#becomelions {rickard}

[spearwa]

@becomelions is being born again {rickard}

Jiovanni was sore and his foot was beginning to blister where his sandal was becoming worn through. He paused when he smelled the smoke of a fire. Something was cooking too.

He paused and paused a moment to enjoy the smell. He might not be able to taste it but this much was free. When he had joined this life this was one of the disciplines he had imposed on himself- to enjoy things and give thanks even for the smallest of pleasures.

He made the sign of the Seven before continuing on, following his nose. Before he approached the impromptu camp he pulled back his hood to expose his face and held up his hands. Everyone was apart of the Seven but it served sometimes to be cautious when one wasn't sure which part of.

"Greetings, stranger, if you can find it in your heart I am but a Begging Brother. May I share your camp and meal for the night?"

[therapardalis]

He misunderstands. Or at least she thinks he does, given a moment to puzzle on the disconnect between what he says and what she meant. But meanwhile, a smirk tugs one corner of her lips, "Indeed, for the moment it's just us here. But few have bothered to ask, and fewer still in earnest." Smirk became chuckle, eyeing her blade one more time and then putting it away, "I'm not even sure if you are, but, benefit of the doubt."

She set the sword in its scabbard beside her, wrapped the whetstone, "I do wish to be here. I meant ..." Pause and shrug, with a sigh, "I'm a Blackwood. House Tully sold us out when they surrendered to the Lannisters. Marching with the Starks is my hope of getting revenge." Getting revenge, righting the wrong. Something. Any enemy of the Lannisters was a friend of hers. "So, honestly, I would much rather be tucked in my bed at Raventree Hall. But until that's a free choice, here I am. And," A wrinkle of her nose, "The coin doesn't hurt!"

Not everyone was meant to get along, it was impossible. Even in times of peace there were squabbles. Rickard remembered them from his teachings as a lord's son, how long ago those days seemed. Life was simpler then and now here he was making himself comfortable at a fire on the ground after making a reputation for himself as a man from the North who was particularly skilled with a blade. No one knew his name, no one knew his past, he was just Rickard. Whatever titles or names they came up with on their own, he took. It was how he found himself here.

"Who else would I be talking to?" It was a way to pass the time, to talk, and to get information in the guise of casual conversation. He was smarter than he looked after all, he had to be. He couldn't appear a lord's son, not anymore. A small chuckle left the man as he nods, a smirk starting to pull at his lips. "I see, you don't wish to be here." Rickard answers casually, unbothered. "I am being paid to be here. Seems an extra hand or two was needed. I have no house or allegiance to follow here." A brief pause. "Outside of coin."

[atv-migrated]

WHAT HERB ARE YOU?

— dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

tagged by: @dastardlydaemon tagging: @becomelions (rickard), @trckstaer (elaerea) + VIEWERS LIKE YOU !

[donahontes]

starter for @becomelions | Rickard Stark

Sansa made her way towards the gates of Winterfell, her eyes landing on the man who bore resemblance of her late father. Her eyes narrowed in cool composure that was given to the Queen in the North but she felt her bottom lip tremble as she looked onto the man who she’d never met, who she was never meant to have met. “You claim to be Rickard Stark, if history is truthful then the man you claim to be is dead buried in the crypt next to his brother Lord Eddard Stark and his Lady wife,” she spoke, her voice firm - not betraying her concern that perhaps history wasn’t all it had been told.

[dragvnflare-a]

@becomelions - Rickard Stark

the dragon queen expected at least one visitor when she arrived at dragonstone, but mostly from the north or perhaps scouts sent by the lioness that was sat upon her throne. she did not expect anyone to find her there so soon, and so curiosity got the better of her when she herself arrived at the cliffs, her amethyst hues glistening as she took in the appearance of the raven haired gentleman. “i did not expect anyone so soon.” she explained, hands raised as greyworm slowly approached behind her with jorah. “were you sent by the lannister that so wrongly sits upon my throne?”

[lokadottr]

‘ YOUR REPUTATION precedes you, ’ though there is a slight grin pulling at the corner of her lips she makes no moves to hint at whether it bodes well for him or not, ‘ or, the reputation of your house, i suppose. ’ torvi motions to the decanter of wine between them, an open invitation for him to pour a glass. ‘ that one, at least, is the reputation that i am interested in. ’

@becomelions​ / / semi-plotted starter ( rickard )

[therapardalis]

You didn't know, really, in an army made up of stragglers and strays, most of them unknown to each other until they began trudging through the same mud. Some are smart enough to keep to themselves, or at least keep their mouths shut; others ... not so much. And no matter what exactly has brought them to this pass, it's a waste to get killed in camp by being a fool.

"Me?" There's a second's glance from under her brows, assessing whether he's just making conversation or really wants to know - then a sigh, thumb testing her weapon's edge. "I'm not sure it's wise to name names, but ... I'm angry that the head of the House mine was sworn to tucked his tail between his legs and handed all of us to a bigger power." Another exhale, realising her sword is sharp enough now and can no longer be used to occupy her hands, "How about you?"

Rickard knew he didn't need to say anything but it was better to warn the other if she decided to go say something. If it wasn't obvious enough. Some people were dense as it was. "You never know, might not have gotten through to you." He shrugged, placing another piece of dried meat from the rations into his mouth. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it being a sellsword, but hey he needed money. The former Stark's attention isn't even on the argument he hears anymore, instead looking down at the fire as he gets himself comfortable and relaxed as he could. Blue gaze flicks up to her, a smirk then tugging at his lips. "I can't argue with that." He shifts a bit, leaning back on the log and resting a forearm on propped up leg. "And what are you angry about?"

[therapardalis]

"You don't say?" There's very little need to say, without a dry tone of voice. It's not difficult at all to hear the shouting, even from a good two-dozen yards away at the Commander's tent.

Thera listens off-hand for a second or two, then returns to drawing a whetstone along the blade of her sword, attention more fully on that than whatever is being yelled about this time. The weapon's more likely to keep her alive than the Commander, after all. "We're all angry about something, I suppose."

@therapardalis wants a starter from Rickard Stark

"He gets angry easily."