dearorphic

[dearorphic]

#dearorphic, * lady elira dayne, alive, introduction * ruling lord antony arryn, alive, introduction

wanted connections. #westeroslive affiliated.

⤷  * pinned.̲.̲.

⤷  * visuals.̲.̲.

⤷  * audio.̲.̲.

⤷  * thread.̲.̲.

⤷  * musings.̲.̲.

⤷  * arryn‚ antony.̲.̲. a restless remnant‚   unsettled‚   unrooted‚

#⤷  * dayne‚ elira.̲.̲. under indigo nights‚ a curious wild cat‚

#⤷ * ruling lady arryn.̲.̲. honey‚ you're atlas in his sleepin'‚

[dearorphic]

Ashley Moore for LoveShackFancy * Bohème

[dearorphic]

DAYNE,   ELIRA

citrus stained fingers and peeled oranges,   wild grass and wildflowers,   swords as an accessory;   gilded and gleaming in rubies rich in scarlet hue,    nature crowns your head a tangle of leaves and petals;  light silks and chiffon rustling underfoot as you laze under its warmth,    content as a spoiled housecat,   ambition only measured in wanting;  wishing; a dangerous curiousity gilded in rubies,  the breaking of sunlight poured in your hubris.

Introducing lady elira dayne, the third in the noble house of dayne, the( little )sun drop ;

# basic information.

official  name:          Elira.          nicknames:        She accepts most variations of her name.          noble  title:         Lady.             date  of  birth:            December 12.             age:            twenty7.            birthplace:         Dorne.               home:            Starfall.             nationality:            Dornish.             gender:            Cis-female.             pronouns:            she/her.             orientation:            demi-romantic,  bisexual.             monikers:           the ( little ) sun drop.             languages:            fluent in the common tongue,  fluent in Dornish.   accent:   a melodic sing-song of Dornish cadence blending into a common tongue,  she’s enjoyed being a daughter between two cultures and it’s clear in the way she speaks.

  narrative...

Starfall has its heir,  resplendent in rule,  and its knight,  as daring as any story told,   which left room for Elira to stretch comfortably in the margins of this tale.   Always a curious child who was free to do as she pleased and being the third, and adopted in at such a young age, she would show craft herself into something beloved. Fawning, preening, and endlessly warm with her smiles and adoration in a house that encouraged Dornish traits, she even let herself have claws; a wit that sparked hellfire, and mischief that entertained. Elira Dayne was always crafted just so.

The little sun drop   ;      That's what most referred to you as in Starfall with the way its resident Lady suns herself in the warmth of Starfall's towers,  sleeping under a sun that became a precious comfort. She would covet which never felt like hers if she wasn't in accordance with how her elder siblings were; and perhaps, she knew better than to bother trying. Content was she to instead weave fantastical tales inspired by the Dornish rule, to pretend she was just as grand as they were by acting out such acclaimed figures.

A mummer. Girlishly in awe of Dorne's ruler and his many heirs to which she boldly sat near with at their tables, attending their training courts with a prideful eye and an envious heart. It’s their influence that she’d fancy herself a deft hand at blades. Her small swords and light blades hilts encrusted in gems that caught the light and flashed on the walls of her rooms; the extent of her hobby, a collection of jewels and tools of war made into her decorations alongside the flowers plucked from the garden. If there was anything that held her dedication, it was to the gardens inside Starfall, with her fingers digging into the earth and cutting stems with such care.

Such low ambition was quickly rectified by her mother,  who set her off with a tutor.  She had a knack for the arts,  enjoying the feel of stitching new designs into cloth. She burrowed her nose into books of songs and poems of old,  enchanted by the creations.   Until her interest waned,  and she’d stare longingly out windows to the courtyard below again.

A tyrant,  and half a wilding with no decorum,  only when it suits you,   reports your tutor when you made games of sneaking from her care;   slipping from windows,  ducking into nooks and crannies,  climbing into trees just to watch the guards practice with deft movements and even lighter footwork.  You compromised,  a chance to practice with the lighter swords and a tutor from Dorne and you'll make yourself adore the courts as much as you adored the gardens outside their castles.

And that is what you'd become, a courtier with smiles as warm as the Dornish sun, Elira became an extension of House Dayne's pride; to ingratiate with disarming smiles and a tender heart that was as giving as sunlight. One should never think that Elira was of the same mind of house Dayne's allegiance to the Dorne's mistrust to the Crown; a trait that was built into her, as gentle a poison running in Dornish rule. A mask crafted and refined since she had been adopted in; your cruelty, as soft as petals.

As she grew into herself,  she found irony in the moniker little sun drop of Starfall,  when she hardly had her own shadow to cast and leave behind.  The only flaw, to not see who you are under its guise;  you fool yourself, from the warmth of the sun to the intensity of its rays,    to the blazing strength of its core;   you’re as warm as the sun,  but cold in your own grasping hands.

Why would anyone trust you when you touch fire with bare hands, licking your fingers clean after? you smell awful. you, girl with the flames curled up in her fists. you are a host for it, victim to the explosions on the inside hoping to become the sun. but your body is not that which can combust and keep its shape, no, you come apart. trigger girl, heat dripping from your mouth. you start here; with your arms tied behind your back. it comes from the breath. it comes from the breath. everyone is better at this than you.

[dearorphic]

ARRYN,   ANTONY  née  MORMONT

ambition honed a competitive edge in you;  white lies bittering into something more,   all the gleams golden isn't better;  but the stability in knowing you have it and more is enough to yearn,     from smiles devilish,  in shadows rigged lay his only respite  /    from boyhood to now,   you know the value of having nothing to lose and everything to gain  /   a restless remnant,   unsettled,   unrooted   /

Introducing the ruling lord of the vale, the second husband to its heiress, the bear in the mountains ;

# basic information.

official  name:          Antony Mormont.    noble  title:          Ruling Lord.  date  of  birth:            november twenty first.  age:            38.  birthplace:            Bear Island.  home:            The Eyrie.  nationality:            northerner.  gender:            Cis-male.   pronouns:            he/him.   orientation:            demi-romantic,  bisexual.  monikers:           The Bear of the Mountains.  languages:            fluent in the common tongue,  some knowledge of Old Tongue, an ancient language spoken by the First Men.  accent:  Northern accent still laced in words smoothed down to velvet dulcet,  like a westerner.   

a second-born wayward son with a chip on his shoulder,  came from a calm family that showed no lack of love and care and yet ...   your coat of arms is gilded with lies you keep close;     better the heir than me,  you proclaim with rakish wit and unsettled ease but you know better than anyone,  how green envy is.

you spent your days with the fair folk and the hard-working serfs and folks of Bear Island.  A frequent visitor to all taverns, all lines between nobility and gentry blurred the more you showed up ;    trying your hand at games of chance,  and oh,  how no other god loved you more than lady luck.  Days spent of gleaming,  clinking gold, and boisterous laughter turned devilish the more you put down,  and lines kept getting crossed the more you bet but there was freedom in putting it all  on the line,  more so when some dared to fight for it. 

a bear will marry the heiress,   and you couldn't quite imagine your luck when the papers were signed and you were carted off with all your belongings in tow. They whisper in the halls of how easy it all was, how your name was the first to appear before all others as though it was more than just providence that had put Antony Mormont as the rightful choice. Your ascension is dubious, shrouded in mystery and open to criticism.   A ruling lord,   for a man with nothing to lose,  and everything to gain.  Clothed in blue,  settled high atop of the Eyrie;   the king could take the queen if the queen moved right next to him and had no pieces supporting her.

Her loss,  his gain.

A bittersweet victory,  a sweeter reign  /  to rule over the Eyrie,  and how naturally you settled yourself in its courts with a sensible mind.  How natural it was to seat yourself in its head chair,   each lord and knight within the Vale vying for a chance.  But it stifles,   the coldness of the Vale and its widow,  now wife,   haunting the halls with her melancholy and leaving rumours abound with the lack of marital harmony.  The tables have turned for you,  and you never realized your leadership potential.   Can you say the same for your honour as a husband?

[dearorphic]

“Remember, how so ever you are played or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone. Even though those who presume to play you be kings or men of power.”

[dearorphic]

OSCAR ISAAC as DUKE LETO ATREIDES in Dune: Part One (2021)

[dearorphic]

I have seen the world's most beautiful places, still feeling like a walking machine..

[dearorphic]

[...] as fluid as feline, she's decadent in thick furs as white as snow and just as warm, a warmth aloof wrapped, just as quick to pounce with the silks and chiffon layered underneath.

[dearorphic]

Face it, our way is the way. I mean, we scare people into not being assholes.

[dearorphic]

* lord antony arryn,

[...] pinterest. app.

title: ruling lord of the eryie age: thirty - seven . gender: cismale, he/him. sexuality: demi-romantic, bisexual. allegiance: the arryns

influences: duncan idaho ( dune ), simon 'ghost' riley ( cod ), bruce wayne ( dc ), rollo sigurdsson ( vikings ) mbti: aesthetic: ambition honed a competitive edge in you; white lies bittering into something more, all the gleams golden isn't better; but the stability in knowing you have it and more is enough to yearn,   from smiles devilish,  in shadows rigged lay his only respite  /    from boyhood to now,   you know the value of having nothing to lose and everything to gain  /   a restless remnant,   unsettled,   unrooted   /

[...] history & plots,

a second-born wayward son with a chip on his shoulder, came from a calm family that showed no lack of love and care and yet ... your coat of arms is gilded with lies you keep close; better the heir than me, you can proclaim with rakish wit and unsettled ease but you know better than anyone, how green envy is.

you spent your days with the fair folk and the hard-working serfs and folks of Bear Island. A frequent visitor to all taverns, all lines between nobility and gentry blurred the more you showed up ; trying your hand at games of chance, and oh, how no other god loved you more than lady luck. Days spent of gleaming, clinking gold, and boisterous laughter turned devilish the more you put down, and lines kept getting crossed the more you bet but there was freedom in putting it all on the line, more so when some dared to fight for it.

a bear will marry the princess, and you couldn't quite imagine your luck when the papers were signed and you were carted off with all your belongings in tow. A crown, for a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Clothed in blue, settled high atop of the Eyrie; he's never found chess fun, but the whole ordeal reminded him of his old mentor and friend who was, the king could take the queen if the queen moved right next to him and had no pieces supporting her.

Who hasn't heard of how content the loverbirds were when they had married, disappearing into the clouds above without a care in the world. Antony wasn't someone who bet on her beau dying so fast, neither did he bet she would remarry so fast. Her loss, his gain.

A bittersweet victory, a sweeter reign / to rule over the Eyrie, and how naturally you settled yourself in its courts with a sensible mind. How natural it was to seat yourself in its head chair, each lord and knight vying for a chance. The tables have turned for you, and you never realized your leadership potential.

It's not as though you don't counsel your wife, but you steer clear enough to not remind her that you weren't her past husband, but you were here.