#moresaints: zelda.

[bronzebtch]

she's distracted.

how unbecoming. on her own wedding day, nevertheless. rhea quickens herself to smile. she does not think about this dreaded wedding dress which seems to engulf her, and the tightness of the braids in her hair that she cannot wait to take off when the night is done. ( in the vale, the braids are never this tight. ) she does not want to think about what will happen when the night is done.

❝ you are the heir apparent to kingdom of temeria, are you not ? ❞ rhea curtsies, welcoming and gracious; a lesson she's taken well when she was officially engaged with the prince. when rhea smiles, it is all courteous. the picture perfect wife for the most powerful house in the seven kingdoms in this side of the world. isn't that what she has sworn herself to ?

❝ i thank you for accepting the invitation to our wedding, your grace — or, ah, perhaps there is a title with which you prefer i call you by ? pray forgive. i am still learning the customs of the monarchy. i understand it differs with each continent. ❞

@moresaints — younger rhea sc

[bornofbloodandwater]

“These people wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.” - @moresaints​

        They’re battlewet.

Xiomara rests, neatly exhausted, in the seat reserved for her arrival. Head buzzing with the lightness of combat. Thick, dark blood sticking her -now, only minutely- white chiton to her thighs. Bronze cuirass shining in the low light streaming through the wartent opening.         “As long as we are allied, I will defend them as if they were my own.” Voice sweet; laden with her accent. “I am grateful that I could be here for you, my friend.” Turning golden eyes, what remains of the colour not hidden by the advance of black, to the Kyng. Resplendent in their success. Victory’s levity rings in the shouts of the men. “In my society, fighting side by side carves a bond unlike any other.” They cry the names of the women sharing this moment. Aware there is much more ahead, but for now they can connect in the peace.

[zmeczeni]

adda for zelda, @moresaints. 

                                   “ i didn’t ask for this! “ bitterness ad anger in her voice, the beast princess snarls, taking a single step forward. doctors warn of a possible return of the curse, and in that moment, she looks almost-almost there. 

[a-byronic-heroine]

@moresaints liked for a Valentine’s starter

Kly rolled her eyes as she let Zelda wrap an arm around her middle and take her free hand in hers. These lessons were beyond tedious. And all for some silly festival meant to glorify some made up beings that blessed fertility or cursed mated pairs to a life of eternal enslavement to their infatuations. Humans were already fornicating and reproducing like mushroom addled rabbits; they needed no encouragement. It was one thing for the peasantry to dabble in this, but Zelda had announced that she too would be celebrating and dragging her entire court into the mess. A court Kly was a part of. 

She dug her fingers into the other woman’s shoulder when she lost her balance for a brief moment. Thankfully, the Kynge seemed to anticipate her newborn fawn-like clumsiness and corrected her. It wasn’t often Kly had to learn a new skill. And no matter how much she tried to explain that the Aen Elle didn’t do anything like this and Zelda shouldn’t either because it was beneath them, the human woman was infuriatingly persistent. Like a puppy. So, now she was trying to keep up with the Kynge’s waltzing steps and not look down at her feet. The things she did in service to this human were innumerable. 

She stumbled again, this time into the other woman’s chest, her face smushing into her neck. Her hand that was on the Kynge’s shoulder, wound around her neck to try and stabilize herself. “Go hifreann leat!” she hissed in Ellylon. “Why must we continue doing this?” she pouted petulantly as she lifted her face to meet the Kynge’s eyes. She never had shown the woman the deference a subject would a ruler. She offered the woman admiration in brief, private moments as well as the respect offered to one’s peers. Though the reason was now apparent to Zelda. She knew everything, for better or worse.

[a-byronic-heroine]

“I was a whore in a sense,” Kly answered, eyeing the Kynge warily like she might reach out and strangle her at any moment. It was a possibility after all; she lied through her teeth to the woman constantly throughout their knowing each other. Even if she had saved the woman’s life on a few occasions meant little. “I used mind tricks. I can create illusions with magic. I touch a person, and suddenly they think they’re having the most mind shattering sex they’ve ever had in their life. Every fantasy they’ve ever had is realized. And then they leave none the wiser and I’m still paid. Then they keep coming back like a fisstech addict and I have a steady supply of money.”

The former queen flinched as Zelda sprung into action, but instead of feeling pain she only felt an arm over her shoulder. The Kynge was talking to her like a co-conspirator. “I’m not from here or anywhere on your silly human maps. I,” she paused. How to explain this? She wasn’t lying when she told Zelda she might not believe her. “You know of the Wild Hunt, yes? You’re well read. Those are my kin. We are called Aen Elle. We live on a separate plane of existence. I am…was, rather, of noble birth. Some things outside my control have changed that,” she grumbled as if to remind herself of her own downfall. “My noble father was a general. My mother was an artist with mage blood. I was born with the sole purpose of becoming a powerful Sage in a government order. Like the secret police of human realms.” Things obviously didn’t turn out that way.

@moresaints

@a-byronic-heroine​

Kly blinked at the Kynge, unimpressed with her rant. She wasn’t actually that far off from being correct. To be entirely without feeling was what Aen Elle society strived for above all things. Emotion and attachment, they taught, was tantamount to the most egregious sin among humans. It led to corruption and the undermining of an entire society. War, chaos, destruction and misery. That’s what emotion and attachment fostered. The only expectation was for elves bred to be soldiers. And they could only show rage and ferocity. They always used the Aen Seidhe leaving the Aen Undod to remain in the human realm as a primary example. They didn’t conform and choose stoicism over individuality and emotion, and they were nearly extinct. Best to avoid their ways altogether, society taught. Humans were another prime example with their poverty and rampant war and dysfunction.

“We were obviously raised in different cultures,” Kly grumbled as she got to her feet and brushed her palms on her skirt. Once again, she found herself pondering just telling the woman what she was. It would make life so much easier, not having to keep this secret. This fundamental part of her that dictated practically everything about her. She would figure it out eventually. All it would take is meeting a few Aen Seidhe for her to realize Kly wasn’t one of them. That Kly was keeping something from her about her origins. The last thing Kly needed was the Kynge to not trust her. Not now, when everything was going somewhat well, current situation notwithstanding.

“I didn’t have to do that as a whore,” Kly countered. “I was an elf in fancy clothes. That was enough exoticism to keep patrons coming into my web.” And a web it truly was. “I have no idea what Aen Seidhe do,” she huffed. Might as well get this over with, she figured. Better it come from her and not another source. “Have you never met one of them? Did my behavior ever seem suspicious in comparison? I’m not…I’m not one of them,” she argued, letting exhaustion seep through her voice against her will. “But were I to be honest, you never would believe me. You certainly wouldn’t have let me into your life like you have.”

The king’s spring-blue eyes settled upon her companion. She looked closely, squinting; her kindly smile tinged with uncertainty. Kly reminded her of the old portraits in the palace gallery. There was something about those painted faces which had always unsettled her, but for how long she stared at them they remained a mystery to her. 

There were secrets behind those unmoving eyes that she knew she would never uncover; their small mouths sealed for all eternity. They stared at her knowingly, as if to say: we have discovered the forbidden truths of the world but we will never tell you. She stared at them, and they stared back at her, and her heart curdled with unease. 

It was the same feeling then with Kly. A dangerous feeling. A ticking, a slip, the curtain drawing back to reveal… to reveal…

     “You are funny,” she said, a weird look on her face. “Of course you’re not like them. I could tell from the instant we met. You’re special! You’re educated. I saw it, and now I can smell it! You were never a whore, were you? That was all a rouse. You whiff of aristocracy. It’s so obvious now.”

The curtain fell back with a heavy thump. Zelda was not ready to hear it. She threw an arm over the other woman’s shoulders and pulled her in to her body, like two old friends. “Tell me then, who was your noble father?”

[a-byronic-heroine]

@moresaints asked: 🎁

Kly was convinced she would never understand these humans and their holidays. What was even the point of this “Yule”? She recalled during her time as Queen that Eredin reported that some humans left sacrifices and gifts during the cold, short days to try and appease the Hunt and called it Yule. Kly and all the other advisors had laughed at the foolish ways of the short lived, violent little creatures. But now that she was forced to live among them, these strange rituals seemed to have more nuance. Especially in the Kynge’s court. The nobility gorged themselves on feasts and had balls, music and dancing deep into the night. The palace was covered in strange crystal baubles and branches of evergreen adorned with red and white berries and other plants. They offered gifts to each other and the Kynge and whispered of elves and far that would snatch up bad people and eat them. All completely ridiculous and frivolous. It made no sense at all, though Zelda seemed determined to teach her and make her demean and lower herself into participating.

Gifts in her culture were seen as gestures meant for elves assigned to marriage. After the Aen Saevherne assigned elves for reproducing, there was a ceremony of the two families. Each of the couple would give their intended a gift showing their skill and ability to provide. A showing of what they offered in the offspring planned to be had. There were no other times gifts were given, so Kly was reasonably confused when humans just gave each other things. She personally refused at least four already though she suspected the servants were taking them to be put in her rooms, the bastards. She didn’t want their gifts. It was uncomfortable. Insulting to her, in many cases. The only exception was for Zelda. She was an admirable if irritating woman; Kly found her to be tolerable and good company.

She offered the monarch a small, singular cuff link. It was silver and gleaming though the design was plain. She deposited it into the woman’s calloused hand and nodded. “It goes on the sleeve. Dip it into any food or drink, and it will alert you to poison or toxins.” Kly was ever the practical one. She wasn’t about to promise Zelda a tract of land, any horse of her choosing or the finest wine of a Beauclaire vineyard or a hand forged blade encrusted with jewels. Land becomes useless, animals die, wine goes away, blades go dull and rust. A device charmed to alert its wearer to toxins or foul play in their meals? That had permanence and use.

She pulled a phial from her gown and placed a drop on the cuff link. Hopefully she would be too distracted to ask why Kly kept poison on her person. No doubt she’d scowl and pour at the Aen Elle’s reasons. The small device chimed faintly like the ting of a hand bell and glowed pale blue with magic. “It’s a magic I refined for personal use. I’m sure it will be of value to you.” Because she was a target of many assassinations. Most by people in Auberon’s own inner circle. Crevan in particular. She dipped her head. “I hope it pleases you and shows my usefulness.” She paused and blinked for a few moments. That was…a bit uncanny. She immediately defaulted to a close translation of the engagement gifting. She cleared her throat and shook the thought.

[bronzebtch]

it is odd — being bowed to.

although perhaps that's simply a small thread to follow for all of this, everything that's happened since father has received the summon from the capitol, has been odd. of course it was an honour. she is taught and spoken to and have been told countless of time how much of an honour it was, it is. when the news spread within her keep that the reason for the summon had been to potentially marry their young lady to the prince, it was all her handmaids were willing to speak about.

of course, it was quite the talk of the whole stone hall, and yet all the same, rhea recognises their enthusiasm most closely. after all, within a day, they were paying more attention on what she ought to have packed for the capitol. they were recommending jewelries, going as far as digging through her mother's older ones, and even her grandmother's. old bronze rings and gold necklaces. or her dresses, which was before nothing but fashioned simply for she had much preferred mobility in what she wears than it to be decorative, were being added to them intricate details of bows and beadings.

rhea cannot deny that, in some, she had felt appreciative of the effort. in some, she could recognise the pride these ladies closest to her, who have tended to her since she was a child, were pouring in their own little ways. there were even dresses she thought had come out quite beautiful, even if it was outlandish in ways she would otherwise not agree to wear. and yet — much of it felt as if things were happening more and more out of everyone's accord except her own. even in the clothing which was hers, suddenly became anything but.

arriving in king's landing only seems to... worsen the feeling.

and she understands that the notion of an arranged marriage is not peculiar. had it not been the prince, surely it would be another lord. surely another house would have extended their proposal and rhea would soon meet her intended, whether they be young or old, for any proposal is valid as long as the man is without a wife. in her case, one might even argue it is similar to winning an unlikely battle, wherein she not only coveted the house which represents the crown of their entire seven kingdoms, but it is a house that carries in them the blood of the dragonriders, the only bloodline to ever do so in their time and age, and the prince is as young as she, if not separated by only a year, and he is said to be gallant, a masterful swordsman, daring.

he has not spoken to her for more than a few quips that is not forced by her queen grandmother ever since she has arrived, and she has arrived for moons now. even now, though they are meant to receive and thank the guests, the prince finds more company at the bottom of his goblet than the noble lords who have come to congratulate him, standing quite stubbornly away where he is not, by tradition, at her side. the queen have told her exasperatedly, along with her father, that the prince only needs to time to get used to the union. that he is a defiant child, she had said in particular, high-nosed and sharp-toned, but even he will surely come about to accept you soon, milady.

rhea, once again, resolutely does not think about what would transpire soon once the call for them to be ready for their marriage bed is made. she focuses instead on what the heir to temeria have spoken. in truth, her name has escaped rhea at present — she is sure it is a name not common here in westeros, anyhow, which, for all of rhea's reputation as a good student, remembering foreign names and languages have never been one of her strong suit — but the heir is, in one glance, beautiful. in that, rhea cannot help from drawing comparisons with her own newly-wed husband and those of his lineage. there is almost an etherealness in the heir's pale hair and bright eyes. though whereas her husband had looked at her so far with a mix of curiosity and disdain, this princess does not.

the heir of temeria is, instantly, a faint image of the soft-spoken aemma arryn and the shy but sweet princess gael targaryen; the only few of the targaryens rhea has had to believe so far who does not fully see her as only the bride.

until, of course, what the heiress has said sinks in. congratulations on your marriage into such an impressive family. and what could she have said to that ? — thank you, i look forward to bearing my husband's children who surely will also be dragonriders, who carries with them the blood of old valyria, and, for all intent and purposes, the split vote among the commonfolk regarding jaehaerys' heir aside, has a legitimate claim to the crown. though, princess, do you know i did not ask for any of this ? i need not dragonriders. i marry not for any blood. i need none of my children to become kings or queens. if anything, if you should know, it is my family's wealth and land that they need. my father only benefits for he believes having this house would strengthen my claim to his seat. i did not ask for any of this. that is all, that is all.

though rhea says nothing of that.

instead, she smiles. politely - a smile she has been practising to master, to come across far more genuinely than the nervousness her vale knights who have come here as part of her entourage would often tease she wears. ❝ oh, of course, ❞ she lies. her fingers are cold, though none of it is from the weather. unthinkingly, she pinches them. ❝ the feasts are spectacular. have you had any chance to dine yet, your grace ? our wine comes straight from the reach. their wines, i've been told, have never disappoint. ❞ @moresaints

Zelda was more interested in the high ceilings. She stared at the ceiling compartments with her lively blue eyes, each of them filled with intricate patterns of geometric shapes and painted foliage and animals. In the centre of each square were large roundels depicting scenes from classical mythology, and framing the roundels was a beautifully intricate strapwork. If she looked close enough, she could make out the additional small dragon figures placed throughout the design; if she looked long enough, she swore she could see them moving. 

Her predecessor, Foltest, had kept the palace of Vizima in a semi-militant state during his reign. When he had been alive he had hoarded the crown gold like a fat and greedy beast. That coin was never to be used for enjoyment and pleasure, only for war and all things pragmatic and necessary. Zelda did not share the dead man's sentiment. Coin was there to be spent on nice things; beautiful things, things which made people happy. Coins came and went like the seasons. They could always get more, it was only a matter of discerning the best ways to do that.

When she came sovereign, why could she not make it so? 

Back home, in Temeria, where the palace was her playhouse to do as she pleased, she would have enjoyed a celebration as fanciful as this one. But here she had to be on her best behaviour, which seemed unfair to the healthy seventeen year old who soaked up fun like a drunkard chugging a gallon of ale. No games, she was warned; no tricks or pranks or teasing; certainly no frolicking with noble girls, or kissing. Stigr had expressed most sombrely that she was there to represent the kingdom, and if she was to one day (and soon) be a respected and worthy monarch, the best thing she could do was act the part. Make friends, not enemies, he had told her. Oh, she had replied, but she would have no problem with accomplishing that. It was in her nature to be lovely and golden.

For the feast, she had changed into a doublet of burgundy silk, embroidered with gold thread in a pattern of fleur-de-lis. The emblem of Temeria. The sleeves were tight fitting and ended in delicate ruffles of white lace. Over the doublet, she wore a short, fitted jacket made of ermine, the soft white fur trimmed with sable. The jacket was fastened with a row of gold buttons, each one encrusted with a precious gem. Beneath her jacket, she wore a white linen shirt with a high collar, adorned with a ruby encrusted brooch. Her hose were of the finest wool, dyed a deep blue that matched her eyes. They were fastened to her breeches with ornate garters made of gold and pearls. On her feet, she wore pointed-toe shoes made from black leather, the soles reinforced with steel. They were set with diamonds. Upon her head she wore a hat of black velvet, trimmed with a band of gold and a feather from a rare bird. Her hair was as rich and gold as her outfit. She wore it loose beneath her hat, which cascaded down her back in rivulets, softly braided and clipped at the back of her head to keep the wilder bits from her eyes. 

She had no idea of the approaching bride until she was spoken to, and she started in surprise, blinking in stupor as the young woman curtseyed. The bride was Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. Or was it princess, now? She was pretty, and only two years younger than Zelda was. When they met eyes, Zelda smiled graciously and removed her hat from her head. With it pressed to her chest, she bowed slightly in return. 

“Admittedly I don't mind what you call me, so long as it is not unkind,” replied Temeria's prince, amused. The smile on her face widened and with it appeared the dimples in her cheeks. Zelda had the air of a wild boy about her, one who thought it funny and entirely innocent to steal cookies from a windowsill or to blow bubbles in his drink. Even at seventeen, when most people her age desired to be seen as adults and acted accordingly, she preferred to wrestle with her dogs in the muddy grass, or to do cartwheels in the sand and dive into the sea. She had scrapes all over her ass from the rocky Temerian shores.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said, in emphasis. “And congratulations on your marriage into such an impressive family.”

Zelda's eyes did not leave Rhea, nor her smile. She wondered if she loved him. The Targaryen Prince. It would have to be Zelda one day, too. But their circumstances differed slightly. At least Zelda had some choice in the matter, being who she was. She imagined Rhea had had less of a choice, especially when the engagement was to a man as high ranked as Daemon Targaryen. She had spoken to him briefly before. She didn't like him.

“Are you having fun?” She asked, adding quickly, “I mean, silly of me, you must be. It is your wedding feast, after all.”

Apart from herself, the bride seemed to be one of the youngest at the wedding feast. Zelda missed her friends back home, all of a similar age. Here it appeared they were surrounded by older people. Men and women with more experience than Zelda and Rhea combined, and all of which could not possibly have anything in common with them. She wondered if Rhea was as itching to run away as she was.

@bronzebtch