#❪ visage / rowan king. ❫

[tiriusrowan]

HAND OF THE KING

"We are what stands between the North of Westeros and the Reach. We are the Marshalls of the Northmarch. Protectors of the Roseroad. Masters of the Mander. I am Hand of the King. Voice of the throne. I command the king's armies, draft the king's laws, dispense the king's justice. We are Rowans. There are no others. Only us. Our loyalty is not to be questioned and our honor is not to be soiled. We have been chosen by the Gods, time and again to not only serve but protect what is ours. Bow your heads. Let us pray."

[blakesque]

the king family- the main four.

[vedritied]

𝐰𝐡���𝐫𝐞   . . .   the   chambers   of   the   ruling   couple   ,   horn   hill   ,   the   reach   .     𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡   . . .   hisham   tarly   (   @perfervvidus​   )   .   𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧   . . .   flashback   to   around   three   months   ago   ,   after   the   return   of   casper   lannister   but   before   the   death   of   senya   tyrell   née   rowan   .

the  raven  that  had  flown  with  the  missive  of  the  king  tied  to  it’s  leg  had  been  a  half - starved  thing  by  the  time  it  had  reached  horn  hill,  frightening  the  studying  tarly  children  and  startling  fairuza  from  her  nap  on  the  ruling  lady’s  lap  when  it  had  landed  with  a  loud  squawk  on  the  table,  sending  an  ink  pot  clattering  to  the  ground  ─  with  her  youngest  babe  in  hysterics  from  the  sudden  jolt,  seda  had  ordered  the  maester  to  tend  to  the  damned  bird  as  she  attempted  to  corral  her  overexcited  children  away  from  smothering  the  raven  with  attention,  but  the  silence  that  had  come  from  the  man  had  caused  her  to  turn  around  eventually,  dark  furrowed  brows  smoothing  out  with  surprise  at  the  letter  that  he  had  held  up  between  two  fingers,  the  crest  of  the  king  embossed  proudly  upon  the  wax  seal.  her  children  had  seemed  to  understand  the  sudden  somberness  that  flooded  the  room,  quietening  down  and  gathering  at  her  sides  as  the  letter  was  passed  from  the  hand  of  the  maester  to  the  hand  of  the  master  of  whisperers,  and  none  of  them  grumbled  when  she  lingered  to  kiss  the  tops  of  their  heads  before  leaving,  breathing  in  the  smell  of  their  hairs  as  she  carried  fairuza  to  her  chambers  for  a  nap  while  she  waited  for  the  return  of  her  husband.

the  wait  was  not  long.  undoubtedly,  one  of  the  servants  had  recognized  the  expression  of  sheer  dread  on  her  features  and  had  gone  to  look  for  him  as  it  had  been  less  than  an  hour  before  the  door  to  their  chambers  creaked  out,  bringing  with  it  the  visage  of  her  husband.  seda  had  been  soothing  their  youngest  babe  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  their  bed,  limbs  curled  around  her  little  girl  protectively  but  she  rose  from  where  she  had  been  lying  down,  propping  her  weight  on  the  balls  of  her  elbows  as  she  gazed  at  him  silently  for  a  moment  before  her  eyes  dropped  to  where  the  letter  laid  opened  on  her  dressing  table.

[alaricseer]

Alaricseer tag list:

Under the cut are the tags this blog uses & what they are for. 

Alaric:

Fc: visage (ala)

Fc: fem!ala

Food: ala’s diet

Gifts (stuff ala would like): gifts for ala

Clothing inspo: wardrobe

Headcanons: headcanon

sexual nsfw: ala is in a mood

general nsfw: nsfw

ala/subby stuff: ala to subby & subby and ala & ala about subby

other: ala to tadhg & ala to ishtar

music: his soundtrack

humorous & ala/fae related stuff: fae nonsense

aesthetic, such as faerie, lifestyle, etc: aesthetic

quotes: words

Ala’s mother:

fc: ishtar fc

headcanon: ishtar headcanon 

other: ishtar to tadhg & ishtar about tadhg & ishtar to ala

Ala’s father:

fc: tadhg

headcanon: tadhg headcanon

other: tadhg to ala & tadhg to ishtar 

Peg Powler:

fc: peg 

headcanon: peg headcanon

other: ala’s right hand

Jenny Greenteeth:

fc: jenny greenteeth fc

headcanon: jenny headcanon

Subhoiem:

fc: subhoiem

fc: fem!subby

subby/ala: subby to ala & subby about ala & subby and ala

dogs: the hounds

other: subby to ciardha

Subby’s mother:

fc: queen clíodhna

Subby’s father:

fc: king setum

headcanon: setum headcanon

subbys sister:

fc: ciardha

headcanon: ciardha headcanon

son: emile

Sionnach:

fc: sionnach

headcanon: sio headcanon

Rowan:

fc: the rowan man

headcanon: rowan headcanon

Blackthorn: 

fc: the blackthorn man

headcanon: blackthorn headcanon

General & Mun:

mun stuff/ooc: alamun

queued posts: q

temp posts: tbd

ooc shenanigans: shitposting on main lads

promos: self promo

[thephoenixfields]

Session 13: Danse Macabre

« SESSION 12 RECAP

That night, Fen has a strange dream unlike any of her previous prophetic ones. This one features Viktor Graeme, who tells her that he wants to remain in power even if Karver falls. He then transforms into a terrifying visage that shakes Fen to her core before she finally awakens the next day. She tells the rest of the party about her weird dream of the Grand Vizier almost immediately.

The party wakes to find the temple is teeming with people (some former Hand of Liberty members, some prisoners from Ravenwing), brought back from the streets of Lower Soraya by Orion and Selene. Lysander is mildly beside himself with how his temple has now become a hotel, and suggests that they find somewhere else to stay.

The party gathers in the kitchen and Selene asks to speak with them. She suggests gaining the favor of the nobles of Soraya, so that when Karver falls, the nobles will support Esther’s rule regardless. Eventually, it becomes clear that, although Selene and Orion have been leading the rebellion thus far and have encouraged the party to use the masquerade ball as a way to get into the castle, Selene has no real plan as to how they should take out King Karver and Lady Salome. The group dresses her down, especially Aeleyn, for putting them all at risk in the name of a plan that didn’t exist. Selene argues that even though she didn’t have a plan, at least she was doing something while this city fell into ruin.

Selene suggests going out and fighting the iron golems that roam the streets one-on-one, and it’s clear that now that she has been so fully kicked out of the rebellion that she is looking for a way to die. The group convinces her not to go on a suicide mission but instead try to spread the word about Esther (once she takes the throne) so that she has the support of the common people.

Sariel approaches Rassa and asks her to warn Alanar of what’s going on in Soraya. Rassa rejects this request, saying that she will never set foot in Alanar again. “I owe that city nothing.” Sariel, turned off as Rassa gets a little too friendly, walks away.

Lysander has Nemo’s eyeballs. They floated to the top of the blood pool after his failed sacrifice. He offers them back to Nemo, who tells Lysander he doesn’t need them anymore. 

“I can hold onto them. They might, uh,” and Lysander looks away a little shyly. “Miss you.” 

“I might miss them, too,” Nemo nods, concluding the world’s most awkward goth flirt session. 

Sariel approaches Julian, tells him thank you for listening to her, and offers to listen whenever Julian decides to open up.

Rowan, Aeleyn, and Fen explore the temple of Ioun that stands in Grace Court: a temple that Fen visited on her first day in Soraya, but also a temple that Lysander says has been abandoned for weeks before the party ever entered the city. The door is locked, but the trio break inside and find the place empty. It does not look like anyone has been inside for weeks. Fen is weirded out, considering she spoke with a child emissary of Ioun not a few days ago at this very altar. Rowan finds the diary of the Priest of Ioun who led the temple, and the last diary entry says that Ioun has sent them warnings to get out of Soraya before it’s too late. He tried to warn the city, but few people listened to him or were willing to give up their whole life on a vision. So they left Soraya before the gates were closed to outsiders.

The party decides that the refugees from the Silver Jackal and Ravenwing can be housed in the temple of Ioun for now instead of up in Lysander’s hair at the Raven Queen’s temple. Sariel introduces her familiar, Mazrim, to Fen. Fen uses Speak With Animals to talk with Sariel’s owl, who, as it turns out, is a rather posh British bird who really hates Julian for that one time Julian slammed him in the door of Ravenwing prison.

The party splits up as evening approaches: Rowan, Sariel, and Julian make their way to the Sinclair Chateau to meet up with their dates, while Fen, Aeleyn, and Nemo adventure through the underground passage that connects Grace Court to the Royal Castle. 

The sneaking group—Fen, Aeleyn, and Nemo—make quick work getting into the castle. Aeleyn stays in the kitchens while Fen and Nemo make their way to the Grand Vizier’s quarters. Nemo does most of the talking with Graeme as a weird, sexual charge enters the conversation. Graeme tells the two of them that he wishes to remain in power even if Karver is taken out. He wishes to remain Grand Vizier, and in return, he will help the party take down Salome and Karver. 

The masquerading group meets up with the Sinclairs. The baroness Saskia tells Rowan, Sariel, and Julian that she is good with supporting Esther on the throne and that she will do her best to get Karver alone—perhaps suggest that he marry her eldest daughter, Calypso—so that the party can surprise him and strike him down.

Lady Lawler, a noblewoman, approaches the masquerading group almost immediately when they enter the party. She begs them to help her, and she reveals that she was gifted a necklace by Lady Salome that she cannot take off without the skin being flayed from her neck. In a side room, Rowan and Sariel assist the Lady and in doing so, earn her family’s support of Esther.

The rest of the nobles come fairly simply—it seems that they fall to flattery and power quite easily. Julian and Sariel do most of the convincing, and the most difficult noble to get on their side—Lord Rothmore—says that he will support Esther if and only if the party makes Karver’s...abdication quiet. “We don’t want a fuss, do we.”

The first dance starts. Julian and Sariel are pressed together, and in step with one another, they start relaying how they have now fully convinced the noble class that Esther ought to be on the throne. Rowan, on the other hand, is going between various dance partners that she does not know.

The sneaking group then makes their way down to Salome’s lab through an underground corridor that connects the castle and the Royal Temple. The three of them find 6 half-made flesh golems as well as two bloodstones as well as some kind of distilling process. Fen, Aeleyn, and Nemo burn the lab, making sure to destroy the bloodstones and the golems in their wake.

The dance continues, and as Rowans listen to the music, she notes it is a danse macabre. A dance toward death. Her last partner, Lord Fellgard, bows deeply as she changes partners once more. Rowan knows the danger of this ball, but part of her is very excited. Rowan’s always dreamed of fancy parties like this one, and finally, finally she’s living the stories she was told as a child. Rowan left home to go on adventures and ever since she stepped foot into Soraya, it felt like she’s been chasing a nightmare, not living a dream. So when Rowan’s next masked partner takes her in his arms, she allows herself to get carried away, just a little.

He twirls and spins Rowan around like they’ve danced this dance before together. Slowly Rowan and her mystery partner make your way away from the rest of the ball, just dancing where the music takes you. He wears a mask that causes his face to be blurred, like it’s somehow out of focus.

Rowan notices the scar on his neck first. It looks almost like a puncture wound. Her smile begins to falter as her instincts kick in.

“Don’t cause a fuss,” a familiar voice says, a casual lilt to his voice. The voice is one she knows well: it is the voice of Alder Strain. Rowan feels as a charm is cast upon her. She feel his grip on your waist, his hand come down on her like hot iron. “I’m just here to deliver a message: You cannot beat her.”

“Oh,” Alder adds, as if it’s an afterthought. “And this.” 

Rowan feels the knife in his stomach before she sees it.

SESSION 14 RECAP »

[deviantgrey]

So… I wrote a thing. I’m really tired and I don’t know what it is, but I wrote it. Sorry if it’s awful but I didn’t really edit it much, it was pretty much word vomit.

“My dear, quit fussing.” Leliana chastised. “We haven’t much time.”

Elisabeth gave a huff beneath her, but complied, allowing the bard to remove her hair from the bun it had near constantly been in for the last several months. Long locks of dark brown hair spilled out, all the way to the small of her back. She knew it would have been more practical to cut it when she joined the Warden’s, especially after Ostagar and everything that followed. But her mother had always been so proud of her daughter’s hair.

“A young lady’s hair is her crowning glory.” Eleanor would always say. Not that Elisabeth had paid her much heed at the time. No, she was to busy roughousing with Ser Rory or any of the guards who’d dare spar their liege lord’s favored daughter. She wore her hair up the majority of the time, only taking it out when her mother demanded, usually for some formal event.

Like a Landsmeet.

But this time, it wasn’t her mother’s deft hands brushing through her dark hair. No, she’d never have that again. Instead, Leliana worked through the nest of her hair that had only been taken down from its utilitarian bun for the occasional washing. She was no lady anymore. She was a warrior.

When she told Leliana as much, she had been given a heated scoff. “And who says you can’t be both?”

And so here they were, hours before the Landsmeet that would decide the future of Ferelden and its monarchy, playing with hair. Not to mention what Leliana had already done to her face. She’d been plucked and prodded, made up until she resembled the girl she had been when she left Highever, a girl she’d never thought to see again. Her skin was much darker from months in the sun, which had also left her hair several shades lighter than the near-black it had been. Eyebrows, once bushy, now sculpted to practiced perfection. Skin, once dull, scrubbed to a familiar glow. Lips rouged, eyes kohled, cheeks blushed.

Yet to her surprise, she looked no less a warrior than she had before. She supposed she was just… A prettier one. And she looked no less a lady than she was at Highever. She supposed she was just… A stronger one. She was lady and warrior both.

When Leliana finished her hair, a long, intricate braid draped over her left shoulder, she gasped, realizing that perhaps she had missed some of the trappings of nobility.

The final touch was her outfit, a gift from Arl Eamon. A light, gleaming silverite chain mail suit, black leather boots, and a stunning dark blue robe with silver accents, the Grey Warden colors. Pretty and strong. She reveled in her reflection, looking like a warrior queen, like she’d pictured Queen Rowan in her father’s tales of the rebellion.

Leliana gasped in delight at her work. “C'est magnifique!” She clasped her hands together and did a little dance. “Come, come! We must show everyone before the ceremonies begin!”

Despite herself, Elisabeth giggled and followed the bard out of her chambers and into the foyer where her companions waited. Only Leliana and Zevran were to accompany her and Alistair to the Landsmeet. Zevran stood in front of Alistair, fussing with his hair, ignoring his protests.

“Will you quit touching my hair?” Alistair huffed, smoothing it back into his preferred style. Elisabeth openly gaped at her fellow Warden. He was always handsome of course, but he looked absolutely resplendent in his brother’s golden armor, recovered from Ostagar. Anyone who had met Cailan or his father couldn’t deny the resemblance. He too, had been cleaned up completely head to toe.

As Zevran stepped aside, Alistair saw her. His hazel eyes widened, taking in her visage as she descended the steps. “Maker’s breath.” She heard him mutter, drawing a blush to her cheeks.

He stepped forward to meet her, gazing at her in wonder. “You– I–”

She laughed, caressing his face. “You clean up nicely, my king.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch at the title as he often did. He simply kissed her palm and said “As do you, my love.”

[blakesque]

[blakesque]

aggressively we all defend the role we play . . .  regrettably time's come to send you on your way . .  we've seen it all bonfires of trust flash floods of pain . .  .

[blakesque]

my life suffocates.

planting seeds of hate

I've loved, turned to hate

trapped far beyond my fate