#westeros.timeskip

[westeroslive]

please  listen  close  for  a  greeting from  her  grace,  rhaena  targaryen,  first  of  her  name,  queen  of  the  andals,  and  the  rhoynar,  and  the  first  men,  lady  of  the  seven  kingdoms,  and  protector  of  the  realm.

❝  you are welcomed to  highgarden  in these, such trying times. the crown wishes you well, and desires nothing more than to protect you all from harm  -  so tell me, dear subject, how do you fare? i certainly hope your journey was comfortable. . . ❞

it's three months later ! and perhaps many things have changed for your characters, so we'd like to know about it ! please post a small blurb for each of your characters about what they have been up to since they've left king's landing during the celebrations. have they been solitary, stuck in grief? or perhaps a new marriage had quickly been arranged in the midst of all chaos? perhaps couples have found themselves so thankful of their survival that a new life blooms.

this task is not mandatory, but highly encouraged.

[sapphircd]

#TASK   ⸻   TIMESKIP.

from   our   chalices   filled   with   wine,   until   the   blood   covered   the   ground,   we   spent   our   time   unaware   of   the   dangers   and   its   cruelty.

LADY   MAESELLA   TARGARYEN   ⸻    ALIVE   AND   UNBURNT.

not  a  scratch  was  found  upon  the  castamere  targaryen,  but  the  attack  left  severe  trauma  for  the  kind  dragon.  right  after  the  attack,  maesella  was  present  and  alive,  but  as  the  news  of  lost  ones  and  the  horrors  everyone  went  through,  she  withdrew  further  and  further  into  herself.  the  once  radiating  flower  had  begun  to  loose  it's  petals  and  withdrawn  into  herself  to  avoid  further  harm.  two  months  spent  alone  with  her  dragon,  she  has  found  herself  afraid  once  again  with  no  need  for  reality.

LORD   LYONEL   LANNISTER   ⸻    ALIVE   AND   UNBURNT.

the  echoing  voice  of  a  lion's  howl  was  not  to  be  heard.  the  raven-haired  lannister  traveled  back  home,  knowing  no  loss  or  hurt,  and  was  therefore  hubris  in  his  travel.  however,  within  the  passing  months,  his  beloved  mother  has  done  her  utmost  to  find  partners  for  her  twins  and  while  lyonel  was  outraged  by  his  sisters'  known  betrothal,  his  own  came  as  a  shock  as  well.  not  only  was  he  to  be  wed,  but  with  it,  he  would  have  to  leave  westeros  and  it  torments  the  vain  lannister  to  be  separated  from  his  other  half,  and  to  be  united  with  an  unknown  lord  of  essos.

CROWN   PRINCESS   ADHIKA   DAGAREON   ⸻     ALIVE   AND   UNBURNT.

after  leaving  westeros  the  princess  felt  both  loss  and  grief.  one  sibling  had  perished  in  the  claws  of  death,  another  by  reasons  she  could  not  forgive.  she  suddenly  stood  with  a  crown  in  her  grasp,  just  when  the  other  had  slipped  out  of  her  slender  fingers.  the  last  months  the  harpy  has  tried  her  utmost  to  pull  herself  together,  to  accept  her  own  desires  and  the  crown  of  her  homeland.  she  grieves  her  brother  and  the  wrath  she  holds  for  her  sister  in  westeros.  returning  to  westeros  was  the  last  thing  she  wanted,  but  now  she  needs  to  build  bridges  or  perhaps  burn  them  down.

[morewoe]

The  fates,  spinning  golden  thread  on  their  spindle.  The  banshee  in  a  tree,  pointed  finger  and  screeching.  The  church  grim,  red  eyes  in  the  dark  across  a  foggy  field.

TW:  nightmares,  pregnancy,  injury,  death

Myranda  Karstark,  Lady  of  Karhold

Myranda  finds  herself  back  where  she  began,  at  the  gates  of  Karhold  with  nothing  to  her  name  but  the  cloak  around  her  shoulders.  She  passes  through  the  gates  into  the  courtyard  she  grew  in,  and  it's  like  none  of  it  ever  happened.  Like  she  never  left  at  all.  She  passes  the  same  familiar  faces,  and  eats  the  same  food,  takes  her  horse  down  familiar  paths,  lingers  in  the  same  shadows  she  had  since  she  was  knee  high.  She  tells  herself  her  time  in  King's  Landing  did  not  change  her.  The  irony  is  not  lost  on  her,  that  in  her  eagerness  to  prove  useful  to  her  family,  she  nearly  lost  everything.

She  seeks  comfort  in  the  same  place  she  did  as  a  child,  at  the  base  of  the  weirwood  tree,  and  under  watchful  eye  she  feels  safe.  She  sleeps  less  and  less,  dreams  filled  with  smoke  and  scales,  dark  rings  under  eyes  making  her  look  even  more  the  ghost  that  haunts  Karhold,  instead  spending  nights  wandering  the  halls,  the  Godswood,  anywhere  she  can,  until  she  falls  asleep  as  the  sun  starts  to  rise.  She  should  feel  safe  here,  should  sleep  well  knowing  the  dragons  would  not  follow,  but  the  stone  walls  that  surround  her  no  longer  feel  as  sturdy.

She  writes  to  the  new  friends  she  made,  long  letters  that  make  life  sound  more  idyllic,  softer.  They  tell  of  family  coming  together  in  time  of  need,  and  make  her  sound  stronger  than  she  is.  It  is  a  lie  she  allows  herself,  with  no  one  to  contradict  her.  The  raven  to  Bear  Island  is  the  one  that  flies  the  most,  though  she  tells  self,  and  maester,  that  it  is  simply  concern  for  welfare.  The  attack  was  hard  on  them  all,  and  she  worries  about  those  she  left  behind  in  her  eagerness  to  return  to  the  safety  of  youth.

When  the  invitation  arrives,  Myranda  knows  what  she  must  do.  She  is  sent  with  the  same  mission  as  last  time,  to  use  marriage  to  forge  alliance  that  would  advance  House  Karstark,  and  though  the  thought  is  less  appealing  to  her  than  ever,  she  knows  she  will  do  as  she  is  bid.  She  makes  the  long  journey  south,  eyes  ever  watching  the  sky,  always  fearful  of  what  she  may  find.

Amos  Tully,  Lord Heir  of  Riverrun

Amos  keeps  himself  busy,  because  the  alternative  might  send  him  mad.  Sitting  with  the  knowledge  of  how  close  they  came  to  destruction,  it  makes  him  feel  weaker  than  the  Tully's  the  came  before,  who  had  the  good  foresight  to  leave  the  capitol,  when  things  started  going  south.  Of  course,  that  line  of  thought  is  not  productive,  and  he  has  enough  to  fill  his  time  without  wasting  thought  on  the  past.  With  both  wife  and  sister  injured,  he  does  what  he  does  best,  and  organises.  He  funds  the  maester,  anything  he  needs,  spare  no  expense,  and  then  has  another  sent  to  him  by  the  Vale,  and  finally  feels  safe  enough  to  leave  either  bedside  for  long  enough  to  check  on  the  tentative  allies  he  seems  to  have  made.  It  is  costly,  but  his  father  is  easily  convinced  that  it  is  worth  it.

And  then,  to  both  his  joy  and  utter  terror,  Syrena  announces  she  is  with  child.  He  is  elated  at  the  news,  for  how  could  he  not  be?  He  imagines  a  child  as  spirited  as  his  wife  on  better  days,  imagines  teaching  them  to  fish,  sitting  them  on  his  knee  and  telling  them  stories.  On  worse  days,  he  frets  about  how  he  may  fall  short.  He  starts  to  become  more  fearful,  there  are  days  where  he  feels  he  barely  knows  what  he  is  doing,  and  he  is  supposed  to  raise  a  child?

He  questions  internally  about  withdrawing  his  application  to  be  Hand.  It  was  one  thing,  in  the  Red  Keep,  in  a  time  of  purported  peace,  to  sit  by  the  monarch,  but  after  the  attack,  he  thinks  of  the  danger  it  would  put  his  family  in.  It  does�� not  make  the  draw  of  power  less  appealing,  but  a  voice  in  the  back  of  his  mind  is  unflinching  in  it's  whispered  doubts.

When  the  invitation  arrives,  he  wastes  no  time  in  packing  his  things,  and  travelling  with  Syrena  to  Highgarden.  The  vulnerability  of  travel  makes  him  nervous,  but  most  things  make  him  nervous  these  days,  and  so  an  unflinching  pace  is  set.  He  tells  himself  that  all  will  make  itself  more  clear,  once  he  is  back  in  the  swing  of  court.  As  much  as  he  would  like  to  stay  in  the  safety  of  Riverrun,  he  cannot  help  but  be  drawn  to  the  potential  of  the  court,  and  besides,  there  are  people  outside  of  his  small  bubble  he  needs  to  check  on.

Gysella  Lannister,  Lady  of  Casterly  Rock

Gysella's  wounds  are  more  visible,  much  to  her  utter  dismay.  She  had  woken  in  a  panic  to  smoke,  disorientating  and  dizzying,  in  a  keep  not  her  own,  so  not  as  well  known.  In  her  haste  to  escape  the  fire,  no  matter  what  she  ran  towards,  she  found  herself  falling,  so  much  dust  and  smoke  in  the  air  she  cannot  see  what  is  two  feet  in  front  of  her  face.  She  lands  first  on  her  chest,  catching  a  piece  of  debris  that  knocks  the  air  from  her  lungs  and  makes  her  wheeze,  and  when  she  can  finally  breathe  again,  that  is  when  she  notices  her  leg.  At  first,  she  thinks  it  broken,  and  all  hope  lost.  She  pushes  and  claws  and  fights,  and  yet  it  will  not  hold  her  weight,  even  as  she  leans  against  a  wall,  and  she  makes  little  progress.  All  hope  lost,  until  unknown  person  pulls  her  arm  over  their  shoulder,  and  together  they  hobble  from  the  wreckage  of  the  Keep.

Maesters  confine  her  to  a  bed.  They  tell  her  the  leg  is  not  broken,  the  muscle  torn.  They  warn  her  that  attempting  to  move  could  lead  to  it  never  healing  correctly,  and  the  fear  keeps  her  in  bed,  though  not  without  complaint.  She's  a  sullen  creature,  prone  to  bouts  of  anger  and  frustration.  She  insists  all  news  be  brought  to  her  directly,  and  scours  the  lists  of  injured  and  dead  like  they  are  a  lifeline.  As  much  as  she  thought  she  wanted  the  heir  to  Pyke  dead,  it  was  hard  to  deny  that  even  she  thought  it  an  unfitting  end.  They  were  friends  once,  after  all.

She  considers  commandeering  the  first  ship  to  the  Iron  Islands,  to  see  for  herself  the  people  she  used  to  hold  so  dear  to  her  heart  were  unhurt.  It  did  not  dull  the  anger  she  still  felt,  she  wasn't  sure  if  anything  would,  but  it  put  it  into  perspective,  a  larger  picture  than  just  her  personal  vendetta.  She  wanted  him  laid  low,  but  only  by  her  own  hand.  Nothing  else  would  do.  Of  course,  she  is  in  no  shape  to  leave.  Eventually,  it  doesn't  hurt  to  breathe,  though  she  still  thinks  something  may  not  have  healed  quite  right.  Every  now  and  then  there's  a  twinge  in  her  chest.  Not  fear,  of  course.  Her  blood  was  iron,  and  she  did  not  feel  fear.  Not  now,  not  then,  not  ever.

Paranoia  is  a  flavour  she  is  used  to  on  her  tongue.  If  the  Red  Keep  was  a  target,  who's  to  say  the  other  great  houses  weren't  also  in  danger?  When  court  is  reconvened  in  Highgarden,  she  almost  considers  remaining  on  the  Rock.  Almost.  Instead,  she  leaves  for  the  Reach  without  complaint.

TL;DR

Myranda  has  more  outwardly  facing  anxiety,  panic  attacks  and  nightmares  that  have  made  previous  insomnia  a  thousand  times  worse.  Amos  internalised  all  of  it  and  is  telling  himself  he's  over  it,  with  everything  new  in  his  life,  but  he's  really  just  ignoring  the  problem.  Gysella  is  more  internal  in  her  strife,  because  her  previously  accepted  anger  feels  a  lot  pettier  than  it  did  before  death  and  she  doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  it  all.

[divinitics]

WESTEROS TASK: arc i timeskip as the sun sets, the skies allowed dragons to dance

princess daenaera targaryen of westeros

she sustained minor burns and bruises, nothing that she couldn't handle, and immediately went to work. a mere fortnight after the siege of king's landing, she came to her mother with a proposal that she couldn't refuse: for the emperor had been shaken in the knowledge that there were actual dragons in volantis that he desired some dragons for himself. no, she wasn't going to give the imperial crown some dragon eggs, but she was willing to act as scout and spy for the emperor, to soar high above volantis and the surrounding area before coming back to report upon troop movements or any valuable sightings, for a very large sum. the esssosi crown has more gold than most people would see in a lifetime, and it was for that one reason that the queen reluctantly agreed to allow her eldest daughter to go. the only stipulation, she was to be accompanied by her babysitter brother: the prince-commander daeron. they didn't get hurt, for the most part, and the gold that they earned was used to rebuild king's landing and the red keep into something bigger and more monstrous than before. the two were in essos for the better part of 2 months, moving between the southern cities in order to better conserve time and energy when scouting in and around volantene territory.

lady saeleya moraqos of myr

she sailed straight to pentos for the crow prince's funeral, where she met up with her father and elder brother. they were both somber, and spoke in low voices to her about the increased naval drills back home, and the terrified looks that their people were throwing at the sky. news travelled fast when the line of succession was concerned, and the grand prince was furious at the lack of preparation due to the abject refusal of the tyroshi archons in believing that dragons were involved. there were whispers of magic now, and the good sailors of myr spent many nights in temples of the merling king, praying quietly for safe passage through the seas. trade was immediately cut off to the eastern cities, for no captain would risk their lives for mere gold. saeleya was basically constrained to the shores of myr, and it suffocated her. she sent ravens back and forth to adhika in pentos, and a few attempts in contacting her friends in qarth. not many letters returned, and the few that did assure her that absolutely everyone was on high alert. many of the myrish people fought for the imperial crown, and the amount of ships docked in their port grew smaller every day. her elder brother himself had commanded an armada in the name of the emperor towards volantis, and saeleya hoped every day that she would be able to see him again.

ruling liege cersha bolton nee lannister of dreadfort

they had wanted so very much to stop by lannisport to see her mother, but after the siege of king's landing, they knew that it would not be possible. the boltons rode back to dreadfort without stopping, and cersha held each of her children with a vice-like grip, thankful and terrified. she quietly remembered the way the tower of the hand fell in a flurry of fire and ash, and cersha looked at their husband without saying a word. if he were to succeed, if that tower was to be their home, the next siege might result in the spilt blood of their own children. perhaps he had thought the same, or perhaps his single-minded focus thought that the queen could not possibly navigate through this tragedy without a hand by her side. either way, cersha held his hand throughout the journey, and knew either way that she would stand by his side. they corresponded fervently with their family in lannisport, and wasn't shocked at the news that their mother had decided that she will now seriously seek for a husband for cersei. the ruling lady asked for cersha's opinion, and cersha beamed with pride. they sent ravens to malenie in ashemark, sending her condolences for the death of her father and a myriad of apologies for not being able to attend the funeral. it was easy to ignore the threat of dragons in the north. the winter chill ever reminding her that the beasts will not be able to venture anywhere near them. It was fine for a while, and life went on as it did before everything happened.

[luvburn]

                                   𝖺𝗋𝖼 𝗂𝗂. 𝖜𝖆𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖜𝖓

you ask me what i remember, but the air's gone heavy in my lungs.

timeskip: three months since arc i, after the attack by the volantene dragons.

cw: coma, death mention, grief.

⋆ DANTAE DAGAREON ... unconscious & alive.

for   the   first   two   weeks   following   the   carnage   in   king's   landing,   the   youngest   of   the   essosi   gems   laid   comatose. if   you   were   to   ask   the prince   how   it   happened,   he'd   have   no   answer.   the   only   persisting memory   being   a   scene   of   flames   accompanied by   the   screeching   of winged beasts overhead.   perhaps   it   was   a   blessing ⸻ to have not had to bear witness to the fate of one's own brother. waking from that half - moon slumber to the knowledge that they are now the only remaining son of the emperor paralyzed them. as chaotic as dantae was, kusa had always served as a guiding light, keeping them just from the edge of self destruction. without him, it was as if they were swallowed up into a maelstrom. their brother now sits beside the lord of light in his great hall, but all the living prince can see is an empty seat at the table. so he takes to his cups. throwing himself into what he knows best : gambling and surrounding himself with the company of his more intimate friends, caring not for reputations and decorum. the only seemingly sensible act they've done is employ spies to keep watch on activities around the realm when they cannot. in an effort to secure some added stability within the empire ( and to wrangle the hellion that dantae has become ) his father has begun talks of a betrothal. it hardly means much to the peridot gem who has firmly placed himself on an impetuous streak with no plans of slowing down. a moments pause and everything he wishes to avoid will come rushing like vultures yearning to pick at his wounded flesh.

[wcrfcres]

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ task — 𝘼𝙍𝘾 𝙄 : 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗣

crimson - stained fingers, shaking as it sprawls letters across pages. word after word, after word. after word. a vicious cycle of whispers and anecdotes. not a matter of lies and truths, nor rights and wrongs, only the might of those who rose from the rubble. a page for the forged son making amends, another for the bastard growing wary of oaths, the next for the beast sharpening its claws, then the maiden outgrowing grace, and the last for the evenstar with eyes turning red.

trigger warnings : violence, body horror, undertones of ptsd/trauma, parental death, parental neglect, injury

DALTON GREYJOY , LORD HEIR OF PYKE

fire on land is as vicious as fire at sea, peril on land is as vindictive as it is at sea. the scene etched in dalton's memory forever. a hellish plain that resembled the nightmare he brings forth with the ironborn in their raids. a piece of his memory came to life and fell upon the capital. he remember that his feet refused to move, that he is pulled into a numbing bubble, air sucked out of his lungs, cold sweat rippling on his skin... and only when he feels the presence of his beloved wife nearby was he able to knock himself back to his senses, immediately bringing her to safety. the journey back to pyke is no better. it felt longer than it should be. their drowned god makes attempts to pacify him, brings kinder waters and stormless nights. still the kraken lied awake, terrified to close his eyes. worried that he may as well wake up with his wife hurt, burnt, gone. he falls asleep fighting, shoving the discomfort that helplessness carried with it. and he swore he felt who dwells below winced with him as the vengeance swayed. dalton never once left his wife's side, held her closer, kissed her longer, and refused to let her out of his sight. wherever sylaisha went, he followed. masking it all with jest, desire a veil pressed over the fears that must not exist in the ironborn, especially it's future lord. but his wife anchored him to reality, reminded him that she was not crushed under towering walls of fire, nor drowned in the waves of ash and smoke. sylaisha lives, or so his mind thinks... he needed to see her, hold her , and bring her close to be sure. he slept less when his thoughts began to settle, when he starts remembering the names of his friends. he held his breath for a good long while as the maester reads the names of those whose lives were lost and injured. his mind prepared for the worst, fist balled harshly, jaw tight, fighting the rest his eyes for even closing them brought horrid images of scorched skin, shattered bones, and rotting innards. the anticipation could kill him, and what was only mere minutes felt like a lifetime of suffering. those were not just names, not just faces... they were regrets, unspoken apologies, lost time, broken dreams, and missed opportunities. confined in the shores of pyke, dalton had, if it must be called something, an epiphany. a penance for his selfishness, for choosing to yield to his worries. he must return to the service of his sea god... and return his benevolence a hundred times over. he had been docked in the iron islands longer than he should, while the open seas remained unconquered. there is only one acceptable offering, the iron fleet. he's still apprehensive about his father's way, his diluted beliefs of power. perhaps, there is some useful truth in it — strength in unity. and for the first time in long time, it works in his favor. he will not have to compromise personal interests for that of his calling. the call for highgarden could not be more opportune, with the entirety of court gathered in one place. he will not have to venture far to meet with the ghosts he meticulously ran from.

SER THEODORE BARATHEON , LORD COMMANDER OF THE QUEENSGUARD

idleness is a privilege that theo cannot afford. not as his mother's son who must pay tribute and worship the old gods. not as a bastard who sought the acceptance of his father and his house. not as a hedge knight who has much to prove to be worthy of an armor. and certainly, not as a lord commander of the queensguard who must stay true to the oath he swore before the many gods. his mind was always at work — preparing for the bad, worse, and worst. every passage, name, face, whisper, slight, deed, prayer, and sin memorized should he need it. hands ever prepared to unsheathe his sword. theo lived his life on his feet and always with intention. always found something to keep his mind and body sharp and at its peak condition for the crown's disposal. then idleness enforced itself, with fire and blood from across the narrow sea, crashing onto the keep and streets of the capital, leaving the white stag abed for what felt like an eternity. he thought of the many vows he was breaking by suffering from his injuries. ( he has broken bones and bruised his ribs before, it will heal even when he resumes his post, he insisted many times. ) he never used pain as a reason an excuse to step away from duty, not even for a minute. not ever. and when the maester said he must refrain from moving about if he wanted to heal properly. as if danger will wait for him to heal properly before it strikes again. it was worse than a death sentence, at that point, they might as well pass the judgement. what good is a knight, a queensguard... a lord commander abed ? the days that spilled to weeks, to a month that he remained confined under the watchful care of the healers and maesters. besides his brothers, he had a lone visitor. one who helped immensely in keeping his sanity in tact, a friend he made before his life in the capital — liege arwyn mallister. but idleness was not content in just bruising his body black and blue, it had to sink its teeth into his mind too. it began with the servants' curious looks in passing before the whisper reaches his ears. finds himself grimacing to the vile accusations at the expense of his friend. the hours spent on his duty, keep his shoulders worthy of the white cloak, were then filled with residual doubts built up. realizations piling up, one right after another until the truth as high as a mountain stood in his way. and the inner conflict raged furious, unlike any storm he has weathered. so many vows... he swore, and swore, and swore. protect the queen. obey her command. keep the crowns' secret. pray before the weirwoods. treat bastards as you would any heir. never betray you queen. honor the crown. stay true to yourself. but what if the queen turned her back on dragonseeds ? what if the time comes and the crown demands the unthinkable ? is this not too much? was he not to forsake one vow for another ? will he be made to choose to betray himself, be a hypocrite or will he be forced to do the worst a knight is able, become an oathbreaker? but the move to highgarden was a pleasant change he welcomed. for a while, he felt the doubts were naught, an effect of the medicine, and the time spent abed. and yet the truths await around the corner, in whispers that slither past door openings and disdainful glances.

ALARIC MORMONT , LORD OF BEAR ISLAND

here we stand, the words of house mormont taunted alaric, haunted him like ghosts scratching at his walls, whispered him craven and inutile. he took pride in his wisdom, men look to him for it. the knowledge he had acquired, the words of wise men lifted from the pages, engraved, and bannered. he saw himself separate, different, from his kin, from the good people of bear island. spent his days cooped up in libraries, gaze tracing line after line of words strung by maesters and those that came before him. men who saw their expertise as the weapon they wielded in the world of armors, blades, and bloodshed. alaric rallied behind them, saw himself superior to others for he wore temperance like a glove, braided patience into his locks, and knitted peace and verbal exchanges as his banner. but where did he stand when hellfire fell from the sky? when northerners and southerners alike were doused in white, black, and grey? what good has his knowledge and wisdom brought forth when he had no strength to employ it? he deemed himself unworthy of his name, of his blood, of the life his good mother offered to the god in place of his. how has it all gone in vain? he had known, spoken out of turn for it in front of his brother. imprudence hanging from his shoulders as knights of gold and white do with their proud colors. and he was right, and then what? all he had are words, ideas, and beliefs. the men the maesters wrote about, they had more than that, and he had to be moments away from death's cold embrace before he realized the opportunity that was passing him by... and not another second more. alaric set foot in the training grounds of bear island, to the surprise of many. not to deliver forged weapons as per request or check on the state of wares as he does frequently. the youngest of lady glover went there to hold a sword and tackle men to the ground. he spends a good number of hours there, more than his forge, more than the humble library he had put together. and when he is not covered in sweat and growing into the body of a man one would hope a son of house mormont to carry, he writes letters to dear friends all over the north. longer and more frequent to his dearest lady friend in karhold, only while reading and writing said letters has the young lord mormont spared a smile. outside of it, there is only the look of the island's ferocious bears in pursuit of their next meal. alaric finally became his father's son, a true mormont of bear island, a full-pledged northerner. heart and soul, mind and body. every second of the those three months were accounted for, in training, hunts with his father and their men, refining his smithing skills, and extending his reach. he opened himself up farther than his younger self would, started looking into commission offers from beyond the north, or as far across the narrow seas. no longer looking down his nose at offers from those not accustomed to winter. he began convincing himself that it was not wrong to go through such means, if the end would be what they've always wanted for generations — a free, independent north. the call for nobles to head farther south was no longer a request of solidarity or resilience, his mormont blood and the bone of the first men that built him saw this as a slight. a desperate attempt to maintain control... or rather the illusion of it.

DYANNA MARBRAND , LADY OF ASHEMARK

when the capital fell into ruins that day, dyanna lost her father — her beacon. with him, dyanna's hopes for her future died. nothing left of it but a pile of ashes and grief. the perfect life she looked forward to, one breath away, gone in a blink of an eye. gone after the dragons danced in the sky, wings spread across the sky until darkness ate away at all she loved dear. she tried desperately to hold onto the good memories, of her childhood filled with joy and wonder, of how she was never made to feel insecure or lacking, of how her father made sure she was never to know or meet loneliness. and yet she could not bring herself to remember, to soak herself in those moments for a taste of reprieve. all the bright, beautiful memories made her every inch of her body hurt and the tears fall endlessly. no matter how she hard she tried, breathing just wasn't the same, and she grasped for air as though she were drowning on land. dyanna trusted no one as much as she trusted her father. the walls that protected her, a wall that made her feel safe from things that groan in the dark, hiss in the woods, and clang in the halls... it began to crumble. with lord lorent's death, his youngest daughter, unbetrothed, unpromised, and utterly alone, started to feel her desires slip from her fingers. she had never been pressured to aspire for more than she desires, perhaps only freedom at times. to do more than what a lady is allowed to, speak freely, do as she pleased without judgement and expectations hang over her head. to love who she wants and live the happy life, just as she had with her family. with her father's death, the freedom had all along left with him. no longer are there caring hands or kind, fatherly eyes to soothe her. she now stands in the presence of a duty too heavy to bear. no longer is marriage a thing of love and affection, she cannot just marry for happiness. she must marry for status, for gold, for power. dyanna must marry well, she understood it now. she must do so to ensure that she never has to lose another loved one, the way she did her father. everything else is a consolation. but where exactly does she start? it made her sick to her stomach that she must do this, to feign desire and intention when it does not exist. was there a lesson that she missed where handling it well was taught? the lady of ashemark who once sure and confident of herself feels self-doubt and insecurity nipping at her neck, pinching hard at her skin as she returns to court in highgarden. she reminds herself of what she must do, and yet she finds herself more reclusive and only in the company of those who make her want to hold on to her broken dreams.

BARIS TARTH , LORD HEIR OF EVENFALL HALL

baris wanted nothing more than to take his family as far away as he could from the capital after the siege. back to the sapphire isle where he knows he can better defend them, protect them the way he knows how. and without worrying about the flies and vermin who scour for dirt and grime on the scales and wings of the dragons and the blood who holds power over them. they who have no stomach for war and the atrocities it requires, are the very same ones who set it forth from the comforts of their keeps, hands free from callouses and stains no water or cloth can clean. all the compromise he consented to, setting aside his warhammer for mirth and senseless chatter with the ton who think themselves better than men who believe in the efficacy of violence in subduing itself. his patience has worn thin, and he succumbs to the perilous valor he wore for an armor, joining midnight caravans to quench his thirst for blood, while his wife and children slept. whispers of blood magic were of no help, this rarity of circumstances did not appease his worries. baris is ruffled, rattled, his looks of contemplation giving way for streaks of agitation. rarity is one thing he and rhaenys have come to possess. it is no longer an elusive deity to them, not a star in the skies of evenfall hall that disappears once it has burned its life away. fortune smiled upon them with the conception of their twins, his pride and joy. and from what those insidious voices told them, fortune is a twin to tragedy. and often they come in pairs. often, one seeks for another, and the other demands retribution. one the cycle has began, it carries on forever... until the world has no more to give. he is a man of reasonable faith, a man whose devotion rests on the loving hands of his beloved wife, and victory, no less than that of any warrior he stood next to in battle. he tries to recall what hand he's been dealt with, if he should anticipate for blessings or the wrath that rivals his own. but he could not quite get off his mind that it could have easily been his wife on her dragon, or his children dead buried under fallen walls or burned beyond recognition. he and rhaenys have risked many great things to have the life they are living, the family they have now. so when the dragon queen summons them to highgarden, baris contemplated for hours, days. tore himself away from his wife's arms to find the answers in blood spilled over the shores, or on some destroyed ship before his men drives it to be swallowed by the seas in shipbreaker bay. what good will it bring? he knew the answer, and still, the journey was made. he just thought of his wife and their children, and their beautiful faces, and how he may have forgotten that he did not have be nice or kind lord in court to be a good man, a good husband, and a good father. he can be all those things, a man with blue eyes and a man who indulges his ... violent urges.

[cursebrcken]

arc i timeskip / the prince of summerhall

not  much  is  known  of  the  prince  of  summerhall  in  the  aftermath  of  the  dragon's  battle.  some  proclaim  that  zeokas'  rumblings  echoed  long  into  the  night,  breaking  only  when  the  sun  rose  on  the  ruins  of  king's  landing.  others  murmur  that  aelyx  was  drenched  in  blood  when  they  dismounted  their  dragon,  their  violet  eyes  dark  with  violence.  and  worse  yet,  there  were  few  who  wondered  if  aelyx  had  a  hand  in  rhaeys'  supposed  death,  only  quieted  when  the  queen  finally  declared  her  heir  still  breathed.

as  written  in  scrolls  before,  and  what  will  be  written  in  them  long  after,  a  semblance  of  truth  hides  in  each  whisper.

zeokas  didn't  quiet  until  his  dragonrider  finally  stopped  directing  him  from  lifting  rocks;  piercing  golden  eyes  watched  as  the  spare  finally  stopped  searching  for  survivors  and  succumbed  to  tears.  the  prince  was  bloodstained,  but  none  of  it  was  his;  violet  eyes  burned  in  despair  at  what  they  witnessed.  and  even  if  they  didn't  strike  the  devastating  blow  on  rhaeys  and  maegor,  they  didn't  save  him  either;  and  that's  the  same  as  killing  him,  isn't  it?

in  the  following  months,  aelyx  shoved  grief  and  guilt  aside  for  duty.  in  rhaeys'  absence,  they  stepped  forward  to  handle  heir  duties.  an  act  that  they  quietly  and  forcefully  repeated  was  temporary.  they  relearned  the  place  that  had  raised  them,  after  years  away  at  summerhall.  aelyx  was  left  with  much  to  catch  up  to  aide  the  queen  ---  and  yet  they  found  a  partner  in  family.  just  as  the  two  fought  together  in  the  skies,  so  too  did  calyx  and  aelyx  work  together  in  the  absence  of  heir  and  their  other  siblings.

and  through  it  all,  aelyx  would  lock  themself  in  the  hall  of  records.  there  were  no  visits  to  summerhall,  fewer  rides  with  zeokas,  so  many  ravens  waiting  for  reply.  but  the  disappearance  of  the  last  dragon  haunted  them.  the  beast  faded  ---  like  magic.  over  the  course  of  the  three  months,  aelyx  nearly  tore  through  every  scroll  related  to  the  blood  of  dragons,  hunting  for  any  mention  of  magic  the  dragons  could  wield  on  their  own.  the  waking  moments  not  spent  tending  to  the  realm  and  the  aftermath  of  the  siege  were  dedicated  to  taking  notes,  trying  to  find  connections,  doubting  nearly  every  thought  had  as  a  fool's  errand.

and  yet  ----  aelyx  is  desperate  to  know  where  the  onyx  dragon  disappeared  to,  and  what  preparations  their  family  must  take.  for  they  believe  all  of  them  will  be  called  to  dragon  battle  once  more.  and  no  one  else,  rider  or  dragon,  should  die.

[insooth]

task --- arc i timeskip lady adrienne arryn

The night the Red Keep came ablaze had been an ordinary one for Adrienne Arryn, and she was asleep. No sooner had her husband woken her and professed the dread about to ravage the keep --- "dragons" --- than she noticed temperatures rising and foundations rumbling in the tower. In their descent from quarters into the flow of rushing nobles, all turned to chaos, with bumping about, screams and rubble piling up from the collapsing keep. At some point, something or someone pushed her aside and she vigorously hit her head. That's where her memories of that night ended. The next time she woke up, Adrienne was back at the Eyrie, and she found Antony seating steadfast at the side of her bed, guarding her. It had been less than two days since the attack. In the time she was out, not only did her husband ensure she wasn't trampled by the crowd or crushed by rocks and returned her safely to her home, but he effectively acted as her regent at court, making a series of critical decisions, chiefly shutting down the Eyrie's gates. Not every minor coice had been made exactly as she would have, but that was the point --- surprisingly, the world hadn't ended. If anything could have happened for Antony to earn Adrienne's vow of trust, it was her realization that, in her time of most vulnerability and his time of most power, he'd done nothing but protect her and the Vale's best interests. This significantly changed her posture towards him, sparking a deep sense of gratitude that very soon evolved to love and devotion to match his. It was only right to have him knighted him for his bravery and service, and so she did. Even if the couple still had their differences, they now worked together, and no longer against each other. Word around the Eyrie was that, even amidst the growing political tension at court, a much delayed honeymoon season finally bloomed for the Arryns.

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ooc note: This task was a very good opportunity to set some headcanons in stone and go deeper into plotting points, specially re: Adrienne and Antony's dynamic before and after the attack. So if you read something in a thread that contradicts what's written here, pls disregard it! For all effects, this drabble will be considered canonical truth for Adrienne, from this point forward.