Role Playing - Game of Thrones - Prequel #2: Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. - Page 2

Captivating · 05-11-2015, 08:09 PM

Indira Targaryen
There was not an air of truth to his words, but he was certainly putting on airs. The dark-haired stranger knew he was a liar. Indira suspected he was a liar. Feigned consideration for his 'good' name was unnecessary. "Tried-and-true, are we? Should the King's sword find its way to your neck for breaking protocol, you'd take the blade? Most impressive." The princess had no proof of error, but it wouldn't shock her. Not that she'd blame Lyonel for cutting corners if the opportunity presented itself. She certainly had. Rebellion made the world go round. Or at least a hell of a lot more interesting. The commander answered her challenge by way of distraction. His calloused hands guided her leg out of her gown, causing the princess to to dip her head back in pleasure. Up and down the washcloth ventured, ridding her skin of grime. Her pulse quickened with every rub.

Swallowing hard, Indira dared to open her eyes. Hungry brown orbs stared back at her. Do it, her mind nearly screamed. Kiss me. But his lips bypassed hers as his teeth brushed her ear. Warm breath tickled her neck as the wall bared the weight of her. "Don't stop," she instructed, her body pinned down seconds later. She yelped at the force. Her shouts transitioned into moans once Lyonel's hands moved between her legs. The princess could feel herself warming. Nails dug into her seducer's back as stimulation mounted. "Yes," she whimpered, mouth agape in ecstasy. Her eagerness was clear. Indira wanted this. She wanted to be taken, here and now. And nothing and no one was standing in their way.

AtomicEmpress · 05-11-2015, 08:47 PM

Gemma
She smiled at him.
"Do you think you could arrange a meeting between the two of us and explain the situation to her?"
She asked and guided her horse outward.
"Do you like to ride, Silas?"
She asked, liking the way his name sounded in her mouth. She liked Silas Snow, already, he was mature in a way that most men his age were not, wise and intelligent. And he had a rare attractiveness that caught her. She knew she shouldn't be thinking of him like that not only did she just meet him but her mother would have a fit if she knew her thoughts towards him already. She did not pity the man with the hook, he seemed to be able to handle himself well despite his disability. She had once known a servant that she had made a friendship with as a child, She was missing her left eye and had to wear a match. Her father still kept her in employment where some might not have. She grew to see that you can overcome your disabilities and learn to live with, with help.

Starfield_Scribe · 05-11-2015, 08:55 PM

AXEL
When she had accepted, he had offered his arm and guided her along the shores upon being given her hand to lead. He could only guess what lived behind the young woman's eyes, but he sensed such sadness in her; he could sympathize with her. Still, he had never been able to support seeing anyone so young bearing the weight of a world much bigger than their lifetime, and the idea that he might be by this one's side, to lighten her burden if only for a spell, then perhaps it would lighten his own in return.

"Lady Adeline," he tipped his head respectfully, now that he had been provided her name officially. "Lord Axel Tully," he introduced himself in return. "Being here, I can't help but think of Riverrun. It was my home, for the better part of my life. I was born there, I grew there. I wed my wife there, saw my children born there..." And my wife died there. I was too far away. "I haven't been, in years," he went on.

It wasn't as though the opportunity had never come; only the last time he'd made the ride back, from King's Landing to Riverrun, it had been done carrying the knowledge of what he'd find when he arrived there, and the thought of taking that journey again was the one thing - beyond the loss of any of his loved ones - that truly made fear burn inside him.

"What's brought you to King's Landing?" he asked, an easy enough question. He didn't presume to know everyone roaming about the city, but he knew she couldn't have been here all that long.

LUCERYS
He couldn't tell the difference, looking from one object to the next. Breathing out, he nodded to the first helm. "May I?" he held out his right hand. The apprentice placed the helm in his hand, and Lucerys reached the fingers of his left hand to trace and feel the details. Slowly, an image began to take shape in his mind. "It's remarkable," he complimented, before trading out helms so that he could give it the same treatment. The apprentice boy was right, he could feel the difference, this one showed less artistry, but it just might keep its wearer safer, alive. "You have skill," he nodded, returning the second helm. "Could the two... be combined?" he suggested.

MORGAN
Had he been any other of the King's white cloaks, he would have handled the situation with more detachment, and by no means would he have smiled with amusement, to see how the princess dealt with having been caught again the way she had. But then he was more than her guard, he was her cousin, her blood. Though everything about her came in the coloring of the dragon folk, she had the fire of Dorne somewhere inside her, the blood of their grandfather. They looked as different as any two people could, him and her, but they were family, and family, blood or otherwise, meant everything to him.

"It would appear wise," he agreed with her with just a hint of teasing in his laugh.

For a time they walked quietly. Daena had come nearer, and this to him was the first sound of alarm, though he remained silent, instead continuing on their way. He had been in this city long enough, had familiarized himself with it, the better to serve his king and queen, princes and princesses, never to be without a road to escape, or shelter, should a journey through these streets turn sour. And now the second alarm. He knew before they arrived where his cousin meant to go.

She claimed to be visiting a friend. Just who this friend was, if this was where they kept residence, he didn't dare to think. To be sure, Morgan was of Dorne. His views of what went on inside places such as this one were not necessarily those of his King and his people, but so long as he donned that white cloak, they had to be. The suggestion of how he might entertain his time was about all he could take.

"Think wisely cousin. One wrong eye to discover you here and take word to your father, how long before a marriage is arranged that will take you far from here, never to be seen again?"

ANYA, VALAENA
The young princess awaited Ser Raymar's response with all the calm she could muster. The truth was she needed this adventure. Amerei had confided in her how she'd heard her lord father and lady mother discuss the possibility that Lady Ryella might return to the Eyrie, along with the younger girls. If Amerei hadn't been old enough to receive an invitation to the ball in her parents' eyes, then what were the odds she would be one of those to be shipped back to the Eyrie? Valaena couldn't bear the thought of being without her.

Then as for Anya... The tiny girl was stuck to her aunt's side now, looking on to both the guard she trusted and the princess she feared. If it wasn't that her aunt's offer of adventure trumped her fears...

At last Ser Raymar had agreed, soon to be greeted by the cheers of three high pitched voices.

"Short adventures? There is no such thing, Ser. You're a knight, don't you know? An adventure must be epic!"

"Epic," Anya agreed on this, if nothing else, and Amerei nodded along.

"We could see the dragons, couldn't we?" Amerei jumped in, and at this Anya screamed and leapt away from her, dashing behind Ser Raymar's leg.

"No dragons!" It was her guard's fault, really. As much as his tales amused her where they were meant to frighten her, the dragon stories, for some reason, had struck true.

"We won't go to the dragons," Valaena promised, confused by the girl's distress. "We could... Go for a journey, in a carriage, with a picnic," she tried to entice the girl, and it seemed she was on the right track.

AtomicEmpress · 05-11-2015, 09:19 PM

Adeline
"It's lovely to meet you Lord Axel."
She said taking his arm.
"I haven't been to the place I consider home in some time myself."
She admitted. Then she gulped.
"Truth be told...my husband passed and my family is pressuring me to find a new match."
Adeline sighed.
"I'm not all together comfortable with the idea. But...family is family and our duty is to them."
She looked at him.
"You are here for your daughter, are you not?"
She asked, delicately.
"I have seen her in court. She is lovely."
The brunette smiled at him.

Rolf
"I think I might be able to do that."
He said, liking the idea.
"A few details might not to be sarcificed for strength but I think I could do something worthy of you."
Rolf said, excited by the idea.
"Is there anything else you require, maybe a shield...I had a new idea for a shield that is both offensive and defensive...you could be the first to have one if you like the idea..."
He suggested.

fleur captives · 05-11-2015, 10:35 PM

Isond Westerling
It was clear that Torren had thought her likely to refuse him, perhaps chide him for making such a suggestion, when Isond noticed surprise forming on his features. Her arm remained extended for a few moments before he had recovered and hooked hers with his own. She smiled merrily at her companion and then they were off. He commented on the unusual nature of her directions, but she just giggled, taking him through different alleyways and halls on her intended route. She needn't tell him that she had not been entirely truthful in describing their destination as "unknown to all" when she had been apprised of its existence by the Targaryen princess herself and therefore that knowledge may or may not have shared amongst the entirety of the Kingsguard knights at one point or another when she and Daena had slipped out of sight to whisper and gossip without the possibility of encountering one of her many siblings.

As she continued down the path the other girl had once led her down, Isond found herself wondering what her friend was up to, and absolved to call on her as soon as the first opportunity arose, knowing that the young dragoness had been quite unlike herself in recent weeks. Her mood faltered slightly, between thoughts of the Ironborn assault and the status of the Targaryen princess, but a glance at Lord Torren Stark's broad grin was enough to forget momentarily her sorrows. "Truly, if I bore you any ill will, I needn't retreat to the shadows to see it done," she joked, winking to prove her comment lacked veracity, and tugged on his arm to encourage him to walk faster to their intended destination. "But rather stranger still than our present course, a Northern lord praying the Seven allow him the chance to be a phantasm? Though, my Lord, I do think that I mayhaps could find it in my heart to drown you if you truly wish to know if the New Gods hear the pleas of one who holds the Old Gods," Isond giggled at the thought at being haunted by anyone, let alone by the decidedly unthreatening Torren Stark.

Her steps slowed as the two left the path they had been following and began to cut through the grass and down the hill toward the as-yet-unseen Blackwater. She released her hold on the Northern man as slipped into the shadow of two guard towers, where a small beach was obscured from view on all sides, including from the spires themselves. As Isond came nearer, she was already divesting herself of her slippers, and enjoying the feel of sand beneath her feet when she turned back to face him. "Still bold enough for a swim, courageous Lord Stark?"

winter soldier · 05-12-2015, 12:30 AM

Ryella Arryn
Shirei and Artys. One Frey, one Arryn. Ryella smiled, the significance not lost on her despite her hormone-addled brain. And her son, their son, the first and last to come—given a name of legend. It was so painfully Hugh, to dress their son in such laurels for simply having been born; only time would tell if young Artys would be worthy of the title, the Gods often cruel to the presumptuous. She cradled him absently as her husband stroked his damp curls, the infant stirring only long enough to fuss his protests before falling back into a contented sleep. Ryella felt similarly exhausted and ready for her rest, eager to sleep and wake anew—minus some twenty pounds of baby and fluid and placenta, certain to be the best nap she’d had in months. “Arwen, darling. Take your brother, would you? There’s a dear.” Ryella unloaded the slumbering babe into her eldest’s arms, just in time to wave a fussing maester away as he inquired fretfully as to her well-being. “Fine, just fine, I’ve done this enough to know. Leave me be. I should like to sleep until dawn, if you please. There will be milk for the twins both before long, but should they need to feed in the immediate future fetch a wetnurse. I must regain some vigor before I’m meant to transform into a walking buffet.”

With that, she turned her pointed gaze upon Hugh once more. “My evening plans begin and end in this bed, beloved, but I expect not the same of you. Celebrate this gay occasion for the two of us both, won’t you?” It was unspoken but clear, between them, what meaning her implication carried—their forced copulations had at last come to an end, and that as much as the birth of the first Arryn boy was cause for celebration. Ryella was clearly in no state to hunt down a lover for a rapturous fete of lovemaking and pleasure, and likely wouldn’t be for weeks to come, but Hugh suffered no such physical trouble. Make no mistake, the need for discretion was as imperative as ever, and Ryella would demand her husband at her side more frequently in the coming days as she nursed and recovered from her soreness but for now… as she slept on, oblivious in her dreams, her husband should seek out some earthly enjoyments, wherever he might find them.

Her lids felt heavy, but she’d not yet succumb to them; Arwen was the next focus of her shrewd attentions. “I’m sure your sisters have worked themselves into a tizzy by now. Give them the news and let them shower their newest siblings in kisses if they’d like, just be mindful of Artys and see that they do not smother him to death in their excitement. Wouldn’t that just be a tragedy worthy of a bard’s tale.”

Maegor Targaryen
Maegor had no patience for verse, not the sort that could be scribed and preserved for generations to come. He sought poetry in the evocative bow of a woman’s lips, the dips of her hip bones, the soft inward curvature of her belly as it rose and fell. What use did he have for the idle musings of men given no other alternative in life than to sit and wax poetic on the fleeting nature of being? As a young boy he’d always chided Rosamund for her interest in texts not strictly historical and bleak, finding the foci of her interest to be a rather pointless waste of her time and attention—clearly he’d have preferred to be the target of her intensely focused gaze, the future ruler of the seven kingdoms a fair better sight than moldy old tomes falling apart in her hands. Perhaps battling with those books for so long had soured him unfairly to their subject matter though it was irrelevant now, so thoroughly ingrained it was not a thing that could be changed.

But he listened, bless him, as Rosamund began her recitation, as he somehow always found himself doing, regardless of his distaste. Her passion for the written word brought out the fire within her and it was entrancing in a way that she might’ve been uttering the lyrics to The Bear and the Maiden Fair for all anyone knew, so mesmerized by her verve it was difficult to grant consideration to much else. Only after she’d finished had he realized the subject of her verse of choice, and he could’ve laughed or groaned with how the Doom of Valyria and the Doom of Maegor’s Personal Chambers were so closely intertwined. Would that he could simply mount the back of Drogon and fly away to escape his problems, settling on the shores of a new unknown land to begin anew.

Do you think they heard me? She’d posed, looking upon him then with such expectation. For what, he couldn’t imagine. A greater effort expended towards normalcy? She deserved it, her own hard work commendable, and Maegor rewarded her with a smile that was only marginally strained. “I would pray not, lest it become a new trend. Corpses piling up in the godswood, alongside piles of tedious tomes. Where might it end? Thousands, millions of lives lost so that more books might live? Where does one draw the line? Might either one of us be next?” He waited a beat, glancing about, as if fully expecting to be transmogrified into a book at any given moment. “The best I could wish for my future as a book might a simplistic text meant to instruct children how to read. ‘See Maegor. See Maegor smite. Smite, Maegor, smite!'”

degausser · 05-12-2015, 03:58 PM

Lyonel Baratheon
Lyonel realized he should have made a similar stipulation and required that she too keep silent. It was easy to tune her out at first with his body so engaged. The jape about the sharp steel that awaited his neck should his indiscretions with a member of royal blood be discovered went through one ear and out the other as his fingers reached their desired destination. His deft work elicited a moan from her, her breathing hitched at his ear as he could feel her pulse quicken through the thin fabric of her silk gown. More cries of desperation came from her lips, though Lyonel found it difficult to enjoy them as they grew louder and threatened to call unwanted attention from the patrons in the shop.

To his credit, he obliged Princess Indira (or had it been Daena? He had never been close enough to the King’s broad to be able to tell the two apart) in her request to carry on further. As her mewlings continued to grow louder and more desperate though, he used the hand not presently at work between her legs to cover her mouth and stifle the sounds of pleasure that sounded at her throat.

“Shhhh …” he whispered hot at her ear, before dipping his head to taste the skin at the base of her neck. The hand that had trespassed beneath her skirts slipped back out to work the clasp at his belt. Lyonel worked desperately, one handed, to shove his breeches to the floor. The task accomplished, he bunched her skirts impatiently in a fist as he tugged them over her hips and nudged a knee between her legs. His hand remained over her mouth, the eagerness in her violet eyes and a sharp nod of her chin being all he consent he needed before thrusting into her hard, claiming the dragon princess in that moment all for his own.

fade to black fade to black fade to black …

Silas Snow
Silas wrapped the reigns of the horse several times around his hook before gently urging the Destrier out of his stall with his knee. The horse fell into an easy trot once it joined up with Gemma and her kindred. A large grove of trees extended outward from the King’s Road, the branches and their leaves providing a canopy to shade them from the sun that burned hot in the sky above them. Gemma Tyrell seemed quite well suited for both the ride and the weather, being a young woman of the south and a comparable climate. Silas would be sweltering in his boiled leathers and dark furs before long.

Somehow it did not concern him though.

The lovely rose of Highgarden had a strangely infectious smile. When she asked after Lord Torren’s little sister, requesting that Silas explain her situation to Bethany, he could only shake his head. “I will not do all the hard work for you, my Lady, but I would be most pleased to coordinate a meet between the two of you so that you might express your desires yourself,” he explained before she could get the wrong idea and think he was denying her request.

When Gemma asked if he enjoyed riding, Silas nodded his head. “The land surrounding Winterfell consists of rolling plains as far as the eye can see. When the weather is favorable we often race from the portcullis at the gate to Winter Town. The last one to ride in always ends up buying drinks for the others at the tavern in town.” What Silas failed to mention was that it was often he who got stuck buying all the drinks. “What about you, my Lady?”

Daena Targaryen
“From the whispers I’ve heard, my father already moves to rid himself of me. Anything I do now would neither help nor hinder any match that has already been made.” Daena Targaryen had been a changed girl in the last couple of weeks, though she struggled to obscure the mounting anxiety that had stolen upon her. She still gave away easy smiles and raced across the cavernous hallways of the Red Keep with reckless abandon, her ladies of kindred spirit hot on her heals, but it was increasingly becoming a mummer’s show, the desperate attempts of a careless princess fearful that it might all be coming to an end soon. It was not only the fact that her brother shunned her of late that concerned her, but the rumors of her father’s haste efforts to marry her off. It was in moments such as these that the cracks in her façade began to show.

Daena’s answer to her cousin’s plea for caution had been unusually candid, her tone uncharacteristically cold. She no longer smiled as she locked eyes with her cousin, the girl without a care in the world suddenly grim and sober. Her cousin had no hope of changing her mind in this. The deliberate silence that followed suggested as much.

Without another word, Daena began to tuck away the silver strands of hair that would give her away for a daughter of dragons and turned her back on Morgan. “Come,” she said quietly.

The soft clink of metal at her heal told her what she already knew, that he would continue to accompany her in this endeavor. Well aware of the scrutiny her appearance would bring the name Targaryen, she turned down a familiar alley she had come to use whenever she visited this side of the city. Daena had made the mistake of using the front entrance of the brothel just once, on her very first visit. From that day on, she had been instructed to use a back entrance should she have any more need of the woman’s talents as she did now. Daena lifted her hand to the innocuous door and gave two soft knocks, the sleeves of her gown slipping carelessly down her arm to reveal a jeweled snake coiled around her wrist – a present gifted to her on her seventeenth nameday from the man at her heal.

AtomicEmpress · 05-12-2015, 04:31 PM

Gemma
She smiled at him as he agreed to set up a meeting between herself and Bethany.
"Thank you for that."
Gemma said with a nod.
"I love to ride. My siblings and I use to go on rides when we were younger. Before things got so complicated."
She explained.
"I must admit, I love all sorts of animals. I use to raise rabbits when I was little."
Gemma chuckled.
"Cute little creatures but always up to something or the other."
Looking at Silas she shook her head.
"But I suppose the gods look at us a bit like that. You know I think I would like to see Winterfell. I've never been very far away from home and that sounds like it would be a most unique experience."

degausser · 05-13-2015, 01:56 PM

Rosamund Tully
I would pray not, lest it become a new trend.

There he was. Or at least a specter of the Maegor Targaryen she had come to know and love so well -- love as a friend, a brother even. He never had any patience for prose, not the way she did. He would tease her mercilessly for it when they were younger, ribbing at her until her face was flushed with indignation. Her humility was a small thing to sacrifice if it might be exchanged for the smile that now found his face. “What a gory picture you paint …” she breathed with operatic astonishment. “It boggles the imagination to wonder after all the ghastly things that must play through your head, day in and day out.” Now it was her turn to tease him, he who could be equally as melodramatic as her, though he tended to have more of a flare for the macabre than she.

Rosamund found herself giggling before long, the image of his younger self being put to page and smiting all manner of creatures – bugs, small game, fantastical sea creatures, the occasional lion, a would-be child sized usurper even – was almost more than she could handle. And for a moment it seemed as if her scheme might have worked after all. It almost felt as though some state of equilibrium had been reached. Her shoulders seemed to relax just a little more – her fingers clung to the spine of her book a little less tightly. The knot in her stomach miraculously untwisted itself. Things almost felt normal again.

“The world might be better off if it were populated by more books than people,” she mused thoughtfully, the newfound ease she felt urging her forward a step. “I seem to recall gifting you with a book of your own for your nameday.” There. She could even broach the topic of his nameday without evoking thoughts of surreptitious moments shared between Maegor and his sister in the dark. Books were safe. The tome in question was one of the three remaining copies left of Grand Maester Kaeth’s Lives of Four Kings. She may not have resorted to blood magic to procure him the text, but it had still been no small thing to achieve. Rosamund hoped the book would offer him some wisdom before he inevitably ascended to his father’s throne.

“I do hope it is not already being used for a doorstop,” Rosamund quipped after a beat, shooting him a knowing smile.

Ser Raymar Corbray
He was a knight and he did in fact know. There were indeed short adventures. For instance, this very adventure they were all speaking of now. This had the potential to be the shortest adventure to ever exist, not even worthy of a single note in a bard’s song. Raymar wondered what the princess’s smug little eight-year-old smile might have to say to that.

Until the mention of dragons.

Raymar would nip this one in the butt right here and now before the imaginative young girls around him fanned the flames any further and brought it to life.

“No dragons,” he grunted firmly.

Little Anya had leapt behind his knee, using him for a shield and for that much he was grateful. How long the little girl would remain on his side remained to be seen. “No carriages,” he stipulated after another beat, ignoring the whimper he heard at his knee. Ser Raymar did not intend to lose his entire day to these girls. He was content to keep Anya company because Anya was quiet and well-behaved. The youngest dragon princess was trouble, he could tell. And she was proving to be far more influential of Amerei than he would have liked.

“No carriages, no picnics. If you want an adventure, it best be one that can be had here in the castle.” Silently he prayed to the Seven to deliver Ryella’s child and save him from the torment of tiny, rambunctious children.

Silas Snow
He might have asked after her comment on how things were complicated now, but thought better of it, thinking the question assumed far more familiarity than he had any right to. Gemma had quickly dropped the subject though, turning her attention to a topic he assumed made her happier. Silas had a difficult time imagining a younger version of Gemma chasing after mischievous rabbits. From what he knew of highborn women, they were generally limited to the domestic arts. Even up North the girls he knew would all huddle together in a circle to practice their stitch work, gossiping over the men they hoped to marry. Lady Tyrell had already expressed a disinterest in such things so was it any surprise that she might have other unorthodox interests as well?

“Why do I get the feeling you were much the same as a young girl?” Silas asked in response to her observation that the tiny creatures she cared for were often up to some trouble or another. Maybe it had something to do with their current activity?

At the mention of Winterfell, he found himself smiling perhaps his most easy smile in the short time he had known Gemma Tyrell. “There is no castle like Winterfell. The Godswood alone is a site to behold. They say it is older than the castle itself, its sentinel trees the only living witnesses remaining to this earth who saw the construction of the very walls around them.” He paused, suddenly solemn as he glanced back over at his riding companion. “Though I should warn you, the north is cold – unforgivably so, especially for those in the south who are not used to it.”

AtomicEmpress · 05-13-2015, 07:27 PM

Gemma
"Me? Trouble?"
She said feigning innocence.
"I am a very adaptable woman."
She said in response to his comment about the cold in the North.
"Hopefully more so than I even know."
She said with a small shrug as they rode together.
"How do you like it here, since your use to the North?"
She inquired to him, curiously. She knew most Northerners found it almost unbearably hot in the south, especially here in Kingslanding.
"Tell me about your life in Winterfell."
She asked, curious to know if things were different in the North, outside of the cold.

Captivating · 05-14-2015, 12:42 PM

Lanford Tully
She had a mouth on her, that much was clear. What Lanford expected was not what he witnessed. Somehow, he didn’t mind. Had the no-name beauty blushed in embarrassment or called for help he’d have felt compelled to leave. Her actions granted him an odd sort of permission to stay. And while she talked, disarming his assumptions and spouting some of her own, he listened. Fancy silks were not her preference. She differed from the majority of the female race in that regard (in many regards, Lanford suspected). And her trout intruder was misplacing his interest. He only cared because he thought her noble. Yet her blood ran Kraken. To drive this point home, she spread her arms wide. She was the enemy. Whatever he wished to do to her, she’d counteract.

“Are you finished?” Lanford inquired, a smirk preceding his question. “Because I should like to set the record straight.” His acquaintance stared curiously, mouth agape. He would interpret her confusion as a yes. “I don’t only think upon women in an undressed state. I should imagine my lady mother or cousin Rosamund would give me a well deserved slap if I did.” Moving forward, he laid his sword by his side. “I’m not going to hurt you either. Not unless you aim to hurt me. We don’t choose our lineage.” The handsome blonde tossed present company’s remaining clothes her way with an innocent wink. “You’re right. These aren’t rags. I was wrong to judge.” After a few beats of silence, he gathered there’d be no return apology. “If you’re not noble…I take it you work here…” Lanford raised an eyebrow, pausing for a name. He received no reply. Perhaps if he went first? “I’m Lanford Tully. And you already gave me an earful so I won’t buy that you’re suddenly mute.”

Royston Hightower
Royston held Joanna close, stroking her hair softly. Tenderness shone in his eyes as he awaited his beloved’s words. He would rectifying whatever wrong had taken place. He swore this on his honor as a Lord. His lioness needn’t worry whilst he was near. “You can tell me anything,” he assured the shaken woman in his arms. No judgment existed between them. Joanna pulled back with uncertainty in her eyes. The seriousness of her expression was alarming. Had she any doubts, surely she would’ve confessed before this moment. Or was there someone else? Royston fought his insecurities ‘till they returned to the recesses of his mind. It was unfair to draw conclusions.

“What is it?” Finally, the comely blonde spoke. If one could call chopped sentences and quivering sounds speaking. From what Royston gathered, guilt and fear plagued Joanna. So deep was her sorrow, she’d sought relief from the Seven. They were foolish people. Rather, she was foolish. If only she’d done better…changed past mistakes…things would not have come to this. “You’re not stupid, my love, though I admit I’m at a loss. I’m not sure what it is you mean to confess.” Lord Hightower shook his head in confusion, willing himself to understand. “What could be so horrible?” Fresh tears sprung, eliciting another hug between the pair. “Shh, it can't be all that bad. Not if it involves our time together.”

degausser · 05-14-2015, 01:32 PM

Silas Snow
Silas judged by the glint in her dark eyes Gemma was being deliberately coy. No trouble, indeed. How many times had she put on a chase for her mother’s guards? How many cute but mischievous animals had she set free in the halls of Highgarden to nip after the heels of proud knights and ladies alike? How many hearts had she broken, intentionally or not? The wheels were turning wildly in his head as Silas imagined all manner of trouble a curious woman such as Gemma Tyrell could get herself in.

With the questions suddenly turned around on him, Silas glanced over at Gemma, ruminating over how truthful he wished to be with her. “I hate it,” he admitted with a good natured laugh as he shrugged his shoulders. So it was to be the whole unabridged truth after all. For whatever reason, he felt he could be open with the fair rose from Highgarden. “There’s too many people in the city. You can’t walk down any of the streets without bumping elbows with someone. The food is weird. The people are strange too. They pretend they are friendly when I know they are not. They should just say what they mean, rather than speak in forced hyperbole.” Just like the Starks, Silas was a slave to the truth. He hated flake pleasantries.

“Also, it kind of smells here.” Silas added quietly, peeking over at Gemma from behind a curtain of dark hair that had fallen over the side of his face. “I know I can’t be the only one who has noticed.”

“As for Winterfell, it’s … well, life is much simpler up north,” he added vaguely before offering a friendly smile. “What exactly would you like to know?”

AtomicEmpress · 05-14-2015, 01:47 PM

Gemma
She smiled at his honesty.
"Thank you for your honesty. Most people lie through their noses about...everything."
She said with a small nod. He had endeared himself to her in a way most people would find unusual - being painfully honest about something.
"I want to know about your traditions, and what you do everyday when you wake up...what is a typical day like for you Silas Snow?"
She asked, genuine curiosity on her face.
"And just for the record it does smell some here. Everything is sweeter at highgarden, south or not. I hope I don't just think so because its all I've known."
She commented half under her breath, half outloud.

Starfield_Scribe · 05-15-2015, 09:35 AM

AXEL
He had quickly guessed the young woman had suffered a loss, and he was proven right just as fast. Naturally, he could sympathize with her on the loss of a spouse. By the way she had given him this bit of information, he could already tell this had been a painful parting, just as his dear lady wife had been one for him. He had buried much of his grief for Rosamund’s sake, because she would have needed him more than ever, but it did not erase his pain in any way. He had not been in a position to be pushed on to a new marriage after losing his wife, his own parents equally departed, but he did understand what that burden must have been like for the young lady on his arm.

“Yes, it most certainly is,” he nodded. “We Tullys do know a thing or two of family, and duty, and honor… So much we made them our words,” he tried on a smile, hoping it would bring one to her as well; it seemed a shame for a beautiful young woman such as her to have such sadness over her face. At the mention of Rosamund, as was in his habit, he smiled, or as he already had half of one on him, he smiled wider, before pulling himself together again.

“You might say I am here for her, in the sense that I took the office I hold in order to give her a better life. But I came to King’s Landing, several years past now, when His Majesty called for me to be his Hand.” He was surprised she hadn’t identified him as such, by name if not by face.

LUCERYS
He liked more and more of what the young apprentice told him, conjuring up an image of this helm in his mind. He was not of the type who sought out armor with countless so-called embellishments that only distracted the eye and were pointless, not to mention potentially harmful to the one the armor was meant to protect. He wanted something that would do what it was meant to do and would do it well, and he did want to show the signs and colors of his house, but not so much that it would become what led the entire endeavor. Then, remembering his ‘lessons’ with Celia on matters of friendship, he realized he hadn’t said a word, lifted his head, cleared his throat, then spoke.

“Yes, excellent. You will be tasked with making this helm,” he declared.

Rolf followed this by suggesting he might also do a shield, something special he had been developing. Lucerys’ mind went to work again, summoning an image he knew was meant to be him but that looked much more like his brother, Maegor. Taller, stronger, with armor and helm, shield and sword, charging forward on an ink black war horse, charging into battle… It was an image Lucerys had carried in his thoughts for longer than he could remember. Only now… now…

Who was he fooling, really? He could never be a knight, not anymore. What hopes did he have, if his sight failed him completely? He would make a mockery of House Targaryen, of the crown and the Iron Throne. He was better off locking himself away, somewhere he would not bring shame on his family. Still, the dream was too strong, and he took a breath and spoke again.

“Yes, I should be honored,” he told Rolf. He had a sword, which he’d received on his last nameday. And as for his own proper armor, he knew that would follow, three or four years from now, but the rest… he could… he had to.

MORGAN, DESMERA
If he could be glad for one thing, it was that his cousin understood the need to keep her identity a secret. He watched her nudge the escaped strands of silver blond hair back inside the purple fabric, all the while finding himself grow concerned for what was happening inside Daena’s mind. Something was bothering her, and he couldn’t make out what it was, but he had a feeling it went back to a moment on or near the day of hers and Maegor’s nameday ball. She had been changed since then, discreetly, but changed nonetheless. He knew better than to try and get it out of her, but being observant and gathering facts worked just as well. So he followed her. The first thing he noticed here, by the road she chose, was that this was not her first visit here.

Inside, on the floor above, Desmera’s heated skin was being soothed by a soft breeze blown in through the window, while the knight panted for breath at her side. She smiled, turning on to her side, tracing her fingers along a scar on his chest. “I have heard whispers you hired a second company of rowers, that your ship might reach these shores sooner and bring you back to our establishment in a haste.”

“Back to you, my lady,” the knight laughed raucously, his hand, which lacked one finger and a half, reaching to the small of her back before continuing down to grasp one round cheek and squeeze before urging her to rejoin him. Desmera laughed, complying easily, straddling the man.

“I am no lady,” she leaned to breathe at his ear before he reunited their bodies… and there was a knock at the door. “Pay no mind, ser, I am all yours, for as long as…” The knock, again. Now she paused. They knew better than to disturb her when she was with a patron, so if they saw fit to seek her out anyway… “Please, forgive me,” she told the knight, who’d frowned. “I will make it worth your while. Your visit is on us today,” she told him, climbing from the bed and dashing to open the door. The girl whispered. She’s here, madam. That one. They knew not to say her name. Desmera looked past the girl’s shoulder. “You, see to him,” she told the girl, before motioning to two more nearby.

By the time Desmera had dressed, she could hear the three girls laughing, and the knight most of all; he would already have forgotten the disruption. In the meantime, she headed below, finding the young woman was not alone; a Kingsguard.

“My lady,” Desmera approached her, bowing her head but not so much that she should draw attention to them. Already the knight in his white cloak was doing that plenty for the three. “Please, this way,” she offered her arm to the young princess before turning to the knight. “You shall wait here, lest you want her discovered. Marei, see to him,” she called to another girl, who approached the knight with an eager smile.

Morgan had no choice to watch the two of them disappear. “Marei, is it?” he gently prodded her at the shoulders, that she might not try and kiss him. “I won’t be requiring your services. Unless you have wine,” he sighed. “I will need that.”

HUGH, ARWEN
Arwen gladly welcomed her baby brother into her arms, finding it impossible not to cry even harder. She had been witness to her parents’ desperation for a son for as long as she could remember, and with each failed attempt that desperation had grown. Dearest Artys, you might be my greatest reason for leaving the Eyrie, that I should meet you and hold you. She placed a kiss at his forehead, breathing in that intoxicating baby scent, mingled as it was with the remaining traces of his birth. When she heard her mother turn to speak to her father, she got up to go and walk about with the baby, the better to leave them to their privacy.

Hugh was still so taken with the baby girl in his arms that it took him a moment to catch on to what Ryella was telling him. He blinked. “Ryella, my darling, I… I assure you I could not even think of such a thing at a time like this. Now, you go to sleep, Arwen and I will see to the gi… to the children,” he corrected. It had always been so easy for them to refer to the collective of their children as ‘the girls,’ only now… now they could not, the reason now residing in their eldest’s arms, and he beamed, minding his new daughter while he leaned to kiss his wife. The love they shared for one another might have been emotional more than physical, but it was love nonetheless, and he didn’t know that he had loved her more than he did in that moment.

Soon dismissed to deliver the news to her sisters, Arwen had summoned the maester to collect her new sister and follow her out of the room, so to find the new sisters and surprise them with the twins.
(Hugh will be open, after/if Em posts Ryella again, if anyone wants to say hi )

ANYA, VALAENA… ARWEN
Valaena had been taught not to frown like a petulant child when someone told her no, and she did her very best, though Ser Raymar was making it difficult, and there was just a twitch in her eyes like she might have cried and begged for him to change his mind, turning on the innocent violet eyes for effect. In her case, it would have been honesty, after all. She was innocent, the most mild mannered and inoffensive of the King’s daughters. Had he been faced with one of her older sisters, the knight would have had much more of a… vocal… response, but this was Valaena Targaryen he was dealing with, and while she was disappointed, she was also imaginative; she could find an alternative, and almost immediately an idea sparked in her.

“Ami, take one of those chairs, bring them here,” she pointed to a clear space on the ground, running to take one of the chairs, too. “We’ll need four, take another,” she instructed, doing the same, before turning to find their ‘baby,’ who was still hiding behind Ser Raymar, though her neck was stretching further and further out from behind her man shield, wondering what was happening. After whispering something to Amerei, who nodded and ran to get what she’d asked for, Valaena took a step toward her, seeing the hesitation still very much alive. “Lady Anya,” she curtseyed deeply, looking up again to find a hint of a smile betraying the little one’s face. Valaena looked back to find that Amerei had completed her task, returning with a large bed sheet, which she fastened at the corners to each of the four chairs. “Have you ever played come-into-my-castle?” Anya leapt out from behind Ser Raymar so fast he nearly fell.

For several minutes after this, the three young girls played the game any noble young lord or lady worth her knowledge was to play at one time or another. Valaena, of course, with her deep knowledge and interest in heraldry and history, could not be stumped in any way, spouting all the facts that came in handy to shape the game. For what must have been the first time, the young Anya Arryn seemed more enthralled than frightened at her presence.

“Wait!” Valaena suddenly called, quieting the Arryn girls. “I think I hear…” She stood, exiting the ‘castle,’ and Amerei and Anya followed; they could hear, too. People were coming, and Valaena thought she’d heard a baby cry.

The door opened, and now the maester entered, with the babe in arms, and the girls rushed up excitedly. “Quiet, now, let’s not wake her,” the wizened man smiled, leaning to allow even the young aunt to discover her niece.

“A girl again?” Amerei sounded a bit disappointed.

“Now, is that any way to speak of our sister?” Arwen appeared now, behind the maester, and when they saw what she held, both Valaena and Amerei had to cover their mouths so not to shout and wake what was not one but two babies. As she crouched before them, Arwen stole a look to Ser Raymar, biting back a smirk at the exasperated look he was trying not to show.

“What’s this one?” Anya asked her mother.

“Anya, Ami, Princess,” Arwen tipped her head to each before looking to the girl in the maester’s arms. “The Lady Shirei Arryn, and… the Lord Artys Arryn, our future Lord of the Vale,” she announced proudly.

DACEY
Her encounters with the people of King’s Landing since her father’s crowning himself had been less than desirable, and especially after the morning she’d had, Dacey had expected no less from this one. So, when he turned her expectations upside down, she was at once confused and weary. This could be a trick. She waited for it to be a trick, never letting the man out of her sight, never giving him the slightest bit of room to double cross her. But she did let him speak, because the more people spoke, the more they exposed themselves, and she needed to know if she could allow herself to believe this proclamation that she had somehow misunderstood him. She couldn’t see any scenario where this happened though; she’d long been taught, by life, by people, that she was alone, and maybe that was how she was meant to be.

When he moved forward, she tensed, her eyes never wavering though she still took notice of his putting the sword aside; if she had to, she could take it before he took it again. “That’s close enough, you,” she muttered. We don’t choose our lineage. He said this, and for a moment she could have let her guard down, but then she knew who he was, and that knowledge made her remain as hardened as she’d been since he’d made his plea for her to listen. He introduced himself, though she knew his name already; she was sure she knew the names of every single person who came through this forsaken keep.

“I am handmaiden to the Targaryen princesses. The older two, not the little one.” She would have supported being handmaiden to Valaena Targaryen, truth be told. The youngest princess was kinder, softer, with adventure and imagination boiling under her eyes, the kind Dacey had known as a child. Instead, she was stuck with the other two. “I am here, not by choice. And don’t you dare talk to me about lineage, Lord Tully, with your title, and your name. You want to know who I am? I am Dacey Pyke, of the Iron Islands. Not Greyjoy, no, not Mormont even. I am nothing, and if I ever was so foolish as to think otherwise, my father went and set me straight the day he threw me into the dragons’ pit and left me here when he chose to become King.”

Again, she was faced with asking herself why she would tell these things to this man, knowing who he was and who he was related to, who he was connected to. Maybe it was that he was being so nice to her, and truth be told she couldn’t be certain he was pretending anymore; it was throwing her off.

JOANNA
The moment had come. Whatever she told him next, it would seal her fate, their fate, together. She could still have backed away, she knew. She could have told him she had allowed herself to be with another, even though this was untrue – Maegor had spurned her in the last month, for reasons he wouldn’t say – but telling him this and supposing the baby was not possibly his would have been impossible. She could have made up something else, or she’d been telling herself this, in the time he’d been away, but every time she did, she always inevitably ended back where she began. It was time to tell him what she’d been intending to tell him even before she’d chosen him.

Making herself pull herself together just a little, she took a deep breath, then another, gave a look that indicated she was faltering back toward tears before gathering her strengths again, and she looked at him. “I… We…” Another breath, looking to the side. She’d forgotten what she would say, what she’d rehearsed for days. When faced against the moment, it came to be more difficult than she’d thought it would be; was it the little thing growing inside her, making her so weak? In the end, when words had shown her defeated, she had resolved to showing him, reaching for his hand, and placing it so he might feel the beginnings of roundness, hidden so well by her dress, and she looked into his eyes, her own filling with tears again.

degausser · 05-15-2015, 03:26 PM

Silas Snow
“My lady, if I told you what a typical day was like for Silas Snow, I fear I would bore you to absolute tears.” His life up North was really not as different as it was now. He woke up, used the privy, broke his fast in the Great Hall of Winterfell with Torren and any other visiting Lords, then toiled away in the stables for the better part of the day before retiring to the Great Hall for dinner and then inevitably his chambers once more to do it all again the next day. It was only the setting that had changed. He was no Lord to tell of exciting tales of visiting his neighboring holdfasts and feasting with the Lords that had pledged fealty to him as Torren was want to do from time to time. He did not often travel outside of Winterfell unless duty required of it as it did him now. He was only a simple bastard, taking each day as they came and went while trying not to step on any toes.

Now as to traditions, well, Silas could have filled an entire book with the traditions they kept up North.

“Well, we keep to the old gods as I am sure you must have heard. Our Gods are not so restricting up north. They have no names, no specific functions – no Crone to lend us her wisdom, no Smith to strengthen our crafts, no Stranger to collect our dead. But they are all around us just the same -- in the leaves that blow in the wind and the cold that cuts like a knife when winter is fast upon us.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he still had Gemma’s attention. “We do not hold tourneys like you southerners are want to do from time to time. No man draws his sword unless he means to use it for real.” The corners of his lips curled into the smallest of smirks. “Consequently we northerners are constantly maiming one another for seemingly no good reason.”

When she admitted she thought King’s Landing smelled as well, Silas looked away triumphantly, glad to have someone confirm he was not in fact crazy after all. “Everything is always sweeter when it is home,” he offered sagely. Yet Silas grew quiet in that moment, fixing his gaze on something in the distance as he tried not to dwell on his own thoughts of Barrowton. In his case, home was not so sweet a thing after all.

Daena Targaryen
She did not have to wait long. The young woman who opened the door need only look in her eyes to know who she was, and ushered both her and the guard at her heel in at once. Desmera appeared not two minutes later and presented her elbow for Daena to take. She glanced over her shoulder furtively, offering her cousin an apologetic smile as she abandoned him to the temptations of the brothel. Prince Morgan was not the man to soil his white cloak, though. He was no Ser Jaime Lannister, no Ser Arys Oakheart to be hoodwinked by an exotic temptress. His vow was like to choke him before he would ever break it.

As she walked with Desmera, the sweet scent of sin still clung to the woman like a desperate lover. A tiny sheen of perspiration sat at her brow. Daena suspected her appearance had come at a most inopportune moment. “Pray forgive the poor timing, my Lady. I did not think it wise to send word of my visit ahead of time.” The words were unnecessary – any time she came was an inconvenience. She had long ago made up for that fact with outrageous sums of coin. Still, she said the words anyway.

They inevitably ended up in Desmera’s quarters. Daena had visited the Madame enough times to be relatively familiar with the space. Once the door was shut behind them, she unwrapped the cloth around her head and draped it over the back of an ornate chair. Desmera’s room was always unnaturally warm. Daena used to think it was the fire she always kept lit, but after some time she began to suspect it was the woman herself who emitted the heat.

She moved toward the open window where a gentle breeze was coming through to cool her skin. It was unlike the princess to stall as she did. Curiosity had brought her to the woman initially, whispers of her life amongst the priests of R’hllor in Essos reaching the princess’s ear some time ago. Her own fascination with fire did not just end with green and bronze scaled beast she had bonded to in the Pit on Rhaenys’s hill. The warmth of the flame had always intrigued her, but so did its power. She came to see if the whispers about the woman were true. Daena had not been disappointed.

“You know why I am here,” she said at last. The princess knew there would be no point in perpetuating a false image of gaiety. She had not been herself for some time, and Desmera would only see through it in the end. “I seek answers to questions that have so far eluded me,” she remarked cryptically before moving over toward the woman. “I was hoping I might find them in one of your fires.”


Fan Forum > Archived General Discussion > Role Playing > Game of Thrones - Prequel #2: Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.