#among lions

[langwrites]

Tag Game: find the word Tagged by: @windwardstar Rules: find the words in your WIP and post 'em.

Words: Top, Stone, Glare

Tagging: whoever feels like it.

new words: Out, Crow, Walk

WIP: It Don't Bite--YES IT DO Word: Stone

Kei’s vision blurred even as she stared at the window and her own stone-faced reflection.  Isobu’s eyes, staring back in real life and in her head.  You already know I will accept no new jinchūriki after you, Isobu said, his mental voice dropping to a whisper. This is merely an extension of that certainty.  Well, we can certainly say we’ll never have to face the music alone. Kei wiped at her eyes with one of the overlong sleeves. Futilely, thanks to the lenses of the domino mask and the earlier application of spirit gum. But it let her summon enough control to blink back the pooling tears before they could make wearing a mask even more inconvenient.  No, never alone. 

WIP: A Ninja's Guide to Gotham Word: Glare

Hayate let out a wordless groan, hand still up because the dust was still airborne. “Do you have to do this now?”  “When else?” Obito asked, but he got off the couch and shook off the dust like a dog. His pockets and pouches, loaded down with supplies not stowed in Kamui, smacked against him as he moved.  It somehow made the cloud of rotten detritus worse, and Hayate slid off the counter so he could curl up on the barstool next to Akaboshi’s and hide his face in his folded arms. He glared in Obito’s direction the whole time he approached. If not for the dust, Hayate might bare his teeth in a wordless biting threat. Obito could grow back about half his fingers anyway. 

WIP: part of an Among Lions smut scene set in the distant future, actually, but this part is sfw. Word: Top

“You would know best,” Lambert agreed, lying down next to her after a moment to consider his options. Propping his head up on one hand, he decided to clasp her nearer hand in a way that left their fingers intertwined. “Are you planning to fall asleep like that?” Aversa turned her face toward him, otherwise refusing to move. “Atop the sheets and while excluding you? Never. But if you try to wrap me up like a recalcitrant cat again, I will complain.”  “Noted.”

[trek-tracks]

Sorry, we can't move them

Source

[musicalyeetreblr]

Wicked characters as things in my photo album

Candle

Rain

Liir

Killyjoy

Avaric

Trism

Fiyero

Sarima

Elphaba

Glinda

[cryptic-thott]

I don’t think Sansa would particularly like using a sword, but I don’t think Ned would allow his children to go without the means to protect themselves. I think she would enjoy archery and have a adequate skill in it, but she wouldn’t be a novice in swordsmanship.

Also, I think a lot of traditional northern dresses stop at the ankle, something to try and stop the bottom of the dresses from freezing? They also don’t often wear slippers or sandals. Most, if not all northern women wear thick boots lined with fur.

[i-am-iz]

tin boq!!! a bunch of tin boqs… tin boq? <3

tin boq but with his frien

[fandom-puff]

A Doe Among Lions

Trumpets heralded the arrival of the royal host, and Helaena Baratheon readied herself in the courtyard to welcome them back to the Red Keep. She watched with impatient excitement as numerous guards and knights flooded through the gates, each carrying the golden banners of the king, the crowned stag fluttering in the light breeze. Soon enough, the great destrier of King Robert Baratheon trotted proudly through the courtyard, and as he handed the reigns over to his steward and dismounted the snorting warhorse, what remained of the court of the Red Keep sank to their knees, their eyes downcast as the king surveyed his household.

Robert nodded in approval, and as he was about to turn to talk to his boyhood friend, Lord Eddard Stark, the only pair of eyes not fixed to the floor caught his own. Striding over, he offered out his hand to their owner, and when she slipped her small hand into his gloved one, he hauled her up into his embrace, lifting her clear off the ground as he laughed.

“Sister!” The King cried, his blue eyes crinkling as he set Lady Helaena down. She offered him a small curtsy- dismissed with a gruff “none of that,”- and she beamed at her eldest brother.

“Beloved brother,” Helaena said gently in greeting, before turning to her expressionless sister-by-law and offering her a curtsy too. “My queen,” she murmured, and Cersei nodded her acknowledgement before seeing to her children. “I have been so terribly lonely waiting for your return,” Helaena told Robert, who frowned slightly.

“When did you arrive in King’s Landing? You better not have sailed, girl, the seas are too violent around now. And where in the Seven Hells is Stannis,”

Helaena allowed Robert to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow, walking her into the Red Keep as the rest of his retinue disbanded. “I came here a week or two ago, you took longer than I expected to return,” she chastised lightly. “And I did not sail here. I am sensible enough to not risk Shipbreaker Bay at this time of year, if you can believe such a thing,” Robert chuckled at her wit, having always had a soft spot for his little sister. “As for Stannis…” she continued, “I have not seen our dear brother. Lord Baelish tells me he left for Dragonstone not long after you left for Winterfell. Perhaps there has been trouble with his household at Dragonstone…”

Robert contemplated her words for a moment, before shaking his head slightly. “Strange. Perhaps we’ll receive a raven from him in due course,”

Helaena smiled, somewhat relieved, having expected Robert to at least bluster curses at Stannis for his hasty retreat. “Nevermind Stannis, at least for now. You must tell me what Winterfell was like,”

—

Helaena settled back into life in the Red Keep with practiced ease, having made the journey from the Stormlands to King’s Landing half a hundred times before. Robert had a set of chambers reserved solely for her use in Maegor’s Holdfast, and he had one of his own Kingsguard posted outside her chambers both to protect her.. She especially loved it when Robert had Ser Barristan mind her door- he had so many wonderfully adventurous stories from all his years as a knight. Custom dictated that she could not be named Princess, but Robert often bent and broke tradition to honour her as his beloved sister, even though she was so far down in the line of succession that she would never even touch the Iron Throne with her own flesh.

What she loved the most about the Red Keep, however, was being near to her family. She was closest in age to Renly, who was just over a year her senior. The pair had been all but children when Robert’s Rebellion began, though the terror of the Siege on Storm’s End was a foggy blur in Helaena’s memory; she had a feeling that Stannis had shielded his youngest siblings from the true horrors of war- as best he could, at least. For that she was grateful.

Renly spent much of his time in King’s Landing, despite being the Lord of Storm’s End. He loved the pomp and pageantry of the capital, Helaena knew, and his counsel as Master of Laws was needed. Stannis had been Master of Ships, and Robert had granted him Dragonstone. That left Helaena at Storm’s End, alone but for the childhood servants who had raised her, Renly’s leftover retinue, and Robert’s bastard son.

Helaena adored her niece and nephews too. Tommen was sweet and gentle, Myrcella the same, and when she visited King’s Landing they begged and pleaded their lady mother to let them skip their lessons with the maesters and septas in favour of playing come-into-my-castle and maidens-and-monsters with their aunt. Joffrey was not interested in playing childish games with the others anymore- “I am almost a man grown, Aunt Helaena. The Crown Prince has no need for such games!”- but he would still walk arm in arm with her and offer her a dance at feasts with all the gallantry a Prince should have.

Upon the King’s return, the Red Keep was brimming with new faces: Eddard Stark and his northmen. Robert had wanted to bring his sister before the new Hand immediately upon arrival, but Helaena had touched his arm gently and persuaded him to let Lord Stark and his daughters eat and bathe and rest after their weeks on the King’s Road. “If only your Small Council had shown the same courtesy as your sister, Your Grace,” Eddard had said grimly.

When Robert had decided the northerners had had enough time to recuperate, Eddard had bowed his head to her and kissed the black jet ring at her finger. “My lady,” he said courteously. “I’m not sure if you remember me. You were but a girl when we last met,”

“How could I forget you, Lord Eddard, who fought so valiantly for my brother, against both the Targaryens and the Ironmen,” she replied pleasantly, though in truth her memories of Eddard Stark were vague. She had been a girl when they last crossed paths, before even the Greyjoy Rebellion. But he was just as she remembered: tall and serious (though his hair had a little more grey in it these days), so she spoke the words with truth.

Lord Eddard smiled at her courtesies, before stepping to the side and beckoning his daughters forward. “My daughters, My Lady,” he said. “Sansa,” he nodded to the taller of the pair, a beautiful girl with striking blue eyes and long auburn hair. “And Arya,” he nodded to the smaller, skinnier girl. She was the image of her lord father, dark haired and long faced. They looked at Helaena curiously, their eyes flicking between her and Robert, as if trying to figure out how two Baratheons could look so very different. Just wait until they see Stannis, Helaena thought shrewdly.

“Such beauties,” Helaena smiled to the girls. Sansa beamed, and Arya cocked her head to the side. “You are so very lucky to have one another, my ladies. I only ever had brothers growing up, and Robert and Stannis are so much older than I am,” she grinned over her shoulder at her brother, who shook his head good naturedly.

“Less of the ‘old’, girl,” he said, though a wide grin spread across his face.

Helaena turned away from her brother, and back to the two Stark girls. She took one of their hands in each of hers. “We must sup one day, or take tea together. I could show you the gardens, if you’d like. Or the towers, or the crypts if you are in the mood for adventure. Only if your Lord Father permits it though,” she added with a smile to Eddard. Sansa and Arya looked up at their father with hope glimmering in their eyes.

“If you are good,” he said with a smile, answering their unspoken question. “And if I hear from Septa Mordane that there has been no squabbling,” he added. The girls nodded, bade Helaena farewell, curtsied to the King, and went on their way back to the Tower.

Helaena smiled. “Your daughters are beautiful, my lord,” she said softly. “And I am sure your other children honour you just the same,” she added. She turned to Robert. “By your leave, brother. I shall leave you and Lord Stark to your tourney planning,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye- it was no secret that Eddard was not best pleased with the prospect of the Hand’s Tourney.

Eddard bowed his head as she left. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she,” Robert said, coming to his side. “Wilful though, Ned. Stubborn as a mule. I swear, she’s the reason Stannis went bald,”

Ned smiled a tight smile. “With you three as brothers, I am sure she had to grow a thick skin,” he said.

Robert grinned. “Renly was the worst for it,” he said. “It’ll be a miracle if he can sire any children at all, the amount of kicks to the bollocks he’s taken over the years. Oh, her septa used to tell her off something rotten for it, but I could only laugh, to tell you the truth of it,” he smiled his ruddy smile.

Ned nodded slowly. “And what of her having children of her own?” He asked. “Have you and Stannis managed to arrange a match for her? She must be what… ten-and-seven by now?”

“Ten-and-nine,” Robert corrected. “Twenty in a few moon’s time,” he shook his head. “Stannis is keen to have her wedded and bedded before her twentieth nameday. He’s of the thought it should’ve been done long ago, but…”

“But no suitable suitors have come forth?” Ned supplied gently. He knew the feeling, having had a younger sister of his own, and not being terribly keen on the betrothal between his eldest daughter and Robert’s eldest son.

“Gods, no. They’re awful,” Robert complained. “Despite all the love I have for you and your wife, I won’t wed her to Edmure Tully. Robert Arryn is a boy of six- she’ll be barren before he’s of age- and longer still before Lysa loosens his swaddling cloths. I refuse to whore her out to Dorne. And Cersei has been pointing every golden haired, sniveling little lion cub to whom she’s a cousin or an aunt out to Helaena whenever she sees her. D’you know my squire, Kevan Lannister’s lad… ah, I forget their names, they all look the bloody same… anyway, Cersei suggested I betroth her to him. I’m not wedding my sister off to a bloody squire, no matter how much gold he shits. The only Lannister I’d even consider is Tywin, and by the gods, you know how much I hate the old bastard, Ned, but at least he isn’t some poxy green lad,”

Ned laughed lightly, and he couldn’t help but agree with the King, though his reasoning was a lot darker- despite all their courtesies, the Lannisters were no friends to the Starks, and Ned could not help but question their loyalty to the Baratheons.

“There’s always the Ironmen,” Ned said wryly. “Theon is still my ward; Baelon Greyjoy may see it as an honour for his heir to be wedded to the king’s sister. It could lessen any enmity that might still lurk after all these years,”

Robert harrumphed at that. “It’d give that old squid the wrong idea, ideas above his station. Although I’m sure you’ve raised young Greyjoy in the ways of the wolf, Ned, I will not risk it,” he sighed and carried on. “Would that your son, the eldest one, Robb… would that he were older…”

“Robb is a boy of fourteen, and his sister younger still; yet Sansa is the one with the betrothal,” Ned reminded him. “There would not be so long a wait as that which would happen if you wed her to the Vale,”

Robert only grunted. “I don’t mean to insult you, Ned, but I want her protected,” he said lightly. “Your boy has only known summer,”

Ned considered his words. “Aye. Winter is coming,” he conceded, and Robert hummed in agreement.

“Grim words, you Starks have,” he replied. “But they have the right of it. Perhaps a northern marriage would do her good. She has the spirit for it. That Jon Umber of yours, the Smalljon I mean. Now there’s a man, Ned!” he said, his morose expression turning into a grin as he rubbed his hands together.

Ned smiled slightly, trying to picture the sweet Lady Helaena next to the Smalljon- who was almost as tall as his Lord Father, the Greatjon Umber, and growing still. The King and the Hand continued their walk, talking of men and warriors, of battles and betrothals, and winters yet to come.

[cryptidlark]

“You cling to me so—do you still trust me, after all this?”

He said in a low, broken voice, “I have always trusted you.”

[izunias-meme-hole]

Ranking The Ushiromiya's Based On How Good At Among Us They Would Be

Kinzo: 0/10 - My guy would at least do his tasks, but he's always voted out first based on vibes and how he is.

Krauss: 0/10 - Ass as an imposter, and as a cremate he's always the first to die.

Natsuhi: 7/10 - Very good crewmate, always reports bodies if she sees one, but her imposter is flawed because her lying could easily get torn apart by a gut feeling.

Jessica: 8/10 - She'll keep her guard up at all times as a crewmate, won't hesitate to vote someone out based on a feeling, but her imposter is slightly better than her mothers.

Eva: 9/10 - Effective crewmate, always convincing even if she is condescending, and her imposter is almost perfect.

Hideyoshi: 5/10 - Just minding his business as a crewmate and then his neck gets snapped. His imposter on the other hand gets kicked out immediately after he kills someone, not because he's a bad liar, but because someone always sees his ass in the act.

George: -100/10 - Touched Among Us once, broke his computer in a fit of rage, has sworn himself off from playing it again.

Rudolf: 8/10 - Much like Eva, he's an effective crewmate and his imposter is also almost perfect. Though unlike Eva, he reeks of too much snake oil to be trusted so he gets ejected half the time, even if he isn't the imposter.

Kyrie: 10/10 - It doesn't matter how many red flags she'd give off, you'd never see her coming.

Battler: 10/10 - Actually a pretty competent crewmate who survives off pure luck sometimes and hates suspecting someone he knows. Though if he has to play the imposter, he'll play the imposter.

Ange: 8/10 - An amazing crewmate, will say "If I die, the imposter is X", and her imposter is good.

Rosa: 5/10 - Would try to play like Eva and somehow fail in one way or another.

Maria: 5/10 - Good crewmate, but her imposter is found out immediately. She also promotes trolling and second impostering to someone in particular.

Lion: 9/10 - Helpful crewmate, and she carried elements of that in her imposter. She can also lie pretty well, but ultimately her imposter needs some work.

Beatrice: 100/10 - If you've finished Umineko, you know that Beatrice would be the ultimate imposter.

[silviakundera]

So I've been listening to the Romance of The Three Kingdoms podcast, which is fantastic, but it's progressing very slow cause I just play it during my commute and I constantly have to rewind things 3 or 4 times because it's always like, wait, which of the 55 characters are you again?

and since I'm asking questions..;

why does everyone always have 10,000 men to ride out with?

can nobody be chill? you dudes are always sobbing & swearing allegiance unto death and then like 3 months later some governor gives you a fine horse and all bets are off.

how does anything get done in this country when you're always feasting for 2 days and betraying your once and future allies at the slightest provocation???

I mean ya'll are faithless hoes.

it really took banging an official's hot daughter, when someone else thought they were promised the hot daughter, in order for everyone to decide to overthrow and murder Dong Zhou. All of the public torture fests, abusing the populace, embezzlement... unpleasant but apparently not a dealbreaker.

It's really always like, omg my dad got murdered in your providence and to quench my anger I gotta massacre all the residents.

and ok, this guy has a way with flattery so I'll spare his life ⏩⏩ (guy with a flare for flattery returns; u and your whole family die)

STOP SPARING OBVIOUSLY DANGEROUS PEOPLE'S LIVES, FOR THE LOVE OF 🤦

so yeah im having a good time

[wiirocku]

Ecclesiastes 9:4 (NET) - But whoever is among the living has hope; a live dog is better than a dead lion.

Better to Be Poor but Alive than Rich but Dead

[esc-is-holding-me-hostage]

I've only had Katarsis for two and a half weeks but if they don't win tomorrow, I will kill everyone in Lithuania and then myself

[langwrites]

Sorry if you've answered this b4, but is Among Lions still in the works? I just read all of it and it was very 👌👌👌👌👌👌

Strictly speaking, yes. I've just had a hell of a time coming up with motivation for it.

The way I tend to write scenes is that I like to lean on an opening line or opening paragraph that helps get into the POV character's head, and Aversa has decided to be difficult. Which isn't out of character for her, actually.

Also, I tended not to get a lot of feedback for the story relative to some of my other works, which means I was mostly motivating myself. This is an entirely subjective thing, but I also have a tendency to feed off other people's enthusiasm if it's mirrored back? Idk, it's a thing with me. Sooner or later, the well runs dry without rain somewhere.

I coincidentally started reading a lot of Batman fics around December, to the point where my friends were like "Ah, I see the Next Thing on the horizon."

Might've shot my own muse with that one.

[rozecrest]

main character of the wicked years: can i please get this knowledge you may have that might give me certainty about my origin

literally everyone: no. fuck you. ambiguous forever

[cryptic-thott]

Arya becomes a fairly fearsome Fighter in her teenage years. It’s hard to find her a husband tbh not that she particularly wants one for the time being

I think she’s Rob’s shadow after Jon goes to the wall. He humors her for the most part, letting her tag along hunting and to most of the meetings. He likes that she’s interested in learning how to keep winterfell together

[wyrd-author]

So I’ll be the first to admit this is a weird one. I wanted to experiment with combining separate books into one large omnibus. The Wicked Years Series (which was the inspiration for the musical Wicked) is so full of weird things I figured it would be fitting to combine them into one thicc volume. It’s now up for sale in my shop at the link in my bio.

All four Wicked Years books (Wicked, Son of a Witch, A Lion Among Men, Out of Oz) were bound together in black hand dyed sienna leather with green foiled page edges and green vinyl tooling. Normally I would have charged more for this thicc boy but the green foil page edging is a little splotchy in some parts because it was impossible to press the pages tight enough for the edging process.

[fandom-puff]

A Doe Among Lions

Chapter 1: The Hand’s Tourney

A Doe Among Lions masterlist

ROBERT

How he hated Lannisters.

They were all much of a muchness: self-righteous and proud and green-eyed and blonde.

It was as though his wife followed him everywhere he went, although he did not actually know (nor care) where she was half the time. But her kin were everywhere. Her uncle’s lad, Lancel, poured his wine. Though the boy snivelled and shook at his booming voice, Robert could see the hatred glinting in those eyes. When Jaime Lannister minded his door while he ate and drank and shat and whored, he knew those emerald eyes that were twinned with his wife’s narrowed in distaste. Tywin’s eyes were icier than all of the North combined, but at least he had the good grace to keep to Casterly Rock.

But Seven Hells was Cersei the worst. Oh, she smiled and laughed and said all the right things, but by the gods was she cold. Colder than any northern bride ever would have been- his Lyanna was warm as they came, summer incarnate, with flowers weaved through her hair like a nymph. Cersei was easy enough on the eyes, but her regal beauty and her hard glare would never compare to his sweet winter rose.

He had decided very early on into his reign that emeralds were his least favourite gem.

At least his pavilion was separate to hers, and with Ned Stark by his side, the trumpets sounding and the banners snapping in the wind it was like the good days again. He had always said that his great antlered helm was far lighter than the crown he now wore.

It took little to make Ned Stark relent to this tourney; that frozen old wolf knew that the King’s word was law. And so the stands and the pavilions were erected; the aurochs were slayed and dressed and salted for the feasts; Dornish and Arbor wine was rolled in by the barrel; and the nobles and knights and commons all flooded to the Capital in preparation for the Hand’s Tourney.

“This tourney has naught to do with me,” Ned had protested weakly.

“I named you my Hand, it has everything to do with you,” Robert had responded, slapping his friend jovially on the back. When Ned changed tack and began fretting about coin, Robert had waved him off. “Littlefinger will find the copper, he always does,” he said easily.

Ned had grumbled that a tourney this grand would cost gold, but Robert simply laughed and said “Littlefinger finds his ways. This is how the Southron lords do it, Ned- best get used to it.”

—

He had taken his seat in the royal stand, waved his hand at the commons who called his name and called for the gods to bless him, and had his snivelling cupbearer pour his wine.

His eyes roved over the crowds, squinting for a flash of white scale armour. “Barristan,” he called, and the captain of his guard leaned closer.

“Your Grace?”

“Who have you set to guard my sister today. I would not have her alone with this many strangers about,”

Ser Barristan nodded. “‘Tis Ser Jaime’s turn this morn, your Grace, and I shall man his place once he takes his turn at the joust,” the king grunted, and Barristan nodded into the distance. “I see them there, your Grace, with the Queen and Prince Joffrey,”

Robert squinted, and sure enough there was a gaggle of colour, bookended by the white armour of Jaime Lannister and the dull mail of the Hound. The Prince had a fondness for Lannister’s dog, but Clegane was fearsome enough that people gave him a wide berth, so Robert permitted him to mind the boy. He spied Balon Swann a few paces from the group; no doubt he was minding the queen.

Cersei leant her golden head towards Helaena, and the younger woman tilted her head back. Robert fancied he could imagine the sound of her pleasant laughter as she tittered at the Queen’s remark. He pressed his lips together; he misliked the thought of Cersei influencing his sister, and he could almost picture her gilded claws piercing the girl’s shoulders under the guise of sisterly guidance.

When his queen joined him at the royal stands, their children ushered behind her, he kissed the ring at her finger as she sat down. She smiled pleasantly at the commons who called for her, just as Robert had, but he could see the lack of warmth in her eyes. He grunted, looking away from his bride. “And where is my sister?” He called to nobody in particular.

“She is with Uncle Renly, father, and Uncle Jaime,” said Myrcella. He nodded in acknowledgement to the Princess, before his youngest son spoke up.

“And with Lord Littlefinger,” he said. “We wanted to stay with them but our Lady Aunt said we must join you, father,”

“Lord Baelish, Tommen,” corrected Cersei. “And Helaena is quite right. You are the remain in the royal stands unless commanded otherwise. Look, now, they’re starting,” her voice was drowned out by a blast from the trumpets as Jory Cassel and Horas Redwyne readied their steeds.

—

RENLY

“Stand down, Lannister. I shall mind my sister from hereout,”

Helaena touched the green velvet of his sleeve lightly. “You know Ser Jaime cannot, brother. Robert has commanded he guard me,” she said gently.

Renly smirked at his sister, looking down at her. “And when have you ever paid any mind to what Robert commands, sister?”

Helaena suppressed a pretty smile. “There are many strangers at court for the tourney,” she said, “it would look bad for the king’s own sister to disobey him- and even worse for his own Master of Laws to do the same,” she added sternly, though her blue eyes glinted with mischief.

Renly grinned at his sister. He so enjoyed when she came to court- she made such a pleasant change from sour old Stannis. It was like their days at Storm’s End, in the lull between Robert’s Rebellion and Renly being made Lord of Storm’s End. They looked the most alike of all their siblings, and for much of their childhood it was easy to muddle the pair up. But now Renly was tall and broad where Helaena was shorter. Her hair had grown to her waist, while his remained at his shoulders- but the shade was the same: black as night and glossy like silk. Robert had said once that Helaena seemed to have stolen all of Stannis’s hair; Renly had roared with laughter, while Stannis had pursed his lips together.

“Will you be entering the lists, brother?” Helaena asked. “Ser Jaime and the other white knights have,”

Renly smirked easily. “Of course,” he said. “Though not until later on,” he said. “Can I count on your favour?” He asked, grinning as he nudged her. Helaena let out a laugh.

“Indeed not,” she smirked. “My favour is reserved for someone with a chance of winning,” she teased.

Renly pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, sweet sister,” he said, all theatrics. “And who, pray, do you intend to bestow that pretty kerchief upon?”

Helaena sighed, feigning wistfulness. “Oh, only the most gallant knight here,” she said solemnly. “Mayhaps Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan. Or one of Lord Stark’s northmen, they seem most honourable- and it is the Hand’s Tourney, not the Big Headed Brothers’ Tourney after all,” she added slyly. Behind them, Jaime Lannister snorted, his mouth pressed determinedly into a thin line, and Littlefinger let out a bark of laughter.

“Well met, my lady,” he said with an easy smirk.

Renly placed his hand on the sleeve of Helaena’s pale blue gown. He was not keen for his sister to be in Littlefinger’s company. Helaena smiled pleasantly.

“You are most kind, Lord Baelish,” she said pleasantly. “Oh- they’re beginning,” she said, standing on tip toe to peer down to where Cassel and Redwyne were bowing to Robert.

Renly watched with interest, smirking as Robert waved them away- he was sure he heard him call for them to “have at it, already.”

He leant towards Baelish. “What say you, Baelish. Twenty dragons on Redwyne? I doubt they get much jousting done at Winterfell,”

Baelish smirked. “Aye, I’ll take your wager,” he said with a nod. Within moments, the stands were full of murmurs and calls for various bets. Renly felt secure with his wager on Horas Redwyne- especially as he cantered past in his gleaming armour and his shield emblazoned with the clustered grapes of House Redwyne- and began agreeing on various other bets with those around him.

“Fifty dragons on the Northman!” Helaena called. The lords around her looked at her bemusedly.

“Are you quite certain, my lady?” One elder lord said.

“Sister, you do not have fifty dragons to wager- and I certainly won’t be lending you them,” Renly hissed in her ear, his hand at her elbow.

Helaena shook him off. “If I lose the wager, the winner may have my ring,” she said, holding up her hand, where a gleaming ring of silver and sapphires adorned her slender finger. A lordling below her eyed the ring hungrily; another peered over Renly’s shoulder as the clear blue stones caught the light.

“Done,” said Lord Baelish after a beat. Helaena smiled genially and accepted his handshake.

“You have already agreed to a bet against the Northman,” Renly protested.

Baelish merely shrugged. “If the Northman loses, then I get twenty dragons from you, my lord. If Redwyne loses… well I shall be twenty dragons poorer… but I shall have a fine ring worth double,”

Their discussion was drowned out by the blast of trumpets and the roar of the crowd and the thunder of hooves- and soon the thud of Horas Redwyne hitting the dirt silenced them all. Renly grumbled as he rifled through his coin purse, handing out the winnings to those around him, catching his sister’s triumphant smirk as she replaced her ring. “Not a word,” he said to her, though his smile broke easily when she let out a giggle. “Perhaps I shall have you broker my deals from now on, sister,”

Helaena laughed aloud. “Not a chance,” she told him, accepting the coin pouch Baelish had passed her. “I shan’t bet on every tilt,” she added sensibly.

“Ah, but you will bet on mine, I guarantee,”

“Naturally,” she quipped. “I’ve already bet with Robert,” she added, nudging him playfully.

The day wore on as more and more nobles and hedgeknights took to the field. The youngest Baratheon siblings shouted their support for their favourites and bickered over who they thought the victor would be. There was rather a game of musical knights when it came to be Ser Jaime’s turn in the field; Ser Barristan came to stand guard as Lannister unhorsed two men, and swapped back to do the same. Then it came for Barristan and Jaime to tilt, with Balon Swann blustering over while they jousted.

When young Hugh of the Vale was killed by Ser Gregor the Mountain, the colour drained from Helaena’s face as she stared at the pool of blood surrounding the young boy, and it took several more tilts for her to regain the spirit of the day. “D’you want to retire?” Renly murmured to her, but she shook her head and waved him away, plastering a smile on her face. Likely she did not want Robert to catch a glimpse and see that something was amiss; Renly was of the belief that Robert would keep her in a gilded cage if she allowed it.

“No,” she said bravely, looking up at him. “I must see your joust,” she insisted. Renly nodded and squeezed her hand. He kissed her sweetly on the forehead, before retiring to his pavilion to don his green enameled armour and golden antlered helm.

Renly’s joust was a failure; he fell to the Hound on the first tilt, a tine from his helm snapping with a terrifying crack that the crowd took for bones. Despite being the loser, however, the commons still cheered for him. When he returned to the stand, Helaena smacked his chest, the slap dulled by the velvet of his doublet. “Hey, now!” He said, grabbing for her wrist. “Clegane has already bruised my arse, sister. I won’t have you doing for my chest,”

Helaena frowned. “You frightened me, you fool,” she chastised. “And you lost me a barrel of my favourite summerwine,” Renly roared with laughter, and soon Helaena’s lips tugged into a begrudging smile. “From now on I shall bet against you,” she declared, but that only made Renly laugh harder, and the two sibling sat back down to watch the remainder of the day’s tilts.

The Knight of Flowers rode onto the field to cries of adoration from the crowd, his cape of a thousand roses streaming behind him, his polished armour gleaming in the sun. Helm in hand, he plucked a white rose from his cape and held it out to Helaena. As they spoke the usual courtesies of knights and high ladies, Loras’s brown eyes flicked to Renly’s, the two exchanging a secret smile before Loras cantered off.

His Knight of Flowers rode gallantly, and was soon declared a finalist alongside the Kingslayer, the Hound, and the Mountain That Rides, but the sun was setting and Robert decreed that the final would be on the morrow, before the archery contest and the mêlee.

“Come, brother,” Helaena murmured, drawing his attention away from the Tyrell boy’s streaming cloak of blooms and his enameled armour, and the ladies and girls with romance in their hearts swooning over him. “We must away to the feast,”

Arm in arm, the youngest Baratheon siblings began the walk from the tourney grounds to the feast, where a huge table had been laid out beneath the sunset. The air was perfumed by the smell of roasting meat and vegetables, of fresh seafood, of summer wine and plump fruit, and filled with mirth and celebration and plenty.

Already, Robert seemed to be in his cups, roaring with laughter at every jape, calling for his cup to be refilled by the minute, and for his friends’ cups too. Renly and Helaena took their places once the usual formalities had been spoken.

“Have you enjoyed the day thus far, brother?” Helaena said to Robert, who incline his head.

“Aye, especially when Renly was knocked onto his arse!” Robert said, his face already ruddy.

Helaena smiled politely, and rested her hand on Renly’s arm. “I have already had words with our brother,” she said, feigning seriousness. “And I shall have that barrel put aside for your next visit to Storm’s End. Perhaps we can share it- none for Renly,”

Renly chuckled at his sister’s teasing. “That’s fine, sister, I wouldn’t drink that piss you enjoy so much of you paid me!”

The three laughed, and the feast progressed. Joff was playing the perfect Prince with the eldest Stark girl, it seemed, despite all that bother with wolves and butcher’s boys on the Kingsroad. Ned Stark still looked out of place, even at his own tourney feast. The queen’s face was ice as well as her husband grew louder and louder, boasting of his prowess and his intention to put it to use in the mêlee. “Perhaps that is unwise, your Grace,” the queen said in a form voice. “I would not wish to see you injured,”

The laughter around them stopped, and the air soured alongside Robert’s mood. “I will,” he said stubbornly, waving for his cupbearer to refill his cup. Renly sat straighter, and he saw Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark do the same. Helaena opened her mouth to speak, reaching to take Robert’s hand, but he brushed off her sweet, mollifying words and her gentle touch as though she were but a butterfly.

“You will not,” the queen insisted, setting down her wine cup. “I forbid it,”

“NO!” Robert boomed, and silence fell across the full length of the table. “You do not command me, woman. I say I shall ride, so I shall ride!”

Face drained of blood and green eyes glinting with silent fury, the queen stood from the table and stalked away. Cross words were exchanged between King and Kingsguard, and Jaime Lannister was knocked to the floor. It seemed besting Lannisters was the only thing that could sweeten Robert’s mood, but the feast was called to an end all the same.

Helaena sighed and stood. “Come,” she said to Renly. “You can escort be back,”

Renly smirked, mentally replaying the moment the Kingslayer hit the dirt. “And if I want to stay here and drink and feast and whore?”

“Then I shall make my own way back,” Helaena said with a shrug. “It is dark out, brother, but it makes no difference to me,”

“Certainly not,” Renly said, standing and offering his arm, which Helaena took with a triumphant smirk.

“Do you truly care for my safety and honour on these dark roads, Renly, or do you fear our brothers’ fury so?” She teased. Renly rolled his eyes.

“Oh hush, you conniving wench,” he said, but he grinned at the mischief in her eyes, leading her back to the castle and safely to her apartments, his cloak brushing over young Loras Tyrell’s legs as he went.

I hope you are enjoying this story thus far! The first few chapters lay the groundwork, but the action shall truly begin soon… we just need rid of Robert…