kcrstxrks

[kcrstxrks]

          Many weeks had passed before the ache in her bones and the pain in her mind subsided, her throat had been coarse and her state not suitable for company. While she had spoken often with her handmaiden and own dear brother, her visitors had been few. Many wished to see Lyanna, or so her handmaiden had informed her, but all were turned away. The lady had an appearance to keep up, and even those concerned for her welfare could not see her so weak. The taste for Dornish wine had dwindled, leaving a blandness on her tongue whenever she’d hoped to soothe the aches with her favoured beverage.  

Lyanna was relieved to be over her illness, the last remnants of flu-like symptoms fading away with last night’s meal. She had dressed in white, ethereal and beautiful as she travelled from Karhold to Wintertown. It was there she met the poor and afflicted, who once again showered her with love and kindness - all too beguiled by her beauty and honeyed words to notice all her sins. 

“I have missed being among the people,” she proclaimed, breathing the cool fresh air. 

[kcrstxrks]

                                                                       LYANNA KARSTARK

hollow-hearted maiden, lady on display, mouth snapped shut with a thousand barbed words tickling the plumpness of her lips. fingers danced over the jewels of a crown, desire festering like a flame. her dark eyes warned others of danger, yet her smile became a soothing balm to soothe all fears. everyone always liked to forget that the sun could still burn in winter.

[kcrstxrks]

roleplayers-ink:

Conformist     ★★★★★☆☆☆     Rebel      Naive     ★★★★★★☆☆     Cynical Indecisive     ★★★★★★☆☆     Inflexible    Selfish     ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆     Self-sacrificing  Apathetic     ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆     Emotional    Fearful     ★★★★☆☆☆☆     Reckless   Childish     ★★★★★★☆☆     Humorless  Dependent     ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆     Loner     Passive     ★★★★★★☆☆     Aggressive 

balancing personality flaws

[kcrstxrks]

Send "🙋" + any headcannons you want to know about my muse.

[kcrstxrks]

Flashback: two years ago

         Her tired body jolted awake, a half-gasp caught in the shell of her throat, an emerging ache travelling into her young bones. A wilting hand lay on her shoulder, age spots decorating the surface of the man’s flesh, chains rattling from around his collar. The thick robe she wore offered minimal comfort, having settled into a nearby chair for a long night, as her father released pained groans. The air smelt foul, the festering wound on her father’s leg weeping, as a shining layer of perspiration clung to his wrinkling forehead. A fever had started in the late hours of the day, slowly deteriorating the 

Lyanna glanced up at the maester, who shook his head at her and turned to leave. Confusion knitted her brow, her petite palm moving to clasp her father’s. The once fierce grip felt slack, little strength remaining in sagging flesh. Never had she nursed anyone, or cared to, but as she pressed a flannel to her father’s head she willed him to live. 

“Please, don’t die,” she begged, a hot tear sliding down her cheek. Rickard Karstark looked at his only daughter, for never before had he thought her weak. Not until that very moment. 

“My eyes darken, Lya. I shall soon be in the company of your mother.” The strain of the words seemed to weaken her father more, who spluttered and coughed before attempting to clench Lyanna’s hand. Each word was punctuated by a heaving breath, the words long drawn out and difficult to decipher. “You are my joy, as your brother is my pride. Your head was made for a crown.”

She took in a sharp breath, resting her free hand on his cheek. No further words were spoken, they simply sat in silence. Between the blades of her shoulder and the slope of her neck, a persistent pain began to grow as she remained, unflinching and refusing to let go. 

It was almost daybreak, Lyanna’s eyes heavy and lidded, mind weary and heart pounding, when the maester moved to touch a hand to his lord’s head. The struggling chest did not rise again, eyes shut as thought it were a dreamless sleep which had taken the man.

“Father,” she whispered, noting that his hand no longer clenched hers. A wail was expelled from her lips, head pressed to the unmoving chest as her hands curled around her father. 

[kcrstxrks]

wolvenstark:

@kcrstxrks Time: Midnight. Location: The King’s Chambers.

Wintry winds pricked bare flesh. Exposed forearms rested upon the stoned railing of his chamber’s balcony, and a moonlit torso remained pierced by gelid resilience. An attenuated layer of crystalline coated his surroundings; including interior cerebrum. The Kingdoms were under shadowy siege. Their House’s Maester, expunged. A nightmarish tale which had delved into strident reality left him with a King’s imposing conundrum – how does one seek security for their people in the midst of slaying shadows? The dark magic billowing across Essos had once been accompanied by a Septa’s evening anecdote. Never had it been viable. Never had it received such potent recognition.

Dual fists clenched, nails assaulting the meat of his palm with half-moon impressions. Then, the creak of his chamber’s gate splintered his thoughtful turmoil. Bane’s once restive cranium lifted from a mass of furs, the beast’s growl a tell that it was not a visitor they often held. He turned from the balcony, a single step allowing him to emerge from darkness and re-enter spacious, candleit barracks. His swords beckoned, their homicidal blades whispering from their sheathes. What Guard had deserted their post? Had a spectered legion snuffed out his stationed men? There was but one he wholly trusted: Rook. He had managed to convince his Sworn Sword to take to Wintertown; allocate rounds of unlimited ale with his mercenary brethren. The great portal widened as it sanctioned another’s entrance, and adroit digits curled around a weaponized hilt.

Yet, it was the edge of a ghostly gown which sought his domain. The purposed grip upon his sword remained. And then, cascading raven locks surrendered to the unmasking glow of flame. “Lyanna.” The revelation elicited incertitude. What could she possess at this hour, which needed immediate attending? Better yet: what motive had the temptress surpass his faction of twilight guards.

           Dwellers of the castle had fallen silent, a fitful sleep taking over their person as darkness rose to its peak, obsidian silk expanding across the length of the sky. Illumination came from the milky light of the moon, accompanied by the smattering of stars and the burning of wax in tall candles, which had long since lost their moulded shape. The iron hinges groaned when exact fingers pulled back with force, a billowing of light streaking in through the slender escape. It had been many hours since her handmaidens had departed, seeking comfort in their own chambers, even if they held less grandeur or refinery. 

Loosely hung, the sapphire robe over slender shoulders floated over stone, slipping past joints and cracks to give the lady a false sense of modesty. Septa Olenna would’ve gasped, the elderly figure of piety, who had accompanied her Seven worshipping mother to Karhold. The tumble of raven curls were unbound, falling across the lace and chiffon mix of her revealing nightgown. It was not entirely appropriate for a virginal lady of her standing, but the intent was to show the king what would one day be his. 

As well guarded as the king’s chambers were, it was of little consequence to Lyanna. Fingers pressed into the stiff landscape of dense wood, disturbing a resting beast, as she heard a short growl elicited from the jaws of Bane. 

The air was splintered by the sound of an unsheathed sword, provoking amusement from Lyanna. It did not take more than a moment for the lady to realise that the contours of the beast made man’s chest were uncovered, causing a slight deviation on her gaze as she sought the depth of his eyes. “Your grace,” she hummed, walking further into the king’s personal quarters. Fingers caught hold of a stray curl, moving it to the side as she inched closer. The perching beast was offered a smile, the dire wolf having earned Lyanna’s respect.

Smirking at the glistening metal, Lyanna made a suggestive hand motion towards it. “You have no need for your sword,” she began, curling her digits around the border of a stray chair. “I know I ought not to be here, but my mind would not settle. Something told me that you too would be greeting the midnight hour. So few can disect with clarity and sharpness like you and me.” It was no longer a smile which painted her rosey features, instead bold lips parted as her chest heaved with heavy breaths, “Would you turn me away?” 

[kcrstxrks]

laenahs:

Upon arrival at the tourney, Laenah had felt a sense of regret that she had been unable to get away from her home soon enough to take part in the archery tournament as she had so desired but she had reconciled herself with that fact when she realised there was still much to see and do. Everything about the North both fascinated her and set her almost horribly off guard when it was a stark difference to the Westerlands that she was so used to. Her sense of regret had faded to wonder and then just as she was beginning to feel at ease came the stabbing of despair. Death was something of a fact of life for her but the brutality of the murders and the suddenness of them had struck her to her core.

Since then she had tried to keep to herself and help where she could but there seemed little that House Sarsfield could do other than offer support and a listening ear. There had been no need for her to ask sympathetic or remind herself to keep up her crafted facade when her heart went out to each and every one of the victims. Death might have been familiar to her, an unwavering constant in her life when it had been so full of upheaval, but that did not mean that it was ever welcome. The solace of her room was what she craved after a few hours of comforting the grieving.

Second left, first right, third door down. In the maze of Winterfell that was how she made sure that she had found the correct room. Except when she pushed the door it was not empty as she had expected but occupied. Dark eyes widened and lips curved into an o of surprise. “Please forgive me.” Eyes get cast downwards to give the occupant some privacy and a step back is taken as she gives some sort of explanation for her intrusion. “I am still trying to find my way around and while I have never had cause to doubt it before, my sense of direction seems to have abandoned me.”

           As the hours grew late, a bath had been drawn with her favourite enriched oils and rose petals, as handmaidens ran a comb through her obsidian tresses until they shone like spun silk. It had been several hours since she’d spoken with Lady Rowan, but her blood still boiled from their conversation. In the privacy of her chambers, surrounded by loyal handmaidens, Lyanna had ranted until her chest was heaving, pressing against the constraints of her bodice. The water had been extra hot, enough to wash away her burning irritation - if only temporarily. When she’d risen from the tub, her ladies continued to groom her as she sipped her Dornish wine. 

An unopened letter rested on the table, her name scrawled in the familiar penmanship of her elder brother. He had returned to Karhold, not out of choice but instead necessity. A situation had arisen within their home which required his attention, she had been spared the details but suspected that they were written in the length of the letter he had left before departing. Lyanna pressed perfume to her neck and wrists, the soft fabric of her nightdress catching her fingers. 

She spun with her handmaidens when an intrusion was made, a stranger stood in the doorway apologising for the entrance. “Do not be troubled it is alright,” Lyanna smiled lightly, stretching to collect her sapphire toned robe which she could slip over her nightgown to conceal her modesty. Whilst she was confident within her body, she saw no need for the woman to avert her eyes so desperately. “Come in, momentarily. I shall put on a pair of slippers and then guide you. I know the castle well.” 

[kcrstxrks]

LEGACY

The seat of Karhold belonged to Rickard Karstark, a politically astute and calculating lord. The prestige of House Karstark was of the utmost importance to the illegent man. Beside him, his beloved wife Lyarra charmed the courtiers, manipulating them all with an eager smile. Their eldest son was the pride of Karhold, adopting many of his father’s traits. Their only daughter was their joy, inheriting the skill of both mother and father. Rickard’s other sons were a disappointment, one was too deep into his cups and the other had no sense of ambition, far too soft for a Karstark. A fever swept through the family, taking Lyarra and youngest sons. It would be many years before Rickard fell, many thought he was invincible. His remaining children learned from him, tasked with ensuring the survival of House Karstark. He may not have believed that a woman should have more power than a man, but he did not stop his daughter from listening to all his teachings. She was the jewel of his world, and she adored him in return. Falling ill from an old would, his death was not without pain. It was the only time that Lady Lyanna wept, never once leaving his bedside. She promised him that the people would bow before her, that she would do him proud. It was said that when he died, so too did Lyanna’s heart leaving only plots and schemes behind.

[kcrstxrks]

You think one ought to speak kindly of a traitor merely because he’s had a sword put through his heart?

[kcrstxrks]

winters-rook:

        MILKY EYES, slack hands, spiraling snow. The Godswood was his protection — a nest of woven boughs, a thicket of bramble and splintered bark that expelled all intruders. Layers of snow settled in the sworn sword’s open palms, and frost grew within the threads of his clothes. Lashes and knife-shorn locks as black as coal were a stark contrast to the pure white, and even so, his dusty leathers made him seem a part of the gnarled tree that comforted his bones. But these details were lost. Rook did not see the white trees and the garnet leaves from beneath. He couldn’t hear the trickle of a nearby creek, or feel the weight of his human form.

Instead, he felt brittle winds slicing between his feathers, and saw the world from a height that would curl a weaker man’s stomach. Winterfell and its cosseted Godswood were miles away, lost in the gray mist of bleakness, eternal, and Rook soared in the obsidian casing of his raven familiar, Grim. From the heights, he could see with his flickering vision that bandits littered the King’s Road. They skulked, all cloaked figures sweeping along the highway’s bends in sinister phalanxes. They left nought in their wake but polished bone and muddled pools of blood, and they wielded stolen blades and Cheshire grins. Along the edges of the Wolfswood, they waited for prey. Above, the Rook WATCHED.

          The occupancy of the godswood had flourished over the weeks, Northern houses clamouring to sit before the weirwood tree, hands palming the ivory bark. Above, a canopy of red leaves sheltered them, offering protection in such an ancient and holy ground. Her own visits were infrequent, but she felt as though there was little to atone for. Actions were taken out of necessity, opposed to unrestrained malevolence. Light footsteps guided her closer to the centre, around her the air thickening with the closeness. Through the large trunks, Lyanna could almost hear the comforting tone of her father’s deep voice, a constant encouragement in the forefront of her mind which ensured the survival of House Karstark. 

The hot spring bubbled beside her, birds squawked above and directly in front sat a man, a cloak of white settling over the figure nestled against brambles and bank. It was unsightly, from the blankness of his eyes, to the nature of the position. A tentative hand shot forward to ensure that the gentleman still breathed, for as Lyanna grew nearer she recognised him. “It is merely meditation,” she murmured to herself, deciding against touching Rook’s shoulder. Instead, she took a step back, clasping her hands together as she sought appropriate words, “Pardon me, Rook. Forgive the disturbance, I was uncertain of your welfare since you appear out of sorts and I feared you had grown weary in the frost. Consider it a woman’s worry.” 

[kcrstxrks]

                                            LYANNA KARSTARK

                                                           style

[kcrstxrks]

taera-reed:

“Are you sure you want to go accusing me - me - of witch craft. Surely I am a witch because I am skilled with all manner of weapons and know you without even having to have seen you. There are several vulnerable points in your guard, the security around your keep is pathetic at best because I could’ve all but waltzed in with a sodding silk gown and there are shadow killers lurking in the darkness so bold as to strike when they did. Yet you dare to call me a treacherous frog eater to look to her swamp. I say to you Ser look to your king and your kingdom because something is coming. Something is coming for us all and his head might be the one they come for next. I welcome your condemnation, you pompous old wind bag of a man. Accuse a red headed girl for having some part in this because she happened to best your rider in the joust” Taera snapped at the pompous ass of a lord that thought to confront the red headed woman that’d won the joust so many days ago sure that’d been  the same kind of sorcery used as it had been to make killers out of thin air. It was rare however that she showed such great emotion and such anger was usually very, very well reserved and it was absolutely deserved at this moment.

          Cheeks flushed in rose hues from the frosty wind, the soft grey fur of her cloak nestled around her collar to keep the cold from touching too much of her porcelain flesh. Her fingers had been tucked into gloves as she’d cast bread out to the children, her handmaidens in tow giving out a warming vegetable and game broth. News of the massacre would have reached the common-folk, Lyanna had visited with the intention of suppressing fear and showing that the North was still a strength. There could be no whispers of an uprising, she would not have it. Men could sit on the council with their king, but she had to create her own adoration. When she gave the poor and afflicted what they needed, all had asked for her name and then promised to remember it. Their sweet, Lady Lyanna. 

As she neared the entrance to the castle, Lyanna did not anticipate the raised voice that pierced through her deceitful mind. Her delicate neck had turned, catching sight of fiery curls and a stubborn lord. Never one for dismissing a situation, she walked forward with a raised eyebrow. From the lady’s words, Lyanna gathered an idea of the situation that was unfolding before her. “Forgive my intrusion, but I found the conversation to be most distressing. My lord, I beseech you to rescind your statement. If the crown sees no need to condemn the woman, than neither should you. I do believe that my brother was searching for you earlier, perhaps you should find him.” 

No more attention was give to the lord, as she focused on Lady Taera. Only the crunch sound of snow signalled the elder man's retreat, “I appreciate that the situation was under control given your words to the obstinate man, but he really is renowned for his grouchy and uncouth ways.”

[kcrstxrks]

the-golden-lady:

“Peace?” Araela sighed and joined her hands in front of her. “I hope the gods hear your, my lady, and your prayers have answers. We are the gods’ playthings and they enjoy watching how we kill each other,” she smiled. “Keep praying, Lady Lyanna and save a prayer for me, will you? I’ll pray for whoever did this is found quickly and we can end this before they begin to target more important people.” She placed a hand on her chest, facking shock and surprise. “I can’t imagine what would have happen if the King had been the victim and every other head of the different Houses that are there, but thank the gods we are still here and have to keep moving forward in this wheel of destiny.” 

The lady of Goldengrove had to admit that she found peace a little bit boring for her taste, everyone happy, well not everyone, but most of the people were and nothing was wrong with the word until the gods decided they were also bored and one small fight in an alehouse began to turn into a horrible massacre for their own enjoyment and pleasure. It’s not that she craved war and wished to kill every single person who crossed her or her small army back home, but it was exciting and also terrifying. There were some who could gain profit because of war, and others who suffered the consequences. There was good and bad even in war and peace.

“Women are blessed with the other things that men seem to lack, my lady, and to tell you the truth, not all men are sharp of mind,” Araela said. “I thank you again for the refreshments you will send to my tent, and for your prayers of peace.” She directed her attention to her Captain. “You will freeze like a statue if you continue like that without moving. Come, we have other things to discuss.” Araela bowed to Lyanna. “I hope to see you next time, Lady Karstak”, she smiled and walked past her, smirking when her Captain winked at the Lady. 

          Contemplating the death of a king was treason, even if they were counting such safety as a blessing. As she continued to be in such poor company, Lyanna concluded that the fellow lady left much to be desired. The floralness of the woman’s words did not convince her, a bitterness brewing on her tongue that threatened to seep out. Inside she was coiling, like a serpent threatening to strike. One sharp move from the Lady of Goldengrove would be all it took. The captain was intolerable, his lady even more so. Such dissatisfaction with the current residence tempted the idea that the lady may soon leave with her lap-dog in tow, something which the Karstark hoped for. If Lyanna had the crown nestled among her raven curls, she would have made the bitch kneel. 

“The serving boys will be here before the hour is up, take warmth and comfort. Goodnight to you, Lady Rowan,” Lyanna said with sweetness, watching as the lady walked away. Disdain flickered across her features, a slip in the mask when no one was there to see. Later, she would rant in her chambers about Northern pride and those who dare to besmirch their good names. Rolling her shoulders, barely feeling the cold since she was made for such a chill with ice in her very veins, Lyanna made her way back towards the gates of Winterfell. 

End

[kcrstxrks]

the-golden-lady:

The Lady of Goldengrove stared at the Lady of House Karstark and couldn’t help but feel that everything that came from her mouth, all the pretty words covered in honey, were just that, pretty words. She couldn’t judege her by the brief interaction both were having but it was just a feeling in her chest. Araela couldn’t be so fast to judge someone without completely know them, but it was better to keep appearances than to make enemies while being so far away from her people and Goldengrove. The way she defended the King made her think of how a queen would speak to someone in a lower position, even if that someone was a noble. If she remember her lessons correctly, the words of House Karstark were “The Sun of Winter”, and the sun could be hot and burn everything in its way, but the cold could also burn and freeze you to death if you were not careful enough. 

 She liked the way Lyanna put her Captain in her place but now her dear friend would surely make her pay for laughing at him. Araela only hoped he thought really good before making a move against the Karstak Lady. She would have to speak with him later and make him swear not to do anything stupid while they were in the North. “Thank you for you words, my lady.” Araela stared at Lady Lyanna and nodded. “You were very fortunate not to lose anyone, my lady. I lost my youngest knight, a young man full of hopes, dreams and ambition. We won’t be able to bury him, for there was nothing left of him. I just hope he’s in a better place now.”

“That will be much appreciated, my lady. My men will not say it or show it, but they are still scared.” When Lyanna revealed that only the maester of House Stark had been kille,d she frowned. “A maester? I thought only knights had been the targets. This is really strange,” she said. “Why would anyone kill a maester? Perhaps whoever did this did it to send a message that they can kill anyone, no matter their position.” 

            It had been a lie, but with an twisted element of truth. House Karstark had seen a loss, a simple handmaiden. Lyanna’s own raven tresses had been braided by that same girl, but the lady could feel no sadness or remorse for deceased. She was quite certain that the girl had been stealing jewels from her, and following the untimely death of the lady, a search had been raised to locate all the missing items. Several trunk fulls of jewels decorated an inner room of her chamber, everything glittering with the extravagance and grandeur that she had grown accustomed to. Fortune favoured her, from the sharp edges of her mind to the soft subtleness of her rosey skin. 

It was tempting to roll her eyes, when Lady Rowan spoke of how much promise the deceased knight had held. Despite her lack of sympathy, death still had a way of moving her. Pawns often died, the weak crushed beneath a turning wheel, whilst the obtainers of power rose exceptionally high. Lyanna would light her candle for the dead, shed a few customary tears and then move on to her next task. It was sad, but she could not dwell. After her father had died, no death could surpass that. 

“There is little pattern to it that I can see. But I am a woman and I am not blessed with the sharpness of a man’s mind,” Lyanna mused, stifling a smile expertly. Her role was played well, only a handful knowing of her true nature, mostly her own dear brother and perhaps even the king himself. A dark thought entered her mind, if only it had been the Lady of Goldengrove - then they would have been rid of such stupidity. The ice queen would never forget the slight against her king or kingdom. 

“I pray for peace, my lady.” 

[kcrstxrks]

the-golden-lady:

Araela couln’t help but smile when her Captain and dearest friend looked at the lady in front of them with wide eyes of surprise. He was not used to anyone talking back at him, especially a woman, lady or not. He was the kinf of man that women blushed when he stared at them but she practically scolded him as if he were nothing more than a child, but it served him right. He knew better than to open her mouth when she was speaking with someone who belonged to a noble northern House. She had heard that the women of the North were quite fierce and didn’t need a man to speak for them when they could do it so much better than them. At one point she had to cover her mouth or she would burst out laughing. 

The Captain closed his mouth and moved a few paces away from both ladies but not so far so he wouldn’t hear their conversation. He glared at the Lady and made sure to remember his face if he encountered her alone in the future. He was never going to forget the way he talked to him and was going to pay her back for mocking him and making a total fool od himself in front of Araela. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lyanna of House Karstak,” said the Lady of Goldegrove,, surprised to know she was in front of a member of another famous House of the North. “Please, accept my apologies and the lack of repect towards your king,” her eyes moved towards her Captain and he only frowned at her when she looked into his soul with her green eyes, daring him to speak again. “I’ve been told I’m too reckles for my own good and to have been attacked in a place so far away from my home made me realize that not House is safe from this threath and that everyone has a target painted on their backs. Was anyone hurt during this attack?”

          Not for the first time since she had stepped outside, Lyanna felt in control. Situations arose around her, where one would take on the trial of rising above her, unknowingly, with childlike tantrums and the spewing of hot words meant to insult another house. A small smile caressed one corner of her mouth, as she noticed the Captain take a reluctant step back to allow the ladies to continue speaking. She knew it was hard for men, to adjust to a woman speaking about more than their needlework. Lyanna played the role of the soft-spoken woman well, wearing pretty dresses and giving alms to the poor, visiting the orphanages and drinking tea with her fellow ladies. But even so, she could not suppress the need of her sharp words when they dared to insult her, or the king. She may not have been a love-sick fool for their new ruler, but she intended to sit beside him and would not hear him be made a mockery of. He was an alpha, one that others should bow before.

“It is a terrible feeling to know that despite the strength and might that we may hold and the love for our people, we cannot protect them in their greatest time of need,” Lyanna offered, surrendering to a softness that would allow the conversation to continue, empathy rolling from her tongue. Nothing she uttered to the lady was genuine, but there was nothing on her features to expose her false nature. “You are forgiven, Lady Rowan. We have been offering bread, cheese and ale to all those whose nerves have been shook, I shall make sure that a selection is sent down to your own party.”

Recalling the list of the proclaimed dead, Lyanna delicately shook her head. Wetting her rosebud lips with a swipe of her tongue, she thought of who had been lost from her neighbouring houses. “There were no loses to House Karstark, but some were of the North. I had know the Stark’s maester quite well,” she sighed, stroking a strand of hair away from her chilled features. “I am sorry for your own loss, my lady.” 

[kcrstxrks]

the-golden-lady:

“You know who I am, that’s good. “Araela stared at the young woman in front of her and couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her, frowing when her Captain whispered into her ear not to do anything stupid.. “Forgive me, my lady, but I think I have the right to be angry and a little scared when I just saw a member of my knights turn into ash. I don’t forget the hospitality the King as provided me and the other Houses, but I think that his lack of protection is what has all the Houses on edge at this moment. Perhaps I’m too quick to judge and it’s the fear talking, true, but it is is duty to protect all who are here. He’s King in the North, yes, but when other Houses tcome o to his Kingdom, he’s the one to watch for the welbeing of every single person, just like I do back in Goldengrove.” She took a deep breath rubbed both sides of her forehead, feeling a headache comming. “I’m sirry if my words hurt you or your northern pride, I just still can’t believe what I saw. I thought I was dreaming.

“If I may interrumpt,” said her Captain. “My lady’s intentions are good. I assure you, it’s just we are still surprised and in shock because of this attack and the death of one of our own at the hands of something we’’ve only heard in stories. She didn’t mean to offend anyone, but you must understand that Lady Araela is the Lady of Goldengrove and she protects everyone and when one of us, the knigths, or even some of the peopel get hurt for no reason at all, well…she has a nasty temper and your King let this shadow people into his kingdom and murder innocent people. he said. “Shut up!, Araela slapped his arm. “Do you realize you’re making it sound even worse? It’s my anger talking,I don’t think very well when one of my own gets killed or hurt. I know the king couldn’t have prevented this. We’re talking about something much bigger here, magic or something like that.” She turned her eyes to the lady in front of her. “I hope I can be of help in this matter and I offer my apologies, lady…?”

“An educated guess given the sigil on your Captain’s armour,” Lyanna responded, motioning to the man who stood beside the quick tongued woman. With so many guests in the North, Lyanna had made it her business to educate herself on the visiting families, their appearances and loyalties. Most were of little consequence, easily dismissed and disregarded without a second thought. “My king is an exceptional man, but he cannot combat a shadow,” she responded sharply, narrowing her eyes at the Captain who began to speak. It was as though flood-gates had been opened, the annoying, flustered tone of a man attempting to clean up after his lady, which only made him appear more foolish. 

Lyanna quickly grew tired of the Captain’s ramblings, her face stoic despite her justified irritation, “It is a shame that you do not follow your lady’s intention to not offend, Ser.” It came as a relief when Lady Rowan scolded the man, clearly attempting to mend the fence that the man was breaking with his lack of intellect or insight into the situation. “You may not have noticed, but two ladies are talking and they did not ask for your input. Now, if you would allow me to continue speaking with your lady that would be appreciated,” Lyanna spoke pointedly, directing her vision back to the lady. 

“Not all Northerners are so stubborn as to not accept an apology when it is offered, Lady Rowan. It is a time of tension and turmoil, understandable that one should seek to blame another in the face of such a senseless tragedy,” she reasoned, extending a false kindness towards the lady. The raven haired woman did not practice forgiveness, each slight against her or something she cared for was collected, stored for a later date so that she may return to it. 

“I am Lady Lyanna of House Karstark.”

[kcrstxrks]

the-golden-lady:

Araela still could not believe that one of her knights was dead, turned into ashes and erased frpm this earth by the wind like if he had never existed. The attack came at night and by the looks of it, no one had been expecting it, but what surprised her the most was that not only her House had lost a member, but all the others that attended the tournament. No one knew who had attacked and why, but she did know that she was going to get answers one way or another. Her youngest knight, Olivar, had been the target when her Captain and the rest of the men tried to protect her. He was young, only twenty summers old, but he had been an orphan and probably now he was in a better place with his mother and father, but that didn’t change things. He was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

The Lady of Goldengrove left the dress behind to get dressed in something more comfortable. She didn’t sleep and refused to eat. “Save your strenght, gentlemen,” she told the other knights that were still in shock about what happened. “I’m going to find out if anyone knows something.” Sir Arving stood up from the chair he was sitting and opened his mouth to speak. “But, my lady, its too dangerou for you to go without protection!” Araela smiled at his concern. “I want you to stay here in the tent. People will call you cowards, I’m sure, but pay no attention to those iditos. I’m not going to let anyone hurt the rest of my knights. They will find themselves with my knife buried in one of their eyes if they dare to touch any of you,” She growled and left the tent to walk straight to the first person she saw outside. “Is the King in the North so careless that his own House get attacked without no one seeing anything?” 

          An eerie silence had fallen over the land, muting the comforting hoots of a wise owl and the rustle of the harsh Northern winds against the ancient trees, it was as though all the charm of the North had been silenced by the events which had transpired earlier that evening. Leaves crunched underfoot, Lyanna’s forming wisps of a shadow in the air as the warmth hit the plummeting temperatures. Her bones were made for the North, the comfort of her fur lined cloak offering sufficient warmth as she walked through the darkness, a trail of obsidian black from her gown brushing against the damp grass, likely staining the underside with moss tones. 

Tents glowed across the dark land, almost like fireflies scattering the sky and making it look beautiful. Even in the face of such devastation, Lyanna would always find the North to be a beautiful place. 

The harsh, unfiltered words of Lady Rowan caused the sable haired lady to halt her footsteps, grinding into the soft ground below. Words could so easily have risen from her mouth in anger,  shock at the brashness of the lady who was clearly forgetting that she was a guest in the North, taking advantage of their gracious hospitality. Lean arms folded together across the front of her cloak, stray snowflakes falling on her soft skin as she glanced at the lady once more. For a moment she had offered no response, simply let the silence do all the talking as she tried to digest the woman’s nonsense. 

“Lady Rowan, let us forget for a moment that you are a guest in these lands and that it is impertinent to speak of the king in such a manner. Consider this, the villains of this tale came as swift as the wind, shadows in the darkness to snatch away life, they were barely tangible and yet you expect a man to do what your own men could also not do. For if it were possible to prevent such a tragedy, then your own guards may have been able to save the casualty of your household,” Lyanna declared, posture strong and gaze piercing. “The North will gladly offer their aid, Lady Rowan. We expect that our guests are not unmannerly of the hospitality which has been shown to them.”