sunstaiined

[sunstaiined]

OPEN STARTER, ( 6 / 5 ) bran keep, training yard

they suppose it is a telling thing to note where their sympathies lie after the attempt on their cousin's life. they suppose they should care just a little more than they do, but the truth was that isolde was already preparing for the worst. only those who have seen the gruesome effects of battle and blood spilled know the beginnings of a war when they see one, and this was one that isolde had been waiting for most of their life. the sweat collects on their brow the more force they use, their sword leaving indents with little wooden carvings falling around them as though it were a real enemy and not just a wooden dummy. their senses hone in on the crunch of leaves behind them and in a moment their sword raises and their body shifts to face the newcomer, tip of the blade pointed right at their chest with a precision that only comes with hours of training and dedication of a warrior.

"state your business."

[sunstaiined]

RHAENYRA TARGARYEN House of the Dragon - "Regent"

[sunstaiined]

CLOSED STARTER, @cavaecor + lorelei. the market of mircea, midday.

bran keep had begun to feel stuffy. the walls were grander than any palace theia had ever been in and yet she felt as if they were closing in on her. she missed fresh air, the cool breeze mixed with the warmth of the sun. the coldness felt oppressive here, at least in targa lune it was somewhat bearable. regardless, she takes to the market, her lungs breathing something other than the stale air of a palace whose halls never knew the joy of children's laughter or the warmth of a mother's love. the small handmade trinkets and smell of warm bread filling her senses easing her nerves already -- but from the corner of her eye, she'd noticed a girl. a noble girl, one she'd never forget, not when they used to share a last name before -- well. theia went about her stroll, pretending not to notice lorelei trailing her until she'd deliberately bumped into the girl. "if you're going to follow someone, you should make sure your footsteps aren't as loud as a horse's, hm?" she chastised, raising a brow. "what brings you out here, lady Anderson?"

[sunstaiined]

a wry sort of chuckle escapes her lips at her sudden companion's inquisitive nature -- those who knew even the bare minimum of what ivan dragova was like knew he was not the chivalrous type. his question comes not as an afterthought, but as something else entirely. rohan was an unexpected friend, though she supposed the two of them were something akin to outliers amongst the dragova family -- both engaged to brothers who act like strangers. though they may try to hide it to appear united before the kingdom, theia knows better than to assume that be the truth. "i should expect to be allowed to explore my soon-to-be new home, yes?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. "well. our new home, i suppose." not for long, she thinks. if things go her way she should be back in targa lune by the end of the year.

closed   starter   for   :   𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧   𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐥   𝐝𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐧   &   𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐚   𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐮 location   :   𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 @sunstaiined

"  my  lady  why  are  you  out  here  alone  ?  is  there  anything  i  can  help  you  with  ?  "  opportunity  arose  in  every  aspect  of  this  world,  theia  barbu  was  one  of  those.  it  was  by  pure  luck  the  betrovian  prince  had  fallen  upon  the  lady  who  seemed  to  fall  into  grey  sooner  than  she  should.  a  friendship  had  been  struck  a  couple  of  years  ago  and  to  his  surprise  it  would  flower  into  usefulness.  she  was  to  be  wed  to  a  dragova,  just  like  himself  and  she  was  not  happy  with  it.  like  the  snake  whispered  in  eve's  ears,  he  would  hold  her  hand  when  needed,  even  if  it  was  to  steady  a  dagger.  "  where  is  your  betrothed  ?  i  thought  he  would  make  sure  you  were  brought  to  safety  ⸻  unless  you  do  not  wish  to  see  him  ?  "

[sunstaiined]

theia was not made for cold. warmth ran through her veins, sure as the sunlight that manifested at her fingertips. her mornings in targa lune were spent on her balcony in the heat, watching the way the waves glinted against the sun and how vast the ocean really was. the freckles against her skin suffer from the bitter cold she resides in now. perhaps it's getting to her -- she never used to be this snippy, did she? all theia knows is that the sound of her betrothed's voice grains at the very marrow of her bones. the fire crackles in front of her, the embers warm and inviting against her skin. she does not turn to face him as he enters though her eyes roll at his praise. an opportunity, indeed. the idea planted in her head the moment word of king stefan's attack began -- now that one royal was attacked, surely no one would bat an eye should another fall shortly after. she doesn't see why the rebels wouldn't be willing to take the credit for ivan's downfall as well. it's not like the man doesn't have the enemies for it, if what she hears around the palace is true. theia's chin ducks and she turns to face him from her seat, a small smile on her lips. "and what opportunity is that, your highness?" she'd ask, playing her role well enough until the time came to put the arsenic in his drink.

for: @sunstaiined

winter in valanya was beautiful. ivan had spent hours crunching through the thick blankets of snow that clung to the grounds were pockmarked by the heavy, hatched soles of boots impressions that only became harsher as daylight reflected off the snowbanks. ivan dragova, proprietor of gloom sat sprawled upon his chair nursing a finger of brandy. the chaos from stefan's sudden shock had fallen into quiet, frenetic worry permeating the air of the valanya's capital city. it was a pity he hadn't thought of it - he would have secured his succession and then taken the old bastard out. but now a window of opportunity emerged. if he was careful with his footing he could find himself teetering on the edge of a very important cliff. king, he bemused himself with the thought. certainly the bretovians wouldn't be so bold underneath his rule. stefan was gutless and peace-loving. no, war was the only real way to assert a nation's power. he would bring glory to the nation of valanya the likes the commonfolk had never seen. a meek-faced serving girl who wouldn't meet his eyes squeaked out a pitiful, the lady theia for you your royal highness, and darted from the doorway. "wonderful performance, really." he said keeping his eyes on the crackling fireplace by theia's side. "we have an opportunity here darling. best not to waste it."

[sunstaiined]

wasn’t that ISOLDE DRAGOVA walking the cobbled roads of coňstanja? it’s nice to see the COUSIN TO THE KING, LIEUTENANT out and about on such a fine day as this. i’ve heard from the court spies that they are notoriously BRUTAL, whilst also managing to be quite ASSIDUOUS. the THIRTY-TWO year old is eager to explore bran keep. i heard that they themselves AREN'T divine. it’s funny, whenever i think of them, i think of FRACTURE PATTERNS IN PORCELAIN EXPOSED KNUCKLES, WOOD WHERE IT ROTS IN THE HOLLOW CARCASS OF A HOME LONG SINCE ABANDONED, PASSION PASSION PASSION IN THE DIARY OF AN OXYGEN THIEF.

BASICS.

FULL NAME.   isolde draya dragova PREFERRED NAME.   no nicknames if you want to keep your head; isolde only AGE.   thirty-two GENDER / PRONOUNS.   non-binary, they+them SEXUAL ORIENTATION.   queer PLACE OF BIRTH.   coňstanja SPECIES. non-divine, human STATUS.   unmarried TITLE / ROLE.   cousin to king stefan, lieutenant in the army

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS.  self-assured, assiduous, calculating, determined NEGATIVE TRAITS.   taunting, obstinate, impulsive, competitive MBTI.   istp TROPES.   blood knight, the ace, anti-hero, deadpan snarker, ineffectual loner INSPIRATION.   levi ackermann (attack on titan), tywin lannister (game of thrones), carolyn martens (killing eve),severus snape (harry potter), miranda hobbes (satc), taissa (yellowjackets), johanna mason (the hunger games)

BIOGRAPHY.

you were nine years old when your family was slaughtered. your father the uncle to the king, your mother a noblewoman who had grown in court with him. all you know is that they were rebels, a band of insurgents who spat upon the dragova rule, descended upon your family’s estate like vultures. there were no warnings, no negotiations -- just steel and fire, just screams and the wet sound of blades carving through flesh. earlier that day you had just come back from your first hunting session with your father, the excitement still rampant as you tried to sleep only to be woken by the sounds of commotion below you. the next -- you remember the heat of the blood soaking through your clothes, the iron tang of it in the air as you hid beneath your mother’s body, her arms still wrapped around you, stiffening with death.

the rebels did not kill for strategy that night -- they killed for spectacle. they wanted a message written in dragova blood: your bloodline is not untouchable. your rule is not absolute. but they made a mistake. they left you alive.

king stefan, your cousin, took you into the palace, raised you within the royal court as a ward of the crown, like a stray dog brought in from the cold. but you were never truly one of them; a ghost in gilded halls, your presence a reminder of the fragility of power and the cost of weakness. while others whispered condolences and empty sympathies, nobles watching you carefully with pity or fear, you burned with a hatred you did not know how to control. none of them knew what it meant to lose everything and live with it. they whispered behind their jeweled hands about how your grief would break you, how the tragedy would swallow you whole. grief did not break you -- it reforged you into something of steel. you did not become soft; you became sharp. you did not seek comfort; you sought purpose.

by the time you were old enough to hold a blade, you already knew how you would die -- not cowering like your family, not as a corpse left for a message, but on your feet, with your enemy’s throat crushed in your hands. you trained long past exhaustion, long past pain determined to carve your place in the divine army, even without divine power. you learned that to stand among the divine, you would have to be twice as brutal, twice as relentless. If they struck once, you struck three times. if they killed cleanly, you made sure your enemies suffered. you could not burn your foes alive or call the light of the gods to smite them, so instead, you fought with tactical precision and merciless efficiency.

you did not make friends among your brothers-in-arms. you did not share drinks in the barracks or join in their laughter. you trained and fought and bled. you kept your distance because you knew loss too well -- because attachments only meant weakness, only meant more bodies in the dirt. on the battlefield you were a force of nature -- you might not have been close with your men, but you looked out for them anyway, put your life on the line just like the rest of them. regardless of personal opinion, there is a baseline of respect that comes from sharing a battlefield, sharing blood in that way.

you were the shadow of the dragova line -- the soldier who never hesitated, never relented. when your superiors saw your brutality, your tactical mind, your unshakable discipline, they had no choice but to promote you to lieutenant. not because they liked you or had the favor of the gods, but because you got the job done.

you are still dragova by blood. The court cannot ignore you, but they cannot control you either. you attend banquets in silence, listen to politics unfold, let the nobles underestimate you. they see your scars, your distant stare, and they forget that a starving wolf is more dangerous than a fattened one. even as a lieutenant, you remained a ghost among your own ranks -- always present, always watching, but never truly one of them. you spent yours sharpening your sword, perfecting your technique, studying your enemies.

you were not here for comradeship. you were here for revenge. and when the rebellion rises again, when the traitors show their faces once more -- you will be waiting. this time, you will not be the survivor, you will be the executioner.

[sunstaiined]

wasn’t that THEIA BARBU walking the cobbled roads of coňstanja? it’s nice to see the ELDEST LADY OF HOUSE BARBU out and about on such a fine day as this. i’ve heard from the court spies that they are notoriously CONNIVING, whilst also managing to be quite MAGNETIC. the THIRTY-SEVEN year old is eager to explore bran keep. i heard that they themselves ARE divine (SOLARUI). it’s funny, whenever i think of them, i think of A WOLF DISGUISED AS A LAMB, SMOLDERING EMBERS CUT WITH HONEY, IRON IN THE BACKBONE OF A LIE THAT DOES NOT WAVER.

BASICS.

FULL NAME.   theia demetra barbu PREFERRED NAME.   theia AGE.   thirty-seven GENDER / PRONOUNS.   cis-woman, she+her SEXUAL ORIENTATION.   bisexual PLACE OF BIRTH.   targa lune SPECIES. divine, solarui STATUS.   once widowed,   currently engaged to ivan dragova TITLE / ROLE.   eldest lady of house barbu

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS.   magnetic, unassuming, beguiling, shrewd, forthright NEGATIVE TRAITS.   conniving, fickle, stubborn, mendacious, competitive, serpentine MBTI.   intj TROPES.   ambiguously evil, bitch in sheep’s clothing, the chessmaster INSPIRATION.   margaery tyrell (game of thrones), wendy byrde (ozark), lorraine broughton (atomic blonde), beth harmon (queen’s gambit), alex vause (oitnb), shiv roy (succession), olivia pope (scandal)

BIOGRAPHY.

you were born into privilege, but not the kind that comes with a crown or centuries-old titles. born the eldest of the barbu family, your days were spent basking in sunlight and the sand between your toes while the ocean meets land like an old friend. the barbus, though of lower noble rank, held immense power in targa lune with their fishing empire supplying the royal court and beyond, they were indispensable to the kingdom’s economy. 

from the beginning, you knew you stood apart. you were quiet but never meek, observant but never passive. while other noble daughters reveled in courtly gossip and indulgence, you remained composed, your sharp mind always at work. you were dutiful, ensuring your siblings were disciplined and your studies impeccable, but even then, there was an undeniable magnetism about her. you carried an air of certainty, a quiet command that made others listen when you spoke – you never raised your voice. you never had to.

your power came unexpectedly to everyone except you – you could feel something in your fingertips, something burning within you. your divine power manifested as solarui, and in the heat of your revelation, her mother hid them from the world, fearing you would be shaped into something not your own once taken to the academy. you, clever as ever, knew how to play the role expected of her, though your father was furious upon finding out what your mother had done. your parents helped keep your power buried and unseen with fear of the punishment that would come should you be found but control was difficult. you tried to master it on your own, to suppress it, to bend it to your will. sometimes, you succeeded. other times, light spilled from you in flashes beyond your control. so you learned restraint, patience. and when that wasn’t enough, you learned to disappear, keeping to your solitude, ensuring the world never saw what you truly were. even as a girl, you understood that power was most dangerous when unseen, and you wielded your own existence like a carefully played game of cards, revealing only what was necessary, keeping your opponents unaware of what lay in your hand. though your divine was a secret, you would use it to help the people of your kingdom, a private, knowing smile on your lips when children would cheer as the sun came out for them to play.

you were never one to be pushed. when your father insisted you marry, you acquiesced with the grace expected of you. resistance would have drawn attention, and attention was never in your best interest. you let them match you with a nobleman of wealth, a man who was neither cruel nor kind but something you had to endure – though you do not endure for long. the marriage was yet another cage. an awful accident, a year into your marriage, perfectly timed, utterly unprovable, leaving you a widow with your late husband’s fortune now yours to command. you returned to targa lune, a widow draped in black, your late husband’s fortune now yours. the rumors started immediately – some whispered of tragedy, others of murder. you never denied nor confirmed either. you simply let the whispers grow and let them be swallowed by the next scandal.

you are not a woman who seeks power for the sake of it. you do not play the games of war or rebellion, nor do you hunger for courtly intrigue. you only ever move when you must, making sure there is no room for resistance when you do. you do not need to scream to be heard, nor do you need to threaten to be feared. you have a way of making people see things your way – sometimes through charm, sometimes through persuasion, and when necessary, through something far less gentle. you have always known that people are easy to manipulate when they believe they are the ones making the decisions, when they believe you to be nothing more than a lady widowed and awaiting the next thing. you let them think they have control, that they are winning, until they realize far too late that the game was never theirs to begin with.

you aid your father with duties around the house the older he gets, listens to him talk about how you must marry again to secure the house knowing full well you would never follow through. when he eventually passes, you become the lady of House Barbu. The wealth, the influence, the carefully maintained empire – it is yours to command, all the while they live in darkness as to who you truly are. unlike other nobles, you have no interest in flaunting your status, no need to stand in the center of attention. as long as you are left alone, you have no reason to play the games of power.

for years you live unassuming and, for better or worse, happy in your home of light. you ensure your family is taken care of, you aid the workers of your empire, and thus you intend to live out your days – that is, until the prince of the kingdom has come with a proposal. a proposal, a demand, a second marriage you have no intention of entertaining. you will not be bound again –  yet refusal is not so simple when it is the crown that asks. you don’t believe a word from his mouth and you would remain stern in this belief even if the king himself demanded your hand. there is a reason you kept to yourself for so long. your hand has only been taken for a month now but you’ve started laying the groundwork for another escape, another way to slip through the kingdom’s grasp and return to your solitude once more, as you always do, they will be left with nothing but the whisper of your name and the certainty that they should never have tried to trap you in the first place.

[sunstaiined]

JESSICA PARKER KENNEDY as Max in Black Sails, Chapter XII.

[sunstaiined]

#𝚂𝚄𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙳: muse blog for divinelytm. penned by jay. featuring theia barbu, isolde dragova.