drawing so near? There must be little sleep left for the keepers.”
But before Kiren could answer, there was a sound.
A soft, sudden crack.
Not loud. But in the Pit, that kind of crack could silence a crowd.
Heads turned, nobles quieted, even the flickering torchlight seemed to still as if the fire acknowledged their superior.
Visenya did not move at first. She simply turned her eyes toward the eggs.
Another crack. Then a scrape, as the thinnest line split across the obsidian shell of Calixte’s egg. Steam curled from the egg like breath.
A claw.
A limb.
A small, shimmering body, not larger than a dog, slowly pushed free of its shell. Glinting scales and its wings were folded, trembling, but it was alive.
Visenya held her breath.
The dragon, newborn, wild and beautiful, blinked slowly. Its pupils narrowed. And then it raised its head. Its eyes locked onto something.
Visenya leaned forward instinctively. Her sisters. It must be her sisters. They were young, and their blood true. Elaena had told her often about this egg, had dreamt of the day it would hatch.
But, no...
Her sisters were nowhere near. They were in another corner entirely, surrounded by their nursemaids, their tiny hands clutching ribbons and sweets. The baby dragon wasn’t looking at them.
She turned her head slowly, scanning the quiet semi-circle around the egg. Past Rhaegar. Past the keepers. Past herself.
Behind her and Kiren, standing a few feet away, half in shadow...
Valerion.
Pale skin lightening up in the firelight. His expression unreadable. But his eyes… his eyes were locked on the dragon’s.
Could it be?
Could her brother finally have a dragon?

A Targaryen alone in the world
is a terrible thing.

[ bericht aangepast op 5 april 2025 - 20:39 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

5 april 2025 - 21:55 sakamoto_ is offline

sakamoto_ 1312

_{_NASHAYANA}
𝐻𝐼𝒢𝐻𝒯𝒪𝒲𝐸𝑅

house hightower • 25 * with valerion • in the dragonpit

She had spend the entire evening thus far talking to people, just not those she wanted to talk to. Young noble girls, asking for advice. Where their parents consulted her grandmother, their children - daughters mostly - came to her. How to impress their chosen fiance, or how to do the complete opposite.
Her body was yearning to do something. It was weeks since she did something that the Gods had forbidden. Granted, it really only had been a few days but it felt like much more. Kings Landing was a city of sin. Even more so if the rumours about Visenya and Aelor were to be believed. Nasha had only arrived in Kings Landing the day prior. Later than planned, an emergency in the Starry Sept. The journey had been dreadful. Her bum was still aching. The Targeryens should've had the curtesy to come pick everyone up with their dragons. But they were forgiven. For now.
Nasha glanced at the Targaryens near the fire. Rhaegar and Visenya were both casted in a goldenred halo. If the Targeryens were fire, Rhaegar was a hearth. Soft, warm and comfortable. Visenya was a candle. A light in the dark, but she would also burn your house down if you were to knock her over. Valerion and Aelor were more like wildfire. Unpredictable. More alike than they'd want to admit. Or probably even realized. The two of them were currently fighting. Not a rare sight, but rather stupid to do in a room full of nobles. Soft as their whispers might be, the cavern walls echoed them.
She edged closer to them, to warn them of their theatrical display and the attentions that it drew. Before she get a word in, Valerion bumped in to her and Aelor disappeared in the crowd.
”That looked… heated,” she spoke gently. “Are you alright, my prince?” Valerion visibly got less attention every time the Targaryens visited Old Town, which was all the more fuel for Nasha to focus her attention on the lone Targaryen. “Come, you should get something to drink.” Nasha beckoned over a servant, instructing him to pour Valerion a goblet of wine. It would be far from his only glass, if she could help it. His entire body was tense. Perhaps it was time for the little concotion that sweet darling Pyotr made for her.
A crack echooed through the pit, vibrating of the walls. Followed by another one. A scrape. Noble near quieted, whispering now. Even the most boisterous of them. Valerion's gaze was transfixed on the eggs.
Nasha studied his face, the obsession and toxicity it showed. “It should be destined for you,” she whispered to him. “It is only fair, don't you think so?”

baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone

5 april 2025 - 22:37 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Valerion
^{^{of the House Targaryen

The Spare}}

Valerion’s jaw ached. He hadn’t noticed how tightly it had clenched until Aelor disappeared into the crowd.
He hated that Aelor always left him feeling this way.
Valerion exhaled slowly and watched the flames dancing around the eggs. Kiren stood nearby, speaking with Visenya. He saw the way his sister tilted her head when she listened, how her fingers tapped idly against the side of her cup.
Valerion had spent so long trying not to look at her. Not to want. Not to ache.
He bet dragons never longed for recognition.
They didn’t bend to anyone.
"That looked... heated," Nashayana Hightower said gently. "Are you alright, my prince?"
Valerion didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his jaw tightened once more. He didn’t want pity, didn’t want her concern. What did she know about him? What did she know about being in competition with your siblings your entire life?
But that was his anger talking.
Nashayana was his friend.
“It’s King’s Landing, Nasha, everything is heated here,” Valerion said. “If you want the cold, you should travel north.”
He kissed her hand and embraced her briefly.
“Come, you should get something to drink.”
Valerion didn’t protest.
The servant Nasha beckoned, offered him another well-filled goblet, and he drank. His throat immediately burned because of the bitter wine, but it eased the tightness in his chest.
“Glad you could make it,” Valerion said, interlacing one arm with Nasha, trying not to get caught in the flowy sleeve of her dress. “Wish you were here during the opening ball.”

Crack.
In an instant, his body tensed again, all the effects of the wine washed away.
He couldn’t see which one at first. His view was partially blocked by Kiren and Visenya. But the next sound was unmistakable. He’d heard it before.
Valerion moved closer before he realized he had, dragging Nasha with him. The dragon was hatching.
It crawled free of its egg. The heat of the small dragon radiated outward.
“It should be destined for you,” Nasha whispered to him. “It is only fair, don't you think so?”
“Yes…” Valerion whispered, enchanted.
It was looking at someone.
Valerion followed its gaze.
Visenya turned too, a hand rising to her chest, her lips parted in awe. He thought she might smile, might claim the moment for herself, or perhaps for one of her sisters or worse… for Aelor.
Valerion’s breath caught in his chest as he realized where it was looking. It wasn’t her sisters, standing across the Pit, or even Aelor. The hatchling’s eyes weren’t fixed on them.
It was looking at Kiren.
That couldn’t be right.
He was standing behind her.
That servantgirl needed to move.

A Targaryen all alone in the world
is a terrible thing

[ bericht aangepast op 5 april 2025 - 22:38 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

8 april 2025 - 16:50 sakamoto_ is offline

sakamoto_ 1312

𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂
^{^solani}

court musician and dancer • lady-in-waiting for princess visenya • witch • 24 • dress • with aelor• the dragon pit

“Hello, little songbird.” Not someone she’d wanted to talk to. “Can we expect another performance tonight?” His pale hand stroke Saenys’ cheek, the girl almost recoiling in response. “Oh no, wait. You received a promotion, didn’t you?” She should put a little something in Aelor’s wine at the next festivity, to put him right asleep. “No more entertaining lords with the qualities of your mouth. I mean, voice.”
Unlike Aelor’s believed, it was not something she had ever done and never would do either. “Lords and ladies, I assume you meant. I sang for the princess as well.” Her voice was poised and polite, her eyes slightly narrowed. Lethia adjusted the little lady on her hip, whispering soothing words in Valyrian.
“Unwavering fealty to our dear hostess.” He eyed her, she ignored it. “We have that in common, you know. How did you find Visenya’s sea of dragonfire? Astonishing, isn’t it? I bet you never saw anything like it in the east.”
She barely contained a snort. Did he even know, that the dragons came from the Shadow Lands? It was what the witches in Asshai whispered. And even then the Targaryens hailed from Valyria, from Essos. The east he spoke about. It wasn’t just the dragons. She had seen things, heard stories from her mother, that would have him trembling in his boots. Did Aelor know so little about his family’s history, or was he simply ignorant? Perhaps both.
It was better to avoid attention of men such as him. There were plenty of rumours travelling around the castle – and King’s Landing – about Prince Aelor. More bad than good. None good, truly. Lethia couldn’t fathom what someone as lovely as Princess Visenya saw in Aelor. One of the courts biggest mysteries. “Ah, I am sad to say that I was busy with the last arrangements for today’s festivity, so I did not see Visenya’s dragonfire. If you say it was astonishing, I surely believe it was so.” Lethia beckoned over one of the nursemaids, to take Saenys from her. Lest the young girl would no longer need to be in Aelor’s presence. He would make wonderful friends with Pyotr. “One cannot help to have loyalty to Visenya, don’t you think so? She is one of the better things that could happen to Westeros.”

A crack. Magic in the air, so strong she could taste it on her tongue. Soft yet raw and wild. With the nobles no longer talking, the crackling fire and the cracking egg took over all sound. It was disarming and intoxicating. “There is another little wonder made of fire,” Lethia sighed. Her view of the little baby was blocked by Rhaeger, Ren and Visenya, but she did not mind. As if she were standing at the edge of a volcano that was about to burst, her skin buzzing. Completely entranced.

all the lights are sparkling for her

baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone

9 april 2025 - 22:38 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

DOMERIC
^{^{House Bolton}}

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

A naked man has few secrets; a flayed man, none

Domeric watched Haelle closely. He expected anger. Something. But of course, Haelle was as cold as the Winter’s up North. That hadn't changed.
Her eyes found his slowly. “You should do well to remember that it was the lack of care from your family that allowed me to be taken away.”
He didn’t believe her.
He never believed her.
She’d always been good at putting distance between herself and any truth she didn’t want to share with him.
“But no,” she went on, eyes turning to the child, “I don't regret that she spend at least a few months away from you and your family.”
Her words stung. Not from the insult to him, he’d gotten used to that, but from the implication that his daughter was better off far from his blood. From him.
“Let me ask you a question.” Haelle said, and now her gaze returned to him. “You don't even need to answer, I just want you to think about it. Be honest with yourself, Domeric.” She leaned forward slightly, the firelight reflecting in her eyes and Domeric could swear evil lived in that woman.
“Were you ever truly happy as a child at Dreadfort? Did you ever feel safe or loved? Answer that for yourself and then ask me again if I should regret keeping my daugther away from Dreadford.” She shook her head, leaning back. “You want to talk about names?” she continued. “Your name is a curse. A brand mark. It makes you your father’s son. And I’ll die before I let him get his hands on Maisie.”
Domeric got a sense of how the Targaryen’s must feel, burning down villages and towns. If he could burn the woman sitting next to him for speaking like that to him, he would too.
Because he had tried, by the Old Gods, he had tried, to be nothing like his father.
But all that trying… still brought him here. To this moment. To her fear. To her disgust. To a daughter who didn’t know his face.
Maybe he should stop trying.
Domeric’s fingers curled tight around the wooden armrest of his chair. His knuckles paled. A crack ran through the wood beneath his grip. He didn’t even feel it. His blood boiled and he breathed sharply through his nose.
Above them, further into the pit, a dragon had begun to hatch.
But Domeric didn’t even register it.
He couldn’t tear his thoughts away from Haelle. A curse, that’s what she was. Not him. A curse from the first moment she stepped into his life.

He rose. Straight-backed, controlled, but his voice shook left no chance to hesitate.
“Guards.”
The two men wearing the Bolton banners stationed nearby stepped forward instantly. They knew that tone. Everyone at the Dreadfort did.
Domeric didn’t look at Haelle when he continued. He couldn’t, not without doing something he might regret.
“Send a raven to the Dreadfort,” he said. “Tell Lord Bolton that he’s now a grandfather. That he should consider traveling to King’s Landing... soon. To meet his granddaughter. And to welcome his daughter-in-law back into the family.”
“Lady Bolton is clearly tired. The recent trauma of her abduction” he emphasized the word “has overwhelmed her.”
Domeric brought his gaze back to Haelle. “She should be escorted back to my quarters soon. And not left out of sight.”
The guards nodded. They knew better than to question.
Domeric remained still as they moved to flank her. Clenching his jaw.
She was unwell. Clearly. A sick, naive woman who thought a child’s life should be shaped by softness and laughter. But childhood wasn't for happiness. That was a lie told in stories. Childhood was for learning. For becoming strong. For surviving. For flaying. That’s what the Dreadfort had taught him. That’s what had made him a man.
And what had Haelle done?
Allowed their daughter to be taken.
“Keep her in her seat.”
The command was low, but absolute. The guards froze for only a heartbeat, then placed a firm hand on the back of the bench.
Domeric did not look at her again.
“I’m going to get my daughter.”

He turned and began walking.
At the far end of the pit, the girls played beneath the watch of dragonkeepers and Targaryen guards. Silver hair all around and in the center of it all… was her.
A small girl with hair the color of deep brown earth, curling softly at the ends. Her arms wrapped around a wooden dragon. She had Haelle’s mouth. Haelle’s eyes.
She didn’t know him.
Not yet.
Domeric slowed as he approached. His heart beat harder than it had in years. Way harder than it did on the battlefield.
Domeric slowed his steps as he neared the group of children, his eyes fixed on the girl with the dark curls.
Maisie.
She didn’t notice him at first.
He knelt slowly, keeping his voice low.
“Do you like that toy?” he asked, nodding toward the dragon in her hands.
Maisie looked up at him. Blinked. She didn’t answer right away. She clutched the wooden dragon closer.
“I used to carve things like that when I was a boy,” he said quietly. “Not dragons, though. We didn’t have those up north. Wolves, mostly.”
Maisie still said nothing, but her little fingers loosened slightly around the dragon.
“You’re very protective with it,” he said. “That’s good. That means you care.”
He smiled. It felt unnatural on his face.
Your name is a curse.
Maybe it was.
To Haelle.
To the world.
But not to this child.
Not to his child.
No, for her, he would make it something else.

Our Blades Are Sharp

[ bericht aangepast op 9 april 2025 - 22:39 ]

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14 april 2025 - 0:02 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 1726

_{_{SERRA FREY}}
THE HIDDEN TWIN

House Frey • 22 • with Pyotr • somewhere in the corridors of the Dragonpit

As the day transitioned into evening, Serra tried her best to focus on the festivities in front of her. It was very important to make an appearance in the dragonpit, even if it had been acceptable to decline the invitation due to their late arrival. House Frey would not pass on a chance to witness history, her father had said. Moreover, rumour of their late arrival had already spread under the nobility and her father had been clear. No man would want to marry a woman that was this vulnerable to sickness. She was to attend the ceremony with him to show everyone she was in good health. So, here she was. Worn out and nauseous, but present.
As she was burning up, every small breeze that caressed her skin felt like heaven. The distant smell of the sea that accompanied it was hell. Next to her, her father was shoving down the meat on his plate like he was a brute, but Serra did not touch the food. She didn't touch the wine. She didn't speak. Occasionally, her eyes would drift to the different banners of noble houses and to the men and women that belonged to it. Her eyes never lingered for long. It was all too much. This was all too much. Ofcourse her father didn't notice. He never did. His eyes were fixed on the centre of the torchlit halls where families like the Targaryens, Lannisters, Boltons or Starks sat.
While her head ached and begged for a moment of solitude, the energy in the dragonpit shifted. Something was about to happen. Everyone could feel it. The newfound tension suffocated her. She needed a moment. Serra rose to her feet. "I need to use the restroom." Her father sighed, but never looked up.
"Just be quick. You will miss it." Serra only nodded and moved away from the banners of House Frey.

Serra kept her head down, while she walked past the different noble houses that sat at the High table. Nobody seemed to notice her. That was a good thing. Just a few more steps and she could slip through the opening in between the large stone pillars, into the dark lonely halls away from the crowd. She was almost there, when her skin met cold silver.
"I'm sorry." Her cheeks immediately went red, as she tried her best to avoid eye contact with the stranger she just bumped into.
The girl quickly tried to continue her way, but stumbled over children toys, that were scattered around the stone floor. In an attempt not to fall, she clung onto the same stranger again, but this time it was white soft material she felt. Like a cloack. Dizzier then expected, the world began to spin.
"I need to-" She looked to the dark empty corridors.
"My father can not see this." She just whispered, unable to move alone.

[ bericht aangepast op 14 april 2025 - 0:29 ]

let the fears you have fall away

14 april 2025 - 20:15 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Sivga
^{^{of House Umber

The Oath Binder}}

Sivga leaned against a stone column in the Dragon Pit. Her eyes were trailing over the long feast tables with southerners whom she didn’t trust. The Pit was filled with perfume, smoke and lies. Sivga tugged on the collar of her cloak. She despised traveling down south, where snow was no part of the world, merely silver haired inbreds and stone cold ambition.
At her feet, Tharn lay motionless but alert. Mara had already vanished into the halls, no doubt hunting down rats or mice. Sivga wished she could join her, but not tonight. Like Tharn she too was alert. Tonight House Frey was expected to arrive in the Capitol. It was the mere reason Sivga traveled this far south, to serve her purpose as Oath Binder. A youngster of House Frey had deserted The Wall, and thereby signed his own death sentence.
But to Sivga her disappointment, she hadn’t spotted the deserted boy. She had his family, and soon she’d pry for information, but not tonight, not in this cursed Pit.
Her eyes sought out the only person she fully trusted in this place: Cedrick of House Stark. He was seated alone at the far edge of one table, shoulders tense and mouth still. He wasn’t like the lying southerners, who seemed to be scheming as much as they breathed.
Sivga moved before she let herself think. Loyalty leading the way. She didn’t pause when she reached him. Just slid into the space beside him. Her shoulder brushed his.

“You look like you’d rather be skinning a deer, Lord Stark” Sivga said, laughing dryly. “Glad to find you here. I’d rather sit beside someone who ain’t grinning at dragons like they’re a gift from the gods.” Her eyes scanned the pit again, while her hand drifted down to scratch at Tharn’s ear. “They say they don’t burn,” she whispered, eyes narrowing at the center of the pit. “Maybe not skin. But I wonder about the soul.”
Then, finally, she turned her full attention to him.
“You all right, my Lord?” she asked. “Or did one of those blonde southerners charm the sense out of you again?”
At the far end of the room, Mara entered, her white fur weaving between the many bodies in the pit. She caught Sivga’s eye, and she had been right. Mara had been hunting. Her sweet dog held a rat between her teeth, tail wagging happily as she approached… a blonde girl? Untrained for festivities or balls, Mara jumped up, her front paws landing on the girl's shoulders. Sivga blew on her fingers to whistle, and the dog immediately turned and trotted over, leaving the girl alone.
“Who’s that?” Sivga nudged Cedrick. “That one of the Targaryen girls?”

No One Passes

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17 april 2025 - 0:08 lustforlife is offline

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_{_{CEDRICK STARK}}
THE WILD WOLF

Lord of Winterfell • Warden of the North • 30 • with Sivga • at the feast table in the torchlit halls

Cedrick Stark had not enjoyed the evening so far. The hatching of new dragons wasn't something worth celebrating. The skies of Westeros were overrun with those murderous creatures already. He sighed. As long as those killing machines roamed the skies, balance in Westeros wouldn't be restored. The Targaryens would wield power for however long those beasts lived and Cedrick knew they would outlive them all. The noble families of Westeros would be wise to keep that in mind, but instead here they were, kissing the feet of the dragonlords. It made him sick. The northener looked to the empty seat beside him. He was glad he had not forced Lyssandra to come. One Stark present was embarrassing enough.
The only reason the wolf sat at this table was because of the rare beauty, who stood in the centre of the dragonpit. The thorn of princess Visenya was becoming a problem. One he needed to address. After a while, it became clear that this was not the place or time for that. So Lord Stark sat in his seat. Shoulders tense and mouth still, while he tried to ignore the presence and behaviour of Domeric Bolton.
A refreshing breeze of northern air wrapped around him. Cedrick knew exactly who now filled the empty space beside him. She was more than welcome, maybe even needed. “You look like you’d rather be skinning a deer, Lord Stark” A half-smile tugged at his lips. "You know me well, Sivga of Last Hearth" Movement at his feet, made the man glance down. Tharn, the shaggy, dark gray Northern dog sniffed at his feet, then positioned himself next to Sivga. Cedrick wondered where the other dog was lurking around.
"Glad to find you here. I’d rather sit beside someone who ain’t grinning at dragons like they’re a gift from the gods.” The Stark couldn't agree more. It was a relief to finally hear some sane words around here. "They say they don’t burn. Maybe not skin. But I wonder about the soul.” His eyes scanned the pit. They landed on Aelor, then moved on to Valerion. "They say half of the Targaryens are born without one." His gaze drifted to Rhaegar and finally settled on Visenya. "The ones born with one pay the price for that. I do wonder what their Gods make of them."

The Lord of Winterfell finally turned his full attention to his dear friend, as she did the same. “You all right, my Lord? Or did one of those blonde southerners charm the sense out of you again?” Cedricks posture loosened. It was nice to have a chat with someone who didn't want to put a knife in his back. "Don't worry about me, Sivga. I have learned my lesson." He gave her a smug smile. "And as you can see my Northern charm works wonders here in the South." He gestured towards the empty seats all around him. "The Southern ladies can't seem to leave me alone."
Something behind the Stark caught Sivga's eye. The northern woman blew on her fingers to whistle. Mara, the other Northern dog that was missing from the pack joined them. Sivga nudged Cedrick. “Who’s that?”
Cedrick followed her gaze. His eyes beheld a silverblonde woman. Her skin so pale, that the candlelight seemed to reflect right off it.
"That one of the Targaryen girls?” Cedrick shook his head in answer. "No, the Targaryen girls are very young. They still have nursemaids." His eyes narrowed on the unknown woman. "She does share their looks." He thought out loud. "I know of no other noble family graced with those snowlike locks. The Velaryons maybe, but I have not seen their banners present." He slowly turned back towards Sivga. He trusted her instincts more than anything, had counted on them multiple times in the North.
"Why do you ask?"

THE NORTH REMEMBERS

[ bericht aangepast op 17 april 2025 - 0:33 ]

let the fears you have fall away

20 april 2025 - 22:54 Kestis is offline

Kestis 12351

kiren
wendwater
23 ✧ Dragonkeeper ✧ At the pit with Visenya & Rhaegar

Th egg cracked. All the sound in the room vanished. Only the cracking, which echoed like thunder in Ren's ears, remained. It felt like eternities before the small head of scaley, slimey dragon appeared. Ren was vaguely aware she wasn't breathing. She tried to tell her brain to breathe, but the message got lost, as she stared in the beady black eyes of the golden youngling. It was like looking into Calixte's eyes.
Ren brought a hand up to her lips, softly, in awe. When she touched them, they were wet and she realized she was crying.
The dragon looked up and cawed. And then it locked its eyes with her. The little bit of air still stuck in her lungs escaped. She'd so often dreamed of this exact moment, she had to pinch herself to check. Was this really real? She wasn't imagining it again? It was impossible to know. She stared, without blinking. And the dragon stared back. And cawed. It took a step closer in her direction and tripped over a little eggshell. It stumbled forward, making a little somersault.
A tiny laugh escaped her lips and she reached out, slowly, with one hand. It was trembling terribly. She started to feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.

And then, a bang. Someone'd dropped a cup or had fallen over, she didn't know. But she took a deep breathe and all the sound in the room came back at once, like a tidal wave. And suddenly Kiren became aware of her surroundings - where she was, who she was, who she was with.
And she wasn't going to take any chances.
In one swift motion, she'd pushed herself off the floor, swooped up the baby dragon into her arms and started running out of the Pit, down the Hill, through the firesea of Visenya's making.

kindness is never a burden.

21 april 2025 - 15:32 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Visenya
^{^{of the House Targaryen

✦ . 　⁺ Master of Laws ⁺ 　 . ✦}}

Wearing • 22 y/o • Dragon Pit • with Rhaegar

T he egg cracked.
Golden scales came apart in the flames, while a small creature fought its way out. The hatchling was so fragile, yet so utterly alive. Tears welled up in Visenya her eyes, like they always did when a dragon was born. She wasn't sure if others could sense it, the pure magic surrounding this little creature, but she surely did. It heightened all her senses. Colours became brighter, sounds louder and her thoughts clearer. When a dragon was born, they welcomed a new God in their midtst.
The hatchling looked up.
Visenya tensed, bracing for it to see them... the girls. Her sisters. That was the plan. That was the prophecy. The hope.
But the dragon didn’t look at the girls.
It looked at Kiren.
Visenya’s head tilted, just slightly. Her lips parted, faintly, but no words came. The little golden thing took a shaky step toward the girl. It cried, almost plaintive. It stumbled, clumsy and ridiculous, and Kiren laughed. Not loudly. Not like a conqueror. Like a girl caught in something way bigger than her. And her hand reached out.
The dragon didn't flinch.
It approached Kiren.
Oh, no…
Visenya dropped her goblet of wine.
And Kiren moved.
No hesitation. No looking around for permission or reassurance. She scooped up the dragon with the same instinct a mother might catch her falling child. Kiren ran. No, she bolted. Visenya felt it like a punch to her gut: Kiren knew what this meant.

The Firesea greeted Kiren. Still burning, still blazing across the lower stone steps from earlier. Visenya had lit it as spectacle. Theater.
But now it was an escape route.
Visenya didn't move. She watched as Kiren vanished into the flames.
She didn’t want this to be real.
This couldn't be real.
A dragon’s choice… wasn’t just instinct. It was truth. No amount of magic or ceremony could counterfeit that moment of bonding. And Visenya, above all, understood the value of what Kiren now carried in her arms.
It meant power.
But even more so, it meant death.
Who was Kiren?
Had she ever known this girl at all?
Had Eleana?
Had anyone?

Visenya gave herself three breaths.
Three slow breaths before she faced reality. Before she faced her duty.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Find her.”
Her King's Guardsmen marched through the flames, their delibirate footsteps echoing in the halls.

A Targaryen alone in the world
is a terrible thing.

[ bericht aangepast op 21 april 2025 - 15:32 ]

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21 april 2025 - 15:40 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Valerion
^{^{of the House Targaryen

The Spare}}

His dragon was hatching, but Valerion couldn't see it. That annoying servant girl was still blocking his view and preventing the hatchling from finding him. The ignorance of the lower class made his blood boil.
He pushed himself forward, cursing the dragonkeeper under his breath.
When he got to the center of the Pit, Kiren had squatted down and something on the face of his sister unsettled him.
Then Visenya dropped her goblet, the sound echoing through the Pit.
As if given a start sign, Kiren came into action. Her arms scooped up the young dragon like it was always hers. And then she ran. Through the crowd. Down the stone path. Toward the flames Visenya had conjured for show.
The firesea swallowed her whole.

A rush of adrenaline shot through Valerion's veins, burning the alcohol away. Valerion felt more alive than he had in months. Perhaps years.
“Catch that traitor!” He barked, as he followed Kiren. He was not letting this thief get away with stealing his dragon, his destiny.
The flames of the fake fire caressed his face as he passed through the burning curtain. And after passing through, after leaving the fire behind, he still saw red.
Two King's Guardsmen caught her just outside the main corridor, in a long stone hall still streaked with torchlight. The dragon, small and whimpering now, was cradled in her arms as two guards pulled her back.
“You,” Valerion hissed, approaching slowly.
“You traitor.” He spat the words at her, coming to stand in front of her, only a few inches apart. “ You think you can take what belongs to me?” A cold laugh escaped his lips. “I will have your head for this.”

A Targaryen all alone in the world
is a terrible thing

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

21 april 2025 - 17:20 dove_ is offline

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Pyotr Baelish
^{^{Acolyte of the Citadel}}

══════════════════

Knowledge is Power
Post IV • 25 y/o • Dragonpitt • Serra

He should’ve been watching the center of the Dragonpit, where the lords and ladies danced and dined. But his eyes had settled elsewhere.
Celia Lannister.
Draped in gold and lion-red, laughing at something a lord said with that effortless charm only the truly privileged could wear. He liked watchting her. Not because he wanted her, Seven no, he couldn't want anyone as a King's guardsman, wasn't allowed to, but because she reminded him of adventure. Of a life he used to live. All beauty and brightness and danger.
That was long ago. Now his days were spent protecting princes and princesses and most of all, being bored out of his mind most of the time.
He was about to turn away when it happened.
A girl collided into him fully.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice small and tight.
Frey colors. Pale face. Sickly. He saw it all in a glance.
She tried to retreat, but her foot caught on something, a toy of one of the Targaryen children. She stumbled, and instinct made her reach. She clung to him. Fingers tangled in his cloak, white and unmistakably the sign of the Sworn Brotherhood of the Kingsguard. She didn’t look at him. Her gaze went to the dark corridor beyond the columns.
“I need to..” She said. “My father cannot see this.”
Pyotr understood. Far too well. He used to hide a lot from his father as well.
Without a word, he moved to stand between her and the crowd, letting his cloak fall slightly forward, a curtain between her shame and the world.
Pyotr guided her away from the firelit hall and into the narrow stone corridor beyond the pillars. The noise softened behind them, replaced by the sound of their steps.
“You’ll collapse if you go any farther,” he said quietly. “I suggest you don’t.”
He reached into the folds of his cloak, retrieving a small flask wrapped in dark leather. It wasn’t water. It wasn’t wine either.
He unscrewed the cap, sniffed it once, then handed it to her. “Ginger, lemon, a touch of mint,” he said. “For the nausea.” Something he learned in Oldtown.
“It’s not poison,” he added. “If I wanted you unconscious, you would be.”

[ bericht aangepast op 21 april 2025 - 17:21 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

21 april 2025 - 17:41 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Sivga
^{^{of House Umber

The Oath Binder}}

"I ask, my Lord” Sivga said plainly, “because I like to know which ones I shouldn’t offend.”
Before she could continue, the energy in the pit shifted. Sivga felt it before she saw it, like something had gone off-beat in a tavern song.
Someone shot through the edge of the crowd, pale and quick. One of the tables scraped suddenly. Voices raised. Not cheerful ones.
Then Valerion Targaryen ran, and two Kingsguard moved with him. Not for some staged display. They were chasing her.
Sivga narrowed her eyes.
The woman, girl?, was gone in seconds, swallowed by the fire.
“What do you think that was?” she asked. “Runaway bride? Caught thief? Or just someone too soft to stomach the smell of dragon piss and gold?” She laughed.
She expected no real answer. Her eyes remained on the place where the girl had vanished, tracing the path Valerion and his men had taken.

Wait…
There was something about her.
Something familiar.
Was that—
Kiren?
Sivga blinked, scowling at the thought, but she couldn’t escape the memory.
Wet cobblestones by the rain. King’s Landing after midnight. A salty wind blowing through the harbor.
She’d been doing her rounds with Tharn and Mara, both the dogs and her itching with city nerves. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stay inside either. The taverns were buzzing, but Sivga had no patience for company. Not until one stumbled straight into her.
A girl. Hair soaked to her shoulders, eyes fire-bright. Mara had jumped at her. She’d screamed like she’d seen a ghost. Sivga had screamed right back.
And then they’d laughed, actually laughed, like the city wasn’t the stone prison Sivga thought it to be. The two of them grabbed a drink. Talked too much. Drank too much.
One thing led to another.
Sivga blinked the memory away. She didn’t do that. Not here.
“Do you happen to know the name of the runaway?”

No One Passes

[ bericht aangepast op 21 april 2025 - 17:41 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

25 april 2025 - 17:31 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 1726

_{_{SERRA FREY}}
THE HIDDEN TWIN

House Frey • 22 • with Pyotr • somewhere in the corridors of the Dragonpit

Effortless, the stranger moved Serra away from the crowd and into the narrow stone corridor beyond the pillars. A world of quiet darkness greeted her there. Shadows covered her face. They gave her a mask to hide behind. It felt freeing to be consumed by the darkness, so Serra wanted to go farther. Her body ached for it, but the pair halted.
“You’ll collapse if you go any farther. I suggest you don’t.” The reality of her trembling body hit her. The man was right. She would collapse if they kept moving. With the last strenght she had, she positioned her body against the wall. Coldness from the stones infiltrated her skin.
“Ginger, lemon, a touch of mint,” A small flask was handed to her. She hesitated. “For the nausea.”
With a lot of uncertainty she grabbed the flask and sniffed it. “It’s not poison,” As if he wouldn't say the same, if it was. “If I wanted you unconscious, you would be.”
She lifted the flask to her dry lips. "That's not very reassuring," she mumbled and then drank from it. Screw it, if it was poison. Screw Kings Landing and her father for bringing her here. Maybe if something would happen to her, she would never again have to set foot in this terrible rotten city. Maybe then she would be forgotten about. Left behind to live a quiet lonely life. She could dream about it all she wanted, but she knew without her family she wouldn't survive a day in the world. Here she was, proving that she couldn't take care of herself.
As the refreshing liquid was traveling down her throat, Serra dared to take a look at the stranger who helped her.
She could see the man was lean build, even when his body was coated with silver armor. His face was sharply defined, his cheekbones high and his eyes..
She knew those eyes. Had dreamed about them more often then she would like to admit. The faint scar on his left cheek confirmed it.
Pyotr Baelish stood before her.

Full of disbelieve she choked on her drink. As she tried to get some air into her lungs, tears welled up in her eyes. She held out a hand to stop him from helping her. "I'm fine." She uttered. When she could finally breath again, she felt shame grasping onto her. What must he make of her? Her cheeks turned pink. And what now? Did she need to introduce herself? In a distant past they already had been introduced. She knew him, but he surely did not remember her. She wouldn't even be mad if that was the case. During those days she hardly said a word to him, although her gaze had never failed to find him.
"Thank you for your help." Her nerves were clearly present in her voice. "It's been a long day of traveling." She clarified. She quickly corrected herself. "But I- uhm ofcourse wouldn't want to miss this." She didn't want to sound ungrateful for the invitation that was granted to her. It was the one thing her father had told her to do. To be grateful to be there. Serra held out the small flask to him."It tasted better then I expected. Did you learn that from your family?"

[ bericht aangepast op 25 april 2025 - 17:32 ]

let the fears you have fall away

26 april 2025 - 11:48 Kestis is offline

Kestis 12351

T H E S T R A N G E R
^{AERON GREYJOY

^{qhomir hoare

31 ☩ With Celia}}

Qhomir observed the room with a straight back, his hands intertwined in front of him. He looked stoic, almost like a servant, if it weren't for the black and gold pin on his lapel. A menacing kraken adorned it, two of its tentacles twisting around each other at the top. House Greyjoy. It was unmistakable. He had been wearing it about a week now. After the use of the first mystery and obscurity had served its purpose, it was on to the next step as Aeron Greyjoy, officially.
Qhomirs eyes drifted around the room. There was music playing, children running by, but the scene that caught everyone's attention - after the spectacle of the liquid dragon fire ofcourse - were the dragon eggs in the center of the room. Around it were a few people gathered: princess Visenya, the fair hostess once again, another white-haired man Qhomir hadn't had the pleasure of meeting yet - but the familiarity between him and the princess might suggest some sort of family bond - and a plain looking girl, who looked like a servant.
Qhomir watched the scene, narrowing his eyes to get a closer look. It was odd, he thought. The girl was clearly a servant, a dragon keeper of some kind, judging by her dress, and the way she was handling the eggs and the fire. Yet, she almost seemed almost at ease between the pale man and the Targaryen princess. Qhomir had never seen anything like it.
A person appeared in front of him, blocking his view.
''Might I offer you a drink, my lord?'' A servant held out a platter of goblets in front of him. He took one, thanked the man and then shifted his eyes from the dragon eggs to the other side of the room.
Another Targaryen caught his eye. The tall one, a crownprince, if the rumors were true. He'd approached the woman Qhomir had met during the first ball of the festivities, over a week ago. Lethia. Even from a distance, she still enchanted him. Subconsciously, his hand drifted up to his shoulder, where she'd noticed his scarring during their walk in the gardens. She'd offered to make him a balm, which he'd graciously accepted, even though he'd already tried everything to make them disappear.
And yet, the balm had worked. Almost like it had been magic. He thought back to their conversation about witchcraft.
And then chaos erupted. An egg must've cracked, because suddenly almost every eye in the room was back to the scene around the fire. Qhomir couldn't hear it from this distance. It all happened quickly. Suddenly the small servant girl started running. Qhomir tried to see what she was running from, until he realized the newborn dragon was also missing.
A few other people started running too. Guards, ordered by the princess to go after the girl, and another pale-blonde man - how many of them were there, really? A little smirk flashed over Qhomirs face. It was kind of funny, if you thought about it really. They hold this grand feast so everyone can worship them and their dragons, and then someone just steals a dragon.
A flash of golden blonde passed him by. That doesn't seem right, he thought. Qhomir reached out and grabbed the arm of Celia Lannister dashing in from of him to - presumably - go after the same girl. His fingers closed around her right, softly, as to not hurt her, but urgently enough to make her stop running.
''I would advise you to not,'' he said softly. The humor had left his face. ''- jump into Targaryen business.'' He was aware he may be overstepping once again, like he'd done the day he'd met her at the bathhouse. There were rumors Celia Lannister was close with more than one Targaryen royal. ''Unlike them, you are not resistant to dragon fire.''

[ bericht aangepast op 26 april 2025 - 11:48 ]

kindness is never a burden.

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