aislamxnto

[aislamxnto]

"I am a man of the North -- you know my heart shall always lay with my family, my house. We were both marked for such a fate from birth, weren't we? We are not like those from houses built upon civil war and strife -- to the bitter end, we shall fly beneath our family's banners. But I worry for you, dear friend; how can one sleep soundly, when they mark their kin both friend and foe?" Though drink had dulled certain senses, Avory's stupor afforded him a certain charm -- his melancholic pondering enhanced the golden of his tresses, reflection agreeing with him mightily. Edric felt won to the confidence of a man whom time and loyalties had splintered from his side; he lingered, rooted to the spot, holding the ale in his hands gingerly. A new sort of light sparkled in Avory now -- Edric could not be reassured by its presence entirely, but he could not mark it as hostile.  Edric raised the ale to his lips, preferring to endure intolerable silence rather than speak the truth; he knew reason dictated he raise the point of Avory's defection from their shared allegiance --- but he feared his own affections would sour the discussion. Avory had made the same choice as he; all they had beneath the oppressive hand of the Targaryen's was the right to decide whose iron grip felt most pleasant upon their necks. His eyes were quiet, near shy, as they sought Avory's once more; Edric maintained a fairy-light tone, wishing only to prompt an honest response. He could not however, supress the marked urgency in his voice. "And now? You speak of your first loyalty grandly, but where does your heart lay now? Is it still intertwined with your family alone, or have you found room in the great expanse of your heart and house, to afford support of another?" 

OPEN TO: ruling lord edric of house stark, @aislamxnto LOCATION: secret passages of the red keep, king's landing

The ale and wine had swelled to his head, leaving better judgement in his glass. Avory, at the very least, had the sense to get out of the hall of the Red Keep before the anxieties that plagued him came to light. He had evolved into the worst kind of drunk by seeking the thrilling satisfaction of outing his demise. Lack of inhibition, however, had been fruitful this time. The weariness against engaging with a former brother had been abandoned and he walked the tunnel he'd found under their chambers out to the rush. He didn't explore further than that— he'd allow himself this small and short lived escape to clear his head. The smell of the river would remind him of his father, his mother, his home that mattered above all else. "Who was your first loyalty?" Avory mused, indulging on his last sip of ale before handing it over to Edric. "It is predictable to say mine was my family? They are much the reason I live... as the reason I will seize to. They are my greatest allies, my heroes, as much as they are my enemies." He lifts his head to look to the other, bringing himself back to his feet where a fit of laughter had previously brought him to his knees. There had a moment between catching his breath that he had prayed to remember this, one more moment where his succession had not yet tainted everything. Before they had become their fathers. A small plea is laced in the sigh he lets out, glazed over his gaze before he turns away as if to quietly say 'I had to, for them— this alliance that had pulled us all apart is for them.'

[aislamxnto]

"I give you my word that the crown shall not be displeased by our unorthodox outing." Daena could not constitute a strong claim on the crowns every thought, but she had long ago granted herself license to move as she moved. Rhea's acceptance was greeted with a warm smile, the lady's countenance indulging in a rare moment of open delight. "We shall continue to hope the crown shall continue to lay with my favorite dragon, though little is certain in such times; but do not fault yourself for your lack of acquaintance with the small folk. Noblemen are rarely encouraged to venture beyond their walls, and noblewomen even less; I believe, today may yet prove an invaluable experience."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

There was great beauty to be found amongst the small folk, though little was readily gleamed from the dwellings they fondly regarded as home. Unmoored by silks or finely made trappings, Daena's skirts dragged across broken stone and dirt, her hem wearing the dredges of an untitled life. The small folk flitted about, baskets balanced upon hips, children with tear stricken faces wailing to the heavens; life moved here without pretence, naked emotions laid bare upon a street corner. Their walk met no resistance, no eager eyes keenly attached to their forms; well-hidden in plain sight, Daena and Rhea bore no markings that demanded attention -- save for those who glanced upon Rhea's features, for no matter her dress, she would never be proclaimed as plain.

"We journey to a small market, where fish and vegetables are easily traded for silver coins -- I confess I am fond of the place, for it reminds me of my girlhood. I have not spoken to you of my upbringing, have I? Great mystery surrounds my origin; but like all myths, the truth lays in a place wholly mundane." Daena's arm was tightly bound through Rhea's, lest the tide of bodies sweep her away; she guided them down narrow streets forcefully, though her eye rarely left her companions face. "What do you make of life beyond the keep? Does reality challenge whatever notions you once held?"  

@aislamxnto          ╱          𝐝𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚  𝐨𝐟  𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐬

She peered keenly at Rhea, her gaze relentless in the pursuit of alterations in Rhea's countenance; she expected to witness surprise, but keenly desired a sheen of interest. One did not arise to a position such as Daena's, without a fondness for theatrics, and a keen inability, to disappear beneath disguise. "It is my desire that we move unguarded, and under no pretences of status -- have you ever moved amongst the small folk as one of them? At a time such as this....it is an invaluable opportunity, to gleam their perspectives." 

anything  was  better  than  being  stuck  in  the  red  keep  all  day,  rhea  had  remembered  thinking  to  herself  but  a  few  hours  past.  how  quickly  things  are  apt  to  change⸻though  she  has  never  claimed  not  to  be  fickle.  after  their  first  encounter,  rhea  had  expected  that  the  mistress  of  whispers  would  call  upon  her  once  more.  hoped,  rather,  for  as  great  ann  impression  she  had  made,  rhea  knew  that  the  present  issue  (  if  one  could  ever  refer  to a  murder  so  delicately  )  would  likely  consume  her  time.  when  she  imagined  a  second  meeting,  it  certainly  was  not  under  ...  these  pretenses.    ❝    i  would  welcome  any  opportunity  to  alleviate  myself  from  the  red  keep,  so  long  as  it  would  not  incur  the  ire  of  the  crown,    ❞    ⸻whoever  it  belongs  to  now⸻    ❝    though  i'm  ashamed  to  say  i  have  never  had  the  chance  to  meet  with  my  people  on  their  level.    ❞    there  were  petitioners,  of  course.  her  father  held  court  on  occasion,  and  ever  since  she  had  taken  over  control  of  the vale,  she'd  had  to  settle  the  disputes  he  neglected  during  his  long  illness.  beyond  an  understanding  that  it  was  her  responsibility  to  serve  her  people  as  it  was  theirs  to  pay  obeisance  to  her,  rhea  had  never  thought  much  of  the  smallfolk.  she  pitied  them,  perhaps,  but  their  lot  was  theirs.  she  supposed  that  there  was  seldom  much  harm  in  gaining  knowledge.  it  would  behoove  her  to  learn  more  of  their  plight,  especially  if  daena  herself  wished  to  offer  a  lesson.   ❝    now  that  i've  cause  to  think  about  it,  this   ...  may  be  the  first  time  i've  ever  descended  from  the  eyrie.    ❞    and  what  a  first  time  it  is.

[aislamxnto]

None would have readily proclaimed the Lord of Winterfell green, a boy wet behind the ears --- not openly, when rebellion had bled his house dry, leaving a man where once stood an eager youth. But as his kinsmen rallied by his side, letting sweet wines fill their bellies as they sang his praises, Edric did not stand amongst the fray, unaware his title had been anointed with a new sense of worth. It was not a victory of hollow origins, not when the might of his opponents were taken into account; but it was a superficial one, that gave little credence to whom best dominated the field of battle. Still, the North rallied, their cheeks flushed and eyes alight, unencumbered by the the company which surrounded them -- 'til an approaching figure gave cause to close ranks.

As was his custom, Thain Harlow broke upon their party like a clap of thunder --- his movements as light and precise as flashing lightning. But he settled his face upon Edric's with amity, and thus Edric could only receive him with equal notes of geniality. "I would not discount you my lord, should both you arms be bound behind your back; it it not lost upon me I have been blessed by the Gods to not have received your sword on a true field of battle."  Edric did not indulge in flattery for vanity's sake; he would find no gratification in singing the praises of an ill-deserving man. With shoulders as strong and unmovable as an oak trees, and infamy that extended to the cold of the North, Harlaw's strength demanded, and earned, Edric's humility. "You honour me greatly -- I confess I found myself uneasy before our lances met, and I would not readily agree to a re-match. Perhaps you can offer my men instruction -- they cannot suppress their delight at your display, not even to spare my ego."

Mention of Wylla would always colour his cheeks, and leave him proud, as if he had any hand in their grace and renown. "Laying the victory before the Liege's feat gave me most a feeling of satisfaction --- though I have no doubt, your choice of beauty would have given reason for the court to smile. Should I keep a close eye on them? I do not wish to be caught unaware, should they seek revenge."

when: the night of the feast where: the grand hall who: lord edric stark | @aislamxnto

the feast ebbed and flowed as the night wore on, waning between courses and discourse only to be reinvigorated by wine and song moments later. the lord of the ten towers moved amongst the tables with a confident, if somewhat pained manner. sporting an easy grin that was equal parts charm as it was mocking. there was little love for his people here, as evidenced by the almost tribal divide amongst the tables. the ironborn sat just apart from the mainlanders as the islands they called home. tensions no doubt increased by the prospect of a union between greyjoy and their overlords. for which, thain cared little. much like his attention that evening, his ambitions lay beyond such cares, yet certain performative rites had to be observed. his infrequent stops as he sojourned across the great hall, needling and vexing some, charming others, were part of that. a grand circuit that gradually wound him towards the northern enclave. that damnable grin widened as he approached, watching with wry amusement how vassals tensed around their liege lord. clannish to the core. northerners and ironborn were much alike in that respect, albeit for different reasons. the northerners banded together out of loyalty, the ironborn out of necessity. love versus fear. the latter oft proved to be a far more fragile union in times of peace, perhaps, but when was there ever truly peace to be had in the kingdoms? perish the thought. "be  at  ease," he offered a placating hand. singular; his battered shoulder would allow for little more. "there  is  little  quarry  to  be  had  with  a  blow  well  struck,  and  i  doubt  i could  offer  much  of  one  in  any  event." no false modesty there. the injury was a day old, yet still keenly felt. even his ego had to yield to the silent protests his body made with each and every step. a spider web of pain radiating out from every gesture. naturally, he offered a bow to the warden of the north. "if  i  had  to  lose  to  someone,  it  gladdens  me  that  it  was  the  champion.  the  laurels  of  victory  suit  you  well,  my lord  stark," he made a nod towards the figure currently sitting further up the table. the manderlys were not unknown to him; more than a few times had he seen reason to skirt their vessels or hunt in waters just beyond their domain. an interesting choice from the lord of winterfell, yet not overly surprising. clannish to the core. "and  of  course,  your  choice  of  love  and  beauty  proves  to  be  just  as  impeccable."

[aislamxnto]

Edric wished to plead he was a paradigm of calm, but such an insolent reply would only de-double Waylon's efforts for him to see reason. He could only sigh, letting waves of sanity flood his lungs. He did not know what ailed him so deeply; while the death was tragic, he claimed no forbearance on the late regent. "It's a pity you have not known me since I was a boy, and I have shown you to little the over excited child I once was." Waylon's tone, as steadfast and commanding as he recalled from so long ago, did well to steady him. His ceaseless footsteps upon the floor fell away, leaving him to stand still, notions of subterfuge still rushing across his mind. "I am well accounted for in a sense --- but I do fear my whereabouts could be doubted as biased. I shall assume you were commandeering some vessels, or washing your blades in the salt water." Edric paused, glancing at Waylon with a bemused slant in his eye; he could not help but indulge humour, on the account of a man of snow, becoming one of salt and sea. "I know some present would be pleased by such a notion -- I suspect them above all others, though I have not a shred of proof. But I promise I shall offer them a calm demeanour, when I am called to speak. After all, am I not the most charming man left in the North? Save for my brother, but I do believe I have him well beat in matters of gallantry."

even  through  his  abandonment  of  the  north  had  the  northmen  kept  in  contact.  edric  was  perhaps  one  of  the  few  from  back  north  waylon  indeed  had  exchanged  ravens  with,  begrudgingly  even  more  than  his  own  family,  which  said  too  much  for  the  white  fox  to  care.  the  heir  to  winterfell  paced  back  and  forth  in  the  closed-off  room  they  had  decided  to  meet,  and  while  seated,  the  irk  to  make  the  man  settle  grew.  "calm  yourself,  edric,  there  is  little  to  be  done  now-"  a  sigh  escaped  worried  lips  and  even  with  a  usual  melancholy  personality  times  were  suddenly  rough.

"you  are  accounted  for,  are  you  not?  i  am  certain  you  can  speak  of  your  whereabouts  to  the  questioneers  and  so  can  I,  there  is  little  need  to  fret."  of  course  there  was  much  to  fret  about.  their  chosen  dragon  had  climbed  up  the  stairs  to  the  throne  and  was  now  crowned.  it  all  went  according  to  waylons  wishes,  but  it  also  made  threats.  rising  from  his  chair  he  looked  upon  edric  who  seemed  panicked.  "behave  like  this  before  them  and  you  will  be  beheaded  by  morning  -  please,  calm  yourself  friend."

[aislamxnto]

"Mastery of such beasts has corrupted the Targaryen's sense of hubris -- if they ever had one."  Daena was imbued with a deep love for the family; but such tenderness did not render her impervious to their more proud, debilitating attributes. Proximity to godliness did little for men. "They love a performance, and often give a fine one -- I have to grant them that. Certainly, the Hand shall not let his family go unnoticed on any stage."

She could not fault Alys for the weariness that touched her brow, while she lavishly dreamed of eternity -- their crossing across the sea had been enough fodder for three lifetimes, never mind the endless climb that had followed their landing. "Perhaps we shall set sail again once more -- a final voyage? We shall sail into the sunset, and leave Westeros to its fate." Loyalty was as deeply intwined in the fabric of Daena's spirit as espionage; but loyalty to the crown was outmatched in every fashion by her endless fealty to Alys. She watched her moving quietly, with the ease and comfort of observing a form one had loved a thousand times over. "You anticipated my scheming? I fear I am losing the ability to surprise you." Daena reached for her cup, renewed with wine; while she spoke in jest, her machinations were indeed, beginning to stir. "However this dance ends, we shall emerge victorious --- it is the survival of others, that I ponder. But little came be done until the unfortunate time comes, but wait; and pray my champion does my favour justice."

Alys could hardly help another small laugh. "Mh. I suppose you may be right in that. They are humbling creatures to lay eyes on." She nursed the dregs of the wine in her cup, debating a second glass. "I have to imagine one or two may join in. The lions have always been proud. They will hardly avoid an opportunity to preen in the public eye."

Alys shifted, gazing down into her cup with a wry smile on her lips. "A romantic notion, sweetheart. To live decades more at your side would certainly be a joy. But I suppose it might tire me terribly. I am already so tired, some days," she admitted, slowly pulling away from Daena to go and refill her cup. The turn of conversation made her grimace, masking her expression with another sip of the sweet wine in her cup. "I was afraid you might say something like that," she sighed, her gaze turning back to meet Daena's. "I know how wise you are. I have no doubt that you will be quick to decipher who might come out of the contest victorious." She returned to her seat, soft. "And I shall follow whichever direction you move. As I have always done."

[aislamxnto]

for: @warstudy

location: daena's quarters; a back exit

Daena long ago had become fond of fineries, having found a well-tailored gown and splendid display of jewels, lent her more esteem in the eyes of those she sought to entrap than her hard-earned title. But as daylight scattered remnants of the stars from the sky, she stood in a costume of simple origin -- her hair was simply plaited, her garb containing no trappings of elegance. A maid ushered Rhea into the room, quickly sweeping from it; in lieu of reaching out a hand to beckon the lady to her, Daena employed words as her siren call. ""If you are willing, I would like to invite you to depart the Keep with me; we shall venture out into the markets, to the dwellings of the small folk." She peered keenly at Rhea, her gaze relentless in the pursuit of alterations in Rhea's countenance; she expected to witness surprise, but keenly desired a sheen of interest. One did not arise to a position such as Daena's, without a fondness for theatrics, and a keen inability, to disappear beneath disguise. "It is my desire that we move unguarded, and under no pretences of status -- have you ever moved amongst the small folk as one of them? At a time such as this....it is an invaluable opportunity, to gleam their perspectives." 

[aislamxnto]

"Had I known you intended to haunt my footsteps, I would have chosen grander footwear." Daena made no rushing action to turn and unveil her pursuer; she preferred to continue her idle wandering, letting silence linger between them for a moment longer. The open halls of Kings Landing endeavoured to present a pleasant sense of freedom; the hot rising sun, beaming greedily through large glass windows, rose unclouded to lend credence to this notion. But the oppressive atmosphere of nobles rising anxieties, impressed upon Daena that notions of civility would not last; she had in her pocket, a myriad of whispers, collected from the anxious and paranoid mass she had just left. She'd exchanged pleasant sentences with all, whose sense of dread had manifested in contrived displays of grief towards the regent, or ill-gotten accusations laid upon the door of rival houses. And so she had departed, finding no companionship as fine as her own -- the regent's passing had inspired both a tragedy, and a comedy. Daena turned now, ceasing her merry jaunt to allow Amaury to approach her side; she could ask for no greater partner in times of panic as a Tyrell. "Shall we discuss the pressing matters at hand, or have you sought my person for idle gossip?"

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for the second part of chapter one

Nothing welcomed a Tyrell back to King's Landing quite like the death of a Targaryen. The second-born son of Highgarden delighted in the spectacle. It took a great deal of self-control to not visibly frolic before the Crown Prince during their questioning. Instead, Amaury committed himself to meaningless chatter, with the answers his Prince sought from him being scattered about. All with a baffled and disturbed expression embroidered onto his handsome face. There was suddenly no place in Westeros he would rather be, though he did quickly find himself bored with the dragon-riders. His attention quickly turned to the other nobility before him, all shaken by the death of a woman they blindly respected; all disoriented from their long-awaited one-on-one interactions with their Crown Prince being probes into a murder. Amaury’s mask was still intact, but he could see that many of theirs were not. Invoking his charm — one of his few redeeming qualities despite his reputation — he made an effort to socialize and enchant his peers. His mind took note of every wording they chose, the tones of their voice, and to whom their eyes flickered to as they spoke. By his fifth glass of wine, he had wandered off once more, goblet still in his hand as he paced the dimly lit hallways. He saw someone pass him who was walking alone. Curiosity got the best of him and he followed them aimlessly. He was too deep into the wine to care about the heaviness of his steps announcing to the person before him that they were being accompanied.

[aislamxnto]

"Who else would deserve such a title? The North is honoured by your crowning -- I dare not assert too greatly the fineness of your features, lest any of your admirers seek to remove my overly inflated head from the rest of my body." Edric could not help but boyishly demure at his presentation, and the kindness of Wylla's reception; a crimson flooded his cheeks, and he could only hope his helmet, guarded this display of kinship. Their private joke (thinking of their respective paramours, and Edric noting he would not wish to see Wylla's with a lance in hand) fell upon all other ears as open flattery, but falsehoods failed to be a strong deterrent, to his showmanship. "Come, have I not earned the chief place in your heart with my victory? I admit my own performance exceeded the expectations I held --- but I shall not prostrate too long, as I believe age and our doting audience, will not deter you from whacking me around my ears." He spoke mostly in jest, knowing well he, Edric Stark, was no one man army -- yet as superficial as a joust victory was wont to be, his feelings of doubt following a near detrimental rebellion, felt somewhat assuaged. "Without so much as a scratch on me, save for well, the small battle scars I've occurred from a lance or two. Do you think they will impress any maidens, should I choose to disrobe during the next banquet?"

in  truth,  they  had  not  considered  the  result  of  edric  claiming  victory  in  the  joust,  even  if  wylla  had  more  faith  in  him  than  anyone.  it  was  the  tie  to  their  favor  that  kept  them  in  disbelief  that  such  a  success  could  mean  a  crown  on  their  head.  as  the  stark  lord  rides  toward  them,  though,  cheeks  turn  a  bright  shade  of  crimson.  they  are  suddenly  a  child  again,  tempted  to  shy  away  from  the  staring  eyes  gazing  their  way.  a  spotlight  was  only  familiar  with  unwanted  consequences  and  so  the  manderly  liege  struggles  to  stay  present.  any  worry  or  concern  steadily  fades  away  with  every  step  of  edric's  steed.  if  not  for  those  around  them,  they  would  imagine  this  was  play  pretend  between  two  close  companions  -  a  thought  that  helps  ease  into  what  remains...  pride  for  a  dear  friend.  "  my  lord,  you  honor  me  greatly,  especially  by  choosing  me  as  your  monarch  of  love  and  beauty,  "  giggles  erupt  at  what  others  must  perceive  with  this  showing,  though  they  know  where  the  lord's  affections  truly  remain.  selfishly,  they  hope  theron  is  watching  just  out  of  view.  "  we  shall  be  even  for  that  incident,  yes...  the  others  ?  we  will  see.  "  they  tease,  reaching  to  grasp  the  victor's  crown  from  his  lance.  "  a  victory  to  show  the  strength  of  the  north  without  so  much  as...  you  are  uninjured,  yes  ?  "

[aislamxnto]

"It depends --- would you rather vultures flying high above for all to see, or snakes, who lay in wait, lulling you into security, before they strike?" She herself long ago learned to quietly sink her teeth into the enthusiasms and passions of others, sitting passively until a well-timed action was dictated as needed. But Daena could only look upon Visenya with a tenderness, her glance animated and soft, upon Visenya's haunting gaze. For one so young, so wholly new to the pains of grief thrilling her heart, she offered Daena what she desired most; honesty, a true picture of the unflattering reality Visenya and her kin had now been granted. Their ascension, the elevation of their status, came hand in hand, with newfound suspicions, in the wake of the regents passing."Do you suspect others? Good. I hope my words do not see you driving me from your side, but you must trust no one, above the warnings in your heart. We enter an era where peace sits precariously on the edge of a knife." She relished well the cool deep shadow that covered them from sun's laughing bounty; fear was well nurtured in her chest -- a fear for the lady beside her, for the young king, for her beloved; but Daena would pass through terror, and only she would remain. "I should like to see you, step forth in these uncertain times; we are in need of a new lady to shine for our edification."

visenya's lithe fingers find the green of a leaf, let it be an anchor that keeps her steady when all she wants is to float away and go back where there are no games, no snakes and no teeth around someone's neck. at that same time that thought crosses visenya's mind, a bitter taste makes itself known on her tongue ⸻ is there such a place left? still, there is a sense of peace to be found when among the vines ( no matter how false it is ), shielded from the shadow that looms over king's landing. all seems far away, the voice of lady daena spoken from the far end of a tunnel that visenya does not even know she is in ( perhaps that is how she is meant to feel until she returns home ⸻ far but not far enough away ). the words spoken to her are still heard, still cycled through and thought about. visenya does not understand why her thoughts could be of the mistress of whisperers' interest. the young celtigar takes the leaf in her hands, plays with it as she speaks. ❝ can anyone find comfort in seeing vultures circle a body that is still alive? ❞ visenya's voice is soft yet troublesome, inner thoughts and battles slipping through the cracks of what she hoped was a better facade. it is vaeles she worries for, his body and his mind. the regent has been laid to rest and all she shall find is peace with all the gods, old and new ⸻ it is the ones left behind in her death's wake that will find the discomfort of war if paranoia comes to life. ❝ to some, something else seems clearer, doesn't it? that is what i find the most discomforting. ❞

[aislamxnto]

"If I offered you a glimpse into my testimony, my lord -- would you offer a fraction of your own in return?" Edric spoke with no motive, seeking no vantage point he could seize upon; he shared his mind with Quenton now, wishing to exchange honest words between them. A library was always to be rife with the seeds of amiability; his hands grasped a book, tales of Targaryen's long past, held in his hands. Whether Quenton desired to accept his offer, had little claim on Edric's disquieting thoughts now; the weight of his eyes bore into the other man's, reflections on the gods weighing heavily upon his brow. "What do the Gods tell you? It worries me greatly my prayers have thus gone unacknowledged." Edric spoke in a low, a cheerful, an albeit dimmed hum, carrying throughout his words; a levity he could not contain, at Quenton's palpable irritation. "I would like to have witnessed a shaking lord of the red keep, attempting to press any advantage against you. Did they seek an exact account of your movements? It has often been said, the best alibi is an honest absence of one."  

closed starter : in the heart of the red keep, in the days after the interrogation. his heart is fondest in a library. / @aislamxnto , muse lottery of your choosing .

“is  there  a  weight  upon  your  shoulders  that  you  wish  to  share?”  quenton  would  not  assume,  not  in  an  open  manner,  whether  or  not  something  was  amiss.  although  it  could  be  argued  that,  with  so  much  amiss,  another  thing  added  to  the  roster  was  little  more  than  a  nuisance.  still,  he  had  been  taught  the  good  faith  of  questioning  after  emotions  in  difficult  and  dark  times.  “i  myself  have  been  praying  to  the  gods  since  the  loss  has  shattered  the  kingdoms.”  although  the  ways  in  which  the  shattering  had  occurred,  depended  upon  who  was  being  asked.  and  the  kraken,  which  lurked  beneath  the  surface,  had  no  opinions  that  were  favourable.  (  monster  shuddering  in  the  back  of  his  mind.  truly  he  must  keep  it  at  bay  for  now.  )  “the  questioning  was  rather  …  irritating.”

[aislamxnto]

for: @melicos

location: stables within the keep

"I beg your forgiveness at the informal nature of my invitation here -- I was unsure of how best to tempt you to conversation, and I have heard much regarding our shared love of horses. If you can bear my chatter, I believe it is a fine day for a ride." Edric stood apart from the Hightower, exhibiting great fondness towards his beloved horse, whose mane he stroked with gentle care. No grand scheme of subterfuge lay in his invitation to Alon, nor did he aspire to offer a cache of northern riches; he was moved to seeking out members of the court, to his souls consolation alone. Edric knew Alon would not suffer him if he suspected falsehoods, and so he spoke plainly, no matter what honesty disclosed of his own misgivings. He felt high winds upon his cheeks, but the great show of strength did not seem to come from a heralding storm; there would be no great rush of dark rain upon them with a sky so good and clear above them. "We are to enter a new era, are we not? One where friends are needed, and little can be certain. And, the need for fresh air is endless -- has the keep not begun to feel like a tomb, to you as well?"

[aislamxnto]

for: @aechor

location: a small, private courtyard within the keep

Under a grand gazebo draped with vines, Daena had taken her customary seat, having first persuaded Visenya to sit by her side. The weather was too fine to not live outdoors, no matter the calamity at hand -- Daena often held court here, offering lively lectures on whatever best pleased her. Her eyes drifted lazily across the courtyard before them, dissecting each twig and leaf that lay across broad sooted stone. She sought no apt pupil today, no eager mind to hang upon each of her syllables -- Daena wished for Visenya to offer her own thoughts, to dispense what only her quick mind and quiet eyes could discern. "I thought the sunshine would be a welcome reprieve from the heat of suspicious eyes; do you find comfort in the interest placed upon the regent's passing, or do these affairs trouble your heart?" Though she seemed to find little pleasure upon a stage, Visenya's intelligence and sympathies were easily plead to within a tête-à-tête. Daena would always seek those who spoke less -- fierce minds rarely overindulged in performative exercises, or sought the gratification of an audience. "Little is clear, beyond security in knowing we have lost a mighty woman, but inherited a promising king."

[aislamxnto]

for: @daimonas

location: edric's quarters

"To think my victory had begun to make my head grow to biblical proportions, only for me to be utterly deflated in a few days time -- I feel near foolish having been so happy." Their meeting had been crafted on the premise of tea and delicacies, but Edric could not remain within the confines of the chair he had been occupying beside Waylon. He had taken to pacing, to staring at the sunshine which settled upon the Kings Landing, its merry sheen an insult to the events which shook them all. His tea lay abandoned, long since cold and unappealing in a silver cup. Waylon would always be a figure whose wisdom would draw Edric near; the North laid claim to his heart, and all who had grown within the arms of winter, would be brothers to him. Save, for a select assemble, whose misdeeds would carry through his family, as songs of snakes. "What shall come next, Waylon? I know you cannot divulge the secrets of the council -- but do you look upon our new age with hope?

[aislamxnto]

for: @shesnakes

location: a quiet garden

Visaera was no bright lady's shadow, but the loss of the Regent cloaked all beneath the weight of her demise. Daena found her alone, a solitary figure cloaked in mourning garbs, letting the hot sun of soon beat down upon her shoulders. With a outstretched hand and a heavy heart, Daena came to stand beside her, speaking in dulcet tones she only imparted in times such as this. "My dear --- I will not prolong this moment with professing my sadness for your loss, as I am sure you have had your fill of niceties. Could I perhaps, offer you company? And we can speak on whatever best keeps darker thoughts at bay." Her presence alone could not edify the princess, nor satisfy her desires for what she had lost. Daena would however, seek to embody all she had come to be known for -- endurance, and an uncanny ability to weather whatever strife life laid at her door. "We could gaze at lilacs until our eyes see only a sea of purple, or you can inform me which lords you find the most odious, or charming."

[aislamxnto]

Barbrey's eyes were alight with the same malice of a wrathful street cat, her hair threatening to stand on end. She fumed like an ill-bottled storm, granting Edric bemusement -- though he would privately confess, her point was just. "It is hard to fathom how you did not burst into flames making such a demand of me." Perhaps he enjoyed, nearly relished petty blows against Barbrey; Edric's incentives against her were the only tangible sources of vengeance he would enjoy. He quelled his grief, kept down his bitterness when he could --- but seeing her, so wholly alive before him, sent the past raging upon his ears. If an audience stood enraptured by their melodrama, he took no notice. "I do not need to remind you I am but a man with faults --- for you and your family endeavoured greatly to let my shortcomings be well known. I truly wish to forget our past strife, but it is a difficult thing. How do you forgive someone who does not regret?" His eyes departed from her countenance, falling upon the ground; Edric did not wish to see the absence of effect his words had on her. Where he had readily employed a haughty and mirthless tone, Barbrey had mirrored his cadence in spades. Edric had steeled himself for any number of cankerous replies from her lips. But Barbrey's confession was human, near piteous; it returned the notion to his soul, she was not made of stone. "It is difficult for me to say I know you, now. But I have little doubt you will see your colors flying proudly. You have a singular gift with success."

the  presence  of  house  bolton  remained  undesired  even  in  the  northern  tents  erected  outside  the  red  keep  and  after  a  small  scuffle  between  a  member  of  her  household  and  one  of  the  other  men,  barbrey  had  taken  to  assigning  paired  companions  and  guards,  when  they  could  be  spared,  to  anyone  who  bore  the  flayed  man  on  their  breast.  the  young  ruling  lord  bolton  had  bristled  at  the  proposed  addition  of  two  guards  to  his  person,  drawing  steel  to  show  that  he  meant  business  and  was  capable  of  defending  himself  and  his  sister,  but  barbrey  had  smacked  him  upside  the  head,  if  only  to  keep  herself  from  shaking  some  sense  and  a  fear  of  the  gods  into  him.  (  cowed  into  obedience  by  her  domineering  words,  beron  had  melted  into  a  hug  after  her  harshness  had  been  tempered  with  the  right  amount  of  gentle  concern  and  as  he  allowed  her  to  fuss  over  him,  barbrey  could  not  help  but  wish  that  the  rest  of  her  family  could  be  so  easily  scolded  into  sense.  perhaps  that  would  have  spared  their  lives.  )   though  she  could  not  imagine  a  scene  she  wished  to  avoid  more  than  direct  confrontation  with  edric  stark,  she  had  been  advised  to  seek  him  out,  if  only  to  reprimand  him  for  the  lack  of  control  over  his  servants  but  as  he  stood  before  her,  waned  of  the  enthusiasm  she  had  once  taunted  him  for,  whatever  fighting  words  she  had  faded  from  her  thoughts.  ❝  perhaps  you  ought  to  tell  your  men  that,  my  lord  stark.  ❞  the  bite  remained  sharp,  however,  whetted  into  a  point  by  fear  for  her  life  and  that  of  her  younger  brother.  against  the  billowing  width  of  her  skirts,  her  fingers  twitched,  stifled  in  the  urge  to  reach  out  and  smooth  away  the  practiced  lines  of  his  face.  (  i  will  not  stand  for  a  wrinkled  groom,  she  had  teased  but  barbrey  did  not  remember  him  looking  as  exhausted  as  he  did  now.  )  ❝  ...  you  speak  of  forgetting  the  past  yet  provoke  me  so.  ❞  her  hands  trembled.  the  advisors  had  begged  her  to  keep  calm,  to  remember  bolton  heads  mounted  on  spikes,  left  to  rot  outside  the  dreadfort,  but  familiarity  loosened  her  tongue.  he  had  never  rebuked  her  for  speaking  freely  before,  and  for  a  moment,  she  forgot  where  they  stood,  both  physically  and  with  each  other. ❝  nothing  that  i  do  not  deserve,  perhaps,  but  you  know  my  favor  would  only  be  sought  so  that  it  could  be  trampled  into  the  mud.  no  man  wants  to  ride  with  such  a  curse  tucked  close  to  their  breast.  ❞

[aislamxnto]

Edric crimsoned, his cheeks a giddy colour ; he had not believed he possessed a excitable and passionate disposition, but the swift kiss Vaeles' allotted him, offered him a passing glimpse of newfound depths in his person. He revelled in Vaeles’ affection, even if the warmth upon his face was not to last -- it was not his lover he doubted, but the depth of time they would be allowed to share. Gently, he sought to retain his grip upon Vaeles’ arm, keen to return them to a place of unabashed closeness, as the prince pulled away to speak. "I may offer less in the way of fur, but I believe I rival my direwolf in quality of conversation; but is it not a capitol offense to contradict the crown? I shall be glad to accept whatever punishment is fitting. " Once more, Edric lay his forehead against Vaeles', content with this simple gesture of refined intimacy --- he would be content if this were all Vaeles were ever to allow him.

His countenance projected clearly the lightness of his spirit, having changed so brightly in the course of their reunion; even Edric's cheek-bones, oft half menacing in their angles, appeared softened by the startling sincerity and joyful nature of this moment. Vaeles' violet eyes were alight beneath the weight of his lashes, though Edric endeavoured to welcome their heat, and not merely sink beneath it. "We may only have this night -- I do not wish to hasten death, nor bring pain upon your shoulders. I simply do not wish to let this brief interlude we share go wasted." Edric kissed Vaeles' forehead wordlessly, a sheepish grin dissolving into the soft lips that warmed the wayward white hairs framing the peak where a crown would soon lay. His father had often spoken of the might of a Targaryen king -- and of the painful folds that gathered upon theirs brows beneath a band of silver; but having given way to Vaeles' influence, and taken charge of his affection, Edric rendered all thoughts of Vaeles transformed by the the throne, inadmissible.

As the leagues betwixt them dissolve, he can feel the narrow of Sgaeyl’s eyes at his vertebrae, the heft of her head looming near as dragon embraces wolf. Though the south had melted the frozen snowflakes from his lashes, the scent of road-worn sweat and smoke from an infant fire were not enough to wash the north’s pine scent from him, luring Vaeles back to their past — the soil of the north watered with Bolton blood. He was once too cold like the moon to seek the elder’s attention, a mystery beneath its silver shards of light, that, even when thawed, was bound to promise and duty the way a jewel was permanently inlaid in gold. But time had unbridled him enough to seek that accompaniment — as long as he was not alone in its fervour. Long gone were the eves of winter where the lord Stark’s warmth had softened the frostbite sinking into his marrow, making a home in his heart and gladdening his disposition in an instant amidst the horrors of warfare. Then, as his pensive stare pored over maps, he imagined the loss of Edric as a pain much like an organ being ripped out, something no longer attached but agonising, a roughly amputated limb. And that had not changed. A gloved hand runs up to rub Edric’s nape and card into the back of his hair — what did his fingers do before they held him ? Kill, he thinks, and kill again.

When his mouth meets Edric’s, his free hand comes up to cup behind his ear, thumb drawn along cheekbone as parted tiers of plush satin enclose his lower lip. Perhaps a flush of red would have crept up his cheeks once — if the ripe peach of boyhood had not rotted at birth, if the remnants had not been mollified by sorrow and war. The languid shift of his lips grazes a departing kiss to the edge of Edric’s mouth, stalled only by the heavy lean of muscle, the press of his forehead against the other’s before a comfortable space is returned between them. The edge of his mouth quirks into an easy smirk, roguish when partnered with the lax slant of his head. ‘ I have come for Lycaon, though I suppose you will do. ’ He smiles faintly ( imagines he has not done so in a number of years ) alongside the jest, but the pull of his mouth soon dims, fleeting, poisoned by life that has grown too complex over time; the hand of death resting heavier day by day upon his shoulder.

[aislamxnto]

"Come Lyam, it would have been far more succinct and given you more dignity to simply state you're horribly afraid the pack of maidens you're courting, would not admire you after your older brother disarms you with a single blow. And I'll have you know Wylla shall not be disappointed in the least by their choice in me as their champion -- I never let them down in our childhood races." A great sense of relief flooded Edric's senses as Lyam offered him good-natured quips on his potential as a champion; too often as of late, had Lyam's warmth been clouded by sentiments of a darker nature. Moments such as this allowed Edric to indulge in the notion his younger brother was still such; young, unscathed and unmarred by notions of tragedy. "I think most of the women here are mildly terrifying in some regard -- save for our sisters." 

What levity had grown between them, met a brittle and untimely end, as Lyam began a soliloquy that bore the same chill as the North's bitter winds.  "Brother --" Edric could not receive such grand speeches, listen to his brother accept the bitterest of fates with calm without a profound sadness rooting him to the spot. He did not wish to feel the weight of Lyam's gaze as he spoke, his firm and lucid tone echoing in his ears; Lyam's voice called to him with the cadence of their father, whose body had long gone cold. There could be little said to assuage these sentiments; Lyam would cast aside reason and turn from warmth, to honour duty and family. The Starks long-standing marriage to what was gallant and what was right, had begun leading them to the bitterest of ends. "You need not assign yourself to a life of unhappiness; I shall neither send you to the Wall, nor condemn you to a life with a partner akin to the odious Barbrey Bolton. But I will lock you away if you do not give me some guidance in what you seek in a bride --- surely there is some trait or interest you find attractive. No one lady has turned your head with a smile?"

Lyam's lips twitched up into a small smile at his brother's question. Beneath the jest he could sense his concern, and that was the reason he'd never intended to enter himself in the contest in the first place.

"I am not," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the sky above them. "For starters, if I was to send you spiraling to the ground before the nobility of the seven kingdoms and our future king, I'm not sure that would reflect too kindly on the Stark name. Second, I could never go against Wylla or cause them any sort of loss, even if their judgment is a little questionable in this instance. Third, I find there are more productive ways of bruising my ribs than jousting."

But after that, the teasing note in Lyam's voice faded away. There was a beat of silence, Edric's gentle prod truly bringing back the importance of this trip for reasons beyond pledging to the heir: connections. Including those that Lyam can forge through marriage.

"There are women here of all types, aren't there? Beautiful, quiet, intelligent, terrifying." He finally turned and looked at his brother, the expression on his face uncharacteristically earnest.

"We've discussed this before, Edric. I will do what you tell me to do, whatever is best for our family and for the North. If you tell me to forsake my name and renounce my titles to join the Night's Watch, I will. You can marry me off to the ugliest, meanest woman in Westeros if that means that, come winter, we'll have the support we need. I know what we've lost, I know our situation, and I know that you've the world on your shoulders right now."

Lyam brought a hand up to rest on Edric's shoulder and he gave him a gentle shake.

"I appreciate your concern for my preferences, but I'm aware of my role in this family. I trust you to do with me what you know to be best. Let me help you in this way, at least."