Fandom ♛ Liar's Court ♛ - A Game Of Thrones RP

[TheFool]

Sons Of Sun



Jaehaerys did little but walk and listen. To his friend. To Tommen Tully. Lord Tully. He couldn’t believe it, still. He thought he would’ve never seen it - the day that boy inherited his father’s titles. Tom was always an unlikely heir apparent in Jae’s eyes. You’d give him one one look and you’d say,
He’s too happy.
Too carefree.
Be more serious. More stoic.
But Jae knew that that was Tommen Tully.
The people would have to accept those mannerisms, for Tom would never change them. Could never, even. Tom was Tom. And so he continued listening to him. The man was the definition of a chatterbox. He had the gift of gab. Or, to put it less politely, he never shut his mouth. Something Jaehaerys had often teased him about during jest or insulted him on during the odd times they had fought.
He hated those times.
But they hadn’t fought in years. That was when they were young - and ravished by the pressures of impending manhood.

“I remember.”

Was all he said as Tommen talked. You had to let him talk. Say every little word he wanted to say, or else he’d only talk more later. Jaehaerys had found this out the hardest of ways.
He looked at him.
At Tom.
And he could not help but smile. The only truly genuine smile of the day mayhaps. His bestest friend and one of the few men in this world that he would entrust his life with.
And his secrets.
Well,
Maybe not all of his secrets.

They got to Jaehaerys’ quarters and entered. The first room was a large lounge, with velvet loveseats onlooking a red-brick fireplace - its flames currently extinguished. Beyond the couches were several bookshelves, some brimming with literature and others basically empty. A large door was adjacent to them, on the other side of the room, which led out to a small balcony.
There were two other doors, one on the left side of the room and the other on the right. The left door leading to a study. The right leading to his wash and bedroom. It was his home.
Small enough for a Prince.
But his home still.

They entered Jaehaerys’ quarters after walking for what seemed like forever. His foot ached him a bit, but he did not mind. The first room was a large lounge decorated with water-painted artwork and brimming bookshelves - its centrepiece being three velvet loveseats onlooking an ornate red brick fireplace.
Its flames currently non-existent.
The room was lit by beaming grey sunlight pouring in from the stained glass windows and the tall light wooden door that led out onto a small balcony -
Which was where Jaehaerys would often sit to have his breakfast ( if he was not in a talkative mood ) or sit just to think. Think about the next feast to plan.
The next tourney.
The next delegate to meet.
And, as of his brother’s untimely death, the next move.

“My home is your home, Tom.” He said, closing the door behind them. “Whether Dorne or King’s Landing.” Tommen continued to talk.
His next few words choking him up slightly. Jae felt his heart heavy. He wanted to sit down upon one of the velvet couches and give his foot a needed rest before tonight’s festivities. If you were to call them ‘festive’. But, he decided against it. He would not sit while his dear friend sobbed.

“Tom,”
He started, carefully putting his hand on his friend’s arm. “I know you. You are… the kindest man I have ever met. The most charming. The most joyous and… and fun and lively.” He stopped, and he swallowed. “You know that I hated it sometimes down there.”
Meaning Dorne.
“You remember how sometimes I would wake up and, before the day even took its flight, I’d be in a foul mood. I’d be a wretch to everyone who dared bother me.” Jaehaerys blinked,
His hand clutching the top of his cane.
“Even you sometimes.”
He looked at Tommen and then towards the door that led towards the balcony.
The light almost blinding.
“But though I’d even get angry at you… you always had a smile on your face. A laugh to share. You made it worth it. You brought me a semblance of happiness in my most darkest days.” He looked back at him. “And if you could that for a spoilt and sulky little …”
He stopped and looked down at himself.
At his legs.
His foot.
His deformity.
“...Prince,” He continued. “You can very well do it now with those fools in The Riverlands. Because I know you. I do. So… make them know you too.”

He cupped Tom’s chin with his free hand,
“And don’t cry.”

“There’s been enough of that as is.”
He said,
A sad look upon his face.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Braddington

​

 

[TheFool]

Son Of Savages



Oh, the rain.



It was a nuisance. Twistering quickly from the gentlest of drizzles to an almost downpour. It was coming down harder now. Each and every drop pelting itself off whatever was touched. The sun now safely hidden behind blackened clouds.
And still,
Eustace sat plainly saddled upon his horse. His Dot. Listening intently to the rain and to his wife. His Myri. A part of him missed calling her by that nickname. “Oh, my Myri.” He used to say. Back when they had loved one another or at least still pretended as such. He had not called her it in, well, a decade. Mayhaps more, no?
No.
It had to have been less than a decade.

Had they truly been fell out of love for so long now?


His mind wandered as she threw her words at him.

Wandered towards happier times. When his heart still belonged to her and hers to his. When their daughter was not locked away in some dank slum, crying out for him.


“What about favourite colour?”
She asked him, as they lay together in bed. Nude. Her head nestled on his chest. His hand running through her hair, massaging her head. It had been three or four days since their wedding. Life was good and without worry. They were still on honeymoon in The Westerlands.
Myrielle yet to even lay her eyes upon the place she would have to call home.
“Favourite colour?”
He repeated, chuckling. “Gods be good, you’re truly so harsh with these questions.” He let loose a yawn and took his hand out of her hair so he could fix his.
“I think I’ll go with… white.”
His answer.
“White?” She sat up, smiling brightly. “All the colours in this world and you choose white?”
“Harsh questions reveal harsh truths, dear wife.”
“I’ll show you harsh, Lord Stacey.”
He fake gasped at her words and she playfully tried to hit him. He caught her wrist within a fist and gently shook his head at her. His wife. His love. His Myri.
“Hitting your husband already? Your brother warned me about this.”
“Mmhmm, I am so sure he did.”
He brought her hand to his lips and preciously kissed it. “And what of you, Myri?” He asked. “Whatever is your favourite colour?”
She opened her mouth to say, but he talked over whatever words came out -
“And I swear if you say red or gold or any other damned Lannister colour… you will be sleeping alone tonight.” He said, laughing.
She looked at him.
Smiling still.
Waiting to pounce on him like the lioness she was.
“Gold.”
Eustace laughed some more, “I am… appalled.”
“Oh well. Whoever will keep your bed warm now?” She asked. Continuing to tease.
“Don’t think I cannot replace you quick.”
“So, so cruel.”
Eustace rolled his eyes, “Oh, yes, the cruel, cruel husband.”

He pulled her forward and held her close once more.

“Your worst fear?”
She asked.
The room somehow quieting, even though they were the only two in it.

He thought for a moment.
And another moment.
“I… do not know.”
Was his answer.
“You must. Everyone has one. Don’t worry, Stacey, I won’t laugh.” She promised him. Her head was now back on his chest. Her pinky finger carefully tracing the hair that was scattered all across him.
“Being called Stacey is definitely up there.”
He said, snarkily.
“Be serious.”
“My worst fear…” He repeated. Thinking. Thinking hard. He knew what it was. Even when she first asked him her question. His fear had always been the same fear.
“To not be seen as a man.”
“To not be seen as a man?” She scoffed.
“To be seen as… a barbarian. A wild thing. The children… when I was younger… they would say such things to me and my sisters and brother. They would laugh at us and call us names. Call us beasts. Mutts and mongrels and…”

He stopped.

“There’s nothing more I want in this world than to be seen as a man. A man with standing. A man with pride, in himself and in his family. A man with a loving wife and… and lovely children. A man someone can respect. A man who no one would dare call a savage, even if behind his back.”

“Eustace…”

“That’s my worst fear. It remains my worst fear, even though it is a fear I have had to live through.”
She looked up at him.
Her eyes gazing into his.
“I think I’d like to stay in this bed tonight.” She said to him.

“There’s no place else I would rather have you, Myri.”


The rain continued.

But her words stopped.

She looked like she was crying. He knew she was hurting. They both were. Their daughter. Their only daughter. Locked away.
Lonely.
And Gods knows what else.

He wanted to slide down from his saddle and approach her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her like he used to hold her. Kiss her gently and whisper to her that it would be alright. He’d make it alright.

“I will.”

He said.
Loud, so she could hear him through the pelts.

I will, Myri.


Say it.

Say it.

Say it.


“I swear, by The Seven, that I will.”

He couldn’t.

He looked past her to see one of her ladies, leaning out of the carriage. “Lady Lucinda,” He called. “Can you please make sure my wife gets back into the carriage before she catches a cold.”

“We’re leaving for King’s Landing now.”
He said.

He and Myrielle looked at one another through the rain. Him high on his horse and she down in the wet muck.

Enough of her.
He had to save their daughter.

“COME, MEN! WE MOVE ONWARD!”
He shouted.
They all heeded his commands. Respected his words. Did as he told them.
And he was thankful.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Hypnos

​

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Lady Judyth Umber

“Judyth” her father’s voice boomed.

She took comfort in Lord Umber’s strong embrace. The familiar sensation of his bristly beard against her cheek. The scent of alcohol…which clearly assisted him during the carriage ride down south. Judyth glanced at Jon who shrugged. Jarl was apologizing to the goldcloak who still looked a bit uncomfortable.

“You’re lookin’ mighty fine there lass! A real beauty, just like your mother used to,”

Her father grumbled about the lands to the south. Seemed to distrust many southerners. But the truth was that he married a lady from the south, so Judyth didn’t believe he actually hated it, even if he never went on family visits.

He released her, looking back. “You remember my daughter, don'cha Lord Stark?”

Judyth curtsied. “Lord and Lady Stark. It’s a pleasure. ”

Simple courtesy, but one that was due nonetheless. Despite the prince making an effort to greet those that visited his ‘home’, as a good host should, it was actually the duty of the vassal lords to introduce themselves to the superior ones. And, since her father had given his allegiance to the Lords of Winterfell, they were her lords as well. Judyth might not seem like it, she’d always been a woman of duty.

The warrioress her father needed.

The lady her mother did.

Even now that she’d found her passion in life, she still sent a portion of the money she made back home. And, if her father suddenly decided, after many years not giving two figs about the game, that their family needed greater connections, she would…probably…comply. She wasn’t exactly against marriage. She’d seen plenty of good ones.

Her parents’.

Lord Stark looked a lot less…dour…since his marriage to the lady from the Reach.

Even Lyanna had that light in her eye when she talked of her betrothed.

Sometimes Judyth wondered why she couldn’t be the same. But then, she’d always been a little bit different from other noble ladies. She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. She even enjoyed it.

Work.

Judyth mentally snorted. A noble lady? Working? Honestly, she’d half expected Jaehaerys to turn his nose up when it was mentioned. The fact that he didn’t spoke volumes, even if it was faked—which she wasn’t entirely too sure. Even she needed more than one meeting to accurately gauge a person.

To tell whether a girl was guilty of murder or not from one trial couldn’t be easy.

“I hope the wisdom of the gods both Old and New guide you in the coming trials, my Lord.”

Judyth wasn’t especially religious, but it seemed like the proper thing to say. She had a feeling killing Ashara Arryn was mistake. Not just for justice, but for the fact that it would splinter the kingdom. The Arryns. The Lannisters. Then there was the missing babe…why was it not killed in the same manner as the king? Everything just seemed so horribly contrived…and instinct told her they were all playing into the palm of someone’s hand. The same instinct she had when dealing with other merchants.

But, of course, none of it was her place to say.

A pinch to her hand reminded her of the little lady standing beside her.

The girl put on a brave face, but it wasn’t hard to tell she was bit nervous as well. Couldn’t really blame her—meeting a sister she probably hardly knew.

“Ah yes,” Judyth smiled. “I ran into Lady Aerea Tyrell on my way here. I’m sure you’re eager to meet with your family, my lady…” Storm clouds were coming. She could see it. Smell it in the air. “But it’s best we all go inside. The weather’s looking a bit dreary. Even His Grace and the other lord jurors have left the courtyard.”

Once more linking arms with Sera, who had been having a lively discussion with the septas that accompanied Aerea, Judyth curtsied before dragging her cousin with her back towards the keep. Her father would probably stick with Lord and Lady Stark regardless of whether they decided to stay out in the rain or not. And the twins would stick with their father.

She’d seen everything she needed to anyway.

Done what she’d came to do.

Passing Amabel on the way Judyth couldn’t help but give the girl a bit of…pep talk? “Closing a deal is hardly ever easy. If you ever find you need the assistance, I’ll be staying in Sera’s room for the duration of the trial.”

A Baratheon was certainly a hard catch, but not impossible.

No more difficult than a young man that had taken the black at least.

And, at the very least, she still had the chance to try. Judyth hated to see opportunity wasted. Nearly as much as she hated seeing coins wasted…when it wasn’t on her wares, of course.

To Lyanna, Judyth smirked playfully, the cheeky quip about her brothers not forgotten. “You’re about to see the sight pretty soon, Lyanna Dear. Once it starts raining. I’d get myself through the doors before then.”

Flicking her hair, earrings dangling a bit, she then stepped back into the Red Keep with her cousin.

Mion
BELIAL.
dendygar

 

[Hypnos]

Sons of Highgarden​

Was it sorrow that fuelled that pitiful look in Luthor’s eyes, or was it simply condescension, the harsh gaze of a man looking down upon his clear inferior? After all these years serving as King Lucerys’ most loyal terrier, one might think that Dick would have grown accustomed to reading the intricate emotion upon a Lord’s face, but Luthor Tyrell was no more a Lord than any pious vagabond that was collected from the streets. A Septon. A Priest. A Holy Man. His brother. But even the drapes and fineries from the finest tailors in all of Highgarden could not change the man underneath. He did not belong.

It had been so long since Dick had last laid eyes upon his brother, that he might have been forgiven for losing his face to the trials of time, for forgetting all those years spent together in Highgarden, a shallow contempt built merely on the foundation of parentage and nothing more. They had been boys then, and a little animosity could easily be excused by the emotional turmoil of youth, but now they were men, and such childish rivalry was best left behind them.

Perhaps a stronger man might have been able to do so.

Did he hate Luthor? That question was far too layered to have any direct answer. He hated the scorn of their earlier years, when the loss of Luthor’s mother was still fresh. He hated that he had disappeared for decades merely to return to the family to claim a seat that was not his own. He hated that he sat here now, mentioning little and less of his absence, and making faux-pleasantries as if he had never been gone at all. But did he hate the man?

He barely knew him.

‘Likewise, Lord Tyrell. You’re looking well rested. It seems that a Septon’s life has suited you well.’ It was true. Even in his sixth decade upon this plain, Luthor Tyrell easily would have passed for a much younger man. He was strong. Stronger than he had any right to be, and the spark behind his eyes had yet to be extinguished.

Luthor was their father without the weatherbeaten face. He was Beldon without countless years of drinking and whoring. He was Dick without the weight of the entire Seven Kingdoms upon his shoulders.

He looked like the spitting image of what Lord Tyrell should look like.

But a Septon was not a Lord.

‘I do not think I ever got the chance to offer you my condolences for the death of your brother. Beldon’s death was a tragic loss for the Reach.’

Your brother.

Just like Luthor had yet to offer his sympathy for the death of his sister.

Seven years of silence, though he supposed the death Queen Aerea was not matched with a newly vacant castle.

‘I’m sorry to have missed the funeral. My duties here have kept me quite occupied.’

What was he supposed to say? What were the pair of them supposed to talk about? What did Dick want Luthor to say to him? They were brothers by blood, yet they had not consciously been in the same room for the better part of a quarter century.

Was he expecting an apology? Some kind of recognition that Luthor had stolen his seat and run off with Highgarden slung over his shoulder? Would that have been worse? The admission that he knew exactly what he was doing. That he had done so with malicious intent.

Over the past few weeks, Luthor had not had much time to think about Highgarden. To think about what might have been.

He had thought sparing of Luthor. Of his brother. Of the thief. Of the villain.

But Luthor Tyrell was not a villain. That was plain to see now from the look on the man’s face. Luthor was not scheming and maniacal, nor did he seem malicious in his intent.

He was just a man that Dick barely knew.

‘I can find you rooms in the East Wing, if that is to your fancy, there is plenty of room reserved for your servants and retainers. All of you.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Or… There is plenty of space in the Tower of the Hand. I am sure that my daughter, your niece, would appreciate the company.’

It was an olive branch. Extended today on the Day of the Dove. Peace. But peace did not mean forgiveness. Nor did it mean to forget.

For the first time, Dick turned his head to face Lord Redwyne. He had thus far been largely ignoring the man, perhaps distracted by the other events of the day, though he supposed it was unbecoming of the King’s Hand to ignore the guests of the King. Even if the King was currently more a theory than he was a man.

‘Pardon? Oh, right, yes.’ Dick stumbled on his words. ‘I believe that yourself and your have been provided for by Lord Jason. I could have my steward escort you, if that’s what you wish?’

He ignored the comments regarding Grimm and Yelshire.

‘I’m afraid I’ve been preoccupied as of late. Though I still see your brother during meetings of the council.’ Dick and Jason were colleges, but they were not especially close. His friends at court were few and far between. ‘If you would like to speak to him, I can have a boy fetch him from his chambers. I am sure he would be happy to hear that you have arrived.’

Optimus Princeps Yarrow

 

[JPTheWarrior]

Daerys Celtigar - Heir to Cracklaw Point
​

Lord Brynden Oakheart, one of the last to join the table and council the King along with his master. From what his brother had told him, this guy gave him a strange vibe, like he had a few screws loose. This new Master of Laws could come to the Celtigars side, although they would still have to keep a few eyes on him. Trustworthy? Maybe so. However, neither Daerys or his family would completly trust their backs to this guy. Daerys looked around, trying to find if the two were indeed alone. After assuring the secrecy of their meeting, his eyes ended again on the Lord. Accepting Brynden's invitation, Daerys stepped inside the room, where he took a few moments to please himself with its contents. "A pleasant chamber you have, my Lord." He admitted. "I was hoping we could have a conversation regarding our situation. It is unfortunate, but certain duties called for Lady Celtigar, so she couldn't come with me, although she gives her regards to you, my Lord."

"What we purpose is safety, safety in numbers, in influence, in... connections." Daerys started as he took a seat in front of Brynden's desk. "We believe you and Lady Celtigar are in a very familiar situation and that both have quite to gain from each other. What we purpose, Lord Oakheart, is to put in simple terms, a mutual offer of a helping hand. Ask for favors and give them out." Daerys smiled at the older Lord. The guy standing in front of Daerys had the... annoyance... to lose not one, but two wives, both women of House Fossoway. Although rumors of Brynden having anything to do with their deaths certainly existed, there was no proof that he had taken part in it. An unfortunate fall and suicide. Horrible ends to a noble, even disgraceful. This man, this man was someone Daerys needed to be careful around. An odd figure of the court, but an important one nonetheless. This man was responsible for legal issues and the creation laws. Furthermore, he had some control over the Golden Cloaks. Yes, indeed an important piece of this country.


Interactions:
BELIAL. - Brynden Oakheart

 

[JPTheWarrior]

Luceon Celtigar - High Septon
​

Arriving at the same destination as Rhaenyra would certainly cause suspicious and more importantly, annoy the woman. Luceon's matter with the princess was urgent, but he couldn't force their conversation. Well, he could, but that wouldn't be the right way to start it, specially if it would caught unwanted attention. "I agree with you, my dear. Certainly the garden isn't the best place to go, not right now, at least. The flowers can wait, I'm sure one hour won't make a difference. You have been taking good care of them. They are beautiful." Another comment, another smile for Tyana. The girl's invitation to Rhaenyra's chamber did surprise Luceon as he was sure it was more inappropriate than following the princess to the garden. "Now now, my dear. Carrying a conversation in another one's room, without said person's permission? Certainly, our princess wouldn't enjoy opening the door and see me there without her consent."

"I do have a counter offer. You go and put the vase back in her room and we keep our little conversation here? That way, we can see our princess arrive? Wouldn't you agree with me? Unless you are too tired from your handmaiden's duties and would rather sit down for a bit?" Carrying the vase with one arm, he used his other to caress a strand of her hair and put it behind her ear. "I am sure you must overwork from time to time. Attending all needs of a princess is strenuous, even more now that we are dealing with regicide." He smiled at her, again his face showing nothing but a gentle and warm expression. "Three years? You must be close to the princess then for that's a long time. I knew a lady, I believe she was from the south, who had a new handmaiden every four to five weeks or so."

He did notice that she avoided to give out details of how she came to be Rhaenyra's personal slave. He decided that he wanted to know more. Afterall, there should be a reason why this conversation was still superficial in the handmaiden matter. "Tell me, my dear. How did Rhaenyre choose you as her handmaiden. I apologize for me now being the one overstepping, but my life as noble wasn't too developed before I gave myself to the Faith. So those details of nobility often are lost in me."


Interactions:
ailurophile - Tyana

 

[BELIAL.]

Brynden Oakheart
Master of Laws​

location: MoL room

with: Daerys C.

tags: JPTheWarrior

Brynden nodded, stooping to a slight bow. "Thank you my lord. I find one's comforts are best suited where most of their days are spent, and mine are among the papers of my work," he said and gave a once over as the lord did. Then came the meat of the conversation, the true purpose, and Brynden ate it up.

One eyebrow raised; perfectly pointed. A glimmer came to his eyes, and his face followed the uplifting example. He smiled at Lord Daerys, soaking in all the man said. Four years had blasted by but Brynden recognized he lacked the seniority that some of the other members had. Where there was age and precision to people such as Lady Celtigar or his predecessor Tyrell, Brynden had but his wits and a fair bit of luck on his side. Not a stupid man, and not a foolish one either, he'd be the ultimate letdown if a change in the leadership resulted in him getting replaced. Perhaps by some dimwitted family member, leeching off the crown. He didn't want money, he wasn't a leech. Brynden took what was given to him, in any situation, and made the most of it.

Lord Daerys' offer was indeed a pretty bone, and his jaws were drooling at the thought of snapping at it.

The grin was sincere, Brynden at least trying not to scare the man off.

"A courteous offer Lord Celtigar, and be sure to thank your mother as well for her kindness. I think it beneficial as well to ensnare some type of job security... what with the instability rocking King's Landing at the moment," he moved to sit behind the desk. Neat, orderly. Papers and candles all over, with old spots of ink dribbled on the fine oak, but nothing was out of place. It looked to be a heap but it was stacked. Organized. Brynden liked keeping things at arm's reach.

He rested his chin in his hands, dipping the fingers to as they crossed with themselves. Brynden cocked his head only slightly, letting the smirk on his lips speak for itself. He could imagine what the Celtigars would ask for. As a man Brynden offered little but his own wit and a jarring sense of awareness. But as the Master of Laws, he held other powers. No doubt some command of the Gold Cloaks was what they wanted. He was no fool, and it was the most important thing about him; all things considered. The written law was passive, but the walking soldiers were active.

But best to play droll, and let the Lord iron out his case. Brynden was a man who liked to hear the whole story, and savor in the details. Life was beautiful like that.

"I'm interested, but enlighten me... what sort of favours you and your house were looking for. An edict? An amendment to a law?" His face brightened again, a mask of humor. He leaned back, throwing his arms up and letting the charismatic wave wash over him. "I'm no fortune teller Lord Celtigar, but I'm not impartial to alliances! You need not be wary of me. I'm on the side that keeps us in our offices, not the other way around!" A laugh. He wasn't hiding anything, he had no need.

Did the family show other colors, or fly another other flag of intention, then there would be something to worry about.

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[TheFool]

Daughters



Ashara finished her lemony flavoured treat.

Relishing in its zest, and in Rhaenyra’s words. It was nice. The little cake and the conversation. It was the first time she’d ever sat down and spoke to her step-daughter. The first time they both weren’t actively avoiding each other’s presence. “A part of me wishes he didn’t pay me that attention…”
She said.
Her own words meaningful.


“I may be a bitch, Ashara, but I’m human.”


She reached out,
Putting her hand - the one that was hurting - on Rhaenyra’s. “You’re not a bad person, Rhaenyra.” Ashara spoke. “Rhae.” Quickly correcting herself. The cell was silent for a moment. Her hand pained. She hoped that she wouldn’t ask why it looked the way it looked. Why it was dried with blood.
“We don’t know each other well, but I do know that. We may’ve never… seen eye to eye but I know, deep down, you’ve kindness. You have compassion.”
Ashara smiled,
“Everyone does. No matter how well they may hide it.”

She listened.

Listened to Rhaenyra’s story. A saddening tale. Ashara wanted to retort with something similar, some story of her childhood that would make her seem relatable - that would tell Rhaenyra that plenty of little girls go through this. That it was alright.
But,
Ashara didn’t have a story like Rhaenyra’s.
Ashara loved her mother.
Ashara loved her father.
Ashara’s mother and father loved her too.
Sure, there were times she was scolded and given out to but if a young Ashara Arryn had stood outside her father’s study and performed some mummer’s soliloquy -
Eustace Arryn would have heard her.
And he would have picked her up and told her how phenomenal she was.


Ashara understood Rhaenyra’s pain.


But she did not share it.


At least not in the same way. She had her own grievances with Lucerys The Last, but that was as his wife and not as his daughter.
Though, with Ashara’s age, some would argue that there was no difference in role.

“I am sorry your father was like that, Rhae.”
She finally spoke.
“As your step-mother, if I was thirty years older… I would have happily listened to your monologue.” She stopped. The cell still quiet.
“Seven hells, I’ll listen to it now even.” She giggled,

“In case you could not tell, it is terribly dull down here.”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile

​

 

[TheFool]

Walys Ball
( NPC )



Walys Ball was sick of it.
Simply sick of it.
“It” meaning everything. He was sick of everything. Every single thing. The horses. By The Father, did he hate the horses. His horses especially. The hundred and something white, grey, black and brown mares and steeds. They smelled. He could never stand the smell, even as a young boy. Master-Of-Horse? The title may as well be Master-Of-Shit. Because he was, literally, the master of horseshit. He himself did not clean it up, thankfully. He had his stableboys to do such tasks. But,
It was everywhere.
How could one animal somehow shit so much? And it was not even just one animal. Multiply that one scuttering animal by one hundred and ninety six. Or was it now one hundred and ninety five after Foxtrot’s sickness finally took him?
Who cares?
Walys Ball didn’t want to, but he had to. He was Master-Of-Horse.
Master-Of-Shit.
Whatever.

So,
He took it upon himself to be what he had always wanted to be. Castle steward. Not just any simple castle steward, but the castle steward for the one and only castle that did matter - The Red Keep. Unfortunately, the title was already held by Leyla Darke. Saggy-titted bitch. She had seemingly been stewardess since Aegon’s Conquest. Did she stewardess the construction of the castle? Maybe she stewardess’d The Doom Of Valyria even? That was how ancient she was.
Her wrinkles had wrinkles.
And those wrinkles upon her wrinkles wrinkled. Walys Ball, himself, would wrinkle each time he had to lay his brown eyes upon her.
However,
She was gone. Off to show Lord Hayford where his quarters were and thus, Walys knew, it was his time to finally take centre stage and shine. He gussied himself up, looking at himself in a bucket of water, and begun.


Greetings.


That is all he ever wanted to do in his life. Say hello to people. Influential people. Ask them how their journey fared and if they were looking forward to their stay in the capital -
Only he refrained from the latter question.
This wasn’t your regular chirpy affair. It was the day of the dove but it was also a week after King Lucerys’ murder. The people were here for the trial.
The trial of his Queen.
Still,
Walys would be polite. Be his usual cordial self.

This time not having to worry about horse shit.
Not until Leyla came back, anywho.

A skinny man with dark hair and hollowed out facial features arrived - with a small host.
“Hello Lord Costayne!”
He directed him to where the servants would take his things.

A woman dressed in black with a bright yellow sheath attached to her - belonging to her dear son, of course.
“Good afternoon, my Lady Beesbury.”
She ignored him.

A powerful looking man. With muscles upon muscles. Taking a clean silver helmet off of his head, unleashing auburn curls.
“Splendid helm, Lord Rhysling!”
He nodded and smiled at Walys, before pushing past.

Was he doing this right?
He did not know.
Surely he was. It was just… greeting people. Walys was oft absent minded about certain things but he, surely, could not act a fool when it came to this.

“Is that little Walys?”

A voice.

Walys snapped from his thoughts to see his father’s old friend, Lord Jafar Wythers. Another thing he was sick of. Sick of House Wythers.
Sick of his father.

“Lord Wythers.”
Walys bowed his head.

“It is! Little Walys! What a pleasant surprise. How’re you faring, boy?”

What transpired was a conversation. Trivial at best. They talked of the weather and of Walys’ father’s health and of Luthor Tyrell and his newly appointed position and, of course, the coming trial. Jafar continuously called him by his childhood nickname,
Little Walys.
A name that was supposed to be funny, because Walys had never been “little”. There was… a lot… to him. His father would often jest and call him his third-and-a-half son.
He was glad Lord Dickon Ball was not coming.
Old age had meant the man was advised not to leave his castle.
So glad.

When he showed Jafar to the servants that would look after him,
Walys came face to face with Prince Jaehaerys.

And many others.

Important people. People that he strived to be like. So much so.

Soon -
They were gone too.

And Walys was by himself in a courtyard full of people.

“Lords and ladies.”

A voice, dry and croaky. Lady Leyla Darke. Of course, she had returned. Back to take the job he had been so much enjoying.

The people in the court looked to her. “If you have been given your quarters and your horses have been safely tied away, would you all care to follow me to the main garden? The weather looks to be worsening, however, we have set up tents and canopies. Food will be served in an hour. Music will begin then as well.”
Darke continued.
“Though this is a troublesome time. Let us use this joyous holiday to celebrate and be thankful for our lives and the life that our good King Lucerys I lived.”

She curtsied.
Barely.
Old bitch.

“Now this way, thank you.”

Walys looked up at the sky as people began crowding around Lady Leyla, soon following her down a large path that led to the largest of The Red Keep’s gardens. The sky was grey, but no sign of rain. There were blackened clouds to the west - but they seemed to be passing quickly.

He was hoping it would not rain.

That was another thing he was sick of. The rain. It was definitely up there with Lady Leyla and his father. And the horses.
He looked over at the big crowd, yearning to join them.
To chit and to chat.

But, no.

“Master Walys.” A boy ran up to him and spoke, holding a dirt ridden brush.

The horses needed tended.

So many horses.

He would join the many guests later but for now he had a job to do. His job.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

EVERYONE

​

 

[Optimus Princeps]

Luthor Tyrell
The Rainbow Lord​

It was with some trepidation that Luthor Tyrell separated himself from the rest of the Reach delegation. Ser Grimm looked equal parts relieved and forlorn, his apparent duties in guarding the newest head of the Tyrell family a burden and a challenge, the former Septon assumed. Daemon Yelshire was distraught for a moment, before another noble of high standings was said to be entering the dragon’s keep, that news brought him out of his grief abruptly.

A lonesome journey with Little Dick awaited Luthor. They stalked through the halls, the icy tinge to the younger Tyrell’s voice earlier not lost on Luthor. The former septon pushed it out of his mind, Rickard’s appearance bordered between exhaustion and an early grave. Whatever slights left his tongue could be brushed aside.

They spoke little. Luthor pried, attempting to discover any information he could on his nieces. ‘Nieces.’ The thought occurred to him. Children. His brother’s seeds. ‘I knew he had some,’ Luthor admitted quietly, ‘But never had I put much thought into what they were like.’ Throughout his time as a Septon, Luthor had developed a great affinity for the young. Perhaps, he saw himself, Beldon, his sister and gloomy brother in the many guttersnipes of King’s Landing, or the purse snatchers of Oldtown. A brimming excitement built without Luthor’s chest at the opportunity to meet family, a new start with his nieces.

Soon enough, the duo were in a wide, stone room spread carelessly with carpets. A wooden wardrobe twice Luthor’s age sat unused in the corner, a wide window with its shutters closed off to the world directly across from the entry point. A bed big enough to fit five fat septons sat in the middle, neatly folded as Luthor remembered servants doing in his youth. Yet a fine coating of dust, mayhaps half a week old, settled on its surface.

Not a bother. Luthor slept in worse. He ate in worse.

A wooden table, long enough for a small family to attend supper, came just shy of the room’s core. It was spacious, luxurious even. ‘But what did I expect, this is a king’s home.’ Luthor let the thought linger a moment longer, stepping deep into the room before dropping to the bed, a sigh escaping his lungs as a content smile graced his lips.

“Splendid, I had no idea you were living in such comfort all these years, Lord Hand.” Luthor said with an air of humor. “Far nicer than the damp rugs I’ve become well acquainted with.”

His eyes darted to find his half-siblings, those deep, envious green of Rickard’s practically shimmering in the dark room. “Lord Hand… Rickard,” Breaking formalities, Luthor took a bold approach now, standing back to his feet and allowing his expression to turn. His lips pressed tightly together, a thin, near invisible line forming out of them. “This whole situation is… Awfully difficult.”

Difficult was an understatement. The man who dragged himself around, proudly holding the title of King’s Hand was an unknown being to Luthor. A stranger. Wrapped in decades of change that Luthor couldn’t begin to edge away at. “I was hoping you would…”

Would what? Endure this visit, connect back with Luthor, despite the former septon making the decision to abandon their family? He inwardly cursed and barely resisted a visible tell of his own heinous reaction. His tongue was heavy and mouth dry as he tried to articulate, tried to push past what little pride a septon had, to apologize and beg to be a family again…

“...If you could take time out of your day to explain this bothersome trial to me? I’m awfully ignorant.”

His smile was wide, his eyes bright. But Luthor felt a rock plummet into his stomach.

‘Craven,’ A voice called in his head. Mayhaps his own, or the ghost of his dear brother, Beldon. With great effort, Luthor ignored it. “I’m aware that evidence shall be presented at trial, but for one such as myself, I may not be prepared with that alone. You understand, certainly.”

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Lady Judyth Umber

The Maidenvault—a building in the Red Keep with its own sordid history, and certainly not where Judyth expected her cheery cousin to be rooming, but Sera seemed to appreciate the location’s physical closeness to the Sept. Judyth didn’t, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and, since she was only staying in the Red Keep thanks to the kindness of her southern relatives, it would be rude to comment. While she could certainly saddle a room with her father, or wherever any of the other Northern nobles were being settled, the Sunglasses were who she contacted first, given their connections in King’s Landing as well as relative proximity to her destination. Turning down their offered hospitality, which she requested, just because her father arrived was the epitome of discourtesy.

With any luck, the Northern party wouldn’t be put very far.

Besides, it was…oddly… fitting since Judyth was a ‘maiden’ in a sense. A bit old to be one, certainly, but it wasn’t anything Judyth particularly minded. She’d led men into battle. She’s witnessed their hobbies and pasttimes. Seen how it was done. Nothing she’d ever seen made her inclined to partake in the copulation between sexes. If anything, it turned her away. Judyth knew, of course, how fortunate she was to be given a choice.

Few were.

Even amongst the nobility, the choice wasn’t always given.

Fingers idly brushing the dark plume of the raven that brought in Talwin’s letter, Judyth sat relaxed on Sera’s bed, cushioned against a fluffy pillow, with her wavy blondes splayed loose, as she read through her friend’s handwriting.

His lovely, lovely handwriting.

Judyth chuckled. Even back when she’d first met him in the Iron Bank, the Essosi had a certain knack for curving his scripts into perfectly-shaped eloquence. It was a talent of his that she’d never been able to beat, despite the numerous times she tried. She wasn't deterred though. She had him beat in other matters. “Have you heard of the Silk Street Strangler?”

Sera didn’t look away from where she was fixing her hair. “Is that a street performer?”

Judyth rolled her eyes. “No. A whore-killer. A mysterious murderer wandering the Street of Silk according to Talwin.”

More specifically, the message warned her to keep away from the Street of Silk. She’d heard little bits about it on her way to the Red Keep; Whispers here and there about missing girls. However, even she didn’t know the specifics as Talwin seemed to. But, of course, he had easier access to such information since he and Eren had set up business in King’s Landing while she danced with the nobles in the Red Keep. It was a good call on his part.

The Day of the Dove.

A holiday where people tended to be more loose with their purse.

Judyth had nearly forgotten since her family didn’t really celebrate it.

“Talwin…Talwin…” Sera hummed with the voice of a songbird. A Sept hymm. One praising the Seven. “I remember that name in one of your letters. I thought you hated him.”

“I didn’t hate him,” Judyth corrected. “We just competed often while working in the Iron Bank.”

“Lady Coin Cutthroat~” Sera giggled.

“Don’t start,” Judyth warned. It was a nickname started in the Iron Bank by Talwin Nestoris. She could almost understand his animosity back then. A noble lady who only got the job thanks to her family’s backing. That was how she probably seemed. She strove to prove him wrong…and succeeded…earning the her the nickname. A mild insult, born of grudging respect.

And now he’d joined her in her money-making ventures aboard the Giant’s Lover.

It probably helped that Judyth didn’t really act like your average noble. At very least, Judyth didn’t really demand respect with her presence. Nobility was something she was born into, something that helped her get through the doors of fancy castles, something she used when it was convenient, but it wasn’t her way of life as her mother wanted.

“It sounds much better than Spinster Umber, at least. You should really try and get rid of that moniker, Lady Judy. The festivities in the garden will be an excellent opportunity for that.”

“I still have work to finish.” While Sera readied herself for the garden party, intending to look her best for the castle event, Judyth studied the list of transactions detailed in Talwin’s report. What was sold. What wasn’t sold. At what prices. Such information was pertinent in getting a general feel of King’s Landing’s consumers. Judyth’s customers wasn’t just the nobility. Everyone from the high born to the lowest born whores needed wares…though what they needed varied from person to person. Finding what that item was and adding it to her merchandise. Striking the right balance between affordability and the value. That was the art of the merchant.

Though, what Judyth really enjoyed was the act of trading itself.

Satisfied customers always left a better taste in her mouth.

Folding he letter, Judyth moved to a wooden desk, where quill and parchment could be found, and wrote a reply to Talwin—listing down the nobles she’d interacted with (thanks to Sera) and their orders. Soon she’d have to buy more ships to fulfill the requests. Hire more workers. She hadn’t dipped into Umber funds since she’d first purchased the Giant’s Lover. Only added to it so money wasn’t really an issue. Not that Judyth would have any problems borrowing from the Iron Bank as a former employee. Truthfully, given her family, she could’ve started expanding much sooner…but there was simple joy in being in charge of single, close-knit crew.

“This is why you can’t find a husband, Lady Judy. You’re always talking about work.” Sera took her hands, forcing Judyth to pause in her writing. Smudged. “And look at these hands! You should just leave everything to that Talwin gentleman. Even if you enjoy your work, a lady shouldn’t soil her hands.”

“Too late for that,” Judyth squeezed the hands that cupped hers . Smooth. Soft. Unblemished. Judyth’s hands hadn’t been like that since she’d first picked up a sword to stand by her father. Shoveled snow with the Servants when one had fallen ill. Assisted in sewing blankets to ward away the cold when winter approached. Sitting back and doing nothing had never been her style. She’d be bored out of her mind. And that was why, even though combining coffers and securing alliances through marriages often proved to be more profitable in the long run, it wasn’t a business that particularly appealed to her.

Not that she couldn’t understand the logic behind it.

Judyth was curious about whether Amabel would take her up on her whimsical offer or whether the girl’s pride would win out. She wasn’t blind to the looks shared between Amabel and Dorren or the fact that Blackwood didn’t seem to like her very much. The girl was about as discreet as a wild mammoth. Didn’t smile with her eyes either. It would’ve bothered Judyth if she weren’t used to it.

An alliance between the Ravens and the Stags had little to do with her anyway.

“Alas, us Giants have thick skin. Not even sticks and stones can hurt us, so words are naught but air.” Judyth smiled. “You should go have fun, Lady Sera. I’ll join you once I’m finished.” Though exploring the Dragon’s lair while everyone was gathered at the garden sounded much more fun in her mind. She paused. “Don’t forget a cloak…I’m not usually wrong about these things you know.”

Judyth could be, of course. She wasn’t a skilled seaman as some of the ones aboard the Giant’s Lover. But, even so, the feeling of an impending storm still hadn’t gone away.

She wondered if she was being paranoid.

“Oh, and if you see Lady Aerea, let her know I’ll only show her around the Giant’s Lover if she gets her father’s permission first.”

Spoiling a kid did no favors. Out of all the nobles she’s greeted at the Red Keep, the prince had been the most influential, but Aerea Tyrell was by far her favorite. Lyanna too of course, but they didn’t get to talk as much as she would’ve liked. She liked them both for different reasons anyway. There was just something straightforward and honest when speaking with a child, even one a bit smarter than the others.

It reminded her of Eren.

There was bit of loneliness she picked up from interacting with the girl as well, though it was no surprise given who her father was and the situation in the castle. The Hand must be quite busy—keeping a kingdom in order without the king.

“Tell her yourself, Lady Giant-tess~” Sera sing-songed before disappearing through the door, cloak in hand.

Judyth shook her head, before dipping the quill in ink, finding new parchment, then re-starting from scratch. Kids these days grow up cheeky so quickly.

 

[QuirkyAngel]

Lord Markus Rowan

Markus watched the Tyrell brothers depart, legs crossed idly in his seat and wine cup in his hand. “East Wing or Tower of the Hand?”

“East Wing,” Came the feminine voice beside him. “There’s too much drama as it and we wouldn’t want any bloodshed on the Day of the Dove.”

His sister, Aster Rowan, clutched his arm and sneered at Claire Ashford who glared daggers at them. Him specifically. But then, who could blame her? He’d killed her father after all. Horrid man that he was, he was still loved by his daughter at the very least. Still remembered by his family even 10 years after his death. There was little doubt in his mind Claire Ashford, his former bethrothed, wanted him dead.

Markus sighed and turned away, pretending not to notice her.

If not for Aster, he wouldn’t even be in King’s Landing at all. He didn’t have any good memories of the dirty, over-crowded Capital. The one time he’d been to King’s Landing it had been for his trial where he’d endured the humiliation of being stripped of his knighthood.

The only Marshall of the Northmarch to not be a knight.

And now, for his second visit, he’s come to watch a trial. Oh the irony.

“What about Lord Redwyne? He looks like a fine, wholesome chap and I hear his mother is looking for spouse for him.” Markus whispered to his younger sister. “You like wine, don’t you?”

“Will you stop it, Brother? I’m widowed and should still be in mourning.”

Markus snorted. “And how long should that be? It’s been three years since you’ve come back after your second marriage, Aster. I’m almost beginning to believe the whole ‘cursed flower’ nonsense.”

Truthfully, he didn’t mind Aster coming back. He loved his 25-year old sister. But, it was also for that same love that he wanted to see her happily married to a good man. To ensure her protection. He could protect her, of course. But for how long? He’d made many enemies when he killed Lord Ashford. What would happen to her should he die? To all of them? It was job as Lord of the Rowan house to ensure that all his sisters were properly cared for. That meant finding them all suitable matches.

It was one of the many weights on his shoulders since he took the heir ring from his father.

“Is it my fault that men fight over the silliest of things and get themselves killed over it?”

“Touche,” Markus replied, acknowledging the jab at his own past actions. Wine to his lips, Markus silently studied Damon Redwyne before setting the cup aside and making his move. Both their mothers were former Tarlys…so they were cousins? Markus was sent to squire under Ashford at a young age, so he didn’t really get to know his extended family all too well. But, if that were true, Aster wouldn’t be a good match.

Wouldn’t want to copy the dying Dragons.

Still. Family was family and saving family from bothersome nuisances was what good family did, right?

Marcus swooped in when Yelshire once more brought up his daughters. “Come now, Lord Daemon. Love isn’t something that’s meant to be forced…isn’t that right, Lord Damon?”

Laughter danced in his eyes.

Alright, so he was having a bit fun, but then who could blame him? He was in a place full of bad memories, being glared at by his former bethrothed, and probably silently mocked by knights everywhere as the only one to have lost their title so publically. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t exactly know who his enemies were. The Rowans had friends, but the Ashfords did too. And if the Ashfords manage to get the new Lord of Highgarden on their side, he might as well just sign his own death warrant.

He needed the humor.

Then again, Septons loved peace, didn’t they?

“But if you’re looking for a good catch, none is better than my lovely sister. All the men die for her.”

The painful squeezing of his arm told him how little Aster thought of his joke.

“It’s nice to see you again, Cousin.” She gave polite nods of greeting to Lord Yelshire and Grimm as well, but little more than that.

Yarrow
(mentioned: Optimus Princeps , Hypnos )