#meredyth crane

[coldraindropsss]

Meredyth Crane, Janna Fossoway, Leonette Fossoway

[astormofsilk]

@winterreigned liked for a starter

Meredyth hummed gently as she rode her horse, one of the stronger riders in the group so she often lead the pack. All of the girls brought their horses with them when they came to King’s landing, and Meredyth made sure that her and Margery’s hawks had been brought as well. The younger girls were trying to race each other, but a sharp sound from her cut that down to a minimum quickly. Lady Taena wouldn’t be joining them today and that left Meredyth as the oldest of the group and thus the one responsible for the girls if anything happened to them.

They finally found a spot to stop and Meredyth went around to make sure all of the girls got off of their horses safely. Soon enough the little ones were around the Blue Bard and Margaery was doing her usual of making sure that the picnic was set out exactly how she wanted it. Meredyth tied up their horses so that they could freely graze on the grass around them before she went to the blanket that had been set down for them. She had noticed that their guest was rather quiet so she wanted to check on the girl.

Sitting down next to her she smiled. “I do hope we didn't drag you away from anything important today Lady Sansa” Meredyth picked a few blades of grass and tested them to see which one played the best note when blown on. “The castle was getting a little to stuffy for all of us so we decided to have a picnic. And of course we wanted to bring you along with us."

[ladystarksneedle]

Darkly, delicately

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Character

Warnings: Minor character death, mentions of period typical crimes and their punishments, prostitution, implied smut.

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: All her life Meynara has struggled to belong. Captured and taken to a land far away she's made her place in the world of Westeros with allies she can count on one hand. With the siege of Duskendale by the army of King Aegon II, she finds herself facing odds that change the course of her life once again, weaving her fate to the tune of the dragon in a dance hidden through time, as the war between the blacks and the greens rages on.

Link to read on ao3: here

She hears the bell ring twice as the castle erupts in chaos. “Noom, Narrah, Nyel” she chants to herself as the third dong reverberates through the wind drowning the screams around her before she's shoved hastily to the safety of the dingy cellars below. The scent of sweat fills her nostrils as she navigates the musty cramped quarters, filled to the brim with anxious ladies clasping their hands in prayer as they kneel together trying to stifle their whimpers. Lady Meredyth wrings her hands nervously as she stares into the distance, somber in demeanor. A moment of recognition seems to pass through her eyes as she spots her near the hastily barred door, before she turns abruptly to question her ladies maids’ who bow their heads in response. She finds her place near one of the walls, turning away from the woman reprimanding those around her to assess the scene in silence. Ever since the war began she knew the siege was inevitable. The family of the dragon had torn themselves in two embroiling most of the realm in their chaos and it was about time they too were hit with the consequences of their support. One of the dragons would soon grace their skies, she only hoped it wasn't their queen. Rumors of the kinslayer had wafted through Duskendale these past few moons. Round the winding harbor and the cobbled streets, onto the market square threatened over a bargain gone wrong, passed around taverns along with a drink in hand all up to the Dun Fort and it's gates in hushed whispers carrying over inwards to the pale walls enclosing winding threads weaved together for their lady, his name had evoked fear, disgust and surprising wonder alike. As the clashes of metal drew nearer to them she wondered how long it would take for him to finally reach his mark.

Seven blows was all it took to bring down the giant gate of the Dun Fort. The irony of the number isn't lost on her as they are rounded up in the central courtyard by noon. Captives surround her in haphazard lines along the posts and below the outer gate manned by armed men in green, their banner of the three headed dragon glinting maliciously in the sun. Some of the women struggle to stifle their sobs as they watch their husbands and sons being rounded up for slaughter before being hushed with a shove and a sharp word. She cranes her neck to see an older man at the head flanked by two heads of silver around a familiar face kneeling in chains.

“People of Duskendale, you face the price of your betrayal! Lord Darklyn has condemned you all but the King is just and merciful. Whoever wishes to make good on their vows again and pledge allegiance to the true heir to the Iron throne need only speak it now and his grace shall consider their folly pardoned” booms the older man, his tanned skin streaked with the blood of the burning ports. She hears a few whispers of indignation and fear before a handful of knights step forward to pledge their allegiance. It is a meager number which she realizes dissatisfies them deeply.

“Very well then” murmurs the King before they hear a shrill roar near the top of the castle. There in all his glory, perched atop the highest parapet, she sees a beast so beautiful, unworthy of the carnage it has wreaked, yet as it growls and makes its way towards them with its scales of shimmering gold she feels the true power that the men before her yielded. More of the folk around her now rush to bend the knee, hastily murmuring their pleas and apologies as the men in green smile haughtily. A lone eye, stern in its gaze, catches her unmoving. She suppresses the shiver that runs through her as she curtsies in response. The urge to live has long outlasted whatever moral code runs through the heart of the realm and it does not fail her today. Somewhere to the side she hears a familiar scoff of distaste. “It won't be my head on a spike when they're done with us” she thinks as she stares at her rival in defiance. Lady Meredyth scorns her in response as she's dragged off to witness the event of the day. Lord Gunthor kneels a few paces before her, locking eyes with their captors before turning to face her with hurt and disdain. She sees him gaze at her for a moment before offering a few words of comfort to his wife along with affirming his allegiance to the Queen with pride. She feels a quiver of fear pass through him, a cry of anguish a few feet away and an unrelenting stare on her as he's beheaded. A hush falls over the courtyard as the deed is done and the guffaws resume their way to the main hall shoving all in their path. Somewhere in the distance her heart leaps, far away across the fishing villages dotting the skyline towards the ruins of Hollard castle near the fork of the Crownlands. Duskendale would face a similar fate tonight.

She wastes no time in making herself scarce. She trains her ear on the whispers clinging to the walls as she makes her way downwards. They have been sacked by a little under three thousand men amassed during their journey through Rosby and Stokeworth that are to stay on till further word from the King. The lower kitchens and the halls are filled to the brim and are easy to blend into as she hurries towards her destination. She finds herself taking the familiar flight of stairs past the makeshift bakery to wind down to a hidden door below. Exactly three knocks later it opens to reveal a harsh face staring right at her.

“You are late”

“Forgive me for trying to stay alive” she huffs in return.

“Did they hear you?”

“Not yet”

“Let us keep it that way then.”

She knows he means to assess the threat before them both before feeding her to it. That is how it has always been, her body for the price of their safety. For all her bravado she hasn't been able to escape the clutches of home and the thread that ties her to it remains the one that cuts her the most.

“I know what I have to do”

“You move on my command Meynara, not before, nor after. We've made a decent life for ourselves here, do not go ruining it now.”

“I suppose the head of the lord staring at us as we walk through the hallways is enough of a hurdle in our path” she retorts shakily.

“As if you were ever fond of him”

“No, perhaps I wasn't. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead either”

“Life and Death are right around your corner”

“Faith shines the ability to prevail in both” she finishes turning away from him. Those were his father's words, ones that he'd told her on the boat to Westeros as they lay together shackled and starved. She remembers his eyes shining with a promise in the dark, willing her to forgo her fear. It seems a lifetime ago yet the man before her stares at her just the same. It is her gaze now which is filled with apprehension rather than the faith she's long left behind and no feelings of ardor can bring back the naive trust she has lost.

There is a feast to be held in honor of the King as Duskendale had yielded with ease, unprepared and caught off guard. Perhaps if Gunthor had insisted on better fortifications and riders rather than her religiously mounting him each night, his head wouldn't be hollow and unattached at the moment. She finds herself slinking into the shadows, with that thought, trying to keep an eye on the party at hand. The ale flows freely in the lower halls with the men getting handsy with the serving girls despite their indignation. Her only option is to reach the upper halls unnoticed hoping the stronger wine would dull them long enough to be done with her faster. She spots him in the distance as she makes her way up. He stands still near a burly man, eyes as empty as the dead hanging outside. A brief flicker of warning passes through to her before he's consumed to his farcity. Faith shall have to suffice for both of them tonight.

The main hall is decorated with banners of gold yet much sparse compared to the mess below. Anyone with a title should occupy the benches ahead of her, some newly appointed lords and generals, who all sit jesting and drinking below the dias as the men of the hour watch on. She watches the King engrossed with the head cook’s daughter fully partaking in the merriment. She sees her blush and smile coquettishly turning a lock of her hair as she entertains him and wonders how much persuasion it took for her to be offered up on a platter. Freshly plucked and naive, innocence was always coveted first at the altar, of worship and sacrifice alike.

Next to him sat two men with equally stern faces. She recognised the first with the booming voice, still in his armor refusing woman and drink alike, surveying the crowd for an imminent threat yet the man flanking the King's left drew her attention the most. To see him in person after their loss at noon made her skin tingle and the rumors had not done him justice. He sat poised, with his hair still braided for battle, eye lazily surveying the crowd like the elder man next to him, sipping from his chalice at ease. His gaze seemed unfocussed, unwilling to seek out anything in particular yet she saw through the haze. A predator responds only when it spots a worthy threat.

“What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone” she hears someone say before being grabbed by pudgy hands. The man near her reeks of nauseating sweetness. Arbor red she discerns as he leers close to her.

“Apologies my lord, I was on my way to serve the King” she lies promptly.

“Perhaps you might serve me first then. His grace would not refuse his loyal subjects tonight” he spoke earning a few jeers.

“Wait” she hears a crisp voice break through the crowd. “That one is mine”

There is no room for argument as she's pulled by two armed knights towards the dias, under the eye of the dragon.

“My my brother, you've caught a pretty one. A shame she's too old to be plucked” smirks the King playfully biting the girl on his lap.

She sees the prince ahead of her regard her with interest before beckoning her forwards with his finger. It isn't long after his appraisal that he takes her by the arm retreating to the sounds of muffled cheers. She feels him make his way around the castle assuredly, neither in haste nor at leisure, before he pulls her into the nearest chambers he can find.

“What can you do for me?” he asks abruptly, leaning against the door as he surveys her again.

“Whatever you desire my prince” she responds, as demurely as she can muster.

“I do not wish for pleasantries”

She balks at his refusal as she stands before him, tilting her head to observe him closely.

“I meant what I said”

“Are you a whore?”

“I am what you want me to be”

“If I wanted a whore I'd find one more willing, you may quit your farce”

“And what if this isn't one” she finds herself saying.

“Then I have wasted my time and I do not wish to be proven wrong”

She stares at him in bewilderment and defiance meeting his gaze as he turns to pour himself another cup of wine.

“I can entertain you to your heart's content”

“I am not a man who revels in the pleasures you seek to offer”

“You are hard to please, as any prince should be, yet I am not one to yield. Allow me to show you instead” she says confidently walking towards him. He looks at her skeptically, before his eye widens slightly upon hearing the clinks that follow her. He lets her lead him to the chaise nearby, raising an eyebrow at the sound that clings to her while she smiles at his astonishment, ready to finally play her part.

She keeps her gaze on him as she begins her routine, serpentine and sinuous, twisting her arms above her head with precision entrenched in her bones. She feels his eye take in her form, the flow of her wrists twisting like waves to the swell of her breasts rising and falling with each turn, moving in tandem with her hips all while the room jingles with the ring of threes; Noom, Narrah, Nyel. He continues his trail along her frame trying to match her pace and she sees him relax through her lids, taking in his enraptured face.

“Is this to your liking, my prince” she smirks as the ringing comes to a halt, the chanting of her soul, awake at the appraisal in his gaze. She finds her answer soon in the nights to come.

“You move to the sound of the gods” he says as they lie together, sweat clinging to them as the wind wafts through the open windows. It is the second night under the new command of Duskendale and all seems to be at rest, lying in wait for the bells to strike.

“Do you believe in them?” she whispers back, turning to regard him with mirth “I thought the Targaryens fashioned themselves as gods”

“The blood of Old Valyria leaves little to imagination.”

“But Valyria is gone and all you have left in this strange land is the power you wield through the skies” she continues stroking his bare arm.

“Which strange land should I thank for gracing me with such beauty tonight” he whispers, turning a lock of her hair between his fingers as he gazes into her eyes.

“Norvos, across the narrow sea”

“Norvos” he repeats, rolling the syllables around his tongue regarding her with awe. “Are all Norvoshi so,”

“So?”

“Quiet”

“I thought you found my chatter incessant”

“I never heard you” he stops her, “Not once as you crept around the castle all the way into my bed”

“You wish to know my secret?” she asks him playfully “Perhaps my blood is as special as yours”

He scoffs in turn earning a crease to her eyebrows which does not go unnoticed. “We are not so different, you and I. We both seek to soar far beyond what fate plans for us”

“Your riddles can exhaust a man far more than your movements” he huffs petulantly.

“You are only displeased because you cannot decipher this one” she hums thoughtfully earning her a pinch to her hip which she swats away promptly.

“Careful, I am not fond of that wayword tongue of yours” he warns her with a smirk.

“Why when it has given you such pleasure? What is the use of depriving yourself of such an investment” she finds herself giggling in return to the bashful pout of his lips.

It has been long since she's been so enamored with a man. There have been a few, young and beautiful, not immune to the charm she summons at will but none so rigid yet tender that makes her heart want more.

“Dance for me” she hears him say as he lies back, hair splayed around the pillows like a halo.

“As you wish your grace” she responds devilishly, slinking away from his embrace to twinkle under his eye.

Their nights continue with well practiced rhythm as their days stretch on. She finds herself at the precipice of good fortune, confined mostly to his chambers as his prize, content to stay hidden till she's displayed with pride. The King she learns takes offense to her growing presence in his brother’s life yet is dissuaded to take action by his elder hand, his disapproval making itself known in its own way.

“My lady, the prince is betrothed to Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and is to be married in a few moons”

“With the tide of the war changing ever so often I feel it best to practice restraint Lord Hand. I'm playing my part just as everyone, as a loyal servant to the crown won't you agree?”

“As I am certain you are” he responds with distaste.

“The prince seems quite sated does he not? What then I wonder, merits such growing concern. As long as your plans come to fruition I am sure a woman such as me should hardly pose a worthy obstacle” she bites back eager to send him away from her new chambers. Victory in the face of adversity tastes almost as sweet as the dreaded wine she brings to her lips, sipping at it with mock delight as she watches the commotion enfold out her door. As he walks to give way to someone, she hears a familiar scream of anger grace the threshold. Lady Meredyth barges in, red faced and fuming. She finds her predicament almost hilarious were it not for the state she's in. Dressed in mourning for a neglectful husband who managed to give her a daughter too young to give away for the dwindling power she now tries to hoard, she tries to muster whatever pity she can find for the woman, before she opens her rotten mouth.

“You seem mighty pleased with your situation, finally living up to your true potential as the whore you are”

“Widowhood suits you my lady. The black brings out your eyes” she responds back sarcastically.

She sees her spit at her feet before she's escorted away, spewing curses through the halls. There is no greater joy in watching the old crone claim her late husband's chambers where she rode him to death while she lounges on her very own bed waiting to be taken in the arms of pleasure at night.

“What did I tell you about that tongue of yours” he retorts as he pulls her into an alcove at midday.

“To use it more often” she whispers, running her lips along his jaw. The walk she'd managed to take away from her confines had proved to be a welcome change after that harrowing ordeal in the morn.

“You wanton thing. Do not vex me outside of these walls”

“You have my word” she says flightily resuming her course along his neck.

“And much more” he breathes, palms burning through the blue she's clad in. She finds herself smiling as she pulls him closer, enjoying his proximity during the quiet of the day. Perhaps nights are not the only thing to look forward to anymore.

She feels his presence in the hallways later, long before she turns the corner, trying to rid herself of the evidence of her dalliance.

“You've lost your faith” he remarks somewhere behind her.

“I've simply found it around another corner” she replies, turning to face the judgment in his dark eyes. There are bags underneath them, weary with doubt and the wisdom he seems to wield like a weapon.

“He is a dangerous man to be around. Someone who kills his own is not one to be trifled with”

“And yet we've faced far worse”

“Worse than treason?”

“Tell me you don't mean to support yet another foreign queen”

“You've grown slow” he states glaring at her. She finds herself at a loss of words. Her old self would have caught on to what was spoken almost instantly with an equally sharp retort in tow. Shame creeps up on her at being caught off guard, vulnerable and at his mercy.

“I will not fail you” she says, turning to avoid his eyes, tears glistening amongst her own. “I am only doing what I think best”

“And therein lies the problem”

“Lady Meynara” a voice cuts through the silence suffocating her as she turns to face the source of her shame. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back regarding her companion with distrust only for her to turn around to find him gone.

“Do all of you possess such talents of evasiveness” he questions her as she sighs and makes her way towards him.

“It has served us well”

“On the contrary, it makes you noticeable. The very thing you are ever so keen to avoid”

“I think you happen to have a keener eye than most, my prince. Do not fault the entire realm with the same flaw you possess.”

“I would hardly call it that”

“A flaw?”

“More of skill honed and fortune bestowed” he smirks leaning towards her.

“Something that earned you your birthright” she questions back impudently. “I've heard the rumors”

“I didn't think you'd put much stock in them”

“One tends to learn a lot through tales, true and false alike. Besides aren't rumors as such keeping your plan afoot”

“You know far too much to be jesting as such. Do you not fear for your life?” he asks her, eye glinting in the light.

“You'd have me hanging near the gate by now if I was such a threat”

“By your feet” he replies, watching her face darken. “You needn't worry as long as you serve me.”

“That is a threat my prince, far worse than what I'm accustomed to”

“Good, my intentions must be made clear then.”

“And what exactly might they entail”

“Your faith for a price” he says regarding her in earnest. The promise of more lingers on her lips as he leaves her wondering what it is she plans to do about it all.

“You mean to leave” she asks him on the third night they're together, with the moon at its height bathing them both in its embrace. He's reclined on the bed, one arm resting behind his head as he listens to her, eye closed in sequestered bliss.

“Rumors can only serve their purpose with cause to back them”

“You are to leave at dawn then?”

He hums in response as she fidgets with the sheets around her.

“Do not fret, I shall ensure your safety for your word”

“That is a hefty promise”

“And one I intend to keep”

“You will tire of me soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he says, opening his eye to look at her. “Yet I'm certain it won't be so soon”

She feels the sheets pool at her feet as she rises to sate him for the night, eyes trained on him as she watches him cock his head in piqued interest. There is an unspoken understanding between them as she glides by the bed, running her fingers over the wood to stand in the center of the room, the light from the candles illuminating everything she wishes for him to see.

“Not tonight” she murmurs, running her hands over her hips.

“You'd deny the man who holds your fortune” he asks incredulously.

“I'd offer him something far sweeter”

“And what is sweeter than your company my lady”

“Joining me in ways a man would take his woman”

She sees the bed dip with his weight as he rises, moving with agility to stand before her. She cranes her neck to see him peer down at her, eyebrow raised at the game she wishes for him to play.

“In Norvos, we move like this to show our feelings. For emotion sometimes is best expressed through something tangible” she says reaching forward to steady his arms.

She feels him follow her movements with ease, twisting and turning with surprising accuracy never letting her out of his sight.

“You are a trained warrior”

“So are you, it seems. This is much like swordsmanship”

“All art is said to be inspired”

“What inspires you tonight little soldier” he rasps as he spins her around, arms enclosing her as she stares ahead. She feels his breath against her neck, her back pressed against the ridges of his body leading her to exhale before she writhes in his embrace.

“I do not wish to be a piece in the war you play at”

“We are all pieces to be moved about, each for a different purpose”

“It seems you've mastered my tongue in these past few days”

“I've only claimed what's mine” he says running his hands along her waist.

“Your plan will only work on trust, something the people here lack in abundance. Faith, which you scorn me for holding on to, is only meaningful if adhered to in earnest”

“I don't begrudge your faith” he whispers, turning her around to face him. “Just who it's tied to”

She finds herself mesmerized by the blue of his eye, so still yet violent, unrelenting yet open to the words that spill from her lips. “He is what connects me to who I am”

“To cherish something so deeply is a suffering in itself that I've come to accept. I think you understand that very well, Aemond.”

She feels him stiffen at the mention of his name, fingers clasping her arms tighter before he turns her around in a pirrouette, bowing before her as he ends their performance.

“Always your way, yes” she responds breathlessly.

“I do not wish to mold you Meynara, only to make you realize how well you belong. I can offer you something far more than the life you wish to subject yourself to”

“Wealth and power?”

“Purpose” he says with finality.

“Then I ask one thing of you. Bare yourself to me, in good faith” she whispers, watching him carefully “and I shall do the same.”

“Haven't I seen all of you?” he questions, removing the barrier across his face.

“Not without adornment” she says, reaching down to remove her restraints. “They are as much a part of me as this is of you” she finishes reaching up to cup his face. The sapphire glistens brilliantly as she stares at the angry scar accompanying it, intensifying his beauty.

“Is this what you've heard of” he remarks, gritting his teeth at her request.

“Indeed” she replies, reaching up to stroke his face. “We wear our shame and pride on our sleeve. It is time to embrace it together for the purpose you so wish to achieve”

“It will require much more than I've since asked from you”

“I think it is time I left the chains that bind me my prince, yours will have to suffice for now”

They wake again at the crack of dawn to the domestic bliss of togetherness. There in his chambers she experiences what it means to be a wife at last. The euphoria of nurture, she'd long dreamed of since she was a girl, envelops her in a sense of longing and nostalgia. As she bathes and readies him for battle, she finds herself gazing at him wistfully.

“I shall return soon”

“I am aware. I did not forgo my bindings for a lie”

“You wished to soar did you not.”

“You know, the Norvoshi do not trust a man without a beard. They say one as such lacks the honor to defend and the foresight to lead” she responds by running his blade across his face as he turns away from her.“You have your own honor though”

“Many would disagree. I am said to be cursed ��

“One man's curse is another's blessing. You shall return a King”

“Because I've given you the freedom you desire?” he jests “Your faith is truly boundless”

“As is your routine. Hold still while I finish or they'll have to wait the whole morn for you to ride out with glory”

It is an hour later after she meticulously braids his hair and secures his armor, over his eye and body that she finds herself truly bogged down with the weight of his departure. He kisses her temple as he leaves, the act too chaste for her to protest before he's gone. As she sits ruminating on her time spent with him, she hears the flap of the great wings of Vhagar, leathery and forceful as she rushes to spot her out of her window. A shadow falls over the Dun fort as she flies past, giving way to three rings of the great bell of Duskendale, thrice for the sound of freedom that soars through her heart.

Taglist: @arcielee @succnfuccubus @barbieaemond @watercolorskyy @paprikaquinn @witheredoffherwitch

[redwolf17]

sorry to be a bother but do you think you could refresh my memory on who the ladies-in-waiting for arya, rhaenys, cersei, margaery were/are? the recent chapter where we got more info on sansas ladies got me thinking

Oh boy, this is going to get messy. For the sake of time, I'm just going to copy paste the notes that I have for each set of ladies.

Margaery's ladies at Winterfell

Alla Tyrell: likes to sing, shy, plays woodharp, fond of Ser Tallad the Tall, but unlikely he'll win her... still, her parents are giving him time to prove himself before arranging a betrothal to someone else; age is same as Sansa roughly

Meredyth Crane: always has a funny tale, likes hawking; a few years older than Margaery

Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly

Alys Karstark

Catelyn Bracken

Arya's Ladies up North (ages as of tourney of Winterfell August 301)

Catelyn Bracken- age 19, betrothed killed in WotFK???????? Rides horses and LOVES prayer

Wynafryd Manderly- 20 in 301, 23 in 304 (baby Wyman born mid March 303; got pregnant early January 303, due at end of September 304)

Wylla Manderly- age 13 (Davos guessed her age wrong in canon; thin high voice; likes poetry and sewing albeit with bright colors)

Cornel Umber (girl, age 16, named for mountain flower; betrothed to a Burley (clans); likes sewing and trad fem stuff? Hint that Hoarfrost will expect same when Arya flowers and puts away her wildling nonsense?)

Alys Karstark (16, a tall, skinny, coltish girl. She weaves her brown hair into a braid and has a small bosom. The pale girl has a long face, a pointy chin, blue-grey eyes, and small ears... stubborn, determined, pushy! But likes to sing and excited for marriage/kids/running a keep)

Rhea Royce- 20 in 301; lost her husband to a tourney accident not two years after they were wed (no kids)

Rhaenys's ladies

Obella Sand -> Uller, 16, betrothed to Bors Gargalen; will serve Rhaenys for a few years before she weds. loves poetry (also writes it), Reach chivalry = YES!!!! Catnip for her! She's middling at cyvasse, daydreams, prefers to sleep late, despite her betrothed, still crushing on every handsome youth her age in sight, but smart enough to only flirt, stay chaste

Elinor Tyrell: willowy, witty, likes to read, newly married to Alyn Ambrose, heir of his house; age 18; has Elinor read aloud often; she's good at it; used to serve Margaery

Megga Tyrell: fat, loud, enjoys kissing games, sewing, bad singing voice, betrothed to a Bulwer cousin; she's 17; used to serve Margaery

Cersei's ladies

I don't have notes for them, partially because they mostly came up earlier, partially because Cersei really doesn't give a crap about them as human beings versus as servants and pawns

But here's their introduction in the fic:

Jocelyn Swyft was meek as a mouse, and gullible besides. She'd told Sansa quite sincerely that the recent rains were the gods weeping for Lord Tywin. Cerissa Brax did needlework in a haze, when she wasn't reading from The Seven-Pointed Star. The War of Five Kings had taken her father and two of her brothers, and she was deep in mourning. Melesa Crakehall and Darlessa Marbrand were more shrewd, but if they saw the queen's odd behavior, they refused to acknowledge it.

Melesa was a brisk, big-boned woman, the wife of Ser Lyonel Frey. How on earth old Lord Walder Frey had managed to wed his son Emmon to Genna Lannister, Lord Tywin's only sister, Sansa did not know. However the marriage happened, Lady Genna had never left Casterly Rock, though she had given her Frey husband four sons, including Lyonel. Melesa had quite coldly told Sansa that she was lucky to serve the queen, considering her brother's treachery against the crown and her own disrespect.

"Madness is no excuse for such vile behavior," the lady told her, aggressively stabbing her needle through the brindled boar she was stitching. "The laws of the Seven do not apply to traitors."

Darlessa Marbrand was even more ill-tempered, with her constant jibes about the barbarity of northerners and their demon gods. Despite her hostility, Sansa pitied her. Lady Darlessa was the widow of Tygett Lannister, one of Lord Tywin's younger brothers. Her husband had died of a pox years ago, and she had lost her only son in the bread riots. Nor did she seem to enjoy serving Queen Cersei, who was demanding and gracious by turns. So Sansa let the cruel words pass over her, and focused on her stitches.

I think I gave her a couple of other ladies later on, Taena Merryweather after Meria left and a few others who came/went pretty quickly. 

[west1rosi]

STARTER CALL: MAIN TIMELINE.

like   this   post   for   a   starter   from   one   of   the   muses   of   main timeline of asoiaf.   if   you   are   a   multimuse,   please   specify   your   muses.   make   sure   to   also   choose   one   of   mine   or   at   least,   choose   a   few   for   me   to   pick   from.   only   liking   and   not   specifying   will   be   ignored.

muse list of main asoiaf timeline era:

lord tywin lannister. faceclaim : charles dance.

lady elyra brax (oc). faceclaim : jessica alexander.

king viserys iii targaryen. faceclaim : harry lloyd.

king robert baratheon. faceclaim: mark addy.

princess orysa baratheon (oc). faceclaim : jennie jacques.

gendry baratheon. faceclaim : joe dempsey.

theon greyjoy. faceclaim : alfie allen.

captain indya sunderly (oc). faceclaim : jessie mei li.

lady myranda royce. faceclaim :  yuliya khlynina.

lord ned stark. faceclaim : sean bean.

lady catelyn stark. faceclaim : michelle fairley.

queen jeyne westerling. faceclaim :  synnove karslen.

lord asher forrester. faceclaim : liam mcintyre.

lady mara mormont (oc). faceclaim : matilda de argelis.

lady jeyne poole. faceclaim : elinor crowley.

wylla manderly. faceclaim : alice agneson.

val of the free folk. faceclaim : frida gustavsson.

prince doran martell. faceclaim : alfredo castro.

prince oberyn martell. faceclaim : pedro pascal.

princess arianne martell. faceclaim : yvette monreal.

lady regent, allyria dayne. faceclaim :  marina moschen. 

lord edmure tully. faceclaim : tobias menzies.

lady roslin tully. faceclaim : rose williams.

ser patrek mallister. faceclaim : aneurin barnard.

marq piper. faceclaim :  jose ramon barreto.

alerie tyrell. faceclaim : joely richarson.

olenna tyrell. faceclaim : diana rigg.

lord willas tyrell. faceclaim :  gwilym lee.

ryna hightower. faceclaim : danielle rose russell.

elinor tyrell. faceclaim :  isabela merced.

margaery tyrell. faceclaim : natalie dormer

lady mina redwyne. faceclaim : claire ferlini.

lady desmera redwyne. faceclaim : charlotte hope.

meredyth crane. faceclaim : caitlin stasey.

jocelyn swyft. faceclaim: tamsin egerton.

addam marbrand. faceclaim: toby stephens.

lady alyssane lefford. faceclaim: sarah bolger.

lady shyra errol. faceclaim: holliday grainger.

alys karstark. faceclaim: gevenieve gaunt.

marei hill. faceclaim: eloise smyth.

ardrian celtigar. faceclaim : tony leung.

syrenia celtigar. faceclaim : dianne doan.

harras harlow. faceclaim : daniel sharman.

ser jorah mormont. faceclaim : iain glen.

[isefyres-archive]

𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

Meredyth Crane known as Merry Crane, is a noblewoman of House Crane. Merry is one of Margaery Tyrell's lady attendants in King's Landing. Merry is part of Lady Margaery's retinue. She often goes hawking with Janna Fossoway and Lady Margaery. Merry is shameless and openly flirtacious with the knights and kingsguard, which leads to Queen Cersei plotting to have the Tyrells fall for false accusations. Canon.

Elmor Tully. Youngest brother to Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure. Elmor was thought to have died in childbirth but had his first breath minutes before being declared. They say because of this, Elmor has a connection with the dead and can feel the aura of things. He was fostered at Raventree before being returned to his brother Edmure. He was taken prisoner after the Red Wedding. Semi-OC.

Artemysia Hotah of Norvos. A Lady informant of Princess Mellario of Norvos, Artemysia's brother is part of the kingsguard in Dorne while her mission there is to inform the Princess of her children and what they are up to. She is also a healer and was the one who saved Princess Myrcella's life. OC.

Ser Terrick Tarbeck. The last of the Tarbecks after the Reyne's Rebellion. Terrick was raised as a "ward" of Casterly Rock and tutored by Tywin Lannister to keep the boy close and manipulate him at ever step. After the death of Ser Arys Oakhart, Terrick is made Princess Myrcella's sworn sword as he travels to Dorne. OC.

Kojja Mo is the daughter of Quhuru Mo, the captain of the Cinnamon Wind. Kojja serves as the translator for the crew of the Cinnamon Wind while Samwell Tarly and Maester Aemon and Gilly travel aboard the ship. Her ship has connections to the Night's Watch. Canon.

Barsena Blackhair is a pit fighter famed in Meereen. Her origin is unknown, but she supports the pit fighting culture of the city. It is said that Barsena has slain every woman she has faced in the fighting pits of Meereen in the last eight years. After being injured by Drogon, Barsena joins the Dothraki as Daenerys' guard and travels to Westeros. Canon.

Haera Banefort. Heir of Banefort, a title in dispute as her father is held captive by the Lannisters. Haera considers her father a traitor and has taken the castle to herself. In retribution, Haera plans to allow the rivermen to take the castle to make their way to Casterly Rock if they ever make they way across the continent. OC.

Ser Brandon Cassel. Nephew of Rodrick Cassel, he was in Essos during business when he found out of the war. Learning his niece, a child, has been named the heir and was taken captive and threatened, Brandon travels back to Westeros and declares for Jon Snow as King in the North when he hears Robb Stark declared him the heir. OC.

[libraryofcirclaria]

03 November 1299

Library of Circlaria

Third Level Society: First Version

Story Nine: Sophie Qalmers

As I have said, the fix was not easy, but I did come up with a fix.

Basically, this goes off the ability to create blockworlds. For each system affected, we would create a blockworld serving as an exact replica in terms of physical geography, planet and star layout, and political entities. To protect these blockworlds, we would place some sort of barrier that destroys the Gold Imperial ships if they tried to enter, primarily in the form of locked jump gates. That is a matter of debate at this time. Ultimately, though, the objective would be to allow for the Gold Empire to function on its own between its affected star systems. However, our systems would be protected. The theory is that the change would remain barely noticeable in the years to come.

The only issue is that half the Caucus opposes it. Those that oppose are a part of the camp having idolized a figure named Peter Crane, the Dungeonmaster a number of years ago whose main agenda was to balance the budget of the Society. These people say that my idea is too expensive. However, Rose Anne and even Dungeonmaster Skylar Meredyth argue that such an expense is deemed a "worthy investment."

Meanwhile, I have been writing my notes on this to submit to my employer, Three Points. I conversed with my superior on this, and he agreed to let me go to Cabotton on company time, and promised to take me seriously if what I report on is good.

I'll be honest, despite the controversy in the Third Level Society, I am in high spirits. I've come a long way since my low point in the past.

<- 24 October 1299 <- || -> 05 November 1299 ->

[ladyregentclarice]

Lord: Clifford Oakheart, 67

Lady: Selyse Serry, 57

Daughter: Olene Hewett, 35

- m. Lord Barquen Hewett

- 12 children

Daughter: Talla Chester, 34

- m. Lord Manfred Chester

- 4 children

Son: Ser Franklyn Oakheart, 32

- m. Lady Alysanne Crane

- Seven children

Son: Ser Bayard Oakheart, 30

- m. Bethany Florent

- A daughter

Daughter: Denyse Grimm, 28

- m. Lord Torman Grimm

- 4 children

Daughter: Leona Tarly, 26

- m. Alan Tarly

- Three children

Son: Septon Armond, 25

Daughter: Victaria Hunt, 23

- m. Ser Horas Hunt

- A son

Daughter: Clarice Tyrell, 20

- m. Lorence Tyrell (d)

- lyonel Tyrell

Son: Gyles Oakheart, 19

Daughter: Elinor Oakheart, 17

Daughter: Meredyth Oakheart, 14

Son: Willas Oakheart, 14

[westerosiladies]

House of Minor Ladies Week

Day 6 - The Reach or Islanders: Margaery's ladies in waiting

[game-of-style]

Meredyth Crane, one of Queen Margaery’s lady attendants - Luisa Beccaria Haute Couture Fall 2021

[asongoficeandfiresource]

Margaery Tyrell’s Female Attendants: “Two of her ladies share her bed, different ones every night. Two others bring her breakfast and help her dress. She prays with her septa, reads with her cousin Elinor, sings with her cousin Alla, sews with her cousin Megga. When she's not off hawking with Janna Fossoway and Merry Crane, she's playing come-into-my-castle with that little Bulwer girl. She never goes riding but she takes a tail, four or five companions and a dozen guards at least.” -- A Feast For Crows

[agameofclothes]

What Meredyth Crane would wear, Dior

[astormofsilk]

@flcralis liked for a starter

Meredyth was often the one questioned endlessly as the girl dressed as to which gown or which hair piece they should wear. The younger ones often begged for her attention and for get to do their hair. She was one of the oldest amongst them, picked for her passing resemblance to Margery to act as a body double for her. Looking up from dressing herself she hummed as she watched her lady dress.

“𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺.” As she spoke Meredyth fiddled with one of her own curls, naturally happening due to the texture of her hair. “𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.” Her own hair held a floral piece in it, a silver lily that had a hanging leaf that swayed as she walked. In Highgarden she would wear bells in her hair sometimes, but here the attention was to be focused on Margaery not herself.

After all she was the one being presented to the king as a bride.

“𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘺.” Meredyth’s family were artists, she grew up learning how to put pieces together as she helped her mother even as she drifted more to music. "𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴." Roses and butterflies were what they were expecting afterall.

[gotcasting]

Meredyth “Merry” Crane

Joanne Froggatt - 37 years old, English.

[redwolf17]

My cameo hopes

Myranda Royce

Mya Stone

Sweetrobin

Elia Uller

Any of Sansa's ladies - ie Gael Celtigar

Meredyth Crane

Olyvar Rosby

Maester Luwin

Beth Cassel

Donella Hornwood

Alys Karstark

Ser Perwyn Truefaith

Well done on the progress for Arya IV!!! You should be so proud :)

💕💕💕

(it's Arya III though ;) )

[shcbear]

for: @deadliestcrane location: bear & claw martial arts gym

Dacey’s eyes settled on the turned back of what seemed to be a loiterer, not recognizing the physical traits that she could see.   Bear & Claw had their fair share of trouble with lurkers, most were men trying to get a glimpse at the mostly femme presenting clientele, but after the wedding (or rather massacre) Dacey had been noticing more and more randoms who seemed to be not quite pervy, not shy possible clients peaking in, but people who seemed oddly interested in the comings and goings of the place.  While in Wolf Kings territory, the gym was technically a neutral space, but that didn’t mean Wolf King business didn’t happen there, so Dacey was naturally paranoid. “This is a private gym, so unless you’re here to take a class or you’re a member you need to leave.--That is unless you’re volunteering to act as a human punching bag?” She inquired of the possible interloper, her bared teeth masquerading as a smile.