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

27 juli 2024 - 15:38 ziggystardust is offline

HOUSE
^{^{𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓}}

╓┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╖
rollentopic
praattopic • praattopic II • praattopic III
praattopic IV • praattopic V • praattopic VI
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

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 23 sep 2024 - 11:18 ]

and the spiders from mars

6 okt 2024 - 15:50 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

ЯHΛΣGΛЯ
^{^{Waters

⚔︎ . 　* 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡'𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 * 　 . ⚔︎}}

sky above me,
sea below me,
fire with me

targaryen bastard • master of dragons • 24 • with ren and pyotr • dragon's pit

He should tell the people back at the castle that Thorns was stealing. Was it betraying his friend, if he did? Or was it a betrayal to his family, if he didn’t? If the girl was stealing things from random people, who was to say she didn’t from the castle? And then all this madwoman talk about rumours, something that would destroy his family. No, Rhaegar decided. Thorns must have inhaled too many cleaning fumes. People wouldn’t dare to touch his family. The dragons made sure of that. And besides, if there truly was some sort of weapon against his family, how would Thorns even know about?
Thorns pursuer found them and before he could even blink, Thorns took off. Well, that’s what you got for trying to help someone, he thought bitterly. Ren kicked the man in his private areas and sprinted in the opposite direction. For a few seconds he stared at the man, who was doubled over in pain. Almost feeling as if he should be the one apologizing. The man let out an angry roar and stood up stumbling, launching towards him. Rhaegar bolted after Ren. It crossed his mind again, that he was a complete idiot for it. Bastard or not, there was not much that the city guard could do to him., if he made his identity known. He was running on pure adrenaline. He loved running. Not as much as flying, but he loved how winded it could make him feel, the ache in his lungs, desperate for more air. His body lurched forward, wanting to pass Ren. It took all of his constraint to stay behind her, to let her be ahead. Just in case the angry man had some equally as angry friends.

Minutes of running later, they arrived at the Dragon’s Pit. Glorious, even at night. Or maybe, especially at night, with fire coming out of the holes. Rhaegar stopped a few paces behind Ren. Not nearly as exhausted as he wished to be. His fitness during the war still hadn’t left his body yet. Just as the war hadn’t left his mind.
“Ren,” he sighed, “why are you even out-,” outside, he wanted to ask. He made the schedules himself and the young woman wasn’t on it for tonight. With the way she had spoken to him earlier, what he should do, was cancel some of her shifts. Not that she would listen to him. And, as rude as she may be to him, the past few months they had gotten some sort of understanding. Fragile and brittle. He didn’t want to ruin that just yet.
But that wasn’t why he had swallowed his words. It was the figure standing ahead of them. He eyed the hooded figure warily. The citizens of King Landing usually didn’t stare up at the Dragon’s Pit in the darkness of the evening. Probably rather because they were terrified, and not because they were already used to it. His hand shifted towards the sword on his side. Rhaegar had the urge to step in front of Ren, but knowing her, that would only make her angry. He threw off his own hood, his silverblonde hair simmering slightly in the light from the torches.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” he asked casually. “The Dragon Pit is restricted from access.”

MOST DAYS
I AM A MUSEUM
OF THINGS I WANT TO FORGET

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

11 okt 2024 - 11:48 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

kiren
wendwater
23 ✧ Dragonkeeper ✧ With Rhaegar ~~and Pyotr~~ at the dragon's pit ✧ fit

''Ren, why are you even out-.'' The voice Ren heard coming from behind her - Rhaegar's voice - stopped midsentence. And she immediately knew why. They weren't the only ones coming to visit the dragon's pit this late at night, but contrary to the dragonkeeper and master, the figure standing ominously in front of them wasn't allowed to be there at all.
She took a few steps back, bumping into Rhaegar in the process, who was closer than she had realized. Damn, he runs fast, she thought to herself. She was certain he'd be at least a couple feet behind her due to her head start. She turned around and shot him an annoyed look, like it was his fault she'd bumped into him. His eyes remained steadfast on the figure in front of them and Ren could see his hand moving towards the hilt of his sword. She wished she had weapons on her, but she wasn't adept in martial arts, so she'd probably just end up hurting herself with them more than anyone else. The only weapon she did know how to use, were the sticks used to handle the dragons, but she'd left those deep in the dungeons of the Pit, far out of her reach now.
''Sir, what are you doing here? The Dragon Pit is restricted from access.'' Rhaegar called out to the figure this time and had lifted his hood. Ren assumed it was a motion of peace, but she didn't feel very peaceful to the hooded figure. She took another step back, behind Rhaegar now. She felt ashamed that she had to hide behind him for safety, and annoyed with herself for feeling so fearful. But there was something else too; she did kind of trust the blondhaired bastard in front of her, despite everything. It was a strange sensation.
Over the last few weeks, her hatred for him had diminished slightly. Partly because she always seemed to find him during anxious attacks or nightmares, and she felt sorry for him. But also because in those moments, he looked so... human. Normal. And she could see herself in him. A strange sensation indeed. She didn't know yet how to feel about it.

kindness is never a burden.

11 okt 2024 - 21:35 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂
^{^solani}

court musician and dancer • witch • 24 • dress with a red corset and without the split • with qhomir • in the gardens

His face dropped. So lightly, that for a second she thought she was just imagining things. And she would’ve, if it weren’t the push of his fingers on the flower. A single petal fell one to the dirtbed. Had he been hoping for another answer? How very curious.
She picked the fallen petal off of the ground, twirling it around in her fingers.
“Tell me, lady Lethia.” She smiled lightly, with him calling her so even though she had just told him she was no noblelady. “How does a woman become a healer in Westeros? After all, every House has its Maester and it is wildly believed the Citadel is the only way to gain knowledge of medicinal arts. And, well, I have seen many a witch hang for the smallest of crimes, so you can imagine my intrigue. Please, I would very much treasure a salve of yours. Although, I'm very doubtful of it succeeding as that scar is almost as old as I am.”
A scar like that, gotten at such a young age. How did that even happen to a child? Especially one that grew up in a noble house. Young noble children when generally treated as if they were precious gemstones. His nursemaid must’ve gotten in big trouble. Lethia stared him, pondering. She would need to be careful with her words, now. Ren and Domeric knew, already. Ren was excited a child being reunited with its favourite toy. Domeric seemed to find it… oddly charming. “Just because something is widely believed, that doesn’t make it the truth,” she shrugged. Her mother always told her that most men loathed witches, purely because witches could do things the men themselves would never be able to do. And they simply couldn’t stand that.
She held up the petal. “There are probably plenty of people whom you could convince that these flowers grow in Westeros, while they actually are from Essos, right? So even if everyone would believe that, it still isn’t the truth. She brought the petal to her nose to smell it again. It made her nostalgic and nauseous all at once.
Lethia shook her head, red curls bouncing. “Just because my mother knows some things about healing, it doesn’t make her a witch.” Or well, it actually did, but Qhomir didn’t need to know that. “I like to think that just makes her an intelligent woman that knows how to make use of what nature gives her.” Though now officially working as a seamstress, her mother still did a lot of healing on the side. For free, whether someone could’ve afforded it or not. It wasn’t fair to her to her to charge people for something nature gave her for free. “I always think it is sad that not more people know how to use what is around them. And if you want to khow how she knows: my grandmother, books, and simply being a very curious woman that likes to try things out.” She eyed him curiously. “It seems like a dangerous thing to me anyway, if one institution are the only ones who have certain knowledge.” Qhomir did come across as someone with whom you could share controversial opinions.
“If you were to ask me, I think it is much more interesting why a nobleman such as yourself, doesn’t wear any insignia of the House they are representing,” she dared to start, switching topics for her own good. “Not to be rude, but most of them…” she gestured back towards the keep, “nearly shout it from the rooftops.” She stopped walking to face him. “So why don’t you, if I may ask?”

all the lights are sparkling for her

[ bericht aangepast op 11 okt 2024 - 22:55 ]

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

11 okt 2024 - 22:17 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝔫𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔞
^{^{of the House Martell

✷ . 　* 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 * 　 . ✷}}

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken

The words of House Martell

A promise to our enemies, and a challenge to our lovers

princess of dorne • second in line • 22 • dress in the colour of a sunset • bracelet • eyes made-up with kohl • with lord domeric bolton • in the garden

The little rebel in her felt like ripping out a bunch of the perfectly lined flowers or to kick over a flowerpot. Nehemia couldn’t fathom how people could live like this. It felt constructing. Suffocating. How could Emrys exchange Dorne, for all of this? The betrayal hurt even more here. If her former lover had gone to the North, she maybe – very, very maybe – could have understood somehow, for one single percentage. But this? No, this she could never understand. She didn’t even want to understand it.
“No, my Lady, there was nothing wrong with the music,” Domeric replied, almost wistfully. “It’s just…” The man raised his arms, dropping them again. “These – these – High and Mighty, flippy, floppy balls aren’t for me. Give me a tournament, something to watch, with blood and gore. Now that’s what I call entertainment.” He was nearly drooling talking about it. “Dances and dresses aren’t my idea of a celebration, but we’re here, and the night is about more than my own pleasures, I’m afraid.”
Nemi laughed out loud. A real, genuine laugh. “Flippy floppy, I couldn’t ever imagine you saying those words.” And she would not make him forget it. “Well, that at least explains why you started a fight, creating your own blood and gore. I have to say, though, you are pretty stupid to fight with one of the princes.” The Northern man would be lucky if he wouldn’t be send away, tomorrow in the morning. Cedrick would be absolutely delighted. “Also, technically, you should call me princess, not lady, but I’ll forgive your lack of manners, this once,” she added mockingly.

“What about yourself? Do you enjoy these kinds of evenings? I have to admit, you looked like quite the delight on the dance floor.” Domeric grinned, proud of himself.
She sent a staring glare his way. “I would advise you to not call me a delight again. You are not the only one who can throw a punch.” She could throw punches and swinging around swords better than her older brother. It was a good thing she told Doran to stay behind. “Evenings like these are alright for a little while, but I do have to admit they are rather… stiff and utterly, overly organized. The festivities in Dorne are better, but don’t tell anyone I told you that. I wouldn’t want everyone here fleeing to Dorne and ruin the evenings there.”
Walking a little bit ahead of them were the redheaded musician and an unfamiliar man completely dressed in black. Nemi was still looking around her, looking for anything that wasn’t perfect. Thus far, she was failing.
“So I heard a rumour that your wife suddenly isn’t so dead anymore. That must have been quite the shock.” It also left the question of what Domeric was doing here, as she also heard that Domeric and Haelle were legally still married. “And, I also heard she has a child.”

AND IF I GET BURNED,
AT LEAST WE WERE ELECTRIFIED

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

12 okt 2024 - 11:38 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

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

^{qhomir hoare

31 ☩ With Lethia in the gardens ☩ Wearing a long, black, loose tunic}}

Qhomir could feel her eyes on him, studying him, probably wondering why a child would have such a scar. If only she knew, he thought. If only he could tell someone.
''Just because something is widely believed, that doesn’t make it the truth,'' she said casually. He found himself immediately nodding. He was living proof of that after all. Lethia continued with a metaphor about the flower. He understood what she was trying to say, of course, though it was a very simplified way to explain a more profound notion.
''Just because my mother knows some things about healing, it doesn’t make her a witch. I like to think that just makes her an intelligent woman that knows how to make use of what nature gives her,'' she said and he nodded again. He knew this too, but he decided not to probe further. He felt like he had struck a nerve with her and didn't want to press it further. Derailing the conversation into something unpleasant wasn't his goal for this evening. He did enjoy listening to her talk, although her answers weren't as satisfactory as he'd have hoped. Then again, she was smart to not share all her secrets with someone she'd just met. He was already grateful she had been willing to join him on this stroll in the first place.
Lethia explained some more about how her mother gained the knowledge. He should've guessed it was a generational thing, that was often the case with witchcraft he had learned. She concluded with a sceptic opinion on the danger of the Citadel and he had to agree with her on that.
''Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,'' he scoffed. And then immediately caught himself and resumed his straight but relaxed posture. ''The Citadel is not this beacon of learning the Maesters would like you to believe it is. It's about power.'' It's always about power. ''And everyone in power misuses it.''
''If you were to ask me, I think it is much more interesting why a nobleman such as yourself, doesn’t wear any insignia of the House they are representing.'' Lethia changed the subject elegantly. ''Not to be rude, but most of them nearly shout it from the rooftops.'' She didn't say it with disdain, but the phrasing of her words suggested she was not the biggest fan of the nobility inside the castle at all. He wondered if something had happened to her, for this opinion to be so obvious. He'd learned that often that was the case with women at court specifically.
She turned towards him and halted. He did the same. ''So why don’t you, if I may ask?''
He held her gaze for a minute, biting the inside of his cheek. And then he inhaled with his chest and exhaled slowly through his nose. He cocked his head a little as he studied her face, wondering what she might want out of this conversation.
''I lost it,'' he said, but realized she wouldn't believe that and followed it up with: ''On purpose. I don't like to flaunt it.'' He waved his hand around, mirroring the movement she'd made earlier when referencing the lords at the castle. ''I don't see the point of it. I have not come to seek a betrothal as so many others.'' There was quite a distance between them, so he felt comfortable enough to adjust the strap of her corseted body on her shoulder. It wasn't an intimate act, per say. More something done without thinking. ''And if my insignia is the only reason people approach me, then that would just be depressing.'' He smiled at her, softly and a little sad. It was genuine too.
He chewed the inside of his mouth again with his hands clasped behind his back. Studying her, studying him. What an interesting pair we make, he thought to himself. It was like they were trying to outwit each other. Or out-learn each other.
Qhomir heard laughter behind them, and when he turned, he noticed another pair strolling through the gardens. Even from afar he recognized the darker skinned woman to be from Dorne, probably the notorious Martell princess. He didn't recognize the man, but he looked like a northerner, even from afar.
Qhomir turned from Lethia again and walked on. Because she had pressed on about the lack of insignia, he decided to try and return the conversation to witchcraft again. ''I have met a few witches on my travels,'' he said, like he was thinking out loud. ''Young maidens, old crones. A few of them had one thing in common. Have you heard about the Lord of Light?''

kindness is never a burden.

12 okt 2024 - 20:40 ziggystardust is offline

ziggystardust 991

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

══════════════════

Knowledge is Power
Post II • 25 y/o • Dragonpitt • Rhaegar and Ren

There were footsteps behind him. Pyotr was fully aware of them, as well as the risk he was taking by being this close to the Dragonpit at night. He was no Targaryen-born boy, no silver-haired royal. He risked being sent away—or worse, thrown into the black cells—for prying upon the Targaryens’ most treasured creatures. But all that would be temporary. Pyotr had a purpose for being here.
Behind him, the footsteps came to a halt. He guessed there were two people. Probably guards, he thought, so he was surprised when that was not at all who crossed his path that evening.
''Sir, what are you doing here?" a man’s voice asked. ''The Dragon Pit is restricted from access.''
Pyotr turned around, and immediately, the man’s silver-blonde hair caught his eye. Like everyone in Westeros, Pyotr knew the tales of King Aegon and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys. He had never seen the man before him, but there was no denying that he was of Targaryen blood. His silver hair and purple eyes were the unmistakable trademarks of their house—along with their dragons, of course. Pyotr had once seen maesters at the Citadel recording the births of the Targaryens offspring, along with the tragedies that followed—most notably that of Princess Elaena. But to Pyotr, the fate of their bastards was just as tragic. He would know—after all, with his father being Petar Baelish.

As Pyotr’s hands and arms felt heavy, he slowly lowered his hood. The fresh sea wind caressed his face. After taking in the silver-haired man, he turned his attention to the woman beside him. She was small, rather frail, and dressed so plainly that some might call it boyish. Her hair was a dirty blonde, cut with uneven bangs, and in the night’s darkness, it seemed as though she had no eyebrows. She took a step back, almost hiding behind her Targaryen companion.
Even though his body was slow, Pyotr could always trust his mind. The man before him couldn’t be the cruel Prince Aelor, who had become infamous for his actions during the war. There was something about this man—something angelic—that made Pyotr instinctively want to trust him.
Pyotr bent down on both knees and fully removed his cloak, making it clear he carried no weapons. He placed his possessions before him: an alchemy pouch full of ingredients, a vial of potion he had been reaching for when he caught sight of the dragons, and a raven's scroll. Then, he looked up at the pair.
"The prince that could have been," Pyotr said with dignity, his hands raised in the air. "It is an honor to be in your presence." Up on the hill, dragonfire escaped the Pit, and its warmth touched the back of Pyotr’s head. He wondered why the entire hill wasn’t crowded with people, drawn to the magic of these creatures. "The realm’s dearest Princess Visenya demanded my presence in the capital." Pyotr lifted the raven’s scroll for the man to read. "My name is Pyotr, a mere acolyte. I carry no weapons and promise you I am no threat to you or your companion." Pyotr bowed his head once more. "Forgive me for not knowing your name, my lady. Though I seek knowledge, I do not yet know all."

Raven's Scroll

Written in an elegant handwriting and ink:
To Pyotr, Acolyte of the Citadel,

By order of Visenya Targaryen, Daughter of Aegon the First, Queen Rhaenys, Rider of Caraxes, and Master of Laws:

You are hereby summoned to the capital by the authority of House Targaryen. You have to my attention, and I believe your skills may serve the realm well. Present yourself at the Court within a fortnight, where your talents will be assessed.

Failure to comply will invoke the full measure of royal justice.

This summons is not a request but a command.

Serve faithfully, and you shall find favor in the eyes of the throne.

By my hand,
Visenya Targaryen
Daughter of Aegon the First and Queen Rhaenys
Rider of Caraxes
Master of Laws

I did warn you not to trust me.

[ bericht aangepast op 12 okt 2024 - 21:35 ]

and the spiders from mars

12 okt 2024 - 21:32 ziggystardust is offline

ziggystardust 991

DOMERIC
^{^{House Bolton}}

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

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

He made the woman laugh, and unlike the pleasantries at the ball, this laugh sounded real and unstaged. “Flippy floppy! I could never imagine you saying those words.”
“What else would you call them?” Domeric almost cut her off.
“Well, that at least explains why you started a fight, creating your own blood and gore. I have to say, though, you’re pretty stupid to fight with one of the princes,” Nehemia continued. “Also, technically, you should call me ‘Princess,’ not ‘Lady,’ but I’ll forgive your lack of manners this once,” she added mockingly.
Domeric huffed. “The prince and I go way back. Sometimes men just need to be men, you know." He nodded and paused for a moment, he didn't know if women could understand. "Plus, the princess likes me.” He then boasted. It hadn’t escaped him that, lately, Princess Visenya had grown fond of him. This one time, her eyes twinkled when he spoke of his hate for the Starks, particularly the Stark pup. It was clear the princess loved a man with fiery passion, so Domeric didn’t expect to be in big trouble with the ball’s hostess.
“Good to know I can add another princess to my list of admirers,” he nodded to the woman next to him. "I'll try to adress you properly, but like I said, courtbusiness is not my speciality."

A new musician had started playing; their music just reached the gardens. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t played by Lethia. Domeric then asked Nehemia if she enjoyed nights like this and complimented her on her dance skills. She truly was a delight on the dance floor.
Nehemia glared. “I would advise you not to call me a delight again. You’re not the only one who can throw a punch,” she said. “Evenings like these are all right for a little while, but I do have to admit they’re rather… stiff and utterly, overly organized. The festivities in Dorne are better, but don’t tell anyone I told you that. I wouldn’t want everyone here fleeing to Dorne and ruining the evenings there.”
“Well, it’s not my fault you’re a delight to the eye when you dance,” Domeric teased. He would love to see a woman in a dress like that throw a punch.
Footsteps sounded, and Domeric looked up automatically. Even though this was what he wanted—Lethia on stage—it still stung to see her walking alongside another man. For a brief moment, he tried to catch her gaze.

“So I heard a rumour that your wife suddenly isn’t so dead anymore. That must have been quite the shock.” Nehemia said. “And, I also heard she has a child.”
In almost a reflex, he turned to Nehemia and laughed the loudest he had that whole evening. His booming laughter filled the gardens, and Domeric was pretty sure he felt tears welling up in his eyes.
“Yes, and Brannon Stark didn’t lose his head,” he joked back. “No, my princess” he articulated the word excessively “my late wife is dead and buried, and you should know she was as barren as an old lady. Her womb was good for nothing, probably shriveled away because of her rotten personality.” Slowly, Domeric’s laughter grew quieter. He wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Tell me another joke.”

Our Blades Are Sharp

[ bericht aangepast op 12 okt 2024 - 21:35 ]

and the spiders from mars

12 okt 2024 - 21:52 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂
^{^solani}

court musician and dancer • witch • 24 • dress with a red corset and without the split • with qhomir • in the gardens

Aeron took a deep breath. “I lost it.”
She raised an eyebrow. She doubted noblemen – or ladies, for that matter – simply lost items with their house insignia on it.
“On purpose,” he continued then. “I don’t like to flaunt it.” That was something new. “I don’t see the point of it. I have not come to seek a betrothal as so many others.” He reached out, adjusting the strap of her corset.
She eyed him warily. Normally, she was a rather good judge of character, but this man was harder to read than most.
“And if my insignia is the only reason people approach me, then that would just be depressing.” He smiled sadly. And she understood. Being from noble blood came with many advantages, but yet, the one thing you could never be sure of, was whether people actually liked you, or whether they just wanted something from you. It left the question of what he was doing here, if it wasn’t a betrothal he was looking for. Visenya had made clear to her that new betrothals and alliances were the main reason for all the upcoming festivities.
“Well, that is not something I hear everyday,” she said truthfully. “But it certainly is… refreshing.” Had something happened, that he did not like to flaunt his house around? “Did you experience it often, people only talking to you because of your house? Because if you wish, we can just keep on pretending you are a silly servant who doesn’t his way around the castle. Just say the word, I shall deliver,” she promised.

So much for steering the conversation away from witchcraft. She never should’ve started about that stupid salve. “You talk so much about witches, I would almost start to believe you are one.” Lethia shook her head. “No, I can’t say I ever heard of the Lord of Light.” Lie. “You have?”
Loud laughter made her glance over her shoulder. Domeric was taking a stroll with the pretty princess from Dorne. His bloody face was visible in the light from the lanterns. She couldn’t stand seeing him hurt like that and not being able to do something about it. Like she always did. What she had always done. Then, their eyes locked. All the doubts about whether she was going mad and was just imagining him in her head, vanquished all at once. She knew those eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart skipped a beat. Her legs got tangled up in her skirts and she went tumbling forward, onto the grass.
He was alive.
And he was here.
Alive.
“Well,” she said awkwardly. “I guess I am not rather good at walking and talking at the same time.” She let out a deep sigh, her heart hammering. “The view is good from down here, though.” Lethia wasn’t sure if she could make herself stand up. If her legs would even be steady enough. She'd probably just crash onto the ground again.

all the lights are sparkling for her

[ bericht aangepast op 12 okt 2024 - 21:58 ]

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

13 okt 2024 - 12:20 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

TARGARYEN
^{^{^{^AELOR}}}
^{^{the cruel}}
24 ⚜ Prince of the Seven Kingdoms ⚜ With Celia and Visenya ⚜ Wearing this but in red

TW: violence

Aelor paced the main bedroom of his quarters aggrivated. He had been, for the past ten minutes, waiting for that dumb chamberlain to bring him his clothing. With every lap he took around the room, his impatience and anger grew. How could that servant not have anticipated Aelor returning a day sooner than expected? Why was he the one being punished for the smallfolks incompetence at completing even the smallest of tasks?
When the door opened, and the chamberlain shuffled inside with two maids in tow, Aelor's pace changed direction and with three large steps he had closed the distance between him and the servant. The chamberlain cowered, shaking even and Aelor loved every minute of it. He ripped the piece of clothing out of the hands of the man before him, all the while maintaining direct eye contact with him. He was still fuming. One could almost see the warm air escaping his nostrils, like an angry bull.
''Fucking finally,'' he said and with a rough hand motion, ordered the maids to come closer. They dressed him, as fast as they could. He could see they were also shaking, their movements nervous. One of the girls, a dark brunette, dropped a cufflink. She shrieked a little when it fell, and bend over immediately to pick it up. Her shoulders went up, instinctually, as if she was expecting something violent. Aelor decided that for once, he would let it slide. He was already so very late, Visenya was going to kill him for sure.
When they finished, they scurried away like mice and the chamberlain approached again with a mirror. He hid behind it as Aelor admired himself in the mirror - assessing if the servants work had been sufficient or not. Some of the buttons were a bit crooked, and the fabric of his sleeves didn't lay as neatly as he would want to. He inhaled sharply, looking the chamberlain in the eye again. To his credit, the man held his gaze, and Aelor was again going to let it slide. But then the man faltered, and a whimper escaped his mouth.
Aelor hit him. Fast and hard. The mirror fell out of the chamberlains hands, onto the floor and splintered into a thousand pieces. The man stumbled back, but caught himself and stood still a few feet away from Aelor, with his hands covering his cheek. He looked so small, so weak, so... worthless.
''The next mistake will be your last,'' Aelor said and the man nodded immediately. Aelor doubted he'd even heard what he had said. He looked down at the broken pieces of glass on the floor. ''Clean this mess up.'' Then turned on his heels and walked out of his quarters.

The party seemed the be in full swing by the time Aelor arrived in the Great Hall of Aegon's Fort. Or had it been dubbed Aegon's Keep already? King's Landing's Keep? He couldn't keep up with the names.
Immediately, Aelor was approached by a few lords and ladies with their 'oh, dear prince, there you are!' and 'where have you been, my prince!', but he could hear some whispers too 'oh no, that's one's even worse' and 'are we getting another Targaryen fight'. He ignored all of it and walked straight past the people trying to talk to him. He couldn't care less about them, there were only two people he wanted to engage with tonight. And lucky for him, he spotted them fairly quickly, on the other side of the room, together arm in arm: Visenya and Celia. A warm feeling immerged in his chest, as he looked at them. Home, he thought. Is that what this is?
Instead of walking straight towards them, Aelor took a little detour to sneak around them. Hiding among the other guests, he was able to walk a half circle around where they were. The kingsguard close to them noticed him, and he placed a finger on his lips to hush him, and winked. The kingsguard seemed unbothered by it and averted his gaze towards the crowd again.
And so Aelor appeared between them, pushing his body between the sides of his two favorite women so they were forced to make place for him. His left arm he placed around Visenya's waist, his right around Celia's.
''Good evening, ladies,'' he said with a grin. ''Missed me?'' Aelor took a step forward, letting go of their waists so he was now placed in front of them. He studied their faces; looking into Visenya's purple eyes immediately seemed to calm his soul, while Celia's bright blue ones fired him up. I would do anything for her, he thought. His eyes shifted back to Visenya. For them. For us.
Aelor made a little bow and took both their hands in his hands: left Visenya, right Celia. He kissed their hands, in that order and then let go. ''So, what have I missed?

kindness is never a burden.

13 okt 2024 - 21:42 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 912

_{_{CELIA LANNISTER}}
THE LION'S PRIDE

Lady Celia Lannister of Casterly Rock • The Golden Daughter • 22 • dress and necklace • with princess Visenya and prince Aelor • at the edge of the podium

"I promise I will not tell a soul." Celia whispered and meant it. She valued the trust they were building together too much, to give in to court gossip about it. Even if it meant she would be celebrated amongst the nobles, because she solved the riddle that was princess Visenya's love life. Her friend stepped closer to her. “No, I’m afraid not." A hint of sadness touched her voice. Celia could not believe it. Surely one of her many admirers had caught her eye. Celia agreed that not all of them were well-suited for the princess, but most of the men in attendance checked a tolerable amount of boxes. A few of them even almost checked them all. There just had to be someone present the girl had dreamed or thought about. Maybe they had not reached that level of friendship yet, where Visenya felt comfortable enough sharing these kind of things with eachother. It stung a bit.
"May I ask you something, my beloved friend?” The way Visenya made sure nobody else could eavesdrop, made Celia nervous. "Ofcourse, you may always ask me anything, your grace." The uncertainty of Visenya's voice traveled all the way to Celia's posture, when the princess voiced her question. “Do you really believe that true love is possible, for women like us? Or will we always be mere pawns in this game of houses?” True love was not a notion that was spoken of in House Lannister. Duty, power and money were. The very little Celia knew about love, were the things her mother had told her when she was little, but those stories had died with her.
"I think we are bound to a match that our families approve of," Celia lowered her voice even more for the second part of that sentence. "that is if we want to keep living this life in society." Just like Visenya's violet eyes, Celia's blue ones were fixed on her own glass of wine. "But that does not mean that true love is out of the question. It's maybe rare, but it's still possible that your choice aligns with the one of your family."
True love... Celia was not sure she even knew what that meant to her. Would she give up power for it? Would she go against her family for it? She was sure that was not necessary, as she could not fathom the idea of her truely loving someone that was not from a Great House and yet.. there was someone her family would not be pleased about, even though he technically was from a great family, that she caught herself sometimes having confusing feelings for. But were mere feelings, true love?
"Princess Visenya, may I ask you something in return?"

Celia wanted to know what true love meant to her friend, but before she could ask, someone slipped in between them. A strong arm embraced her waist. The touch was followed by a voice that left goose bumps on her skin. ''Good evening, ladies, missed me?'' Yes, she had. Aelor let go of her waist, leaving it screaming for more and positioned himself in front of them. It left a small distance between Visenya and herself. When his blue-ish purple eyes locked with hers, she felt electricity surging through her body. Once she saw them shift towards Visenya's violet ones, she abruptly controlled her lust. Careful now.
She reminded herself of the Targaryen tradition. As if the touch of her friend would make that all the more clear in her mind, she stepped back towards the princess, making the distance between them non-existent. Aelor made a little bow and took both their hands in his hands. His pink lips kissed Visenya's hand first and hers second. Second. As etiquette states, Celia made a small curtsy. "Prince Aelor," Once she was up again she smiled and linked her arm with Visenya's.
''So, what have I missed?" Were would they begin? "Well, allow me to fill you in, your grace. You missed the opening dance where I was forced by the lack of available suitable men, to dance with a seven year old Lord," her eyes were pinned on his, as if she wanted to blame him for that particular situation. "but luckily your younger brother was there to save the day, although he maybe ruined it as well." She clarified. "He was involved in a fight."
Celia cocked her head and her blue eyes focused on Visenya. "Did I leave something out, princess?"

GOLD RUNS IN OUR BLOOD

love me until I love myself

19 okt 2024 - 20:57 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

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

^{qhomir hoare

31 ☩ With Lethia in the gardens ☩ Wearing a long, black, loose tunic}}

Refreshing, Lethia called it. And Qhomir didn't doubt for a second that that's what it was in this brand-new capital city, still being built up from the ground. The lords and ladies in attendance must all be here because they wanted something from Aegon - directly or indirectly.
''Did you experience it often, people only talking to you because of your house?'' Lethia asked and suggested that they could keep the disguise of him being a servant if it suited him better. He laughed at her suggestion and was genuinely fond of that idea. Sweet as honey, he thought. If only she knew the truth.
He chewed the inside of his mouth and thought about it. The answer was yes, but not for the reasons she thought. ''Sometimes,'' he answered. ''But sometimes it's also the reason they don't talk to me. Having a lot of siblings also helps,'' he added the last bit with a casual shrug. ''I am neither an heir, nor a knight, which makes it easier as I am less important, but also harder because you really don't know what they want from you then.'' He shrugged again. Qhomir wasn't sure who the 'they' in this story were, but he didn't like them. ''I suppose that doesn't make a lot of sense.''

And then Lethia tripped. One minute she was talking about the Lord of Light, the next she glanced back and the expression on her face changed instantly- Qhomir registered it as shock, disbelief, a hint of heartbreak maybe. And then she was on the floor. He saw her falling and instinctively dived towards her to catch her, but he came too late. Thankfully she fell soft on the grass, missing the pebbled walking path by just a few centimeters. He blinked, twice, a third time and laughed - not mocking, or pitying, but definitely a smile of entertainment, even though his eyes didn't.
''Well, I guess I am not rather good at walking and talking at the same time,'' Lethia spoke from the floor. ''The view is good from down here, though.''
''Oh,'' Qhomir immediately answered. ''Why thank you.'' He winked and then bend down next to her. ''I think multitasking is overrated anyway.'' He turned on his heels and let himself fall softly on the grass next to her - his eyes studying her hands, feet, knees, elbows for any wounds or bruises. He couldn't find any.
Qhomir leaned a little closer to her and bumped his shoulder against hers. ''If we laugh really loud now, they probably won't come over to see if you're alright,'' he said without taking his eyes off her face - he wasn't sure what about the couple behind them had startled Lethia so bad she lost her balance but he also understood that this was an embarrassing moment for her that needn't get worse.
Qhomir placed his elbows behind his back, a bit spaced away so he could lean backwards with his face turned upwards to the starry night sky. He loved it. The stars and constellations were the same wherever you were, so he always felt a little bit home wherever he was. Even though home wasn't a place he could pinpoint on a map.
''I might take your offer, though,'' Qhomir said after a few minutes, chewing the inside of his mouth again. ''About the servant thing. I would enjoy a few peaceful days in the castle and the city before -'' His voice trailed off. Before... before what? ''- before I get an audience with the King or Queens.''

kindness is never a burden.

22 okt 2024 - 16:36 ziggystardust is offline

ziggystardust 991

Visenya
^{^{of the House Targaryen

✦ . 　⁺ Master of Laws ⁺ 　 . ✦}}

Post VI • 22 y/o • Aegon's Fort • Wearing • with Celia and Aelor

A weight lifted off Visenya’s shoulders after confiding in Celia. Did they have a chance at real love? Was that even possible for ladies like them? Riches were at their fingertips, but love was a treasure money couldn’t buy. The two girls stood very close to each other, their dresses brushing against one another, and Visenya noted that Celia smelled as sweet as she looked.
"I think we are bound to a match that our families approve of," Celia said, lowering her voice. "that is if we want to keep living this life in society."
Visenya stared at her glass of wine as Celia kept talking.
"But that does not mean that true love is out of the question. It's maybe rare, but it's still possible that your choice aligns with the one of your family."
A soft, hopeful smile formed on Visenya’s lips. “I hope you’re right,” she said, “for both our sakes.”
"Princess Visenya, may I ask you something in return?"
The question made Visenya look up. “Of course!” Oh, it had been months since she’d had a real conversation with another lady. Most of her ladies-in-waiting simply did her bidding and would agree with her even if she called the High Septon the most handsome man in the land. This conversation with Celia was different; it was real, and that meant something.

What Celia wanted to ask would remain a mystery. Someone forcefully broke apart Celia and Visenya, and Visenya was ready to call for her guards. How could anyone have bypassed her Kingsguard? An arm slipped around Visenya’s waist. The feeling was too familiar, and immediately, her walls went up. So there he finally was...
''Good evening, ladies,'' Aelor said. ''Missed me?''
Yes.
No.
Whatever softness had been on Visenya’s face was replaced by a cold stare. She rolled her eyes as Aelor stepped forward, his hand slipping from her waist. When Visenya saw him, her mouth went dry. Heavens, he looked as handsome as the last time she had seen him. Or had he become even more pleasing to the eye? Was she mistaken, or had the sun in Pentos left a slight tan on Aelor's skin? None of that mattered, Visenya reminded herself. He. Was. Late.
Aelor bowed and kissed her hand with his sweet, soft lips, then did the same to Celia. Well, he hadn’t lost all his manners in Pentos, Visenya thought. If he had kissed Celia first, she would have wanted his head for it.
“So, what have I missed?” Aelor asked.
After Celia made a small curtsy towards Aelor, she quickly rejoined Visenya’s side, locking their arms together. Satisfied, Visenya pulled Celia a little closer to her. The future was uncertain. There were scenarios where Visenya saw herself on the throne with Aelor by her side, but there were also images in her mind where she would have to outwit her brother as a direct rival. Or worse.
However it would go, Visenya was gathering allies for House Targaryen, but above all, for herself. She was the one who spent most of her time at court, she was the one attending the majority of the Kings Council meetings, and she had to deal with the ups and downs between her father and his sisterwives on a daily. If anyone had earned the right to sit on the throne, it was Visenya. And she wasn’t going to let anyone stand in her way. Not even the ones she loved so dearly.

"Well, allow me to fill you in, your grace. You missed the opening dance where I was forced by the lack of available suitable men, to dance with a seven year old Lord," Celia said. "But luckily your younger brother was there to save the day," Who did have the decency to be on time, Visenya thought. "although he maybe ruined it as well." Celia clarified. "He was involved in a fight."
Celia tilted her head towards Visenya and their eyes met. "Did I leave something out, princess?"
Visenya smiled softly. “I’m afraid you did, my dear Celia.” She took her time, keeping her eyes locked on Celia’s, then took a sip of her wine. Then another. Only after her glass was empty did she shift her gaze to Aelor. “You left out the part where my dear cousin was terribly late for the princess’ ball.” Her tone was sweet and soft, but none of that warmth reached her eyes. “I’m curious how one makes up for a thing like that?” She playfully pushed Aelor’s shoulder, but only when Visenya was pleased with him again would he be granted the courtesy of being called her brother once more. And unfortunately, when it came to Aelor, Visenya was a hard one to please.

A Targaryen alone in the world
is a terrible thing.

[ bericht aangepast op 22 okt 2024 - 16:39 ]

and the spiders from mars

22 okt 2024 - 20:02 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝔫𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔞
^{^{of the House Martell

✷ . 　* 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 * 　 . ✷}}

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken

The words of House Martell

A promise to our enemies, and a challenge to our lovers

princess of dorne • second in line • 22 • dress in the colour of a sunset • bracelet • eyes made-up with kohl • with lord domeric bolton • in the garden

Domeric whipped his head around so quickly that Nemi feared he might break his neck. It was silent for a few seconds, before his booming laughter made some nearby birds fly away in haste. “Yes, and Brannon Stark didn’t lose his head. No, my princess” Nehemia rolled her eyes, again. “my late wife is dead and buried, and you should know she was as barren as an old lady. Her womb was good for nothing, probably shriveled away because of her rotten personality.” He was actually crying from laughter. That was one reaction she hadn’t seen coming. “Tell me another joke.”
“Well, if you say so,” she shrugged nonchalantly. If he didn’t believe her, not her problem. He’ll find out himself. “If my ‘jokes’ makes you laugh so hard, I should start charging you for it…” In front of them, the musician had tripped and was laying in the grass. “Look what you did, you scared the poor woman.” Nemi tsk’ed. “What a brute you are.” She wanted to ask him about his wife and Emrys. What he had meant with his comment, about Emrys hounding her. “I gather you didn’t like your wife much. Is it because of what you said earlier, her involvement with the Lord Commander?” Doran would find her an idiot for asking, but also be proud of how steady her voice remained.
But she did feel bad, talking to him like this. After what he had done to the Starks. Especially after her conversation with Cedrick. She slowed her pace. “I would advice you, though, to not speak ill of the Starks in my presence.” Her voice was sharper now, had lost its playful edge. “Though I might not agree with all their…actions, they are still dear family friends of mine, and I do not appreciate people talking badly about my friends. I am sure you wouldn’t either.” Nehemia turned towards Domeric, her head cocked. “Understood?”

AND IF I GET BURNED,
AT LEAST WE WERE ELECTRIFIED

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

22 okt 2024 - 20:28 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

ЯHΛΣGΛЯ
^{^{Waters

⚔︎ . 　* 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡'𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 * 　 . ⚔︎}}

sky above me,
sea below me,
fire with me

targaryen bastard • master of dragons • 24 • with ren and pyotr • dragon's pit

To his horror, the man knelt down on his knees. With his cloak removed, the sunken cheeks of the man showed. Kneeling down, he looked much smaller than he had minutes prior. The underfed man scattered his possessions out in front of him. Was this all he had, truly?
”The prince that could have been," Pyotr said with dignity, his hands raised in the air. "It is an honor to be in your presence." With the fire flaring up behind him, he looked like a maniac. “The realm’s dearest Princess Visenya demanded my presence in the capital." He held out the scroll. "My name is Pyotr, a mere acolyte. I carry no weapons and promise you I am no threat to you or your companion." To make it worse, he bowed his head. "Forgive me for not knowing your name, my lady. Though I seek knowledge, I do not yet know all."
“Um. Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “Sir.” Rhaegar had never in his entire life, felt so embarrassed as he did in that moment. How did his sibling-cousins deal with all of this? People kneeling down for them. Worshipping the ground they walked on. His cheeks flared bright red and he silently prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t be visible in the darkness of the evening. Was this the gods’ punishment for not attending his sister’s party? Visenya would definitely tell him so. He rather would’ve seen the man attack him, than… this. The only joy he could find in it, was him calling Ren ‘my lady’. “This is um, lady Kiren.” He was ashamed that he didn’t even know her last name.
Still cautious, he grabbed the scroll. He had to squint to read the letter properly, but he did recognize Visenya’s handwriting and the family seal. She at least could have warned him about this, could she not have? “It looks like he is speaking the truth…” he told Ren. “I’ll save this for now, if you do not mind, uh, sir Pyotr.” He handed the pouch over to Ren, to hold, and rolled the potion around in his fingers. Thorns crazy must have gotten to him because he was curious whether the vial contained poison of some sorts.
“Kiren - Ren, if you wish to leave, please, don’t feel obliged to stay here,” he muttered towards her, before glancing at ‘Pyotr’ again. “What is in this vial, sir?”

MOST DAYS
I AM A MUSEUM
OF THINGS I WANT TO FORGET

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

22 okt 2024 - 21:16 ziggystardust is offline

ziggystardust 991

DOMERIC
^{^{House Bolton}}

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

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

"If my ‘jokes’ make you laugh so hard, I should start charging you for it…”
“Maybe you should.” Domeric entertained the idea.
The way Lethia tripped and fell into the grass made Domeric’s insides crumble. His first instinct was to rush over and help her to her feet. But she wouldn’t want that. He didn’t want that. She was her own person and had been for the past few years. Apparently. So, even though Domeric was dying to talk to her, it would have to wait. The one his heart longed for was a secret he kept to himself. Loved ones were often the targets of enemies, and Domeric knew this well. It was a standard tactic in his family to hurt their rivals through those they loved.
But that didn’t make it any easier when the figure accompanying Lethia lay down beside her in the grass. If Domeric’s insides could twist further, they did now.

“Look what you did, you scared the poor woman,” Nehemia tsked. “What a brute you are.”
Domeric wanted to defend himself but didn’t. Nehemia had no idea of the true weight of her words, so he remained silent.
“I gather you didn’t like your wife much. Is it because of what you said earlier, her involvement with the Lord Commander?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Domeric replied. “We never got along, for more reasons than just the Lord Commander, though he certainly didn’t help.” The way the Lord Commander had connected with his late wife, in a way Domeric never could, still made his blood boil. “Have you ever been married, Princess Nehemia?” he asked.

When the subjects of the least noble house of the Seven Kingdoms passed, the atmosphere shifted. “I would advice you, though, to not speak ill of the Starks in my presence.” Nehemia spoke, her voice lost the playful tone it had before. “Though I might not agree with all their…actions, they are still dear family friends of mine, and I do not appreciate people talking badly about my friends. I am sure you wouldn’t either.”
She turned toward Domeric, tilting her head. “Understood?”
A silence settled between them. Domeric allowed it to linger, listening as the wind rustled the leaves in the Targaryen’s garden. His younger self would have walked away by now, but he had learned some things over the years. Walking away would do no good. And for what it was worth, he enjoyed these conversations with Nehemia. There weren’t many fellow nobles who shared his distaste for balls and frivolity.
“Loyal to the Starks, hmm?” Domeric said, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself. For now. “Fancy the Stark lord, do you?”

Our Blades Are Sharp

and the spiders from mars

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