Fantasy 𝐀 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 & 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

[social]

Petals and ribbons floated through the air as the streets bustled with excitement, both within commonfolk and nobility. Carriages thundered across cobblestone as dragons flew overhead, bearing gifts and well wishes for the young couple. Princess Maeryn Velaeris, the youngest daughter of the King and Queen, was to be married to a prince of Vashil, and what a wonderful match it was going to be. Vashil, ever the loyal and trusting ally of Nordua had finally secured their place at the side of the most powerful monarchs in the Realm. That was an accomplishment not easily overlooked. The people of Nordua were overjoyed. Their beloved princess was to be celebrated and adored as she started her new chapter in life.

From all corners of Nordua, nobility arrived, even some from outside of the continent came to celebrate this union, pleased to see that the royal line had strengthened once again. Nobody forgot the tragedy of the Crown Princess’s husband dying in battle a few years prior. It shook Nordua as they came together to mourn for the crown and the children that were left behind. But now, it was time to celebrate life. Within the palace walls, children giggled and sang as they ran through the halls, flowers adorning every guest and decoration, at Maeryn’s request, it seemed like the castle was in full bloom. The ceremony was held and it went flawlessly, petals being tossed into the air as the people gave congratulations to the couple and their future.

Time passed but it was all enjoyable and safe. There was not a tear of sadness or fear, it was perfect. As the day turned to night, torches and candles were set alight, casting a gentle glow within the great hall as nobles and royals sat down and began to enjoy the feast that was provided for them. Music swirled about the room as the royal family sat at the front of the room, the newly wedded couple at the center of the large table, allowing them to engage with their family and guests if they approached. Dancing was encouraged to take place within the center of the room if guests wanted, or they could simply eat and drink for this was just the beginning of a large celebration that would be held over multiple days.

MAERYN'S

WEDDING

coded by social

Spoiler: uncoded

Petals and ribbons floated through the air as the streets bustled with excitement, both within commonfolk and nobility. Carriages thundered across cobblestone as dragons flew overhead, bearing gifts and well wishes for the young couple. Princess Maeryn Velaeris, the youngest daughter of the King and Queen, was to be married to a prince of Vashil, and what a wonderful match it was going to be. Vashil, ever the loyal and trusting ally of Nordua had finally secured their place at the side of the most powerful monarchs in the Realm. That was an accomplishment not easily overlooked. The people of Nordua were overjoyed. Their beloved princess was to be celebrated and adored as she started her new chapter in life.

From all corners of Nordua, nobility arrived, even some from outside of the continent came to celebrate this union, pleased to see that the royal line had strengthened once again. Nobody forgot the tragedy of the Crown Princess’s husband dying in battle a few years prior. It shook Nordua as they came together to mourn for the crown and the children that were left behind. But now, it was time to celebrate life. Within the palace walls, children giggled and sang as they ran through the halls, flowers adorning every guest and decoration, at Maeryn’s request, it seemed like the castle was in full bloom. The ceremony was held and it went flawlessly, petals being tossed into the air as the people gave congratulations to the couple and their future.

Time passed but it was all enjoyable and safe. There was not a tear of sadness or fear, it was perfect. As the day turned to night, torches and candles were set alight, casting a gentle glow within the great hall as nobles and royals sat down and began to enjoy the feast that was provided for them. Music swirled about the room as the royal family sat at the front of the room, the newly wedded couple at the center of the large table, allowing them to engage with their family and guests if they approached. Dancing was encouraged to take place within the center of the room if guests wanted, or they could simply eat and drink for this was just the beginning of a large celebration that would be held over multiple days.

 

[NUSKI]

Heir of the Eryas Keep

Cassius Harringlor

THE BEAR OF TUN

Maeryn's Wedding

Cassius had relegated himself to the sidelines for most of the night, observing the lively festivities with a sense of restlessness. The man sighed softly as he adjusted his shoulder on the pillar he was leaning on, his eyes slowly drifting over Princess Maeryn and the royal family as another cascade of flower petals showered around him. Young children sprinted past him with baskets of petals in hand, their laughter quickly drowned out by the chatter of nobles. The scene around him almost felt surreal, a stark contrast to the day-to-day of the Keep that often occupied his thoughts. Cassius's gaze hardened briefly as he thought of the responsibilities waiting for him back home.

As he looked up from his musings, he saw his sister at his side, holding one cup close to her chest, another cup extended towards him with a teasing smile. Together, the pair presented themselves in matching attire of dark green. Jorunn, in a flowing gown of deep forest green, shimmered with delicate beadwork that trailed gracefully behind her as she walked. Cassius wore a more subdued ensemble, practicality over extravagance evident in his tunic of matching dark green, accented with simple silver embroidery along the collar and cuffs.

"You look like you're having fun," Jorunn started, her tone laced with playful sarcasm. Cassius rolled his eyes, taking the cup from her hand and frowning down at its contents. She took a sip from her cup, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she teased her brother, knowing well his discomfort with such lavish gatherings.

"Fun isn't the word I'd use," Cassius replied dryly before he raised his cup in the direction of his parents, who were slowly dancing together, their mother guiding their father as he leaned on his cane for support.

Jorunn followed his gaze, softening. "Look at them, Cassius. Even they’re enjoying themselves. Maybe you could try, just for tonight?"

Cassius sighed, taking a reluctant sip from his cup. "You mean for the next three or four nights... though I suppose it's hard to ignore everyone else having a good time." He glanced over to the center of the room, where his brother was making a spectacle of himself, dancing energetically and eliciting laughter from the other guests. "Speaking of which, it looks like Falkor has started early," he said, shaking his head with disappointment.

Jorunn laughed, the sound light and carefree. "He always finds a way to stand out, doesn't he? But seriously, Cassius, you don’t have to brood in the corner all night. Just try to enjoy it. For me?" Cassius snorted obnoxiously before downing the cup of wine in one go, ignoring Jorunn's exaggerated gasp.

"You see them?" he questioned after raising his head in the direction of two people on the opposite end of the room. "Follow my lead," Cassius continued, his voice low. "I'll make use of this gathering in my own way."

"This should be fun," Jorunn replied, as she fell in step beside him. The siblings then began to make their way through the crowd, heading toward Lord Brackwell and Princess Daella. Cassius placed his empty cup on a nearby table before squeezing past some nobles and clearing his throat. Straightening his back, he folded his arms behind him.

"Lord Brackwell, Princess Daella," Cassius began, as Jorunn bowed her head in the direction of the princess, quickly adopting a polite smile. "Cassius Harringlor, and this is my sister, Jorunn. It has been some time since I've ventured this far south so I wished to take a moment to reintroduce ourselves before the festivities conclude." Cassius' gaze shifted briefly to the princess, his close-lipped smile respectful but strained. "Princess, forgive my candour, but I can't help but notice the architectural opulence of the southern court. It's quite a departure from the sturdy fortifications we favour in the north," Cassius remarked, his tone carrying a hint of reserved pride. "One wonders if such grandeur truly serves the same purpose as our resilient strongholds in the North."

"My mother speaks highly of you both, particularly of your unwavering dedication to the realm. We are truly honoured to be in your esteemed company tonight." Jorunn interjected smoothly, her tone a delicate balance of diplomacy and deference. "We appreciate the opportunity to witness the grace and refinement of the southern court." She glanced briefly at Cassius, a silent cue to temper his northern pride which he calmly ignored, maintaining his composure.

Code by Serobliss

 

[tieflinq]

By the gods, Belphoebe thought, dreamily, today has been perfect.

Her hair, piled high and reinforced with copious skeins of extensions, was thoroughly dappled with wayward petals, and her cheeks had been flushed with delight since her arrival. Perhaps even before her arrival. After all, there was little she liked more than a wedding - except, perhaps, a wedding of her own, where she could guarantee that the attention would be all hers, but such matters were far from her mind while the music swelled and the sounds of laughter and song distracted her. Ordinarily, such distractions would be rationed - she would be confined to her parents' watchful gazes, forced to listen to conversations about trade and borders and such, allowed to dance only a scant handful of times. This gathering, however, had been something of an experiment for the elder Galariuses. It had been a decision partly motivated by her father's ailing health and clear inability to travel to the wedding, but Belphoebe had chosen to take this as a sign that she was excelling in her preparations to lead her family; they had let her attend alone! Not alone alone, of course, for she required several patient and robust ladies to help dress her, and strapping young men who carried her endlessly weighty trunks, but alone enough for her to dance and laugh as much as she pleased. She had already partaken in the sweet honeyed wine far more than she would have usually been permitted, and it was clear from her bright gaze and stained lips that Belphoebe was fully in the celebratory spirit.

There were so many companions to choose from! Her seaglass gaze darted from face to face, occasionally veering wildly when a particularly colourful outfit caught her attention, and she considered who she ought to bless with her affections. The wider Velaeris family offered her a number of choices, all of which would no doubt be approved of by her parents, and all of which should provide her with ample opportunity to sweeten the well from which she would soon draw her bucket. But... ah, but. But Belphoebe didn't want to do that. She would make a valiant attempt to initiate intelligent conversation, but she would soon grow fatigued, no doubt, and then what? What if she grew so distracted that she trod on someone's foot, or agreed where she ought to disagree? Mamma would never let her travel alone again, if word of her faux pas reached Sea's Heart. Instead, then, she decided to seek out entertainment that would bring no consequences to her door.

Tall and pale and looming like a storm over a ship's prow, Lady Vaelor could not be further from Belphoebe's usual social circle. Even better, being from Tun, she could not be further from Belphoebe's circle of obligation, either. What use had Sea's Heart for Tun? Surely none. Well, she could not be entirely sure, for her memory for allegiances and trade was shabby at best, but she was confident enough to begin her skipping little steps across the hall towards the imposing woman. When she drew near, she swept down into an exquisite curtsey, one hand splayed over her heart to keep her plunging neckline from plunging any further, and then bobbed upright with a bright smile. "Why, Lady Vaelor! You look so well for one who must have travelled so very far to attend. You simply must indulge in a little Rhaeclyan hospitality."

RascalRoadkill

 

[junegloom]

scroll

heir of starmark keep

Illysia.

outfit

outfit

location

The Royal Wedding

interactions

Malyx and Maella Celaleos

tags

none

For the first time in a long time, Illysia felt quite light and free. It had been two years since her brother had been killed and it was time for some levity. The occasion was happy and the air was sweet with the scent of blooming flowers and celebration. She held great affection for the younger princess and was pleased to see her reach such a milestone in her life.

The journey to Rhaeclya was a pleasant one, with calm seas and comfortable weather. Illysia and her parents sailed one of their smaller, but sturdy ships. They arrived the evening before the wedding, allowing them to settle in that night so they could spend the morning of the wedding getting ready without concern.

Once the ceremony began, Illysia took charge of her youngest niece and nephew as the twins were too young to participate in the ceremony. While Vaerys was mature enough to attend the ceremony with Daenara, they were far too interested in playing and moving around and would likely disrupt the process. Illysia didn't mind whatsoever. She loved spending time with her brother's children. Of course, they reminded her of Cassian, but only in the best way. Seeing him live through them brought her great joy.

During the ceremony, Illysia helped the twins make flower crowns using a number of the blooms that surrounded them. Malyx sat in her lap as they twisted the flowers together while Maella was of less help, preferring to twirl around with a ribbon stick acting like a fairy. The twins, especially, Maella, insisted that Illysia matched them despite already wearing a headpiece, so they compromised by making her a necklace of flowers.

Illysia wore it proudly as the twins wore their crowns. She held their hands and led them into the Great Hall when it was time for the festivities to begin. Music and chatter echoed and the aroma of the feast filled the room. Maella was practically skipping pulling towards the dance floor.

"Let's dance, Aunt Illysia! Please can we dance? I want to twirl more!"

Illysia signed in faux resignation, but a smile grew on her lips.

"Alright, but only one dance. You two need to eat before you are sent up to bed and I'm sure your mother would like to see you too."

She was never very good at saying no to her niece and nephews. Once they found a clear space, the three of them held hands, forming a circle, while Maella led them skipping from side to side in time with the music. Even shy Malyx couldn't help but laugh and smile at Maella's enthusiasm.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Zaruslala]

Heiress of Dragon's Roost

location

grand hall.

mood

broken yet unbowed.

outfit

01. 02. 03.

mentions

youngiiie RascalRoadkill .

Nadja Veltarol.

Shattered glass splintered the otherwise tranquil garden, a high, brittle pitch that would’ve drawn glances had she chosen a more popular hiding spot. Nadja Verltarol could only chuckled darkly, her back slumped against one of the giant columns, left hand dusting off any stray shrapnel. In one swift motion, she tipped the stem of another glass to her mouth, emptying its contents.

And that was, she mused bitterly, dark pupils fixed on the distant sky, my heart.

The drink scorched her throat as it made its fiery descent. While she didn’t relish the sensation, it was one she desperately needed to quell the bitterness gnawing at her core. From internal to external–from something that she couldn’t excise or defeat into something that she could control at will.

Clumps of grey greeted her, hanging heavy and low on the darkened horizon, sluggishly drifting through the warm southern wind. Hours had passed since the Marriage of Fire, and she had to endure this torture for three more days before escaping back to the bureaucracies of Dragon’s Roost. By now, people back home would be folding their sails, tying their vessels securely to the docks, or racing against time to safety. Her uncle would be hurrying the servants to cover his precious collection of exotic plants. She bet he’d dig into his vault and hand something to Nadja upon her return.

A consolation prize for a job well done.

—

Nadja’s heart had been drumming like a war gong, slamming against its cage of flesh from the moment she beheld the youngest princess's visage. Maeryn was always a vision to behold, but the princess in a wedding dress left Nadja fumbling for words. The bouquet left in the vase seemed to bow in deference, their colors paling against the delicate swish of her lips. Blushing flowers spilled down the canopy above the grand entrance to the private ceremony, filling the air with a sweetness so cloying it turned bitter at the back of Nadja’s throat–yet it still couldn’t stop her from being ensnared by the princess’s every gesture, a mix of dread and longing tightening her chest until the royal couple left to seal their vow in private.

Hakim was competent, and that was the problem. Nadja had hoped for a more detestable match, someone she could freely and fully despise with all her being. Yet, the second Prince of Vashil was a sensible choice politically. Rumors slithering through the streets painted a favorable picture of the Little Lion, if not the dances they sparingly exchanged over the past two months. While Nadja might have wished for her dear cousin's prowess in swordsmanship matched the tales, his strategic acumen was enough to silence any gaps that might arise. She found solace in knowing that Maeryn wouldn’t be stuck to a bumbling fool, and knowing that the princess would definitely be cherished by the two nations, Nadja was left with no compelling reason to oppose the match, despite the ache in her heart.

His knowing glances had also not gone unnoticed. Both him and her had played their subtle game, testing boundaries and intentions. Perhaps there would be room for negotiation. Extramarital affairs were not uncommon in political unions, and Hakim’s understanding might allow Nadja a sliver of hope–a chance to keep Maeryn close, even if only in secret perhaps. Leaving this little leeway to her would gain him two strong alliances in one fell swoop.

That is, if the princess even reciprocates her feelings.

Or even aware of its existence.

Despite Nadja’s best efforts, the stone lodged in her chest betrayed the curved lips and forced laughter. She was neither rabbit nor prey, yet the kinship with those dying of broken hearts felt painfully real. The biggest hurdle had been passed– letting Maeryn leave. As the afternoon sun hit Nadja’s forehead, boiling her eyes until they resembled the burnished gold medals on her chest, she could only offer a stony smile in return of Maeryn’s eye contact, afraid that any further reply would shatter her mask.

With swift, precise instruction, she gestured for her servants to bring forth the gifts as she forcefully bore the expression of false contentment.

Once it concluded, she bolted as gracefully as she could.

—

Alas, duty beckoned and she couldn’t afford to linger in the shadows any longer. Nadja pushed herself off the column, drawing in a sharp breath as she straightened her posture. Her earrings chimed softly with each step, a delicate reminder of the mask she had to don once more. Inside the grand hall, Maeryn and Hakim should still reigned over the banquet, their thrones surrounded by a swirl of sycophants. Nadja envisioned herself among them, her laughter mingling with theirs, her movements poised. She would share a dance, offer hollow pleasantries, and play her part to perfection.

The chimes of mingleing greeted her as she stepped back into the hall, the festive air so thick it could be cut with a knife. Her metal claw clinked as she deftly put down her empty glass to the waiting tray of a passing servant. With a small prayer to Tiuna, she put on her best smile and sauntered closer to the middle of the room, drawn to a familiar face.

“Good Sire, may I have this dance?"

coded by natasha.

 

[youngiiie]

Heiress of Dragon's Roost

location

grand hall.

mood

broken yet unbowed.

outfit

top. earring. claws.

mentions

youngiiie RascalRoadkill .

Nadja Veltarol.

Shattered glass splintered the otherwise tranquil garden, a high, brittle pitch that would’ve drawn glances had she chosen a more popular hiding spot. Nadja Verltarol could only chuckled darkly, her back slumped against one of the giant columns, left hand dusting off any stray shrapnel. In one swift motion, she tipped the stem of another glass to her mouth, emptying its contents.

And that was, she mused bitterly, dark pupils fixed on the distant sky, my heart.

The drink scorched her throat as it made its fiery descent. While she didn’t relish the sensation, it was one she desperately needed to quell the bitterness gnawing at her core. From internal to external–from something that she couldn’t excise or defeat into something that she could control at will.

Clumps of grey greeted her, hanging heavy and low on the darkened horizon, sluggishly drifting through the warm southern wind. Hours had passed since the Marriage of Fire, and she had to endure this torture for three more days before escaping back to the bureaucracies of Dragon’s Roost. By now, people back home would be folding their sails, tying their vessels securely to the docks, or racing against time to safety. Her uncle would be hurrying the servants to cover his precious collection of exotic plants. She bet he’d dig into his vault and hand something to Nadja upon her return.

A consolation prize for a job well done.

—

Nadja’s heart had been drumming like a war gong, slamming against its cage of flesh from the moment she beheld the youngest princess's visage. Maeryn was always a vision to behold, but the princess in a wedding dress left Nadja fumbling for words. The bouquet left in the vase seemed to bow in deference, their colors paling against the delicate swish of her lips. Blushing flowers spilled down the canopy above the grand entrance to the private ceremony, filling the air with a sweetness so cloying it turned bitter at the back of Nadja’s throat–yet it still couldn’t stop her from being ensnared by the princess’s every gesture, a mix of dread and longing tightening her chest until the royal couple left to seal their vow in private.

Hakim was competent, and that was the problem. Nadja had hoped for a more detestable match, someone she could freely and fully despise with all her being. Yet, the second Prince of Vashil was a sensible choice politically. Rumors slithering through the streets painted a favorable picture of the Little Lion, if not the dances they sparingly exchanged over the past two months. While Nadja might have wished for her dear cousin's prowess in swordsmanship matched the tales, his strategic acumen was enough to silence any gaps that might arise. She found solace in knowing that Maeryn wouldn’t be stuck to a bumbling fool, and knowing that the princess would definitely be cherished by the two nations, Nadja was left with no compelling reason to oppose the match, despite the ache in her heart.

His knowing glances had also not gone unnoticed. Both him and her had played their subtle game, testing boundaries and intentions. Perhaps there would be room for negotiation. Extramarital affairs were not uncommon in political unions, and Hakim’s understanding might allow Nadja a sliver of hope–a chance to keep Maeryn close, even if only in secret perhaps. Leaving this little leeway to her would gain him two strong alliances in one fell swoop.

That is, if the princess even reciprocates her feelings.

Or even aware of its existence.

Despite Nadja’s best efforts, the stone lodged in her chest betrayed the curved lips and forced laughter. She was neither rabbit nor prey, yet the kinship with those dying of broken hearts felt painfully real. The biggest hurdle had been passed– letting Maeryn leave. As the afternoon sun hit Nadja’s forehead, boiling her eyes until they resembled the burnished gold medals on her chest, she could only offer a stony smile in return of Maeryn’s eye contact, afraid that any further reply would shatter her mask.

With swift, precise instruction, she gestured for her servants to bring forth the gifts as she forcefully bore the expression of false contentment.

Once it concluded, she bolted as gracefully as she could.

—

Alas, duty beckoned and she couldn’t afford to linger in the shadows any longer. Nadja pushed herself off the column, drawing in a sharp breath as she straightened her posture. Her earrings chimed softly with each step, a delicate reminder of the mask she had to don once more. Inside the grand hall, Maeryn and Hakim should still reigned over the banquet, their thrones surrounded by a swirl of sycophants. Nadja envisioned herself among them, her laughter mingling with theirs, her movements poised. She would share a dance, offer hollow pleasantries, and play her part to perfection.

The chimes of mingleing greeted her as she stepped back into the hall, the festive air so thick it could be cut with a knife. Her metal claw clinked as she deftly put down her empty glass to the waiting tray of a passing servant. With a small prayer to Tiuna, she put on her best smile and sauntered closer to the middle of the room, drawn to a familiar face.

“Good Sire, may I have this dance?"

coded by natasha.

Finnian Blackmont

Heir of Spinel Keep

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  new mentions!

  
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Wedding

Main Hall

[/tab]

I confess, pretty bitches run the West

the beautiful music and joyous laughter erupting from the main hall filled finnian blackmont's heart with much excitement. it was quite rare for such a historic event to take place and finnian was finally old enough to partake in the wedding's events. he wasn't a child anymore and his parents had decided that a wedding could be a perfect place for him to develop deeper connections with many of the other heirs that would be attending. his father, andreas, wanted finnian to use this opportunity to reassure the other houses that the future of spinel keep was in good hands. however, finnian had other plans. those plans included chests full of shimmering jewels, exquisite fabrics, and the most ornate necklaces and bracelets that he owned. the young heir's plan was to remind the attendees that he was one of the pride and joys of araes. he always took it upon himself to show up and show out wherever he went. it was rare to ever see finnian in the public eye clothed in basic garments. araes had a reputation for their beautiful people. the blackmont family was no exception. even andreas, who had seen many battles in his lifetime, took extra care to reflect the aesthetic of araes. no matter what anyone said about spinel keep, their physical beauty was undisputed.

finnian stood in the center of the main hall, a half empty glass of wine in hand. his posture was almost inhumanly straight and his face lacked a single blemish. his healing factor was responsible for his appearance. while often criticized for only using it on himself, he ensured that he would embody the ethereal beauty that araes was so proud of. as he gracefully sipped from his wine glass, the jewels attached to his garments quietly clinked together. finnian was wearing a form fitting white outfit, covered head to toe in diamonds and jewels sourced from the mines in spinel keep. if a ray of sun shone down on him, there was a risk he'd light up like a disco ball. he made sure that his outfit wasn't so over the top to openly disrespect the bride and groom but enough to draw eyes. the heir thrived off of attention, even more so from envy. he loved to be on other people's minds and the subject of other people's conversations. he was determined to be the star that shone the brightest and a four day wedding was just the place to prove that.

hearing a familiar voice, finnian turned around. the corners of his lips rose into a warm smile. "you certainly may, my lady." the male responded, placing his glass down on one of the tables beside him.

finnian's eyes silenty studied the younger woman as they began their dance. he knew this day must have been quite difficult for her and he pitied her for it. it could not have been easy to sit on the sidelines and watch as the one she loved married somebody else. he was impressed by how well she was holding up. if it were him, he would be throwing an intoxicated fit somewhere. some unfortunate servant would be the subject of his long rage filled rant about the cruelties of the world and how hard the life of a noble is. thankfully for everyone, he was not in her place. that being said, he sympathized with her.

"we've already been dancing for a minute now and you've yet to comment on my attire tonight. i'm not sure if i should feel more hurt or offended." finnian joked in an effort to try and cheer nadja up. normally, an obnoxious statement like that from finnian would've been accompanied by an equally obnoxious smirk to match. however, his face seemed kind. his eyes were searching to see if his joke had successfully lightened her spirits. there was a softness to his voice too, a subtle sign that finnian was (in his own way) attempting to be there for her.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[RascalRoadkill]

• Hakim
• Freyja

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  Hakim Al-Amin is a cuckoo in a warbler's nest, as it stands.
  
  Or a dragon's- that might be more apt. Do dragons have brood parasites-? No, curious as he is, that line of thought is completely irrelevant in this moment, but he knows why he begins to go down that trail. His mind wants to wander ever-so desperately just to forget what's meant to happen.
  
  Or, maybe it does pose a relevant similarity- he is indeed a brood parasite. One being fed by benefactors that have no idea of the threat he poses to their survival. It is as it is in nature- he is installed in a foreign family, then his presence eats them alive.
  
  Throughout the entirety of the private union- the tradition in which he bleeds into the dragon's flame with very few souls to ever see it, he felt like a heretic and a trespasser. In front of the very eyes of the Gods, he quietly lied- not in any speech, but in action. In front of her, her parents, and the officiant, he bled, and silently claimed that he will make their nation and his own prosper against all odds.
  
  He will be the King of Rhaeclya- but not as late in life as everyone expects. So, perhaps he did not lie… but only if the Gods accept such technicalities.
  
  Hakim threatened to break then and there, but he unfortunately stood firm and smiled with as much genuine feeling as he could possibly muster. He thought that would be the worse of it; but dealing with the sycophants and well-wishes of the entire nation face-to-face is far more terrible. In the front hall, seated beside her, his mounting anxieties were beginning to make him feel unwell, on the brink of overwhelming him. Hakim is, though, skilled in masking himself if nothing else in this world- so he smiles, shows no signs of his apprehension, converses, remains personable, and says all the right things that everyone wants to hear.
  
  Except for one- he cannot tell her what she wants to hear, as his very actions would contradict the words. His dear cousin Nadja, little as he has ever seen her, has lost from this- there is nothing Hakim could have done for it, but he remains vigilantly aware of the bane all the same. It is worse that she knows Maeryn better; he can barely imagine the internal venom that must come from Hakim's asking of what she likes, what she does not, when he is the one binding himself to Maeryn and not her. He's not had much interaction with her, given the distance- but Hakim cannot help but feel a shred of sympathy for the plight all the same.
  
  There is one singular favor he can do Nadja, though, and it is simultaneously for himself; his hand taps the pommel of his ceremonial sword under the table, fastened to his side. That favor is to move her away from her family- the ones meant for this, and avoid any outright danger. To his family, he is simply ensuring all goes to plan- to Rhaeclya, he conveniently saved the hide of their dear princess by sheer coincidence.
  
  Hakim wishes Maeryn were more terrible, so he could wash the guilt of being complicit in her family's murder from his hands- but to his great tragedy, she is not. She has a bright laugh and a brilliant mind, meeting him on the same level of conversation more often than not- and that is enough to make his stomach turn.
  
  Still, he leans over to her in his chair when they have a momentary break in their greetings. “Maeryn,” he says, rather quietly, “are you any sort of dancer? It might be a welcome break from the… rather constant conversation.”
  

  
  

  
  
  
  social Zaruslala ment.
  
  
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  Freyja does not understand why she couldn't have just stayed well at home.
  
  Imagine, then- in the grand hall of Night's End, built to house swaths of warriors for feasts and banquets instead of being reserved for her family alone. Fire roaring, people laughing, good-natured drunken brawling. No, instead she's here, another face in a sea of faces here to tell some soft-looking prince and an equally soft princess just how right well and pleased she is that they've decided to tie the knot!
  
  Freyja isn't opposed to the whole thing by any means, she just… well, why does she in particular have to be here? Freyr surely would've understood why, something about alliances and politics… but Freyja has no mind for that sort of thing, and still doesn't.
  
  Curse her bloody, violent impulse. She looks down into a cup of too-weak wine with a grimace.
  
  Her eyes wander to Cassius and Jorunn for a sense of familiarity. Freyja's outfit isn't dissimilar from his; far plainer than the attire of just about everyone else in the room, the only extravagance on the black padded tunic being silver embroidery along its edges. Even then- nothing especially complex. But the Bear of Tun is preoccupied making the proper connections, as expected.
  
  Their "titles" fit them well, respectively. Cassius is a bear, of course- smarter, aware of the best times to strike and the best times to lie in wait, how to strengthen for an oncoming storm. Freyja is a boar- charging with wild abandon, goring everything in her path to achieve her aims.
  
  Now, though, she feels more of a hissing cat. Freyja has had her eyes narrowed for just about the entirety of the banquet and beyond- Rhaeclya is much too bright. If she's lucky, perhaps a few clouds might roll in to darken the sky, but it won't matter much for her if she remains stuck in the ballroom.
  
  The Lord and Lady of Night's End seemed rather self-aware in the sense that they expected their daughter to bristle and brood at the gathering, and thus sent along one of few Freyja would acknowledge to encourage her to keep her head while they mingled with the rest of the nobility- Ottar has been sent along with her as something of a conversational advisor, but as of current, he has absconded to give his well-wishes, graze along the lengthy table of food, and watch after Runi and Runa.
  
  His advice becomes necessary rather imminently as Freyja is approached. What, did she not understand when a Boar should be left to its devices? The sudden intrusion of the Lady of the Sea's Heart almost startles the warrior, tightly gripping a cup whose glass threatens to shatter in her hand. Freyja does not appear to return the formality in any way, stern expression remaining unchanged as she peers down.
  
  Well, Ottar is not present to advise, so this interaction will be entirely her own fight. She would honestly prefer her life to be in danger than to have to converse with any of the frivolous, vain bluebloods in this room. Freyja squints as she attempts to remember the name of this individual who apparently already knows hers.
  
  "Far? I suppose," is what she leaves it at, then tapping a finger against the tightly gripped glass. "I am indulging. In their weak drink, but I am drinking it. Their country is nearly too warm, and their palace is too…" she peers up, briefly, at the gilded expanse. "Bright. I dislike flaunting. But I do not hate being here. Still."
  

  
  

  
  
  
  NUSKI ment. tieflinq
  
  

 

[tieflinq]

Spoiler

i’ll make this look pretty tomo im in bed on me phone rn OOPS

PALLAS:

Like a pearl diver breaking through dark waters, already preparing to dive below again, Pallas had surfaced for air. The cool air of the gardens made the stuffiness of the wedding hall immediately apparent, and he had relished the reprieve. The absence of constant chatter was also notable; his ears rang faintly with the sounds of laughter and debate and chairs scraping across the stone floor, everything warping and melting into one singular hubbub. What had been intended as only a minute or two away from the party had stretched into five minutes, and then ten. He leaned precariously against a pillar, not wanting to sully his finery on this rare occasion that he was able to wear it, and lit his pipe. The breeze ghosted over his temples and cooled the sweat that had glued down stray wisps of dark hair. He enjoyed a moment of peace.

And then the Lady of Dragon’s Roost had appeared. Instinctively, Pallas’ magic had risen up to cloak him - not invisible per se, but rendered no more interesting than a bench or a potted plant, inviting one’s eyes to drift over him without settling for long. It had not been an easy task to conceal the smoke of his pipe, but it had become apparent almost immediately that Lady Veltarol would be in no position to spot him. Silent, curious, they committed all that they saw to memory, expression impassive and their dark eyes as watchful as a hunter’s hound. How interesting. It was not a secret within the palace that Lady Veltarol and the young Princess were close - but this shed new light on territory that Pallas had long considered to be well-trodden. New angles presented themselves. A fresh landscape unfolded before them, and they considered with quiet excitement the potential explorations that awaited. When Lady Veltarol departed, Pallas remained cloaked with magic for a few moments longer before releasing the enchantment and rewarding himself with a final puff of his pipe before he tamped out the embers flickering in the bowl.

Maeryn and Nadja, hm?

When a servant appeared and stooped to clear the glass away, Pallas was so invigorated by this new revelation that he volunteered to clean the mess himself. He greeted the serving girl with a crooked smile, her name escaping his grasp after an afternoon of wine and merriment but her clear resemblance to her mother enough for him to find common ground between them. While he swept the shards away, he enquired after her mother’s ailing back, recounted the names of several of her siblings, and offered to fetch her a drink from the party. She adamantly refused, of course; if she had accepted, he would have been a little horrified, and it was an offer made only to secure his position in her eyes as one of the “safe” members of the household. All in all, there had been plenty to be gained from what had been only a moment’s reprieve from the party.

Pallas gave the girl a gold piece along with her returned broom, before swiftly re-entering the hall. It would have been far too premature to attempt conversation with the fascinating Lady Veltarol, of course, so he instead followed his natural gravitational pull back towards the head table. His dark eyes flickered across each face in turn, waiting to seek out an opening in a conversation or a lone attendee in search of a partner.

 

[social]

The scent of florals was heavy in the air as she leaned against the back of her chair, slender fingers mindlessly tracing the edge of the wine goblet. Her gaze was calm and traced over the features of each guest, as well as those that sat at her table. Rich velvet clung to her figure and intricate embroidery of silver and gold depicted flowers that were similar to those which decorated the Great Hall. Gold jewelry glinted in the fire's light, lingering specifically on the large statement dragon that was coiled around her neck. A gift made specifically for her by her late husband, it was to honor her title and position within the Realm. And what a statement it was.

Her parents sat to her left while her son sat on her right, allowing her some relief from interacting with guests too frequently. Beside her father was her sister, the bride and subject of the celebration. Oh Maeryn, she seemed so pleased with the day’s events. It genuinely warmed Daenara’s heart to see her precious sister so happy and excited for her future. She just hoped that nobody would ruin it. The harsh gaze of Daenara had zeroed in on the woman who seemed to let her gaze linger for a little too long every time she passed Maeryn or held correspondence with her.

Over the years, Daenara had kept a close eye on their friendship, always prepared to issue a warning if one was warranted, but nothing ever seemed to happen. And now she was married. The wound on her hand was still fresh, but the pain seemed to have long since passed. The memory of her own ceremony was heavy in her heart as she looked at her left hand, the faded scar evident across her palm. She was younger than Maeryn when she was married to Cassian, but they made it work. A marriage of convenience, for political gain, but there was a sweetness and tenderness that neither would deny.

They had lived full lives, their youth filled with adventure and glory of battle, while the last few years of their marriage were settled and content. Their children were their pride and joy, something that not everyone was able to experience. Her breath caught in her chest for a moment and soon a warm hand gently laid over hers. Queen Aella looked at her oldest child with an understanding expression before returning to her conversation. Death could never be escaped, but she hoped that she would at least be spared from its clutches for some time.

Movement at the table caught her eye, causing her to escape the painful memories of her past. Hakim spoke to Maeryn before the girl eagerly got up, clearly prepared to dance and enjoy the celebration. Weddings within the royal family were always an exciting time for guests. Plenty of food and wine, entertainment, and a tournament, it was truly a thrilling time for anyone invited. “I will also be getting up, I believe my children may be causing some trouble.” A smile formed on the princess’s lips as she stood up from the table and gestured to her oldest son, Vaerys, to see if he wanted to go with her. The dark-haired boy awkwardly got out of his seat and clung to his mother’s hand as they began to walk to the rest of their family.

The music was wonderfully bright and cheerful, with plenty of smiling faces on the dance floor, especially as Maeryn and her husband joined them. Daenara and Vaerys stayed on the outskirts and approached Illysia, Maella, and Malyx, as they skipped in a circle, laughter tumbling from their lips. Vaerys seemed entertained, giggles escaping him as he let go of his mother’s hand in favor of clapping along. Daenara smiled brightly as she easily picked up Maella, a small shriek of excitement leaving her daughter’s lips. “Now, I do believe you have stayed awake for far too long. Did you even eat anything?”

A dramatic roll of her eyes (or rather her whole head), and Maella wrapped her arms around Daenara’s neck, quickly embracing her. “Oh Mother, it is such a bore!” A knowing look was all the response she needed, a sigh leaving her as she dramatically went limp in her mother’s arms. Shaking her head, the princess placed her daughter down and gently caressed Malyx’s face before she approached her sister-in-law.

“Thank you for watching them. I’m sure they were entertaining.” Extending her hand, she gently grasped Illysia’s, an action that had developed over the years of their friendship. They were family for a long time and that was not easily forgotten. “Have you been propositioned by any bachelors? I’ve heard they are trying their best to secure a marriage match before the night’s end.” A look of enjoyment showed on her face as she ushered her three children to their table and encouraged them to eat their dinner. Daenara crossed her arms and stood close to Illysia as she looked over at the crowd. “I am surprised nothing has happened yet. I half expected someone to break a nose or table by this point. That’s how it was at my wedding."

Tags: Illysia junegloom | Location: The Great Hall | Wearing: 01 02 03

coded by social

 

[reverice]

Aaleahya

mood.

mixed feelings.
needs a second glass
of wine immediately.

location.

Maeryn's Wedding
- The Great Hall

outfit.

Dress, jewelry 1,
hair, jewelry 2
(both hands),
jewelry 3, notable
item: bangles (right
now she’s only
wearing two, all
but the blue one)

interactions.

open!

tags.

-

A royal wedding. Such a grandeur event, worthy for Rhaeclya's own second-in-line, Maeryn. How lovely she was to witness it, how terrible a burden on her heart to imagine how her own would go. Her blood, crimson, dripping to the kingdom's sacred flame, its undying fire that has bore witness to countless wedding, soon her own's. Naive she no longer was, she all but know for sure that her parents have schemed behind her back, any day now they would give her the ultimatum and a man she's probably seen countless times yet not in that way would sweep her off the place she's called home for all two and twenty years to somewhere far and strange, her having no say in the matter. Though her heart was apparently stubborn enough to yet relent the hope that hers would be the exception to the rule, a match filled with love instead of polite diplomacy.

Alas it is time for merriments, so smile and laugh she will. It is her dear friend's big day—arguably the most important one of her life—after all. A day filled with song and dance and flowers blooming every inch and corner of the castle, basking its guests in their fragrant aroma and magnificent colors, willing all to rejoice in shared happiness. She glanced towards the front and center of the festivities held, the newlyweds. Still busy entertaining other congratulators, it seemed, so she'd wait for her turn. No rush, she was in no mood to interject much today anyway, especially after hers has been soured by her parents' not so subtle hints and wistful sighs along their way here. Nothing that a glass of wine or two can't fix, of course.

Light were her steps as they make their escape, away from Lord and Lady Valli, who were busy engaging in what surely is more mind numbing conversation with their coevals. Blending with the flock was the true miracle of the day, though perhaps only short of one, considering how she's adorned with plentiful gilded jewels and the color of her attire matching the blooming petals showering Rhaeclya today, one might just mistake her for a strangely frail pillar.

One shall take small winnings as they come, and Aaleahya surely did. Call her cowardly, for all she cares, but she's borne her fair share of their antics for the day, with still a pleasant smile on her face, unlike her brothers whose presence was yet to be seen. Ah, never mind them. Her freedom would not last long, and she shall savor it. Her graceful hand swept a glass served, not caring much be it wine or else, and took a few far too quick gulps, and now she has but a split of a second to choose to make a noticeable fuss by coughing as to not die right then and there, or go quietly. She could feel it already, burning in her chest, the usual slight dizziness now overwhelming, her consciousness escaping by her pores. At the very last moment, she let out a cough, trying her best to dampen the sound using the palm of her empty hand. Barely into her first glass and she'd caused a kerfuffle already. "I am fine," she assured those near her who were kind enough to spare her a glance, sparing a smile of her own, though her face must have been red as the wine, as some of them lingered still. "Truly."

A well-practiced smile plastered, for her presence was unnoticed no longer. So long, few seconds of bliss. Was it too late to become a pillar?

வள்ளி

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[NUSKI]

The Exiled

Lysander Aenyr

Maeryn's Wedding

Nothing seemed real yet.

In the nine years, he was in Araes, he hadn't been around this many people, and the sheer volume of new faces left Lysander almost disoriented. Even with his disorientation, there was a palpable excitement coursing through him to be back in his homeland. The southern air felt both welcoming and suffocating, laden with the weight of expectations of his future and the consequences of his past. He adjusted his collar, the fur lining and red embroidery of flowery and flame designs catching the sunlight, his expression unreadable as he silently navigated the wedding grounds.

He had spoken to a few nobles whose faces he didn't recognize, making sure to avoid the ones he did know - especially the royal family seated at the head of the event. Their presence alone was enough to stir a cocktail of emotions within him, from steaming resentment to lingering jealousy. However, no matter how much he distracted himself with the trivialities of the event, he could not help but occasionally glance at the heiress.

Daenara Velaeris.

The name contained a complex knot of memories for Lysander that he was not eager to re-visit; memories of his outbursts in court, his struggles to outshine her brilliance, and the bitterness of his failure flooded his mind. Daenara, the prodigy whose shadow he had futilely tried to escape, now bore the title of a mother. Ser Aric's words about her children echoed in his thoughts as he watched her daughter embrace her and Lysander couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. The sight almost made him want to apologize for his youthful arrogance. In seeing Daenara's children, he considered a path not taken - a life that could have been had his choices been different.

Yet, as quickly as the thought arose, Lysander shook it off. There was no room for sentimentality or regret in his journey back to Rhaeclya. His return was not about dwelling on the past but about forging a new path forward, one that would align his ambitions with the greater good of the realm.

Ser Aric's voice broke through his reverie, a hushed yet knowing tone that cut through the festive air. "Beautiful, eh lad?" he remarked before popping a grape into his mouth.

Lysander narrowed his eyes at Aric, momentarily puzzled by the comment. "Since we're on the subject... yes... more than I remember," he replied slowly. His gaze drifted back to where the heiress stood, currently engaged in a conversation with a brown-haired woman.

Aric chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. "I meant her children, Lysander," he clarified gently, his lips twitching with the effort to hold back a fuller laugh.

Lysander's eyes snapped away from Aric with a flicker of annoyance. "So did I," he replied coolly, masking his slight embarrassment with a subtle nod.

Aric sensed Lysander's discomfort and decided to shift the conversation. "Hm, speaking of which," he continued, gesturing towards the brown-haired woman, "...that's Illysia Celaleos, Heir of Starmark Keep. I hear she has been managing quite well since her brother's passing."

"Ah," Lysander responded noncommittally, recognizing the significance of her title but refusing to entertain the man further. Aric opened his mouth to speak but the royal raised his hand. "I'm done with this conversation, Kraumwell," he said dryly before turning on his heel.

Amidst the laughter and music, his eyes settled on a figure standing apart from the other guests; a woman with pink flowers placed in her hair caught his eye. Her presence, though unobtrusive, drew Lysander's curiosity. Lysander hesitated briefly as he approached, slipping into the practiced grace of southern court. He reminded himself to remain composed, every interaction was now a delicate dance of diplomacy.

With measured steps, Lysander closed the distance between them, his gaze meeting hers with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good day," he greeted, inclining his head slightly. "Quite the celebration, isn't it?" His voice carried a touch of genuine curiosity, seeking to engage her in conversation while respecting her space amidst the revelry. The man leaned forward to bow his head while raising a palm to his chest. "Lysander Aenyr, my lady. I couldn't help but notice you earlier. I trust the wine hasn't given you too much trouble?"

reverice

Code by Serobliss

 

[tieflinq]

Her own hand suddenly felt quite empty as she glanced down at the Tun heir's cup, her throat as dry as a beach awaiting the tide's return. Gods, formal events had always made her so thirsty. Or perhaps it was the Rhaeclyan wine - it was so lovely, and so different to the sweet burning of the spirits that were oft traded through Niraeth's ports and mixed with saccharine fruit juices to appease Belphoebe's palate. Funny, she thought, that she's holding her cup so tightly. Belphoebe wondered if Freyja was nervous, or felt out of her depth. It would be understandable, of course; the woman could hardly be expected to feel comfortable around such finery when she had spent most of her life amongst the barren mountains. Belphoebe herself had never actually visited Tun, but she had heard much about it from Niraeth nobility who had been unfortunate enough to make required trips there. All those furs and leather... all the smoky fires lit in great halls stinking of wet dog... yes, she could understand exactly why Freyja might feel out of place. Poor thing! Luckily for her, Lady Galarius would never look down upon those whose etiquette lacked her own experience and flourish.

Belphoebe smiled up at the imposing woman. "Ah, yes - I have heard it said that they water the wine a little at such events, to prevent us all from falling into our cups or coming to blows with one another. Better to be sober than to be sorry, hm?" Her head tilted curiously. "What do you drink at weddings in Tun? Is it... ah, ale?" The many rings weighing down her petite freckled hands caught the light of the candles all around them as she mimed a curved shape with them both. "I have heard that you drink from horns. Gods, that must be very exciting. However do you set your cup down without the drink spilling out?"

This was going wonderfully! Her smile seemed almost permanently affixed as she mirrored the other noble in glancing around at the extraordinary hall. It was bright, she would agree, and so very, very beautiful. It would have been perfect with only a few alterations, Belphoebe thought: some diaphanous curtains draped over balcony doors that overlooked Niraeth's coast, and a proper stage, with a proper orchestra. She would never expect these Southerners to know how to provide music as wonderful as the music from home, though, so she tolerated these shortcomings with immense grace and patience.

RascalRoadkill

 

[Zaruslala]

Heiress of Dragon's Roost

location

grand hall.

mood

broken yet unbowed.

outfit

01. 02. 03.

mentions

youngiiie RascalRoadkill , passing ment. of reverice and NUSKI .

Nadja Veltarol.

Lips curved and eyes steeled, the lady danced with a shrapnel lodged in her heart. Nadja laughed weakly at Finnian's jest, her clawed hand on his bejeweled one. “Yes, yes.” she replied, appreciating the attempt. “Muses weep at the sight of your radiance,”

The music swelled around them as she eased her partner into a low sweep, body bent in a swish of black fabrics and golden cords. “One wrong move, and I’ll be joining them shortly”

And she meant the last part. Finnian Blackmont outdid himself for the occasion, looking radiant in his elaborate attire by artfully combining custom pieces, making his presence singularly stand out as per his signature. The burning braziers faintly illuminated the two of them, briefly catching a constellation of diamonds on his robe before raining reflections on the floor and onto Nadja herself. It was only by sheer luck that she managed to dodge her eyes from the glare.

Few possessed the looks or persona to pull off such an ensemble, yet the Heir of Spinel’s Keep made it look so easy. One look at the surreptitious glances thrown their way, and Nadja could tell that many shared the same sentiment. Yet it was also exactly where he thrived; where revelries mingled with hushed whispers, saturated with envy–a combination that he lived off, drank on, and drawn to, like butterflies took to tortoise’s tears.

But in this split second, the proud grin that usually adorned his face was absent. His eyes remained fixed on her, a touch of worry coloring his dark eyes.

“I’ll be alright,” she whispered softly in return. “A drop in the ocean.”

Mind over matter. Nadja’s current problem stemmed from her heart creeping to her head, and only by clearing her mental space could she wrestle out the pain and throw it into the oblivion. Control was the name of the game, and this wasn’t her first foray into this kind of battle. All she needed was time, and perhaps a little space, and all would be good.

Nadja let out a false chuckle as they shared another twirl, the movement a brief escape from reality pressing in on her as the liquor worked on her brain. She caught the eyes of a brunette mid-cough—Aaleayah, was she okay?—before getting preoccupied with a stranger that looked a tad bit familiar.

“I’m a Veltarol after all. I'll survive—”

As if on cue, the music swelled once again, grander than before. People parted as the star of today's eve made their way down the dance floor: the lovely newlyweds, led by Hakim. Somehow, Nadja’s smile still held steady.

“—though one or two breaks sounds rather nice, actually.”

coded by natasha.

 

[social]

It was too much. All the flowers that is. It felt like his lungs had been completely infiltrated by the fragrant plants that adorned every part of the castle. Leave it to Princess Maeryn to want a flower-themed wedding. Aeryn had opted out of being part of the ceremony, not really interested in seeing someone else get married. Instead, he stood guard during the ceremony, his hands resting comfortably in front of him as his dark and unpleasant gaze watched the guests, observing them for signs of betrayal or even drunkenness. His job was to uphold the law and protect the commonfolk, but he had agreed to be part of the personal guard for the royal family during the wedding. Four days of celebration, four days of potential jealousy and anger.

Aeryn didn’t hold any particular warmth towards his fellow royals, but his internal rage and envy had cooled after entering the military almost 20 years prior. His ambition and anger towards the high-ranking royals, and in particular, Daenara, had caused him to be pushed to the outskirts where he could be of use but not a threat. So there he stayed, climbing ranks, finding ways to quench the anger and hatred that stirred in his blackened heart. Most would not have believed that it was his own idea to create the Blades of Ayths, but it was the truth. After years of working with guards and soldiers from modest backgrounds, he understood the corruption that occurred without the Crown’s knowledge.

It made him uneasy and therefore he wanted to fix it. He wanted to restore the balance, just as his faith encouraged him to. His dedication to this was admired by the King and Queen, causing him to slowly be allowed back at royal events, as long as he was working and not causing issues for anyone. The pledges that Aeryn had taken within the temple of Ayths seemed to have changed something fundamentally in the man. He allowed himself to be an observer and enforcer of justice, keeping peace within Rhaeclya. It felt good and he had little desire to stop what he was doing. However, his job of bringing balance to Rhaeclya didn’t change the bloodthirst and violence that ran through his veins. He was still referred to as Aeryn the Cruel and they weren’t wrong. Gods only know what he does to those he has in custody.

As the ceremony came to a close and the celebration moved into the Great Hall, Aeryn followed, a neutral expression on his face as he wandered the outskirts of the party. The smell of wine and food had finally overpowered the sickeningly sweet floral scent, and for that he was grateful. His armor reflected the fire that burned brightly throughout the room, but he did not seem to attract too much attention. Not that he wanted any. The man positioned himself close to the table where the immediate family of Maeryn sat, and where everyone was dancing. His green eyes hovered over Daenara for a period of time, taking note that her children were still present at the party.

There were a few unexpected faces within the crowd but he did not think much of it. The King and Queen were known to extend their forgiveness towards those who had reflected and changed over the years, so it wasn’t surprising that this would be a place to test their loyalty. His attention was drawn towards the center of the room as Maeryn and her new husband began to dance, naturally engaging in conversation as they danced with their guests. The prince of Vashil had not brought more than some guards with him, something that had been peculiar to all that were involved, but had easily been explained away. The guards stayed within the crowd, observing their prince and even partaking in wine and food. It was possible that he too could relax but a sense of potential guilt or someone attempting to take advantage of his drunken state made his stomach coil and caused him to stay put. He would drink once the celebration was over and he could indulge in the company of those he wished.

Tags: open | Location: The Great Hall | Wearing: 01

coded by social

 

[junegloom]

scroll

heir of starmark keep

Illysia.

outfit

outfit

location

The Royal Wedding

interactions

Daenara + co.

tags

social

It took Illysia a moment to notice Daenara’s presence while she and the twins were dancing. She couldn’t help but laugh at Maella’s dramatics. She greeted her older nephew with a smile and a squeeze of his shoulder. She took the flowers from around her neck and placed them over Vaerys’ head.

“Oh, really I should be thanking you. You know I love spending time with them.”

She squeezed Daenara’s hand in affection for the person she still considered to be her sister. Just because Cassian was gone, did not mean their relationship changed and for that, she would always be grateful.

“Have you been propositioned by any bachelors? I’ve heard they are trying their best to secure a marriage match before the night’s end.”

Illysia nearly snorted at the idea. Since her betrothal ended with her fiancé’s death in the same battle that killed her brother, she’s been open to suitors. Though, she has been relatively unmotivated to acquire a new betrothal. Learning her new duties as heir of Starmark Keep had been her priority. She wasn’t entirely confident she’d find a suitable match considering she is a bit older than most eligible women of her status. She’d certainly much rather be unmarried than be paired off with a less-than-desirable husband.

She was grateful her parents allowed her to have input on her suitors. However, she wondered if they regretted that by now. Illysia suspects they would have preferred her to be married by now, but they do not push the issue as Cassian’s children will pass along the Celaleos name and will take over Starmark Keep if she does not produce heirs herself.

“Fortunately for me, I was much too busy with your children to speak with any potential suitors. Not to mention, I’m starting to approach being thought of as an old maid,” she joked. She was younger than Daenara, though Daenara obviously had already been married once. “However, I will not be surprised if that changes now that I cannot hide behind the twins.”

She walked alongside Daenara as she settled the children at the table. Illysia watched Maeryn and her new husband dance, as she was sure much of the room was doing. She made such a lovely bride. A sad smile formed as she thought back to the day her brother got married.

“How could I forget? But you must remember the subjects of celebration. You and Cassian were much more bold and intense people. Maeryn is certainly thought of to be too sweet and delicate for such commotion. I can’t say I didn’t find your wedding celebration thrilling, though.”

Illysia was around sixteen when her brother got married. Too young to have had experience with such celebrations, but old enough to be allowed to participate. She had danced and celebrated more than she had ever done before. Illysia had never slept better than she did after the first night of festivities.

Surveying the crowd, she smirked and nudged Daenara with her elbow.

“Have you been approached by any suitors? I would think the title of King Consort is rather attractive for anyone brave enough to approach you.”

Such a title would be more powerful than any other gained by marriage. While she knew she had to be discerning in considering her suitors, Daenara had to be exponentially more so. That was a stress that Illysia was glad she did not have.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[youngiiie]

Finnian Blackmont

Heir of Spinel Keep

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  new mentions!

  
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Wedding

Main Hall

[/tab]

I confess, pretty bitches run the West

With the music as his guide and years of practice, Finnian didn't even need to think as he danced. His body remembered the steps and he matched Nadja's graceful movements. The countless jewels and gems attached to his garments clanged softly as he moved. He could feel that he was the subject of jealous eyes and the young heir couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement course through his entire body. He already was Spinel Keep's shining gem but he never missed a chance to remind the nobility outside of his region of that fact as well. While he had attended Maeryn's wedding out of respect for the Norduan royalty, his real motive was to improve his image. The attention he received that day would likely be told and retold to anyone unfortunate enough to be in his vicinity in the future. He possessed a certain ability to draw gazes, to stand out in a crowd. He had a natural fearlessness when it came to making himself seen.
"I am quite radiant, aren't I? You flatter me too much, Lady Veltarol." Finnian mused, unable to resist the opportunity to compliment himself.

As they continued to dance, he could not stop thinking about how she was dancing with him and not with Maeryn. He knew that her marriage was all about politics and deep down he resented the princess for it. He hated seeing his dear friend in pain while Maeryn became betrothed to a man from another land. A foreigner. He pitied Nadja greatly. Why did she have to go and fall in love with the one person she could not have?

As the music swelled, Finnian stepped to the side to clear space for the bride and groom to saunter their way to the middle of the room to dance. While he smiled fondly at the advancing couple, deep down Finnian was displeased. He was displeased that he could no longer be the focus of the room. He was reminded how heavy his clothing was, weighed down by all of the diamonds and other gemstones that adorned him. Once the newlyweds arrived at the dance floor, Finnian resumed his dance with the heir of Dragon's Roost.

A drop in the ocean.

A drop in the ocean? That was putting it lightly. Finnian understood the luck one must possess to marry for love and not for business. He knew the odds had been doomed for Nadja from the start but he still felt upset on her behalf. With a graceful shuffling of their feet, the young heir carefully leaned Nadja in for a dip. He took the opportunity to voice what he had been thinking for months now.

"It should've been you."

Just as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished and the music and dance carried on. He twirled Nadja around to the tempo of the music as they talked. Despite the quite joyful mood that Nadja exuded, he could tell that deep down being here and being happy couldn't be easy.

"I would hope you'd do more than survive. I'd hope you would thrive... like me." the male teased, a small smirk creeping across his lips. "The single life can be pretty great if you think about it. If you love yourself enough, you won't even miss having somebody else by your side."

Pulling Nadja to the side of the dance floor, he beckoned one of the many servers over to them. "Care for a drink m'lady?"

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

Zaruslala

 

[RascalRoadkill]

• Hakim
• Freyja

• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  Maeryn accepts his offer, luckily. Hakim is just about to breathe easier before Daenara rises as well. Hm. That goes against his intentions- to stay away from the marked dead and ensure the collateral damage stays minimal. Really, he's convinced it's the best he can do while being discreet.
  
  He does like Maeryn- really, he does, but the circumstances are beyond less than ideal for fostering friendship with her. If the scheme goes off without a hitch, Hakim will still have to contend with knowing exactly what had occurred; even if he obscures it his entire life and takes it to his grave, it’d remain a fact of the matter, coloring his relationship and every interaction with her whether she knows it or not.
  
  Hakim doubts they will ever be romantic in the grand way expected of royalty, but he can still mourn the loss of what could be an untarnished friendship. He is not so delusional as to think that it would be perfect by any means, but… it could be amicable, decent, good for the both of them.
  
  Well, he'll have to contend with it later. One step at a time, for now. They've sent strikingly little guards with him considering what his parents have planned to do… perhaps it is just to seem non-threatening. He supposes they wouldn't presume anything could go wrong on Vashil's account if there weren't enough boots on the ground for them to accomplish anything. He wonders if letting their guard down will be more effective than simple, classic brute force.
  
  Either way, he follows her to the dance floor and takes proper position. His poise is immutable, as it has been trained to be. He keeps most of his focus on Maeryn, but he cannot help but spare some sense for those that surround him… the nobles of Nordua that he will come to know over the next several years. All potential friends, all potential enemies.
  
  For now, the dance. Once he spares a few thoughts to consider the others present, he shakes his head and returns his attention to her. She does deserve it, given what is about to happen. He may as well make the preceding moments enjoyable- before everything changes. Maybe he should have this dance gravitate towards Nadja- surely she would spare no effort in protecting her if Hakim were to happen to fall short.
  
  "I do enjoy the floral theme you chose," he says, and smiles, "I'll tell you later about Vashilan flowers, if you would like," he offers, "and some of our dances, if you'd be inclined."
  
  The compliment and the offer are genuine, if nothing else about him tonight is.
  
  

  
  
  social
  
  

  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  She feels like she's looking down upon some kind of fancy show-animal, like an excitable little dog adorned with a gold collar or something else of that manner. She snorts- fittingly like a boar, amused by her own notion.
  
  Well, why drink at all if they’ll water it down? They’d all be better off given something else, if it’s not going to give them the effect they’d hope for. Freyja swirls the liquid in her cup, looking down into it. Urgh. She's better off just finishing this and not bothering with another, if it's not going to do anything.
  
  Her naivety is… something. Freyja would say she hasn't met many of that mindset, but she's contended with far posher nobility than this. Belphoebe, though, is uniquely earnest instead of carrying that haughty, aloof streak. She doesn't doubt she's a little judgemental given the phrasing, but it doesn't seem like something she's doing… purposefully?
  
  Freyja does not understand this.
  
  She just takes it as it is. "Yes. There is a cap you fasten to the end of it, usually,” she answers, “otherwise… simply drink it in one go.”
  
  Freyja has most of a glass remaining, but it’s down her gullet in a matter of moments, “demonstrating” by raising it to her mouth, tilting her head back, and chugging the rest of it in one fell swoop without much issue. She gestures in Belphoebe's direction with the cup. "Ale, though, yes. I have not been to many weddings."
  
  Gods willing, Freyja may be able to avoid her own entirely.
  
  

  
  
  tieflinq
  
  

  
  

 

[social]

Maeryn’s dress swirled as she spun and danced around, clearly excited and in awe of the celebration. She was happy to be with family and friends, but even more so for her future life with her husband. She could see it all within reach, a life full of light and beauty, of kindness and loyalty. She wanted a marriage like her parents, full of sweetness and a gentleness that seldom seemed to achieve. Her conversations with Hakim ranged from talks of dances to the festivities that would be held in the following days. A grand tournament, feasts, it was going to be a glorious time for both of them, that she was sure of.

Separating from Hakim for a moment, Maeryn made her way over to her older sister and smiled brightly as she quickly grabbed her hands. “Daenara, how are you? I feel as if we haven’t been able to talk!” Her voice was sweet as she conversed with her sister and Daenara’s companion, Illysia, someone that she had happily grown up with. There were so many familiar faces while there were those who seemed desperate to avoid her gaze. She could not understand why but they mostly went unnoticed. This was a time for her to be happy and so getting caught up in anything other than that, well, it wasn’t on her mind.

Her blissful ignorance and naivety was not unnatural and was something that was a core part of her being. Words of congratulations and music drowned out anything suspicious, leading to most ignoring the guards and wedding guests that came from Vashil, and what they were doing. Unbeknownst to all in attendance, they made their way through the dinner, into positions that were closest to the royal family members that they wanted to take out. The ruling family was a threat to Vashil, they could squash the country if they discovered their plans. They had to be swift and direct, not leave anything up to chance. Hidden blades and magic, they moved to strike, wanting to take out as many at once as possible.

But the shrill scream of a child broke through the festivities as one of the young princes that was about to leave his mother’s side with a servant, saw the glint of a knife heading straight for his mother. This one cry alone, caused the royal guards to react, unsheathing their swords as they guarded their monarchs. With covers blown, those from Vashil had no choice but to act immediately. “THOSE WHO DECEIVE VASHIL SHALL ANSWER IN BLOOD!” Slashing that the crown princess, the blade connecting with her arm as she moved in the nick of time to protect her children. Chaos broke out within the great hall as everyone scrambled to protect loved ones and themselves.

THE TRAGEDY

OF NORDUA

coded by social

Spoiler: uncoded

Maeryn’s dress swirled as she spun and danced around, clearly excited and in awe of the celebration. She was happy to be with family and friends, but even more so for her future life with her husband. She could see it all within reach, a life full of light and beauty, of kindness and loyalty. She wanted a marriage like her parents, full of sweetness and a gentleness that seldom seemed to achieve. Her conversations with Hakim ranged from talks of dances to the festivities that would be held in the following days. A grand tournament, feasts, it was going to be a glorious time for both of them, that she was sure of.

Separating from Hakim for a moment, Maeryn made her way over to her older sister and smiled brightly as she quickly grabbed her hands. “Daenara, how are you? I feel as if we haven’t been able to talk!” Her voice was sweet as she conversed with her sister and Daenara’s companion, Illysia, someone that she had happily grown up with. There were so many familiar faces while there were those who seemed desperate to avoid her gaze. She could not understand why but they mostly went unnoticed. This was a time for her to be happy and so getting caught up in anything other than that, well, it wasn’t on her mind.

Her blissful ignorance and naivety was not unnatural and was something that was a core part of her being. Words of congratulations and music drowned out anything suspicious, leading to most ignoring the guards and wedding guests that came from Vashil, and what they were doing. Unbeknownst to all in attendance, they made their way through the dinner, into positions that were closest to the royal family members that they wanted to take out. The ruling family was a threat to Vashil, they could squash the country if they discovered their plans. They had to be swift and direct, not leave anything up to chance. Hidden blades and magic, they moved to strike, wanting to take out as many at once as possible.

But the shrill scream of a child broke through the festivities as one of the young princes that was about to leave his mother’s side with a servant, saw the glint of a knife heading straight for his mother. This one cry alone, caused the royal guards to react, unsheathing their swords as they guarded their monarchs. With covers blown, those from Vashil had no choice but to act immediately. “THOSE WHO DECEIVE VASHIL SHALL ANSWER IN BLOOD!” Slashing that the crown princess, the blade connecting with her arm as she moved in the nick of time to protect her children. Chaos broke out within the great hall as everyone scrambled to protect loved ones and themselves.