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[celiaxstark-blog]

baratheoned :

“Fuck all.” Raymont replied, looking out over the crowd, peering to see if he recognised someone. Perhaps he could find someone who owed him something, or someone he knew didn’t like him, to start a bit of fuss with. Get the ball rolling on some entertainment. It was all he could do to alleviate some of the boredom he felt. “Had a long ride from Winterfell, Lady Celia? Must’ve not gotten a chance to wash.” One long finger rubbed over his cheek where the dirt had gathered on hers. “You’ve got something right there.”

With a grin he then turned his head to her, having only watched her from the corner of his eye before then. “You managed to find a drink. You’d think someone as bloody tall as I could spot a servant. But here I am, a tall, parched husk of a man. Tragic, really.”

    “Do I?” Celia immediately wiped at her face, pulling her hand back to see the evidence of dirt. She emitted a noise of protest, laughing through her scrunched nose before she made a more earnest attempt at wiping the dirt away. “I had to see the rest of the grounds. Everything here is so different.” She explained, taking another sip from her goblet, as her eyes scanned the crowd for another drink, she stood up on her tip toes to try and see over then very quickly sighed and landed back down on her heels in defeat.

 “I suppose you have to have a more desperate look to you before they come to you.” She offered her own cup to him, gaze already straying back the way she came with every intention of grabbing another goblet. 

[celiaxstark-blog]

Those are the voices of my brothers, darling; I love the company of wolves.

Angela Carter, Burning Your Boats (via quotespile)

[celiaxstark-blog]

baratheoned :

He’d never been a fan of court. Too much talking, too little getting done. And a seemingly never-ending stream of bootlickers who wanted to stick their nose far up the crown’s ass. The Red Keep was not his favourite place. Though it had its upsides. The food was excellent, there was plenty of drink to have and there were plenty of ways to spend your coin. Something that Raymont was quite fond of. Though, with it being a rather officious ordeal, the King’s nameday, he would probably have to keep a low profile. And with the children joining him and his wife… Well, he needed to set a good example. Perhaps this would be one of the few times that Lord Raymont Baratheon behaved like a proper lord. Unlikely, but perhaps.

He’d found himself among the crowd in the throne room. The grand hall, with its large pillars and its tall windows. Usually he’d not bother mingling. After all, these were nought but bootlickers. But there were houses from all over Westeros here today. And he had a few friends he wished to see. And family he hoped to squeeze a hug out of. He was impeccably dressed. A black tunic, embroidered with bright gold, emblazoned with the Baratheon stag. With his left hand leaning on the hilt of his sword, he rested by one of the pillars. 

He felt a presence close by, though had yet to see who it was that had approached him. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked over the heads of the hordes of lords and ladies, merchants and petty knights that all wished that some of the crown’s greatness would rub off on them. “Ah, the nobility of Westeros.” He scoffed, turning to see the person that had now surely closed the distance on him. “What a bunch of cunts.”

      For a third time, her attending ladies had lost track of her since arriving in King’s Landing and thus her party had arrived to the gathering in the Great Hall well before she had, or at least most of them had, of what she could see of them milling about as she breathlessly entered unnoticed. There was a smudge of dirt on her face, her hair, once arranged in an acceptable style, was in disarray and she quickly patted it down to the best of her ability, then fixed her skirts so that the trousers beneath would not be noticed. The clothes that she had packed were ill-suited for such a place, the heavy furs and thick fabric made it difficult to move around in the stifling weather, so the young princess had sent out for clothes to be made that would not stand out as much as her Northern garb had. She wore them now, a dress made of a dark grey highlighted by white, that offset the bright wash of colors around her. Stitched into the hem of her skirt, Direwolves chased each other around her feet, their thread made of spun silver that seemed to make the wolves dance in the sunlight filtering through the windows. The skirts swished about her legs as she came to a sudden stop at the edge of the Great Hall, looking at everything in unabashed wonder. So many different things to take in, it was a miracle she had made it back from her exploration at all, but the princess of the North calmed her breathing enough that the most mischievous thing about her was the dirt on her cheek and the glint in her eyes.

      Only a few moments had passed after entering that she wove her way into the crowd, securing an available goblet before approaching someone that she recognized from the North’s celebration. She beamed at him brightly, laughter not far behind. “We are, aren’t we?”

      “What have I missed, Lord Raymont? Certainly nothing of import.”

[celiaxstark-blog]

dragndaughter :

        there was never a dull moment in king’s landing, especially not when a celebration was in full swing. this time it was the targaryens who were the hosts, which meant that rhaenys gracefully fluttered about, playing a gracious host to all of the guests. simple courtesies were not her elder brother’s forte. a blessing in some sense. if he was truly going mad then the last place rhaenys wanted him was around large crowds. besides, rhaenys would have mingled with their guests even if it wasn’t expected of her. what fun was a celebration if one didn’t enjoy the company?

          bidding farewell to the current group she was speaking to, rhaenys grabbed herself a glass of wine before approaching someone else. a warm smile graced her lips.          ❝  are you enjoying the celebration? if there is anything else you require please don’t hesitate to ask. ❞

     “I am, there are so many things that command attention.” Celia answered the other princess easily, her surroundings were warm and she felt herself overwhelmed with all the new experiences and rich history of such a place. It was her first time being anywhere else other than the North and while still on edge from the omens about Starks riding South, she felt it placated by the newness of everything. “Is there a way to get to the forges? Or perhaps a tailor? At a more appropriate time, I would like to tend to a few errands.”

[celiaxstark-blog]

⤷ ( yvvy. est. 24. she/they. none. ) the courts offer bread and salt to CELIA STARK of HOUSE STARK. many say that the TWENTY-TWO year old PRINCESS of THE NORTH is known to be PASSIONATE and FIERCE, though ill tongues whisper that she is UNRULY and HOT TEMPERED. may she be blessed and protected in this war of crowns. (fc: rose williams)

【about】

➼ Celia’s early childhood was made up of happy memories of shirking responsibilities to play fight the other kids in Winterfell until she was eventually dragged back to her studies. She much preferred learning the maps of the world to the needlwork lessons, always asked more questions than any could answer about the stories of old wars and gruesome wives tales.

➼ The young Stark princess was loyal to her family to her very core. There were few others who warranted the type of fealty she readily showed her siblings and as she aged, so did her feelings. So idealistic was she in the notions of war, she imagined herself fighting alongside her brothers or commanding her own soldiers, winning glory and honor and being welcomed back to Winterfell as a hero.

➼ She grew older and learned how to hide her growing curiosity in the ways of the knights. The second daughter of the Stark family could hardly run off to pledge herself to a lord as a knight instead of a wife, but she held the dream aloft all the things that might threaten to tear it apart.

➼ She was known to light up any room she entered, joyful and bright, a flame burning with dreams and ideals that flourished and grew with every passing day that seemed impossible to extinguish. She was quick to fight, quick to argument, always loud and playful in her youth. Celia’s passion gave way to a fierce but quiet determination towards getting what she wanted and she began to train in secret, first with close friends, then with the sworn shield her father had gifted her for her fourteenth name day. She was going to become a warrior, then she would pledge her sword to her brother, the heir to the North.

➼ It wasn’t until her father began to speak of offers of marriage that she grew fearful and in her panic, she began to argue with him more and more until it escalated. Celia had seen what marriage had done to her brother and she wished for none of it.  She also knew how the argument had ended for Edrik and their father, but Celia could not idly twiddle her thumbs while her father steadily ruined all that she had wanted. She confessed to her true intentions, to what she truly wanted in this life and Dane Stark crushed her dreams one order at a time. She was going to marry a man of good standing, her sworn shield would be dismissed from life-long vows, he would see to it that she never touched a sword again.  

➼ The last things she ever said to her father were words born of anger and childlike hatred and though she loved her father more than anything, she would disobey him and prove to him that he was wrong.

➼ When she was told of her father’s death, she locked herself in her room for weeks, misery and despair taking root deep within her being. She wanted nothing more than to take back what she said, tell him that she loved him, but it was too late.

➼ The day she resurfaced from her grief was the day she decided she would prove to her father, to the old gods and the new, to everyone that she would be a knight of legends and support her brother wholly in his reign. She locked away the pain of loss she felt, clinging to the remnants of her dream in its stead.

【headcanons】

➼ celia does not know how to swim

➼ she is ambidextrous but prefers her left hand

➼ she has a horse named Crow and she talks to him about going off to fight battles together.  

➼ though she is quite upfront about taking up the sword and fighting, she has yet to tell many of her intentions of becoming a knight or pledging her sword to her brother. one of her sisters is her only confidant save her sworn shield. ➼ she is quite passionate and gets involved in many physical brawls, though as of late she has calmed down on starting them.

➼ she is a boisterous drunk and a lightweight

【wanted connections/plots】

➼  oathbound | her sworn shield given to her by her father on her fourteenth name day and she uses them less as a guard and more as a training instructor.

➼ fascination | someone who she should not be around ever, yet she can’t help but get underfoot, preferably a warrior of some sort, someone she bothers for tales about battles, etc.

➼ ladies in crime | her confidants and her friends, people who are alongside her when she’s up to no good.

[celiaxstark-blog]

shadowdflame :

        in between traveling and the celebrations cassian had found no time to practice his skills with a sword. he hadn’t been allowed to carry his blade with him much within winterfell, a show of good faith between allies; besides, there was little reason for a lord to carry a blade all the time. but after serving as a knight for so many years not carrying a blade made him feel like he as missing a limb. it felt good to have his sword back in his hand. he moved effortlessly around the training yard; it might have been some time since he’d properly fought but his skills hadn’t deserted him.

          the sound of approaching footsteps made cassian pause. he glanced over his shoulder and nodded in greeting to the person.          ❝  looking to practice or simply to get away from the gossip? ❞

     As she finished her run, the princess felt as if she could do it all over again and still have enough energy to fight a battle. She felt caged, trapped without a way to do anything about it. So she grabbed her sword, something made for one of the other boys, and a bow and a few arrows before reporting to the training yard. Her sworn shield would have told her to take a break, to find something to eat first, but Celia’s stomach was in knots, her thoughts careless and her actions too brash to be set inside around the other nobles. Which was how she found herself in a pair of trousers and ill-fitting shirt, still sweaty from her run, with a sword in hand, staring at someone already making use of the training yard.

        When he spoke up, her gaze snapped up from the ground and she froze in her tracks. “Uh-,” she started inelegantly then righted herself, straightening her shoulders after using one of them to wipe sweat from her chin, “practice.”

[celiaxstark-blog]

ofseafoam :

“Oh, I’ve had my own fair share of stern words. I’ve no interest in making you suffer through the same.” No, she saw no need for telling the young king of his sister’s exploits – but she would tuck it away for later, as a glowing ember of interest amidst the barren north.

“.. You can call me Runa,” she said, only watching as Celia began to fret over the state of her dress and the fresh, stinging cut. “– and I’ve had worse.” She reached down and parted the skirt ever-so-slightly, revealing the old scar already there: the strange, neat mark of a falchion, carved across the mid of her thigh.. the hint of another peeking out from further up, hidden behind torn fabric.

On the ground, the man came back to consciousness, groans falling on deaf ears. He had stumbled back a few feet as she’d struck him, leaving a trail of muddled snow and blood as he fell, dagger just out of reach.

“I won’t say a word to anyone – and I trust you’ll do the same. As for him..” Had she been anywhere else, she would have slain him where he stood, rather than incapacitating him.. but she was in a court filled to the brim with people who already eyed her folk with suspicion and hatred, and she did not think the princess would keep quiet if she killed a man.

She began to walk towards him, and for each step she took, another piece of her illusion fell away – the lady faded from view, leaving a reaver in her place. It was a woman made from salt and stone who kicked him in the ribs, her iron gaze cold as she looked down at him. As he began to squirm, reaching for his knife, she got down on her haunches and grabbed his face, left-hand fingers digging into the soft flesh. Glass had scraped his skin raw, bits of it glittering, caught in the wounds. “I’ll do you a kindness,” she said, leaning over for his dagger with ease, left hand keeping him still as his eyes widened at the sight of his own knife in her hand.

The blade trailed a path across his forehead, but she didn’t press down to cut, not yet. Her voice was soft as she spoke – and though the words were sour in her mouth, she said them anyway, hoping she might use his pride against him. “I’ll let you tell them it was a man that did this.” Drops of scarlet began to bead as a slit slowly bloomed beside his left eye, Runa eyeing him like a cat grown tired of its prey.

As she got up, he stayed down, the dagger disappearing up her sleeve.

      Runa. It was then that she recognized her, the woman who had been atop the walkways, listening for the wolves. Celia thought of the handkerchief she had taken and kept, the foreign scent still lingering on it. Her hands hovered over the fresh cut while her eyes skimmed the old scars, curiosity plucking at her to ask questions most likely better left unanswered. She was saved, however, or Runa was, for the woman moved towards the man groaning, Celia’s gaze ever faithful in following her every move. The air seemed to chill and though the young princess could not exactly see what changed, she knew something was different, scarier but enticing, and instead of making her move away, she felt herself tugged forward. In her years in Winterfell, she had been shielded from most horrors, tales of glory were often sieved through, the gory parts taken out. There was nothing of the sort out there. 

     The man on the ground grew pale and, to Celia’s fervent delight, whimpered as Runa turned his own blade against him. Her sympathy was drawn short for him, having been not only cheated by him in a game, but also in her fight, and the coward’s previous use of the very dagger now in Runa’s hand did little to inspire such mercy within her. 

        The questions from before were added to, Celia’s curiosity loosing her reservations and the moment Runa rose to her feet, Celia was on her, clasping both the lady’s hands in her own. It was as if some bridge had been constructed over the span of minutes, connecting her wholly with the other woman. There was no one else like her that Celia had ever met, not in Winterfell, and Celia had always dreamed of being a knight-- of being more. And here Runa was being exactly what Celia had been aspiring to.

                                                       More. 

      “You are terrifying, Runa.” 

      “Your scars are battlewounds, no? You have seen battle. When? Was it difficult? What weapons do you know? Are you....do all the women fight?” At this question her expression brightened, her grip becoming a little tighter in her excitement.

[celiaxstark-blog]

ofseafoam :

“I thought I heard some earlier,” she said, taking a step towards the Stark princess, “but I think it might have been my expectations playing a trick on me.” From somewhere inside the sleeve of her dress, hidden beneath her fur coat, Runa pulled a light-blue handkerchief – finely made, softer than silk. It had a faint scent to it – jasmine flowers and honeysuckle. “Here,” she said, voice gentle as she offered it to the other: would the girl take it?

“Suppose it might be kinder of me to simply ignore it, but..”

“I fear the cold might freeze them on your cheeks, and where would that leave us?” Runa’s lips curled into a small smile, warm and easy, an expression she had learned from watching her mother.

    Celia’s laugh was a nasally surprise and she had to clear her throat again as fresh tears began to threaten to fall, but she took the handkerchief, wiping at her eyes with it to give her sleeves a reprieve. “Would rather that the cold froze time,” she inhaled the scent, sweet and heady, like nothing she had ever smelled before, not in Winterfell. “Thank you, my lady.”  Her expression evened out, no longer fighting the frown and she looked out at the woods once more.

    “I used to come out here and look for direwolves in the trees, wonder if the gods had brought me one as they did once before. They brought me Crow instead-- my horse,” she explained, gaze cutting back to the strangers with an apology written in expression for getting lost in her story, “sometimes we’d go out to see if we could find them...”

[celiaxstark-blog]

winterfellglory :

@celiaxstark

He’d arrived at breakfast late into the ordeal. Public meals were usually something Edrik was very punctual about, but this morning, something seemed different. There were plenty of things that could have affected him. Perhaps he had had no sleep after the fire. The burns he’d sustained on his hands had kept him up, mayhaps? Or perhaps he’d had nightmares? Whatever the case, the man at the table was tense. Very tense. Whatever misadventures he had gotten up to the night before, though none could know about those, they had not helped him face the day with any more ease.

Quietly he’d sat down. Jon served him his cup of ale and a plate of bread, cheese, cold ham and boiled peelers, but he barely touched his food. He felt the eyes of the room prick into him the entire time, but would not speak. Not yet. They saw a stoic man. He did very well to portray himself that way. 

When a specific set of eyes were put on him, much closer than those in the hall, he turned. When his eyes met Celia he had to do a rather immediate check on his emotions. He could not show weakness in front of so many. He cleared his throat of the lump that had promptly been placed there and spoke. “If yer wondering how I am faring, wonder after breakfast.”

     “I do not wonder, sweet brother.” Celia spoke it softly, but where there was sadness in his gaze, an inner turmoil that could not be shown to those around them, there was anger in hers that she too kept reigned in. She loved them all so fiercely she felt she might die of it, and not only that, but she would be glad of it, if it was for them. A threat looming in the room, beyond, even, in some distant place where a game had been set into motion, did nothing but spur her into action. Celia wished only to protect her family.  She wanted to interrogate each and every one of the outsiders, to have them kept until the perpetrator was found and when they were, her fingers clenched around the fork and knife she was using and her mouth angled down sharply. 

     “Why do we dine with them, when one of them cast part of our home into flame and...and...” she swallowed sharply on the words, still unable to utter them, to think of what they had lost so soon after their father. She breathed deeply in through her nose then exhaled silently, her expression returning to neutral after letting her mask slip. She wanted to tell Edrik, then, of her plans to become a knight, to make it happen so that she could be there at his back when he most needed her, but those words also were stuck in her throat. 

[celiaxstark-blog]

greeneyedcrannogman :

Ascar blinked a few times, recognising the Stark lady and took a moment before looking down at his scroll then back at her, a smile following when she settled on the edge of the table. “Would truly like to hear of the battle of Whispering Wood?” he asked, tilting his head a little, “It’s not one of the most epic in our history but it’s certainly one of the most successful strategy’s to be employed in a battle-ground.” Though it must have been executed with a heavy heart.

He rested his hands in his lap and lent back a little in the chair, his posture that of a much older man but they were habits he’d picked up from the Maester within Greywater, “Or, like me are you simply trying to avoid the events of the coronation?” he asked with a small sigh, “The atmosphere of this place is like that of the Neck before a storm.” he paused a beat, “There’s a heaviness in the air.” And even he, with all his prowess in sight couldn’t tell what would happen next.

      “They say my emotions are too thinly veiled...is it so? I think everyone is mad, overlooking such an attack...”

     “I would see the perpetrator put to justice.” Celia glowered, her mouth curving downward while the space between her brows wrinkled together to accommodate her glaring at the floor. She imagined herself in full armor, a sword at her side, exacting punishment to those who would see her family come to harm. Then, all at once she let out a huff of air. Attention seeking out Ascar’s gaze again. “Is it? I suppose it does.” She mused, having never been to the Neck nor traveled anywhere too far outside of Winterfell.

      “But as it were... it would be nice to learn of a few battles-- is it just a recounting or do these scrolls read of tactics?” Her interest immediately piqued, she had always loved a good tale of battle, though they were severely watered down when they were told to her. 

[celiaxstark-blog]

dragndaughter :

        when she was younger, rhaenys had envisioned meeting her love at a grand feast. or at a tourney where he would crown her queen of love and beauty. that was often how it happened in stories, except in those were the maiden was the damsel, but rhaenys, despite possessing a ladylike demeanor, had little desire in being a damsel. no, being romanced at a celebration was far better. however, no matter how many charming lords she met no lasting betrothals ever resulted and no love blossomed. now, the thought of a match being forged for her at a celebration like this was far from her mind.

          ❝  perhaps a little. but i suppose breaking the hopes of a few lords isn’t unforgivable, ❞          rhaenys teased. giggles tumbled off her lips when celia bumped her hip.          ❝  you are too kind. ❞          in the moment, she felt like an ordinary lady, gossiping with a friend, rather than a princess carefully balancing on a fragile beam in a deadly game. she leaned in closer, indulging her her childish desire for any gossip celia might have gathered.          ❝  if you insist. but now you must tell me what you observe that makes it so interesting? ❞

       “Not so.” Celia agreed with the other princess, feeling at ease with someone for the first time since they’d open their home to so many. There were, even as the jovial celebrations unfolded, political schemes and plots still being made, heads still bent in fervent whisper unseen by those with their eyes turned from it. “Who favors who, the usual sort, but also those that wish to avoid one another.” And as if on cue, she saw a lady cut her way through the dance floor while a taller man stood, expression befuddled as he looked over the tops of heads to see where she’d run off to. “Odd.” She commented, gaze following the woman out of the room.

       “Your brother is here, no? It is very nice to have someone else who can share the worries of a younger sibling to the crown. Any words of wisdom?”

[celiaxstark-blog]

lconettes :

       ❛  My intention was never to visit at this hour. I merely wished to know for the morning,  ❜  she explained, a stray glance cast towards the blanket of obsidian which could be seen out of the castle window.  ❛  That is a splendid idea, your highness. In the Arbor, I spend a lot of my time in the orphanage, so I look forward to visiting Northern housing. I would be grateful for your company.  ❜  Truth be told, Leonette had never bothered with company when she visited the hovels of the peasantry and read stories to the children, for she sought no self-gain beyond the kindness of her heart. But she was left questioning her safety in recent days, so Princess Celia’s words did not seem extraordinarily absurd.

     “Of course not. Apologies, My Lady, with all that has happened, common sense seems to have left me.” 

    Celia’s gaze did not falter from the other woman, but her thoughts were already on her walk towards the kitchens. “My brother has had gifts brought to him from many different lands, I am sure he will not mind a few going missing. Sweets and bread, perhaps meat from the hunt. How early would you like? Day break? Mid morning?” Celia was always up before the sun to train, so it would not be an issue to accompany Leonette. Anything to distract herself from yet another loss suffered in her household.

[celiaxstark-blog]

lyanna-manderly :

“I have not gone inside myself.” She admitted. “But my husband has. And he has only spoken good words. He is a frequent visitor, as he’s the Shield of the Faith.” House Manderly was one of the few worshipers of the Seven in the north, her lord husband proudly wearing the title. “You should. And I’d be happy to host you during your visit. I do not think the Manderlys would mind either. After all, you’re my little sister.”

     “Then I shall ask Edrik.” The youngest Stark was all warmth, a bright aura surrounding them, keeping all else at bay for the time being. “I should very much like to see the House that took you from us.” 

[celiaxstark-blog]

greeneyedcrannogman :

Finally away from his home in a new space with dozes of new people and nerves drove him to exactly the same behaviour he’d displayed at home: hiding amongst the scrolls of the library. They were engaging and there was safety in the familiarity of written words. He was looking over the history of conflicts in the land, whether to try and find some useful comparison with the current situation or distract himself he wasn’t sure. 

He was slowly drinking from a goblet of wine as he read, trying to follow the advice that drinking more made drinking easier, when he heard someone else enter the library. Looking up he blinked and inclined his head, “Are you searching for a text? I wouldn’t mind helping to find it?”

     Without much preamble, Celia walked into her family’s library, shoving the heavy door closed behind her before she advanced on Ascar. “Just tell me whatever you are reading.” She batted her hand in the air like she was waving away an errant fly. Dressed in trousers and a light cloak to ward off the chill she hopped up on the table. The movement jostled a goblet she hadn’t seen and she deftly picked it up before it had chance to spill or topple over, drinking lightly from it. 

      “Tell me it’s something interesting.” She had been moving around Winterfell as if possessed, unable to be put at ease when there was danger within its walls, which was why she had opted for trousers instead of a dress to the chagrin of all. She drew one knee up, letting the other swing freely over the edge of the table. Finally, she had been told to do something other than beat up wooden pegs and bodies made of hay or make trenches in the ground with her constant pacing. It was why she sought out Ascar and found him right where she assumed he would be.

[celiaxstark-blog]

lconettes :

       The hour was late when she retreated from the hall. It had been a heavy day, one which had seen her shoulder’s aching from the force which tried to push her down. Following the horrific sighting of fire, the jovial mood of courtiers had soured into something else entirely - fear, confusion, anger. Draped in azure velvet, she rounded the corners of the corridor until she happened upon another,   ❛   Is there an orphanage nearby? Perhaps, in Wintertown?   ❜ she enquired, hoping to distract her mind from the reel of horrors which had been playing endlessly.

       “Yes, though the children will be asleep and visitors are not usually welcomed at such an hour.” Celia dismissed one of her ladies, not missing the way they turned to see her once more before turning the corner, and then she gave her full attention to Leonette Redwyne. “And I would not advise a solitary venture, Lady Redwyn. Not with current affairs as they are.” Not that Celia had a habit of listening to her own advice, with her many activities out in the darkness. The only difference was that the North was her home and she knew its land and its people. “Shall I accompany you if you are to go? We could have the kitchen prepare something to take.”

[celiaxstark-blog]

lyanna-manderly :

She realized her sister had missed her, and Lyanna had missed Celia in return. But there was little she could do. Lord Manderly would not let his wife wander off to Winterfell whenever she liked. He would often say how she had duties as a ruling lady of White Harbor, and duties as a mother. The children should be raised in their father’s Keep. “Maybe after some more time, I could come again. But not too soon.”

Lyanna wanted to say how she was not happy, she hadn’t been happy in many years. But did not wish to worry her sister. “I fare just fine. It is my children’s home, after all. Have you heard of the Sept of the Snows? It is admired by most of the people in White Harbor. After all, many of them follow the Seven, not the old gods like we do.”

     How soon is too soon? The question was on the tip of Celia’s tongue, but she held it off, lips sealing on an over-eager inquiry. “Is it as impressive in person as it sounds?” Celia asked instead, though worry grew beneath the surface at her sister’s words. “Perhaps I shall plan a visit, then. I’m sure brother would not mind the reprieve.”

[celiaxstark-blog]

winterformed :

       in the light of a great tragedy , she put her hesitance aside. there was no place for it here - - it was a time to band together. arms wrapped themselves tightly around the other girl, and offered her a comforting smile ( or the best attempt at one that she could muster ) as they parted. she watched celia’s gaze wander, and noted how she was struggling to undo the tangle of her cloak’s ties. gently , she moved to place her hands over celia’s , gently pushing them aside so that she might help in unknotting the garment. from her work , she looked up to the girl as she spoke.       

              ❝  that’s not what i said ,  ❞ she corrected. celia had always been headstrong and unrelentingly loyal. her desire to involve herself with the investigation was of no surprise to jayne.  ❝  i only mean that you might be of more use once you’ve rested. fresh eyes and all that. i’m sure your brother would tell you the same.   ❞

     “The maester...” Celia’s hands dropped and she felt her face heat up, tears pricking at her eyes as Jayne helped her with her cloak, her trembling fingers curling in to form fists. She dropped her gaze from the crowd to the floor like a spurned child, her thoughts of the fire all consuming. “Whoever did this will find themselves at the North’s mercy.” A harsh cold stone beneath throat and her or her brother’s sword above. The man who passes the sentence shall swing the sword. She would become a knight and protect her brother from the outsiders who wished to see the North burn. Let them try, she thought.

     The Stark princess lowered her voice, anger taking the place of unshed tears in her eyes as her gaze lifted. “They wish to test us, Jayne. Setting fire to the tower...during Edrik’s coronation, they wish us to prove weak. We’ve invited them into our home...” The bitterness and resentment tasted like acid on her tongue, her nails leaving half moon marks across the middle of her palms. “Shall I sleep as they burn the rest of Winterfell down?” The anger was directed at the unknown entity, the threat lying in wait at their table, not Jayne, but the words were sharp as she said them, her mind making enemies of all the courts in attendance.