DREAMS OF SPRING — ROLEPLAY
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LUCERYS TARGARYEN
Sitting at the head of the table of honour, Lucerys looked over the tables below and the empty floor between them where guests could mingle and dance. His table was a very long table, populated by only a few: the two Targaryen princes, the Hand, and the Warden of the North, soon to be named his new Master of Laws, his guest of honour, so to speak. In his youth, the table would have been filled to the edges. In the early days of King Vaegon I Targaryen's reign, the Targaryens had been more plentiful. Brother could marry sister, as they had done for centuries. Queen Jaehaera Targaryen had been much loved by the Smallfolk, but she had died when Lucerys was young, birthing the seventh of Vaegon's ill-formed and still-born children, a little prince that might have been king now. She had been the last woman of their family, forcing Vaegon's cousins to wed outside the royal house.
Half-Lannister himself, Lucerys spared a glance at his cousin, Tyrek Lannister, who rightly occupied the seat to his right. Sometimes he doubted the wisdom of his own decision in appointing the Warden of the West his Hand. Although Tyrek remained his closest and most capable friend, Lucerys pondered whether it might have been more politically sound to have named another great lord his Hand, to further quench any doubts to his legitimacy. But he figured, a traitor wouldn't be made any more loyal by being granted power. Face grim, the young king glanced back at his sworn shield.
Ser Bolton was only a year younger, but he was one of the most capable warriors Lucerys had ever happened upon. Lucerys himself was proficient with the blade, but his passions laid in the kingswood or on the tourney field, more so than on the battle field. War was a grim, ugly affair. The realms would all profit in avoiding that pit. That in mind... "Might you venture down to the dance floor?" His emerald green eyes turned onto his younger brother, his heir, sitting at the seat to his left. "There are very many beautiful young ladies in attendance." He should like to encourage Matarys to pursue one of them - it would make his own plans all the easier.
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ASHARA HIGHTOWER
Lady Ashara Hightower was sitting delicately at one of the tables, her brown eyes surveying the busy hall around her. Her lord father had excused himself from her presence, to take the opportunity to speak to the High Septon, a member of House Beesbury, a family long-sworn to her own. The fate of the Hightowers had long been entwined with the Faith of the Seven, and this long history of co-dependence had instilled in Ashara a form of overt religious adherence and regular prayers and works of charity. She had yet to visit the Sept of Baelor, but she planned on making such a trek very soon, possibly with a handsome lord at her arms or in the company of several other promising ladies.
The Great Sept had a rich history and would undoubtedly continue to do so as the prospect of a royal wedding hovered over the near horizon. Her father continued to entertain hopes that she might become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but although Ashara entertained her father's ambitions and even took some for her own, even she felt some skepticism. The Hightowers were wealthy, wealthy enough to rival the Lannisters in their better years, but they hadn't seated a queen since before the Dance of Dragons, when the current king's namesake perished. She doubted the trend would be broken very soon.
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PRINCE MATARYS TARGARYEN
Matarys was only half paying attention to what was happening beyond the table. Of course, the young prince, as heir apparent to his brother, had made the appropriate noises and gestures to welcome each noble to his older brother's celebration, but after the official duties were over, he'd been idly picking at his food, thinking about how long it would be until he could return to his rooms to finish the last chapters of a book that had enthralled him.
Lucerys' voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The prince's gaze went to his brother, a small nervous half smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps..." he began softly. "Perhaps I would go down to dance if one graces me with their attention...Your Grace." In truth, he doubted that any one of them would catch his eye. Matarys was well aware that some people thought it strange he had more of an appetite for books than anything else, so, knowing the precarious position his newly enthroned brother was in, he was wise enough to pretend otherwise. A blatant no would probably wag tongues hoping to sully his brother's name.
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LORD TYREK LANNISTER
Tyrek guessed that the king's nameday feast provided a front for Lucerys to scope out a bride. The Sickness had thrown many old, noble houses into turmoil, and there was an unvoiced pressure for the scions of these houses to marry and be productive--Lucerys and him included.
It was also a time to make alliances with the marriages and to secure the loyalties of the houses who would've rather seen the Prince of Summerhall on the throne instead of his dear cousin Lucerys. Tyrek was sure that the possibility of a royal grandchild seated on the throne was enough to quieten their tongues. Lucerys was a lucky man indeed, having all these beautiful young women here. Tyrek wryly thought that he could probably make use of the opportunity, too, seeing he was unwed.
Lord Lannister leaned over towards Lucerys before commenting, making sure to keep his voice low, so that these words would only be between them, "That's a question you should be asking yourself, too, Your Grace."
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LADY AELINOR VELARYON
the old, the true, the brave
Ah, so this is what a name day feast looks like.
Aelinor quietly stepped into the crowded room, feeling the sides of her dress sleeves as her heart skipped a beat. She was never one to attend large social gatherings outside of Driftmark, unless her goal was to arrange a good business deal. However, this feast was no where close to a business deal. It was a party, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, rather than arguing or becoming tense in discussion. There was dancing, tables full of appetizing food, laughter, and lively music. But alas, Aelinor was only invited since she became the head of her house not too long ago. She didn't know anyone personally in the room, besides greeting the new king and a few others close to him earlier, and noticed herself growing more and more nervous by the second. Calm down, she thought to herself.
The young woman found herself proceeding to sit down at a table that was a bit empty. She couldn't bring herself to chat around or find a seat closer to the people of more powerful houses; she wasn't being her usual friendly and cheery self. Perhaps it was the distance away from home that was suppressing her confidence? No, visiting different places has never been a problem for me. Silently thinking to herself as a servant filled her cup with what was probably white wine, Aelinor took a deep breath. I haven't a suitable match yet, she realized, furrowing her brows worriedly. If I return home without someone, will my house be angry? Sipping from her cup - ah yes, it was actually white wine - her violet eyes scoured the room, trying to remember who was who as best she could. Yes, that was to be her motive, besides her deal with a businessman. I need to make my house proud. And she was determined to do so.
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✖ MAEKAR TARGARYEN
Carefully he moved like that of a silver ghost among the crowds of people, his steps light and almost airy. His movements with poise and purpose as nothing was done without crucial and critical thought. Yet his mind never belied what he was thinking to those around him, always the expression of day dreaming upon his facial features. He always seemed lost in his own thoughts and frankly perhaps that was such a ploy to get those around him to drop their guards around him. There was talk of the oldest perhaps not being too happy that he did not receive the throne but nothing could actually be proven as it was always hard to tell what the strange Targaryen was thinking on a simple glance. No, instead the pale male walked with a slow gaunt, his tall figure shifting through the throngs of lords and the like as the music swelled and allowed himself to get whisked away. Though he was headed for his younger cousin, eyes of violet landing upon Lucerys with an almost sharper clarity before they became fogged up one more as if a thought had entered only to pass by sluggishly. There a smile cracked upon pale pink stained lips as he gave a half bow before them all, taking in account for Prince Matarys, Tyrek, and Maegor. What an interesting bunch they were. "This will be brief as I don't want to be...interrupting. But I do hope your naming day is going well, my King. But I do hope you won't be sitting here all day with that dreary look upon your face." A cheeky smile played over his lips after a moment before he dismissed himself after that note.
There was no reason to idle about the King like a lost fledgling. Instead he would do what he usually did and allow himself to mingle with those that had come. After all Lords and Ladies did not often travel from far and beyond and he didn't often find himself...traveling either. Perhaps that should change as he had seen all he needed to of King's Landing, and Summerhall. As he passed others that arrived whom nodded at him he gave simple nods back here and there, waving a hand to others. Though one individual caught the attention of his striking purple colored eyes. A Velaryon and sitting all by herself. Her features were distinct and he understood whom she was upon first glance. Carefully he stepped away from the growing members of many different houses and moved the chair to settled himself, pulling his fanciful clothing closer to himself so that he didn't look a mess. Pale colored hair draped over his shoulders as he gave a light look at the woman before deciding to speak up. "Are you enjoying yourself, m'lady?" His words were as soft as a dove's feather, gaze flicking up to look toward the king, hoping that his words had been some what encouraging.
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ALYSSA TULLY
Alyssa's own nameday celebration had passed five months earlier and it hadn't been nearly as much of an occasion as this was. Of course, Lucerys Targaryen was the king and she was just a daughter of House Tully. Being a king, she reflected as she smiled up at the young lord she was dancing with, must be exciting. Her lord father had privately complained that it was a consuming duty, but he hadn't been a king. His job had been to make King Vaegon's wishes a reality, not to do the dreaming himself. If she were queen, would she have a duty other than to bear a prince? Her family valued duty--their words proclaimed as much--but if she were wed to a Targaryen, she'd have no obligation to her family's words anymore.
Of course, she was more likely to wed the fat, stuffy Celtigar lording she was dancing with than a Targaryen. Would that be so bad? Every girl wanted a prince but the new king and his brother were awfully imposing. Lucerys possessed features that were a lot more Lannister than Targaryen but his brother--that silver hair and violet gaze made him seem a step above the rest of the realm.
As the music slowed, she untangled her hands from her partner. "I enjoyed this dance, my lord, but my feet are growing weary." His reply was indistinct, something that went in one ear and out the other as she headed toward one of the tables and glanced from side to side, searching for her twin or a noble she was more than glancingly familiar with.
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ARRON STARK
Were it up to him, Arron Stark would in Winterfell right now instead of sitting stiffly at a nearly empty table as the nobles below grew progressively rowdier. Unfortunately, he wasn't immune to duty. A few months ago, that had meant bending and coming south (which Maester Harrold had been counselling him to do since he'd discovered that Jocelyn had gone south, and which he'd steadfastly refused to so much as consider). Now that meant sitting here and putting on his friendly face, as though he wasn't uncomfortable with, and tired of, the feast.
He fingered his fork idly although he'd already satiated his hunger, dark eyes moving from the tables below to the knight standing near Lucerys. There was no love lost between the Starks and Boltons, although Arron had once toyed with the idea of wedding one of his children to a Bolton lord or lady, but he nonetheless felt a twinge of sympathy for Maegor's father as he considered the Lord Commander. He'd never been fond of the boy--Maegor had always been too flamboyant and quarrelsome for his taste, and he'd spat on his House and gods by running off to the Kingsguard. He'd have been better off joining the Black Brothers on the Wall, in Arron's opinion. His fate was made, though: a knight of the kingsguard kept his position for life, and Maegor seemed to have readily embraced his southron life.
As Lucerys encouraged Matarys to dance, Arron returned his attention to the dance floor. There were many fine young ladies in attendance: were he twenty years younger and in want of a wife, he could do worse than use the nameday feast as an excuse to get to know one of them. A wry smile flashed across his frozen features. No doubt many of the young nobles aimed to sweeten their prospects by making themselves know here.
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LUCERYS TARGARYEN
"You are the Prince of Dragonstone," Lucerys pointed out, looking sternly over his younger brother. His heir, until a son was born to him and his future queen. "I believe that any young lady would be happy to be graced with your presence, but they are too modest to ask for it." Modesty, of course, was becoming. He wondered if he would have to introduce the young prince to potential ladies himself. The king had expected to do as much himself, wanting to steer his young brother into a marriage with some substantial political value, but he had wanted to afford Matarys with some semblance of a choice. But then again, he supposed that was what mistresses were for.
His gaze flickered onto his cousin with the matching emerald-eyes as the Lannister lord spoke. "It's been asked," he admitted blandly. His left thumb rubbed against the black signet ring, inherited from his father. It would have been easier, if Matarys or Maekar had been born women, for second sons or second-in-line heirs weren't the priority in the family dynasty, but alas it was not the case. Perhaps one day, he could arrange a happy match for his son to one of his brother's or cousin's daughters. (He would prefer to join his family with his younger brother, but Maekar's line was the political choice, and Lucerys had always been dogmatically pragmatic.)
His attention turned onto Prince Maekar as he addressed him, unamused by the second half. Although, Lucerys humoured the older man on a general basis, there was a skepticism in him that could not be entirely vanquished. He suspected that the Tullys would still rather see their daughter's son on the Iron Throne. "Thank you for the well wishes, cousin," he accepted placidly. Standing up from his seat, he glanced to his brother and Lannister cousin. "I will lead by example," Lucerys decided, a rare humour in his flat mouth.
His emerald stare sweeping past Prince Maekar and the Velaryon girl he had approached (he figured Maekar would go for the Valyrian-looking woman), his attention settled onto the first unattached lady his eyes found. Lady Alyssa Tully, one of Maekar's maternal relatives, the daughter of his uncle's late Hand. Nodding a dismissal to free Ser Bolton, his sworn shield, from shadowing him throughout the rest of the feast, the king made his way towards the Riverlands girl. (He would have been sour to know of her appreciation for his younger brother's fine, Valyrian features.)
"I see that you've made the acquaintance of Lord Celtigar's son," Lucerys remarked politely. The Celtigars were another Valryian family, one considerably less powerful than the Velaryons, or at least that was the case, before the latter's lord had passed with no proper heirs. "I hope it would be no great burden to ask you for another dance?" He remembered occupying King's Landing in close proximity with Alyssa and her family for as long as he could nearly remember - having spent much of his own childhood in King's Landing, close to his predecessor and the Iron Throne, at his parents' urging. But he had never been very close to the younger girl, nor any other young girls for that matter - having spent much of his youth training, riding, and hunting with his cousin and peers.
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ALLYRIA MARTELL
UNBOWED, UNBENT, UNBROKEN
Allyria hadn't yet stood for a dance, but nonetheless a smile had clung to her lips through the entirety of the feast thus far. Part of her had expected it to feel less familiar, as if the new location would result in drastically new people or activities, but the only thing she was entirely unprepared for was the lack of canopies to shade from the sun. Though, she would admit that she quite enjoyed the mild spring weather in comparison to the building heat that she had left in Dorne. There were other things that she liked about the feast, the wine for one was less sweet than what she was use to. She took a healthy sip from her goblet and adjusted her legs as to keep them from falling asleep. Perhaps that was her body's way of prompting her to explore. She had arrived early into the festivities, not wanting to miss a moment of her first big event here, but had spent the large part of it merely observing, a helpful lady in waiting and a lovely gossip whispering names into her ear to correspond with faces. By now she supposed she had enough of a handle on it all to venture out herself.
Arranging her skirts as she stood, the dark haired Lady took a moment to compose herself before making strides around the area with no particular purpose. She knew sitting was no way to draw attention or a dance her way, so she stood or wandered where her eye too her. There was no need to be doing the asking tonight, as contrary to most of the women here today, Allyria was in no want of a husband and for this moment at least, not looking for a bedfellow either. Indeed, the young Martell heir was no fan of the stronger sex, instead preferring a pretty woman to keep her company. She didn't plan on hiding her proclivities while she was here, but she was aware enough of the social restrictions that she had at least the intention to attempt to be subtle. Thus if her eyes lingered on a pink cheeked maiden or were drawn to a shock of long firey locks for a moment too long she would let them but only when they were not likely to notice. Besides, however long she spent people watching was easily equal to the number of moments that she drew her warm brown gaze towards the long first table and the powerful men that sat there, she would admit to herself that had she been so inclined to love a man their power, wealth, and dashing looks would be quite a steal. No wonder there were so many unwed noblewomen here tonight. She smiled into her goblet. Lucky men they must be and so lucky am I to avoid the coming squabbles.
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✖ LADY RAVELLA GREYJOY
Eyes of the storm watched the proceedings with a quiet and almost childish disdain. Truly how uptight could these events get? Well, her mind said very but it was still a celebration no less. There was music shifting the tone of the room and many of the lords and ladies were dancing and laughing their little hearts out. How wonderful for them. Her fingers tapped mutedly against the small table that she had settled herself at for a while now. Having arrived here rather early just so she could get partially drunk to have to deal with the coming and goings. She'd been to King's Landing a long time ago, when her father was still around before everyone figured he was lost at sea or had perished on the waves. But that time she had learned a lot about how noble life truly was. A playground. Where one child is tugging at the end of a rope and the other tugging at the opposite end to see just who is stronger and who will cave in. But there was a strategy to it and some she bet would make their power moves very soon. After all wasn't there a Warden position open now? A soft bell tone of laughter left her lips at the thought before she grabbed up her cup and down it with a uncaring motion.
While Ladies of their Houses wore pretty little frilly dresses, Lady Greyjoy wore nothing of the sort. Instead she was more akin to wearing a man's garbs. Her legs clad in what could pass for something of light armor. The tones of deep pitch black and marring of gold across her form. She leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips a little before her eyes closed on a whim. At least it was a party and she had the idea to be...courteous especially because it was the King's naming day after all. Though partially like her father she had little love for the Targaryens, little love for any of the houses actually but she couldn't stand up alone. But she was happy with where she was currently and that spoke volumes of her own self confidence. Slowly her eyes opened and she watched as Lucerys, King Lucerys walked forward finally to begin speaking to the Tully girl and a low hum left her throat before she shifted her gaze else where. More like the wall really.
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LADY AELINOR VELARYON
the old, the true, the brave
At first she didn't realize that someone was talking to her, but after a moment of hesitation, Aelinor stood up from her seat and curtseyed. "Pardon me, my prince," she started off a bit nervously. How could she be so careless? A high noble was speaking to her, and it was the older cousin of the new King at that! "I am, I think? I admit, I'm finding it a bit hard to mingle with the other lords and ladies, haha - but this certainly is a splendid celebration." She smiled as she clasped her hands together, her eyes looking around the room and then back to Prince Maekar.
However, all she could really focus on was the impending doom she would face if she returned home so early with no prospective match. Aelinor would definitely need to find someone in the room soon to become friendly with, though Prince Maekar wasn't really apart of or a piece to play into her motive - besides the polite conversation he generously made with her. There was too big of a rank difference, and initially it almost scared her. How uncanny, though, she thought to herself. He looked like her in many ways, as Aelinor and the man shared classic Valyrian traits. White hair, violet eyes, and pale skin. There was no doubt that he was a Targaryen - that he was royalty. She felt herself beginning to calm down a bit, perhaps finding comfort in his gentle aura, despite their difference in nobility. It reminded her of her late brother, Rhaenys. That same confident energy and stride. However, Rhaenys was younger than Aelinor, and she could tell by his appearance that Prince Maekar was older than her. Not that it was of any importance to the young lady.
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✖ MAEGOR BOLTON
Watching and listening were the main duties of his and though it may sound boring to the regular person, Maegor found it quite entertaining at times, especially if he came across a bit of incredibly juicy gossip. Other than that, he's able to hear all sorts of conversations between the royal family members whether private or public, it was great to be in the know. Anyhow, it didn't come to Maegor as a surprise that the men at the scarcely populated table were discussing women. They were all unmarried, young, and very eligible. This nameday feast was one of the best opportunities to scout out an equally eligible wife considering that many of the families were flaunting their young and unmarried daughters for this sole purpose. Who wouldn't want to be tied to the ruling family?
Aside from the conversation, he could literally feel the Warden of the North giving him the side-eye though he didn't turn to the older man. His family and the Starks were by far from best friends, if anything, they kept each other at a cool distance and only interacted if necessary. It wasn't anything he subscribed to however, but then again, Maegor happened to be the black sheep of the family, having done what he did and for being who he naturally was. With that said, he thought the Stark lord had exceptional bone structure, accentuated by the scruff of a beard they had, and surely, the man must be good in bed considering how many Stark children there were before the sickness. He toyed with the idea of finding out the validity of such thought once before but there wasn't a damned chance. Arron Stark seemed as straight as a spear.
Anyhow, it seemed like King Lucerys had an eye on the Tully girl, even asking her for a dance. How cute. He remembered Alyssa, considering that she's been in the city for a while now. She was a kind girl, perhaps a bit mild but that's how the men liked their wives, as for fiery ones, they were better destined to be mistresses. Out of all the ladies present, Alyssa and Aelinor stood out the most due to their positioning in the room and their brilliant colored hair. Said women were both approached by Targaryens. But of course, one had to take into account the ladies as well. The Hightower girl, he knew nothing about, so there was no opinion on her. The Martell princess certainly was an eligible bachelorette, the Greyjoy lady as well, but both seemingly fit into the category of fiery women; hard to tame and keep in line. They were perhaps more trouble than they were worth in marriage but that was his opinion. Lucerys and the other Targaryen men could have whatever they wanted. With that aside, Maegor followed the King down from the table though keeping a short distance away so the other man had some room to dance with Lady Alyssa. Weary feet or not, rejection would be a bad choice. But in the off case she did refuse the invitation, it wasn't anything for him to act on, not unless the Tully girl tried to put a knife in Lucerys. That was wildly unlikely considering her nature.
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✩ VICTARIA DAYNE
Victaria had lived a rather comfortable life before her father and brother passed, but now she was thrust into all the things she hated and attempted to avoid like the plague; politics and work. She had no interest in gaining an advantage over other houses, those affairs were delegated to the men in her house meanwhile all she did and wanted to do was look pretty, sing, dance, and write. Victaria was completely unprepared for the outcome of the sickness and how she suddenly had a mountain stressful responsibilities that she was ill-prepared for. Thankfully, her father's loyal advisers were giving her clear directions, otherwise the woman would have stayed cooped up within Starfall instead of attending the nameday feast. Her task for her visit was to pledge her allegiance to the new Targaryen King, it'll be the first time that she'll even see the royal family and at least that prospect was somewhat exciting.
It was a lot for her to take in. There were so many handsome men and gorgeous women present and she couldn't help but stare either appreciatively or enviously at each. Though Victaria was just as strikingly beautiful as any other lady in attendance, the Dayne ranked herself below them as she was always hungry for more. She wanted Ashara's hair texture, Aelinor's sun-kissed skin, Alyssa's brilliant smile, Allyria's regal aura, and yet at the same time Ravella's intimidating air. It wasn't realistic that she could ever have them all, especially when some of her wants contradicted each other, it was just her vain and jealous nature pushing her to find the good qualities in others and attempting to emulate them herself or just wish for them. She would have loved to be an actor for such a reason but it wasn't likely that she could considering that her house was near extinct. It's almost as if she was destined to be unhappy with herself and her life, especially since the sickness.
Wreathed in a mildly brooding air, Victaria quietly sipped her wine and stayed seated at her table which happened to be the familiar Allyria's post as well. Her natural amiable disposition was telling her to strike up a conversation with the Princess but her depressive emotions due to all the happenings and her current position discouraged her from opening her mouth. She was now the face of her house, she supposedly had a reputation to maintain, she could no longer be the flippant woman she once was. And it was then that she wished she hadn't begged her mother to stave off her suitors. Her life would be a million times more manageable if she had a husband to take care of all these affairs. With her woes aside, Victaria finally painted a smile on her face before remarking to the Martell woman, "it's a lot more quiet than Dornish celebrations, isn't it?" She caught herself then and added the following in case she offended any other the "northerners", "but I suppose, the night is still young." Victaria gave herself a mental kick to be more careful of the words she chose, "have you ever been this far north, Princess Allyria?"
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ALLYRIA MARTELL
UNBOWED, UNBENT, UNBROKEN
The colors were her favorite part, Allyria decided. Back in Dorne people tended to be draped in reds, yellows, oranges, any color one would expect to find in the Sands or the burning sun that their people were known for. Here there was blue, the most beautiful greens, and by the seven if Allyria didn't own something the color of Lord Maekar's eyes by the time she returned home she would be heartbroken. She had spent a fair amount of time looking at them so far and if she was caught staring it was of no worry to her. She doubtlessly wasn't the only one who was curious about the would-be-king. That delightful gossip she had been speaking to earlier had whispered that for a time Maekar was to be king rather than Lucerys and well, if Allyria was in the man's place she would feel more than a little smited. She was curious about the man, and truthfully who could blame her?
With all her fascination about the rainbow spilling across the ballroom it was with some surprise that the Princess of Dorne found herself pausing to observe one of the most plainly dressed Ladies in the room. Her lips lifted as she unabashedly scanned down dark pants and back up again to take in a distinctly feminine top paired with the definitively masculine pants. Golden Kraken- House Greyjoy, I should have guessed. Her lips lifted into a grin, though unlike many of the others here her amusement wasn't at the Ironborn's expense, it was rather impressed, her dark eyes twinkling with delight at the woman's boldness. Allyria knew that wasn't the way up here and while she herself had no qualms with a skirt she knew at least one of her sisters would have been wanting to follow in Lady Greyjoy's shadow had they been here. It was nice to see another physically capable woman in the crowd. "Hmm?" She tilted her head up, casting her ear towards a voice at her table that she got the vague sense was addressing her but not pulling her eyes from the lounging sailor until a memory tickled the back of her mind and yanked her back to herself.
She knew that voice, didn't she? The woman turned, her dark curls swaying around her shoulders at the motion, and cast her gaze onto a blonde girl. A blonde girl that made her head tile back in a laugh. "Quite a bit quieter, yes." She agreed with more than a little amusement. Her younger sister's last name day had involved quite a few boisterous drunks and Allyria was nearly positive more of the guests had abandoned the night to go do a different kind of dancing by this time. Giving the girl yet another look over, dark eyes squinting in concentration, realization struck, leaving the Princess feeling quite the fool. "Oh, Lady Dayne, please forgive me for not recognizing you right away, you've grown since I saw you last!" She couldn't recall when that last meeting had been, but surely her claim must be accurate if it had been more than a year or two. The woman reached forward to take one of the woman's pale hands in her own in a warm greeting. Her delight at seeing the fellow Dornish woman wasn't feigned, she was truly excited to unite with a woman whom she could remember fondly chatting with before either of them blossomed into women. Then again, Allyria was notoriously easy to excite. "This is my first time here, surely it must be yours as well, yes?" Her gaze softened slightly and she squeezed the hand she held in silent sympathy. The only reason she could think of that the young noblewoman would venture to the Red Keep was as the new representative of her house. The sickness had mercifully spared the Martell house from it's wrath but that didn't mean others in her kingdom hadn't been ravished by the disease. The woman wet her lips and turned her gaze downwards, falling quiet for a moment as she tried to think up the proper words to move past the topic that she was quite sure no one here wanted to discuss. There is enough in the North to occupy any conversation, surely. Perhaps that will be enough to chase the loss away for a few fleeting moments She looked up and reestablished eye contact, conjuring another grin. "We Dornish should stick together, don't you think? Perhaps you wouldn't mind accompanying me in some sight seeing tomorrow? Surely there are a few beauties in the city that you would want to visit while you're here." Allyria was here for political reasons as well but she certainly wasn't about to let that stop her from enjoying herself. Hopefully she could help teach the obviously tense maiden that duty and pleasure weren't strict opposites.
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GODRIC HORNWOOD
RIGHTEOUS IN WRATH
Godric didn't particularly want to be at this party, but he sat straight and kept his face pleasant as he could. Being here was leagues better than wandering the halls of Hornwood knowing he wouldn't hear his little girl chattering or the clash of wooden swords outside his office window. He had grown used to waking up with cold sheets beside him and an empty seat to his right at meals but this was different. He had loved his wife, she had died on the birthing bed bringing their daughter into the world five years ago, but when he lost her he had still kept a little piece of his love with him in the form of their toddling boy and newborn girl. He had been able to tell even then that the child would look like her late mother. He had raised each of his heirs with more tenderness than he had given even the Lady Hornwood when she had been alive because they were all he had left of her. Yet when the short winter ended he had not been able to feel relief at the quick return of warmth because the twin suns of his world had gone out as spring dawned. Now every day he looked out his window he felt only absence and loss of his boy, his Jon, and the silence within the castle was like a sword through his gut, a reminder that there was no more little Lady Lysa.
You can't keep doing this to yourself, Godric. The man huffed, agitated at his own mind for dredging up those harmful memories. Many of the Lords and Ladies here today had lost family to the devastating sickness that had struck the seven kingdoms and very few of them seemed as upset as he was. If they could put on a good face, then so could he but unlike them, Godric was in no mood to try and reform the family he had lost just yet. The man was only five and twenty years, well within marriageable age by most's count and perhaps one day he would want to once again hear his children's laughter within the halls of Hornwood but he was far from ready for that now. That was the whole reason he had asked to accompany his Lord Stark here in the first place, to get away from his loss and his home until his heart wasn't as tender. "I didn't expect to see you grinning today, my Lord." The man cast his case sideways towards Aaron Stark and grunted out the observation. "Maybe I should grab a glass of whatever you've filled your goblet with."
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ALYSSA TULLY
Alyssa was reaching for a cup of sweet wine--it was all she had the head for--as she swept striking blue eyes across the other young ladies. Ashara Hightower, currently alone. Aelinor Velaryon, who was engaged in conversation with Alyssa's older cousin, Prince Maekar. Two Dornish woman, neither of whom she knew very well but who both struck her as beautiful, and a Greyjoy lady who was dressed almost like a man. Alyssa glanced down at her own dress, a dismissive smile curling across her pale features as she reexamined Ravella's choice of garb.
She wasn't given much time to compare their clothing. No sooner had she set her kept down than she became aware of a man heading her way--and curse the Mother if it wasn't the king himself! Straightening up, she tracked him as he grew closer, almost jumping when it became clear that he was headed for her. Wasn't this a nice turn of events?
She smiled politely at him, although for a brief moment her eyes darted to his sworn shield. She'd often watched both Lucerys and Maegor practice in the training yard, and (was she allowed to think it?) she'd always thought the knight cut a better figure. She couldn't help but wonder if Lucerys was a tease to the same degree as his Lord Commander. She wouldn't mind being flattered but he struck her as someone who gave a compliment only to be polite, and not for any other reason.
(Ser Bolton seemed so different here, on duty, than he'd ever been when Alyssa had spied on him, and although she was tempted to ask him about it, it wouldn't do to keep the king waiting.)
"Oh yes," she agreed. "Lord Celtigar has some very interesting stories. I wonder if--" For once, she caught herself before she blabbed on. Silently, Alyssa thanked the Seven. Debating whether or not the young Celtigar was telling tall tales most certainly wasn't what Lucerys would want. Shyly rising, she agreed, "I would be honored, Your Grace." As she waited for him to lead her in the steps, her mind worked furiously. What did one say to a king? "I like your shirt." It worked with the other nobles, didn't it? Was it rude to say that the color of his clothes suited him more than it did those with Valyrian coloring? But that last one was a blatant lie and she could almost imagine his harsh reply and the way her brother would yell at her for rudeness. "The feast is magnificent."
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ARRON STARK
Arron's musing was cut short by a familiar voice. Lord Hornwood was one of the few faces that made sitting through the feast tolerable. Godric, like Arron himself, had lost children to the sickness, but where Arron still had Jocelyn remaining, Godric had no one. Castle Hornwood was empty these days, a ghost of what Arron remembered from when he'd been fresh to power and visiting Godric's father on Brandon Stark's command.
"You never expect to see me grinning," he returned. He was not the old Stark lord, weak-willed and kindly, and wolfblood didn't run in his veins the way it did in his younger brother's. His smiles were few enough, and although Maester Harrold had often told him that grinning was healthy, there was little room for smiles when there was work to be done. Tipping his cup toward his bannerman, he added, "Dornish sour leaves few men merry." It would do Godric good to dance among the southron ladies. It wouldn't take his mind off of his loss but it might distract him and, failing that, he might make a connection that would strengthen his House. Arron, selfish as he was, would rather keep the one man he trusted by his side, and didn't even hint toward the suggestion, instead announcing, "I don't see mine daughter with the others. Have you seen her?" He'd been furious that Jocelyn had gone south but what was done was done, and once she was here he planned on making her a match, preferably to someone with power. She wouldn't wriggle out of that by fleeing the feast.
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MYRANDA MORMONT
20 y/o & Lady of Bear Island & Here We Stand
It was the first time that Myranda had ever left the north and already she was prepared to leave. It was quite obvious that she didn't belong in the south. Sure, she was slightly more tanned that her other family members, but her body ran cold with the blood of a proud northern family. She had come to the capital at the persuasion of the maester back home. Learn about the customs, he said. Expand your knowledge, he said. Myra was many things, though she prided herself on not being completely dull. He wanted to her marry someone, for advantage specifically, though that was the last thing on her mind. It was no secret that the Mormont house was not one of the most influential houses in the north, though she'd be damned if she wound up with some pretty southern lord no matter the advantages he brought to the table. The thought was quite sickening, and Myra pushed it aside to take in her surroundings from her place by the wall. The young woman carefully peered around the room, watching people indulge in the festivities of a name day ceremony that, with the money they most likely spent, could feed the entirety of her people for a week. It was no wonder there was so much conspiracy in the south.
Normally, Myranda wound't have been close to agreeing to making the journey south and leaving her hold just for some royal mans party. This was something her advisers were aware of. So, they had created the brilliant plan of mentioning the name of the Starks. Thinking back to the conversation, Myra began to rethink her own stance on her intelligence. "The Starks will be in a den of snakes! Strong northern blood needs to be by their side to ensure everything goes smoothly!" Damn them for using her admiration against her. Just being in the room made her incredibly on edge and it showed. Myra was not one for hiding her emotions, though at that moment she wished she had more tact. The few people that the young lady had brought with her basically had to fight her in order to get her into something appropriate for such an event. They had compromised with a dark gray dress with leather accents, her house sigil of a bear pressed into the leather near her left shoulder. Myranda's hair was half up and out of her face, not nearly as intricate as southern ladies wore theirs. However, her own simple attire was enough to make her uncomfortable so she could barely imagine how she would feel if forced to wear something so detailed.
Myra sighed softly, messing with the food on her plate with a bored expression. There was no point in her going up to different high standing lords and ladies in order to make their acquaintance. Not that they would give her the time of day, anyways. Knowing she was from the north and not being a Stark was usually enough for them to lose interest, especially when she displayed her less than ladylike mannerisms. She cast her green eyes up, a familiar face catching her eye. She had met Arron Stark several times throughout her life. He had practically watched her grow up and her father got along well with him. His actions alone were enough to garner her respect, not to mention the fact that her family had been fiercely loyal to the Stark family for generations. At least she wasn't the only northerner suffering through everything, though there were some who acclimated quite well to southern culture. Her gaze shifted then to Maegor Bolton, though she quickly tore her eyes away, taking a long drink from the wine in her cup. It almost caused her to recoil at the sweetness, shock evident on her face. Even the wine was too sweet to be real.
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LUCERYS TARGARYEN
Watching Alyssa silently, Lucerys offered a terse half-smile as the Riverlands girl stumbled nervously over her words. Extending a hand, he would lead her dutifully onto the dance floor, his emerald green eyes darting back to his original table, to where his brother still sat. (He mistook Alyssa's quick glance towards Ser Bolton for one of his own brother.) After the dance - he figured he could introduce Matarys to Alyssa, or to another young lady. The Hightowers were as wealthy as his cousins, fielding the largest army of the Reach. The Dornish woman was the most powerful woman in Westeros, on account of being the only female overlord of any region. Alyssa herself was the only daughter of a great lord, the former Hand, and now sister to another great lord. His only question was where was the Stark girl? The daughter of his new Master of Laws?
"It is my pleasure, my Lady," Lucerys remarked in turn. Alyssa's assessment of his character wasn't too far off from the truth. In his life, he had yet to find passion in much but in hunting, riding, and tourneys. "You can thank my cousin for overseeing that affair," Lucerys answered honestly, his gaze flickering towards his Hand, still with his brother. (He had always thought Lannisters and Targaryens made powerful alliances.) Steering carefully through the dance floor, the King offered her another smile. "Now, what were you wondering?" He didn't think he had ever wondered a damned thing about Lord Celtigar a day in his life.
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*:･ﾟ✦ Adella Tyrell｜sixteen｜Lady of Highgarden
—— growing strong *:･ﾟ✦
Adella Tyrell entered the feasting hall with trembling legs and sweaty palms. This was her first time in King's Landing and so this was to be her first large celebration. She wasn't exactly shy, far from it, but she was afraid - afraid that, possibly, she would embarrass her house and ruin any chances of her elder sister finding a good, high-ranking husband. And if their house was to survive, then Elaena would need to wed a powerful man. That meant this event was undoubtedly a crucial one. And it didn't help that they were arriving later than most.
The reason for their tardiness rested heavily on Adella's shoulders. She had spent majority of her day riding her mare, Misty, and exploring the land. She hadn't even realized that they were running late until Elaena had come to find her. Then she was forced into a frilly dress and tight-fitting heels so she would appear to be proper like her sister. She even managed to slightly tame her messy curls by pulling them back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Looking around at the festivities now, she would have done anything to be back on her horse.
A heavy breath escaped her lips, wanting to be a sigh, as she walked further into the throng of people. Her palms rubbed together and she winced slightly at the stinging sensation. She had fallen in the most ungraceful manner from her mare earlier that day and scraped her hands and knees. She had gotten quite the scolding for it, too.
As they walked on, Adella kept her head bowed and her hands clasped firmly together. That is, until she noticed the long table filled to the brim with food. Instantly, her eyes lifted to gaze at the bowl of pastries. Banbury cakes, my favorite, she thought excitedly.
With one final glance in her sister's direction, she quickly hurried her way over toward the table - quick enough that she had to catch herself on the edge. Her slender hands reached out and grabbed one of the cakes before bringing it to her lips. As she took a bite, with great enthusiasm, she couldn't help the smile over her face at the flavor of the flaky, dulcet cake. The young lady had an undeniable sweet tooth and sometimes it got the better of her.
After devouring the small cake, she licked her lips with a bubbly giggle. It was then that she noticed a few stares from the nearby lords. Her gaze slid over toward the high table, where the king was supposed to be sitting, and she could have sworn that she and Matarys made eye contact. Before she could make sure, she swiveled her head back around - a bright blush creeping to her cheeks. When she closed her eyes, she could still see his silvery-white hair and lilac eyes behind her lids. The lady had been quite taken with him, though she would never admit it to anyone, including her sister.
Heaving a great sigh, Adella straightened out the skirt of her dress. It had always been her favorite, as her mother used to tell her it brought out her eyes. Then she turned back around and kept her eyes glued on whatever she could find. She saw many lords and ladies, guards standing protectively over the people of higher stations, and even the king himself. He was dancing with a woman that had the coloring of a Tully, and so she could only assume as much. Unlike her sister, she had never paid much attention to her studies and knew next to nothing about majority of the houses. If she was lucky, no one would approach her and she would be able to stand in her dark corner all alone - eating sweet cakes and pretending to be fascinated with the on-goings of the celebration.
"Speech."
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*:･ﾟ✦ Rowan Clegane｜twenty two｜Lord of Clegane's Keep
—— sworn to house lannister *:･ﾟ✦
Rowan Clegane had not been to visit King's Landing since he was a boy, but it was just as grand as he remembered. Though the faces around him were much less unrecognizable. So he was careful to watch the other lords and ladies closely. It didn't take him long to piece a few together.
There was Lady Martell with her sun-kissed skin and raven black hair. There was Lady Greyjoy, who he had no doubt was the one wearing more masculine clothing. There was Lady Velaryon, who was the easiest to deduce from her pale white hair and violet eyes. And there was Lady Tully who, if he was not mistaken, had been asked to dance by the king himself. Though there were a couple he could not place, but he assumed he would as the night waned on.
Rowan was keen on presenting himself as an eligible bachelor, hence why he was wearing one of his most expensive outfits. With any hope, an eligible young lady would take notice and hint that she would like for him to approach.
The lord had never been much of a ladies man, quite the contrary. He had been wed before, but it had been an arranged marriage, and he had met his wife at the altar. It had been almost five years since her passing, but his heart still ached in his chest with just the thought of her. Yet it was essential that he carried on the family's bloodline, and so here he was, in King's landing, searching among the faces for one that seemed friendly enough.
From his understanding, majority of the women there were also looking for a husband. Though he was not looking for some brood mare, no. This time, he wished to choose a wife on his own accord - someone who he could make happy and vice versa. Though he needed male heirs, he wanted much more from a wife than just that.
So there he stood, in his dark clothing and easygoing expression, swirling his goblet of wine absentmindedly. He had never been the type to drink, so it was more for appearances. After witnessing his father drink himself to death, he wasn't as keen on drinking any alcoholic beverage. So he held the still full goblet in his hand and watched the general ebullience of the room grow even more as the king led Lady Tully to the dance floor.
"Speech."
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PRINCE MATARYS TARGARYEN
Maekar arrived at their table and Matarys offered their cousin a small smile. Admittedly, Matarys had nothing against the Prince of Summerhall, and it was a pity that politics had soured the relationship between their two lineages. Family should work together, he had always thought, so it was unfortunate that rifts were beginning to form among the last Targaryens.
You are the Prince of Dragonstone. Matarys' violet gaze went back to his brother as he stated the words, words made reality that he would much rather weren't. "As you are apt to remind me, Your Grace," he answered back, a faint teasing tone in his voice. "I can see to myself." A lie, perhaps. "You should enjoy your feast." He would watch his brother stride off, asking for a dance with the Tully girl.
Perhaps, now that Lucerys was off, he could sneak away from the festivities. Matarys would offer his cousin Tyrek a small nod before slipping out from his seat, heading to the edge of the celebration where it was hopefully quieter.
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LORD TYREK LANNISTER
"To you and me and Matty here," Ty answered cheekily. A jaunty grin had crossed Tyrek's features at Lucerys' response, and it stayed as Maekar arrived at their table. "Prince Maekar," the Hand greeted the Targaryen Prince, adding a small respectful nod. Though he seemed affable, Tyrek was, on account of politics, wary of the Prince of Summerhall.
Lucerys was acquainting himself with Lady Tully and Tyrek was half-tempted to shout some advice about dancing, but instead decided to hold his tongue. He waved the younger cousin farewell as Matarys absconded before deciding himself that he should probably follow the elder cousin's example.
Lady Mormont caught his attention, and, despite the fact that marrying a Northern house didn't lend too many advantages to him, Tyrek supposed that he could curry some friends there anyways. He didn't miss the expression on her face and he would secure a goblet of sourer Dornish Red from a table before approaching her. "'Here We Stand,'" Ty commented with an affable smile. "You certainly are doing justice to your house words, Lady Mormont."
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MYRANDA MORMONT
20 y/o & Lady of Bear Island & Here We Stand
Myranda casually turned her head, watching other various ladies sitting at the table and observing their behavior. Most of them were from the south as far as she could tell. Well, south for her. There was hardly a house that wasn't considered southern being Bear Island was essentially as north as one could get without them being labelled as wildlings. Still, her curiosity was piqued enough as she observed one young lady, one she couldn't place outside of her colorful and most likely wildly expensive outfit, as she ate a drank. The woman held her goblet so delicately, looking as if she hardly drank anything from the cup before setting it gingerly back down on the table. Myra suppressed her laughter, pushing it aside to sit up and copy the motions, feeling utterly ridiculous throughout it all. As soon as she brought the cup away from her face, she nearly choked on her wine at who she saw approaching.
Seeing him from a slight distance, Myra had a short period of time to place his face to a name, cursing herself under her breath at not properly paying attention during her few history lessons. Thank the gods that he had the defining features of his house. It was no other but a Lannister coming to greet her, though that was not all he was. By the pin on his clothes, he was also the Hand of the King, yet another title she herself would not be able to match. The woman quickly put down her goblet, frankly at a loss of what to do. This was an unexpected turn of events indeed. Other young ladies of the court when approached by an eligible lord might twirl their hair or look to the ground in manipulative embarrassment. It seemed as though Myranda had missed those lessons as she stared with open bafflement at the coming lord. She almost didn't believe he was coming to her until her title fell from his lips.
Knowing full well she would get an earful if she didn't, Myranda pushed her way out of her seat, inclining her head to greet him with shock and a large amount of curiosity written on her face. Hearing her house words were equally as shocking as the man speaking to her, though it did make her stand a bit taller with a flash of pride coming onto her face. Sure, her house wasn't the richest or most influential, but she'd be damned if they weren't the proudest. There were several questions that she wanted to ask and Myra had to quite literally bite her own tongue to stop herself. Her signature grin appeared on her lips, laughing slightly. "Lord Lannister. You are kind to have noticed." Her response wasn't typical, though it was lighthearted and joking as her smile grew a bit more. Myranda wasn't one to get nervous in front of people of high stature. In some situations it worked out better than others, especially in situations like the present. Even so, the northern woman wasn't the best at small talk. "Are you enjoying the, er, festivities? I must say that I'm not used to such grandiose." She stumbled over some of her words as she decided what to say, though the slight grin didn't leave her face and he lighthearted glint didn't leave her eyes.
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RHOYNAR MARTELL
19 y/o & Prince of Dorne & Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken
They hadn't been in King's Landing for very long and already Rhoynar was moving with confidence among the people, fitting right in as if he had never left. People were usually able to place who he was at a glance. With the name day ceremony of an important figure underway, there would certainly be plenty well-to-do people about and word had spread like wildfire that members of house Martell would be there. Not to mention that his features were oftentimes vastly different from others in the room along with the bold yellow and orange clothes that he wore, signifying his house's colors. It wasn't difficult to place the prince at the fest, either, as he didn't bother with subtleties. There had already been flirtatious exchanges between himself and various serving girls that graced his table along with sidelong glances to the lords and ladies surrounding him. Rhoynar truly was in his element and he flaunted it. The only times he paused was to scan the room for his sister, satisfied only when spotting her in good health.
Northern culture was very different from what he was used to. There were so many more rules to follow with everything. People acted like such strangers, bound by honor and what not. Rhoy was not stupid, though some did label him as such. He knew that these types of events were using to get ahead in the world by making connections or finding a potential suitor. While he would be fairly interested in finding an intriguing person for the night, a courtship was the last thing on the young mans mind. There was no rush for him to find a permanent lover as he wasn't the head of his house and there was no complaining on his side. Allyria did a fantastic job, though she might decline the praise. His sister had always been much better at being courtly than he could, though Rhoynar did have his fair share of charm when he so pleased. it helped with the people around him were so appealing to the eye.
Rhoynar was very good as reading people, and there were some people who hadn't learned to hide their emotions very well. A young woman approaching the cakes was one such individual and he chuckled slightly as he approached her, a lopsided smile on his face. "He is handsome, no?" He said as he stood next to Adella Tyrell, an amused look on his face as he looked at the Targaryen prince. He turned his slightly flirtation look back to the lady, sending her a quick wink. "I would have thought a beautiful woman would be engrossed in conversation being wooed by a rich lord." Again, accent lilting his voice, Rhoynar regarded her in a lazily coquettish way, his words playful and smooth. This was simply what he did at parties. That, and he wanted to test out the reaction of a northern woman to his little games.
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ALYSSA TULLY
She wasn't reflecting well on her family, Alyssa decided, and that said she might as well enjoy herself. All she really had to do was avoid the sort of mistakes that a well bred lady was supposed to avoid, and she was certainly a well bred lady. No one here was going to deny that, and even if she didn't impress Lucerys, this dance might open her up for dances from lords who were more charismatic than Lord Celtigar. Besides, she had the faint idea that the king wanted to keep her family happy: Maekar was of their blood, and they were likely to support him in the future if they weren't wed into the royal line in some other way - but all that was boring when she was dancing with a king.
"He did a splendid job," she reiterated, following Lucerys' motions through the familiar steps of the dance. "Oh, I'd just been wondering at some of his tales, but that's neither here nor there. You must have more interesting things on mind?" The familiar thrill of having something to play was, she admitted, coming back. This wasn't a game that she ought to treat flippantly but after so long spent mourning, talking to someone who she'd usually avoid had its attractions.
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LUCERYS TARGARYEN
Although Lucerys hadn't necessarily warmed to his paternal cousin any more than than what was appropriate of their original relationship, after a comfortable year into his rule, the active threat of being usurped had largely been dissipated from his mind. He reassured himself with thoughts of his father, recalling that he had been first-in-line, the heir in everything but name, solely for the fact that King Vaegon had refused to grant either Lucerys' or Maekar's fathers the titles of Prince of Dragonstone or Prince of Summerhall respectively. Even without a queen, the old king had seemed to believe he would eventually produce an heir of his own seed. (Lucerys had once wondered if he perhaps had had a bastard child somewhere hidden, but when he died, Vaegon had died childless and alone.) It simply would have been easier if his father had lived - Aeryn's claim could never have been questioned. But at the end of the day, Lucerys was only looking to the future, to produce his own heirs, and see the other members of his house married off in due time.
"Of course," the king conceded, dancing in step with the Tully lady. Unlike Alyssa however, he didn't think of "this" as much of a game. That was taking what Lucerys considered life and death for the realms too lightly, and even in his youth as a lanky boy with golden hair and a perpetual frown, he had been stern and solemn. "The tourney approaches and I cannot compete." A hunter and rider still, a knight by training, and a tourney knight whenever the chance was afforded, Lucerys was tempted to join this tourney. But it would be unseemly to participate in a tourney in his own name, and additionally, kings never rode in tourneys. There was something unkingly about it, and it was left to younger princes, knights, and lords.
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