“ — And yet to strike a prince is unlike striking any other man. Though he may bleed as readily, royal ichor and its cost elevate him to stand amongst the gods.”
≺ ❝ ‘ No no , do not be afraid to let it show . ‘ ❞ ≻
That way there shall be less intruders to handle , she believes . Act like the innocent flower but be prepared to prick with stabbing thorns ; harm , defend . It is apart of her nature &&how she has managed to breath to this day . Or , at least , this is another member of her ignorant beliefs formed by blinded views . Gallilea attempts a sweet smile with only tiny edges curved to show . It’s a distraction, you see , from sly pupils scanning the area .
≺ ❝ ‘ I said it was like the Gerudo , a stunning shade . Make people know && see that . ‘ ❞ ≻
‘Twas ever younger sister who wished to be taken as a warrior bold; such ambition passed Sansa by entirely, the girl instead captivated by more acceptable advancement, found through beauty, marriage, sons. To pose as one of these warriors — or allow others to believe her one uncontested — seemed only to invite further scrutiny, the likes of which she would rather avoid. What if another were to challenge the lie, threaten combat? Yet as surely as Sansa knew she would not emerge from such test unscathed, so too did she know this woman surely expected no less.
“I fear any who knew its meaning would assume of me a worth I sadly lack, my lady. Few women in my country raise arms in battle; instead we learn the gentler arts, ones which our husbands and children shall find pleasing.”
❝ All right, if you got them, lay any ideas on me. If we’re gonna escape, we should distract all of ‘em! No one’ll tell what’s going on, giving us more than enough time to leave. ❞
“ —— But there’s somany of them! What about that control panel, just there? If you could break it, make it spark or something… Oh, I’m no good at this! Blowing up that ship would certainly distract them, but there’s no way we could possibly do that.
Head down. Don’tmake waves. Baelish dealt with all kinds of unsavory sorts, yet as his successes grew, so too did his duties; it felt inevitable, asking her to venture out on his behalf, yet she had never felt more frightened. Anonymity did not suit crimson hair — muddy dye smothered it as soon as they settled in. Alayne knew better than to show such trepidation — will they know me? could they guess? — yet even she could not cease the faint tremor in her fingers, extended with bold greeting.
“You must be Thomas. Father said I was to speak with you, should you have a moment.”
&& she has become an IMITATION of hell’s darling
maiden, my dear, ROTTING fingernails dragging along filthyGRAVESTONES ( flesh
reeks of DAMP earth; the BURIED’s mephitic perfume ), always trailing an AISLE
of dead bodies in her wake like any wretched plague MORTALITY fears. yet there is
a sharp CURL of crimson mouth that shall remind you of beautifiedRUINS: your
own fateful IMAGININGS of a wolf, STARVED, begging a SCRAP of meat only to TEAR
at the hands of those who offer SALVATION’s gifts (hush, APATHY sings a lilting tune).
❛ it’s a savage world of things dying or eating each other right beneath our feet
❜
Cersei would undoubtedly agree, yet even as the words formed she grew to hate herself, forever considering other’s thoughts, other’s emotions before her own. For Sansa hardly thought of those crawling wars beneath the earth, nor of the thousand thousand bones which surely rested in its loamy cradle; instead azurine eyes turned skyward, to wheeling birds and floating butterflies, to the slow drift of clouds that parted at last to reveal the sun beyond. None trembled at her coming. None breathed relief at her passing. Alas, so often it was the innocents who suffered most in this savage world.
“Mayhaps you ought think of other matters — spring instead of autumn, the giving of life instead of its taking. To dwell on death only invites it further into one’s heart.”
❛Is it true…? ❜ It was hard to look her in the eyes. Especially in the conditions they were forced to endure. How had it gotten so BAD? Tommen had begun to learn that trust was something so often broken. Yet he never thought the Stark girl capable of it– At least not with him. Tommen had thought they were friends… But he so often thought that with many a person. Regardless, such an intrusive act against his family had to be dealt with, despite ulterior motives. She’d murdered his brother– Treason. It was greeted with death’s smile, but Tommen would not forgive himself if she devised otherwise.
Her Florian, fat and full of wine, remained the only soul who might dare accuse otherwise. I thought it was just a trinket, a charm! He said it would take me home! Sansa told none of them of its existence, clothes bundled well away; mayhaps a guard would yet still find the tangled web of silver chains and amethysts, mayhaps they would find some other way to make her speak. Surely Lord Tyrion had left all blame at his wife’s dainty feet, a Northern traitor too easily sacrificed before the altar of whatever betrayal had led them here. She had not seen him since that night, when he carried the king’s goblet..when Joffrey began to choke…to die…that terrified, purpled face haunted her dreams still.
“ — My father was a traitor; my mother and brother, as well. The gods have shown only kindness in allowing me to remain here amongst those loyal to the crown.”
❝ “I wasn’t nervous. Maybe I was a little bit concerned, but that’s not the same thing.” // lovely blog btw :)
To meet one’s betrothed oft presented a daunting task, one weighed down by a future as unavoidable as it was inevitable. What impressions departed with lord and lady might influence decades of marriage, both parties nervously catering to unknown whims; though so many noble houses lacked sons by force of Winter and war, the last casualty of such strife remained dreams. Lovers lost, homes abandoned, change cemented by new alliances lacking the benefit of months or years of feverish dreaming. They must all abide disappointment in some manner, though she prayed the worst would pass over a lupine house already ravaged.
“It shows your care, dear brother. When you are older and these early days have been committed to the past, no doubt she shall find such anxious thoughts endearing. On the morrow you will have some measure of time to yourselves; mayhaps you’ll find she too felt a certain apprehension in meeting at last.”
The tree was different yet familiar. There was a presence about it, and perhaps that was what had drawn Ofelia to this place. A voice put an end to the quietness barely disturbed by the twigs snapping under the measured, cautious steps taken further into the woods where the remnants of a carved stone were bound to be found. “I’m not lost at all.” Left hand pushed aside a branch to allow her towards the intruder.
“Are you a princess?” She did look it. In comparison, Ofelia’s own attire could only earn disapproving looks that she would ignore because she was a princess – and princesses ought conduct themselves with more grace and less obstinacy than what her own impulses dictated.
Skepticism barely registered on porcelain features — no one ever came to the godswood, certainly not with any premeditation. Could the queen have employed one so young to spy upon her, believing Sansa naive enough to befriend such a creature? But no, these deadly games, though toxic to all within seven kingdoms, were played only by high lords and ladies, their sons and daughters inexperienced pawns upon the board. Sometimes a lost girl was only that — a child wandering alone, no agenda to guide her way.
“Gracious, no.” Though some far from here might answer differently. Once she might have been a queen, those days long past when Sansa even desired such a seat. Safety came through anonymity, a quiet passage of time until wolf or rose or drunken fool saw fit to spirit her away. She could not wait much longer. “Princess Myrcella is younger than I and fair of hair, yet the queen sent her away some time ago. I fear you shall meet no princesses in these gardens.”
❝ “Wicked people never have time for reading. It’s one of the reasons for their wickedness.”
Songs saved no innocent, comforted no mourner, serving only to fill the heads of girls and boys with silly notions of impossible futures. Yet despite such broken dreams Sansa could not bring herself to correct the girl, remind her that books and stories had naught to do with the contents of a man’s soul.
“How clever of you to see it! We must all remember the lessons our mothers taught us as children, in their bedtime tales and cautionary fables; keep their teachings close, Ofelia, and you shall never wander into evil.”
≺ ❝ ‘ Not entirely a touch of luck … for both sides . Seeing a shade of red in the distance may get you shot by these parts , both for seeming like a Gerudo , &&another by the Gerudo , for resembling but not being us . ‘ ❞ ≻
Exaggerating she may be , yet caring she is surely not . Lips which have pursed themselves into a slender stroke now channel a hum . Long before had her pride blinded her . Now it blinds others, surrounding her with a wave of egoism && thus shielding her inner soul . The newcomer , so full of innocence , is positively the most exposedto this hazard .
“Gerudo?” Lone auburn brow arched, confusion all too clear on ivory-carven features that such a term, such a race, remained unknown to the girl. Indeed it seemed quite strange that a trait as trivial as one’s hair might engender violence or disdain, emotions better served when true insult had been given; not even those residing in King’s Landing, no less petty than their queen, would dare use it to justify their vicious whims.
“I — I might cover it,” Sansa stammered, “if it truly poses such risk. In Westeros they care little for the shade of your eyes or hair; ‘tis the weight of a man’s purse, the breadth of his lands, the power which he wields that so entices strangers into friendship or strife.”
“My! It seems that you’ve been through a great many more kings and queens than Iever have. It doesn’t – sound as lucky as I thought it would be.”
“Oh, but your home differs so greatly from my own! Times of upheaval might inspire such dreadful despair; your grace seems nothing at all like those of whom I speak!”
Her father’s courtyards and gardens are quiet places, seldom disturbed by undue noise. And so they were a favorite haunt of the daughter who found her comfort in such peace - who often came to these places after days spent in the constant company of others. Often it was that her peace, when disturbed, left her seeking deeper retreat. Conversations held in the gardens would dissolve into afternoons spent with only words (until her brother found her). Yet she found no disturbance in this conversation with the young woman whose auburn hair was the brightest the girl from Gondor had yet seen.
“They are not so bad when only viewed,” she said. “I think they like to be admired from afar, for that is when their beauty is greatest. I’ve never known any other creatures who know their own beauty so well as a swan. Their purpose lies in their beauty, and in their grace. To watch them swim is to find some measure of peace in your own mind, wouldn’t you say? And swans have long been in Dol Amroth, before even my father’s line came to be its Princes.”
Remnants of the Elves in the city lingered yet, drawn into the swan carvings of the ships, in the grace of the city’s lines, the melancholy way it seemed ever to listen to the music of the sea, and - some said - the blood of its prince’s line. And it was a connection the young princess had thought much of, in daydreams and afternoons spent with poetry.
Admired from afar — how apt a phrase, just as well applied to so many southron delights which, when sampled closely, revealed themselves as poisonous temptations. How Sansa yearned for the simplicity of her home, once found droll and lifeless, its wintry greys and steely blues now heraldic banners pointing towards happiness rather than ruin. Heart and spirit alike carried jagged marks of their dalliances with childhood dreams, her frantic efforts to preserve those sugar’d visions of a throne, a crown, a dynasty. ‘Twas such folly she contemplated, staring out at the ivory creatures floating placidly across crystalline waters. Though populous no other had yet approached her within the garden’s walls, yet Sansa found herself unbothered by present company.
“I have known some humans so aware,” she murmured, sly smile turned towards the other young woman. “But their purpose hardly seemed that of beauty, nor could one find any peace in their acquaintance; your swans serve fulfill such means far better.” Undoubtedly Cersei had navigated her court with as much grace as these white-winged avians, skirts whispering over perfumed rushes as quietly as a summer’s breeze through feathers held aloft in flight. “Does such history make them your sigil, my lady? ’Twould certainly embody all the poise and refinement I have witnessed here.”
Indeed, no matter how stunning she once found King’s Landing, Sansa had never seen a place so entrancing as the city in which she now found herself. History seemed to leech from every stone, songs and stories fostered within the very soil, so unlike a capital that now felt drenched in blood.
should an exclusive partner go inactive for 1+ month, then i will become tentatively open to interactions with duplicates. when/if they return then exclusivity may resume.
