dreadfortborn

[dreadfortborn]

[dreadfortborn]

D E S M O N D :

Desmond had how own frustrations with their current predicament. The thirst for revenge needed to be quenched, but when there was no one to answer for the killings at the coronation, there was little to be done. There were plenty of speculations as to who was responsible, and the use of magic was affirmed, even though Desmond had a hard time grasping it. But there were direwolves and dragons in Westeros, magic couldn’t be too terribly farfetched. But magic had a source, and the elusive assassins still hid in the shadows. And that was only building tensions and frustrations.

Still, Desmond tried to do his part, seeking answers when he could. Otherwise, he stayed at the Dreadfort, keeping an eye on the Boltons and continuing his services to them. It was all he could do to keep himself in check and avoid letting his anger over the deaths get to him. Wyatt Stark told him not to dwell too much on the past, but there were times he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had he arrived to Winterfell sooner. Maybe he could have seen something, done something. Anything.

He had arrived at the courtyard, deciding to vent the building frustrations out on a training dummy when he noticed commotion near the center of the yard. Desmond had an inkling that the gathering wasn’t just to watch any two guards sparring; and from the sound of it, one of them was definitely getting a beating. Desmond easily pushed his way through the crowd, the guards making their way for their commander as he arrived to the center of the gathering to find his assumptions accurate. 

Reyanna was sparring with one of the guards, though there was a lack of easing up on her end. Desmond had fought with Lady Bolton before, he knew she could hold her own more than well in a fight. But he also knew when to ease up, especially in a mere sparring match. So he continued forward, approaching Reyanna from her left. She was quick, and her first fist landed on his shoulder, not as heavy as the hits on the guard she was beating relentlessly only moments before. But he held his ground, even when her second fist was raised and aimed for his face. 

“Only when I know it’s unnecessary to beat my own men to a bloody pulp,” he replied, his tone quiet yet holding a hint of sternness to it. His gaze turned toward the nearest men, giving a nod toward the beaten guard on the ground behind Reyanna. They quickly stepped in to aid him, but Desmond’s gaze returned to Reyanna. “We should clean your hands.”

Her hand drops to her side rather than making contact with is face an eyes narrowed at the commander with his chastising but most of the frustration she felt was aimed at herself rather than him. It was a rarity for the Bolton to ever admit to any wrongdoing and she certainly wasn’t about to now but something told her that she didn’t need words to tell him that there was a fleeting sense of regret for her actions felt when she was almost certain that he would catch it flickering in her eyes before their usual coolness returned. Most others wouldn’t have even received that small concession but there were a few who lay outside her usual tendencies.

Fists clenched again as though that would absolve her anger as opposed to only adding to it as had just been proven. Briefly she considered challenging him but he was one of the few that her mind seemed to insist she pulled punches for - only her sisters getting such treatment when he father demanded that she held nothing back. So instead she exhaled and slowly unfurled her hands as she did, embracing the stinging pain that came from her cracked knuckles as she did so, finding it to be almost grounding.

Dark gaze darted towards the man she had undoubtedly injured but only a slight pity was felt when she knew that she had inflicted far worse than what he had endured. “He’ll be fine.” The words were firm when she knew her own limits and what she was capable of, no injury that she’d given would last more than a few days. There had been an effort made to ensure no broken bones or dislocated limbs - simply a plethora of bruises that would undoubtedly ache for a few days. “Perhaps their training needs increased or they need to be more willing to hit anyone.”

Barely a glance was spared for the state of her hands, feeling as though it was simply an inevitability that came with engaging in any kind of fight and letting raw instinct take over. Her gaze was stern and voice firm when she looked back up at the man who’d managed to halt her fury, ensuring that there was no room for argument or protest to what she said. “They will be fine too.”

Skin crawled slightly as she was all too aware of how many eyes were upon her, no doubt wondering if Desmond or even themselves was likely to become her next victim. Drawing herself up straighter, Reyanna holds her head high as she makes her next suggestion. “Although perhaps we should go elsewhere.”

[dreadfortborn]

So life got a little crazy but I am here now and willing to get everything up to date again asap! As far as I am aware I owe the following replies on all my muses:

Reyanna ---> Desmond @commandcrsnow

Laenah ---> Valdis @ironwore (this one is so overdue omg I am sorry I missed it!)

Laenah ---> Nymeria @corcnis

Oberyn ----> Bastian @lordxarryn

Oberyn ----> Wyatt @wyatt-winterprince

Oberyn ---> Nymeria @corcnis

If you would like me to do them please let me know either by messaging or liking the post and I will get to them either tonight or in the next few days!

And of course still very much here for plotting as well on all four of my muses!

[dreadfortborn]

daario naharis, samwell tarly, theon greyjoy

daario naharis: what would you do to impress someone? 

The short answer is nothing. If they are unimpressed by her then she puts that down to their own lack of observance or perhaps even their values being put in the wrong areas. There are few that she genuinely wants to impress and everyone else’s opinion is meaningless to her. She knows that there’s no area that she’s lacking in and because of that lays the blame at their feet rather than her own should they feel as though she could be better in some way.

samwell tarly: what is your favorite thing about learning?

She liked the feeling of power that it gives her, the impression that she has something over someone else. The way the the knowledge makes her feel as though she is armed against anything that comes her way - how it can cut just as sharply as any blade if use correctly. It makes her feel superior and the best prepared that she could possibly be. After all, no one ever died from knowing too much only being careless in how they they used the information.

theon greyjoy: are you anxious to prove your worth to certain people?

There is little or nothing that could ever make Reyanna Bolton anxious and she certainly doesn’t waste her time trying to prove her worth to others when she knows that everyone that counts thinks highly of her enough. Most people’s opinions mean nothing to her and she is well aware of where her skills lie and what she has to bring to the table, enough so that she sees little point in trying to convince people otherwise when she’d rather just prove them all wrong.

[dreadfortborn]

She was like a sword. Her tongue was sharp, she was always ready to fight She never showed fear Her eyes only ever showed determination.

sunrises-and-nightlights (via wnq-writers)

[dreadfortborn]

arya stark, joffrey baratheon, margaery tyrell

arya stark: do you have different “faces” around different people?

Reyanna has always prided herself on being authentic with anyone she meets - or at least as herself as always. While she might be inclined to hold her tongue when it’s necessary, she’s never been one to outright lie though she is guilty of withholding information to those she does not think worthy of it. She is only ever herself although how much she is prepared to say and reveal depends on who she is speaking to.

joffrey baratheon: what qualities do you dislike in others?

There is an automatic distrust from her towards anyone who isn’t Northern and it’s something that she is completely unashamed of. Most of all she loathes cowardice of any sort when she has always tackled things head on. Liars and traitors are met with a similar disdain when loyalty and truth are held up as crucial to her. 

margaery tyrell: how do you get what you want? 

She doesn’t ask, she takes. If anyone stands in her way she’ll remove them. She pays for her goals in blood and sweat without a single tear being lost. By any means necessary is her mantra when it comes to accomplishing something and to her the ends will always justify the means if it keeps her House and The North safe and secure.

asks can be found here (x)

[dreadfortborn]

There had been attempts made to keep her frustration in check at the lack of headway that she seemed to be making in forming any kind of logic and supported conclusion about what had happened at Winterfell. She had ensured that for the most part she was sequestered away in the library, surrounded by tomes that had formed something of a fort around her with all the piles that she had created as each seemed to inevitably prove to be of very little use to her. The brunette had scarcely ventured out of the room, save to occasionally eat when it became necessary, and most seemed to know better than to attempt to seek her out.

Although for the most part there had been no victims of her ire, her patience with what was usually her sanctuary was wearing thin and with books failing to providing the usually comfort or shedding light on foggy situation. The heavy tome in her hands is cast aside with a non too gentle huff of disappointment and the Bolton rises to her feet and heads to the courtyard where she knows that there will be soldier to be found when the only other thing that might dull her anger is to unleash it in the form of fighting.

Every step she took seemed to speak of danger, lithe movements mimicking something stalking its prey rather than a woman. Eyes fix on someone who seems as though they’ll at least provide a temporary challenge and with a sharp tilt of her head she makes her wants known. If there’s a sheepishness or hesitation in his actions Reyanna doesn’t pay it any heed before she sends a fist flying out with the expectation that he will counter and from that point onwards instincts kick in and all she knows is that blow after blow is sent out and dodged.

She was winning, that much she knew and even though she took some satisfaction from that it did not make her stop. His fist is dodged and she turns to get more impact, only to catch movement out of the corner of her eyes as she did. There’s already a suspicion of who she’ll be facing when she turns back once more, the first fist still landing with considerably less force than before and the second one halting in mid air. The brunette takes a step back with no effort made to hide her glare. “You should really know better.” Fists are dropped to her side, aware that they were stained with blood but not caring whose it was. “Do you always have to spoil it?”

@desmondsncw

[dreadfortborn]

GOT Character Asks

arya stark: do you have different "faces" around different people? bran stark: if you could warg into any animal what animal would you choose and why? bronn: what would you do for money? brienne of tarth: do you fit the mold? catelyn stark: do you miss anyone? cersei lannister: what's your favorite drink? daario naharis: what would you do to impress someone? daenerys targaryen: do you find yourself looking back on the past often? davos seaworth: who makes up your family? eddard stark: where does your honor lie? gendry: what is something you've created that you are proud of? gilly: do you ever feel out of place? grey worm: how do you stand up for what you believe in? hot pie: what's your favorite food? jaime lannister: what would you do for love? joffrey baratheon: what qualities do you dislike in others? jojen reed: what is a dream of yours? jon snow: what would you break your vows for? jorah mormont: how loyal are you to the people you love? khal drogo: what does it mean to you to be alive? loras tyrell: do you hide anything about yourself from people? margaery tyrell: how do you get what you want? melisandre: do you ever purposely manipulate people? missandei: can you speak more than one language? oberyn martell: do you believe in getting revenge? petyr baelish: what drives you? are you willing to do anything to achieve your goals? renly baratheon: do you live in the shadow of an older sibling? rickon stark: are you the youngest of your siblings? the oldest? the middle? robb stark: are you a leader or a follower? robert baratheon: are you in your prime? samwell tarly: what is your favorite thing about learning? sandor clegane: what is a fear of yours? sansa stark: what does it mean to be strong? shae: where have you traveled? shireen baratheon: what is something you've taught someone else? stannis baratheon: do people see you as serious or easygoing? theon greyjoy: are you anxious to prove your worth to certain people? tommen baratheon: were you forced to grow up too quickly? tyrion lannister: what's your favorite book? tywin lannister: are people's perceptions of you important? varys: can you keep secrets? ygritte: are you free-spirited?

CREDIT (X)

REYANNA | LAENAH | OBERYN

[dreadfortborn]

R E N Y S E :

The younger Bolton’s eyes were downcast on her book as her sister spoke, unable to keep herself from rolling her eyes. “If recent events have proven anything, it is that magic is a fact.” Though, she couldn’t blame her father. He was a military man through and through; his power came from his ability with a sword, not with spells murmured under his breath. She had not been born with such views. While she never fully believed the stories her mother would read to her, Renyse had always been curious about magic. After all, if it was in so many different stories, there had to be some sort of fact to it.

“And I am talking about information beyond this room,” she stated to her sister, choosing to ignore her cold look. She had lived with the expression long enough for it to have lost its sting. “The maesters have studied at the Citadel. They would have the knowledge or at least the means to acquiring more than what Father deems important enough for his library.” Renyse knew that she was right and even if her elder sister chose not to follow her advice, she would seek them out herself. She worked close enough with them as it was given that they assisted with her sisters’ education; it would be easy to bring in the topic among normal conversation.

Smirking at Reyanna’s response, she shook her head. “Unless there is a hidden faction of sorcerers in Mountains of the Moon,” she pointed out, more to spite her elder than to bring anything substantial to the table. Her eyes ran over the cover of her book once more before sighing. “But yes,” she stated with straightened shoulders, “they are most likely from Essos. The problem is which part?” It didn’t help that the continent was much larger than Westeros, with enough diverse cultures among them to make it difficult to pinpoint what kind of magical people they were looking for. The corpses, though… They burned so quickly that they were already ash. Burning… “You don’t suppose it might be followers of R'hllor? I think they are known for burning people. It could explain the lack of bodies.”

With anyone else her usually cool demeanour would have won out and there would have been a simple pursing of lips but no words spoken, except she never had quite been able to resist biting back at her sister when she got a little too over zealous with her clever remarks. “Well you can take that ‘fact’ up with father.” The both of them knew that when it came to their father, it was the elder Bolton who had far more in common with them where the younger took after their mother more, as such Reyanna was quite confident that the suggestion would not go down too well with Rutherford when he possessed the same pride that was always quick to smart at the smallest of slights, true or not.

This time lips do purse slightly and it’s the same pride that runs through their father’s veins that keeps her lips pressed shut as she flicks through another few pages. Her sister was right, that much she would acknowledge but that did not mean that she liked being told what she should be doing any more than she would if it came from the lips of anyone else. There was a certain stubbornness to her that meant that she was determined to exhaust all options in The North before starting to reach out else where more extensively than she already had. “Once I have ensured that I have not missed anything in here my intention was to speak to them. I sent a raven to the Citadel yesterday.”

Dark eyes remained fixed on the page in front of her but the shift in her tone to something cold enough to mimic the weather outside gave enough of a clue that her patience was running out when she only wanted to solve the mystery. “If you do not have any serious answers then I wish you would leave me be.” The next words out of her sister’s mouth are ignored if only for the sake of keeping some semblance of peace between the two of them but what comes next gives her enough pause for thought that she glances upwards. “That could be possible, although I do think that there would have been some more ceremony if that was the case and I do not doubt that there would have been some sign of their priests during it all as well.”

[dreadfortborn]

M Y A :

SULKING. mya didn’t do well at sulking. septa’s critical voice rang in her ears sometimes; mya was short-sighted. living in the moment came as naturally to her as breathing. when calder had slain their cruel brother, that same short-sightedness had allowed her to adjust to their newfound freedom with ease. the shadows of their dark time disappeared in the light of a new era and the future was bright enough that she didn’t feel the need to look at it–that was calder’s job now, after all. whatever he decided, he had her support and her sword.

the endless seconds of a few silent shadows eclipsed the horrors of seven years of terror. she could not let those terrible figures out of her head in the same way she always had been able to let go of the bad before. phantoms haunted and the future wove knots in her stomach. the dark cloak that draped itself over winterfell like a funeral shroud left her brooding more than she cared for–finding herself sulking in the crypts below in hopes that the ghosts of her ancestors would give her the answers that no one could find.

knees pulled to her chest, mya leaned her back against the cool stone wall–steely fingers burying themselves in the hearty warmth of luna’s dichotomous coat. at the sound of footfall on the stony floor, mya took a sharp, annoyed breath and cleared her throat to announce her presence, before looking up under her brows at the intruder. “careful,” she warned darkly, a defiant grin threatening to break the stoicism on her angular face, “you’ll wake the dead.”

The Starks and the Boltons held much more in common than simply a mutual respect and shared Northern blood. Both buried their dead under their fortress, the strength that the deceased had held in life serving as a foundation for their descendants to raise themselves higher. While she had never been one for any sort of true sentiment, there had been passing occasions when she had found herself in the Dreadfort’s own crypts when the usefulness that her library had to off her deserted her in favour of being unhelpful. 

It was not so much that she thought she would receive any answers or clues from her ancestors, more that it gave her a certain sense of peace to know that she was among those who had helped to make the name Bolton both great and capable of striking fear into the heart of all that word of its infamy reached. The quiet helped centre her and gave her those much needed moments of calm to attempt to organise the chaos of thoughts that more often than not occupied her mind when she was used to thinking of every outcome.

This time, her decision to venture into the depths of Winterfell was not out of necessity for herself but rather an educated guess that she might find the Princess there. She had always found the other woman’s company easy and that alone soothed both her still smarting pride from feeling so helpless and the burning anger she felt towards those responsible. “I have nothing to fear from the dead.” Her dresses had long since been left behind in favour of leather and it’s without hesitation she sits herself next to the other woman, a hand held out for the direwolf’s approval despite having met countless times before. “It is the living who seem determined to trouble me.”

[dreadfortborn]

mushi-and-junior:

seven heavenly virtues: DILIGENCE [4/7]

(n.) steady, earnest, and energetic effort

[dreadfortborn]

S E R E N A :

the houses of the north are less abstract to her than are the rest of the seven kingdoms, whose words and sigils she hardly cared to commit to memory as a child. there are a few that stand out–those whose members she had the pleasure of dispatching from the realm with a well-placed blade or a timely ‘accident.’ her mother’s daughter in many ways, serena can recall the major houses of the north, but not well enough to place anyone within them. the familiar names are her mother’s contemporaries, not hers, though many of them yet live. the slight woman who approaches is familiar only as a small collection of features serena has seen around winterfell in the short time since her arrival. though she has the sweet look of a snowflake, there’s a hardness to her like ice.

serena considers the woman’s words, nodding in agreement. there is little else she might suspect as the culprit who robs the slumbering of their dreams and restful sleep. “well said.” there are myriad ghosts that haunt serena lo at night. sometimes they are gentle and take their turns, other nights they set upon her like the pack of white wolves on her mother’s banners. “i can scarce believe it myself,” the words were hollow; she’s seen the horrors of asshai, the magic tricks of those who would follow the lord of light, and a dozen other strange magics outside of those she learned from the night lion in the house of black and white. though she does not know the source of these assassins, there is little that surprises her. 

“forgive me,” there is a genuine regret in not being able to place her anywhere but in the north–her features and the presence of her the largest hints, “i am serena lo of house cassel.” she dipped her head in a courteous bow. her fists finally satiated, serena made quick work of unwrapping them, taking care to deftly roll the cloth as she went and smirking at the comfort of the cool night air. “it’s so quiet here at night. nothing like where i grew up.” she thought aloud, wondering why her mother would’ve left.

If there was one thing she considered herself knowledge above all else it was The North. The kingdom was intertwined with her very soul and she made a point to know as much about each house that the tomes her father kept would allow and even more by showing an interest in all current members that was extended to no one else outside of their borders. Few stories had gripped her quite so much in her youth as those of Northern warriors and armies and the deeds that they had accomplished and the Bolton intended to leave behind a legacy in the history of their kingdom not just as a member of her House but as a Northerner that everyone could be proud of.

A smile flickered onto her lips but was gone as quickly as it appeared. Reyanna always had possessed a penchant for the brief yet to the point and it pleased her immensely that her new companion seemed to hold the same view on words, using them sparingly but effectively. “It is true, I witnessed it myself.” Magic had always been on the fringes of her belief system and yet now it seemed to have been proven it left her searching for more answers, answers that she couldn’t help but feel might lie outside of Westeros when everyone seemed so confused and blindsided by it all. “If we don’t believe it a possibility we cannot fight it.”

Gossip was one thing that she had never paid any heed to or even indulged in but she did know how to shift through the information provided until it gave her something useful and as such she knew exactly who she was speaking to before the introduction even if they had not met. She refrained from stating that she was already aware and instead made her own introductions. “Reyanna Bolton.” There was a glint of curiosity in her eyes, already half impressed by the way the other brunette seemed to know her way around wrapping her hands - a sure sign that she knew what to do with her fists as well. “I imagine it’s about as far removed as you can get. Still, I think the quiet you can get used to, it’s whether you can handle the peace it gives you alone with your thoughts or not that is the true test.”

[dreadfortborn]

D E S M O N D :

“Apparently so,” he agreed. The humor may have been misplaced for the given circumstances, but Desmond knew Reyanna wouldn’t outright talk to him about what had happened or her feelings on losing her mentor figure. He knew better than to ask, knew better than to goad her into talking about how she felt, so he did what he could to try and distract her for a moment, to keep her from diving too deep into the need for revenge.

But her quips back had become weaker, and Desmond felt the conversation take a turn. He knew it wasn’t good to let the idea of revenge fester, but he was feeling the urge for it as well. And any sort of punishment he could think of for the assassins didn’t feel just, and Reyanna felt the same, the spite and disgust heavy in her tone. 

“I wish I knew as well,” he replied, “and the notion that magic was involved… I’m not sure how much of that I can believe. Either way, they’re hiding like cowards.” The bitterness was hard to miss in his tone. 

The fact that even he wasn’t sure what had been seen at the coronation or that magic was used, something no one in the North– or anywhere else for that matter– would have been prepared for, was unheard of. Desmond agreed that even the most gruesome punishment was too kind for them. “I think anything would be too merciful,” he replied, “but they killed from each House. They’ll answer for it one way or another. Hopefully the punishment isn’t a swift death.”

There might have been a time when she refused to accept that Desmond was to be an integral part of the way that they ran House Bolton and it was something she would still admit to now when she believed in honesty and clarity between allies, but more and more she was being reminded that her initial feelings were unfair and simply due to her smarting pride when it seemed as though her father did not think her good enough to one day steer the House and the army by herself.

As the years had worn on it became clear that there were few, if any, people that she could trust as much as him or whose loyalty to the Boltons and the North rivalled his. It had been a slow process but eventually she had come to see the same merits in him that her father had and while it was not something she would admit to, he was perhaps her closest confidante when she allowed little glimpses into her thoughts.

The way that they generally seemed to be on the same page made it all the easier for her to speak frankly when she was known to be reticent with her feelings but he knew her well enough to know when to push and ask and when to leave it. “Cowards who will meet their end and it will be a bloody one.” The words were forceful, perhaps because she was still trying to convince herself that justice would be served.

Magic was the one thing in the world that truly intimidated her when she knew that she had little to no way of fighting it, as had been proven when she had to watch one of her own be slaughtered by shadows. There’s a little shake of her head, not being able to afford herself disbelief when she’d seen it with her own eyes as much as she’d like to dismiss it all as nothing but a dream. “The magic is real, of that much I am certain. In a world of dragons and direwolves I suppose that we shouldn’t be so surprised but our information on it is so very lacking.”

[dreadfortborn]

A woman like me has a sword for a tongue and night in the heart. x

Reyanna Bolton Aesthetic 3/?

[dreadfortborn]

W Y A T T :

For some apparent reason, the quiet was missed by the prince. Both the roads and Castle Black were not places where the human tongue was spoken a lot. Castle Black mostly existed of swords clashing and winds howling and the road was plain quiet. Right now, it seemed as if quiet had no place in the city. 

A smile befell him when greeted by Reyanna Bolton, the lady of the Dreadfort. He hadn’t quite expected to run into her at first sight upon his return, but it was a pleasant surprise nevertheless. The question was an obvious one to him. Much like himself, he knew Reyanna to be interested in the politics and other important matters of the North. “The Castle is doing well, given their circumstances. They did hope for the festival to deliver some more recruits, more even than we already did deliver.” A slight irritation was shown by Wyatt, as he found them mostly ungrateful. “They appear to have trouble coming to terms with the fact that people south from the wall are not automatically bandits, like the wildlings are.” He covered his irritation with a smile, giving his exhausting trip blame for his mood. “How have things been here?” He knew of the assassinations a bit, only by crow.

Quiet was usually something that she craved when the company of others was more often tiresome to her than not. She enjoyed peace and being left to her own devices and yet now she found herself longing for some sort of noise to drown out the thoughts that were threatening to drown her as her frustration at the situation only grew. 

Hearing news from The Wall gave her something of a distraction and even prompted something of a scoff that was the closest thing to laugh anyone truly received from her. “In future perhaps they should temper their hopes slightly, though I am sure if the are in desperate need something could be arranged.” Reyanna knew that the upkeep of the Night’s Watch was no mean feat and those in charge would always have her respect for that but now was not he time to be demanding more when so much was already being asked of them by other houses in the wake of the attacks and murders. When the questioning is turned on her and the events that the prince missed, she is less inclined to say anything even though she knows that it is better for him not to be kept in the dark. “I trust word travelled fast to you about what happened? Since then I suppose that tense would be the best way to describe it. People seem intent to point the finger at one another from what I have heard.”

[dreadfortborn]

thewinedarksea:

the seven deadly sins | pride

dangerously corrupt selfishness; the putting of one’s own desires, urges, wants, and whims before the welfare of others.

[dreadfortborn]

I have the whole world raging under my skin. I’ve always been a girl armed for war.

And war has learned to fear me // L.H.Z (via lhzthepoet)