#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella
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open starter //accepting
The Seven were not her gods, but Gysella felt the need to thank them regardless. Sometimes, she could still feel the sting in her ribs when she breathed, and the pain in her leg where she had twisted it in her attempt to flee. A reminder of what could have happened. The fate she avoided. So she knelt, the soft candlelight illuminating the statue of the mother she knelt before, adding to it by lighting a candle before her. She preferred this, to any other worship, to hymns or songs or prayer. Quiet, and her own. Of course, with so many in Highgarden, she did not expect to be alone for long. "Room enough for us both, my liege." She smiled, though it didn't reach dark eyes. "Join me?"
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location >> the halls time >> night open >> accepting replies
Never before had she been so thankful for her husbands colours as she was tonight, the red of her nightgown disguising the blood that soaked it through, though it clung to her skin. None of it is hers, though she does not need to check. Her own blood is saltwater this night, the sound of waves crashing in her ears in time with the beat of her heart. She walks slow, takes her time, listens out for singular footsteps rather than groups. No matter the adrenaline rushing through her, she is no fool. She is out of practice, armed with only a dagger, and not able to retreat. And yet, she cannot find it within herself to hide. She waits behind a wall, listens out for a single pair of footsteps echoing across stone, and acts. She whips around the corner, blade held high.
#blood tw#injury tw#death tw#violence tw#westeros.storm#𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔡𝔬 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭 - drop#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella
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closed for @steelfyre
Gysella stared into the flickering candle flame, a hand clutched to her throat. It couldn't be more different to the fires that had destroyed the keep, the fires that had nearly wiped them all from the face of the earth. And yet, she stared into it, as it burned lower, seeing it on the backs of her eyelids with every blink, and like that it was bigger, fiercer. It had her pulse thundering, and her mind blank to all but the flame. To burn... No Iron born wanted to go that way. Would the Drowned God have still welcomed her to his halls, if the fires had taken her? The thought makes her breath hitch, and she finally pulls herself from the doom. "I... I'm sorry. I believe I may have... Lost myself in thought." She pushed away the goblet, more than half full. "Perhaps less of that, for me. You were saying?"
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closed for @oftroje
Highgarden was beautiful, Gysella could not deny that. The gardens looked like something out of a painting, a blue sky with warm breeze so picturesque she almost couldn't believe it. But there was a tension in the air. The last time she had seen most of these people, had been just before the attack, though what was worse was searching the crowds for faces she feared she would not see again. Gysella was not an affectionate woman, she held little love for those outside of her direct circle, but to die like that... There were few she would wish it on. There had been reservations on coming at all. Was it worth the risk to life and limb? But, of course, the draw of power was one too tempting to ever ignore. With ever practiced grace, she moved slowly, like there was not a care in the world. "I never had the privilege of visiting Highgarden before. I am grateful, that the Tyrells have opened their doors to us all."
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"Better to undersell than over. I can be called a great many things, but boastful shall not be one of them." At least, not outwardly. Not outside of the confines of her rooms, nor the privacy of trusted ears. The youngest Baratheon was certainly not counted among them. She took a step back, finger tapping against the wood grain of the bow as she watched the girl fire, giving an appreciative nod. Close enough that she tilted head, auburn curls falling over shoulder as she considered it. "You make a tempting argument, my lady. But I am not dressed for the occasion. No, I think I would much rather sit from the sidelines and judge. Though I do thank you for the demonstration. It's so nice to know my coin will not be squandered, betting on you. Perhaps, after the celebrations, we could meet back here. By next celebration, I am sure I could be ready."
tyana took a step back, watching gysella's form. eyes trained on stance, on arm drawing back, on the breath taken before release. her gaze only drew to the target later, soft laughter falling at the spot hit. "you sold yourself short! nothing about that was rusty." though a brow did raise then. "unless you meant you are rusty from always hitting bullseye." another laugh fell, a smile stretched across her face even as she raised her bow. she waited a moment, sharpened gaze on the bullseye, adjusting aim along the gentle breeze kissing her skin. in the next breath, she released, smile widening before the arrow even struck its target --- even if it was an inch to the right of the bullseye. "try again, my lady. it may be worth entering, just to show your attempts are as worthy as any other's."
#𝔩��𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔨𝔢 - event#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#cursebrcken#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + tyana baratheon
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open starter // a c c e p t i n g — the brunch
Gysella had to resist the urge to s c o f f into her cup. She had to, for she found herself too surrounded by faces she could not trust. A farce, surely. Powers behind closed doors making a decision. They would choose their favourite, the ones they thought would be most easily controlled. For if they could not be the h a n d that guides the crown, they would be the p o w e r that guides the hand. She assumed as such, because it's what she would do, if given half the opportunity. She saw no reason to move, to find a council member and make promises she would have no intention of keeping, to even try. She did look across the room, to watch the reactions of others. "I'm sorry, I... Was lost in thought. So much to take in, so early in the day." Too early for a proper drink, at the very least. "What were you saying?"
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closed for @celestei
"Would you play along, if I say my leg still has not healed enough for a night full of dancing?" Dark eyes meet her husbands, mouth twisting into a half smile as she runs fingers over the dance card. Her voice was low, words intended only for the two of them, though a quick glance had her almost certain everyone was too invested in their own cards to be paying much attention to her. She was grateful for their first dance, to not have to dive headfirst into finding those names from her card, but to spend the entire night on the floor was a tiring concept indeed, without the relief of breaks with those she found easier to converse with. To stretch the truth and build in some of those breaks could be the difference between a pleasant conversation and a sharp tongue, as the night drew on, even if having to play on a weakness did go against her very essence. "It would spare feelings, I am sure."
#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + caspian lannister#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔨𝔢 - event#celestei
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closed for @unbowcd
"I see you have been having fun without me. Terribly rude of you, sister." Her nightgown is soaked with blood, a darker stain against red silk that clings to her like skin, but the smile she wears is disconnected, more at home within the Maiden's Ball than in the storm. Bright eyes, like wildfire, with her hand around a dagger, the only weapon available to her in Highgarden. Unbound auburn curls float around her, ends soaked with it. She is no lion this night, but scythe, and she is home in the violence. "I will not do you the insult of asking if you are unharmed, I will instead assume it. It is expected of you, after all."
#you didnt ask for this but.#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + elowyn harlaw#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔡𝔬 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭 - drop#blood tw#violence tw
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She had to do it, she rationalised. She had to kill the image he had of her, kill the shade or the fiction or the mummers farce she had been and let him see her as she was. Not the girl who had looked to him with stars in her eyes, but the woman wrapped in red silks, jewels at her wrists and ears and throat, once strong muscles weakened, softened. A lion had claws, a scythe had an edge, but Gysella had something else entirely. A creature of her own creation, no god had shaped her, only her own two hands, at the potters wheel. She was an abomination of her own making, and it was high time he see her. She could have continued her lie for a thousand lifetimes, having walked the steps from childhood, always knowing where the path would lead, but he had sent them off course, with his decision. He was caught up on their past, except seen in a different light, where she was still his friend and differences could be overcome with an apology. But unless that apology erased the pain, drew back the clock and revered the humiliation, took away the dark nights she had walked the balconies of Ten Towers, looking into the dark sea below with tears she would never admit to streaming down her face, then it was no use. "You gave me no choice." The truth, finally, with a soft chuckle that held no humour, though whether she meant then or now, even Gysella does not truly know. "You backed me into a corner, Dalton, as you love to do, and now you dislike what I've had to do to remove myself from it."
The one thing she knew about herself to be true, no matter which reflection she found, under all the fraud and lies and perfect smiles, was that whatever depraved beast lived under her skin would forever fight to be the last one standing. She would say whatever hurtful thing she could, poke wounds she knew would sting, just because he had provoked her. Or maybe entirely because he had. He was the one person who could get under her skin, the one person who could truly hurt her, and he stood in front of her with apologies and explanations, telling her he had wanted her, and the worst part was that he looked at her like they may just be true. He had been her god. Held the power of life and death in his hands, sailed the sea like he commanded it, because maybe he did. She hadn't needed religion, when she'd stood by his side, because he was it. And she would have followed him to the edges of the world, a devotee, an acolyte. He had been different, she had told herself, from the lieges who pushed her about the chess board like a piece in their control. He had been a man singular in accomplishment, and singular in her mind. She loved him. It was difficult to admit, even to herself, the word a heavy thing on her tongue, a feeling she wasn't sure she was even capable of, but the evidence stood before her, in the only man who could destroy her, if he so wished. Pull her apart lie by lie, thread by thread, until she stood before him the truest version of herself. Did he know how easily he could raze her?
Except when he'd held the blade to her, he hadn't. She'd stood, and she'd taken it, in the way she had accepted most of her life, unsure what she was even fighting against. Maybe because she didn't believe hm actually capable of it, the way she hadn't. Maybe because she believed she deserved it, which wasn't entirely untrue. Had the same thing that had stilled her hand stopped him as well? A candle at the alter of what they used to have, what could have been, a hundred lifetimes that would never be, a future for their home that would never come to fruition. He had set them back generations, an alliance that could have made them untouchable instead a burning wreck, a haunted keep. Tarnish and dust and ash in what could have been glittering. They would have destroyed each other, and she knows it, but what other future was there for her? Who would know her so deeply, that the mortal wound could be cast? If it was not Dalton that killed her, she wasn't sure what could.
"This is a gift, then." Gysella weighed the blade in her hand. A familiar weight, a grip she knew, and unseen by his eyes spins it in hand, the way she used to as a girl, an idle pleasure she had forbidden herself, the way she had forbidden herself a great many things. But she was not that girl anymore, and the realisation was sudden and complete, because that girl would not have seen enemy's open defences like this and not struck, taking every advantage, even if it was underhanded, dishonourable. She had no honour left, so that was of no concern. But as the glass shattered, the red dripped, she imagined it was his blood, and bile rose to the back of her throat. She wanted him dead, and she had the chance. She had a million chances. And she couldn't. She tucks the blade into the belt around her waist, taps a perfect fingernail against the blade. She would get her revenge, one day. Bring him as low as she felt, make him stoop to her level and force him lower still. That revenge would not come on the edge of a blade, and certainly not when it had been handed to her. That was too easy.
"I would rather a blade than your apology, in any case. This, I could get some use from." Another lie, rolling from the tongue easily. It would be buried at the bottom of a trunk, the edge of the blade dulling with time, in the way she had buried herself. She had wanted him, at one point, and that was as vile a thought as any. She truly would have given herself to him, her body, her soul, for a man who hadn't even noticed the truth of her. To beg for the scraps of him he deigned to give her, and treat them as precious as jewels, and she would have done it happily. He said he wanted her, that it was for. She looked to the edge of her sleeve, the blood drying on it, his blood. With a feral sort of rage, she ripped away the hem, pulling away the fabric until she could drop it to the floor, cleansed from him. Where had that softness come from, she wondered, the kind that made her want to clean up a mess that she had not caused? It fit her ill, the worst of any of the masks she had tried. "The least I am owed, in truth, for the inconvenience caused."
How long had they been stood there? It felt like a lifetime, and the blink of an eye, and more. How she had spilled truth and lies woven as one until the room spun, until even she didn't know which was which. She hated him, hated that he could inspire such emotion in her. A crime as serious as any act committed against her. "I... Will be missed." She looks to the door, though she makes no move, but soon enough someone would look for her, and it would do her no favours to be found with Dalton Greyjoy, with tears on her face and a blade by her side when he bled. Eventually, she would have to turn and leave, walk away from the site of the crash. She would lie in bed with the images of what could have been flashing before dark eyes, not only a past long gone, but the end of a night had she only been brave enough to push forward. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, like a hand wrapped around the flesh. "And you will be too, I suppose. You best not keep your wife waiting."
you loved a fiction . dalton greyjoy — the first born son of the reaper of pyke , heir to the salt throne , ironborn personified , drowned god's endowment , carved by piety , forced by the tides , falls into the ragged trenches of his mind . the lady gysella harlaw ... no , lannister , blood no longer of sea and salt , but mortal red gloved and gold armored , growling like the lioness she made herself . she speaks , her lips moving , rage so archaic swelling beneath her skin , tugging and pulling until it was scarlet . yet the lord heir hears not one word , not a fucking articulation of the unending atrocities she had suffered from his inaction . that thing does not exist . the foaming , the ringing , and the creaking growing louder in his head . itch spreading from his wrist , crawling to his elbows , sharp pain making his fingers twitch . it still does not . something within him falls , like lumber crashing upon the ground without a sound . the screams lingered , some his own in his terror - ridden slumber , clawing his way from the clutches of his sheets so he may find air . chest tightening as he finds himself face to face with the sheer reality that nothing was and is real . that the pain he had lived with , the grappling sorrow he endured , was all of his doing , all for naught . he was right to swing his sword . destroy the mantel bannered by the iron islands as their unyielding devotion . but under the weight of his blade , it shattered fairly quick for men who declare themselves loyal and faithful . wasted are the years spent in solitude and penance , washing his skin of the blood and brutality he dared not carry to their shore out of respect . for what? a bride forged to bring him under their control . she was right , he was right . he was not a god then , no deity will falter the way he had , and be tricked into licking at wounds driven by his own daggers . no god wallows in self - pity and regret for a mortal who wears a mask . the drowned god salvaged him from making such a mistake , from remaining to be such a man . he was right to put his life in the hands of such a being , instead of a woman . his desire almost became his undoing . he would have delivered the lady harlaw to the halls himself , after peeling her crafted skin and undressing her act . it would have unleashed the unthinkable , sank the iron islands to the pits of the sea bed . i never cared for our god. and the blasphemy that poured from her very lips he once dreamed of claiming , the final arrow shot to his darkened heart .
he may speak one tongue , and dream in another now . he may , truly , allow himself — heart , body , mind , and soul , to be consumed by dominion , to bathed in iron , black , and b l o o d . if he cannot be a proper son , a proper husband , then he can be a kraken who would drink and swallow a deity that came before time itself . he had no other choice now , he must become a god ... if he cannot have peace , he will demand fear . ❝ i will have you do nothing , my lady . i hold no authority over your pride , your contentment , or the joys of your choices . those are not your husband's , or your father's , those are yours , ❞ he will bear the burden of delight , hopes , and anguish , as others have always seen fit . the young boy that thrived within him had and lost nothing , only clung to nonexistent object of desire and cause of regret that he used for excuses for his hesitations . and now , he is rid of it . freedom tasted like blood and sea water , just like every emotion his mortal frame can conjure . ❝ as are mine . ❞ ❝ though i'm afraid i owe you an apology for something else entirely , ❞ his heart ached and quivered as he yet remained a man . goal unrealized , he is left to wade through the thickened , bloodied swamps of the realm until his time to leave knocks upon the vengeance' sails . ❝ i seem to have mistaken you for another , lady lannister . ❞ years had made him skillful at the art of being dismissive , embodying callousness to survive the moral shards . dalton did what he can to keep what little memory of his past he can to live of . and to know a portion of what keeps him humane is a lie , there is no war vicious and wounding enough to quell the agony he is sitting with . ❝ i spent years unable to forgive myself for choosing faith over love , for causing pain . but i realized there is no cause for regret , i owed an apology to one who does not exist , or so i've been told . ❞ he is desperate to find grace , even a drop of courtesy , amidst the frustration cutting his skin like the edges of broken glass . he walks past the lady , not an ounce of warmth to spare . his heart beating furiously in his chest as he pulls the dagger off the wall , a sense of ridicule slapping his face as he resumed his place before her . ❝ how foolish of me , to come offering my life and the truth only she deserved , bearing my soul to ... fiction . ❞ dalton , with utmost gentleness takes gysella's hand once again , places the dagger upon it . turning his back to supply himself with whatever liquor he could find . shaking hands pouring everywhere but the cup before he throws the bottle aside , glass and red shattered and spilled everywhere .
#at some point i have to stop making this longer but. 1.3k later and its not :)#violence tw#weapon tw#blood tw#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + dalton greyjoy#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#wcrfcres#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#its also not proofread but. very little i write is proofread so if you see a mistake. no.
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closed for @ravasz
The blood on her hands was drying, congealing in the cool breeze as she stalked the hallway. Scythe lives up to her name, a weapon, because what else was there to do but revert? Shed lion's cloak and strike out into the night armed with little more than a dagger and the desire to harm. Ostensibly, should anyone ask, she is there trying to protect those who found themselves without weapon, that is the excuse she will give when she is inevitably asked, so when she sees Martyn Stark, she cannot simply walk on. No, she stops, flexes stiff fingers around the blade, and clears her throat to make herself known. "Your wolf could make short work of these attackers. I would not like to be on the receiving end of their claws or teeth."
#this is what i get for posting starters before a drop#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#ravasz#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + martyn stark#𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔡𝔬 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭 - drop#blood tw#violence tw
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@disrcpairs said "you’re not interesting enough to be offensive."
"Now, now, my liege." Gysella clicked her tongue, a damn near gruesome smile pulling at her features. "Throughout my thirty five years, I have been called a great deal of things. Some flattering, most not. And I can tell you, not once has someone insinuated I am not interesting." She leaned forward, dark eyes as alight as any flame. Any thought of being offensive was sent to the wayside, she knew herself enough to know she was more bitter poison than palatable wine, and while she did try to water self down, she had started to care less and less of common opinion of herself. "What could possibly lead you to that conclusion?"
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@sacrificeds said "if you only trust the people you grew up with, you won’t make many allies."
"Well, does that not make us all lucky, to have such a range of nobles in these halls." Gysella smiled, though she knew in her heart, she was more likely to distrust someone for the sin of being born in her home than she was to trust them, a crime in and of itself that cemented old relationships as either regretfully severed or bridges joyfully burned. "Do you suppose that is the point of us all being gathered? To help strengthen ties outside of ones own homeland? For, surely, it cannot simply be to have a greater crowd to celebrations."
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"Where should I place it, then? I bear blame enough for the situation we find ourselves in." In the eyes of her parents, at least, this had been something she had brought onto them, a failing on her part in some way. The whispers she had heard made her sound undesirable, for a woman with no title to so easily pull attention from her. She had heard others, of course, but none had followed her into the small hours of the night, haunted her dreams and muttered in her ear the very words she had feared. "And have grown stronger for it. Cast your blame, if you wish, and I shall carry that too. But I have little sway over the court. If you find opinion falling one way or the other, perhaps you should look inwards." She smiled at that, a cold thing. She had never bid anyone else, besides maybe her husband, share her opinion on the future lord and lady of Pyke. It had not been her doing, but that isn't to say it wasn't delicious to see. "Too right. I apologise, deeply, for overstepping." She is careful with her apology, specific to the situation and insincere regardless. "I suppose it makes no difference, now." It wasn't as though she could turn back the clock, stop the resentment from forming or warn younger self not to place all hopes into one basket. What is past is past, and there was no way but forward. "I think I shall find better wine elsewhere." She leaves her cup and rises slowly from her seat with a barely contained roll of her eyes. She pushes herself to make it look intentional, like she had all the time in the world, rather than necessity to keep her leg from buckling under her. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
" misplaced anger like that of a petulant child . shall i place the blame for my experiences onto your shoulders for you to bear the weight of as well ? " as if she had been embraced by anyone aside from her husband , least of all surrounded in court . already , she felt as though they would continue to circle around each other on points that only one of them heard from the other and accepted . aisha saw now that she wouldn't ever find peace in the court , even far from the rest of the nobles as there would always be gysella lannister to glare at her back . it was exhausting . chin moved to rest on the palm of her hand , chocolate gaze no longer on the lannister lady , rather , the various others that milled about . " i'm sure we have many things in common . " unfortunate , they would likely never know what those commonalities were . sylaisha looked back to gysella then , calculated as she watched her before she shook her head . " then you won't find what you look for here . i owe nothing to you to feel as though i should lay myself bare so that you will better understand a choice that wasn't made by me . especially as , even with understanding , i doubt you'll accept it . " the anger and bitterness weren't emotions that they shared . all aisha had ever wanted since agreeing to marry dalton greyjoy was to find a way to exist peacefully with her husband and support him in all that he desired . she'd stepped into cool waters and fire , doubly , since first going to pyke to tread water and dodge hurled insults at her , her standing , her parents ━━ she didn't give a damn about any of it . dalton's choice had been made , and as he would protect her , she would honor him . " i have nothing for you , aside for wine should you like more . "
#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + sylaisha greyjoy#crvwncd
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@vi0light said "are you thinking of wearing that one?"
"Perhaps." She held up the blue silk with a frown, before tossing it onto her bed. Trunks of fine silks, and she still felt she had nothing to wear, though was it the fault of the gowns or her own restless spirit, simply looking for an excuse to buy more to feel something. "I fear I would look like a walking Tully banner, though. I feel as though the red is overplayed, and the green is... Fine. And don't speak to me of violet, I can scarce look at the colour the same again. It would never come close to the vibrance of your eyes, and so what is the point of it? No, that's it. I'll simply have to attend dinner in my underclothes, 'fore there isn't a thing to wear."
#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + rhaenys targaryen#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#vi0light
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closed for @hamart1as
"Let me sit with my misery, brother." Hand braced against forehead like that would cease the relentless pounding against her skull, her own doing. She had not overindulged at the ball like most who felt the after effects, her own drinking coming much later in the night, back in her rooms to somehow justify her dance with Dalton, as though anything could. Curtains drawn, fire out to allow a slight chill in the room, because she had always preferred the cold, there was nothing ferocious about her, lounged in her chair in a well of self-pity. "It is of my own cause, and yet I find that does not lessen the sting regardless."
#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + euron harlaw#hamart1as
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closed for @wcrfcres
"My deepest apologies." The words are insincere and half muttered as she brushes past unfamiliar faces in an attempt to find any ally in this storm, worried about being swept into the arms of strangers as the last two songs of the night begin, and yet when dark eyes look up to the lord she has accidentally pushed herself into, a worse fear comes to light. Not a stranger, except in the ways that matter most. Not a friend, because a friend would never be so callous. Enemy, her pride called, a bloodthirsty crowd that raged in her mind. The word did not fit, but she forced it to anyway, the crowd dulling out any sense left to her. Brown eyes are sharp now, as the edge of a blade, hand pulled back like he burned her skin. "I shall not get in your way." The words sharp off her tongue, the same shallow courtesies she would grant anyone, with none of the kindness she pretended she had, though even that has its limits. "If you would ever get out of my way."
#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella + dalton greyjoy#𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 - gysella#wcrfcres#𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔰 - act II#𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔨𝔢 - event#me: this is short and im gonna keep it short#future me is already laughing
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